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Word count: ~6.8k
A/N: first ever "real" release after months? im back, i guess
masterlist
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
Youâve heard a lot about the university festival.
From seniors to friends, even random conversations you werenât even part of. People always talk about how crowded it gets, how everything feels different at night. âItâs something you have to experience at least once.â they all say. You didnât go last year, never really been the type to enjoy crowded spaces like that.Â
But here you are now, and itâs exactly how people described it. Students filling every walkway. Booths lined up along the paths, some with disco lights strung overhead as the sky darkens. Everything trying to overlap each other from different directionsâbass booming from the main stage from afar, students singing somewhere nearby, food sizzling, oil crackling, people stopping randomly, laughing too loudly and calling out to each other. Late spring breeze cuts through the night, cool against your skin.
They all weirdly blend together into something easier to take in. Maybe itâs not as suffocating as you thought itâd be. At some point, you feel the corner of your lips pulling upward on its own, even just for a second. This isnât that bad-
"See? I told you."
Her gentle laugh rings right next to you, light and teasing. Sheâs been walking next to you the whole time, a wide grin on her face as you look her way.
"Um⊠not bad."
She scoffs and nudges your arm with her elbow.
"Yah⊠not bad? Youâre seriously missing out on a lot!"
"Really?" you smile after giving a quiet sigh. "Itâs not that magical, Jimin-ah."
"It is." she nudges you again, though a little more firmer this time. "I canât believe youâve never been to one of these before."
"I mean⊠Iâve been to high school ones." you look at the crowd ahead. "But it didnât really feel the same. I just kind of hung out with my friends for a bit. Didnât help that they all had girlfriends and I was⊠you know. Just there."
Jimin only hums softly. When you turn your head over, sheâs now walking with her hands clasped behind her back, head tilted as she looks at you with quiet curiosity.
"Mmm, so you didnât have a girlfriendâŠ" she nods slowly, putting pieces together. "Like, actually⊠ever?"
You raise an eyebrow at her, not annoyed, only a little surprised that she hasnât figured it all out yet.
"You didnât know?"
Jiminâs expression changes almost instantly. She straightens, hands slipping from behind her back.
"Ah- wait, I-" she waves denying gestures quickly "Sorry, I didnât mean to- No, if that sounded weird or anything, I just-"
You only laugh and shake your head.
"Itâs okay, relax. I donât really think much about it."
Jimin still looks a little unsure, her eyebrows pulling together slightly, her lips almost pouting as she mumbles.
"Still⊠I mightâve said it in a weird way."
"Itâs really fine, Jimin-ah." you reassure her. "I thought it was kind of obvious anyway."
"...Hmm?"
"With how the sunbaes kept teasing me and trying to set me up on blind dates all the time. Isnât it, like, so obvious?"
Jimin pauses for a second, the memories replaying in her head. She turns to you more fully as she walks, mouth slowly taking shape of a wide O as realization hits her.
"...Wait! Wait!" she finally says. "You mean those times they kept dragging you away after meetings?! That wasnât just them messing with you?"
"Not really."
"They were seriously setting you up?" She repeats the question. Is it that hard to believe that you havenât ever had a girlfriend?
"Yes⊠Is it that weird?"
Jimin keeps staring at you before a soft laugh escapes her lips. She looks ahead as you both keep walking, amusement written all over her face.
"Wah⊠And you keep denying them, time after time."
"I dunno. I don't think Iâm in the right⊠how do you say it, position? Uhh, position to date right now."
Jimin turns back to you, those bubbly eyes of hers make it seem like sheâs really studying you before she presses her lips together.
"...Youâre a weird kid, you know that?" she decides, pointing at you with those short dinosaurs-like fingers. You havenât known her for that long yet youâve already noticed it. That weird, goofy tendency of hers. The way her humor lands a little off earth sometimes, and it doesnât quite match how she looks yet somehow, it only makes her more attractive. The thought puffs a sudden short laugh out of you as your hand comes up without much thinking, lightly catching her wrist, lowering her finger from pointing at you.
"Thank you. Iâve heard it a lot."
Jimin giggles, her wrist showing only a little bit of resistance before finally slipping away.
"Weird kid. Weird."
You both wander deeper into the festival. Booths are all bumping past on either side with bright signs, students calling out and trying to lure you in with free samples. A group of students nearby huddle around a small stage, singing along to the whatever edition of the university chant. Jimin seems to be amazed by all of it. She points things out as you go, commentating and talking to herself mostly.
"Ah, that one looks fun! Wait, wait⊠No, thatâs just a scam," she stops immediately, wrinkling her nose. A few seconds later, sheâs already distracted again, tugging your shirt to get your attention. "Look, look! They have free cotton candy over there!"
You always nod along, already pleased with letting her lead the rhythm of it. After a moment, curiosity gets the better of you.
"Jimin-ah, what about you? Ever had a boyfriend? âŠor girlfriend?" you finally spit the question out after thinking it through. "Or, you know⊠I donât discriminate. I, uh⊠love people all the same, just so you know."
Jimin stops dead in her tracks.
"âŠAeng?"
She takes a small step back and really blinks at you. Then suddenly, Jimin bursts into laughter with her hands covering her mouth.
"What-" she struggles between laughs. "Whatâs wrong with you!? Really!?"Â
Her laughterâs bright and bubbly, even attracting glances from people walking by. You canât help but smile, relieved that she doesnât take it the wrong way.
"What? It could happen, for all I know," you shrug. "Youâre super popular on campus! Guys and girls all like you, Yu Jimin."
Jimin bends, one hand braced on her knee as her laughter spills out, her shoulders shaking. When she finally looks up at you, her cheeks are almost bright pink under the festival lights. Damn, you really make her laugh. Just when youâre preparing to say something else, she steps in and gives your chest a light punch with that small dinosaur-like fist.
"âŠYah. What are you even saying!?"
You bite back a laugh, rubbing the spot just for the sake of it.
"I mean, is it wrong for a guy to try and be respectful?"
Jimin gives one last breathy laugh before reaching out and grabbing the sleeve of your shirt, pulling you forward so you both start walking again.
"No, idiot. I appreciate all the feelings," she smiles, "but no, I donât swing that way. And yes. I did have a boyfriend back in high school if youâre wondering."
"Ah⊠I see."
You let her pull you along without resistance. In no time, Jimin shifts closer swiftly, looping her arm through yours. Her hand settles around your bicep, barely pressing. You try not to think much of it but⊠Is this intentional? The distance between you disappears when her grip tightens only a little around your bicep.
"But⊠it didnât last long. I hated that guy."
"Hmm? Why?"
The noise of the festival fills the silence between you for a second when Jimin doesnât give her answer. Her steps slow just a little and thatâs when you know, maybe you shouldnât have asked. You awkwardly steal a glance at her before looking ahead again.
"I was stupid back then," Jimin finally hums. "I thought love was super fun and all rainbow, you know. Dramas raised me like that."
You nod and Jimin sighs, only a light breath.
"How do I say it? Mmm, the jerk confessed to me on a school trip. Our friends even recorded the whole thing. I said yes⊠Then like a month in, I found out it was just a bet. Between him and his friends."
You clear your throat quietly, not knowing what to say.
"Ah⊠I- Sorry. I shouldnât have asked."
"Itâs okay. Itâs just an experience, I guess. At least I know what to do when guys start acting weird now."
"Right. So what about uni then? I mean⊠I know youâre, like, super popular."
Jimin immediately rolls her eyes. "Yah, not like that."
You smile a little.
"Your Instagram has, what? Ten thousand followers? I bet you get like a thousand DMs every day."
"Yes, but I only use it for memories and⊠work stuff," she says, scrunching her nose. Cute. "All the DMs are just- ugh. I hate it. Some guys seriously donât know their limits."
"âŠRight." you nod. "They donât."
You still walk. Then she turns to you suddenly, eyes suspicious.
"Also⊠you, weirdo."
You hum out of surprise, that silly nickname sheâs given you just ten minutes ago is now starting to grow on you.
"You barely have anything on your Instagram." she points out as if sheâs just remembered. "Whatâs that about? Going for a mysterious guy kinda vibe?"
You snicker, shifting your weight lightly into her side only enough to throw her balance a little. Jimin laughs, gripping your arm tighter to steady herself.
"Yah-"Â
"What do you mean? I have, like⊠I donât know, twenty pictures or something up there."
"Sure, but you only have three hundred followers!"
You slow your steps a bit, letting Jimin regain her balance properly.
"Only!?" your voice raises as you stare at her. "Are you even hearing yourself!?"
"...What? Am I wrong?"
"Not everyone is as popular as you, Jimin-ah." you say, a small smile pulling at your lips. "Imagine three hundred people chasing you, silly."
Jimin huffs softly, shaking her head a little too quickly with her cheeks painted pink.
"No! Like- I mean⊠like, your pictures just donât have much⊠you donât really show anything on your Instagram."
"Iâm not the type to show much, I guess. Iâm fine with it."
She pouts at that, a small hum leaving her as if she doesnât fully agree but doesnât push it either.Â
"StillâŠ"
Her grip on your arm loosens just a little as you both wander again into the current of people. Jimin glances around, distracted again immediately, pointing at something ahead as you keep walking side by side without really deciding where youâre going. You start noticing it thenâthe looks, not even subtle. Mostly guys, a few girls too, looking your way as you pass. Some even do double takes, some nudge their friends while others just stare a second too long before looking away.
Itâs not surprising. Jiminâs⊠the Jimin. Youâve heard a lot about how people went out of their way to confess, random gifts left for her. And somehow, sheâs always just brushed it off, staying single until now. You glance at her briefly, only to see that she doesnât seem to notice, or maybe she just simply doesnât care.
Itâs only been a few months since you first met her anyway. Back then you just randomly decided to join the university volunteer club. No real reason, you just wanted something to do, something positive to turn your life around. Jimin was the one who interviewed you and you remember it very clearly. The same girl walking next to you now, still bright and energetic, asking questions that didnât really seem easy.
"What would you do if a kid cried and refused to let go of you?"
"Do you think youâre good at comforting people or just pretending to be?"
"Would you rather be a cat or a dog?"
Youâd walked out of that room convinced you failed. And then a few days later, you got the email, saying you were accepted. You didnât really talk much after that, only small interactions during activities and passing conversations. Nothing really sticks until the past month. You didnât know how it started, Jimin just ended up next to you more often, like tonight.
Jimin drags you around, her grip still hooked around your arm.
"Look at them~"
You donât react fast enough and suddenly your step catches, you stumble slightly, bumping into her shoulder. Jimin lets out a little squeak but still doesnât let go, instead just laughs it off. The food stall in front of you is crowded, the smell rich and warm.
"Hungry?" you ask, the food does look good but with her this close, itâs hard to focus on anything properly. Jimin blinks up at you with shiny eyes and nods eagerly.
"Mm! Should we?"
That âweâ flicks at your heart a little too hard.
"âŠSure, why not?"
Ordering is quick. Jimin hovers beside you, leaning in a little as she points at things on the menu, her shoulder brushing yours every now and then.
"Iâll pay you back later." she says when you hand over the money.
"Itâs fine. Itâs just food."
Jimin doesnât fully agree, she hums but doesnât argue. A minute later, youâre both standing off to the side with little cups in your hand. She takes a bite immediately, then pauses her chewing, eyes turning wide. Cute.
"Oh my⊠This is actually really good!"
You smile, watching her for a second before taking your own bite.
"It is."
She tries another, not even finishing chewing before holding her skewer up.
"Try this one. Itâs chewy."Â Â
You lean in to take a bite and lean back a little too quickly.
"Mmm~ thatâs good."
Jimin just smiles, satisfied with the answer she expected. You both linger there a little longer, finishing one thing then another, trading small comments. It was only easy back-and-forth. At some point, sheâs already taking you along to the next stall. You slow down in front of the menu, scanning and hesitating. Jimin doesnât wait.
"Ah! Just get this." she decides, already pointing and telling the worker before you can say anything. A laugh is all you mutter before nodding, paying while Jimin stands there, giggly like she made the right choiceâwhich she usually does, somehow. When the food comes, she takes it first.
"Wait, itâs hot-" she blows on it carefully, her eyebrows almost connecting in concentration. Then she looks up, smiling and holding it out toward you instead.
"You first, for paying. I have manners."
Itâs small, yet your chest still tingles.
"âŠThanks."
You hesitate while leaning in, only to immediately pull back with a loud hiss, your hand coming up to your mouth.
"Fuh-"
Jimin bursts into laughter.
"Yah! I told you itâs hot!" she laughs, half scolding. She leans in a little closer, now concerned. "Are you okay? Let me see-"
"Iâm fine, Iâm fineâŠ" You shake your head quickly and stubbornly swallow it down. Her eyes stay on you for a second longer before wrinkling as she laughs again, softer.
"IdiotâŠ"
Further down the path, game booths line the side, waiting for something magical to happen. Plastic rings stacked in buckets, darts pinned against colorful boards, prizes hanging from hooks. Every few steps, someone calls out.
"Three tries for two thousand won!"
"Win one for your girlfriend, guys!"
Jimin slows without letting go of your arm, her eyes have been drifting from one booth to another with curiosity written all over them. You only take your eyes off her when someone screams a little too loud, your attention falls back onto her just as quickly. Only then does a small thought settle in, subtle yet not at all meaningless. Is this really something Jimin didnât want to come alone to like she said? Because the way sheâs been acting doesnât feel casual. Does she knows?
"Wanna try?" you nod at one of the stalls. "Your mouthâs been open like that for, like, ten minutes."
Cheeks pink, Jimin turns her head back to you.
"...S-sure. Why not?"
She sucks at it, really. Balls thrown, rings tossed⊠90% of them missing completely. Jimin looks too serious for someone whoâs clearly terrible at games, eyebrows all arched, lips pressed together in concentration. Then she immediately breaks into laughter the moment she fails.
"That was close!"
"It wasnât even near." you point out and she huffs, ignoring you.
And another try, no surprise, another fail. This time Jimin really groans, her shoulders dropping before she clenches her fists in that exaggerated, dramatic frustration of hers. A couple of students running the booth snicker quietly to themselves. You catch it and glance back at her.
"Argh- Why is this so hard?!"
âŠ
"Let me try."
Before Jimin can protest, your hands settle on her shoulders to guide her back a step. She lets you despite the pout on her lips, clearly not ready to give up.
"YahâŠ"
You already feel her eyes on you the second you take her place. The first lands by some luck. The second one closer, hitting just right. The third? You miss.
"ShitâŠ"
So you hold your breath, tossing it before you can overthink and it lands. Thereâs a small cheer from the side, the students already reaching for a prize in the back as when you look back over your shoulder. Jiminâs standing there in her dress, with her arms clasped in front of her, chin tipped up as she looks, adorably, irritated.
"Hmph!"
But it doesnât quite work with how she presses her lips together. Even an idiot like you knows sheâs clearly holding back a smile.Â
"Only one left." the booth worker hands you your prize. Itâs a ring, tiny and plastic with a little cartoon charm on top. Silly, cheap yet super cute. You stare at it in your palm, already figuring Jimin would definitely like this. She loves silly stuff.
You look back, already opening your mouth and sheâs already gone. Jiminâs not far, just a few steps away at another booth, leaning forward like sheâs studying, planning her next attempt, completely focused. Like itâs been all night, a smile slips onto your lips again and you walk to her, the ring now resting in your pocket.
Jimin walks by your side again like you both never drifted apart, her hand finding its way back around your arm easily. She hums softly to herself, some song you donât recognize. But she does sound like sheâs happy, like sheâs enjoying being here with you tonight. You walk like that for a while, exchanging small, silly comments. A joke here, a quiet laugh there.Â
A few minutes later, another path opens. The river cuts through the campus, calmer and darker at this time, reflecting the bright lights from the festival behind you. Trees stand in a straight line along the walk way, their branches decorated with soft pink blossoms. Every now and then, a few petal falls and lands somewhere in the water. Itâs less crowded here, cooler and quieter.Â
"Look!" Jimin breathes out, you both slow at the same time. "Itâs so beautiful!"
You nod, eyes following the way the lights ripple on the water.Â
"I havenât been here at night before. Didnât know it could look like thisâŠ"
Like sheâs drawn to it, Jimin releases your arm and wanders toward the railing. She leans forward slightly, both hands resting on the cool metal. You didnât say a thing, only stopping next to her. You mirror her too, resting only one arm on the railing, eyes looking at the scenery. The reflection, the gentle lights, the soft movement of the night⊠It doesnât last long. Just when one pink petal lands near her shoulder, your gaze turns to Jimin. The usually hyper girlâs quieter now, calmer. It sure does take a lot to take the loudness of the festival out of her mind.Â
You didnât think youâd be here tonight. Not like this, not with Jimin. If anything, you figured she was the kind of person youâd just watch from a distance. Someone youâd see, maybe talk to once in a while during club activities and nothing more. Saying she always felt a little out of reach doesnât feel wrong. But here you are, standing next to her and hearing her breath, her gentle giggles⊠Sheâs not like that at all.
A silent breath comes out before you even know it and Jimin turns, cheek on her folded arms against the railing, smiling up at you.
"Whatâs with the long sigh?"
"Hmm? Nothing." You shake your head. "Just⊠you know, better than I thought? This whole festival thing."
Jimin squints her eyes only a little, like she doesnât fully believe your answer. She hums a second later, satisfied anyway.
"Told you~ Youâre just too stuck in your own head sometimes."
You laugh at that. You probably wouldâve taken that differently if it came from anyone else.
"Really?"
She straightens and pushes herself off the railing.
"Mmm, I donât want you to take this the wrong way but⊠youâre kind of different from my first impression."
"âŠHow?"
Instead of answering, Jimin suddenly steps closer to the concrete edge of the railing and lifts herself up, trying to climb onto it.
"Yah⊠Careful." instinct kicking in, your hands quickly hover just behind her back, just in case she slips but you donât quite touch her.Â
"Iâm fineâŠ" Jimin giggles, a little breathless as she finally manages to stand up on it. "...See?"
She looks down at you from her slightly higher spot, tilting her head as a grin paints her lips.
"You didnât look⊠social enough. I took you for the total bookworm type. Like, you know, the kind who never talks to anyone, sits alone all the time⊠I almost felt bad for you."
Youâre in no position to take offense. And itâs not entirely wrong. You do spend most of your time studying, keeping to yourself.
"Is it that bad?" you bite the inside of your cheek. "So whyâd you pass me, then? Into the club?"
Jimin hums, balancing her energetic self on the railing again and rocking on her heels like sheâs thinking it through.
"HonestlyâŠ? You looked awkward. Like⊠super awkward, but not in a bad way." she giggles to herself. "I just feel that you werenât trying to impress anyone. And you seemed real, I figured you wouldnât fake being nice to people."
"You got all that just from fifteen minutes?"
"AndâŠ" she drags it out. "you did say you want to turn your social life around, right?"
You think, leaning more into the railings and exhaling. It was something along that line.Â
"I think so�"
It sounded more certain back then. You remember saying it out a little louder than you meant. Being alone all the time had started to feel heavier than you thought. Jimin watches your expression and smiles.
"I think I can help you with that, the club too. Itâs kind of what we do, you know?" her voice stays light as she playfully kicks your knee with her foot from where sheâs standing.
"Just⊠be more active, okay? Donât be scared. Iâll help."
"...Okay."
But even as you say it, you remind yourself, that this is just Jimin being Jimin. Sheâs like this with people all the time. Her personality makes it easy to pull them in without thinking too much. This is not rocket science and thereâs nothing deeper behind it. You shouldnât- no, you must not read into it.Â
Because there are also moments that you never bring up, where Jimin only comes to you when thereâs something needed, urgent and practical. And in those moments, everything else disappears, all gone like it never meant anything more. So you let out a quiet breath and look back at the water. Maybe youâre just lucky to be here tonight. Thatâs all there is to it.
âŠ
"Mmm~"
The soundâs gentle, full of curiosity as if somethingâs just caught her attention. You look to the side and Jiminâs already staring at you, head tilted with that look on her face when she's trying to figure something out. Whatâs with this girl? All sentimental one moment and unpredictable the next.
"Somethingâs wrong?"
"You knowâŠ" she shifts closer on the high concrete, closer to you than before. "You could try something else."
"Something else?"
"Yes." She gestures a circle in the air. "The glasses."
"My glasses?"
"They suit you." she nods a little too eagerly. "But⊠you know, I feel like they kind of hide you too. In some way." Her hand starts to move before hesitating just short of your face. "âŠCan I?"Â
It takes you a second, yet you know youâre never one to be able to resist that sweet of a voice.
"âŠUmm, sure."
Jimin gently slides your glasses off your face. She leans forward with her elbows bracing against the railing as she holds them up with both hands, like sheâs analyzing something serious. Without your glasses, your vision blur and lights melt into streaks. Youâve had those glasses for a long while, since early high school, maybe. Rectangular. Boring. You did want something a little bit more hip, trendier but your parents always put function over appearance.
"Ah." Jimin tilts the frame slightly, squinting. "...Theyâre kinda dirty."
You notice it too, even without seeing clearly. Never go out with a baddie without cleaning your glasses, something to live by.
"Itâs fine, I can-" You reach out but Jimin quickly pulls them back, smiling.
"Wait."
The girl lifts the edge of her cardigan sleeve and starts wiping the lenses carefully, just a little too much concentration for something with that many scratches. Shapes, blurry colors and the soft outline of her face are you can see of Jimin. But you know, if you could see her clearly right now, youâd probably be blushing even harder.
"You should clean them more often." she smiles, still wiping.
"Umm⊠I know."
A second later, she lowers the glasses and looks at them one more time. Then she lifts them to her own face.
"Hmm?"
The frame looks a little too big on her, sitting just a bit off but Jimin just simply doesnât care. Her eyes widen dramatically as she looks around, playing it up.
"Oah⊠Is this how smart people see the world?"
You roll your eyes and turn away, both hands now over the railing. Youâre not easily offended, only trying to hide the warmth which is getting a little too obvious. And if your ears are red too, then at least she canât see all of it like this. Jimin laughs softly.
"Sorry, sorry." she still giggles. You shake your head lightly and without wasting a second, her short fingers come back into your blurry vision. The glasses are being placed back onto your face. The gesture is playful yet careful too, her touch warm as she adjusts the frame.
"Hold stillâŠ" she murmurs and leans a little more, smoothing the hair on the side of your head. This feels⊠nice.
"Youâd look better with something rounder." Jimin suggests. "I actually saw something online the other day. Like, softer frames? Iâll send it to you later."
Clearing your throat, you can only fix your glasses and utter a few basic words.
"âŠOkay. Thank you."
Jimin doesnât stop there.
"And maybeâŠ" she circles a finger in the air, outlining your face. "You could try growing your hair out a bit? Instead of cutting it all the time."
"I donât do that."
"Right~ Sure you donât." she smirks, clearly not convinced. "And I know Iâm not someone you have to listen to, butâŠ" her voice raises toward the end. "âŠmaybe try piercing your earlobe? "
You turn and look at her properly now, an amused smile on your face. That really does come out of nowhere.
"Really!?"
Like sheâs just throwing the idea out there, Jimin hums. Thereâs something in the way her eyes twinkle before she just shrugs it off.
"Sure, I think itâd suit you. You already look good⊠you just donât know it yet."
You donât even get a second to process it. Jimin hops down from the railing with a little sound effectâa small, happy squeal. She lands and already moves, already somewhere else entirely.
"Ah- wait!" she turns back to you, eyes bright again. "Can you take pictures for me? Itâs too pretty not to," she points at the river, the swaying blossoms. "My Instagramâs been so empty lately."
"âŠUh- sure-"
Jiminâs already tugging your sleeve again and you let yourself be pulled. To be fair, who can reject that look on her face.
"Come on~"
Just a few steps down the path where the lights look better and the petals feel just right, Jimin lets go of your sleeve as she looks around, adjusting her position slightly.
"Here." she smiles, fixing her hair back. "Okay. Donât make me look weird, alright?"
Golden lights from the bridge in the distance, the glow of the festival further back, cherry blossom trees overhead yet in the middle of it all, Jimin smiles and she doesnât even need to try.Â
She looks pretty just as always. The cardigan slips off her shoulders a little, hanging loose on the smooth lines of her dress. The dress itself fits her effortlessly, hugging her as it moves in the gentle breeze, blending into the night.
"Hold onâŠ" you mutter, adjusting the angle.Â
You take one, then another. Jimin laughs softly between shots, changing poses with not much effort. In the back of your mind, you know you shouldâve seen this coming. Things are already complicated enough as they are. And still, you press the button again.
Tonight isnât going to make anything easier, especially with how Jimin can look this soft one moment and leave you second-guessing everything the next.
ââââââ ââ â ââââââ
The bus stop is just somewhere outside campus, covered by a row of big trees. Students linger around lectures, some zooming to get home while others talk calmly, just waiting like itâs just another ordinary part of the day. You? Youâre standing a little off to the side with your phone in one hand, the other hand in your jacket pocket. Youâre staring, and itâs not nothing.
Itâs the frame. A pair of round glasses spins around on your screen, the exact kind Jimin mentioned a week ago. Theyâre different from your current oneâthinner rims, more modern. You scroll down, and up, and down, and finally tap the image again. Something like this shouldnât matter too much, yet itâs been on your mind ever since Jimin sent it to you after the festival.Â
A small reflection stares back at you, your current glasses a little off from how you pushed them up earlier. You adjust them.
"Fucking hellâŠ" you sigh a little too loud, a few times already, but again. "400,000 wonâŠ"
Itâs a little more than that, taxes exist. The frame sure does look good. No one canât even deny that Jimin has taste. It only makes sense that sheâd pick something like and you find it pretty. But four hundred!? Thousand won!? Thatâs not the kind of money you can just spend so freely. Your thumb swipes up and down, to the price then back up to the model. It doesnât change the number.Â
"Damn itâŠ"
You close your eyes and tilt your head up, the same old frame falls crooked to the side. âYou already look good⊠you just donât know it yetâ.Â
"Stupid."
You know your ass canât back down anymore. Itâs dumb, and itâs worse that you even know yourself that itâs dumb. Whatever. Youâve checked the store location probably ten times last night, already mapping the route and calculating how much time you have before the club meeting tonightâbefore you see Jimin again. Youâve been seeing her more lately, through lectures and even the increasing amount of messages.
"Why am I so stupi-"
"Whatcha doing?"
You flinch so hard you almost fling at the voice with your phone.
"Fuck!"
A soft laugh breaks out and you turn back.
Minjeong stands there, maybe sheâs been watching you for a while. One hard covers her lips as she giggles, shoulders shaking just a little. That oversized bag hangs off her shoulder again, always looking like it could swallow half her body. Minjeongâs always dressed simply, and now is no exception. White top, light brown pants, nothing flashy but it always suits her.Â
"Youâre insane, Minjeong-ah⊠Shit!"
"Sorry~ I had to. You looked so serious." pleased with herself, she tilts her head and eyes your phone. "What were you looking at anyway?"
As the adrenaline fades, you remember.
"Itâs nothing," you cover the screen with your fingers. Minjeong leans in, confused.
"Yah, show me."
"Itâs just- Nothing, Iâm serious."
"Show me~"
She shoots it out, a small whine and she makes sure to drag it out just enough to be annoying⊠or enough to melt you down, like always.
"âŠFine."
You finally turn the screen to Minjeong and she squints immediately as she takes in the image.
"Hmm? New frames?" she then glances up at you. Her eyes scan your face, your current glasses, then back to the screen again. "Youâre getting a new one?"
You know you canât keep brushing it off, especially with Minjeong. Admitting seems like the better choice anyway.
"Yes, Iâm actually taking the bus to Seongsu to get it."
"Mm? Seongsu?"
 "I already booked it a few days ago," you try to sound more certain than you feel. "Just, you know, something new. Doesnât hurt, right?"
"I seeâŠ" Minjeong nods slowly but the way her eyes squint a little tells you enough. "But are you sure? Isnât that expensive?"
"Itâs fine." you lie, scratching the back of your head and looking away. "Iâve saved up so itâs not that much."Â
You do have money saved up, still, it hurts. Minjeong doesnât look convinced. Almost immediately, she punches your bicep to make you look back at her. The concern is clearer now in her voice, despite her soft tone.
"Yah, really? Are you sure?"
You open your mouth but Minjeong cuts you off quickly.
"I know somewhere cheaperâŠ" she smiles and her grip on the bag strap tightens. "They have similar styles too. You donât have to splurge like that. I can show you, itâs not far from here."Â
That moment, your mind splits. Jiminâs bright and bubbly, always pulling you into things you wouldnât normally do. The girl says things like itâs nothing, making everything feel like maybe you could be more than what youâve been, better than who you are right now.
And Minjeongâs right here. Sheâs always more of a grounded and realistic person. She notices before you even say anything, never one to let you spend money you donât have without questioning it. She cares for you in ways that Jimin doesnât. It would be easier to just go with Minjeong. But-
"Itâs okay⊠I already planned it. I just wanna try something new."
Minjeong hums, the sound long enough for you to take in before she finally exhales, lips pulling into a subtle pout.
"Youâre so stubborn."
"Youâve known me for a year and youâre just now figuring this out?"
That earns you a look.
"No. But youâve been weird lately."
Weird? Your mind jumps at the word a little too fast. Does Minjeong know?
"Have I?" you try a fake laugh, hoping it sounds real.
"...Can I come with you?"
The question catches you a little off guard. Part of you lights up at the idea, having Minjeong next to you. The other part feels much more like fear. Is she just curious? Trying to figure out why youâve been weird?
"You really want to? Itâs gonna take a while."
Minjeong doesnât hesitate, she smilesâthat same smile youâve known since the first day you met her. It always manages to make you feel some type of way, still does.
"Itâs fine~ Weâre both going to the club meeting tonight anyway, right?" Then her eyes widen as she gasped. Cute. "Donât tell me youâre not going on the trip next week?!"
You remember the messages, itâs almost everyday. What to wear, what to eat, places she wanted to go, pictures she wanted to take. Sheâs been looking forward to the trip since it was first announced two months ago.
"What, silly?" you laugh. "Of course Iâm going! What are you talking about?"
"Okay." Minjeong finally breathes, the tension leaving her face as quickly as it came before she smiles. "Then Iâm coming with you."
Itâs weirdly quiet for a Thursday afternoon, only a few students sit scattered here and there. Late sunlight shines through the window, soft with a yellow-ish shade all across the space, even catching Minjeong's hair. You take a seat near the back and Minjeong follows you like always, her oversized bag on her lap as she sits. A few minutes into the ride, you catch her side profile. The way she pursed her lips a little and how her lashes lower when she focuses.
You hate to admit it. But you have feelings for both of them.
Minjeong pulls you in differently. It started without you even noticing. You donât even remember exactly when it started, just that youâve always ended up next to her now. Every single group assignments, lectures, small things that turned into usual meetings. And no matter how much she denies it, Minjeongâs so pretty. That much is obvious. And you used to hate it when guys tried to hit on her. Welp, you still do.
And then thereâs Jimin, who comes into your life a little unexpectedly. Someone like her, always bright, popular and gorgeous with⊠someone like you? It doesnât make sense, at least to you.
Youâve always told yourself something simple, that if you ever fall for someone, it would be just one person. You hate the thought of being unfaithful, but lifeâs one hell of a ride and here you are. Things are never that simple, are they?
You feel a tap on your arm and youâre snapped out of it. Minjeongâs looking at you, her eyes soft when she offers one earphone to you, the other already in her ear. She doesnât say anything and just waits, the corners of her lips pulled up only a little.
You smile and lean in like always. Minjeong puts it in for you before turning her attention back to her phone just as easily. You watch her scroll when a song catches your attention. You donât even think, your hand already tapping on her phone.
"Really?"
"Itâs good. And you know it."
Minjeong lets the song play and she adjusts the volume slightly. The bus sways a little, your shoulders brush, knees touching but neither of you does anything about it. When the chorus comes, she sings under her breath.
It reminds you of the first time she ever did that, back when you werenât even close yet. She caught herself halfway through and went quiet immediately, cheeks almost blazing. Now she doesnât stop and just keeps going when youâre close.
Right when the song prepares to get to the best part, you feel a buzz in your pocket. Youâre already guessing who it is. And just like you predict, itâs Jimin who always shows up at the most unexpected times.
The photo fills your screen.
[katarinabluu]
i just bought this toppp
how do i look???
"ShitâŠ" you donât even know you smile, you donât even know you said it.
Minjeongâs still swaying slightly in her seat when you look back to her side, singing under her breath. You look back down at the girl on her screen again and clear your throat subtly.
You hate yourself and how easy it is for your heart to react to both. Itâs not supposed to be like this. So you exhale and lean back into your seat, letting the music fill the silence in your mind while the typing dot bubble appears on your screen.
The immigration officer's tone is not too enthusiastic. They probably act similarly with everyone â long shift and everything. You don't take it too personally.
Incheon International Airport is rather bustling and loud, as to be expected for airports on a Sunday during winter. There are announcements echoing all over the airport for last calls and lost belongings. Through the people, you make way for yourself with a roller suitcase to the metro station and take a ride into the heart of Seoul.
The importance of this stint is as deathly crucial to you as it is to your university back home â a four-month compulsory graduation internship, and a gesture that signifies the bond between JYPE and your institution. You're not so sure regarding the number of years they've been on the ends of the connection, but surely, you're not letting it crash into rubble with your performances.
The ride into Seoul continues. There's a rolling of wheels running against the rails from under you. In the cabin, you watch the afternoon clouds and the snow-covered buildings run past you in a blur. Your compartment is playing a comfy lo-fi tune you don't recognize. Of course, you don't expect them to play K-pop all the time, but something you can tap your fingers to would be nice. They would make you feel more familiar with this place.
You reach your desired station eventually, and you drag your roller suitcase for a few hundred meters out of the station to the employees' dorm. Your body shivers in the freezing cold air of the city at three post meridiem. It's quite grueling, but you manage to withstand the temperature until your destination is right in front of you.
Your room is on the modest side. It's a little smaller than what you have at home, but you'll live. The space has everything that you need for survival: a bed, a heater, bathroom. You transfer your belongings from your suitcase to the closet, and in a heartbeat, you've made this place your home for the next four months.
â
"Don't forget the hashtags. The interns always forget them."
You type hashtags into your Notes app as Hyunjae â your supervisor â gives you a rundown of the ins-and-outs of your job. The inside of the JYPE building feels modern and sleek, probably from all that TWICE and Stray Kids income. This kind of design gives you a bit of comfort against the blues of working in a foreign country alone. It's not a complete package of coziness, but it'll work for now.
"There's also common sense stuff, but I'm sure you have it, right? Or they wouldn't have sent you here." Hyunjae scoffs before she gives you a questioning look. "Right?"
"Yeah, I have common sense, yeah," you respond to her, typing common sense into your Notes app and opening Safari. It's just to check if you're a well-mannered person.
Hyunjae smiles at you approvingly. "Alright, I'll go grab the passwords. Do whatever the hell you want until then."
â
The next few days pass by quickly. You're burying yourself in the work of posting the approved social media posts. There's TWICE. There's Stray Kids. There's ITZY. In the meantime, you've started to gain the ability to separate the Stray Kids members after years of boy band neglect. You've never missed a hashtag as well. That's the feat you're proud of.
"Why did you wanna be here? Like, why not somewhere close to your home?" Hyunjae quizzes, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with chopsticks. There's a small shot of soju at her side. There's a small shot of soju at your side. Just half a bottle of soju should suffice for this chilly Friday night.
"I just wanna be abroad," you answer. It's a simple answer to roll off your tongue. "Is that enough of a reason?"
There's a soft whir of the heater in this restaurant, working hard against the sub-zero temperature outside. The place smells of food and alcohol. There's a bit of woodiness in there as well.
"You don't get homesick?" Hyunjae asks. "I'm more concerned than curious right now, if you don't mind," and she chuckles softly.
You give her back a smile. "I live in a dorm during college, so this isn't very new to me."
Hyunjae just nods before picking up another piece of rice cake into her mouth. You figure you should grab a piece as well. Hyunjae is still in her blazer from work with a white undershirt. Her wide-legged pants look wonderful on her.
"So, who's your ultimate bias? Like, the greatest of them all." Hyunjae asks as she chews her food, a hand covering her mouth for politeness. "Not limited to just JYPE!"
"She's in JYPE, actually," and you chuckle. "It's Yeji."
Hyunjae nods receptively. "Nice, so what do you like about her?"
"She's my type! I like women who's on the more, what's the word, aggressive side?"
"Ryujin is aggressive as well â even more than Yeji," Hyunjae challenges, and that makes you think a bit. Yeji instead of Ryujin with assertion as the criterion is certainly something.
After a few seconds of thinking, you shrug out of surrendering to your supervisor's point. "Maybe I shouldn't have said aggressive."
Hyunjae chuckles. "It's fine. Sometimes we kinda just vibe with people, you know?"
You just smile at her before taking another piece of tteokbokki into your mouth.
â
The weekend passes by, and you find yourself sitting in your chair posting the activities and approved personal photos of your assigned groups on Monday. You stretch from time to time to release the fatigue building up inside your muscles. The atmosphere inside the office smells of air freshener and tea, while the sight is tinted blue from the lights installed above your head.
A Slack notification appears in the top right corner of your MacBook.
Han Hyunjae, 11:49: Itzy's in the building today
Han Hyunjae, 11:49: Wanna meet them?
You click on the notification to type a sure as a reply. Finally, you're meeting your ultimate bias up close!
Han Hyunjae, 11:50: Come to the cafe when you're ready!
â
The coffee shop on the ground floor is cozy and warm. You order a cup of iced Assam tea despite the harsh winter outside, with two pairs of tuna sandwiches from the cashier before settling yourself in front of Hyunjae at a table.
"They should be here in a few minutes," Hyunjae states, sipping her hot latte. There's a small mark of cream on her lips.
"You got a, uh," and you point at your upper lip. "Milk foam?"
"Oh, thanks." Hyunjae wipes the white stain off her mouth before gazing at the cafe entrance. You turn in her direction of sight as well, and you see them â ITZY â all five of them.
You've expected that they're people just like you â flawed and unique. Still, you can't help the quickening of your heartbeats for Hwang Yeji under the cafe lights. Your index finger taps on the table frantically as the women come closer to you and Hyunjae. You alternate your eyes between the five girls, but your focus seems to incline towards Yeji a bit more than the others. She looks different from what you've seen her in the photos and videos. Hwang Yeji just looks so damn tangible here â unfiltered, human.
You hear Hyunjae chuckle beside you. She notices you being star-struck seeing Yeji in person for the first time, though she just gives you space to get nervous seeing your idol.
The women settle themselves at a table not too far away from you. You turn back to Hyunjae, eventually, to see her smile tenderly at you.
"You wanna say hi to them?" she asks, pointing in ITZY's direction with her thumb.
You stammer out, "Yeah, sure. Do you have to, like, come with me?"
Hyunjae shrugs. "Up to you! They're used to the seniors from your college, though, so don't worry too much."
You give her an investigative look â lips tight, squinted eyes â before getting up from your seat and telling her: "Can you come with me, please?"
Hyunjae just laughs and stands up. "Alright, follow me."
You walk behind her at a somewhat close distance, watching ITZY's relative position getting closer to you. They chatter about something you can't make out against the waves of sound from the entire cafe.
"Hey!" Hyunjae greets, and the women turn to her and you. Yeji tilts her head slightly, perhaps curious about your presence.
With a drag, "Hello!" Yuna says first, happily, followed by a few waves and greetings from the other members.
"My new intern wanna say hi to you guys," Hyunjae says, presenting you simply with her hands.
"Hi," you stammer out shyly, trying to look cool in front of the girls despite the rapid heartbeats behind your ribcage. "I'm the new intern."
"The university intern from abroad, right?" Yuna asks with curiosity. So, it seems that there's only one foreign university MOU with JYPE according to her statement.
"Yeah," you respond politely, almost with a bow. You're awfully socially anxious for them here.
"So, he's our Instagram admin now?" Yeji asks your supervisor, pointing at you with her thumb. Her voice is so deep, unlike the tone you've heard on the stages and clips. You find it attractive, of course.
"Yep, until early May, unless we give him a post-internship contract," Hyunjae answers. "He hasn't forgotten a hashtag in the posts yet. That's some achievement!"
Your heart floats a little at Hyunjae's praise. The tension in your shoulders dissolves slightly.
Yeji smiles approvingly before asking you, "Would you stay if you get the contract? Barring the visa and logistics and all."
"Yeah!" you reply swiftly. "It has been great for me so far," and you add small gestures with your hands to show the excitement at the prospect. You'd jump at the chance of working abroad.
Yeji nods. "Well," and she pauses. Perhaps she's thinking of something to tell you, only to come up with nothing. "No, yeah, I don't have anything to tell you. Do you guys wanna say something?" Yeji asks the other members.
"Just don't be afraid to talk to us," Ryujin utters coolly, arms resting on the cushion behind her. She seems chill with you, and that's wearing your guard away a bit more. "Don't use the main account, though."
"Sure, I'll do my best," you tell Ryujin with a smile. And feeling brave, you hint, "I have just your public Instagrams for now, still."
Ryujin chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "You want our private accounts?" and the rest of the women laugh as well.
Your body freezes, not thinking straight at Ryujin's forward proposal. You just asked for ITZY's personal Instagram accounts, how brazen!
"Chill out, Ryujin. Let him settle in with the company first," Yeji states, and she turns to you. "Come to the end of the month party. We can, like, talk a bit more there."
"Party?"
"Yeah, we have a party at the end of each month," Yeji answers. "Everyone gets wasted and has deep talks â fun!"
"Everyone?" you ask another question, brain imaging the entirety of ITZY slurring and throwing arms around.
"Unless you're tolerant to alcohol, then yeah, everyone who's in Seoul on that day," Ryujin says, "I saw Hyunjae making out withâ"
"You saw nothing," Hyunjae quickly halts Ryujin with a finger point, who's now laughing merrily.
Lia chimes into the conversation, "It's fine, Hyunjae. We're happy that you finally found someone!"
"Fuck off," Hyunjae curses, face already red with embarrassment. "I didn't make out with anyone. I'm a woman in her twenties who can look after herself!"
"Doesn't mean you have to be single!" Lia teases with a shrug.
"Again, fuck off," Hyunjae curses once more, and you just watch the banter unfold like that for a while until Chaeryeong gestures them to stop escalating the verbal onslaughts.
"No fighting in public, girls," Chaeryeong says, prompting a grumpy huff from Hyunjae and a giggle from Lia.
"Two tuna sandwiches and Assam tea!" a barista announces from behind the counter. That's your order.
"I'll go to the party, I promise," you tell the women, turning back and forth between your food and them. "Thanks for the welcome, really."
"See you around," Yeji says warmly.
"You're my bias, by the way," you say to Yeji.
She touches her chest with kind eyes and an aw. "Appreciate that, see you around to the power of two then."
You just smile back and nod at the girls before leaving the table with the now-beet-red Hyunjae.
"Who was it?"
"Oh my God, fuck you too."
â
The next three weeks move by rather slowly. Your job still consists of being present and posting media on your assigned groups' and members' accounts. The relationship between you and Hyunjae develops into something warm and comfortable in the meantime, and she helps you settle into living in South Korea by a large margin. It's not quite a place of home yet, but it's much better than four weeks ago.
Party day arrives, eventually. You've been spinning your chair for the last few hours out of excitement to get drunk under Hyunjae's supervision. Your state of mind has been fortified since the last day of your last semester back in your country. Intoxication in a foreign country has been a far-fetched concept to you, but you're going to experience it firsthand tonight!
From the side, you see Hyunjae walking towards you merrily in a blazer and a pair of wide-legged pants, humming some tune you don't recognize.
"Hey!" she starts with a blooming smile, and you wave back to her. "Have you posted the Hyunjin images yet? For his personal."
You check the Instagram feed for a bit â hynjinnnn. The latest post was 34 minutes ago, and you nod at your supervisor. "Yeah, half an hour ago."
"Splendid. Well, let's go now, shall we?"
You look at the time. It's about half past four post meridiem â not the time to clock out yet. You shoot her a puzzled look.
"Party day! We can leave early, don't worry," Hyunjae assures you. "We reserved the entire restaurant from five to eleven, and I don't wanna be late."
"Oh, alright, okay, sure," and you quit the apps on your MacBook before shutting it down. You put your belongings into your backpack and leave the premises with Hyunjae.
â
It's almost five. The restaurant is big â unbelievably big.
"How many people will there be again?" you ask Hyunjae. There's quite a number of people at the tables already, waiting for other employees and all sorts of meat and vegetables to be served.
"Last time was two hundred and twenty-one. This place can handle two hundred and fifty, though," she responds. "If there's fewer people, we get more soju."
You give Hyunjae a judging look.
The two of you settle yourselves at a long table that should fit about twelve people. There are already a few bottles of fruit-flavored soju on the table with shot glasses. You're waiting for more people to join the party, still. And while waiting, you pick up your phone and scroll through Twitter fan-wars and memes mindlessly.
As minutes pass, more and more people enter the restaurant, sitting at the tables all around the place. You're still surfing through Twitter, reading sombr-ending tweets and the somehow-still-ongoing war between BLINKs and ARMYs.
A hey from Hyunjae is what calls you back to the chatter of the diner.
At the entrance, you see the five girls of ITZY waving in your direction. They tread towards your table with Yuna almost jogging to you to say hi. She hugs Hyunjae and sits down beside her, across from your seat. The other members haven't even reached the halfway point yet.
"Intern boy, right?" Yuna asks you.
"Yeah," you reply with a soft smile, putting your phone back into the pocket. A server hands you the menu.
"Hello," Yeji greets as she appears beside you.
Your eyes widen â star-struck, shocked, almost dropping your menu. You can only stutter out, "Hi, Yeji."
She laughs joyfully before taking a seat next to you. "Well, nothing soju can't do."
Chaeryeong and Lia sit on the other side of the table, while Ryujin finds her seat on Yeji's left. There she is: Hwang Yeji, your ultimate bias, sitting beside you in a restaurant for a dinner with alcohol involved. This is going to be the most stressful meal you've ever had.
You order the food through the server, and they go back into the kitchen to prepare your meal. Your body is still trembling with anxiety with Yeji sitting beside you.
She seems to notice your nervousness still, and she kindly sparks a conversation with you with a giggle. "Do you drink often? Back in your country."
Still shaking, you stammer, "Yeah, kinda." And with shyness, you start pouring grape soju into the shot glasses for the surrounding girls, and you hand out the glasses to each person, trying not to drop them.
"Thanks," Yeji says. "Ever blacked out before? Sorry if this is, like, too personal," she continues to probe tenderly.
You appreciate the sentiment, really, but you still can't shake the apprehension away. A part of you remains sensible with her, at least, telling you to keep answering and asking the questions back. It'll break the barrier between you.
"Yeah, in my sophomore year," you reply, attempting to knock this fear out. "I woke up at a bus stop on my campus."
Yeji chuckles. "Well, I've blacked out before as well! It was at our dorm, though. So, yours was obviously more exciting."
"She puked all over herself," Ryujin chimes in, earning a shy laugh from Yeji. "Shit was fucking messy."
The image is not pleasing to your eyes at all, whatever melts the ice, though.
You share more of your experiences. "I remember my teeth probably hitting the edge of a toilet, and the bouncers carrying me down from the second floor."
Yeji laughs. "We're equally fucked, then."
You chuckle back at her. The tension begins to dissolve into something more domestic and casual. You can feel your bones relaxing inside your body, and you start asking more about Yeji. "So, how do you, like, get your stuff? You guys can't just go to a store and buy soju, right?"
"It's usually our bodyguards, yeah. They can carry a lot more than us, though, so it's probably for the better," Yeji answers with a shrug before taking a shot of grape soju, and you hand her the bottle to pour more. "How about your college life, though? Aside from that blackout."
"Difficult," you reply. "Having good friends helps a lot, at least."
Yeji nods with an ooh leaving her lips, then, "What do you guys usually do together, if you don't mind me asking?"
"It's standard college stuff, you know: eating, studying, taking classes. You probablyâ"
You notice Yeji's expression soften into something that almost resembles sadness, and you have to stop yourself from talking to empathize with her first.
"Yeah, and?" Yeji asks, almost sniffling with tears now. "I just, yeah, wait."
"I'm sorry. I shouldn'tâ"
"No, no, keep talking. I just gotta manage myself a bit," Yeji responds with a slight stutter in her voice. She's wiping her eyes with the back of her hand now, and you shake your head profusely, adamant on not telling her about your college life further.
"Let's talk about something else," you comfort, eliciting a smile from Yeji's face. "Like, do you watch sports?"
Still with a slightly shaken voice, Yeji answers, "Yeah, I do watch F1 on some weekends, yeah."
With almost minimal knowledge of car racing, you ask her, "Can you tell me about it?"
Yeji's sniffles turn into a look of unease instead, putting your thoughts to a halt. "You're testing me or something? Is it because I'm a woman, is it that?"
"Misogyny, boo," Ryujin adds from behind Yeji and gives you a thumbs down. She's still apparently listening to your conversation intently.
Your eyes widen in fear of misunderstanding. You deny the accusations with haste. "No, no, no. Oh my God. I didn't mean to, like, question you like that. I'm so sorry."
Yeji stares at you blankly for a few seconds, letting you bask in the apprehension of being mistaken. You look at her fearfully, at least until she laughs at you, and Ryujin laughs at you as well.
"Just fucking with you, don't worry," Yeji assures. "I'd be happy to tell you about F1, and Ryujin too. We watch it together whenever we have a chance."
You let out a long sigh of relief. "Thanks. I really don't know shit about this."
â
"That's why I support them," Yeji states.
"And Hwang Yeji is cursed for years of torment and suffering of being a Williams fan!" Ryujin announces as she hugs Yeji from behind. "Should've been a Bearman fangirl like me."
Yeji chuckles. "I think I'd be dead before Williams has a top-three season."
There have been a few shots of soju since the start of F1 recap from Yeji and Ryujin, and you're not particularly tolerant of alcohol. So many things are flashing through your head right now: math problems, laundry, making out with someone. You feel a lot lighter than you're supposed to be. The sound of sizzling means shit right now as your brain decides to loop your favorite song on repeat.
"I'll go to the bathroom a bit," Yeji says as she gets up from her chair, leaving just you and Ryujin behind on your side of the table.
You go back to grilling meat and vegetables as Yeji disappears behind the bathroom door. Suddenly, Ryujin scoots over onto Yeji's chair, equally drunk as you are.
"Does she live up to your expectations?" Ryujin asks, bumping her shoulder to yours softly. "Yeji Hwang, your bias."
You reply without looking at her, still flipping food on the grill, "She's great! I mean, I don't expect her to be a perfect angel like that. You guys are human like me."
Ryujin nods. "That's a great mindset to have," and she joins you on the fire, helping you flip the food carefully.
"Thanks."
Ryujin helps you flip a few more pieces, then she pours you and herself a shot of soju. An oh leaves your lips. You don't expect Ryujin to do this for you. Still, you thank her and gulp down the shot alongside her.
"I think I'm gonna go outside a bit. Wanna come with me?" Ryujin asks you, evenly distributing the meat and vegetables to the other side of the table and not keeping one to your side.
"Me?" and not Lia or Chaeryeong or Yuna?
"Cultural exchange, wait," and Ryujin pauses for a thought. She looks at your supervisor. "Hyunjae, can I have your man for a bit?"
Hyunjae, drunk, replies with a reference to Jemima Kirke, "What the hell, sure."
Ryujin stands up from her seat in an instant, adjusting her leather jacket slightly. "We won't be long," she promises. The other members at the table just give each other a certain look as you stand up along with Ryujin. Your difference in height isn't much â you being taller than Ryujin by about an inch or so, but it feels like she's holding all the power against you here somehow. Maybe it's her assertive personality. Maybe it's her social status. Maybe it's the fact that you're a foreigner.
"Alright, follow me," Ryujin says before leading your steps towards the door to the outside. She grabs her coat from the seat, reminding you to take yours into the cold air as well. As you tread along the walkway, you two draw a few unwanted pairs of eyes. You're too drunk to raise a concern to Ryujin, though.
The door opens. You're met with the chilly late-January atmosphere, and it's making you shake immediately at the first contact. Your hands are tucked between your arms and flanks to preserve the body temperature. The air smells of smoke and asphalt. Ryujin continues to walk a few more steps against the stillness of the night, though, and you just have to follow her into the outside.
Ryujin stops a few meters away from the door as you struggle to walk under the cold. She chuckles tenderly at your inexperience in handling this temperature. Your body keeps shivering against the air uncontrollably. You reach Ryujin eventually, still.
She smiles almost awkwardly at you before starting. "I'm gonna be honest, I have no fucking idea what to talk about." She has a puff of air coming out of her mouth.
"It's fine," you scoff, smiling. You notice a puff of air coming out of your mouth as well. "Normally, I don't open myself up, though, so maybe I'll vent to you."
Ryujin laughs, leaning against the stone wall of the restaurant. The faint chatter from inside can be heard. "Thanks for trusting me," Ryujin says.
You just smile back at Ryujin, leaning against the stone wall beside her.
The silence goes on for a while. It's not suffocating â not the case of it's appropriate to say something. You notice that Yeji doesn't come out to get you back inside, but you don't raise your concern to Ryujin. Your body is still shivering in the cold, and Ryujin seems to notice it. She moves a little closer as if to warm you with her body.
You feel her warmth.
"Do you have a partner back home?" Ryujin cuts through the tranquil.
Mind in disarray, you answer succinctly, "I did."
She looks at you with a small sigh. "Sorry about that."
You scoff, turning to her as well. "It's fine â almost two years now. If anything, I'm a better person because of that."
"I used to have someone like that too â pre-debut," Ryujin says. "Life gets in the way, kind of thing. I'm sure yours is worse still."
You chuckle dryly. "It's not a competition. Don't invalidate your feelings," you assure her in the drunken stupor, moving closer towards her body a little more until your shoulders touch each other. Her eyes are a mix of longing and sadness. It's almost as if she's about to bawl in front of you, and you can do nothing but give her a warm smile against the cold air.
"You're so fucking sexy when you tell me that, you know?" Ryujin suddenly says, almost a scowl, and you just giggle, almost timidly. It's awfully forward, but you decide to ride the wave.
"Never counted you as a feeler," you reply with a tilt of your head, getting witty and brave to shoot a banter all of a sudden.
"I think more than feel, of course," Ryujin tells you. "But I'm not emotionally inept â suppressed, more like."
"Sorry to hear that."
Ryujin scoffs, "It's fine." She glances around her â the empty street, the buildings, the lights â and you do so as well, looking around until your eyes meet each other's. It's not the most magical moment you've ever been through â moderately drunk in the cold air. It's nice to have someone by your side at least, looking into your pupils and giving you the much-needed warmth.
"Do you wanna make out?" Ryujin utters. There are no signs of embarrassment or second thought on her face. You're not too shocked either. It's as if kissing celebrities is a normal occurrence for you.
You laugh quietly before responding with another question, "Do you do this often?"
"Making out?"
"Isolating an intern from abroad before, yeah, making out with them."
"You're the first man."
"Not the first person?"
Ryujin smiles awkwardly before propelling herself off the wall. She wraps her arms around your neck, slightly shaken from the alcohol. You see her cheeks flushing red under the nocturnal streetlights. "You're gonna judge me for that? Do I have to boo you again?"
You giggle in front of her, eliciting a mutual laugh back from Ryujin. Her breath smells of grapes. You're sure that yours is the same. The image is not as sensual as portrayed in the films, but it's certainly tangible.
"What if someone walks out and mistakes this for an affair?" you raise a concern, though half-hoping that Ryujin will just shut you up with her lips already.
"You're just quoting bullshit," she dismisses mischievously, apparently catching your tribute to a niche community. "Also, I don't plan on getting attached, since I won't be the only one having you."
You blink consciously, a tad surprised by the notion. Still, you're too hellbent on having Ryujin's grape-flavored tongue inside your mouth, so you tease, "You have me tonight, though."
Ryujin pouts with an aw, and she kisses you, like that.
She enters your mouth with little to no resistance from your body. Her tongue sweeps around the inside of your orifice, spreading her grape-ish taste and tasting your grape-ish taste simultaneously. Your hands cup her face gently, feeling the warmth of her cheeks. You're then pushed back up against the wall by Ryujin's sheer strength, and the act becomes even hungrier. She moans needily into the kiss, eliciting whines from your vocal cords. Your body shivers from the concoction of cold temperature and Ryujin's searing lips. You cannot think properly with everything that's going on, but your body is working on its own accord â flushing, shaking, moaning. You're so love-struck right now.
Ryujin gets a tad friskier with her hands, traveling down your frame from the back of your neck. She finds your arms. She finds your waist. She finds your thighs, and she gives them a totalitarian squeeze. You jolt, of course, and she chuckles against your lips.
Suddenly, with her core strength, Ryujin lifts you up against the stone wall of the restaurant. You yelp helplessly against her mouth. Still, you can't help but melt into her completely, submitting entirely to her.
"Wrap your legs around me, baby boy," Ryujin half-slurs, half-commands. You follow instantly, and Ryujin holds onto your supple ass firmly, using her body to push you up against the surface. Your cock twitches wantonly under the thick fabric of your pants, so eager to be freed and stimulated even more. It's pressed between your body and her taut abs. Never have you been pinned against the wall and wrapped your legs around someone like this. It's an utterly brand-new experience â one that you begin to appreciate more and more with the passing seconds.
"Ryujin," and a needy moan into the kiss. The lack of control over your body is awfully evident here, and you're more than ecstatic to let Ryujin take your place. Her lips taste of grape and a bit of smoke from the meat and vegetables. She gropes your rear authoritatively, not giving you an area to protest against her reign.
"God, you have such a nice ass," Ryujin hums, trailing her kisses to your cheeks and making you moan whorishly in Seoul's nocturnal air. She bites your ear with her lips. That's your erogenous spot, apparently, and you just collapse weakly into her. Ryujin is carrying your body now. It's a good thing that you're rather light for her. Then, she finds your neck, sinking her teeth into your skin playfully, almost dangerous in drawing blood. You find satisfaction in her acts, at least.
She keeps planting her kisses on parts of your face for a few more heartbeats until you hear a sound of clinking coming from the inside. The two of you are reminded of the party going on in the diner, and you're the first to come to your rational senses.
"Ryujin, we should, fuck," you stutter out weakly as she bites your lips. "We should go back inside."
Ryujin gives your lower lip a final tug before letting it go. "Yeah, we really should," she agrees with a chuckle, and she slowly lowers you down onto the floor. You let your feet settle on the asphalt surface of the street, and you feel like you can breathe and see things properly again.
You adjust your clothes a bit, doing your best to avoid raising suspicion from other employees. Ryujin does so as well, tugging at her coat hurriedly, setting her hair to its former state.
"Do we go back in together?" you ask with a little bit of nervousness.
Ryujin scoffs, "They'll know, definitely."
"Maybe," you cut her off, making Ryujin laugh heartily.
She continues, "They won't say a thing, though. Don't worry."
"If you say so."
â
The people at your table just exchange glances and giggle at one another. You're not giving them a harsh stare, but just smile and blink awkwardly at them as you sit back down beside Yeji. The sound of food sizzling reverberates through the air as Ryujin sits back in her seat as well.
"I didn't smoke," Ryujin starts, picking up a piece of meat with her tongs. "He didn't smoke."
"It's unhealthy!" you add. "No cigarettes or vapes involved in cultural exchange."
"That's encouraging, baby boy," Yuna jokes, and a wave of drunken laughter erupts from everyone at the table but you and Ryujin. You two can only look at each other as you wait for the hilarity to dissipate into the air.
â
With all the shakiness in the world, "So, you do smoke?"
Stern, "Vaped â past tense."
Ryujin's bed creaks weakly under her movement â mostly as a result of her hips thrusting.
For what happens between you two, it's the similar steps: making out, stripping off, lying down. The path from her door to the bed is smooth. Her room is damn tidy. Your clothes are all over the floor now, though. You don't flag the current activity as bizarre, just that it's your first time doing this with someone else.
Your back is lying against Ryujin's mattress, arching up each time the tip of her silicone cock jabs at your prostate. The moniker rolls off your tongue so easily as your asshole is being plowed open.
"Daddy."
You do this cute little quiver every once in a while when your G-spot is attacked at the perfect angle. Your real cock twitches pathetically, spewing droplets of precum out of its slit, painting your tummy with your juice. Ryujin's face hovers above yours, just centimeters away. Her breath still smells of grape soju from the restaurant with each exhale, mouth slightly agape to let out sinful moans. She looks into your eyes with hunger and desire to conquer you wholly, and the best part is: you just let her take all of you like that.
Ryujin cups your face tenderly, still thrusting her plastic dick into your untouched warmth. "Daddy's loving this virgin boypussy so much," she coos. "Taking my girlcock so well."
You don't reply, instead letting your eyes roll into the back of your head with each of Ryujin's thrusts. There are soft, pitiful whines leaving your mouth rather weakly. You feel a tad cold from the strap-on's length splitting your hole open, though Ryujin's body is warming you up nicely. Your legs are opening wide to accommodate the sheer girth of her cock. You want to be witty and sharp under her â a power bottom â but all that comes out is just a whorish moan.
The pleasure isn't one-way. There's this little nub on the other side of the harness pressing against Ryujin's clit. She's indulging in the pleasure as much as you are, just with less outward expression â small stutters, soft moans, shaking limbs. You want to reach out for her pert breasts sitting above your chest, but the pleasure of being penetrated by the silicone phallus is just too much for you to dictate a movement. Her chocolate-colored nipples have already hardened from the power that she holds over you, and you can only alternate your eyes between those pebbles and her face.
"The other girls are going to love you so much if you keep this up," Ryujin says airily, a hint of exhaustion in her tone. It sparks a bit of curiosity in your mind about the identity of the other women, though.
Ryujin's hips make contact with your ass at each loving thrust, creating these sounds of flesh smacking into each other that echo all over her room. Your body keeps trembling under her every time her cock jabs at your core, and she just smiles cheerfully at the pleasure of having you converted into her baby boy. It feels heavy â each attack on your prostate â but you hold on against the urge to cum all over yourself.
"Who are the other girls, Daddy?" you ask with your feeble, completely pathetic voice. Your hands grip the bedsheets tightly, creating these crumples in the fabric.
Ryujin chuckles at your question above you, and she just kisses you as an answer. Her tongue pushes yours back into your mouth with ease, sweeping the leftover taste of grape soju from the surface. Her hand cups your face lovingly in the soft moonlight from outside, shining through the window. She ups her pace by an ante, thrusting her synthetic cock into your tight asshole a tad quicker. At this speed, you almost lose control over your pliant physique â loosening grips, quivering limbs, rolling eyes.
She pulls back, satisfied with the kiss after a short while. A thin string of saliva clings to both of your lips â a link in the space between you. "Daddy's keeping it a surprise," Ryujin responds teasingly, licking her lips to taste you â still the grape soju. You whine needily at the view.
With Ryujin's intensity in splitting your asshole open, your orgasm arrives dangerously quickly. You feel the doom building up in your nerves down below, and you just have to announce, "Cumming, Daddy."
Ryujin just smiles â not rushing, not slowing down. She keeps her fervor steady, building you up towards the precipice under the soft moonlight.
"Daddy!"
Ryujin stuffs your mouth with her fingers, stifling the ecstatic wails from disturbing her bandmates, and your entire body goes stiff as your cock shoots ropes of cum out. It's painting your tummy and chest white. Your eyes roll into the back of your head with the surmounting pleasure wracking through your frame. Some of your semen lands on Ryujin's stomach and chest. She keeps pumping her hips into your ass to coax all of your juice out, and the result is your length twitching pitifully under her â drops into droplets that drizzle out of your slit. And as your orgasm subsides, all that's left is your cock leaking the last few globs of sperm down its length.
Ryujin laughs tenderly at the sight of your naked body utterly ruined by her fake cock, mouth sucking her fingers submissively. She languidly drags her phallus out of your asshole, and you can feel yourself expanding and contracting around her needily. It leaves you with a soft pop, lube spilling onto the mattress. Your warmth feels so empty without her filling it to the brim.
"Daddy," you mumble weakly against her digits, prompting Ryujin to pull them out of your mouth. All that leaves your mouth is a soft whimper, though.
Ryujin pulls your cheek playfully. "Who's Daddy's little cockslut?" and a hum.
"I'm Daddy's little cockslut," you respond, still weak in your tone. Your eyes slowly settle back into their normal positions, and you see her smile at you in a mix of hunger and affection.
"Good boy," Ryujin coos, giggling above you. She then plants her lips on your forehead fondly. Warmth blooms from the spot. "Let's take a shower together."
"Are you gonna fuck my ass again, Daddy?" you ask, mind still hazy with lust and complete compliance.
Ryujin purses her lips, thinking for a heartbeat. "Eat Daddy's cunt first, okay?" She caps the sentence off with a firm squeeze of your ass before getting off of you, and you feel like you can breathe properly again.
"Come here, baby," and Ryujin pulls your arm, getting you up from the mattress. You muster every ounce of your energy left to stand up in front of Ryujin, and you trudge after her into the bathroom.
â
A cunnilingus and a pegging in the shower later, you're lying on the bed together, facing each other with only the outside light illuminating your features.
"How's quitting smoking going?"
"Not good," and Ryujin giggles.
You don't bother putting your clothes back on, but let the heater and each other warm your body in the frosty night. Ryujin's expression makes it clear that she's still in the high of fucking your pretty asshole and gushing her juice all over your face. Her mouth smells of mint toothpaste now. The two of you figure just to share her toothbrush. Your finger circles around her dusky nipple gently, and Ryujin lets out a quiet whimper from time to time in pleasure.
"I started a few months after the debut, and Yeji found out because of my bad breath. I smoked like two packs a day. She helped me keep it a secret, though," Ryujin recounts, hand caressing your face affectionately. "Then I switched to vapes during SNEAKERS."
"Oh, yeah, I remember that."
Ryujin chuckles. "Yeah, and then I forgot to hide it one day. News was out and stuff, so I've been trying to quit it since."
You sigh, hand moving to her cheek now. "I appreciate you for trying in the first place."
"Really?"
"Really."
Ryujin smiles, receptive to your words. "Thanks."
You smile back at her, and you lean in for a kiss â a peck on her lips. It feels less passionate than the earlier making out sessions, but it's still surely sincere from the bottom of your heart.
"So, like, I'm being passed around you girls now?" you ask.
"If you do consent, then yeah!" Ryujin answers. "You can be a whore for the next few months if you want."
You consciously blink at her statement â whore. Not that you're going to say no at the chance of having sex with your hot co-workers during internship, though.
Taylor's Version because we're cultured here. For my @usedpidemo <3
Sorry for being gone. It will happen again.
âIt isnât rocket science,â snaps Wonyoung, âso just tell me whatâs better: this hot pink top or this baby pink one?â
You stare at the clothes hanging from the idol's fingers. Youâre not colorblind by any means, but the two shirts look exactly the same to you. No differing hue, no richer brightness. If you picked up a spyglass to observe further, youâd still be the same oblivious man.
âWonyoung, I donât know,â you say. You really donât. Itâs the same truth youâd profess with a gun cocked to your temple. The mournful would know you were a martyr of honesty. âIâm a guy. I donât usually choose between crop top number one and crop top number two.â
She sighs, lowering the hangers. âThis isnât a crop top. Itâs a baby tee.â
âSomeone just fucking kill me.â
Amuse dances on Wonyoungâs expression, something the face mask canât veil. She likes pissing you off more than the world does. But at the end of the day, youâre the only guy sheâd allow to be friends with her. It traces back to playground daysâon the swing, fingers linked.
You look around. All the clothes hanging from the racksâdresses, crop tops (baby tees?), knitted Bangkok coordinatesâshare the same primary color. What the fuck was Wonyoung going on about?Â
She slips an arm through the looped curve of your own. Her heels click as sheâs leading you away from the hell of hyperfemininity, which just so happens to be her trademark. Not yours, though. Which is what makes this a problem. Which adds to the millions of other problems you have.
âIâm sorry,â she says. This is a tone of voice a friend uses when itâs time: sincere and loving. Wonyoungâs a good friend, your best friend. âI thought I was keeping your stress away fromâŠâ
The sentence fades out. Wonyoung avoids your eyes. You look down at your shoes. Hate it or love it, the girl you care about more than anyone else is fueling your emotions.Â
Sheâs not Wonyoung, as many people like to believe. Youâre surprised, too. When you were twelve, Wonyoung was the most beautiful girl in the world to youâjust not the one youâd end up with. This girl who has your heartâs taken her Aphrodite place and needs a mask to hide her identity, too.Â
The love of your life, An Yujin. Twenty years old, K-pop idol for longer than youâre able to fathom, and just about everything. It would take hours to list everything Yujin has going on. And although you know each one, it doesnât stop you from longing.
You think about her all the time and sometimes, you pray that you donât so the pain wonât splinter your heart.
âWonyoung.â Youâre tired.
âIâm sorry.â
The world is keen on keeping you in shreds. You see a mother and father shopping with their kid. The little boy has the same dimpled smile as your girlfriend. If only Yujin wanted to actually love you. Thereâs another young couple taking pictures in front of the wide mirror. Their arms are around each other, photo-ready for Instagram. Meanwhile, Yujin only posts about her ambassadorships.Â
Wonyoung doesnât look at the price tags when she places the tops on the cashier counter. The cashier thankfully doesnât recognize her. If he did, he didnât show it at all. She slaps a black card into his hand and soon, youâre exiting the outlet. Thank god for it. You were sure you were slowly dying.
But it isnât the shopping or the commute or the cash thatâs killing you. Itâs her absence. Are you just a fan again? Feeding on a relationship thatâs almost as nonexistent as it used to be?
âAre you deaf?âÂ
Raise your head. Youâre still in the mall. The crowd bustles between you and Wonyoung, whoâs looking at you weirdly.
âWhat?â you ask.
âI asked if you wanted ice cream.â
Oh. You clear your eyes with a blink, then realize youâre in front of an ice cream truck. Pink and white and pretty, a menu of everything delicious, and a childlike joy in the customersâs faces.
Sure is what you say. If thatâll keep my mind off her is what you donât.
Wonyoung asks for the largest ice cream. For a girl whose physique is slim and toned, she loves to eat. You picked the habit up from her, too, but you canât stand making her pay for your own food. A mini cup it is.
You donât realize your silence. Itâs naturalâlike taking another breath, like taking another look at your phone to see if sheâs messaged you.Â
The stretch of quietness leaves you time to ponder. The sweetness fills your mouth and you can only think that there are other people sweeterâsomeone with a smile worth gold and a playfulness you never get tired of. Itâs not worth the trouble; you doubt that she thinks of you as often as she crosses your mind. She probably doesnât at all.
âItâs okay if you donât wanna talk about it,â Wonyoung adds, thumb stroking the red long spoon. âSo we can just eat here and call it a day. Quick and simple.â
Yeah right.
You release a sarcastic huff of breath. The soft hills of the ice cream are delicious but none go in your mouth. âItâs fine,â you mutter. âItâs not like I have anyone to go home to.â
Every day consists of mourning and longing for a girl who isnât even dead. Sheâs everywhere in KoreaâTV screens, advertisements, large tarpaulins, shop standeesâbut the only place she canât be is by your side.Â
Sheâs always with you if you count your phone wallpaper being a stolen picture of her. But besides that, itâs like sheâs gone. Cremated in an urn and thrown into the ocean. Sheâs left you behind for good.
Wonyoung puts down her cup. Sincerityâs evident on her face. âYou have to understand⊠itâs really not all on her.â
Sure, it isnât. But itâs hard not to put the blame on someone when the other side of the bed is empty. When your phoneâs full of messaged apologies and I-love-yous that donât mean anything. Itâs fucking draining.Â
You laugh. Nothingâs funny. âAre you saying itâs my fault?â you ask.
âOf course not.â
âSo what the hell do you suggest I do?âÂ
Your voice comes out louder than you expect. Eyes dig holes into your being. Your conversation is a song everyone wants to listen to. Theyâll pick it apart, formulate theories, and wonder whoâs the featured artist.Â
Wonyoungâs face is full of sadness. You hate that she worries about you the way she would a child. You donât need parental comfort and a âget well soonâ balloon; you need Yujin. And that alone guarantees a wave of pity.
âWell?â you prompt her. Sheâs got a lot to say, and now sheâs refusing to speak about Yujin.
She doesnât continue.
Lower your tone, for both your sakes. You donât want a fight to break out here. And she doesnât need attention when sheâs already got enough as an idol.Â
Your false smile cracks and you donât think you can hide the depth of your sadness. In this busy mall, you want to make a scene. Not just a scene, but one that involves a little illegality, which you no doubt would have done if you were raised differently.
You want to tear at the nearest manâs throat. Have him choke, slowly die, and leave his blood as a warning to everyone. His veins would be all over the floor.
You want to break the porcelain plate of banana split over a kidâs head, just to see his cracked skull. Nobody can be happy if you arenât. There isnât a treat that would fill the hole in your heart like Yujin does.
You want to hurt anybody, everybody, to make up for your own thatâs starting to corrupt your mind.
âWe can have this conversation again and again,â you manage, choking up tears, âand she still wonât come home to me.â
Wonyoung looks down at her lap. Thereâs two perspectives here: yours and Yujinâs. She knows her bandmateâs side better as someone whoâs going through the same. She canât play both roles, choose whoâs the victim and villain.Â
Sheâs utterly defeated. But she tries to make you get it. âIt wonât be like this forever,â Wonyoung says quietly.
Forever is months of a long distance relationship. Youâre in the same country but with the way she never visits and neither do you, you might as well be on the other side of the globe. Itâs always texts that go unreplied, occasional pictures reacted to with a heart, that kind of stuff. Always no Yujin, always you looking for her.
Youâre a puppy searching for his owner. Youâre lost, lost, lostâall while Yujinâs found fame and success. But you donât need that. You need her.
It looks like fame is more attainable.Â
You lift your shoulders. Blink back your tears. âSure looks like it.â
Wonyoung takes your hand. Her gaze is soft. âSheâll perform with me at a festival sometime next week. Iâll take care of her, pull some strings, let you guys have some time together. Right now, she just needs space.â
Space. Okay. You can do that.
A flash of lightning cracks too close. No storm on the forecast though. Embedded in the illumination, you think you saw Yujinâs face. You see her face everywhere actuallyâeven when sheâs not there.
Turn to the empty third chair beside you. If you opened your eyes wider and wished harder, would she come? Or would she be another figment of your imagination?
-
Things werenât always like this. Once upon a time, Yujin was a love you could go back to. You met everyday, ate together everyday, talked everyday. Youâre glad you were there for her after IZ*ONEâs disbandment, a great loss for K-pop.Â
She sat beside you in the practice room. Gorgeous. Thatâs what she was. Yujin was the first love of your life, and the only one. She was pretty back then, too. She had that kind of friendly beautyâit started platonically, but oh, if you were to fall, it wasnât a surprise.Â
Somebody take me back.
Her hair was long and brown, your knuckles sliding down on it. She was dressed in baggy clothes that made her look small despite her height. You couldnât fall more in love.
âIâm sorry about the⊠you know,â you said, before stopping to place an arm around her shoulder and kissing her. âI know you donât want to talk about it, but how are you?â
âThings can be better,â Yujin said with a shrug. âWeâd be having our world tour, if things went differently.â
âDamn, Covid was a bitch, huh?â
Then, despite it all, Yujin laughedâthat beautiful, loud laugh which made her eyes crease and the cute dimple show. You poked it, and she leaned into you once more, just how you liked it.
She nodded. The remaining parts of her giggles fought their way out of her. âYeah.â Her eyes locked on the door of the room, as if expecting eleven girls to come back in. She wasnât laughing anymore. âYeah.â
Her voice faded out. Dreams were there. A bigger discography was on the way, a last in-person concert was supposed to happen. Each was crushed by circumstance. Yujin was not. She withstood every battle and came back holding a bigger sword each time.
Itâs not to say it was easy.
âI canât believe it ended that quickly.â Her sweet and remorseful smile made your heart crack. âOne minute I was fifteen meeting all these cool girls, then Iâm all grown up and theyâre gone.â
She had to move past it. Experience battered her into maturity but she still yearned for younger days. You knew that feeling well. Barely young but barely old. You didnât know it at that time, but it was the perfect balance. Youth was right there while adulthood waited patiently. Things went by fast and yet it didn't matter. You had each other.
âYou know who wonât be gone?âÂ
âWho?â Yujin propped her chin on your shoulder. Her eyes glimmered with repressed tears. Â
You thumbed away one that let go from the side of her mouth. âMe.â
-
You keep your promises as hard as you can, even if it hurts you.
-
You | Hey baby. Good luck on the music show!
Still nothing. You sent it today, eagerly waiting for her appearance on TV. But Yujin left no sign that she got your text.Â
So, nothing unusual.
You sit down and try to assure yourself. Thatâs fine. Yujinâs fine. She just needs space. She needs to focus on her job where people focus on her and she canât focus on you. Okay. Itâll be alright. It hurts, but if itâs how things should go, do you have any other choice?
The song comes on. The show is dark red with the background playing a looped animation. Itâs a heart, stabbed with an arrow over and over. How familiar. The girls are beautiful, as always. Preppy but kitsch outfits were chosen for them to perform in. The varsity jackets cinematically slip off their arms and the skirts sway like they were paid to look that good.Â
Smile, because this is what Yujin loves doing the most: dancing and singing for a crowd. She gave everything up for this. She deserves all this love, and she knows it. Her confidence is the sexiest thing about her.
âBaddie, b-b-baddie baddieââÂ
Thatâs your cue. Youâre on the edge of your seat. Youâll cheer for her, even from afar.
However, itâs⊠not her.
The voice and backtrack are different. Another girlâs taken her place. Sheâs tall and pretty, too. She performs the line with overflowing charisma, but sheâs not Yujin. She could never be Yujin.Â
You | uh
Wonyoung
Whereâs Yujin???
You take no interest in the stage playing out before you. Your only concern is where their best member is.Â
The response takes painful hours. Itâs a live stage, so of course you have to wait till itâs over. But everything feels so wrongâthe catchy beat doesnât sound quite as good when Yujinâs rich voice isnât playing over it.Â
Wonyoung | i thought she was with you? what are youu talking about?
Yujin definitely isnât with you. But she needs space. Besides, itâs nothing out of the ordinary. She might have just needed to visit family that would be announced by the company later. Nothing worth the panic.
But as you look at the screen, you canât help but feel a little pain in your heart. Like grief that happens a few days in advance.
-
Wikihow doesnât offer a proper guide in dealing with a girlfriend like Yujin. Youâve resorted to articles, to YouTube videos, to question forums. None of them help you out.
They say, in order to make the long-distance relationship better, you should communicate.
Yujin doesnât reply to your messages. Theyâre always left in the conversation without a read receipt, or even a simple reaction.
They say to gift her flowers and sweet things, all through a trusted courier.
The staff always throw them out. They probably think youâre a crazy fan.
They say to let it take time.Â
She never shows up. Letting it take time means that itâll happen. But you only meet her twice a month, if youâre lucky. This timeâyou havenât seen her in person at all.
But, like a dog waiting for its owner to unleash it, you wait.
Perhaps a couple nearing the parts of their journey where they crash and go up in flames. The police would be too late.
âOkay,â said Yujin. She crossed her arms and leaned back into the detailed metal chair. âNot to be, like, you know, a nosey bitch or anything. But youâre awfully dismissive.â
Charming. âAnd you arenât?â you fired back.
The thing about you and Yujin is that you could beat around the bush for days. She would ignore you, give blunt answers, and keep to herself. You would go around for a drive, sleep in a separate room. Itâs all fair and square. She doesnât bother with you, why should you?
In the end, however, you have to come to a conclusion. It isnât pretty.Â
âBabe, if this is about those MC partners I have,â she told you, sounding every bit the nonchalant partner you made obvious she was, âbe a little mature. Itâs a job. It pays.â
That was all that mattered to her. She grew up to be the breadwinner of her family and now the feel of paper in her palms was all she looked for.Â
You looked past her. The sidewalks and pedestrian lanes were full of people, from all walks of life. There were many women who were kinder than Yujin in the masses. So why did you stay?
âI told you, your shit security guard hasââÂ
You paused. Something just hit you. It was a slap that messed up all the curves and chemistries in your brain.Â
âThey bring you flowers?â
Thatâs your thing with her. Yours. You bet that sheâs more confident posting the bouquets some stupid florist made for her than the ones you handpicked. Always left in the dust, always turned away.
Yujin rolled her eyes then took a sip of her drink. âThere he goes.â
She didnât see it in the same light you did. You got the thing about keeping the relationship a secret. You knew that. Yet what was better here, a rumor with a fellow idol or someone unknown?Â
She gave no fucks about it at all. There she drank the overpriced coffee and looked at you casually. Yujin was ashamed of you, and she hid it so badly it was laughable.
âThanks for being such an empath,â you said.
âAnytime.â
âDo I seriously mean that little to you?â
âI never said that. Youâre the one getting your panties twisted over some sunflowers.â
âYour favorite flowers. Maybe if you showed a little more gratitude to the ones I get you than the crap they paid a florist toââ
Yujin sighed loudly. âFor fuckâs sake.âÂ
She slammed her cup down on the table. The plastic cover was no soldier to the pressure and let the brown liquid explode all over the surface. The open design of the white table let the coffee spill on your pants.
You were horrified. Everyone was looking at you. You drew a crowd every time you were out with Yujin and for no good reason.Â
âIâm tired of every conversation, every conversation we have turning into another fight.â Her chair creaked as she shoved it up to the ruined table. You flinched again. The aggressiveness wasnât the only thing that scared youâshe had this snow-cold tone that made you melt in all the wrong ways. âSo if you want to say something thatâs actually not trash about my job, say it now.â
You held her glare for a while. It was a new record. It was deadly, the expressionless plaque of her face. Her teeth were clenched, her whole being was tense, and all the strength she had was spoken through her eyes. You lost at keeping it.
The lurk of silence felt longer than the hours the moon was in the sky. Yujin waited. Perhaps she wanted you to speak. She smiled bitterly. Whatever response she expected, it didnât come.
âThought so.â She licked coffee off her thumb and let her hair be the last thing you saw of her.)
-
And wait.
(Yujin smiled when you saw her again. She threw her arms around your neck, kissed you, too.Â
You never forgot what happened. You didnât want to bring it upâshe was so happy that it infected you, too. Still, flashbacks of that moment churned in your head as she picked away at her favorite food and joked around.
âIâm a terrible cook,â she said. She forked a burnt broccoli in the air and shook her head in amusement. âI canât believe you still eat it.â
âSomeone has to.â
Her smile was beautiful. Then, broccoli to your lips, she said âIâm happy youâre here,â and it was better again.)
-
And wait.
(Whoâs surprised? It all went down once more.
You never told anyone that sometimes, you were tired of it.)
-
And wait.
(What now?)
-
âThatâs the nineteenth time you checked your phone.â Sunghoon leans forward on the floor, thumbs mashing into the controller. He shoots you a look. âYep, I counted.â
Youâre that in love with Yujin. No surprise at all. That doesnât stop the red in your ears though.
She still hasnât texted you back. No calls were made, which goes the same for TV appearances. No tall girl is spotted amongst a group of five. She isnât there to brighten up the set with her clever jokes or charisma.Â
You text her continuously. Sometimes you try not to sound so desperate, so you space the messages between hours. That doesnât work, because Yujin is still nowhere.
âExcuse me for being concerned for my girlfriend,â you say. In the darkness of your apartment, sheâs the only one who can light it up.Â
Sunghoon shuts the game down. Heâs losing the game while youâre losing your mind. You two have your own battles.
It really shouldnât be this painful having her gone. Youâre to blame; you bought into it knowing you werenât built for this kind of relationshipâthe one where you scrawl and yell while she couldnât give a fuck if she were forced to. Her love for you is highly debatable, and youâre still here, waiting for that to change.
How did you and Yujin become a couple if you only hurt each other?
âSheâs been MIA for like a week. Not counting the months I havenât met up with her.â Your gaze keeps dashing to your phone. Youâll stand by forever if you had to, but that doesnât make it easier. âIâm allowed to be worried, right?â
Sunghoon nods. âBut that doesnât mean you have to stay.â
âWhat?âÂ
He releases a thinly patient breath. You remain oblivious to whatever heâs referencing.Â
âDude,â he stresses, a hand in his hair, âI donât have shit for brains. I know that you and Yujin fight like animals.âÂ
You wince. The elders were right. The truth hurts.
You and your girlfriend argue so much youâd think youâve been married for sixty years. Sheâs a fierce woman who wonât let down an opinion if she believes in it that much. On the other hand, you wonât stop at anything to have her hold faith on your side. The walls are thin and let everyone in the dorm hear your quarrel, including poor Hyunseo. And now, your friend.
You keep your eyes on the desk below your television so you wonât have to look at Sunghoon. And even there you search for her. She could be sitting in your kitchen or studying on the staircase. Anywhere, as long as youâve got her.
He rests himself on the sofa. Thereâs a very small grin on his face. âBut you guys alsoâŠâÂ
You donât reply. Wish you could put your palms on your ears without being obvious. Youâre not sure you want to hear it.
âYou and Yujin.â He turns to you. âYou love like animals, too.âÂ
Itâs a lighter truth, so why are you sad?Â
âItâs kind ofââ Sunghoon cuts himself off with a laugh. âYouâre lovebirds. If sheâs gone, you get so lonely. Youâre gonna die if you donât see her. And I know sheâd do the same.â
You never would have guessed. Yujin doesnât care about you. She doesnât love you either. Her excuses for not visiting are perfectly designed to look like they benefit youââI donât want to disturb youâ; âYou need more sleep.âÂ
Sheâs gotten tired of you.
You lift your head from your hands. âWhat should I do now?â you ask.
This isnât a venomous reply. You actually have no idea how to move forward. Yujinâs so far out of reach that youâre beside yourself, scared and helpless. You canât disturb her schedules and start rumors. You canât text her too much. There arenât choices left for you to navigate. And if there are, you arenât allowed to pick.
You want to curl yourself into a ball and cry yout heart out.
âHello?â Wonyoungâs recognizable voice sounds out from the entrance, interrupting your trainwreck of thoughts.
You sprint from the sofa. Itâs Yujinâs closest friend, the only one who might know where sheâs been. You donât welcome Wonyoung in. You donât say âhiâ or âwhatâs up?â. The first thing you tell her, upon meeting her at the entrance, is the only thing thatâs important to you.
âWhereâs Yujin?â
âHas Yujin visiââ Wonyoung pauses, realizing something. The bump in her throat resurfaces again. âShe isnât here?âÂ
âNo. Sheâs at the dorm, right?âÂ
âOf course not. Yujin hasnât stayed over since our last stage. Her parents said she wasnât at their place.â
Thatâs more than eight days ago.
Seeing your friend isnât so pleasant when you know that the one you love most is gone. Itâs similar for Wonyoung. The horrors roll scene after scene in your minds, each one portraying Yujin in the cruelest of situations. Not everybody loves her purelyâsome of them want to hurt and tear and dehumanize her, and you canât stop it.Â
The sobs build up in your throat. âNo.âÂ
âSomethingâs wrong, somethingâs wrong, somethingâs wrong,â says Wonyoung. Itâs a singsong without the glee. She laughs nervously as she slips her hands in her pockets and looks behind you, as if itâs all just a cruel joke and Yujinâs safe and sound.
You take it all in. This canât be real, but it is. The worst thing that could ever happen has finally unfolded.Â
Sunghoon gets up, but you place a hand in front of him. He canât save his friend from this. You feel yourself melting into the person everyone said you were: a mean, jealous god who reigned over Yujin and held her back.
Take a deep breath. âWhere is she?â
"I don't know!â she cries out. The puzzle is pieced together. Yujin has disappeared, and both of you thought she was still someplace where it mattered. âSheâs not answering my calls. The girls are looking for her. Her familyâs looking for her.â
The fear, buried beneath the arteries of your heart, resurrects in the most cruel way. Its bony hand chokes you in its tight grip. If things went wrong tonight, Yujin would remember the merciless words you let go of the last time you saw her. They might be all sheâd ever remember.
âWonyoung.â You try to breathe. You canât. âWhy didnât you tell me?â
âI thought you knew!â
Youâve never seen Wonyoung this distressed. Sunghoonâs passed your barrier to comfort her, but itâs not going to happen. Sheâs pacing around the room and cursing every vulgarity she knows. And the thing about Jang Wonyoung is that she never, ever swears.
The anger stacks up. You did not just let this happen. All those signsâher being missing from performances, the lack of updatesâyou ignored all of them.Â
âYou promised to take care of her!â you shout. Thereâs no room for shame here. You can yell as loud as you want. Youâve been keeping it in for so long. âThatâs what you said to me, now youâre telling me you lost her?â
Sunghoonâs words go unnoticed. Youâve got your own conversations inside your head. The voices go back and forth, saying youâre a terrible boyfriend, saying youâre the worst match for Yujin. This is why she doesnât love you, they say. This is why sheâd rather go missing than see you.
âIâm not the bad guy here!â Wonyoung almost rips her hair out when she faces you. âIâm trying to help you! Donât you fucking dare pin this on me!â
You and Wonyoung glare at each other. Fierce stares rip at the friendship you nurtured over a girl you both love. Love causes hate and hate causes a flurry of hands and fists. Will you and Wonyoung end up like that, too?
âWonyoung,â Sunghoon says. His voice is surprisingly steady. âCalm down. Check your phone, Yujin might have texted us.â
Too angry to protest, similar to how she was too angry to hear a notification sound, she turns her spiteful eyes from you and on her device.Â
I saw Ahn yujin at the seoul city highway. i was in my car on a road trip so sorry for the blurry pic but shes so pretty in real life!!!! her face is so small ă ă i dont think she's shooting something because she's alone. i dont want to invade D: an yujin im your longtime fan!
â Whatâs she doing all alone????Â
â Yujinieee why do you look sad
â im worried for her, shes famous and a woman. she cant be by herself at night đ
â OVERRATEDâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠâŠ.
â If you didnât want to iNvAdE why did you go on a public forum and share her location? Dumb bitch.
-
You get in your car. While you collected your keys from the door, you sent your girlfriend a total of thirty texts. Yujin hasnât read a single one. You donât care about space anymoreâthatâs the last thing she needs.Â
The night covers the whole of Korea with an eeriness about it. Shiver, closing your jacket around yourself. The cicadas chirp and footsteps click around when no oneâs there. You canât imagine how scared Yujin must be if these are what sheâs going through outside of Seoul, the most dangerous parts.
Place your phone on its holder. Itâs always switched on so you can see her picture. She might be gone physically, but sheâs always there on your screenâeating lunch, looking at you with wide eyes when she realizes youâre taking pictures of her. Sheâs in shows. Articles.Â
Sheâs not dead, but sheâs been gone for so long you wouldâve thought she was.
If you arenât quick enough, she will be.
Before you drive, you text her again. This time around, sheâll see it.Â
You | Yujinnnn how are you?? please reply to me :)iâm coming over right now <3 Iâm just here!
You always are, arenât you? Itâs her whoâs not.
But you get it. It makes sense that she wouldnât want to see you after the last time you met.Â
Yujin was on her phone, (like always), not speaking a word. You brought up to her that you would appreciate it if you two could go on that dream trip you planned.Â
It was the one you formulated when she wasnât in IVE yet, not even IZ*ONE. You were young and passionateâyou had a lot of dreams for yourselves. Being financially stable now compared to those days in Yujinâs practice room, sneaking a little time together, you thought you should go now.
Without looking up, Yujin sighed. âI canât,â she said. âIâm shooting with the members in Jeju. Maybe next time?â
It was always next time. And it never, ever, happened.
âOkay, when are you planning to live up to your promise?â you told her lightly.
Yujin finally unglued her eyes from the screen. You froze. You didnât mean to sound so antagonizing.Â
Yujin set her hands on her hips, standing to meet your level. Sheâs scary when sheâs mad. The cute dimpleâs gone and the brightness from her eyes dissolves. Arguments and silent treatments couldnât train you from the way the nonchalance on her face disappeared. Or remained.Â
An Yujin scares you, and itâs not a laughing matter.
âWhy canât you just wait?â she asked. Her voice was hard as stone. âItâs not that hard. You know I canât get out of it when I signed a contract.â
Shake your head. You try to focus on the road and its twists and turns, but all you can think about is her. When the possibility that things would go wrong actually happens tonight, youâll never forgive yourself.
You hear her yells and excuses in your mind. Always the excuses with Yujin. Ladies and gentlemen, whatâs new?
Remember how you lost all kindness in that moment and started to spew all these hateful words you didnât know the impact of. Your hands tighten on the wheel.
âThat contract didnât say youâre legally required to forget about me.â
âI would never do that!â said Yujin angrily, taking a step closer to you. Despite the comfortable clothes, she looked like she wanted to punch you. Her fists were balled and her jaw was taut. She could do it right now and not regret it. âIâm busy, I canât just show up and say Iâm bailing because of a stupid trip.â
Your mouth had fallen to the floor. How could she say that so easily? It was the first promise you made to each other. Something like that ought to be taken more seriously.Â
âYou think itâsââ No, you couldnât believe it. You wouldnât believe it.
But Yujin nodded with all the conviction there was in the world. Your heart was broken, glass shattered from the hit she blew. âAs stupid as you think my career is.â
Unbelievable. The apartment you two chipped in together suddenly looked like a blur. In your timeline, the minimal stars in the sky were blobs of unfocused light. Cars looked like clear road. It wasnât fair, it wasnât fair. How could she believe something so false?
âWhy the fuck are you putting words in my mouth?â you snapped.
She wore this evil smile that challenged you to not back out for once. Yujin pushed you to your limits and loved it. âAnd why are you such a little bitch about it?â
And you swore you didnât mean it when you took the quest, when you saidâ
âWhy are you my girlfriend if youâre this selfish and unloveable?â
Her arrogance was gone in an instant. Yujinâs retort never came. She bit her lip tightly, fearing her response would be in the form of a sob. It was in these moments that you forgot she cried so easily. You shouldnât have said that. You didnât intend to.
The words were easy to say, but hard to take back. The expression on her face changed. It went from a fiery summer to a hailstorm that didnât want to pour down but the clouds overflowed. There was no other way out. In the close distance, you could hear her breath shudder.
Yujin crept up until you were forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Intimacy was out of the question because of her busyness. You hated that she was the closest sheâs ever been nowâwhen the tears stormed down her eyes, when her face radiated hot anger.
Her finger jabbed into your chest. She hoped its nail would transform into a knife.Â
âFuck you.âÂ
You didnât intend to say what you said, but she did.
She shoved past you and was gone. Her footsteps were loud, crashing down on the floor with the impression that itâs you sheâs running over. She wanted to bury you in the ground so you could never hurt her again. So she could never hurt you again.
The door slammed, and since then, you havenât seen her.
The tear slides down your eye. You canât hold it back anymore. Before you turn at the red light, you leave her a message:
You | And I love you.
My baby <3Â
This is what you meant.
Driving in the night used to be your way of clearing your head. Thereâs less traffic, less civilians, less everything. The moon signaled home for everyone while you wanted to be anywhere else. It isnât such a pastime now. Knowing that Yujin is out there, probably feeling very small and very aloneâit honestly makes you want to kill yourself.
Not the first time she made you think of it.
The grass tumbles with sprinkler wetness. Trees whip past the vision of your sideview mirror. The streetlights cast a shadow over no one. She isnât here.Â
You wonât accept it. Reject all the paths that sheâs been kidnapped and tortured and killed or whatever. Those arenât true. Yujinâs doing well. She just needs a breather so she went out here.
Going on trying is exhausting. Youâve looked everywhere. Youâre already at the darker parts of the highway. The road breaks into the soil and tapers off to the edge of an unprotected cliff.Â
Thereâs no tall girl. Thereâs no love of your life. Considering that she isnât here, sheâs most likely dead. She was put in a sack and thrown off this mountain. And nobody heard her screams.
You lost her. Forever.
Then a shadow of frazzled black hair passes by your window. The exhaustionâs creeping into you, so it might be a hallucination. But then you see the fabric hanging below the womanâs hair.
Itâs your jacket.
You turn the engine off. Its death allows you to jump out of your car, takes one for the team so your girlfriend doesnât have to. All the clues are there and you remain unsure if itâs really Yujin.
Until you see the strained, regretful smile that accents a dimple on her cheek.
Until you see the length of her legs as she sits on the edge.
Until you see her face.
âYujin!â you call out. A murder of crows flies out from your feet as you sprint to her.Â
She whips her head to you. Tears still speck her face but sheâs wearing your jacket and your boxers. Not a wound blemishes her skin.
The relief courses through your blood like lifesaving medicine. Yujinâs safe! Sheâs okay. Her sneakers crash on the plateau. Sheâs missed you, too. The fabric of the jacket lifts to her shoulder as she raises her armâ
âYou shameless motherfucker!âÂ
Yujin brings her hand down and slaps you right in the face. Its brutality brings tears to your eyes yet there are more on hers. Red blooms from where she smacked you. Her round little face is filled with the unholiest anger, the kind the devils would love her for. But she doesnât seek salvationâbecause one after the other, she hits and pushes you backward.
The pain doesnât stop. She doesnât stop. The violence of it allâher hands reddening your skin, the bruises her knuckles leave on your chest, her booming voiceâleaves you speechless. Yujinâs gotten angry, but never this angry.
âFuckâyouâfuck you, fuck you, fuck you!â She says it like a promise, living up to it with accompanying punches to your sore body. Sheâll loathe you till the day you die. Itâs a pledge she makes to all her red flags. âGet out of my life!â
Yujin shoves you into your car hood and beats your stomach with a plummet of fists. Your legs crumple. The resistance is there. Your shoes try to remain glued to the ground and withstand her assault, but youâre too weak. Youâre so dense around Yujin and it doesnât stop at her little seldom glances, her little touches.
It goes right up to every abuseâthe one at your belly, chest, and arms.
The airâs being knocked out of you. Each bout of oxygen you try to take is out of reach. Youâre losing whatâs left inside thanks to Yujinâs cruel punches.Â
Her screams echo through the forest below and the sky above. Not even the crows can stand her beating. They fly away instantly, afraid theyâd be next. Fear is wholly understandable. Yujinâs eyes are alight with bloodthirst.
âStop! Yujin, it hurts!â you scream. You donât want to push her. But if she keeps hitting you like this, youâre leaving the place seriously injured. Thus, youâre forced to knee her in the stomach.Â
And you still donât want her to leave your touch.
Yujin stumbles backwards. She looks at you, not stunned or shocked, but furious. Angry is one thing. It makes people passive-aggressive, makes them curse, makes them snarky. Furious is what gets her to stand up and approach you. Furious is what makes her throat sore from yelling and her abuse go on despite the skinned burn.Â
Sheâs psychoticâsweat beads at her face and her hairâs messy and knotted. What scares you is how sheâs growling. The raspy noises pair with the murderous look in her eyes. Sheâs ready to beat you up again, and you canât run to save yourself.
Yujin hurls into you with a shout, using her height and weight to damage you. Itâs effective. You lose balance and knock into your vehicle again. The metal cuts through your skin. You donât want to retaliate. You wonât stoop that low. However, itâs starting to actually hurt.
Sheâs not a challenge to carry, so why does she feel so heavy right now? Her cries rock your ears like how sheâs ruining your strength. Sheâs beating you down with the goal of leaving you a bloody mess. Yujin wonât stop at anything to reach that.
âYujin!âÂ
The more purple bruises she leaves on your body, the more youâre confused. You put your arms up. Thatâs enough. Yujin yells frustratedly and tries to push through them. So, place your hands on her shoulders tightly. Sheâs a restrained animal, teeth bared and wildness still running through her blood. Her whimpers speak of frustration and her will to go on hurting.
âBaby,â you say, squeezing her, âwhat the hell is going on?â
"Why do you care?â Yujin's sobbing. The tears are plump and fast as sheâs pushing you off her like you didn't even matter. Your touch doesnât console her anymore. It just makes her rabid. "Go rail that bitch, youâre all hers, I don't give a shit."
You donât know what sheâs talking about. All you want to do is wipe the sadness from her face and bandage her wounds. Whatâs stopping that is Yujin herself.
The night is silent except for her heavy pants. Even the crickets are quiet. They seem to be watching and waiting for your next move.Â
Try again: "Yujinâ"Â
"Just go!" Yujin screams. Deafening is not good enough of an adjective to describe her voice. It wrecks your eardrums and you think the trees whistle back because of it. The whole world is static for a minute.
She pins you into the hood of your car again, but then she's suddenly pressed to your form tightly. Her supple body's joined your touch, as if you were always one.
For long seconds, Yujin glares down at you. Her steely eyes force your breaths to shorten. She leaves you breathless in so many waysâin bed, in performances, in the hour where sheâs holding you down after cruelty. Fuck.Â
You stare right back at her. Yujinâs teardrops land on your face, like a perfect kiss. It wonât save you. Instead, itâll kill you. Her fingers gather the fabric of your collar around your throat before she shoves you away.
âForget this ever happened.â She backs off for the first time. Sheâs tired, too. Furiously dabbing at her swollen eyes, Yujin walks away until sheâs at a measured distance where she can actually stand to be with you. âItâs over. It always was.â
Sheâs so⊠small. Yujinâs at a height equal to yours, however, thereâs her legs being too thin for your boxers. Blood streams from a tiny open wound. Your jacket pools around her arms. Her teary face needs the comfort she rejects.Â
You canât bring yourself to accept that this is how she breaks things off with you. She needs you. You need her, the way gasoline needs a lit match to roar into flames, the way a knife needs ill intent to murder.
âPlease. At least tell me whatâs wrong. Youâve been gone for months, Yujin. Months.â
âYou know what you did,â she snarls, holding her bruised knuckles to her chapped lips. âParading around with Wonyoung in public, what were you trying to do? Just because that whore bounces on any dick doesnât mean you have to give in.``
The bricks fall into place. They build a bigger picture where you could see everything. Yujinâs jealous. She thinks youâre cheating on her because you went out with your best friend.Â
Her streak of envy is terrifying. Itâs never gotten to this level though, where your cheek still burns. The same fire in her faceâcurled brows, eyes full of contemptâgrows higher. You canât put it out with water or snow. Itâll eternally be there inside her, waiting to be provoked.
âIs that what this is about?â you laugh. Have to crack a smile to keep from crying.Â
Yujin tilts her head with a cross of her arms. âWhat do you think?â
âOh, I get it. If Iâm jealous because youâre with that rookie idol, itâs bullshit. But when you are, I have to get fucking assaulted.â
Youâre still recovering. Your bodyâs sore and your legs feel like jelly. The lengths Yujin would go to make a point are terrifying.
She sucks in her teeth. âProbably because he isnât my childhood best friend I had my fucking first kiss with.â
âWonyoung and I were five, Yujin. Sheâs a friend. I was helping and spending time with a friend.â
âA friend you went on a cute little ice cream date with?â she asks. âThe one you drove her to even when your car doesnât have goddamned headlights?â
Yujin hammers a foot into said headlights. The lights resurrect and die all over again, flickering in hopes that sheâd give them a chance.
How does she know about that outing? Someone must have recognized Wonyoung that day. You need to file a lawsuit against whoever took a picture. They caused Yujinâs spiral into insanity. Thatâs reason enough for the judge to hammer down justice.
Thumbs pressing behind her ears, she screams as loud as she can. She wants to cause an earthquake thatâll eliminate everybody, including herself. Let the mountains fall on her. At least the last thing that hurt her wonât be you.Â
âIs she your girlfriend now? Is that what you went to her for: help? Forget it.â She rubs her scarlet eyes. Theyâve seen things you canât understand wellâa love she thought was hers only. âIâm not stupid, and Wonyoung isn't better than me. You couldâve texted, called, anything.â
âYujin,â you reply quietly. âIf I did, would you have come?â
You could hear the labor of her breaths, the whip of a crowâs wings. Yujinâs speechless. Sheâs not as sinless as she thinks she is. You neglected her and she did, too.Â
And, as expected, you let her go without an apology.
âP-plus, I bet my life theyâre gonna say the same thing: Wonyoung and I are just friends. Thatâs it.â
âYou didnât call her unloveable or selfish? Wow, you really are a match made in heaven.â
Flustered: âThatâs not howââ
Itâs your turn to be quiet. You didnât realize the impact of your words. They hit her harder than her punches did to you. Blood wonât seep yet thereâs an ache inside her heart youâve planted forever.
You see the shape of Yujinâs mouth quiver. No, you can still fix this. This doesnât have to be the end.
Is it still salvageable when sheâs already breaking down? Her whines ricochet and sheâs crying into the sleeve of the jacket, your jacket. Sheâs utterly hopeless. She needs someone. You arenât an option anymore.
She doesnât look up from the road. One finger pointed to the car, Yujin says one thing:
âGo.â
Itâs all she tells you. Sheâs ready for it to be over. Youâre too intense. Sheâs gone, you cry. Youâre gone, she floods the world with her tears and leaves no survivors. You fight her, she replies with a hit in the face. When she fights you, you fight as a soldier would. Your schedules collide and result in no sweet dates, no time together. You just werenât meant for each other.
You feel like crying, too. Refuse to believe that the girl you were with ever since the two of you were teenagersâthe girl you comforted before she took the risk to become who she wanted, the girl in the trainee headcountâisnât for you. Itâs so wrong.Â
Shake your head. âNever,â you murmur.
"I swear to god, leave me alone. You know what? Leave Wonyoung alone, too. She doesn't want a bastard who sticks like glue to other girls."
âI donât want her. I donât want anyone else but you.â
Sheâs so perfect. Yujinâs fingers bleed from hitting you and her face is puffy with dried tears, yet she looks beautiful to you. How could you not? Sheâs got that sweet puppy love smile, that soft heart thatâs so easy to love but so easy to break. You wonât fall for anything else.
Yujin scoffs. âHow fucking romantic.âÂ
Romance. What a dead thing. Its corpse is still lying around and waiting for tears to turn to shy smiles it used to provoke. Thereâs only Yujinâs bleeding fists, dry pout, and your presence. A presence she doesnât want.
She turns her back to you and faces the round moon in the sky. Its bright light on her, Yujin laughs into it tauntingly. She wordlessly relays her complaints to it and all of them are about you. How dare it watch idly and not let the sun take its place?Â
âYouâre a liar,â she spits. âWhat about me is worth loving?â
Maybe you werenât enough. You loved and loved and loved her and she still doesnât want to see the truth. You shouldâve made a way to surprise her after shows. You shouldâve hugged her and told her you want her rather than expecting her to know it.
âYouâre an angel.â Youâre near tears. Youâll fight tooth and nail for her to believe you. âYouâre such a hard worker and you get me through stuff when I donât think I can anymore. Iâm sorry if I never told you that.â
Yujin sniffles while you pause. Thereâs more things you need to apologize for. All the times you spoke before you thought, all the times you said something you didnât mean in the heat of the moment.
âAnd⊠andâŠâ Swallow your pride. âIâm sorry if I told you anything else.â
Her shoulders shake. You donât know how much that means to her. Her doubts are numberless and you just alleviated them, even for a little while. You donât notice that youâre crying, too.Â
âYou have this gorgeous smile, your pretty bare face and I fall for it every damn time. Youâre so adorable, baby. I think about you everyday.â
âIt doesnât work like that. Iâm batshit insane.â Yujinâs inching closer and closer to the edge. She raises her hands and slams them back down on her sides. âIâm always mad, always gone, and always such a fucking bitch to you.â
âThen youâll just have to fix that.â
âWhy?â
Everyday you play a losing game against her when youâre not supposed to be opponents. You scratch and tear but itâs all out of desperation, a dog-like want to be told itâs loved. Lies have been said and the wounds have been made, but this is what you mean after all this time.Â
âBecause I want to marry you, Yujin!âÂ
The subdivisions below this mountain hear your proclamation. Nope, you donât care anymore. Let them hear it, let them wonder about it. You love An Yujin, and thatâs not gonna change.
Youâre no longer embarrassed about your shaking words and tears. Thereâs only one thing youâre humiliated of, and thatâs the lack of love you showed to her. That will change tonight.
âAnd when we have kids,â you cry out with your voice breaking, âI donât need them losing the smile they got from their mother.â
Time slows down. The wind stops blowing her hair harshly. The few cars passing by are nonexistent. There remains only An Yujin, who turns to face you with bloodshot eyes and a red nose.Â
The violent fire is gone from her face. Here, you see what sheâs trying to hide: a tired, broken kid who needs love. Sheâs a girl who, behind it all, only wants you.
Yujin and you are a complicated matter. Fame skyrocketed her career while she left you in the dust. It wasnât her fault. It wasnât yours. But you go to war until youâre left to die in opposite corners of the room. And the last beats of your hearts will still be for each other.
Sheâs got everything you likeâplump red lips, a sunshine brightness, and faith in herselfâthat you wonât trade a bloodless battle for. There she goes, also having everything you hate: a workaholic attitude, jealousy, and a boastfulness that, still and all, you find so fucking attractive.
You have a love that canât be broken, a variety of jackets you hug around her. But then you possess the need to spend every waking hour with her that it gets inconvenient, and a hold over her she canât shake off.Â
Through fights and scars, you stay, because the way Yujin feels in your arms never goes out of style.
-
The rosary on your rearview mirror clinks before you take off. The headlights are off, soft music plays on your radio, and Yujinâs in here with you. You missed her so much that it hurts with just her head on your shoulder.
Sheâs still crying softly. Your sleeve is wet but you let her sob. Youâd be doing the same were you in her position. All this time, it turns out the only thing you needed to do was put yourself in her shoes.Â
Yujinâs glassy eyes reflect the road before you. Theyâre much better to look at than your rearview mirror. You could see galaxies in themânumerous stars, countless worlds.
âStill me?â she asks quietly. Her legs are bunched up under her chin while sheâs leaning on you. Forget about the seatbelt, about the fines. Theyâre all not worth obeying when Yujinâs finally with you.
Ponder about what sheâs talking about until you see that your phoneâs on. Your lockscreen wallpaper is her. Change your phone, change your device, change your camera, and she remains there.
One hand on the wheel, your other one strokes her hair. Nostalgia pours in and youâre taken back to your shy kisses behind the building, running away from practices and meetings.
âYeah. Itâs always been you.â You look at the mirror. âAlways.â
You almost stop driving. Yujin just apologized. She doesnât do that. Whether itâs because of her ways or pride, the word never left her lips.
Not until now. And itâs in your heart to forgive her, regardless of your bruises and exhaustion.
âI-Iâm sorry, too.â
Yujin buries her face in your arm and releases a held breath. Thereâs relief in it. Sheâs glad youâve got her again. Someone has to. And you know, by her hand curling yours into place on her shoulder, sheâs got you as well.
Pass through the toll gates with a kind of easiness you didnât have before. Having her with you creates more of a difference than winning the lottery. Sheâs worth more than the biggest prize. Before you take out your ticket or cash or say âIâll reload next time,â you see Yujinâs face. Once, you could only see her in your imagination, in your dreams. Now she basks in the dim yellow light with a comforted smile. Your jacketâs pooled around her legs in the form of a makeshift blanket and her midnight hairâs gotten pretty long. Her lips are kissable despite their dryness and you find that whatever An Yujin does, she makes you want to stare.
Itâs a long drive. Not too long, though. Yujin lifts herself off your body to gaze admiringly at the city lights. Sheâs been here a thousand times before. Something about tonight makes it all better.Â
A convenience storeâs brightness reflects her expression on the car window. The childlike innocence in it makes you sentimental again. You and Yujin were once barely sixteen, looking out the taxi windows and not believing that life could be so beautiful.
She meets your eyes in the glass for a brief moment before you look away. Without giving her another look, you know sheâs smirking through her tears.
âEyes on me again, huh,â quips Yujin.
âI already told you, baby: youâre the only one.â
âI know that now.â Her brows raise. âWhy are we going this way?â
Youâre driving up a hill to her groupâs secret house. Kept hidden behind trees and a well-guarded entrance, no one knows the girls live there. Itâs where sheâs safe, from stalkers and paparazzi and the general public. How she got out there all the way to the highway with just one post about her whereabouts, you donât know. An Yujin has her tricks.
Pull the brakes. âYour dorm, right?â you say.
âNo, I want to stay at your place.â
âIsnât it dangerous?â
Yujin leans in. The windows aren't tinted, so maybe security saw you. But sheâs all secure in your arms, lips on yours.Â
You forgot how good Yujin was at kissingâher soft mouth feels amazing. Her daring tongue makes you a little wobbly. When itâs over, sheâs never looked more sure.Â
âIs that convincing enough for you,â asks Yujin, âor do I have to do it again?â
-
Her fists are bright red. The other is skinned through, overlapping with a hissing paleness. The cotton slides over the open wounds and Yujin mewls in pain. Seeing how wounded her hands are, youâre surprised she didnât break them.Â
âYou spend too much time in the gym,â you note. Her arm muscles have gotten bigger and her legs are more toned than before. You wonder if she uses exercise as a way to vent out all her anger, just so she doesnât do so to somebody else.Â
Yujin canât disagree with that. Her posture deteriorates on the carpet. The shoulders of the baggy white t-shirt lift. Almost everything you lend looks too big for her. Itâs cute.
The TVâs on, jabbering with news and reporters you donât care to listen to. Itâs mostly on to fill the silence in your apartment. Yujin refuses to talk much.
Her head hangs. âI donât know why I get so jealous.â She lifts it and thereâs tears in her eyes again. âItâs soâŠâ
Yujinâs ferocity scares even herself. Thereâs a lot of things and places she hasnât met in your apartment. The kitchen has a newly installed table that serves also as your workplace. Blooming flowers decorate the front garden. But all she takes interest in are her guilty hands. She canât believe she did what she did: used them to hurt you.
âYujin, itâs alright. Itâs over.â You tape the bandage on. âI forgive you, remember?â
âDoesnât mean what I did is okay.â
âThen weâll fix the damage,â you promise. Kiss her hand, then make another promise: âTogether.â
The used cotton balls are blood red. Yujin watches as you throw them away and gather the first aid equipment in their kit. You didnât think youâd have to use them. The alcohol was only ever meant for additional cleansing. The cotton buds were used for your ears. Nothing more.
Then she arrived again. And although she beat you to a pulp, youâre glad sheâs home.
Things work differently with her, apparently.Â
âHow did you do it?â you ask. Sit beside her, your empty space finally being occupied, and hold her bandaged hand.Â
Yujin fixates on the screenâs headline. Itâs something about a child running away. Speaks to her, in a way. âI told Wonyoung I was going out for a walk,â she tells you simply. âI got my phone, charger, mask, that stuff. I never came back.â
And now she did.Â
Her thighâs propped over yours, reminiscent of the old times. Plus, back then, you didnât have the TV. The apartment wasnât this big. The deal about loving Yujin is that you dreamt bigger and bigger to make things better for her. Though she spends time in the dorm the most, you appreciate that sheâs here.Â
âThey didnât recognize you?â
She strokes the blunt ends of her hair. âLosing the Rapunzel extensions does wonders.â
It must be difficult being under the public eye. Itâs a typhoon that isnât afraid to rain down on her if she slips up. Perhaps thatâs why she ran away. An act of rebellion done too late, too perfectly.Â
Yujin wipes her face and giggles despite herself. This is the real Yujin: intelligent, prettier without makeup, and sensitive to the point that she acts up. Her fans might not like it, but you do.Â
You place a hand over her knee. âYouâre beautiful.â
She always is.
âThatâs probably why you let me get away with so much.â
Chuckle. âYouâre half-right,â you admit, finger raised and wagging.
Thereâs a funny smile on her face. âWhatâs the other half?âÂ
Sheâs right. What is the other half?
You donât need to ask yourself a question you know the answer to.Â
âI brush off your crimes because⊠uh, I dunno. I love you?â you say shyly. The confession is truer than diamonds. You find the courage to say it in her touch, trickling over your jaw and shoulder. âI donât even like getting mad at you. Do you have any idea how much I cry after we fight?â
Yujin brushes her thumb over your earlobe. She has this habit of causing you to burn up feverishly without the need for colds. Itâs the charm in her that she brings everywhere. She knows how to make you close your eyes and have you see vividly the dirtiest things at the same time. Sheâs familiar with you, inside and out.
âWeâre more alike than I thought, then.â
âIs that a good thing?â you ask.
She pecks your cheek. The strawberry heat of her breath is, well, a little gratifying. âYou got this far,â says Yujin. âI think you can figure that one out.â
You think youâre losing your mind.Â
She scatters it more by closing her hands around your face, a gentler touch than earlier. Focus your attention on herâyou canât revert it to anything else. Yujinâs got your heart locked into hers and you arenât going to do anything about it. Not when sheâs this gorgeous, this gentle, this loveable.
You mean it.Â
âThanks.â She tilts her chin, observing your soul and expressions. âFor saving me.â
âYou could have done that by yourself.â
âNo shit,â Yujin laughs. She still has this pensiveness on her face as she strokes your lip. âBut itâs nice to know someoneâs gonna catch me when I fall.âÂ
The comfort her touch brings to you almost lulls you to sleep. Sheâs so soft and gentle that you forget the previous Yujin, who wasnât afraid to throw you around. Then you study her againâalmond-shaped eyes, round lips, and the knife of her jawlineâand you realize that you would let her do it again.
This is love. This is love in its prettiest and ugliest form. It isnât the type you see romanticized in movies or sought after by young girls. Love means staying, because youâre too selfish to let the other have anyone else.
Itâs a little fucked up. But thatâs you. And Yujin⊠sheâs Yujin.
âItâs weird.â Her grin is mischievous. âWhen I ran away, I knew youâd come get me. I guess I just wanted to see if you actually would.â
The fact that sheâs aware you have her anytime draws a smile on your face. Itâs a real oneâthe ends of your lips pull and they wonât stop past the circles of your blush. Youâre enough. Yujin knows you love her. Thereâs just these doubts sometimes, all the time. Nothing you canât fix.
âAnd I did,â you say reflectively.
Her eyelids are lower than before. âThatâs why I still have faith in you.â
Your heart floats. Its wings initiate all the butterflies in your stomach. Theyâre stressed, not knowing where they came from. Meanwhile, your headâs in the clouds and you could never feel any better than this.
After what happened, Yujin believes in you. It makes each aching muscle and permanent scar worth it.Â
She gives them a one-over. âWant me to give that some amateur medical attention?â
âI-Iâm good. Theyâre not that bad.â
âThatâs okay,â Yujin says. âIâll just bruise you up another way.â
You want to ask her what that means. Her lips on your neck wordlessly tell you exactly what sheâs implying.
Her fluffy thighs top your knees while the kiss reaches up to your jaw. Yujinâs shorts ride up and youâre met with every patch of tanned, full skin closing in on you. She fully got you from that lick behind your ear.Â
Sink into the bed of the sofa with no protest. Sheâs so deep in the crook of your neck and she wants to go further. Knowing who and what Yujin is, you canât stop her from doing that. You donât want to.
âMy poor baby,â she breathes. Her lips pucker on your cheek, your nose, and arrive at their final destination on your mouth. Stroking your hair, Yujin pouts. âDoes Yujin put you through too much?â
Your lips purse above her worrying thumb. âKinda.â
Sheâs intimidating enough with the bedroom voice and eyes. You want to run for cover, scream for help. The only thing you donât want to do is pretend this isnât happening.Â
Yujin grinds herself down deliciously. Friction gives way to heat, and itâs exactly that which gets you to put your hands on her sides and guide her. Your mixed groans spur on the dry humping.Â
Itâs a little taste for what comes when she takes off those shorts (oh please oh please oh please). Her wide hips come into view as she hovers her naked crotch above your mouth. Her sweet honey drips from her core and onto your waiting mouth.
âGood.â
Thatâs the last thing you hear before a set of powerful, full thighs immediately comes together to crush your head. Your tongue creates contact with her center and begins to lick fast. The more you lap, the more of Yujinâs juices end up in your throat. Sheâs a favorite food you havenât eaten in forever, and now youâre not sure if you want to stop.
Loveâa little complicated, isnât it? You love Yujin (she knows) and she loves you (you know that, too.) Is that what makes you go on eating her out in spite of your neck being her seat, your natural need for air going ignored? Close to that. Yujinâs rich moansâheard even from her thighs, the thickest of earmuffsâtrigger a sense of need in you to make her cum that originates from want, then mixes together. Itâs confusing, exhilarating, and you donât think deeper thanks to her face denting your head deeper into the pillows.
However, hereâs the conclusion: you love Yujin, up to the sharp danger of death.Â
She could suffocate you and not know it. Hours would go on until she notices youâre quite still. But you grab her flesh, every bit of the meaty sweaty skin, and pull her in. Because dying is worth it for Yujin. Perceive your fervent suckles on her clit that evoke the prettiest gasps from her tilted throat as a soldierâs sacrifices for his country. Interpret your nails reddening her thighs as scratches and scrawls to escape a trap you donât want to get out of. Yujin makes you want to die everyday and sheâs the best youâve given all your lives for.
You leave a kiss on her lips before running your tongue up and down. Theyâre slick and slippery as they brush on your mouth. When you welcome yourself into her tight hole, you could feel her shake on top of you. She tastes nothing short of delectation. You would eat her out for days if it came to that.
Yujin curls a hand through her hair. âFucking slut.â
The fact is further founded.Â
âYou like it? You like my perfect pussy?â She sports a cruel grin. You donât know where to look: there or her supple tits bouncing as she rocks her hips.Â
You shut your eyes and moan. Yujin pushes further down on your face. Her inner thighs warm your cheeks but youâre warm elsewhere, too. Something about her crazed smile while her jagged hair whips against her neck⊠your blood runs cold. Good thing itâs going south.
She pulls herself off you and you ridiculously chase after her. Her palm flattens you down to the sofa. Whimper, which means nothing to her. She needs to hear it. Or else.
âI donât think,â Yujin reiterates, grip locked on the base of your neck, âI heard an answer.â
âYour pussyâs the best, baby.â
âSay it like a man. Do you like the taste of my cunt?â
âYes!â Your words are muffled. âI want it so bad!â
Yujinâs laugh clears any doubts you might have about her enjoying it. She leans down, lets your breaths mingle, then licks her juices off your pursed lips. âGood boy.â
Youâre sent back to heaven again.
Capture her clit and seize it with harsh suckles. Her deep cries of pleasure fill the space in your apartmentâs four walls. If they penetrate through them the way your tongue does to her folds, the neighbors would have plenty of complaints.Â
Nevertheless, you go on fucking her hole with your ready tongue, dragging every bit of the delicious wetness out and for you to take. Thereâs something you have to prove. What is it?
Yujinâs not worrying about that. The pressure on her most sensitive parts is overwhelming enough. Yujin pants heavily and threads her fingers through your hair. She keeps your head between her delicious thighs, nowhere else. Her hips come to and fro as though they were waves, and youâre the shore drinking up every delicious tanginess in them.
âOh god, oh shit, you fuckingââÂ
She rises off your mouth but you pull her back down. Youâre addicted now, riding her high. No one can pull you away from her. Her squeals are loud and her pretty head is thrown back. You catch sight of her strong jawline and the sweat rolling down her neckâthereâs not a chance in hell or heaven youâd let her run away again.Â
Yujinâs strong groans deafen you as she rides your tongue. Sheâs a source of curses and obscenity, and she gives herself out freely. Her sinful pussy is everything you can ever eat, and her moans and cries of your name are all youâll ever hear.
âYouâre gonna make me cum,â she whines. Her fingernails threaten to pierce right through your skull. âI bet youâd like that. Your dumb whore self is just waiting for it like the whore you are. Am I right?â
You nod. Rub your aching cock over your pants because you canât take it anymore either. The hitches of her breath and how fucking crazy she isâbouncing on your mouth like itâs just another sex toy, calling you all these names youâd never use to address her in a lifetimeâitâs making you pent up.
âThen just take it, babyââ Yujinâs losing herself. Her knees cage your head. âFuck, do it!â
She twitches and shivers until youâre sure you canât take her pending release anymore. The flood she rains down is one you drink of until no drop is left. Feel for her silken walls to have more. Youâre greedy. Even here, where sheâs on top of you and choking you with her heavenly thighsâyou want Yujin all to yourself.
Yujinâs pleasured noises go from deep to whiny, whiny to needy. Your jaw feels sore at this point. Youâve been at it for an eternity. But, for the first time with Yujin, you donât feel tired. Keep a cruel suction around her nub and finger her to keep those little sprinkles going.Â
Your carpet catches her afterwards, a puff of breath leaving her lips. Yours are smudged by her. You can still feel her on them.
Perhaps you should say something to kill the loud silence. Crack a joke? Talk a little again? Then Yujinâs eyes train on you, and itâs all downhill from here.Â
âCome on,â she says with a laugh. Her mouthâs pulled into an eerie grin. You didnât know youâd be so terrified to see her happy. âYou really think weâre over with this?â
She rises, and youâre again thinking of how tall she is. Yujinâs leg propped over your beating heart alone could stop everything. She could crush you, and sheâll do it, so help her god.Â
She strips you of your jeans and underwear. The cold air hits you and you throb harder. Youâre on your trusty old sofa again, which is now witness to Yujin stroking your tip. Her lithe finger, long and thin, curls around your cockhead and teases your slit. Youâre dripping, and she is, too. Itâs self-gratifying to her, the way she knows she has youâyour heart; your brain; your dickâall of you.Â
âWhose dick is this?âÂ
And she still needs to hear it.
You gulp. Her voice has dropped lower and her eyes⊠sheâll be the death of you. âIâIââ
âDonât lie to me,â Yujin coaxes, nothing close to gently. Her grip is tight and sheâs jerking you off hard, rough palm sliding over your sensitive skin and making you weak in the knees. âYou canât avoid me, unless youâre the property of that bitch Wonyoung now.â
Her nails scrape your cock, sending your teeth burying in your lip. The pleasure is as heavy as the pain. Youâre twitching in her fist, whimpering, crying. You sound pathetic, and Yujin loves it.
âN-no. Iâm yours, Yujin. Nobody else can have me.âÂ
Because you know the lives Yujin would ruin if anybody else owned you, the tears youâd cry if you werenât hers. Pain is a hell of a drug that turns the hurt into pleasure. Itâs messing with your head. It violates, skinning away your dignity and dreams, and you canât get enough.
âGood,â she says. She tips your chin up. ââCause nobody can make you cum like I do.â
Her ego canât get any bigger but it somehow does. You look up at her helplessly, while she proudly admires the purple sheâs left on your neck. Her thighs lock your hips in place. Thereâs no getting out from Yujin.
She proves this further by sinking her core down on you. You let out a dual moan, seizing for the other and tensing up. Yujinâs center is set on a mission to choke your length. Sheâs so wet and hot and tight, and you already forgot how to deal with it.
âThis cock,â Yujin emphasizes, âis all mine. Every drop of cum in these heavy balls are mine. You understand me?â
Her plump ass thunders on your lap as she rides you. You spread your hands on it in a silent urge for her to go faster. And she will.Â
Her wetness is enough lubricant for her to sink all the way down to your base. Feel her lips spread to allow you inside, and how they hold onto you and never let go. Youâre never completely out of Yujin. Itâs always her fluttering walls accommodating your girth, sliding up and down.Â
âAw.â Yujin laughs, soft and nearly delicate. âItâs alright. Donât talk. I know you havenât had good pussy in a while. Itâs too much for you, huh?â
False concern. All false fucking concern. Yujin doesnât give a shit. Sheâll keep riding you. The impact of her center taking you to the hilt, right up to her womb, and her thighs rippling rid whatever sleep you have in your eyes. Itâs been a long night, but Yujin keeps you high and awake. Youâre always waiting for what she has next. You canât miss out.
Her fingernail lightly stimulates your nipple and you cry out. The heat spreads to your legs and arms. Youâre trapped in tropical weather with her being the sun that shines and shines and shines.
âFuck, Yujinââ
âCanât take it?â She smirks. âYouâre a fucking wimp, of course not.âÂ
Yujin pinches your nipple and reaches to you for a kiss. Her teeth knit on your lip and you guess you know if she meant it or not. Itâs one of the few puzzles you can solve about her.
The sofa starts to creak, and you honest-to-god think youâll have to pay for a new one. Yujinâs weight batters you down on the plush. Save the distraction of her tightness draining the life out of you, you would have told her to calm down. But Yujinâs anger is like that of a jealous godâsheâll flood the world and kill to keep you.
You got to start praying for Wonyoung. But what deity would listen to you? The goddess in front of you, whoâs riding you to death and isnât that convinced you could join her in paradise?
Youâre whimpering again. She massages your shoulders, rubs down your arms and returns her touch to the base of your neck. Yujin could read your weaknesses like a magazine. She knows youâll bow down for the squeeze of her cunt, the gush of feminine pleasure, and her lips on yours.
âCute boy.â She looks at you the same way she would a camera flash, now that sheâs all too used to being its favorite: with a sickening smile that leaves you in awe. Sheâs a performer for you, a ticketless transaction. âCanât believe Iâm so mean to you when you have a face like that. Not that you donât deserve it.â
You were right all along. Youâre just a pet to her. Sheâll keep you around for entertainment, mostly because youâre adorable in her eyes, and scold you for the littlest things. Sheâll do more than scold you.Â
Like right now: she taunts you, the smile on her face growing, with her fingers on your collar twisting it around your neck like a dogâs. Her other hand sifts through your hair before seizing your scalp. She then uses the grip to ride you harder. You can physically feel your tip push against her cervix, forced to reach further.Â
The pain isnât all there is to it. Beating everything, Yujin remains slick and tight. You have to fight your hardest to pull out and return inside anyway. Her fluttering walls match the throb of your cock. Youâre so deep in her, so big, that Yujin canât have too little of you.Â
Thatâs why she makes it a point that for every move she doesâride you, lick you, kiss youâshe moans heavily. It makes all the soreness worth it. The wanton expression on her face casts a spell that lets you forget about the tears you saw on it earlier. All you remember and witness are the wideness of her eyes and her parted mouth.Â
âShit, oh shit, noâŠâ You close your eyes. Why does her body have to feel so good? Her thighs are soft on your lap, her hands are teasingly slow, and you wonât ever forget about her cuntâso fucking hot and ready. âPlease make me cum, Yujin, oh my godââ
You feel delirious. All the sanity you have is lost; Yujin feeds on it like a vampire using each sweep of her hips. She feels too good. Your headâs up in the clouds but you canât breathe. Her pumps strangle you to get the sweet fill of your semen.
âOh, sweetie.â Yujin stops to grind herself down on you. âI always do.â
Itâs purely instinct, animalistic and wild, when you release all your second thoughts and lift her up. You pin her to the nearest wall. Her back curves off it anyway, but you push it back with your steady pumps. The sounds youâre gasping are pathetic, denying you the dominance you wish you had. Yujinâs just there taking it and laughing at your efforts. The choked mixture of a chuckle and a moan escapes her and you know youâre close.
She tilts your head up and constrains you to match her gaze. You canât. She always wins this. Itâs not fair that she has that body and takes the advantage to get you sweating and whining. You donât have a dog in the game. Yujin never loses. She couldnât even lose your love.
âYou donât deserve me,â she says after lifting her chin. Itâs true, just not in the way you think. âBut Iâm still letting you cum inside. So make it count.â
You were going to cum anyway. Yujinâs sweaty form pressed on the wall looks too hot and her thighs are soft around your fists. Somehow, the egoistic expression she wears that tells you sheâs not kidding ties the last knot in your stomach,
You pump her hard, thinking: oh Yujin, Yujin, Yujin. Does it really have to be this way? You, improving your strokes between her legs and chasing the approval of that stupid shit-eating grin on her face? You do all this with the knowledge youâll never be enough for her, but she stays because you canât let go of each other. Her repeated and pretty gasps will echo in your ears forever. The punches you took stay flashing back in her mind.
You stick to each other like glue, white as the cum that fills her.
Her nails sink into your skin. Rest your forehead in the crook of her neck to breathe. Her scent is hypnotizing, somehow making sweat and sex smell like flowers. Kind of similar to how it felt like a kiss when she hit you.Â
âI love you.âÂ
A blink and a quiet. âLove you, too,â she says finally.Â
Something isnât right. The cogwheels arenât in sync. âAfter everything that happened, everything you said,â you manage, âdo you mean it?â
Pull away. Stickiness and sex aside, itâs difficult. Parting from her touch is traumatic. It takes you back to when you lost her and you donât think you can ever allow her to be alone again. In your mind, you state a reminder: Yujin will leave you over your dead body.
She doesnât say anything, only looking at you with misty eyes, but you think at that moment, you sound exactly like her.
Being Seulgiâs roommate, you mostly have experience with the soft, kind side of her. The ditzy side, the one who would burn her tongue on piping hot tea you brewed for her without fail, the one who cracked so many dishes while washing them that the chore became your sole responsibility, the one whose beaming smile could light up a city and whose energetic disposition could stir even the dead with life.
Right now, the Seulgi that is looking at you is the other Seulgi. The one serious one, the deadly one, the one who comes out during volleyball matches, the one who takes over while studying or as she is otherwise concentrating on something, the one who is now looking at you with a piercing, sultry gaze, the one threatens to bring you to your knees.
âI thought you said you wanted to take these off.â Perhaps emboldened by the alcohol in her system or the positive reaction you gave to her advances, Seulgiâs normally beaming, gentle demeanor is long gone, replaced with a confident seductress, a shameless harlot, thatâs shaking her chest at you.
âI do.â you donât want to admit that youâre feeling a little light-headed, that you feel in over your head, and now that youâre actually here, you donât want to let Seulgi know that youâre panicking. âButâŠâ Slightly.
âBut?â Then Seulgi bites the tip of her finger, lips pulled apart in a coy grin, and your brain malfunctions.
âUmââ Ok, you can admit it: youâre full-on panicking. You can hear your heart racing at ten million miles a minute. ââbut, erââ
âYou know, you have to come over here to take my clothes off.â
Where did all this confidence come from? You can never comprehend it, how Seulgi manages to flip a switch so quickly, to such a different persona. You sometimes wish you could do the same, but instead, youâre left in your usual bumbling, blustering state, except now, itâs forced to the surface instead of kept inside you.
Breathe. Focus. Stop panicking. Seulgi already pushed herself so much to get to this point. Me hesitating almost made her cry. So, stopâ
âŠ
OkâŠ
You feel like an absolute idiot for only now realizing this, butâŠ
Seulgi likes me?
Her kissing you out of the blue, the atmosphere that was created from thatâeven before that, the hints she was dropping about that guy, how he was so obliviousâno, even before that, when you learned that Seulgi is only physically affectionate to her female friends, and you? Were you supposed to pick up on that? It all happened too quick, your mind a blur, your thoughts a mess. Not only today, but this entire time. Seulgi is just a good friend, sheâs just a kind person, sheâs just clingy, sheâs just, sheâs just⊠then, all those times sheâs told me that she loves me ⊠did she mean more than platonically?
And now, youâre back to panicking. Youâre trying to think harder, to see how you couldâve missed it, how it was even possible for this to sneak up on you, how youâve been so focused on your own burgeoning feelings for Seulgi, suppressing them as much as you could, that you somehow didnât even notice Seulgiâs burgeoning feelings for you ⊠even thinking that feels atrociously egotistical. Unnatural. Like, SeulgiâŠ? Seulgi? The woman who has been confessed to more times than youâve has crushes, times twenty, maybe even times fifty? The one whoâs gaining campus-wide popularity for her luminescent personality and her radiant beauty, the one who youâve heard jealous remarks from multiple guys about, wishing they were also as close to Seulgi as you were. That Seulgi. That Seulgi.
Fuck.
âHm?â
Itâs just a word. Itâs not even that, itâs just a sound, a short interjection, but hearing it, whipping your head up to look at her face, and you realize: the sultry stare, the teasing bite of her fingertip, itâs all just an act. Seulgi is just putting up a façade of confidence, because now, you see through it: her own hesitation, her fear, her self-doubt, and that calms you. The fact that Seulgi is also, perhaps, struggling with the same mental battles that you are, and more importantly, seeing her revert back to the kind, gentle, slightly ditzy Seulgi that youâre used to pulls you back down to Earth.
Stop making her wait so much. Stop making her be so doubtful.
Stop thinking. Justâ
âIs it wrong to stop to admire how great you look in that outfit?â
Seulgi smiles: a mix of bashfulness and sexy allure, like sheâs trying to regain her composure but is suffering such hard whiplash from switching back and forth between her two personas that they inadvertently mix together. âOh. WellâŠâ Another crack in the mask forms, but you can tell that sheâs trying, and that is somewhat endearing to you. ââŠcome here and take a closer look.â
You oblige, and Seulgi responds by scooting back on the bed and widening her legs. Thereâs a small grin adorning her face, although you canât tell if itâs from nervousness or excitement, or maybe a mix of both. âOf all the people, meâŠâ
âMmm~â the sound of acknowledgement, bordering on a moan, dips low, takes upon itself a husky quality, and itâs driving you crazy. When you place a cautious hand on her exposed waist, you can feel her flinch for a brief second, but then, just as quickly, lean into your touch. âyouâŠâ
ââŠWhy?â
You canât help but ask. Seulgi is the first woman whose attention youâve captured, and to make such a claim is beyond wild: it would be like saying that the first time you ever played basketball was in the NBA, or the first time you ever ran an official 100m sprint was at the Olympics.
âBecause.â The lingering curiosity in your eyes draws out a fuller answer from Seulgi. âYou always ask me if I want something when youâre going to the vending machine at the rec center, and even when I say no, you always know when Iâm lying and bring me just want I need anyway. You always find fun places to hang out during the weekends. You spend so much effort in not only our relationship, but classes, making sure everyone is comfortable, and you even attend all my volleyball games. You always remember all the little details, like how I like my coffee with two pumps of syrup or how I always trip on the third step of that one staircase at that one library so you always have your hand hovering around me just in case. Youâre always there for me, you always listen to me complain about things, and youâre always so supportive and helpful and you also get along so well with all of my friendsâŠâ The speed at which Seulgi is able to rattle off all of that astounds you, and for a second, youâre frozen, your knee pressing down on the spot between her legs on the bed, hands planted on either side of her waist, looking into her dark, shimmering eyes that were but a handful of inches from you. In that moment, sheâs absolutely breathtaking, sheâs positively glowing, and youâre utterly captured in the sparkling look in her eyes. ââŠthe better question is, how can I do anything but fall in love with you?â
You donât know what you were expecting when you asked the question. To you, the answer to the inverse question is simple. Seulgi is so luminescent, so unwaveringly kind and always makes sure to include you on everything whenever she can, and it obviously doesnât hurt that sheâs probably the most beautiful woman youâve ever laid your eyes on, that falling in love with her is simply an inevitability. You know you arenât any of those things: you arenât remarkably handsome, you donât have an amazingly built body, you arenât extremely talented or competent at anything, so you at least knew to not expect that kind of an answer to your question.
Then what were you expecting? Maybe something like, âI spend so much time with youâ, or âyouâre the only man Irene approves ofâ. Something understandable, logical, something that you can go, âaah, ok, that makes sense.â But everything Seulgi just listed ⊠youâre really trying your best to understand her, but ⊠are any of them special? Are they really things that would make someone fall in love? Arenât they things that anyone could do?
âTell me it back.â
You snap out of your haze at Seulgiâs question. âHm?â
âYou still havenât told me you love me back.â
Despite everything, you break out into a giggle. Itâs so childish, so pure and innocent, and also, so Seulgi. Seulgi, the immensely affection woman that she is, showering all of her friends with all the love and attention they could possibly want from such a stunningly beautiful and wondrously kind individual as her, and thus, is showered equally in love and attention in return. But, however much she gets from her friends, she still wants it from you.
âI love you too, Kang Seulgi.â
The unstoppable smile that breaks out on her face, slipping over her lips and onto her eyes, stops your heart. Then, she stops your breath by pressing her lips against yours.
There are a million things that are attractive about Kang Seulgi, and among her attractive physical traits, you would have to say that her lips are at the top of that enormous list. Perfectly proportioned, a pretty, soft-pink hue, and on the rare occasion they arenât stretched into a warm smile, they take upon a naturally pouty shape. Itâs gotten to the point where you had to pay extra attention to not stare, but itâs so damn hard to not, especially after moving in with her. Enjoying some pastries at one of her favorite cafes, or sitting opposite her while eating your dinner, or walking home with boba in hand, or even just talking to her normally, youâve had to make sure to rip your eyes away from her lips on more than ten, probably more than twenty occasions. The question of if her lips are as soft as they look has, of course, come across your mind, and just minutes ago, you were able to confirm that, indeed, Kang Seulgiâs lips are incredibly soft.
This kiss feels different, though. Sheâs closer to you, her body pressed against yours and her face so close that you can feel the puff of air from her nose on your cheek; whereas before, the two of you remained relatively static, this time, Seulgi is moving more. Intensely, desperately, like sheâs gone without food for two days and your lips are her means of sustenance. You can feel her hands wrapping around to the back of your head, but likewise, your right hand is on her waist, pulling her closer to you while you lean into the kiss. You can feel her legs starting to wrap around your waist, sinking deeper and deeper into the mattress until finally, Seulgiâs back is flush against the soft bedsheets adorning her bed.
The two of you are forced apart to adjust to the new position, but your eyes remain trained on each other as the two of you shift your position. Thereâs a slight flush on Seulgiâs cheeks, shooting the same beaming grin at you. âSay it again.â
This time, you laugh. âYouâre so needy.â
âSay it again!â
You lean down before answering, your face a mere few centimeters from hers before saying, âI love you, Kang Seulgi.â
The pout on her lips turns into a smile in an instant. Her hands loop around up your nape and to the back of your head, and then, youâre kissing her again. The proximity of her face, the feeling of her body heat thatâs caressing your skin, the way that sheâs kissing you, greedy and impatient and sloppy and wet, the way that her legs are wrapping around your back again and pulling your bodies closer together, the amount of oxytocin flooding your system feels like itâs starting to verge on lethal levels.
You donât know if itâs the heater thatâs been turned up too much or the fact that your bodies have no gaps between them or the incessant motions both you and Seulgi are doing, but you soon find yourself having to separate yourself from her for fear of overheating. âI love you.â Seulgi barely lets herself finish the declaration before pulling you back in. You find yourself inadvertently moaning into the kiss, your hands holding either side of her face. âI love you,â this time, Seulgi has to murmur it against your lips, barely giving any space to breathe before reconnecting to you. âI love you so much.â
Again and again, Seulgi tells you the same thing, never giving you time to process it before going back to kissing you. Each time she says the words, it gets the slightest bit more intense and the slightest bit hotter, until it reaches to the point where you can feel Seulgiâs hand slide down the backside of your neck, down your back, and to the hem of your shirt. Feeling her bunching the edge of your shirt in her hands, you understand her intent and break the kiss. The shirt flies off your head, and you throw it somewhere to the right.
âOhâŠâ
Her eyes bulge out of their sockets as they land on your torso. However, you arenât so much as wondering why sheâs reacting in such an extreme way and more so trying to remember what about this seems so familiar, when your mind finally travels back far enough and you connect the dots.
âItâs not like this is the first time youâve seen me shirtless.â
ââŠhm?â
The tips of Seulgiâs ears are a burning bright red, and from her genuinely confused expression, you can tell that your words went in one ear and exited out through the other.
âI said, itâs not like this is the first time youâve seen me shirtless.â
âWhâWhaââ Seulgi begins to stammer, and you canât help but break out into laughter, ââI, I know! Iâm notâitâs not liâIâm, I mean, last time, IâIââ with every break in her sentence, Seulgiâs face grows redder, and you canât help but notice that sheâs having a hard time keeping her eyes off your bare torso. In part due to Seulgiâs influence, and in part due to a desire to be as helpful to Seulgi as possible, youâve taken it upon yourself to learn to play volleyball yourself, joining an intramural league, mostly with the help of Seulgi. Because of that, you do pretty strenuous physical activity on a somewhat regular basis, but compared to the bodies of even the members of your own rather amateur intramural team, yours is nothing special. ââit-itâI know!â
Logically, you want to tell yourself that Seulgi is just acting, that she canât actually think youâre your body is anything special. But then again, where has this so-called âlogicâ gotten you? Getting completely blind-sided by Seulgiâs confession, helplessly panicking at the thought that Seulgi might actually like youârather, love you, thatâs where. Plus, you can also use your eyes and see just how red her face is getting, just how bashful sheâs getting, and all of the sudden, you feel your own surge of confidence. âCan I take your shirt off?â
Seulgi simply nods, and although itâs clear she wants to cover her face behind her hands and hide, she obediently raises her arms to let you take her top off and place it as neatly as you can on the nightstand. âAfter stalling for so long, you finally decided to follow through with what you first set out to do.â The fierce, confident Seulgi is back, but this time, now that youâre not a ball of anxiety, you can respond properly.
âYou say that, but it looks like youâre the one more looking forward to taking my clothes off.â
âThen, are you going to let me take the rest of your clothes off?â So she says, but you can see through her façade this time. She says the words, but thereâs still hesitation in her body language: her hands that are refusing to come forward, the fact that sheâs still laying down on the bed.
Seulgi is too adorable.
âOr are you ⊠going to ⊠um, make me take ⊠take off ⊠ta-take off mine? Waiâ⊠wait, no, I mean, yours?â
All this time, youâve lived with this juxtaposition: how can someone so gosh-darn cute be also so devastatingly sexy? The answer to the question doesnât matter, as it all coalesces into one thing: your attraction to Seulgi. And now, youâre finding that theyâre mixing together: the cuteness that made you want to coddle her and squeeze her cute little cheeks are now turning you on, and the sexy allure she carries in her eyes and in her voice contrasted with the hints of bashfulness makes you want to hold her close and coo at her. But the outfit that sheâs wearing, looking at her laying down beneath you, the kiss you two shared, itâs clear which side is winning out.
âYou first.â
You arenât asking, nor do you wait. Your hands curl around the edge of her shorts, and with a firm tug, you pull them off her legs. Seulgiâs hands immediately go to her crotch, but they arenât quick enough to block the glimpse you caught of the darker coloration of her sky-blue panties, a piece of undergarment verging on the brink of lingerie rendered even slimmer from it being soaked from her arousal.
âWhaâwaitââ you pause at her squeal, but when you meet her eyes, youâre getting mixed signals: her lips are telling you to stop, but her eyes are telling you to keep going!
âSeulgi?â
âWait, no, donât ⊠stopâŠ?â
All hesitation gets blown away. Not necessarily because she tells you, as bad as that sounds, but because her adorable-ness is turning you on so much. As bad as that sounds.
âThenâŠâ your hands apply gentle pressure on her hands, which offer no resistance in re-exposing her damp panties. You set them on either side of her body and watch her expression as your fingers curl around the strings of her underwear, and seeing her sucking in a deep breath and feeling her entire body tense under the ghost of your touch against her plush, hot skin encourages you to pull those off as well. Your hands follow the moist clothing down her silky-smooth legs, grinning to yourself at how much sheâs shivering at the feeling of her fingers skimming over them, and set them on the nightstand afterwards.
âHmmâŠâ
The light moan that escapes from Seulgiâs lips turns into another squeal when your fingers brush against the intersection of her legs. âVery nicely shaven.â You look up to her, who is now refusing to look at you. She is instead hiding her face behind her hands, but even that isnât enough to hide the redness on her cheeks and her ears. âI guess I caught you on a good day?â
Seeing her squirming at your innocently-worded question, intentionally oblivious this time, nearly makes you laugh. âI ⊠so what? I shaved because I wanted it to be nice and neat and pretty, ok?â
And that actually makes you laugh. âIt is very pretty. Although I doubt I wouldâve said anything different if you hadnât shaved.â You tentatively introduce two digits to her wet folds, and she lets out a shaky moan. âWow, and look how wet you are already.â
Despite Seulgiâs face still being bright red, she shouts, âW-Well, whose fault is that?â
âThen, shall Iââ you speak as your fingers part her folds and accidentally bump into something suspiciously hard. You may be oblivious, as youâve recently found out, but you arenât stupidâyou know what it is, verified by how sharply she gasped at the contact, and with barely a secondâs hesitation, your thumb joins your index finger to caress it.
âAa-aahn!â
Seulgiâs sweet-sounding squeal is sheer ecstasy to your ears. Her legs shudder against your other hand, her labia quivers at your touch, and her snatch salivating so heavily at the stimulation in conjunction with her moans encourages you to continue. âDoes that feel good?â
âNng!â Seulgi, apparently barely able to speak coherently, can only answer with that interjection and a flurry of insistent nods. âBâBuâ⊠hmm âŠâ Realizing sheâs trying to tell you something, you slow down and give her a second to catch her breath. âIt feels good, but IâŠâ she grows quiet, her face already beet red and her eyes darting away bashfully. You give her the space to finish her sentence, which she does with, ââŠI want more than just your fingers.â
That right there? Such a devastatingly sexy woman, delivering such a lethal line in such a bashful manner, freeing the uncomfortable tightness in your shorts, nearly tripping over yourself in doing so, throwing it by the wayside and barely even catching the way Seulgiâs eyes bulge even wider at your throbbing erection until youâre positioning it at her heat and you hear such a loud gasp that it pierces through the deep tidal wave of arousal your body just sunk beneath and look up to see her eyes locked on to your cock, biting her lips in anticipation, and in your peripheral vision, her hands clenched into fists.
If not for the situation at hand, you might classify her current facial expression as âadorableâ. But right now, itâs turning you on like hell.
ââŠpleaseâŠâ
Seulgiâs barely audible murmur morphs into a high-pitched moan when your tip brushes against her soaking wet sex, pushing her folds aside. The anticipation inside your own body is building too, and as overwhelming as the feeling is, youâre doing everything in your power to hold back. The longer the wait, the greater the payoff. Supposedly.
Tease her entrance with your tip. Rub your shaft against her labia, bathe it in her wetness. Listen to Seulgiâs gasping and sighing and panting, increasingly desperate, her legs shaking with desire, the words spilling out of her mouth growing increasingly needy and dire, dripping with lust and desire. Reeling your own lust in, trying to do everything in your power to continue building up the tension, even going so far as to shift your mind to different topics, when you finally realizeâ
âWait, condom.â
Seulgi violently shakes her head, wrapping her legs even more tightly around your waist the moment you try to pull away. âNo! Please, just, inside! Now!â
Blood rushes to your head, or maybe it left itâsuddenly, all of your senses dulled, all extraneous thoughts vanishing, anything and everything not directly Seulgi fades from your consciousness, and when you finally push past her pussy lips and bury your length inside her in one motion, itâs Seulgiâs shrill scream that breaks you out of your trance.
âOh god, oh my godâŠâ
And when you draw your hips back and slam back into her, you can feel Seulgiâs entire body shiver with sheer ecstasy beneath you, her legs tensing against your back and her hands shooting out and wrapping themselves around your arms that are planted on either side of her shoulders.
âGod, I feel like Iâm going to cum alreadyâŠâ
Seulgiâs voice is shaking, tears spilling out of her eyes. She sounds equal parts elated and frustrated, something that you can sympathize with. Barely a few seconds in, and the feeling of Seulgiâs pussy walls fluttering around your cock, the feeling of her hot, wet tightness rubbing against your length as you continue to slam yourself into her with building intensity, and it feels like youâre on the brink already. Seulgiâs heat, her voice that turns you on so insanely much, the way her legs are tightening their grip on your back and her hands are tightening around your forearms and how her cunt is tightening around your cock, the way she squirms and writhes and how her back arches clear off the mattress, every single aspect of the current situation seems to be tailor-built to test your resolve.
âHnng, god, yes, Iâm so closeâŠâ
âFuck, Seulgi, youâre so tight.â
Seulgi opens her eyes and, while hints of a flush still remain on her face, she shoots you a sultry stare accompanied by a mischievous grin. âDoes it feel good?â
You nod. âIt feels amazing.â
âA-Are you also close?â
You feel like youâre getting swallowed up. Her body, her voice, her warmth, everything is washing over you, consuming you. Youâre a rickety raft adrift the violent storm of Seulgiâs lust, just barely holding yourself together. âIâm so close.â Seulgi continues to wordlessly grin at you, drawing out the next question that comes out your lips, âWhat?â
âI got you to say that word.â
Your mind is definitely way too blasted to try to figure out which âwordâ Seulgi is referencing, so you just respond with, ââŠwhat word?â
âThat word. You know: fuck.â
It shouldnât turn you on so much. Itâs just a word, technically. But itâs that word: the naughty word, the swear word, a word youâve refrained from using around Seulgi because sheâs too innocent for that word, but hearing it coming from her mouth, while sheâs getting dicked down on her own bed by you, said in a playful manner and with a bit of a moanâŠ
Fuck.
âThat really makes you happy, does it?âSeulgi can only squeal out a half-response, a giddy sound in reaction to the increased vigor youâre fucking her with. It doesnât help that the clear juxtaposition of Seulgiâs sweet voice grating so roughly against the harsh diction of the curse word that it pushes your arousal up to eleven, and now, as youâre looking down at Seulgi as sheâs becoming completely undone, whimpering and screaming and moaning and bucking her hips in tandem with your thrusts, you feel the unstoppable tsunami crashing down on you. âIâm cummingââ
âDonât stop! Donât stop! Please, just a little moreââ
Seulgi isnât relenting, and with how tightly her legs are gripping your waist, itâs clear that you arenât going to escape. So, you donât try to. You let the tsunami crash over you and onto and into Seulgi.
âHnnâhaa, itâs so hot, oh my godââ
Your hips continue to ram into Seulgi as her greedy snatch convulses and squeezes your pulsating cock for all its worthââwait, Seulgi, waitââ and then more.
âO-Oh god, Iâmâaahn!â A final scream from Seulgi and her own orgasm washes through her own body, a salacious blend of bodily fluids mixing together inside her core.
âShit.â Sheâs milking you and milking you, and now that her own orgasm is turning up her own intensity, you canât stop. âShit, SeulgiâŠâ the sound of your groin slamming against her sex turns damp, and you can see the creampie leaking out of her pussy wedged tightly with your sputtering cock, but as spent as you feel, even though your own climax has faded, Seulgiâs pussy doesnât seem to get the memo. It continues to pump your cock, slobbering all over it until, nearly a minute later, Seulgi finally comes down from her climax.
âHmâŠâ
A content, happy hum vibrates out of Seulgiâs throat after you pull out and collapse on the mattress next to her.
âAre you ⊠um, ok? Is it safe?â
âHm?â Seulgi turns to you, and upon meeting your eyes, she seems to realize what youâre talking about. âOh! Yeah. Why? Do you want me to get pregnant?â
âIâll have you know, I tried to let you know, but you didnât let me.â
Seulgi sticks her tongue out at you. âWell, arenât you glad I didnât?â
You laugh. âWell, yeah, butââ your breath catches as Seulgi suddenly wraps you in a sideways hug, her breasts pressing against your arm. You have to take a few seconds to steady yourself before finishing, ââbut, I mean, itâs still risky, right?â
âHm? Why do you still sound so nervous?â You look down at Seulgi to see her teasing smile, and you canât help but smile back. âAfter what we just did?â
âWell, no matter what, any guy would be this nervous from being hugged like this by his crush, especially when sheâs so beautiful and sexy and perfect.â
Itâs so cheesyâitâs so cheesyâbut Seulgi canât help but blush furiously at that. âSt-Stop!â
âNow whoâs the nervous one?â
Seulgi only laughs back and playfully slaps your shoulder. âMeanie. Let me just stay like this for a while.â
The next morning, as youâre having breakfast, the two of you canât stop smiling. A couple of natural idiots, just enjoying each otherâs company, spending a blissful weekend in each otherâs presence, reading, doing homework, watching another movie, playing games, and before you know it, itâs Monday again. As the two of you depart for your morning classes, Seulgi tugs at your arm. âHm?â
âGoodbye kiss.â
Seulgi is really a needy one. But honestly, you canât help but swoon at that: how her arms are reaching out to you, how her head is tilted upwards, how her lips are puckered, so you happily oblige, step into her embrace, and peck her on the lips. âThere, you fussy baby.â
âYour fussy baby.â
âWell, my fussy baby, I also need to get to class, so you need to let go of me.â
Seulgi pouts, but after rubbing her face against your neck a few times for good measure, she lets go. âSee you after class, honey!â
Your heart skips a couple of beats, and when you meet up with Irene at class, your heart is still racing. âDid something nice happen?â
Wow. Youâre that easy to read, huh?
âYeah.â
âWhat is it?â
âI canât tell you yet.â
Of all the people the two of you want to tell about your new relationship, Irene is on the very top of that list. However, Seulgi insisted that she wanted to be there to tell Irene the news together at lunch, so youâre now left with a confused but reluctantly accepting Irene. She doesnât press though, just silently accepts it, and when lunch comes and Seulgi breaks the news to her best friend, Ireneâs reaction is ⊠not exactly expected.
ââŠOh.â Then, as if realizing what Seulgi just said, she repeats, âOh!â more emphatically. âOh! Oh my god, really?â
The delayed reaction ⊠are you thinking about it too much, or is it confirmation of what youâve been suspecting?
âYeah!â
âOh my gosh, since when?!â
âLast Friday!â
âOoh my gosh, finally! Iâm so happy for you two!â
The hugs that Irene gave both Seulgi and you assuaged your suspicions, but as Irene launched into a tirade of questions about every little detail, with Seulgi omitting the more salacious bits, you mostly stayed quiet. Irene would shoot you glances every now and then, but you donât really know what to make of them: is she suspicious of you now? Irene sounded extremely excited and happy for you two, but you canât help but feel like youâve betrayed Ireneâs trust.
Youâre the last one to get back home that day, and when you do, Seulgi immediately rushes to the door and attacks you with her famous bear hugs. âWelcome home, baby~â
To be fair, this is only day four of being Seulgiâs boyfriend, but hearing the pet name coming out of her mouth, directed at you, and especially followed shortly after by a hug? You donât know if your heart can take it.
âItâs only been a couple of hours, did you miss me that much?â
The question was asked in jest, but when you look down at her face just a couple of inches below yours, nuzzling against your chest, and she nods very sincerely, you completely melt. âYeahâŠâ
âAw, you little baby.â She smiles, nuzzles against your chest, then looks up at you, but before she can speak, you amend your statement. âMy little baby.â Satisfied, she closes her eyes again and rests her head against your chest.
âBy the way, did you see how Irene reacted to the news?â
âYeah, she looked ⊠shocked, I guess?â
âYeah! Right? Now are you still doubting me?â
âAbout what?â
âAbout Irene! Her crush on you!â
âAre you sure itâs not because she has a crush on you?â
Seulgi scoffs, removing herself from your embrace. âI guess this is why you were so caught off-guard by my confession.â
âWhaâHey! Thatâs not fair!â
âWhatâs not fair?â
âIââ seeing Seulgi sticking her tongue out playfully at you just makes you laugh. ââI mean, youâre like, probably the most popular girl on campus. Youâre definitely the most beautiful girl on campus.â Just like how Seulgiâs pet names make you pause, so too do your compliments to her. That one word, and suddenly, Seulgi is turning away from you, the tips of her ears bright red. âI mean, fantasizing that such a girl likes me? Thatâs just, you know, a cheesy 80âs romcom trope.â Seulgi laughs at that.
âWhat do you mean?â
âAnd then youâre expecting me to believe that the second most beautiful girl on campus also likes me? I mean, thereâs being realistic, or I guess socially aware, and then thereâs believing that Irene also has a crush on me. Even if it were true, it would still feel delusional to believe it.â
ââŠI donât think I follow.â
âItâs more believable that she has a crush on you, right? Thatâs why she paused? Because she was sad that youâre in a relationship now?â
âNo, because sheâs the one who pushed me to confess to you.â
Oh.
Ok, that ⊠did that change things?
âI ⊠huh, I seeâŠâ
âSo if Irene had a crush on me, why would she tell me, her supposed âcrushâ, to confess to someone else?â
âWell, she could be saying that because she wants you to be happy.â
âOooh my god, baby~â Seulgi laughed and wrapped you into another bear hug, âyou just have to come to terms with the fact that youâre ⊠what do you call it? A chick magnet!â
âI ⊠really donât think I am, thoughâŠâ never mind that ridiculous claim, it took all of your willpower to get those words out, but just barely. And now, with Seulgi pressing her head against your chest again, thereâs no way she canât hear how fast your heart is racing, but she doesnât make note of it.
Instead, she says, âWe need to work on your self-confidence.â
âI donât think I have low self-confidence, I just think Iâm realistic.â
âWell, the reality is that, according to you, beauty number one and two on campus are in love with you.â
ââŠok, if you say so.â
Seulgi laughs at your response. âYou donât sound like you believe me.â
The two of you eventually move to the kitchen to start preparing dinner, staying on the topic of Irene, and while youâre talking, you canât help but think that itâs strange. Normally, a girl wouldnât want to talk about another girl she suspects has a crush on her new boyfriend, right? You feel like the topic would be pretty taboo, but for some reason, Seulgi doesnât seem to mind. In fact, she seems pretty animated when talking about Irene. Could this be you being oblivious again? But no matter how hard you try to read into Seulgiâs body language and inflections of her voice, you canât detect any hidden frustrations or grievances.
A week into the relationship, you finally ask the question youâve been meaning to ask ever since moving in.
âSeulgi, why do you never wear any ⊠you know, like, comfy clothes at home?â
âWhat do you mean? This is plenty comfortable.â
âReally?â You canât say you know that much about womenâs clothing, so if Seulgi says her clothes are comfortable, then theyâre comfortable. Still⊠âI feel like you never change out of the clothes you go out in.â
ââŠwell, is it wrong to want to always look good in front of the man Iâm in love with?â
Seulgi, sounding like a puppy that just got caught sneaking into the treats jar, protests, and you laugh. âWell, but I would feel bad if I was making you wear clothes that arenât necessarily the most comfortable things to wear, just because you want to look nice in front of me. And also, if thatâs your worry, then what about me? I wear pajamas around the house all the time!â
âWell, you look so good in your pajamas!â
Eventually, you somehow manage to convince Seulgi that itâs fine to dress casually at homeâa ridiculous thing to have to argue in the first placeâbut it took a while before Seulgi actually started to do so. Slowly, gradually, Seulgi began to be more comfortable wearing loungewear at home, even getting to the point where she started taking her bra off at home. Admittedly, it did serve as an occasional distraction whenever you happen to see a bit more than you ought to, or when you can see a nipple pressing against the thin fabric of her top, which coalesced to you pushing past Seulgiâs askew bedroom door to seek her out about buying groceries and instead finding her topless.
âOh shit, sorââ
âWait!â Seulgi grabs your wrist as you turn around. âUmâŠâ
ââŠDo you need help choosing your clothes for tomorrow or something?â
Seulgi doesnât laugh. She doesnât even respond. She just closes the gap between you, and as her hands snake around your sides, you can feel her breasts pressing against your back. âYou see me like this, and you donâtâŠâ You swear, you can hear your own heart beating out of your chest, âwant to do anything to me?â
Was this you being oblivious again? Was Seulgi dropping hints all this time? But it was you who proposed that she started dressing more casually.
âSeulgiââ
âSorry, am I being too much?â
It doesnât matter, you decide. âWhat do you want me to do to you?â When Seulgi doesnât reply, you grab her hands, lightly peel them off your torso, and turn around. Seulgi, instead of answering, is standing there, red-faced, looking very adamantly at the ground, clearly embarrassed about what she just said. You can feel her tugging at her hands, trying to cover her chest, but the gentle hold your hands have on her wrists is enough to dissuade her. âDo you know how much I have to restrain myself on a daily basis? If I did whatever I wanted to do to you, then you wouldnât be able to attend your volleyball practice.â
Seulgi gasps, and if you didnât have both wrists in your grasp, she mightâve collapsed right then and there from how badly her knees are shaking. âOhâŠâ
âDo you want me to prove it?â You ask, but you arenât really asking. Youâre pushing her, guiding her out of her walk-in closet, and when youâve backed her up all the way to her bed, you pick her up and lay her down onto the soft mattress. You follow shortly after, straddling her with both legs wedged between your thighs.
âTheyâre smââ Seulgiâs sentence is cut short when both hands move to her exposed boobs, taking a handful of them in your palms and giving them a light squeeze.
Ever since that first time, the two of you didnât do anything past kissing. For you, it felt awkward to just tell her you wanted to have sex, especially with how often she inadvertently turned you on by doing the most mundane things, so you just withheld all of that horniness. That, all that pent-up lust, comes up to the surface in that moment, where youâve had the pleasure of seeing her very shapely boobs in all those tight tops but never dared to ask to touch them despite fantasizing about them for so long, and only now having the chance to do so.
âTheyâre soâsorry, does that feel good?â So you ask, but looking at her face, you feel like you already know the answer. Her eyes are closed and her head is thrown back against her pillow, biting her lower lip in an attempt to stop herself from making too loud of a noise from the feeling of her breasts getting massaged and stimulated by your hands. Still, âSeulgi?â
âH-Hm?â
âDoes that feel good?â
âYeânng!â You intentionally wait for her to respond before bringing your thumb up to her areola, but retreating as soon as she interrupts herself with a loud moan.
âDoes that feel good?â
ââŠmeanie.â
This time, your index finger joins your thumb in rubbing the sensitive patch of discolored skin sitting atop the peak of her mounds. You can hear Seulgi gasp at the contact, and when you give both nipples a firm squeeze, she lets out another, higher-pitched moan.
âGod, Iâve wanted to do that for so long.â
âThenâŠâ You look up at Seulgi, ââŠthen do it more often.â
âIâm serious about what I said earlier, Seulgi. If I did it whenever I wanted to, then you would never have a break from me.â
âWho said I ever wanted a break?â
Seulgi, you feel like, has just been testing your patience this entire time. It almost feels like sheâs rage-baiting you, pushing your buttons, seeing how youâd react. A teasing remark, a playful grin, and it works, too. âSeulgiââ this time, nothing interrupts you. You interrupt yourself, your one hand continuing to play with her tits while the other went to her shorts to push them off. The second her legs were rid of the obstruction, that hand dove between her legs and pressed two digits onto her slit.
âHmm, oh my godââ
Seulgiâs back arches off the bed, another musical moan filling the room. âCareful what you wish for, honey.â
Seulgi opens her eyes again to meet yours. âAnd you donât have any idea how often I want to do this with you.â
You want to ask why, but the question dies in your throat.
Seulgi? Sheâs been horny for you?
âLike, when your rolled up your sleeves to cut up those carrots yesterday, IâŠâ Seulgi dared not finish that sentence, but the way her ears burst into a fit of red let your mind finish it for her.
âYou what?â
You still want her to say it, though. Seulgi, the innocent, sweet, pure princess that she is: you want to hear her say naughty words, dirty words, and you want to know that youâre the reason why she said them.
âYou know!â
âHmm, do I? I donât know, Iâm pretty oblivious, arenât I?â
âHnnnââ Seulgiâs voice strains as you take your hands away from her sputtering core, ââwai-wait! NoâŠâ
âIâm trying to imagine how you were going to finish that sentence, butâŠâ
âFine! When you rolled your sleeves up yesterday, I had to take a second because IâI got weak in the knees, ok?!â
Itâs one thing to finish the sentence in your head, but itâs an entirely other thing to hear her finish it with her own voice. And man are you glad you did, because the surge of confidence makes your chest swell with pride, power, and a desire to act on every illicit fantasy youâve had of your girlfriend over the past few weeks.
âNaughty, naughty girl,â you say, but reward her anyway by reintroducing your hand to her pussy, this time using three digits to plunge directly into her sweltering heat. Seulgi lets out a sharp gasp, and when your fingers start curling against her walls, the gasps start turning into deeper, louder moans.
âOoh god! Oh my god, that feels so good, your fingERS!â At that reaction, you know youâve found the sweet spot.
âDoes that feel good?â
You rub that same spot again, and Seulgi vigorously nods. âYes! Yes, please! Right there!â Your fingers, your entire hand, is already soaking wet, but you donât care. One hand palming and knead her breasts while the other relentlessly assaults her G-spot, Seulgiâs body shaking with an overwhelming feeling of sheer ecstasy, unabashedly screaming as the accuracy of your fingers and the ferocity of both hands, eventually joining at her overstimulated pussy, increase until, finally, she lets out a brief warning cry before a jet of fluids hits you square on the jaw. âOh myââ Seulgi, seeing it happen, is half-laughing, half-moaning, wholly red-faced, rides out her orgasm with your fingers that continue to rub that sweet spot, spraying your clavicle, your arm, the bed sheets, and everything in between until she comes off that high.
âWow.â
As you take your hands away from Seulgi to wipe the mess she made on you, the blushing and laughing girl gets up and moves her hands to help you. âIâm so sorry! I didnât mean toâŠâ
ââŠto just squirt on me so ferocââ Seulgi slaps your shoulder before you can finish the sentence, causing you to burst into laughter.
âDonât just say it! Itâs embarrassing!â
âItâs not embarrassing, itâs hot.â Ordinarily, you mightâve felt out-of-place using such language to Seulgi, of all people, but with how embarrassed she is, you canât help but want to tease her more. Not to mention, she is your girlfriend. As hard as that is to believe, still.
âWell, if itâs hot, thenâŠâ Seulgiâs hand slows to a crawl, most of her fluids having been wiped off you already, ââŠthenâŠ?â Her eyes dart to your clothed shorts, which come flying off in the next few seconds, and Seulgi laying down on her back yet again in the following seconds.
But as youâre positioning yourself between her legs, you realize, ââŠwait. Condom. This time, we actually have them this time.â
âNo.â
God.
The first time Seulgi had such a reaction, it was more emphatic, rushed, impatient, needy, horny. This time, sheâs more steadfast, concise, but itâs no less heart-wrenchingly arousing.
âThen, what was the point of buying them?â
âThatâs what I was saying.â
Despite being her boyfriend, you find that you still have an immense desire to protect her. Itâs just now, the way to protect her has shifted: before, it was mostly to protect her from undue advances, but to still give her room to make her own decisions and build the relationships she wants to build. Now, itâs to protect her from herself, and from yourself as well.
âAre you not going to let me get them?â
Seulgi grins. âNope.â Her legs wrap around your waist. Her sultry gaze bores into you, trapping you, disengaging that protective desire entirely.
âYouâreâŠâ you fling off your shirt, grinning to yourself a little as her eyes are magnetized to your torso. Ever since then, youâve found even more motivation to hit the gym more often, for precisely moments like this. And, although not much as changed, it still makes you feel amazing when Seulgi canât help but stare. ââŠsuch a naughty girl, arenât you?â
âWell, if thatâs makes me naughty, then what about you?â she says to you, who is positioning your dick against her entrance, âmy partner-in-crime?â
You answer only by pushing yourself into her, and Seulgi responds with a breathy moan, her back arching off the bed slightly, her legs tensing and her walls flexing as they take your girth in. âGod, so tightâŠâ
Your hands gravitate to her waist, and hers to your forearms, driving your cock into her core mercilessly. Deeper, faster, harder, the sound of Seulgiâs moans mix with your own to create a symphony of pleasure that fills the quaint bedroom.
âYes, oh my god.â
Your eyes are trained on Seulgi, drowning in ecstasy, reveling in all the rough love and attention youâre pounding into her body. All this time, youâve held Seulgi on somewhat of a pedestal: sheâs this sweet, innocent, kind princess that needs to be protected. Now, having heard her clearly expressing her desire to not be treated as such, youâre abandoning the year of pre-conceived notions youâve developed of Seulgi to adhere to her wishes. âYouâre so unbelievably sexy, Seulgi.â
It was a purely incidental action, how your grip of her tiny waist tightened and inadvertently lifted it slightly. That slight shift changed the angle youâre penetrating her at, and in doing so, incidentally caused her back to arch well off the bed. âOoh god, yes! Right there!â
While it wasnât intentional, you intend to take full advantage of it. You aim your next thrust for that same spot, and Seulgi reacts with another ecstatic scream. Another, and another, and the more accurate you become, the closer you can her getting: her walls tighten around your cock, her hands clench around your arms. Swaying, moving, rocking in synchronization with your rhythmic motions, the jiggling of her petite breasts catching your eye. You oblige their cry for attention, and when your fingers finally close in on her nipples, Seulgi lets out another warning yelp. âBaby, Iâm going toâhnng, Iâm going to cum, oh my god, oh myââ Her voice fills the room, fills the apartment, perhaps even the building, and as she vibrates violently against your cock thatâs now being flooded with a second tsunami of her wetness, youâre equally unrelenting. âGod, oh my godââ Seulgiâs eyes are rolled back, and you make sure to ride out her orgasm to its peak and all the way back down, nearly a minute later, when she finally reaches ground level again.
You extract your sopping wet cock from her pussy and let her bathe in the afterglow of her climax. However, barely a few seconds afterwards, she turns her head to look at you. âYou didnâtâŠâ
âItâs ok. Take the rest you need.â
Seulgi shakes her head, flips herself around, and tucks her knees in to prop her ass up at you. Her thighs and buttocks are still shimmering with her ejaculate, and when she reaches around to pry apart those plump pair of mounds apart, two sets of glistening, pink folds stare back at you. âAre you sure you donât want toââ
Seulgi canât even finish that sentence before your hands are placed on her romp and your dick is buried all the way to the hilt inside her drooling snatch. âFuck,â you mutter under your breath, re-immersing yourself in her heat, her pussy trapping you again in its vice-grip. Seulgi, having just come down from her climax and having not been given much of a break from orgasm to orgasm, how heavily overstimulated she is made worse by how fiercely youâre ravaging her, every thrust carrying with it the full ferocity and pent-up lust from watching Seulgi succumb to two orgasms. The harder you go, the more prominent the sound of her rotund romp slapping against your crotch is, and the deeper you push yourself inside her, the deeper Seulgiâs face sinks into her pillow.
Seulgi, barely able to form coherent words, completely surrenders control of her body to you. Rocking back and forth, each pistoning motion slathering your dick with more of her honey, which then gets splattered all over her bubble butt at each impact.
âSeulgiâŠâ
âHmm!â Upon realizing that she canât get the words out, she desperately reaches for you, curling her feet around your knees, trying to tell you by any means possible to stay.
âYou want me to cum inside you so badly, then fucking take it!â
At the apex of one last thrust, you unleash a torrent of your seed, and Seulgi, feeling the intense stream of the hot, sticky fluids rushing into her womb, screams into the pillow as the third orgasm of the night wracks her body. When the two of you finally settle down, Seulgi pulls you into her arms to nuzzle against your neck. âIâm ⊠wow. You were so amazing, baby. I canât believe you ⊠I ⊠three timesâŠâ
âYou believe me now?â
âHm?â
âThat, if I were to have my way, youâd never have a break?â
Seulgi smiles and nods, craning her head up to plant a chaste kiss on your lips. âYeah. From now on, you have to let me know when you want to do it, ok?â
The end result was the two of you agreeing to be more open about your sexual needs, and while you still held back a decent amount of time, especially on nights before her games, it led to, for exampleâŠ
âRight here?â
Seulgi lets out a groan when your tongue flattens against her damp slit. âWhy not?â
ââŠitâs embarrassingâŠâ
âWhy? Itâs just the two of us.â
Seulgi throws her head back against the couch backrest as your fingers brush against the hard nub sitting north of her labia. âB-ButâŠâ
âDo you want me to stop?â
Slowly, bashfully, Seulgi shakes her head, and you take that as permission to dive deeper between her legs. âOoh my goshâŠâ the low, grumbling moan tumbles out of Seulgiâs lips, and the more contact your tongue makes with her snatch, the louder it becomes. It barely takes a minute before sheâs bucking into your face, so you oblige her wordless request and push your tongue past her folds and into her cunt. âAah, baby~â
The only way you can respond is with increased eagerness, which you do by adding your hand into the equation. With your fingers playing with her clit and your tongue splitting her pussy walls apart, Seulgi canât help but buck harder and harder into your face until she becomes completely undone, not sparing a single square inch of your face with her slick. When you pull away, Seulgi is breathing heavily, fully reclined against the couch, and your feel like you can barely keep your eyes open. âThat was quite a bitââ the culprit of the situation takes a look at you and bursts out into embarrassed laughter.
âOh my god! Iâm so sorry!â
âItâs ok, I think I need to go wash my face, though.â
A few days later, Seulgi decides to pay you off in the kitchen.
âJust let me do everything, ok?â You wordlessly let her take your boxers off, and when your dick falls out from the piece of underwear, she grabs it tenderly in her soft, velvety hands. âLook at you, already so hard.â
The sight before you, of Seulgi on her knees, your hardening cock in hand, feels blasphemous. Someone like Kang Seulgi doesnât belong on her kneesâin fact, it should probably be the other way around. Yet, sheâs the one who insisted on doing this to you. Who are you to tell her what she should and shouldnât do?
âExposing your waist like that, how could I not be?â
You had initially thought that convincing Seulgi to wear more casual clothes around the house would spare you from the insanely eye-popping outfits she used to don on a day-to-day basis, but as youâve learned over the weeks, that was only partially true. Among those pieces of loungewear were looser outfits, for sure, but the one she is wearing now is nothing short of jaw-dropping. Her slutty little waist on full display, the top stretching just far enough to cup the underside of her breasts, accompanied by a low-hanging pair of shorts that sit just above the intersection of her legsâand then, come time to cook dinner, she tells you that she wants to suck you off right then and there in the kitchen? Such a proposition is physically, emotionally, and mentally impossible to say ânoâ to.
âOh,â Seulgi says, her fingers wrapping around your girth and beginning to apply a pumping motion to your length, âso all I have to do is to wear something like this if I want to do it, then?â
âSeulgi, all you have to do is to kiss me for longer than two seconds.â Seulgi giggles, and then places her lips onto your dick. You let out a groan. Your fists ball into fists, another louder groan escaping your lips as she swallows your glans into her mouth. âShitâŠâ
You can feel her tongue twirling around the sensitive tip of your dick, holding it inside her mouth for a few seconds before letting it slip back out. âIâll keep that in mind,â she says, winking to you before taking half your length in one fell swoop.
âAgh, fuckââ Seulgi never takes her eyes off you, and when you let out that swear, the smile in her eyes brightens. Youâve noticed that Seulgi, for some reason, loves it when you accidentally utter that word during sex. Because of that, youâve developed an even greater incentive to stop yourself from saying it at all costs, but in this instance, the curse just flies out of your mouth before you can think to stop it.
âMmm~â
Her soft, plump lips glide along the circumference of your cock as her tongue caresses its sensitive underside, every back-and-forth motion covering more of your shaft with saliva. Itâs a devastatingly sexy visual, one that you canât take your eyes off of, and how firmly Seulgi is maintaining eye-contact with you only adds to it. Itâs an image you want to burn into your retinas forever, but each time your dick hits the back of her throat, you can feel your focus slipping away little by little. Seulgi, meanwhile, is happily humming along as she hollows her already slim cheeks out.
Clenching your fists tighter is all you can do to stay upright, and Seulgi, seeing from the corner of her vision, takes your cock out of her mouth to say, âBaby, you can use your hands if you want.â
ââŠand do what with them?â
âPut them on the back of my head.â
Day by day, you feel like youâre learning that Seulgi is freakier than she lets on. That pure, loving, happy-go-lucky personality, the beaming eye-smile and the sunny disposition has etched a certain type of persona in your mind that you felt like Seulgi embodied, but when she tells you that she wants you to fuck her face, that image is being shattered week by week.
âA-Are you sure?â
âIâll tap your hands if I think itâs too much. Although, I doubt you can make me feel that way.â
Seulgi takes your cock back into her mouth, and you put a cautious pair of hands on her head. She nods encouragingly, still maintaining eye-contact with you, and as she resumes her blowjob, your feel your hands following the bobbing motion of her head. It feels good enough already, and as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge, you feel your hands tightening around her head, grabbing fistfuls of her hair.
Does she really want you to fuck her face? But what if youâre too rough? She did say she would warn you if that was the case. And, in the first place, you canât even tell how much of her head bobbing back and forth is of her own volition and how much of it is you. All you know is that, the closer you get, the faster she goes, swapping between letting your dick pound the back of her throat and keeping it there to suck it off, and the longer it goes on, the more you feel like youâre losing your mind. Eventually, itâs the sound of your waist hitting the cabinet doors under the sink youâre leaning against that clues you in that you are, in fact, fucking Seulgiâs face, but she doesnât make any indication of discomfort. Tears start welling up in her eyes, but no matter how rough you get, her hands never leave their respective places: one holding your hips for stability, the other attending to your balls.
âSeulgi, Iâm so close,â you groan, and Seulgi responds with increased eagerness. When it becomes clear that she wants you to unload inside her mouth, you release the tension in your nethers all at once, exploding inside her mouth. And, even as you deposit more and more of your load inside her mouth, Seulgi refuses to break eye-contact, letting her cheeks swell up until, when your orgasm comes to an end and you pull yourself out of her mouth, sheâs happily kneeling in front of you with a mouth full of your seed. âUm, the sinkâs right here, Seulgi. Here, spit it out,â you say, reaching to help her up and stepping aside.
Seulgi, however, does no such thing. Instead, she sharply inhales through her nose, reels her head back, and in one gulp, swallows the entire thing. You can only stare, half in lustful awe and half in disgust, as her throat flexes impressively to compensate for the sudden intake of fluids now running down her esophagus.
âOh my godâŠâ
âWhy would I need to spit it out? After I worked so hard for it.â
âThatâsâŠâ you donât even know what to say. It canât be very appetizing, but maybe for women, itâs different? Then again, itâs not like you minded having your entire face covered in her cum, or even swallowing a little bit of it.
âOk, go back to your room.â
âHuh? But, dinnerâŠâ
âYou have a test tomorrow to study for, donât you?â
âYeah, butââ
âBut nothing! Go study! Iâll let you know when dinnerâs ready.â
âI can help a little bit, though.â
âNo!â Seulgi insists, on her feet already and trying to push you out the kitchen. âGo!â
âUm, ok, but at least let me get my pants first.â
âOh.â Seulgi laughs and takes her hands off you. You put your pants back on, but right after you turn around and take a few steps, Seulgi calls back out to you.
âHm?â
âIâll take a kiss as payment.â
Seulgi is standing there, arms outstretched, head tilted slightly upwards, lips puckered, and you laugh. By now, it feels like this pose is her signature pose, and every time, you happily oblige. This time is no different: you give her a quick peck on the lips, thank her and tell her you love her, and then disappear back into your bedroom.
As your relationship with Seulgi deepened, Irene began a new one. Apparently, Jenny, someone who share classes with you and Irene confessed to her out of the blue, and for whatever reason, Irene accepted. You say that because, despite spending more time with Seulgi now that the two of you are a couple, you still spend a good amount of time with Irene, sharing so many classes together and all, and have never really noticed Irene and Jenny talking to each other.
âI told you.â
âWhat?â
You grin at Seulgi. âIrene did have a crush on you. She canât have had a crush on me if she doesnât like men, right?â
âBut the fact that sheâs going out with Jenny now means that it wasnât me that she liked, but her, right?â
âMaybe, but it at least means that it wasnât me that she liked.â
âHmâŠâ
ââŠwhat?â
Seulgi takes a second to answer you. âI donât know. Something seems weird though. Donât you think so, too?â
âWell, a little? I guess I didnât really think Irene knew Jenny that well, butâŠâ
âDoesnât it seem like ⊠I donât know, rushed?â
You came to the exact same conclusion, but it wasnât your place to make such determinations. If Irene wanted to accept Jennyâs confession, then that was that. âWhy do you say that?â
âI mean ⊠donât tell her I said this, ok?â You nod. âI want to be happy for Irene, but she didnât seem that excited. You know? Like, she almost seemed more excited when I told her that we started dating.â Now that you think back to it, that did seem the case.
âBut then, why would she accept the confession?â
âThatâs the thing. I donât know.â
Itâs been one thing that you noticed, that the two of you candidly talk about Irene a lot. Initially, you tried to tiptoe around talking about her too much, but in the end, Seulgi never seemed to show any jealousy or any such adverse reaction to talking about another women to her boyfriend. It is her best friend, you reason to yourself, so maybe itâs not that bad to talk about Irene, specifically? After all, you donât really talk about other women that frequently, and especially on the topic of romance.
âWell, we just have to trust that Irene knows what sheâs doing.â
The two of you closely tracked Ireneâs relationship with Jenny, but as it went on, even you felt like it was a bit too one-sided. Being that Irene was still the best friend of Seulgi and yourself, the two of you would still ask her to hang out every now and then, and whenever you did, Irene never seemed too reluctant to give up time with her girlfriend over spending time with the two of you. The best you could do was watch from the sidelines and hope things were going well with them. As their relationship progressed, so too did your relationship with Seulgi.
âYou really bought this, huh?â
Seulgi laughed. âI know right? It was sooo embarrassing, and I was wearing a mask and everything. And whatâs worse, when I got to the cash register, I dropped them both on the ground and spent almost an entire minute trying to pick them back up, and when I was trying to get my credit card out of my wallet, it wouldnât come out, so the clerk was just staring at me for maybe a full minute or two, just watching me fumbling and silently judging me.â
Classic, cute, clumsy Seulgi. âYou couldâve told me to buy it.â
âNo! It was my suggestion, so it should be me who buys it, right?â
You look at the bottle of lube and butt plug Seulgi handed you a few minutes ago, in equal parts giddiness and bashfulness. âI guessâŠâ This time, the two of you are on your bed, having decided to give Seulgiâs a break, seeing as how the two of you used it and only it the first few months of the relationship. âBut ⊠right now?â
âYeah! I mean, I won player of the game in my last match, donât I deserve a reward?â
You laugh. âIs that why you were playing so hard?â
Seulgi turns red. Rather, even redder than she already is. âWell, thatâs no the only reason!â You donât reply, and sure enough, she continues, âI just ⊠did have the thought that, if I did win player of the game, then you would agree to this.â
It goes without saying that Seulgi is incredibly athletic. Maybe itâs in part because sheâs a volleyball player that her lower body is so well tonedâalbeit, she is a libero, so there isnât much of a need to have jumping heightâbut Seulgiâs pussy always felt tight to you. Did regular strenuous activity have an impact on that? You arenât sure, but what you have been sure about is that anal is out of the question, at least without some serious help.
So, this is why she got home so late, huh? You figured it was a post-game meeting that held her up, but it was actually that Seulgi visited a certain special store to pick up some special equipment.
âAre you really sure you want to do this?â Seulgi nods with all the eagerness of a golden retriever hearing the word âwalkâ. âOk.â
âYay! I love you so much!â
You sigh.
This is so ridiculous. Why is it that Seulgi is the one thanking you for agreeing to do anal? Logically, in all sane realities, it should be the other way around. It should be you begging Seulgi to do it, and only after months of convincing and setting up the perfect date involving a candle-lit dinner and a trip to the spa that she would finally relent.
âOk.â
By the time youâve gathered up your resolve, Seulgi is already without clothes, laying face-down on your bed with her knees tucked into her stomach and her legs spread, pointing her butt directly at you. âIâm ready, honey~â
At such a sexy sight, for a moment, the instructions Seulgi had you watch about applying the lube all but disappeared from your brain. Despite it being a few months alreadyâactually, to be fair, itâs only been a few months, so you feel perfectly justified in having such a stupefied, dumbfounded reaction to Seulgi presenting her very shapely ass to you. Seeing it covered in their volleyball uniform is one thing, but seeing it in personâunblemished, tight skin, juicy, taking a few deep breaths is all you can do to stop yourself from taking a handful or slapping it to watch it jiggle in recoil.
âOk, Iâm starting.â
Applying a generous glob of the lubricant to your fingers, you set the bottle down on the nightstand, using one hand to part her butt cheeks while the fingers of the other rubs the cream-like substance around the rim of her backdoor. At the contact, you can hear Seulgi gasp, and you can also see the puckered hole reactively clenching, but as you apply the cool fluid against the hole, Seulgi manages to loosen it back up.
âOk, Iâm done with the first step,â you tell her, reaching for the butt plug and applying another generous glob onto it. You make sure itâs on the smallest size before asking again, âReady for step two?â
âMhm!â
Seulgiâs normally chipper voice is laced with the slightest bit of hesitation, and that in and of itself gives you pause. But, if youâve learned anything about Seulgi in the time youâve spent as her boyfriend and partner in bed, itâs that Seulgi is much, much sturdier than she looks. When you press the toy against her rear, Seulgi lets out another gasp, and you wait for her to relax before you ease it in.
âMmm~â
The sexy, low moan that rumbles out of Seulgiâs throat stirs something deep inside you. You make sure youâre rotating it as it inches in, bit by bit, inside her butt. âAre you ok?â
âMhmâŠâ Seulgiâs response comes out as a wistful kind of low moan.
You continue to ease it in until all thatâs left is the handle. âOk, thatâs everything. Iâm going to proceed to step three, alright?â
âNo wait!â Seulgiâs eyes open and she pushes herself off your bed, wincing a little as the sex toy shifts a little inside her. âI want to do it.â
A few seconds later, youâre left with only your shirt on, Seulgi with the bottle of lube in one hand while the other is gently stroking your erection, kneeling between your legs and face inches away from the thing sheâs supposed to be lubing up. âSeulgiâŠ?â
âHm?â She looks up at you and sees that youâre looking at the bottle of lube she apparently forgot about. âOh, right.â She deposits a healthy amount of the lubricant onto her hands and begins rubbing it along your shaft. You flinch, the cool, slippery substance sending shivers up your spine, and Seulgi, clearly amused at your reaction, is closely observing your reaction, grinning to herself while she applies it.
âStop laughing.â
âIâm not laughing!â
âYouâre smiling.â
âNo, Iâm not!â
âI can hear it in your voice, baby.â
Itâs only now that Seulgi finally lets out a laugh. âIâm so sorry! But you look so cute, grimacing like that!â
You donât know how anyone could perceive the face you were just making as âcuteââyou certainly didnât feel cuteâbut youâve learned not to question Seulgi whenever she makes these types of comments. After all, she did fall in love with you.
After about a minute, Seulgi gets back up to a sitting position. âOk, done!â She sets the bottle on the nightstand and turns around, presenting her ass with the handle of the sex toy sticking out of the puckered hole to you.
âOk. Are you sure youâre ready?â
Seulgi turns her head to look at you, giggling. âAre you?â
ââŠI donât know, to be honest.â
Seulgi laughs. âItâll be no different than normal! Iâll make sure to let you know if I ever want you to stop, I promise. Ok?â
âRight.â Hearing that soothes your anxiety somewhat. Knowing Seulgi, you half believe that Seulgi is so insistent about this because she assumes you would want to do this with her, and you even more so believe that she would refrain from letting you know about any discomfort if she knows youâre enjoying yourself. In none of your time together has Seulgi ever voiced any discomfort or anything of the sort, but maybe you can credit that to you being overly cautious. Admittedly, the majority of your concern regarding this is losing yourself so much that you donât even notice Seulgiâs cries for you to stop until itâs too late, and amongst everything else youâve tried, this has the greatest potential for harm. âBut, really, even if you feel even slightlyââ
âBaby,â Seulgi turns around fully this time, soothingly placing a hand on your arm, âIâll be ok. I promise.â
You nod. âRight. Ok. Iâm ready.â
Seulgi gives you a quick kiss in gratitude before turning back around, bending over for ease of access. âIâm also ready.â Your fingers wrap around the handle, and slowly, you pull it out of her backdoor. You can feel Seulgi shudder against your hands as you do so, her moans coming out louder and more clearly this time, and when you finally finish extracting the butt plug, Seulgi lets out a throaty sigh that borders on a moan.
You take a second to admire just how much work the phallus has done in stretching out the hole, then plant your butt on the mattress and guide her onto your lap. This time, when your dick prods at her entrance, Seulgi lets out a whimper. âSeulgi?â
âYes, please, put it in.â
You take a quick second to steel yourself before pushing past the tight ring of her anus and sinking your length into her lubricated hole.
âShit, holy fuck, Seulgi.â
This time, you donât think Seulgi can even hear you say the curse word even as she throws her head back onto your shoulder. The deeper your cock dives into her, the deeper her gasps grow, gasping which gradually transforms into panting. More than the tight pressure of her sphincter muscles is applying to your cock, hearing her gasping so much in sheer elation, feeling her leaning so far back against your chest, feeling her silky hair rubbing against your nape as Seulgiâs body is wracked with the fullness of your cock filling a hole that was never meant to be filled in such a manner is turning you on even more.
âYes, keep going baby, more.â
You take a second upon fully hilting her to give her tiny hole a secondâs reprieve to stretch and accommodate your dick before pulling your hips back and slamming the entirety of your length back inside her. Seulgiâs entire body shakes, its reverberations transferring onto your lap, and when you thrust back into her again, the gasps quickly turn into whimpers.
âFuck!â
Less often than you using the word, even less often does Seulgi use the word. And hearing her say it in such an emphatic manner turns the dial of arousal from eleven all the way up to twenty.
âOh, oh my god!â One hand on her waist to push her up and down your shaft while the other wraps around her lap to stabilize her from the front, you use every ounce of strength in your core to push yourself deep into her asshole. âYes! Baby, keep going! Oh my god, that feels so good!â
You can feel her feet dangling off the edge of the bed, curling and pressing against your shins, her entire body rocking with the force of your every thrust.
âHmm, youâre so sexy, Seulgi.â
You grumble the word, pressing your lips against her throat, and Seulgi lets out a groan of her own, pressing her cheek against the crown of your head. Her hands curl up against the bedsheets, each thrust causing her sopping wet cunt to leak out more and more of her nectar.
âAh, IâmâIâm, oh my god, IâmââŠI canât, Iâm canât, oh my god, Iâm going toânng, fuck!â
Your parents have never been particularly strict about using such language, but you try to refrain whenever you can. There are times when it just comes out naturally, mostly from frustration or in pain. However, around Seulgi, thereâs something about her that makes you even more aware of the word. Itâs like she has some kind of calming effect on you, or rather, more like her very presence makes you more self-conscious about just about everything. Obscene topics, talking bad about people, curse words, everything.
Youâre also the type of guy who likes it when your girlfriend tries not to swear, as you do. Or at least, thatâs what you thought.
But with Seulgi, everythingâs different. Around her, you feel like youâre being forced to be the best version of yourself you can beâand that very effect, the cause of that effect, is Seulgi herself, who is probably just about the best, kindest, most humble and caring and loving human being on the planet. So thatâs why, when you hear her swear for the second time in the span of a few seconds, the fingers that were just playing at her sputtering folds dove in without a secondâs hesitation.
You can feel Seulgiâs entire body react to sudden intrusion of your two digits into her other hole. Seulgi, mind completely overrun with pleasure, is unable to do anything but chant your name in between moans and gasps. Her body shifts in tandem with the pounding motion of your cock, and your fingers take barely a minute to find her G-spot and rubbing that. And, when that happens, it takes only a few seconds before Seulgi barely chokes out a warning scream before she erupts, exploding past your hand and squirting all over the opposite wall.
âLet all out, baby.â You can feel her shuddering even more as you whisper the words into her ear. âLet it all out.â Itâs a pretty breath-taking sight: itâs almost like her entire body is being wracked with pleasure all at once, as opposed to what ordinarily looks like a wave of ecstasy that rolls through her body. As you continue to let her ride out her orgasm, you watch in a lustful kind of awe as Seulgiâs body shudders like youâve never seen it before. The tightness of her anus contracts, her vaginal walls tightly grip the now three digits that are buried inside her heat, and every convulsion lets out another wave of ejaculate. It takes a few seconds for the intensity of her squirting to stop hitting the wall, and about another minute for her to come all the way down off that high. When she does, against the better judgement of the quickly tightening knot in your lower region, you slow down to a halt. âNeed a breather?â
Seulgi nods wearily, panting heavily against your shoulder. Maybe about half a minute later, she speaks up. âDo you want to cum inside here this time?â
You chuckle at that. âCan I?â
She nods. âI want to feel it, too. I want to feel you filling this hole up too.â
You take that as permission to resume, justified in the groan that tumbles out of Seulgiâs lips when you draw your hips back and slam your length back inside her anus. It takes barely a minute to find your rhythm again, except this time, your other hand is on her breasts, cupping the pliable flesh in your palms, letting your fingers sink deeply into the plush texture of the fatty tissue. Every time her body bounces against your lap, they bounce in your hand, and every time you squeeze those hardened teats, Seulgi lets out another whimper.
âSeulgi, Iâm so close.â
âMmm~â
You can feel her nodding in the form of her crown rubbing against your cheek. Every squeeze of her anus exerts on your cock, now also being lubricated by the cum thatâs flowing down from her pussy and onto your shaft, brings you one step closer to the precipice.
âGo on baby,â Seulgi whispers, her back arching into your hand as it progressively roughens the squeezing itâs doing on her boobs, âI want to feel it all.â
âMmm, god, Seulgi, Iâm cummingââ
A few more pumps and you explode, spilling waves and waves of baby batter into the hole thatâs incapable of making babies.
âHooh my god, so warm!â
Each thrust inside her asshole is met with equal vigor, the damp sounds of wet skin slapping against wet skin joining the cacophony of lewd sounds echoing about the bedroom. Her anus squeezes and squeezes your convulsing cock, greedily taking in every ounce of seed it can take, and then some, leaking out of the tight connection. After youâre spent, you collapse onto the mattress, your softening member slipping out of Seulgiâs backdoor as she pushes herself off you and takes her place inside your arms.
âSee? That was pretty amazing, right?â
ââŠyeah, it was.â
Seulgi giggles and pecks you on the cheek. âThank you for agreeing to try it out. I know how stressed out you were about accidentally hurting me, but, Iâll have you know, Iâm even ready for round two if you are.â You look over at her, who is simply shooting a cheeky grin at you. âI think my other hole is jealous it got to eat such a delicious, full meal.â
Similarly to âfuckâ, thereâs something about Seulgiâs dirty talk that also gets to you. While your refractory period is still active, those words alone, you feel, pushed that fatigue back a couple of minutes, at least. The fact that Seulgi is blushing furiously at having said such lewd words adds to the appeal, too.
âOh, is it?â
âYeah. You should do something about it.â
You swing yourself atop her and straddle the svelte woman, looking down at her bright, eager expression. âMaybe I should.â
The very next day, although Seulgi found herself a little sore, she didnât even hesitate when Irene asked to come the two of you to come over to her place, seemingly with important news.
âIrene?â As soon as the door opened, Irene tackled Seulgi with a hug. Seulgi, a bit startled, wrapped her arms around Irene anyway, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to her. You, watching, couldnât help but swoon a little at the sight. âWhatâs wrong?â
âI ⊠broke up with Jenny.â
âOh no! What? Why? What happened?â
Irene removed her face from Seulgiâs shoulder to look at her. âIt was me who broke up with her.â
âDid something happen?â
Irene sighed, turning her eyes at you and offering a smile. You smile back, just as confused as your significant other.
âUm ⊠well, sort of.â Irene steps out of Seulgiâs embrace. âLetâs talk in the living room.â
After the three of you are seated, Seulgi sitting next to Irene on the couch, holding her best friendâs hand and gently caressing it with her thumb, you seated opposite them. In that moment, a brief, random though appears in your head, a flash of inspiration from the scene before you: your girlfriend and your best friend, her best friend, look good together.
You shake your head. What are you thinking?
âI realized that I was just using Jenny. And when I realized that, I couldnât do it anymore.â The apartment takes upon a somber atmosphere, a nearly palpable one. âI realized I was just ⊠trying to run away.â Seulgi nods empathetically, continuing to gently rub Ireneâs hand. âI ⊠oh my gosh, I donât know if I can say this.â
âTake your time, Irene. If you donât want to share, you donât have to.â
Those soothing words from you seem to be what gives her the courage to continue. âWhen I helped convince Seulgi to confess to you,â Irene glances at you for a spit second before her eyes go back onto the ground, âI just wanted to be a good friend. And I knew how much Seulgi loved you. But, the entire time, it just ⊠I couldnât ⊠oh, my godâŠâ
Tears started falling down her face, and Seulgiâs lips pulled into a frown. She looked on the verge of tears herself, reaching up and lightly dabbing the droplets away with her sleeve.
ââŠI felt like a horrible person. I just wanted to escape from it all. I thought I just had to create some distance, so when Jenny confessed to me, a terrible thought formed in my head: maybe, if I became Jennyâs girlfriend, I could get over all those horrible thoughts. But I never did, and every day, it just became apparent that I wasnât being fair to Jenny. Because, in the end, I thought it was just Seulgi that Iâm in love with, but it turns out, Iâm also in love with you.â
Ireneâs gaze lands on you. For a brief few seconds, silence. Then, you and Seulgi exchange glances, and, inexplicably, break out into smiles.
âLooks like I was right.â
âLooks like I was also right.â
Irene blinked. ââŠWhat?â
Youâve spent just over a year bonding with Seulgi, being her friend, then close friend, then boyfriend. Itâs said that a couple eventually grow to become like each other over time. You canât fathom ever becoming the type of person Seulgi is, and you canât fathom Seulgi ever not being the benevolent person she is, but in that one moment, for the first time, you and her brain connected.
âWell, if itâs both of us that you loveâŠâ
ââŠthen, why donât you become both of our girlfriends?â
COP OUT ENDING, I KNOW, I'M SORRY đ
BUT, ON THE OTHER HAND...
Part 3...? đđ
P.S. I did almost no editing/revising of this, so if you spotted any errors (probably have more than one verb tense errors, and perhaps a pronoun error, as I write in third person for other stuff), please let me know! :D
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A/N: Welcome to the beginning of Bro Kazuha's second set! Expect the next one to be a bit further out this year, as I have a few other things in the queue.
Enjoy.
Okay, picture this.
Another one of Kazuhaâs friends is underneath you, legs up in the air, body pressed against yours, writhing under the pleasure of getting her cunt fucked until you fill her up with your load. Kazuha, the sweet, wholesome bro of a girlfriend that she is, lay panting right next to the both of you, watching you fuck like animals while her fingers play around with the cum dripping down her folds.
All because of a simple misunderstanding.
âSo how's the job hunt going?â you asked, trapping your phone in between your shoulder and your cheek. Hands preoccupied with cooking dinner for the both of you.
âSpent the entire day looking for openings. And this is the last one before I head home,â Kazuha answered, the faint noise of the background bleeding through. âIs this how hard it is to get a job nowadays?â
âHey, you did say that there aren't many bakeries around the area.â You turn the heat down, and with a free hand you place the phone down and put it on speaker. âWhy bakeries, by the way?â
âAsk Minju,â she sighed, the noise around her getting louder. âChae said that she used to be a pantler, and since I knew one of the owners that I buy pastries from they thought I could help her out.â The words started getting harder to understand, the noise around her getting louder. âI even took a day off for this.â
âLook at you, being a good samaritan,â you joked, making Kazuha let out a chuckle. âOh yeah, you think you could get some salt bread over there?â
âWhat?â she asked, and youâre not sure whether that was because she couldnât hear you over the increasingly loud crowd over where sheâs at or if she was offended at the thought of free food. And youâre pretty sure she would never turn down free food.
âI asked if you can get some salt bread,â you repeated, a little louder for good measure. âYou know, for us? And for Minju too, actually.â
A few seconds passed by before the call ends, which made you glance at the screen where a few pings from Kazuhaâs messages popped up on your notifs.
Zuzu:
Sorry had to drop
Way too loud here
But are you sure?
Didnât expect you that from you
Not that I mind
You wiped your hands of any leftover mess from your cooking and picked up the phone.
You:
yeah, y?
thought itd be a good snack after dinner
no worries if u cant we can make do with something else
You didn't hear back from her for a while after that. Probably too caught up with Minju or whatever the hell was happening over where she is (you find out that there was some celebrity passing by that caused a commotion). Only a few more talks scattered throughout the next half hour.
Zuzu:
Minju got the job!
Said she'll be starting next week
You really sure about earlier?
I can invite her for dinner
You:
yeah im sure
food almost ready
have enough for 3
and tell her I said congrats
Zuzu:
Thank u!!!!
That was Minju
We'll be there in thirty, hopefully
Traffic is starting to pick up
You:
cool
stay safe
Zuzu:
Will do
And you are assertive today
I like it
You had to wonder what was so assertive about asking her for bread of all things. You brushed it off instead, thought you were overthinking things and returned to your cooking.
Letting time run its course and have the moonlight take up the sunset's position in the sky, you busied yourself with the table and the food, getting a few more messages from Kazuha, until the doorknob rattled and swung open.
âWe're home!â Kazuha announced just as you closed the cupboard, a few glasses in hand.
âHey, hey,â you called out, walking back to the table, where Kazuha stopped by to give you a kiss on the cheek before she sprawled out on the couch while Minju's over by the hallway, taking her shoes off. âHow was the trip?â
âKiller,â Kazuha groaned, sitting up properly. âThat celeb got everyone buying at the bakery Minju got hired at. Almost thought that she'd have to start today.â
âGood thing they didn't,â Minju added in, waving shyly at you as she took a seat next to Kazuha. âI don't even know how to make the specials.â
âI'm sure you'll learn how to make it eventually.â You poured water into the cups and handed each to the both of them. âAgain, congrats on the job, Minju.â
âThank you,â Minju replied, taking a sip from the glass. âGood to know I have two customers already with you guys.â
âWith the way Zuha over here inhales salt bread, you'd get baker of the month quick,â you joked, while Kazuha almost hits you with a throw pillow in the face. You smacked it away, letting it hit the ground before picking it up and giving it a few hits to get rid of any dust. âSpeaking of, did you guys get salt bread?â
Kazuha furrowed her eyebrows. âYou never asked for salt bread.â
âUh-â You tilted your head. âPretty sure I did. You know, before you dropped the call?â
âI thought youââ Kazuha stoped, looked up in thought, to the side where Minju is staring at her, then back to you where stood up and pulled you to the kitchenâwhile you threw the throw pillow back to the couchâwhere Minju can't hear. âI thought you said you wanted someone bred?â
âWhat?â Your head recoiled the slightest bit back. âI was asking you to get us some salt bread.â
The staring contest was almost one for the history books. Neither side budging, unblinkingâyou almost thought that Minju took another sip of her glass to hide the smile that had started forming in her features.
Until Kazuha blinked, and groaned. âOh my god,â she muttered, a hand on her forehead. âI brought Minju here cause I thought you said you wanted to breed a girl.â
Your mouth opened, not a single sound coming out of your lips before they closed. You opened them again. âWas that why you said I was being assertive?â
âYes!â she hissed. âBecause you never ask for threesomes!â
âWhy would I ask for them?â Now you're the one confused. Where the hell was she going with this? âThose aren't exactly a make or break for me, dude. I'm happy with you.â
âI justââ Kazuha tried to stutter out a response. âI think itâs pretty hot, okay? When we mess around with my friends. Gets me wet as fuck just thinking about it.â
Oh.
âBut I thought you said you didn't want this to happen anymore.â You made finger quotes. ââThis is the last timeâ, remember?â
âI've said that way too many times for it to matter now.â She had a point with that one. With the amount of times she's gotten you roped into having sex with women not named Kazuha, you're still getting surprised that it keeps on happening.
âUnless you want to stop?â
Your hand rested on her hips, another coming to loop your fingers with hers. âHey, if you're happy, I'm happy.â
Kazuha rolled her eyes, leaning into your touch. âYou just wanna fuck girls other than me.â
âGirl, you just said you get turned on when we fuck other girls. I'm putting all the blame on you.â
âAsshole.â She scoffed, smiling up at you. Her eyes darted to Minju for a moment before she smirked. âYou still up to do it though?â
âIf we can get salt bread tomorrow, sure.â You received a punch in the arm. âOwââ
âBro, I swear you weren't asking for salt bread,â she insisted, and you heard Minju giggle at what must have looked like a couple's fight and makeup all in five minutes.
âYou probably need a better phone then,â you joked, which caused a playful laugh to emerge from Kazuha.
âI blame that fucking celeb,â she snapped back, rubbing the spot where her fist met your flesh and giving you a peck on the lips. âCome on, let's go eat before the food gets cold.â
Kazuha started walking to the table, taking a seat and gestured for Minju to take one herself, the food all prepped on the table.
âYou two okay?â Minju asked, sitting down on the chair.
âYeah, needed to clear something up with him,â Kazuha answered, knowing looks on both their faces as you poured yourself a glass of water.
Minju nodded. âAnd everything's fine?â
âMore than fine.â Kazuha glanced at you with that same look.
You smiled as you took a seat of your own. âTold her that I'll be getting some salt bread tomorrow.â
âOh, is that your favorite?â Minju brightened up at the topic. âI know how to make them, and if the bakery sells them I can get you guys some.â
âHer favorite,â you corrected. âBut Iâve grown to like it when she doesn't force feed it on me.â
âHeyââ Kazuha pointed a fork at you. âI donât force you to eat it.â
âMhmm.â You took a good swig of water as she continued to refute the claim.
Minju giggled at your antics, watching the both of you continue arguing, making comments here and there, optimistically telling you two that youâll be getting discounts at the bakery when she gets started and catching up with each other as you ate dinner.
By the end of it, Minju dropped a bombshell of a question just as you finish your glass of water and Kazuha takes her last bite.
âSo do I get the first load or do you?â
You almost choked on mineral water.Â
Kazuha snapped her head to look at Minju, dropping her fork and making it clang on her plate.
Minju only smiled innocently, like she didn't ask about who's getting your cum fucked into them like it was a regular old Tuesday.
Kazuha placed the utensil down slowly, lets out a chuckle at the situation you all have found yourselves in, and looks at you.
âWell, bro? Who gets it first?â
â
âOh, fuckââ Kazuha sighs as you pull out of her, a hand on her asscheek to spread her pussy folds. Letting your load slowly leak out, dripping down the sheets and staining her thighs. You indulge yourself in the sight, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass.Â
There's a humming sound next to you; an observant one, almost content in its cadence. Letting your satisfaction in filling Kazuha with your seed be known. âThat's a thick load,â Minju chimes, pressing up against your back, arms looping around you. Coming down to wrap around your cock, giving you gentle, slow tugs while her other is toying with your nipples. âI wonder if that's how much I'll get too.â
Her actions cause a groan to rip off your lips, your body tensing up with what Minju is trying to do. Not allowing you a moment's rest as she moves, sitting on the edge of the bed, right next to Kazuha, her mind still scattered in a haze of pleasure.Â
âMinjuââ Your hand lets go of Kazuha, and she collapses onto the bed, chest heaving, body turning, watching as Minju settles right next to her, spreading her legs wide. Fingers coming to play with her clit, pleading eyes staring up at you.
âWhat's wrong?â Minju asks demurely, tongue swiping her lips. âYou don't wanna?â She's playing you so well, eyeing your twitching cock so hungrily, looking so eager to take you.
Her body is all but inviting you in, and you're falling right into her, settling between her thighs. When you let your palms rest by the sides of her head, and her eyes start to widen, pupils dilating. You'd think she would start vibrating from the excitement that's oozing out of her.
âLet a guy rest for a sec, Minju,â you answer, and she starts pouting at you, fingers coming down to cup your length, smearing you with her juices.
âBut I want it,â Minju breathes out, that free hand she has looping around your neck to pull you closer. Her lips inches away from yours as she starts talking, begging you to start fucking her; along the lines of her uncaring of how rough you are, all she wants is your cum inside her cunt. Add a pretty please in the end to finish it off, and you're not sure when you had thrusted your dick in when she was coaxing you to fill her, to breed herâbut here you are.
Balls deep in Minju, feeling her clench at every pound of your hips. Already mewling at how fast a pace youâve set, airy broken gasps at each thrust. Itâs gibberish, what sheâs trying to say. Impossible to understand, and as much as you would love to get a proper syllable of whatâs leaving her lips, Kazuha reminds you that sheâs still here when she turns Minju towards her.
âYouâre too close to him,â Kazuha mutters, before claiming Minjuâs lips with hers. Slow and hesitant, so different from those that came before. Not battling for who gets to be on top or who chooses to get theirs first, only a soft lip lock that allows them to explore one another, tasting each other as you continue hammering down on Minju.Â
âYou jealous?â Minju grins into the kiss, leaning further into it. Letting Kazuha take the lead, her tongue slipping inside Minjuâs, and it melts her. Silences her gasps into pleasured hums for a moment before Kazuha pulls away, and her moans come back to fill the room.
Kazuha chuckles. âNot really,â she says, and all three of you know thatâs a lie. âFuck him all you want, but his lips are mine.â And she comes back in, hand tangling in Minjuâs hair as they sink back into each otherâs arms.
Leaves you with an amazing view, too. Gripping Minjuâs hips as you rut harder into her, her breasts bouncing each time you drive deep. Relishing in the fact that each time you do so her walls get tighter on your cock, her arms gripping tighter on Kazuhaâs own or on the sheets, those cute whimpers she lets out getting muffled by Kazuhaâs lips.
But envy spikes, seeing the uncertainty in their kisses leave as they get more familiar with each other. Getting more heated, hungrier at each press of their lips, each swipe of their tongues. It becomes your fuel, pounding her deeper, your hold on Minju getting rougher; youâre almost worried about leaving marks on her waist after this if not for the fact that she loves how you take her, use her for your own end.
Her hips moving to try and meet your thrusts, but her rhythm stutters along yours. Kazuha breaking the kiss and coming down to play with Minjuâs breasts. Looking straight at you as Kazuha takes a nipple into her mouth, fingers coming to play with the other. It makes Minju cry out, her back arching, offering her all to the both of you.
You let out a curse, thrusting unceasing, her pussy unwilling to let you go every time you bottom out. And youâre allowing yourself to lose all sense of reason, the longer this whole thing goes. Your earlier round with Kazuha has gotten your stamina shot, already so close to spilling everything inside her. So close to letting Minju get what she wants.
Kazuha knows it. Sees all your tell-tale signs; the erratic movements, heaving grunts. It makes her smile, mouth popping off of the nub sheâs enjoying, making Minju whine at the momentary loss of pleasure. âClose?â
âYeah,â you grunt out, a hand leaving its hold on Minjuâs waist to squeeze Kazuhaâs thighs, enjoying the thick flesh before your fingers come in between her legs, circling her clit and causing a gasp to come out of Kazuhaâs lips. Parted lips curl into a grin, and sheâs grabbing your hand and pulling it towards her, tongue twirling around your finger before guiding it to cup one of Minjuâs breasts, groping the soft flesh, the nub hard against your palm.
âIn me,â Minju gasps, whimpers, sobs as you chase your release. Starts blabbering about having it all inside her, her legs locking behind the small of your back. Wants it all in her cunt, and sheâs pleading with you; begging you to cum. Tears start to water her eyes, desperation painted across her face. The thought that youâre close, that youâre about to let your entire load flood her cunt, to paint her walls white with your seed, to fucking breed her like she oh so wants to beâit causes her to shake, spasms rocking her frame as the pleasure start to crash over her body. Clenching your cock like a vise, and you realize:
Sheâs cumming on your cock, and Kazuhaâs making sure it lasts as long as possible.
Her hand on Minjuâs clit, circling that spot eagerly, making Minju wail, Kazuhaâs name and yours spilling out of Minjuâs lips, please coming out in droves. Eyes damn near rolling back as she slumps back, intoxicated in the rapture youâre both providing. Kazuha smiles, giving Minju a kiss, anchoring her in reality while her eyes turn to you, a wink being thrown your way.
And thatâs all you needed to see to keep going. Fuck Minju past her climax, take in her moans that Kazuhaâs soft lips mute, feel her trembling walls take your shaft, trying to milk you.Â
Doesnât take too long for her to succeed, really. A few more thrusts, and you can only let out a groan as you fill her to the brim with your cum. Each pulse of your cock sending a fresh batch of spunk inside her. Kazuha, the sweet, diabolical bro of a girlfriend that she is, is kind enough to let Minju go. Closing her eyes as she moans at the spurts, her hands coming to caress her stomach, sighing as you spill the last of your loadâlarger than what you gave Kazuha almostâinto Minju.
âThatâs it,â Kazuha encourages, resting her head besides Minjuâs, licking her lips at the sight. Her words are more for Minju than it was for you, but it still manages to make you twitch inside her. âLove getting the cum fucked into you like that? Getting to be our little breeding bitch for the night?â She cups Minjuâs cheeks, thumb brushing aside the strands of hair sticking to her skin. âBet your thinking about how fucking potent that load he just dumped inside you, arenât you?â
That sends you straight back down to earth.
âWeâre not actually trying to get her pregnant, right?â you ask them both. While you know Kazuhaâs on birth control, youâre not entirely sure about Minju. Especially with how she was acting earlier.
Minju opens her eyes, letting out a chuckle at your question. âIâm on the pill.â That immediately causes you to sigh in relief.Â
âItâs all in good fun, dude,â Kazuha adds, pushing herself up and getting closer to you to leave a wet kiss on your cheek. âSafe sex is great sex and all that fancy shit.â
âRight,â you sigh, attempting to pull out of Minju. Key word, attempt, because both her and Kazuha are stopping you from doing so. âUh, guys?â
âDonât wanna keep going?â Kazuha asks, a smirk on her face as she pushes you back into Minju. It makes you hiss, the mixture of pleasure and pain from the stimulation fatiguing you. âWe need to make sure Minju gets properly bred, bro.â
âSeriously, I need a breakââ
âPlease?â Minju pleads, arms coming to grip your hips, pulling you in with the same rhythm as Kazuhaâs pushing. âJust one more?â
You canât help but think this night might not bode well for you.
At 8:47 AM, Nakamura Kazuha and Tanaka Anna step into the elevator.
Kazuha is holding two coffees, as usual. Charcoal suit that fits like it was stitched onto her body, slim-cut trousers breaking clean over black loafers, the blazer unbuttoned over a white shirt with one extra button undone at the collar. Her hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, not a strand out of place.
Anna stands at her side, phone in one hand, canvas tote hanging from her shoulder. Black pencil skirt. Cream blouse tucked neatly into it. A delicate gold chain around her neck. She is twenty years old and gives off the exact impression people expect from someone quiet and well-behaved.
That impression might be misleading.
"Here," Kazuha says, handing Anna one of the coffees.
"Thank you." Anna takes it without looking up from her phone, then locks the screen and slips it into her bag.
"So did you try it?"
"Try what?"
"The hazelnut spread. The fitness one I told you about."
Anna tilts her head back against the elevator wall and closes her eyes for a second. "Oh my god, yes. I had it on toast this morning. Two slices. Almost went for a third."
"Right? It's insane."
"It's really good. But Zuha, it's like fourteen dollars for a tiny jar. That's criminal."
Kazuha takes a sip of her coffee and shrugs. "Worth every penny. I go through one a week. Put it on rice cakes, on bananas, straight off the spoon at two in the morning. I don't care."
"You eat it off the spoon?"
"I have no shame."
"Clearly." Anna smirks. The elevator hums between floors. Anna pulls her tote higher on her shoulder. "Did you see the new Forbes?"
Kazuha's eyebrows go up. "The one with the boss on the cover?"
"Mm-hm."
"I saw it. He looks so handsome. That grey suit, the way they shot it⊠he actually smiled. That never happens."
"And the best partâ"
"He mentioned us."
Anna's lips curl. "He mentioned us in the interview."
"Just one sentence," Kazuha says, and her free hand comes up, index finger raised. "One. But that's enough already, isn't it? What CEO gets profiled in Forbes, gets the full spotlight, center of attention, and decides to bring up his secretaries?"
"Managing the routine thanks to two extremely competent secretaries," Anna recites, practically verbatim. "The best hires of the year."
"The best hires of the year," Kazuha repeats, and they look at each other. Smiling.
The elevator dings. The doors open. Chaewon is standing right there, holding a mug with both hands, looking like she was either waiting for the elevator or waiting for them specifically. Knowing Chaewon, it's the second one.
"Oh! Good morning!" She blinks at them with this performative surprise, as if she didn't know the elevator was coming. "Kazuha, Anna, hi."
"Hi," Kazuha says, flat.
Chaewon falls into step beside them as they exit, uninvited. Her eyes drift over Anna. "I love that blazer, by the way. Is that new? Where did you get it?"
Anna says nothing. She takes a sip of her coffee. Chaewon, undeterred, keeps talking. That's Chaewon's superpower: she's completely immune to social cues. "So I heard you guys stayed late with him last night. Again. That's like the third time this week, right?"
Kazuha and Anna's eyes meet for exactly half a second. A flicker. Nothing more.
"A lot of work has piled up," Kazuha says. "Quarterly projections."
"Oh, totally. That makes sense. It's justâ I feel like you two are always there, you know? Like every time I leave, you're still here. Every time I come in early, you're already here. People talk."
"Do they," Anna says, without inflection.
"I mean, I'm not saying anything weird. I'm just saying it's... noticed. By people. In general."
Kazuha stops walking. "Chaewon."
"Yeah?"
"Youâre nosy as hell. Someone shouldâve told you that to your face by now.â
The hallway goes quiet. Chaewon freezes, her mouth slightly open, and Anna, without changing her expression even slightly, takes another sip of coffee and looks Chaewon over. âNot to be rude, Chae, but your forehead is kind of massive. Maybe try bangs sometime. Just saying.â
Chaewon goes from confused to offended to embarrassed in a heartbeat, and then to something harder. The act is over. âYou two are unbelievably rude. Walking around here like you run the place, like you're somehow better than everyone else. Youâre not. Youâre secretaries. Thatâs all you are. Your job is bringing the boss his coffee, answering phones, setting up meetings. I honestly donât know who you think you are.â
Kazuha tilts her head, watching Chaewon with this calm, almost warm expression that is somehow infinitely more threatening than anger.
"And honestly? I'm keeping an eye on you. Both of you. So many employees have already complained. You're on the verge of being fired, and you don't even know it. This isn't college, this isn't some school where you can act like this. This is a fucking company."
Thereâs a real smile on Kazuhaâs face. âDo you actually think so?â
"Yes. I do."
"Interesting." Kazuha's gaze drops to the mug in Chaewon's hands. It's ceramic, hand-painted, with little flowers around the rim. "Is that new? Your mug?"
Chaewon blinks at the shift. "Um. Yeah. My mom gave it to me."
"It's beautiful. Can I see it?"
There's a pause. Chaewon looks down at the mug, then back at Kazuha, then at Anna, who hasn't moved, hasn't changed expression, is just standing there like a marble statue holding a coffee cup.
Chaewon hands over the mug. Kazuha takes it carefully, turning it in her hands. She examines the flowers, the brushstrokes, the little imperfections that mean someone actually sat down and painted this by hand. "This is really lovely. The detail on these petals - she must have spent a long time on it."
"Mothers always give the most thoughtful gifts," Anna adds, and something about the way she says it is so warm, so sincere, that Chaewon's expression softens for just a moment.
"They do,â Chaewon agrees. âMy mom is reallyâ"
Kazuha drops the mug. It strikes the floor and bursts apart, shards flying, coffee spilling in a messy wave over the tiles. The smell hits instantly. Chaewon doesnât move. She just looks down at the broken pieces, mouth open, frozen in disbelief. She looks up at Kazuha, and her eyes are already glassing over.
"Y-youâ you justâ"
"Go say that to HR," Kazuha says, and her smile hasn't changed at all. Same warmth, same calm. "Go ahead. File a complaint. I have a few things to say about you too. Stealing other people's lunches from the fridge. Using your phone during work hours - and I don't mean checking the time, I mean the full TikTok sessions at your desk. Being a nosy gossip who makes people uncomfortable." She pauses. Leans forward just slightly. "You really want that new promotion, right? A little trouble is all you need right now."
Chaewon doesn't respond. She's looking at the broken pieces of her mug on the floor, and her lower lip is trembling.
Kazuha steps over the debris. Anna follows, then glances back and says: "Call someone to clean that up."
They walk. The hallway stretches ahead of them, morning light coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the open-plan office buzzing with its usual ambient noise of keyboards and phone calls and the espresso machine someone is operating badly.
"I can't stand her," Kazuha says.
"All we need to do is give her a good scare and she shuts up. She's not brave, she's bored. We'll keep collecting evidence against her. The lunch thing alone is enough."
"I liked the forehead comment."
Anna laughs under her breath. âYou could rent that space out for ads.â
Kazuha grins. She adjusts her blazer sleeve and takes a long drink of coffee as they round the corner toward the executive wing.
That's when they see Wonyoung. She's coming from the opposite direction, iPad in hand, hair immaculate, wearing a plum-colored dress. She spots them and raises a hand.
"Kazuha, Anna. I need a minute."
Two things happen simultaneously: Kazuha's pinky extends around her coffee cup. Anna's hand drifts to her collarbone, thumb brushing across it once, then drops. Anna peels off, heading toward the corner office at the end of the hall while Kazuha pivots to intercept Wonyoung with an easy grin. "Hey. What's up?"
â
You're reviewing an acquisition contract document for the third time when there's a knock at your door. "Come in."
Anna enters, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "Good morning, sir."
"Morning."
She crosses the office and sets a folder on the edge of your desk, then stands in front of you with her hands clasped. "So. Today. You have the Netflix meeting at ten, the call with the Busan production office at eleven-thirty, lunch is blocked for the script review, and the legal team needs your sign-off on the Apex contract before three."
"Fine."
"Also, PR wants to schedule the follow-up press run for the Forbes piece, but I told them next week at the earliest because your calendar this week is a disaster."
"Good."
She pauses. Looks at you. Tilts her head. "Your tie is loose."
You glance down. It is, slightly. You've been tugging at it the way you do when you've been reading contracts for too long. Before you can fix it yourself, she's already stepping around the desk, and then her hands are on your tie, fingers working the knot with this precise, unhurried competence.
"Wonyoung missed half of the Busan meeting yesterday," you say while she's fixing it.
Her fingers don't stop. She pulls the knot snug, smooths the silk flat against your chest, and lets her hand rest there for one second longer than professional.
"I work for you, sir. Not for Wonyoung." She steps back. Folds her hands again. "It's Wonyoung's fault for not communicating clearly that she would be in the same car. She assumed Kazuha and I would coordinate it, but that's not what happened. She's careless sometimes. She likes to take advantage of her employees."
"That's not true."
"It is, though." Anna doesn't argue. She states. "Kazuha and I are not Wonyoung's secretaries. We're yours. And of course you'll defend her, that's what you do. But ask anyone else on this floor and they'll tell you the same thing. You should reconsider the people who sit around you, sir."
You lean back in your chair and look at her, the way you do when you're trying to figure out whether someone is being genuine or playing an angle. Anna meets your gaze and doesn't flinch.
"It better not happen again. You know perfectly well what you should have done. And I know that you and Kazuha acted in bad faith toward Wonyoung on this. Don't insult me by pretending otherwise."
"We would neverâ"
"Anna."
A quiet beat. The tension in her stare morphs into something else entirely. She lowers her chin just a touch and looks up at you, lashes framing the glance, and the whole vibe shifts.
âAre you mad at us, sir?â
She lingers on the sir, all soft and polite, like sheâs behaving. Sheâs not. It sounds less like deference and more like sheâs testing you.
âYeah. Just a bit.â
"We'll make it up to you. I promise. The mistake won't happen again."
"...Fine. I just hope it stays that way."
"It will." She picks up her coffee from where she set it on your desk, holds it with both hands, and gives you a look that could mean anything or nothing. "Is there anything else you need right now?"
"No. That's all." She turns toward the door, and that's when it opens.
Kazuha walks in without knocking. She never knocks. She's humming something, and then the humming becomes actual singing, low and careless, like she's alone in the car with the windows down: "The sun in your eyes made some of the lies worth believing..."
She drops into one of the chairs across from your desk, crosses one ankle over the opposite knee, and spreads her arms out along the armrests like she owns the place.
"I am the eye in the sky, looking at you, I can read your mind..."
"Good morning, Kazuha."
"Morning, boss." She leans forward and slides a folder across the desk to you. "Updated figures for the Nexus thing. Legal flagged two clauses, I highlighted them. Also, Accounting sent the Q3 projections early, which is a miracle, and I already pulled the numbers you'll need for the Netflix call."
You open the folder. Everything's organized. Color-coded tabs. Clean formatting. She's annoyingly good at this.
"Wonyoung wanted to see one of you."
"Already taken care of." Kazuha waves a hand dismissively. "We talked. She's fine."
You nod. There's a pause while you flip through the first few pages.
"The Forbes interview was fantastic, by the way."
You don't look up. "It was a standard profile."
"You mentioned us."
Now you look up. Kazuha is leaning back in the chair, one eyebrow slightly raised, and Anna is standing near the door with her coffee, watching you with that still, attentive focus she always has.
"I was asked about daily operations. I answered honestly."
"The best hires of the year," Kazuha says.
"That's what I said."
"We know." She gives you this sweet smile, though thereâs clearly more behind it. "We just wanted you to know we appreciated it."
"Noted." You go back to the folder. "You can go. Both of you. I'll call if I need anything."
Kazuha stands, stretches - arms above her head, a full-body thing that pulls her blazer tight across her shoulders - and heads for the door. She pauses beside Anna, turns back, and gives you a last smile that lingers half a beat too long.
"Have a good morning, sir." They leave. The door closes. Your office is quiet again. You look down at your tie. It's perfectly knotted.
â
They don't talk until they're in the break room with the door shut and the blinds half-closed. Kazuha pours herself a fresh cup from the pot, leans against the counter, and pulls out her phone.
"So. Tell me about the tie."
Anna sits on the small couch in the corner, cradling her coffee. "I fixed his tie."
"You fixed his tie."
"It was loose. I pointed it out. He didn't stop me. He sat there and let me do it."
Kazuha's thumb pauses over her phone screen. She looks up. "He didn't pull away?"
"No. He just... sat there. Talked about Wonyoung while I did it."
"That's deflection. He was uncomfortable and needed something to say."
"Exactly. But uncomfortable isn't the same as unwilling. Six months ago he would have fixed it himself before I finished the sentence. Today he sat there. My hand was on his chest, Zuha. He didn't move."
Kazuha sets her phone down. She's processing this, turning it over, examining it from every angle the way she examines everything. "What about the Wonyoung thing? Did he push back?"
"Hard. He told me we acted in bad faith, which, okay, we did. He didn't buy the deflection. He's not stupid."
"He's never stupid. That's what makes this fun."
"But then I did the apology thing. The are you angry at us, sir thing." Anna takes a sip of coffee. "And he caved. Not all the way. He held the line. But he softened. I could see it."
"Of course he softened. You do that thing with your eyes and every man within a ten-meter radius forgets what year it is."
"Don't be dramatic."
"I'm not being dramatic, I'm being accurate. Updated the spreadsheet this morning, by the way. The late nights are up to three times a week now. Three months ago it was once. He's scheduling work that doesn't need to be done after hours."
Anna sets her coffee on the arm of the couch. "He likes having us there."
"He needs us there. That's different. That's bigger." Kazuha pushes off the counter and walks to the window, looking out at the skyline with her hands in her trouser pockets. "He mentioned us in Forbes. He lets you touch his tie. He schedules fake overtime so we stay late. He's not fighting this anymore, he's just... managing it. Trying to keep it in a box."
"Boxes break."
"That's what we're counting on." Kazuha turns around and leans against the glass. She crosses her arms and looks at Anna with something between affection and conspiracy. "How did he react to the Forbes thing when I brought it up?"
"Deflected. Standard. 'I was asked, I answered honestly.' Classic him. But he looked at us when you said it. Both of us. He looked at both of us at the same time."
"I saw that."
"He doesn't do that. He usually picks one of us to address. Today he looked at us like we were a unit."
Kazuha grins. It's the grin she gets when a plan is working, when all the pieces are falling exactly where she put them. She picks up her phone again and opens their shared document.
"Updating Project Thaw. Tie contact - physical proximity tolerated. Forbes mention - emotional acknowledgment, category: appreciation. Late-night scheduling pattern - increasing. Wonyoung deflection - noted but not escalated." She types with her thumbs, fast and precise. "We're close, Anna."
"I know."
"Not close like we were a month ago. Close like... soon."
Anna uncurls herself from the couch and stands. She walks over to where Kazuha is leaning against the window and stands beside her, both of them looking out at the city below, the morning sun hitting the glass towers and turning everything gold.
"He's getting used to us," Anna says quietly. "That's the most dangerous part. For him."
"It's not dangerous. It's inevitable." Kazuha knocks her shoulder gently against Anna's. "He was always ours. He just doesn't know it yet."
Anna's hand drifts up. Her fingertips brush her lips, just for a second, before she catches herself and lets it fall.
They stand there in the morning light, shoulder to shoulder, thinking about the man down the hall who is sitting at his desk right now, touching the knot of his perfectly tied tie and not quite understanding why.
â
The barbecue place is loud and bright and Wonyoung is demolishing galbi like it's a competitive sport. Tongs in one hand, chopsticks in the other, flipping meat on the grill with the focused efficiency of someone who takes food exactly as seriously as fiscal quarters. The plate of pickled radish is already gone. Two empty bowls of rice are stacked to the side. She's been talking nonstop about distribution rights and the Southeast Asian market being undervalued, and you're watching the smoke curl toward the ventilation hood, your eyelids getting heavier, the restaurant noise flattening into white noise, and the last thing you register before everything goes soft is the sizzle of fat hitting the grill.
"Hey." You blink. "Hey. Are you sleeping?"
"I wasn't sleeping."
Wonyoung puts the tongs down and stares at you. She picks up her beer, takes a long sip, sets it down hard enough that foam sloshes over the rim. "You need rest. Look at you. We're here celebrating Netflix and you look like someone propped a corpse up in a chair and put a suit on it."
You rub your eyes. "What's so special about it? It's just more money coming in."
"Just more money coming in." She repeats it back flat, testing whether it sounds as ridiculous out loud. It does. "I've known you since college and you still treat every massive professional victory like a parking ticket."
You reach for your own beer. Lukewarm. You drink it anyway. Wonyoung wraps a piece of pork belly in lettuce, dips it, eats the whole thing in one bite, chews, swallows, and points at you with her chopsticks. "I think the only part of your day you actually enjoy is the part you spend with your girls."
"My girls?"
"Kazuha and Anna. Your girls."
"They're my secretaries."
"They're your girls and the entire building knows it except apparently you." She loads another wrap. "You need to deal with them, by the way. They're terrorizing the company."
"They don't do anything out of the ordinary."
"Kazuha broke Chaewon's mug while looking her dead in the eyes."
"She already clarified that. She was holding it and it slipped."
"Chaewon's mother painted that mug by hand."
"If it had been intentional, Chaewon would have reported it to HR. She didn't."
Wonyoung snorts and covers her mouth with the back of her hand. "Because your girls probably blackmailed her into silence. Those two have a file on every person in the building. I guarantee it."
"If she was blackmailed, she probably did something that warranted it."
Wonyoung goes still. She puts her chopsticks down. Leans back. One long finger extends across the table, past the banchan dishes, past the grill, pointing directly at your chest: "That. Right there. That is exactly what I'm talking about. You defend them from everything. Every single time. You don't even hear yourself doing it. I just told you your secretary broke a coworker's personal property while intimidating her and your response was well, Chaewon probably deserved it."
"I saidââ
"Those two plotted against me. They intercepted my meetings. They manipulated the car situation to cut me off from you. And what did you do? You warned them. You gave them a stern talking to. Like a father scolding two daughters he finds adorable." You pick at the label on your beer bottle and say nothing. "When they first started, you didn't tolerate any of it. Remember? Kazuha came in singing and you told her to stop in front of the entire floor. Anna tried standing too close and you rolled your chair back so hard it hit the wall. You reprimanded them constantly. Nobody got special treatment." She pauses, letting that sit. "And then somehow, month by month, they just won. They wore you down. You stopped correcting them, stopped keeping distance, started laughing at Kazuha's jokes, started watching Anna cross the hallway. And now they have more freedom than anyone in the entire company, including me, and you act like that's perfectly normal."
The grill pops. A waiter passes behind you and refills your water glass. "They are extremely competent at their jobs. I've never seen anyone as talented."
"I don't doubt it. No wonder you mentioned them in the Forbes article."
You exhale and tilt your head toward the ceiling. "This conversation again."
"This conversation again, yes, because nothing has changed." She folds her arms on the table and leans forward. The jokes are gone. "I'm not judging you. I need you to hear that. I'm not your mother. I don't care about the morality of any of this. They're beautiful. They're smart. They're sharp, shrewd, impeccably dressed. Those girls are perfect. And they feel something for you that goes way beyond a crush. The way they look at you when you're not paying attention, the way they track you across a room, the way they light up when you walk in. That's not infatuation. That's devotion. That's religious."
She takes a breath. "And you like it. You like their attention, their adoration, the way they anticipate your needs before you open your mouth. You like coming to work now. Don't shake your head, you do. I've known you for years and I've never seen you this engaged." She picks up a piece of kimchi with her fingers and eats it. "So I just need the game to end. This whole thing is eventually going to disrupt the staff. It's going to disrupt you. Either take on the whole package, or let them go and hire less insane secretaries."
"They're not insane."
"They have a secret coded sign language." Wonyoung holds up her hand and starts counting. "I've seen them do it. The hand signals. The glances. Two fingers to the temple, pinky out on the coffee cup, touching the collarbone. They're militarized. They finish each other's sentences. One of them starts a thought and the other completes it. It's disturbing."
You stand up. Chair scraping the floor. You stretch, roll your neck, reach for your jacket. "I'm leaving. Thank you for dinner."
"Sure." You pull your jacket on. Wonyoung is already loading another lettuce wrap because she's not remotely done eating and she's not going to let a perfectly good grill go to waste over your dramatic exit. "Hey." You stop. She doesn't look up from the grill: "Stop playing hard to get. Take the risk. Be a man about it. Maybe they're worth it after all."
You leave without responding. The night air is cold against your face when you step outside, and you stand on the sidewalk for a long moment, hands in your pockets, watching the taxis pass. Then you walk to your car.
â
The routine continues at that frantic pace that drains you. The Netflix partnership is real now, locked in, contracts signed, and the weight of it lands on your desk in the form of paperwork and calls and meetings that stretch from seven in the morning until whatever hour the building cleaners start looking at you with pity. Global distribution. Exclusive production contracts. Revenue projections that have the board sending congratulatory emails. So much money, and nothing particularly interesting to spend it on. A good portion of it gets routed through the foundation anyway, the same way it always does, into the orphanage programs and the trainee scholarships and the worker development funds that nobody in the company knows about because you've never told anyone and you never intend to.
The days drag. They blur. Monday becomes Thursday becomes Monday again, and the circles under your eyes get a shade darker each time you catch your reflection in the bathroom mirror. The office empties at six, at seven, and then it's just you and the hum of the building systems and the blue light of your monitor and whatever work you've convinced yourself can't wait until morning.
And them. They're always there.
Tonight it's quiet. Anna is at the secondary desk near the window, cross-referencing distribution figures against the projections Accounting sent over. Her shoes are off, tucked neatly under the desk, and she's sitting with one leg folded beneath her, which is something she only does when she's comfortable, when she's forgotten that she's at work and not at home.
You're on the couch with a laptop balanced on your knee, going through the talent agency contracts one more time because something in clause seven has been bothering you for three days and you can't figure out what. The office is warm. The rest of the floor is dark. You can hear the faint tick of the wall clock and the soft sound of Anna's pen against paper.
The door opens, and Kazuha walks in carrying a fresh cup of coffee. She's ditched the blazer hours ago and is down to her white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the top button undone, her hair loose around her shoulders now instead of the morning ponytail.
"Here." She sets the coffee on the low table in front of you.
"Thank you."
"That's your fourth cup."
"I'm aware."
"Just making sure you're tracking." She doesn't sit in a chair. She sits on the edge of your desk, one leg dangling, and picks up a pen from the holder, spinning it between her fingers. "So. Have you decided what you're wearing on the twelfth?"
You don't look up from the laptop. "What's on the twelfth?"
"Your mother's birthday."
Your fingers stop on the keyboard. You look at her. Kazuha is spinning the pen, looking at you with this expression that's half expectation and half amusement, like she already knows what you're about to realize.
It hits you.
"Shit." You close your eyes. Lean your head back against the couch. "I completely forgot."
"We know."
"I had itâ I had a reminder set somewhere, but with the Netflix close and theââ
"We know." Kazuha isn't even bothering to hide her satisfaction. "Which is why we took care of it."
Anna looks up from her desk. "Zuha and I put together a gift list. Things your mother would actually like, not generic stuff. We did some research."
You stare at her. Then back at Kazuha. "How the hell did you do that? How do you even know my mother's birthday?"
They look at each other. It's brief. That thing they do where an entire conversation happens in the space between two blinks.
"It's our obligation to know," Kazuha says.
"It is absolutely not a secretary's obligation to know my mother's birthday. That's not in any job description. That's not in any HR manual. That's personal information that I have never shared with either of you."
Kazuha tilts her head. The pen stops spinning. She holds it loosely between her fingers and looks at you with something that's not quite a smile but lives in the same neighborhood. "I'm not speaking as a secretary, sir.â
She lets that sit. Doesn't clarify. Doesn't elaborate. Just lets the words exist in the space between you. Anna is watching from her desk, perfectly still, pen resting against her lower lip.
"I'll send you the list to your personal email," Anna says, breaking the silence gently. "There are about eight options. We ranked them. The top three are the strongest, but you know her better than we do, so."
"Thank you. I'll look at it later."
"Take your time." Anna goes back to her paperwork. Kazuha hops off the desk, picks up your empty coffee cup from earlier, and heads for the door. She pauses with her hand on the frame, turns back, and looks at you sitting there on the couch with your laptop and your fourth coffee and your loosened tie in the half-dark of your corner office at ten-thirty on a Wednesday night.
She doesn't say anything. She just looks at you for a second a few seconds and then she's gone, and you can hear her humming something down the hallway, faint and tuneless and somehow the most familiar sound in the building.
You push yourself off the couch and walk to your desk. The papers for the Apex contract are somewhere under the mess of folders and printouts that's accumulated over the past week, and you're shuffling through them when something clicks in the back of your head. You stop. Your hands go still on the desk. You close your eyes and let out a long, slow breath through your nose.
"No."
You say it to nobody. You press your palms flat against the desk surface and hang your head for a second, and that's when the door opens and Kazuha walks back in.
She stops in the doorway. "What happened?"
"My grandmother."
"What about her?"
"She's going to be there. At the birthday."
Kazuha leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. Anna swivels in her chair, both feet on the floor now. They're both looking at you with that alert, focused attention that you've gotten used to, that thing where whatever you're saying becomes the most important thing in the room.
"What's the problem with that, sir?" Anna asks.
"It's nothing. It's justâ" You straighten up, rub the back of your neck. "She's been nagging me. Every phone call, every visit, every holiday. She wants me to find someone. She expects me to show up there with a girl or something. A date. A girlfriend. Whatever she wants to call it."
Kazuha's eyebrows go up. She glances at Anna, and some transmission happens between them that you can't intercept.
"Sounds like it's going to be her lucky day," Kazuha says.
"Why?"
Anna stands from her desk. She walks across the office and stops beside the desk, next to Kazuha, who has pushed off the doorframe and drifted closer. They're standing together, shoulder to shoulder, and you're behind your desk, and the geometry of the room suddenly feels very specific.
"Because you're not going to show up with just one girl," Anna says.
"But two," Kazuha finishes.
You look at them. Back and forth, one to the other. Anna's face is calm, composed, that still water expression she wears when she means every word. Kazuha has her hands in her trouser pockets and her chin tilted up slightly, and there's a challenge in her eyes that's barely concealed.
You chuckle. It's a short sound, almost involuntary, and you shake your head.
They don't laugh.
"Are you serious?"
"Yes," Anna says. "We've never been as serious as we are right now."
"You don't understand. She wants a girlfriend. A relationship. Not a friend. Not secretaries. She wants me to bring someone I'm with."
"She doesn't need to know the details right now," Kazuha says, and the way she says right now implies a timeline, a progression, a plan that extends well beyond a birthday dinner.
"I can't show up to my mother's birthday with two girls. What the hell will my family think of me?"
"Sir." Kazuha takes a step forward. "With all due respect, you're a rich man. That would never be frowned upon. If it were the other way around, definitely. But two beautiful women showing up with you? Nobody's going to bat an eye. And Anna and I aren't just any girls. Trust me. Your family would love to meet us."
"You don't know my family."
"We know enough."
You look at the ceiling. Then back at them. You sigh and sit down in the chair. "What am I supposed to say? Hi, family, I brought my two secretaries for dinner? That's what I'm walking in there with? That's the play?"
"You could introduce us by our names," Anna says quietly. "That would be a start."
"This is insane."
"You keep saying that." Kazuha uncrosses her arms. Something in her posture shifts. She looks at Anna and says: "I think it's time to set the record straight."
Anna's chest rises and falls once, a deeper breath than usual. Her fingers find the gold chain around her neck and trace it, a nervous gesture you've never seen from her before. "I think so too."
"Anna. Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Kazuha turns back to you. She takes another step. She's close to the desk now, close enough that you can see the thin silver thread in the weave of her suit, the faint trace of a scar on her right index finger from god knows what. Her eyes are locked on yours.
"You know we can be more than that," she says. "This chemistry between the three of us? It doesn't exist anywhere else. You feel it. We know you feel it. You've felt it for months."
She comes closer. Slowly. Around the desk. You don't move. Your hands are still flat on the surface and your pulse is doing something irregular and she's right there, right next to you, and then she's not standing anymore. She sits on your lap. One smooth, confident motion, settling onto your thigh with her arm resting on the back of your chair and her face inches from yours. Her weight is warm and real and present.
Anna moves to your other side. She's standing close, her hip against the arm of the chair. Close enough to touch. Not touching.
"What are you doing?" Your throat is tight.
"We're tired of you only seeing us as employees." Anna's fingers drift across the arm of the chair, a centimeter from your wrist. "We don't see you as our boss. We haven't for a long time."
Kazuha's hand comes up and rests lightly on your shoulder. "The reason we are here, in this building, in this company, doing this job: it's because of you. Exclusively because of you. We don't stay until eleven at night because of the Apex contract. We stay because you're here."
"We like you," Anna says. "More than like you."
"We're in love with you," Kazuha says, steady, sure. "Both of us. Together. It's not a competition, it's not a phase, it's not a game. Anna and I talked about this a long time ago, about what this is, about what we want, and what we want is you."
"All of you," Anna adds. Her fingers close the gap and brush the back of your hand. "Not the CEO. Not the public persona. You."
"The guy who stays late because he can't sleep at home," Kazuha says.
"The one who funds programs nobody knows about."
"Who remembers everyone's coffee order but forgets his own mother's birthday."
"All we're asking for is a chance." Anna's hand covers yours. Her skin is soft and warm and her fingers curl around your palm and hold. "Please. Let us show you what you've been missing this whole time."
"I can't,â you murmur. "It's against the rules."
Kazuha laughs. Soft, close, warm breath against the side of your face. Her hand slides from your shoulder up to your jaw, her fingertips tracing the line of it, feather-light. "You're the one who makes the rules."
"I can't."
"But you want to," Anna insists.
"Are you always this hard on yourself?" Kazuha murmurs. She shifts on your lap, settling closer, her thigh pressing against yours through the layers of fabric.
Your jaw is tight. Your hand is still under Anna's. Your heart is hammering so hard you're sure they can both hear it.
"Kazuha. You should get up. Before it's too late."
They look at each other. That twin-frequency connection, that silent language, and whatever passes between them takes less than a second. Kazuha turns back to you, and Anna leans in from the other side, and in tandem, sweet whisper, they say it together: "It's already too late."
Kazuha kisses you.
Her mouth is warm and tastes faintly of coffee, and the kiss is firm, certain, the kiss of a woman who has been thinking about this exact moment for six months and has no intention of being gentle about it. Her hand slides from your jaw into your hair and her fingers tighten and she pulls you closer and you're frozen for one heartbeat, two, three, and then something breaks. Something structural, load-bearing, something that was holding up the entire architecture of your restraint, and it collapses all at once.
You kiss her back. Your hand comes up and grips her waist, pulling her flush against you, and she makes a sound into your mouth, a small, satisfied hum that vibrates through your chest. Her body is lean and strong, she fits against you with a precision that shouldn't be possible, and you kiss her deeper, harder, your other hand finding the small of her back, fingers pressing into the fabric of her shirt.
When you pull back, sheâs out of breath. Her lips are still damp. She looks at you and smiles, and itâs not that usual teasing grin or corporate smirk. Itâs softer. Real. Almost a little exposed.
âSix months,â she says quietly. âI waited six months for that. For one kiss⊠and fuck, totally worth it.â
You look at Anna. She's standing right there, her hand still on yours, her eyes wide and dark and full of something so naked that it almost hurts to see. You reach for her. Your hand finds the back of her neck, fingers sliding into the hair at her nape, you pull her in and kiss her.
Anna melts. That's the only word for it. Her entire body softens against you, her hands gripping the front of your shirt, and she kisses you with this desperate, trembling hunger that is nothing at all resembling the composed, still-water woman who sits at the secondary desk and cross-references distribution figures. She kisses you with this pent-up urgency, like sheâs been holding it in for way too long.
When it ends, your forehead rests against hers. Her eyes are closed. Her fingers are still twisted in your shirt.
You exhale. "You two are trouble."
Still straddling your lap, Kazuha brushes her thumb across your bottom lip. âSounds like a nice problem to have.â She rocks her hips in a slow, teasing motion, her ass pressing and rubbing against you as she smirks. âEspecially if it makes you hard.â
She says it with a straight face, almost conversational, and then she slides off your lap and sinks to her knees on the carpet in front of your chair. Anna follows, lowering herself beside Kazuha, and the two of them are kneeling between your legs, looking up at you. Kazuha in her white shirt pulled slightly loose. Anna in her black pencil skirt, the fabric riding up her thighs from the motion, her cream blouse still tucked in but barely.
"No." You reach for Kazuha's shoulder, trying to pull her up. "Don't. We can'tâ" She catches your hand. Wraps her fingers around your wrist. Brings your index finger to her mouth. And sucks it.
Her lips close around it, warm and wet, her tongue presses flat against the pad of your fingertip, and her eyes never leave yours. She pulls your finger deeper, hollowing her cheeks, and then releases it with a slow slide.
"You don't need to think," she says. Your finger is still wet. Her grip on your wrist is firm but not tight, holding you in place with certainty rather than force.
"Don't think, sir." Anna's hand rests on your knee, her thumb drawing a slow circle on the inside of your thigh through the fabric of your trousers. "Leave everything to us."
"You'll complicate my life."
"We would never do that." Anna's hand slides higher. "We'll change your life. But only for the better. We promise."
"Let us take care of you," Kazuha says, and her hands are on your belt now, fingers finding the buckle with a deftness that suggests she's imagined this exact sequence many times. Anna's fingers join hers, both of them working together, synchronized, one undoing the buckle while the other pulls the belt free.
The button. The zipper. Anna tugs the waistband down while Kazuha slips her hand inside, then her fingers wrap around your cock through the fabric of your boxers and your hips twitch involuntarily. She pulls you free, both of them working the material out of the way, and your cock is in the open air of your corner office at close to eleven at night, hard, flushed, the head already slick.
They hold it together. Kazuha's fingers around the base, Anna's hand overlapping hers, both of them cradling the shaft. They lean in. Close their eyes. Press their faces against it from either side. They breathe you in, slow and deep, noses brushing the sensitive skin, and you feel their lips graze the shaft without purpose, without direction, just contact, presence, warmth.
Then they both press their lips to the tip at the same time. A shared kiss, mouths touching your cock and each other simultaneously, soft and reverent and intentional.
Kazuha pulls back just enough to speak. Her breath fans across the wet head. "Say you want this."
"Say it," Anna whispers from the other side. Her lips are still touching you when she talks. "Please."
"No. I don't want this."
Kazuha's grip tightens fractionally. She starts to stroke, agonizingly slow, her thumb sliding over the tip on each upward pass, spreading the slick that's been building since before the first kiss. "Stop lying. Or we leave right now. We walk out that door and you sit here alone with your dick hard and throbbing and nothing but the Apex contract to keep you company."
"We need to hear it from you." Anna's hand joins the motion, both of them stroking in tandem, a languid, torturous rhythm. "We need your approval. We need to know it's reciprocal. These six months have beenâ"
"Torture," Kazuha finishes, her thumb circling the head. "Absolute torture."
"Wanting you every single day," Anna continues, "sitting across from you in meetings, watching your hands, your jaw, the way you loosen your tie when you're frustrated, and not being able toâ"
"Touch you," Kazuha says. "Not being able to reach across the desk and justâ"
"Just once. That's all we kept saying to each other. If he'd just let us show him onceââ
"He'd understand." Kazuha's grip tightens around you, stroking slow, purposeful. "We know what you need. We've always known."
"We've studied you," Anna whispers, her fingers trailing the underside of your shaft. "Every expression, every habit, every tell. We know when you're tired, when you're angry, when you're pretending to be fineâ"
"When you're looking at us and trying not to."
"We catch you every time."
"Every single time."
Anna leans closer. Her lips brush the head of your cock, feather-light, barely there. "So please. Just say it. That's all we need. One word and we're yours. We've always been yours, but we need you toâ"
"Claim us," Kazuha murmurs. "Say you want this. Say you want us."
"Please," Anna says. Her eyes are glistening. "Just say it.â
The clock ticks. Youâre gripping the armrests so tightly the muscles in your hands start to ache. Two women are kneeling in front of you, holding your cock together, begging you to admit what you've been denying for six months, and every defense mechanism you've ever built is rubble on the ground.
"Okay, fine. I want it." Your head falls back against the chair. "Yes. I want you to suck my cock.â
"Good boy,â Kazuha teases.
You look down at her. "Don't call me that."
Kazuha giggles. It's a genuine, unguarded sound that doesn't belong in a corner office, and she presses her cheek against your inner thigh, grinning up at you with zero remorse. "Sorry, boss."
"You're not sorry."
"Not even a little." She turns her head and kisses the inside of your thigh through the fabric, then pulls back and wraps her fingers around the base of your cock again. "Relax. We'll take care of you now. All you have to do is sit there."
Anna adjusts beside her, shifting her weight on her knees, and her hand comes up to rest on your other thigh. Both of them are settled between your legs, shoulder to shoulder, and Kazuha is the first to move. She lowers her head and drags the flat of her tongue up the underside of your shaft, a long, slow stroke from base to tip, tasting you, mapping the shape and the heat of you. When she reaches the head, she pauses, lets her tongue swirl once around the ridge, and then closes her lips over the tip and sinks down.
The warmth is obscene. Wet, tight and maddening, she takes you deeper with patience, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue pressing against the underside as she bobs her head. Her hand stays wrapped around the base, steadying you, and the other hand grips your thigh for balance. Anna watches, her eyes tracking the movement of Kazuha's mouth, and her own lips part slightly.
Kazuha pulls off with a slick sound and tilts the shaft toward Anna. "Your turn."
Anna doesn't hesitate. She leans in and takes you into her mouth, and if Kazuha was precision, Anna is devotion. She goes slowly, almost reverently, her tongue curling around you, exploring every ridge and vein, her eyes half-closed and her brow furrowed in concentration. She takes you deeper than Kazuha did, and deeper still, the back of her throat is soft and impossibly warm, and she holds you there for a beat before pulling back.
"Fuck," you mutter, and your hand grips the armrest hard.
"That's the idea," Kazuha murmurs, running her thumb along the side of your shaft while Anna catches her breath. She leans in and licks a slow stripe up one side while Anna mirrors her on the other, and for a moment both their tongues are working in tandem, tracing parallel lines up the length of you, their mouths inches apart with your cock between them.
You're watching this. You can't stop watching this. Two women, on their knees, in your office, sharing you with a synchronization that borders on choreography. And you have to ask: "How does this work?"
Kazuha's tongue pauses mid-stroke. She glances up. "How does what work?"
"This. Both of you. If you bothââ You swallow. "If you both feel the same way, how is there no jealousy? How are you not competing?"
They look at each other. Anna's hand is wrapped loosely around your shaft, her thumb tracing an idle pattern, and Kazuha's fingers are laced with hers.
"The opposite happened," Anna says. She presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your cock, then another, trailing down. "When we realized we both felt the same thing for you, it didn't create a rift. It made the bond between us stronger. We already shared everything. This was just one more thing."
"The most important thing," Kazuha adds. She dips her head and takes the tip back into her mouth, a brief, teasing suck before releasing it. "We don't compete for you because we're not separate. We're a unit. You get both of us or you get neither."
"Package deal," Anna whispers against the base, and then her tongue is doing something devastating to the underside of your shaft, something slow and flat and thorough that makes your abs clench involuntarily.
Kazuha wraps her lips around the head again and sucks, her cheeks hollowing, her hand pumping the lower half in a lazy rhythm while Anna works the base with her mouth and tongue. The coordination is staggering. One of them is always on you, always moving, and when Kazuha pulls off to breathe, Anna is already sliding up to take her place, and the transition is seamless, wet mouth replacing wet mouth without a single second where you're not enveloped in warmth.
"God, your cock is perfect," Kazuha says, and she's holding you at an angle, studying you with this unashamed hunger, running her thumb along the prominent vein on the underside. "I spent so many meetings staring at your lap. Do you know that? Sitting across from you in those conference rooms, wondering what you looked like, what you tastedâ"
"Every late night," Anna interrupts, her lips brushing the shaft as she speaks. "Every night we stayed here with you, I thought about being exactly where I am right now. Kneeling for you. Tasting you."
"Six months of imagining this." Kazuha lowers her head and takes you deep, deeper than before, and your hand leaves the armrest and finds her hair without conscious decision, fingers tangling in the dark strands. She moans around you, a vibration that rolls through your entire body, and pulls back slowly, letting you feel every inch of the withdrawal.
"Pull my hair," she says, breathless. "I don't mind."
You tighten your grip. She smiles and dives back down, and this time you guide her, just slightly, setting a rhythm that she matches eagerly. Anna's mouth is on your balls, her tongue gentle and warm, and the combination is devastating. Two mouths, two sets of hands, two women who have memorized each other's movements and are using that knowledge to systematically take you apart.
"You're so hard," Anna murmurs. She wraps both hands around the shaft and squeezes gently while Kazuha focuses on the head, her tongue circling, dipping into the slit, gathering the slick that's been leaking steadily since the first kiss. "So thick. I can barely get my hand around you."
"Anna's been dreaming about this," Kazuha says between passes. Her lips are swollen, glistening. "She talks in her sleep sometimes. Did you know that? Last week she said your name."
"Zuha."
"It's true." Kazuha grins and spits on your cock, a filthy gesture that sends saliva dripping down the shaft, and Anna spreads it with her hand, stroking you with a slippery, twisting grip. "I was right there. Clear as day. Sir."
"We talked about exactly this," Anna confesses, and she takes you into her mouth again, sucking the head with a rhythmic, pulsing pressure that makes your thighs tense. She pulls off, a string of spit connecting them. "In our apartment. What it would be, what you'd feel, what sounds you'd make. Have you ever fantasized about us like that too?â
You can't answer. Your head is back against the chair, your chest heaving, your hand still fisted in Kazuha's hair while your other hand finds the back of Anna's neck and holds her. The office is filled with the sound of wet mouths and heavy breathing and the occasional slick pop when one of them pulls off, it's obscene and perfect and you're losing the ability to form coherent thoughts.
They settle into a rhythm. Both of them working the shaft from either side, lips and tongues sliding in opposite directions, meeting at the head, pulling apart, converging again. Anna's hand cups your balls, rolling them gently, while Kazuha's fist pumps the base with a steady, insistent pressure. They pass you back and forth, one taking you deep while the other licks and kisses whatever's exposed, and every time you think you've adjusted to the sensation, one of them does something new. Kazuha presses her tongue flat against the head and looks up at you with those sharp, knowing eyes while Anna sucks the sensitive skin just below the tip. Anna takes you to the back of her throat and swallows around you while Kazuha whispers filth against your thigh.
"I can feel you getting closer," Kazuha says, and her hand tightens around the base. "Your cock keeps twitching."
"Don't hold back," Anna whispers. "Give it to us. We earned this."
"Six months, sir. Six months of being good."
"Six months of keeping our hands to ourselves."
They both lower their heads to the underside of your cock. You can feel it building, the pressure coiling at the base of your spine, your balls drawing tight, and they find the frenulum at the same time, both tongues pressing against that exquisitely sensitive ridge of tissue where the head meets the shaft. They lick in unison, their tongues overlapping, sliding against each other and against you in a wet, coordinated rhythm that sends electricity through every nerve ending.
"Come for us," Anna breathes, her tongue never stopping.
"Give us every drop," Kazuha says against your skin.
The first pulse hits and your hips jerk. Cum erupts onto their lips, a thick, hot spurt that catches them both, painting Kazuha's lower lip and streaking across Anna's cheek. They don't pull away. They press closer, mouths open, tongues extended, and both of them find the frenulum again, lapping at that sensitive ridge together, their tongues overlapping and sliding against the underside of your cock while the second pulse throbs directly onto them, thick and hot, pooling on Anna's tongue and spilling over onto Kazuha's. A third surge pushes more cum from the tip, and it lands heavy on their working tongues, coating them, dripping down their chins, and they keep licking, keep nursing that spot, coaxing each throb out of you with wet, greedy strokes of their tongues pressed together against the frenulum.
Your cock keeps pulsing between their faces, and every spasm deposits another warm rope onto their outstretched tongues, less forceful now but thicker, clinging to their lips in glossy strings. Kazuha catches a slow-dripping thread on the tip of her tongue and holds it there, letting it pool, while Anna's mouth works the underside with soft, sucking kisses that draw the last heavy drops straight onto her waiting tongue. They stay there, licking gently, their cum-slicked lips brushing against each other and against you, milking every final pulse until your cock has nothing left to give and their mouths are full and glistening.
Anna turns to Kazuha. Kazuha turns to Anna. Their mouths find each other over the softening head of your cock, and they kiss. Long and slow and open, tongues sliding together, sharing what you gave them, and you can see it between their lips, glossy and white, and they don't care. They're smiling into the kiss, tasting each other and tasting you, and when they finally pull apart there's a thin bridge of cum and saliva connecting their mouths that breaks and falls onto Kazuha's shirt.
They rest their cheeks against your thighs, breathing hard, fingers still intertwined around the base of your spent cock, and they look up at you with expressions that are impossible to misread.
â
You pull the car into the circular driveway and kill the engine. The mansion sits at the end of a long gravel path, lit up in the early evening with warm light spilling from every window. You can hear music from inside, something old, something your mother always plays at gatherings. You sit in the driver's seat for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring at the front door. Then you get out, walk around the car, and open the back door.
Kazuha doesn't move. She extends her hand toward you, palm down, fingers loose, and waits.
"Seriously?"
"Help me out."
"You have functioning legs."
"Help me out or I'm sitting here all night."
You take her hand and help her out of the car. Her fingers curl around yours and she steps onto the gravel with this little smile, mischievous and pleased with herself, and holds your hand for two seconds longer than necessary before letting go. Sheâs wearing soft gray linen trousers, a fitted white top, and a tan jacket thrown over her shoulders. Minimal jewelry. Hair down.
Anna slides out behind her, needing no assistance, carrying two gift bags in one hand and a third tucked under her arm. She's in a sage green sundress with thin straps, cinched at the waist, falling just above her knees. Flat sandals. A pair of small gold hoops. Simple, elegant, and the dress catches the last of the daylight in a way that makes the color shift between green and grey.
They fall into step beside you as you walk toward the front door. Kazuha is scanning the property with open appreciation, the garden, the stonework, the old oak trees lining the path. Anna is quiet, adjusting the gift bags, her posture a little stiffer than usual.
You reach the door. You stop. Your hand is on the handle and you don't turn it. "Maybe this is a terrible idea."
Kazuha tilts her head. "What?"
"Maybe it would be better if you two went home. I'll handle everything myself. It's going to be boring anyway. My uncle will talk about fishing for two hours, my cousins will argue about football, my grandmother willââ You stop. Shake your head. "You should go. I'll face it alone."
"No fucking way." Kazuha steps forward, blocking your retreat path. "We spent hours getting ready for this. Hours. Do you know how long it took me to decide between these trousers and the other trousers? I tried on six outfits. Six. Anna did my hair twice."
"Three times," Anna corrects.
"Three times. We are not going back."
Anna shifts the gift bags to her other arm and looks at Kazuha. "I'm a little nervous."
Kazuha turns to her immediately, and the sharpness drops. She reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Anna's ear. "You don't need to be. You're perfect. Beautiful. Just be yourself, okay? They're going to love you."
She leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Anna's lips. Brief, soft, more comfort than anything else. Anna's shoulders relax a fraction.
Kazuha turns back to you. You're standing there, hand still on the door handle, watching them. "Do you enjoy seeing your two girls kiss?"
You turn around and push the door open. "For the last time: you're not my girls."
"Sure."
The foyer is wide and bright, with a tiled floor and a staircase curving up to the second level. You can hear laughter from deeper inside, the clink of glasses, the chatter of a large family in a confined space. You walk ahead. Kazuha and Anna follow, a half-step behind, and you can feel them composing themselves, straightening, shifting from private mode to public mode.
You turn the corner into the main living room.
Everyone stops. Your mother is mid-sentence, wine glass in hand. Your older brother is on the couch with his wife. Your younger brother is standing by the mantle with his wife. Three cousins are crowded around the coffee table. Your grandmother is in the armchair by the window, small and sharp-eyed, a blanket over her knees. And every single one of them is now staring at you, and then past you, at the two women standing behind you.
You put your hands in your pockets. You don't look at anyone in particular. "Hi, everyone. Happy birthday, Mom." You clear your throat. "This is Nakamura Kazuha and Tanaka Anna. They work with me. They're, uh. Close friends. I mean, not exactly friends, but⊠well, yeah. You know how it is⊠I thought it would be nice to bring them tonight."
Silence. Your older brother's wife nudges your brother. Your younger brother mouths something you can't catch.
Kazuha steps forward. "It's so wonderful to meet all of you. Thank you for having us, truly. Happy birthday." She bows slightly, the perfect angle, respectful without being stiff.
Anna follows. "Happy birthday. Thank you for welcoming us into your home. It's beautiful."
Your mother sets down her wine glass and stands. She crosses the room, and she's not looking at you at all, she's looking at them, and her expression goes from surprise to something warm and wide and genuine. "Oh my god." She takes Kazuha's hands first, then Anna's. "Look at you two. You are stunning. Both of you."
"Thank you so much," Anna says, the tension from three minutes ago fading away, giving way to the warm, controlled composure she uses in professional settings. âWe brought you some gifts. He was in charge of choosing them, but we helped narrow it down."
"They did most of the work," you say from behind them, still standing with your hands in your pockets.
"You didn't have to do that." Your mother takes the gift bags and sets them on the table, already peeking inside. "Oh, this wrapping is gorgeous. Did you do this yourselves?"
"Kazuha did the wrapping," Anna says. "She's very particular about corners."
"Ninety-degree folds or nothing," Kazuha confirms.
Your mother laughs and ushers them deeper into the room, already asking what they'd like to drink, and you catch your older brother's wife staring at you with an expression that's equal parts shock and barely contained delight. You look away. Your younger brother's wife is doing the same thing from across the room. You look at the floor.
The evening progresses, and what unfolds is deeply surreal to you but apparently completely natural to everyone else. Kazuha moves through your family with the ease of someone who belongs there, who has always been there. She talks to your brother about his car, she asks your cousin about his university program, she helps your mother in the kitchen without being asked and comes back carrying a tray of appetizers balanced on one hand. She's magnetic. She takes up space without demanding it, fills silences without forcing conversation, and within an hour your uncle is telling her about his fishing boat and she's asking follow-up questions that are actually specific enough to be genuine.
Anna is quieter, but no less effective. She gravitates toward the calmer corners of the room, sitting with your younger brother's wife and having what appears to be an intensely engaging conversation about interior design. Your mother keeps touching Anna's arm, the way she does when she's decided she likes someone. Two of your cousins are visibly smitten, and you catch one of them staring at Anna's legs before quickly looking away when he notices you watching.
Dinner. Long table. White tablecloth. Your mom gave the cooks the weekend off and is cooking herself, which is legendary and excessive. You're seated between your brothers, which should be a safe position, except Kazuha is directly across from you and Anna is next to your grandmother, who has been eyeing both of them since they walked in.
Your grandmother taps her spoon against her glass. The table quiets.
"I just want to say," she begins, and her eyes are bright, "that today is clearly a day of miracles. Not only is my family together, but my grandson has finally brought someone home. Or should I say, two someones. I always said the wait would be worth it."
"Grandmaââ
"I don't have one granddaughter-in-law to look forward to, I have two. I'm twice as blessed."
"They're not myââ
"Thank you so much," Kazuha says, cutting you off smoothly, her hand resting on her chest. "That means more than you know. Your grandson is a wonderful man. He tries to hide it behind all that seriousness, but we see right through him."
"I know exactly what you mean." Your grandmother leans toward Anna. "He's been serious since he was six years old. Used to lecture his toys."
"That doesn't surprise me at all," Anna says, and the table laughs.
"Treat them well," your grandmother tells you, pointing her spoon at you across the table. "It's not easy to find girls this well-mannered, beautiful, and good these days. Don't ruin it."
"I'll do my best."
"You'll do more than your best."
Your older brother leans over. "So. Two of them, huh?"
"It's not what you think."
"It's absolutely what I think."
Your younger brother's wife chimes in from three seats down. "Have you thought about the wedding? Because legallyââ
"I can't marry two women," you say quickly.
"You're rich," your uncle says from the end of the table, waving a piece of bread. "You can do whatever you want."
"That's not how the lawââ
"Get a good lawyer," your grandmother adds. "I know one."
"Grandma, I can't marry twoâ"
"Not with that attitude!''
You lean back in your chair and press the heels of your hands against your eyes. The entire table is debating the logistics of a double wedding that isn't happening, and Kazuha is contributing suggestions about venue locations, and Anna is nodding politely while your mother shows her photos of a garden she thinks would be perfect for a ceremony, and you are the only person under this roof who seems to find any of this unusual. Your brother elbows you and grins. You take a very long drink of wine.
â
The hours pass. The cake is cut, the gifts are opened, and your mother cries when she sees the bracelet they helped you choose. The party winds down in slow increments, people migrating from the dining room to the living room to the terrace, conversations getting quieter as the night deepens.
You find yourself at the edge of the pool.
The water is lit from below, a shimmering blue-green, and the surface is still except for two figures cutting through it. You're lying on one of the lounge chairs, hands behind your head, staring up at the sky and listening to them splash and laugh.
You let yourself look.
Kazuha is in a black bikini that shows off every line her body has to offer. Athletic, sculpted, the kind of physique that comes from years of ballet - one time she told you, out of the blue, that sheâd trained in ballet from childhood until late adolescence - and whatever rigorous routine she maintains now. Defined abs, slim waist, toned arms, and an ass that the bikini bottom is doing very little to contain. Her breasts are small and firm, and on anyone else they might read as modest, but on her frame, against those proportions, they're exactly right, completing something rather than lacking anything.
Anna surfaces beside her, pushing wet hair out of her face. The white bikini against her skin is striking, and her body is softer where Kazuha is hard. Shorter by a few inches, with curves that are subtle but undeniable, a narrower waist that flares into hips that have been hidden under pencil skirts for six months. Her collarbones catch the pool light. Her legs are long relative to her frame, and when she treads water, her movements are graceful in that unconscious way that comes from simply being built well. A model's proportions. You've always known they were beautiful. But this is the first time you're seeing them with this much skin showing, this much of themselves exposed, and the reality is staggering.
They swim to the edge and rest their arms on the tile, faces tilted up toward you. "What are you thinking about?" Anna asks. Water drips from her chin.
"Nothing much. Just that today was a really strange day."
"Strange but good," Kazuha says.
"Strange but good."
"In the end, it all worked out. Your family accepted us. Your grandmother is already planning a wedding. Your brother asked me for workout tips. Your mother told Anna she has the most beautiful eyes she's ever seen." Kazuha pauses. Pushes a strand of wet hair behind her ear. "It seems everyone has accepted us. Everyone except you."
You don't say anything. Anna folds her arms on the pool edge, resting her chin on them. "We still haven't talked about what happened that night."
"What night."
"Don't do that. You know what night. In your office. You've spent the last week avoiding us. You schedule meetings through email now. You won't be in the same room unless the door is open and someone else is present."
"I need space to think."
"You've already thought too much." Kazuha hoists herself out of the pool in one smooth motion. Water cascades off her body, running down her stomach, dripping from the ends of her hair. She sits on the edge, her feet still dangling in the water, and turns to face you. Anna pulls herself up too, sitting beside Kazuha, and they're both there, wet and barely dressed, three feet from you.
You stay lying down. Hands behind your head.
"If this gets out, it affects the company. If it leaks to the press, if the board finds out, if employees talk, it's going to be complicated."
"It'll only be complicated if you want it to be,â Kazuha argues. Anna wrings water from her hair, twisting it over one shoulder. "There are millionaires and billionaires doing far worse things than dating two women who adore them. You fund orphanages. You pay your employees above market rate. You canceled contracts over mistreatment. The worst thing anyone could say about you is that two beautiful women are in love with you, and that's not a scandal, that's a headline people would envy."
"Do you like us?" Anna asks. She shifts so she's facing you directly, her knees tucked to the side, water still beading on her shoulders. "Sir. Be honest."
You look at them. Kazuha sitting with one knee pulled up, watching you with those calculating eyes that somehow still manage to be warm. Anna, steady and patient, her gaze never wavering, asking a question she already knows the answer to but needs to hear.
"Yes," you say. "I like you. A lot. You are one of the few things that have happened to me recently that have truly made me happy."
Kazuha's face softens. Anna's breath catches, barely visible, just a small lift of her chest. They look at each other, and something passes between them that doesn't need words, and then they move. They lie down on either side of you, Kazuha on your left, Anna on your right, their wet bodies pressed against your dry shirt, and they don't care about ruining your clothes and you find that you don't either.
Each one takes a hand. Kazuha laces her fingers through yours on the left. Anna does the same on the right. You're lying there between them, staring up at the stars, holding their hands, and the warmth of them seeps through the cold pool water on their skin.
"Then keep letting us make you happy," Kazuha says softly.
"That's all we want," Anna adds.
They lean in. Together. Kazuha's lips press against the left corner of your mouth, Anna's against the right, and you close your eyes and let them, two simultaneous kisses, gentle, patient, warm, and something in your chest opens up that you didn't know was closed.
When they pull back, you exhale.
"Slowly," you say. "I need to figure out how to handle this within the company. How to structure it so it doesn't blow up. I need to think aboutâ"
"Don't think about it now." Anna squeezes your hand. "Not tonight. Just be here."
"Yeah." Kazuha sits up abruptly, and the conspiratorial grin is back. "Come on. Get in the pool."
"No."
"Get in the pool." She's on her feet, tugging your hand. Anna grabs the other arm, pulling.
"I'm not getting in theââ
They're both pulling now, leaning back with their full weight, trying to drag you off the lounge chair toward the water. You brace your feet and resist, and it becomes a tug-of-war that Kazuha is losing because she's laughing too hard to pull properly.
"If you throw me in that pool," you say, dead calm, "I will fire both of you."
They let go immediately. You stagger back a step. Kazuha sticks her tongue out at you, takes three running steps, and cannonballs into the pool. The splash soaks the lounge chair and the bottom half of your trousers.
Anna giggles, covers her mouth, and follows her in with a cleaner jump that barely makes a ripple. Kazuha surfaces, shaking water out of her eyes. Anna bobs up beside her.
"I get it," Anna says, floating on her back, that serene smile on her face. "You'd rather stay up there admiring your girls in bikinis."
Kazuha slings an arm around Anna's shoulders and pulls her close, the two of them framed against the pool light, wet and glowing. "Tell the truth. Don't we look beautiful together?"
You look at them. "You do."
Kazuha beams. Anna ducks her head, pleased.
"Stay there. I'll go get you something to drink."
"Don't take too long, babe," Kazuha calls after you.
You're already walking toward the house, your back to them, and they can't see the smile pulling at your mouth. Much less do they know what's settling into your mind with each step across the cool stone, quiet and certain and new. That maybe Wonyoung was right. That maybe your grandmother was right. That this strange, impossible, completely unorthodox thing that these two women have built around you, piece by piece, month by month, might actually work out really well.
You open the door and step inside to find the drinks.
â
You sleep in the guest room at the end of the upstairs hallway. Alone. The girls take the room next to yours, the one with the queen bed and the floral wallpaper that your mother has been meaning to update for a decade. You considered, for exactly four seconds, sharing a room with them. Then you thought about Kazuha's hand on your thigh at dinner, and Anna's mouth against your ear whispering goodnight, sir in the hallway, and you decided that leaving yourself alone with those two behind a closed door would be an act of breathtaking stupidity. A lamb in a room with two wolves who haven't eaten in six months.
No. Separate rooms.
You lock your door. You lie in bed staring at the ceiling. At some point around midnight you hear them laughing through the wall, muffled and warm, and you press your pillow over your face and tell yourself this is the rational choice.
Morning comes the way mornings do at your mother's home: with the smell of food and the sound of conversation drifting up from the kitchen. You shower, dress, and come downstairs expecting the usual quiet family breakfast.
Kazuha is at the stove.
She's wearing one of your old t-shirts that she stole from somewhere and a pair of borrowed sweatpants rolled at the waist, and she's flipping pancakes while your younger brother watches with his arms crossed and an expression of genuine admiration. Anna is at the table between your mother and your grandmother, and all three of them are laughing about something, and Anna has her hands wrapped around a cup of coffee and she's leaning toward your grandmother with this attentive, engaged warmth that you've only ever seen her direct at you.
"Morning, sleepyhead," your mother says when she spots you in the doorway.
"It's seven-thirty."
"The girls have been up since six. Kazuha offered to make breakfast. Did you know she studied French cooking for a summer?"
"I did not."
"She's making crepes too." Your brother jerks his thumb toward the stove. "This one's talented."
Kazuha turns around and winks at you. She has batter on her cheek.
You pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit at the far end of the table, watching this scene unfold with the detached bewilderment of a man who has lost control of his own life and is only now beginning to understand the extent of it. Your grandmother is showing Anna a photo album. Anna is pointing at pictures of you as a child and pressing her hand to her chest. Kazuha delivers a stack of pancakes to the table and your mother kisses her on the cheek.
Yeah. Nice that at least someone is enjoying all of this.
Eventually the morning winds down and you have to leave. Real life is waiting, the office, the contracts, the quarterly review that's been looming over you all week. You gather your things, thank your mother, hug your brothers, and head for the door.
Your grandmother intercepts the girls in the foyer. "Wait. Come here. Both of you."
She reaches into the pocket of her cardigan and produces two small velvet boxes. She opens the first and reveals a pair of earrings, delicate gold with tiny emerald drops. She opens the second: matching gold with sapphires. They're old. Clearly old. The kind of old that means valuable and irreplaceable and have been in this family for generations.
"These were mine," your grandmother says. "My mother gave them to me when I was younger than both of you. I want you to have them."
"We can't accept these," Anna starts, and your grandmother cuts her off with a wave of her hand.
"You can and you will. They've been sitting in a drawer for twenty years waiting for the right girls. Now put them on and let me see."
Kazuha takes the emeralds. Anna takes the sapphires. They put them on, and your grandmother holds both their faces in her small hands, one on each side, and studies them with wet, satisfied eyes.
"Perfect," she says. "Now take care of my grandson. He needs it more than he'll admit."
You linger a few steps away, keys in your hand, watching the scene play out. The girls seem so pleased with the gifts that you choose not to interrupt. God help you. The coming weeks are going to be a test of endurance.
â
Back to the office. Back to the routine. Back to the fluorescent lights and the endless emails and the conference calls that could have been messages.
You sit them down on the first morning back and make it clear: "Normal. We act normal. Nothing changes in public until I figure out how to handle this. No touching. No signals. No pet names. No loaded looks across the conference table. Professional. Clean. Are we understood?"
"Understood," Anna says.
"Crystal clear," Kazuha says.
They agree. At least partially.
In public, they're impeccable. Kazuha hands you folders with the correct distance, addresses you as sir in meetings, keeps her commentary fully professional. Anna manages your schedule with the same quiet efficiency she's always had, her interactions with you clipped and appropriate, not a single lingering glance or accidental brush of fingers. To the rest of the company, nothing has changed. The CEO and his two competent secretaries, operating with clockwork precision.
The second that office door closes, it's a different universe.
They're on you before the lock clicks. Kazuha pushes you against the desk and kisses you with her hands fisted in your shirt, and Anna is behind you, her arms wrapped around your waist, her lips on the back of your neck, and you're sandwiched between them in this tangle of mouths and hands that makes it physically impossible to think about the Netflix distribution timeline or anything at all.
They give you blowjobs constantly. Behind your locked office door, on your couch, under your desk while you're on a conference call and trying to keep your breathing steady. They share you between them the way they did that first night, passing your cock back and forth, coordinating with wordless precision, and every time you tell yourself this is the last time, this can't keep happening during business hours, and every time Kazuha sinks to her knees with that bratty grin and Anna follows with that quiet, devoted focus, you lose the argument before it starts.
But that's all it is. You haven't slept with them. Not fully. You want to, god, you want to, but you don't want to do it on an office couch or in the back of your car or crammed into the bathroom at the end of the hall. It has to be done properly. A real night. A real bed. Time and space and no interruptions. That's what you tell yourself, and that's what you tell them when they push for more, when Kazuha's hand slides lower and Anna whispers please against your throat.
"Not yet. Not here. When the time is right."
"When is the time right?" Kazuha asks, lying across your lap on the office couch, looking up at you.
"When I'm not buried under a quarterly review and three pending acquisitions."
"You're always buried under something."
"Then you'll have to be patient."
She groans and rolls off the couch.
For now, they're content. Or content enough. The blowjobs sustain them the way snacks sustain someone waiting for a real meal, enough to take the edge off but not enough to satisfy. You can see it in the way Kazuha looks at you when she stands up and wipes her mouth, that hunger that hasn't been fed. In the way Anna curls against your side afterward, her hand on your chest, her breathing uneven, her body warm and restless.
Soon. Just not yet.
â
The slip happens on a Tuesday. You're in the open-plan area reviewing layout proofs with the design team, six people around a table, printouts spread everywhere, and Kazuha walks up behind you with a tablet.
"The Seoul team pushed the deadline to Friday, babe."
The word hangs in the air. Kazuha doesn't even register what she's said. She's looking at the tablet, scrolling through an email, completely casual. But the six people at the table have gone very still. The junior designer's pen is frozen mid-click. The art director's eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline. Everyone is looking at Kazuha, then at you, then at each other.
"What did sheâ"
"I call everyone that." Kazuha doesn't look up from the tablet. "Babe. Sweetheart. Honey. It's a thing. Ask Anna, I called the delivery guy angel last week."
Nobody is convinced. You can feel it. But Kazuha's nonchalance is so thorough, so unbothered, that pursuing the issue would make them look ridiculous, so they let it go. The meeting continues. You don't look at Kazuha for the remaining twenty minutes.
Your office. Door closed. Locked.
"Are you out of your mind?"
Kazuha is sitting in the chair across from your desk, legs crossed, twirling a pen. "It slipped."
"It slipped. In front of six employees."
"I covered it."
"You covered it poorly. After you walked away, someone from the design department asked his colleague if we were together. His colleague said he didnât think so⊠but now heâs unsure. That's the conversation happening right now because you called me babe in the middle of a layout review."
"Okay, I messed up. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"It better not."
Kazuha uncrosses her legs. Recrosses them the other way. Tilts her head. "Are you going to punish me?"
"This isn't a joke."
"I'm not joking." You stare at her. She stares back. The pen stops twirling.
You get up from behind your desk. Walk around it. Stand in front of her. She looks up at you from the chair, and her expression shifts from playful to alert, because something in the way you're standing has changed, something she hasn't seen before.
"Stand up."
She stands. You step closer. Close enough that she has to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. Your hand comes up and rests on her hip, fingers curling around the waistband of her suit trousers. She inhales. "You want to know what happens when you slip up?"
"Yes, sir."
You undo the button of her trousers. Slide the zipper down. Your hand slips inside, past the waistband, and your fingers don't stop at the fabric. You push past the elastic of her underwear and find her bare, warm, already slick. Her breath stutters the second your fingertips graze her folds. "This is what happens."
You start slow. Painfully slow. Two fingers dragging through her wetness, parting her, tracing the length of her slit from bottom to top without once touching her clit. Long, measured strokes that coat your fingers in her and give her just enough sensation to feel everything and nothing at the same time. Her hips shift forward, trying to angle your hand where she needs it. You press her back against the desk with your other hand flat on her stomach, pinning her.
"Don't move."
"Sirâ"
"Your hips stay still. If you move, I stop."
She swallows. Nods. Her hands grip the edge of the desk behind her and her knuckles go white. You keep stroking. That same glacial pace, two fingers sliding through the slick heat of her, occasionally circling just below her clit, close enough that she can feel the proximity, far enough that it provides nothing useful. She's getting wetter by the second, your fingers gliding through her with zero resistance, and every pass draws a little more tension into her thighs, her stomach, the cords of her neck.
Five minutes. Your middle finger traces a slow circle around her clit without making contact, and her entire body shudders. You dip lower, pressing one fingertip just barely inside her entrance, shallow, teasing, then withdraw and drag the wetness back up through her folds. "You're soaked," you say. Conversational. Detached.
"Because you'reâ fuck âyou're touching me."
"Barely."
"It's enough."
"Is it?"
You press a single fingertip directly against her clit for one second. One. She gasps and her hips buck forward involuntarily, and you pull your hand back immediately. Completely. No contact. Nothing. "I said don't move."
"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it, pleaseââ
"Try harder."
You wait. Five seconds. Ten. She's trembling, her eyes squeezed shut, her lower lip bitten raw. Then you slide your hand back in and resume. Slower than before. Punishing her for the infraction. Your fingers trail through her folds with an idle, wandering patience that suggests you have absolutely nowhere else to be, and her wetness is running down your fingers now, pooling in your palm.
Eight minutes. You introduce a rhythm. A proper one. Your middle finger finally settling on her clit and circling it, light but consistent, building something real. Her breathing changes immediately, going shallow and fast, and her thigh muscles are locked rigid with the effort of keeping her hips still. "Oh god." Her head tips back. "Oh god, please don't stop this time."
You don't stop. You build it. Gradually increasing the pressure, the speed, your fingertip working her clit in tight circles that tighten further with each pass. You can feel her climbing, feel the tension coiling in her body, the way her stomach clenches and her thighs press together around your wrist. She's close. Getting closer. Her breathing is ragged and her mouth is open and her grip on the desk is bending the wood.
Ten minutes. She's right there. You can feel it in the way her pussy pulses against your fingers, the way her clit swells and throbs under the pad of your fingertip. One more minute. Maybe less. Her whole body is wound tight, every muscle straining, and the sounds coming from her throat are broken, desperate, involuntary.
"Please," she whimpers. "Please, I'm so close, don't stop, I'm right thereâ" Twelve minutes. You slow down. Not stopping. Worse. You pull the speed back, reduce the pressure, take her from the edge of the cliff and drag her three steps back. She makes a sound that's almost a sob. "No, no, no, don't slow down, please, I was right thereâ"
You build her up again. Faster this time, more direct, your finger pressing harder against her swollen clit, and she climbs again, faster because her body is already primed, already desperate, and within a minute she's back at the edge, her legs shaking, her knuckles white, sweat beading along her collarbones. "I'm going to cum, please let me cum, I'm sorry I called you babe, I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again, just please let meâ"
Thirteen minutes. You slow down again. She whimpers against your shoulder, pressing her forehead into the fabric of your suit, and you can feel how wet your hand is, how swollen she is under your fingertip, how her entire body is vibrating at a frequency that borders on painful.
"Sir, please." Her composure is gone. Completely. The bratty, untouchable Kazuha who calls you babe in front of six employees is begging into your shoulder with tears forming at the corners of her eyes. "I'll do anything. I'll be good. I'll be so good."
Fourteen minutes. You build her one more time. Your finger finds the rhythm she needs, the exact pressure, the exact speed, and you give it to her, and she climbs so fast that her breath catches in her chest and holds, her body going rigid, every muscle locked, teetering right at the precipice of release.
Fifteen minutes. You pull your hand out. The sound she makes is devastating. A choked, broken gasp, her body clenching around nothing, the orgasm that was right there, millimeters away, dissolving. Her hips jerk forward, seeking contact that doesn't exist anymore, and she grabs your wrist, trying to pull your hand back, but you step away.
Kazuha sags against the desk. Her trousers are undone, her face is flushed from her cheeks to her chest, her thighs are pressed together, and she's clenching around the absence of you, her body still pulsing with an orgasm it was denied. She looks at you with glazed, desperate, furious eyes.
"Button your pants. Go back to work."
"You can't be serious."
"Did I stutter?"
"You built me up three times. Three times. You can't justâ"
"I can. I just did."
She stares at you. Her jaw is trembling. You hold her gaze, steady, unmoved, and she blinks first. She buttons her trousers with shaking hands, fumbling the zipper twice before getting it up. She smooths her shirt. Pushes off the desk on legs that barely support her. Walks to the door with the gait of someone whose entire nervous system has been rewired and then abandoned.
She pauses with her hand on the handle. Turns back. "You're evil."
"And you'll remember that the next time you want to call me babe in front of the design team.â
She leaves. You sit back down at your desk and pick up the Apex contract where you left off, and if your hand smells faintly of her for the rest of the afternoon, that's something you keep to yourself.
That evening, your phone buzzes. A text from Anna: Just so you know, Kazuha used the vibrator the second she walked through the door. She didn't even take her shoes off. I could hear her from the kitchen.
You stare at the message for a long time. You type three different responses, delete all of them, and put your phone facedown on the desk.
â
Karina arrives on a Thursday. She's the CEO of a media distribution company with infrastructure across Europe and Latin America, and the preliminary conversations have gone well enough that today's meeting is supposed to lock down the broad strokes before legal gets involved. Forty minutes in, you've covered projections, territorial licensing, revenue splits, and the conversation is winding down to timelines and next steps. She's polished. Confident. Attractive in that severe, editorial way, all sharp angles and tailored clothing and a handshake that told you exactly how much she values her own time before she even sat down.
Kazuha is in the room. She's been there the entire meeting, standing near the side table with a tablet, taking notes, scheduling follow-ups. Silent and professional. Exactly the way you asked her to be.
Karina closes her portfolio and settles deeper into the chair. She uncrosses her legs. Recrosses them. "I think we're in a really strong position here. I'll have my team draft the preliminary terms and get them to you by Monday."
"That works. Legal will review and we'll circle back within the week."
"Great." She pauses. Smiles. It's friendly, but it's not just friendly. "Listen, this might be forward, but do you have plans tonight? There's this new place in Gangnam, incredible cocktails, very low-key. I find the best business conversations happen when people actually relax."
Over Karina's shoulder, you can see Kazuha. She's stopped scrolling. Her eyes have left the tablet screen and locked onto the back of Karina's head with the fixed, unblinking focus of a predator registering movement. "I appreciate the offer, butâ"
"It'll be fun. I promise I won't talk numbers the entire time."
"He can't."
Karina's smile freezes in place. She turns her head toward Kazuha with the slow, measured rotation of someone who isn't sure she heard correctly. Kazuha hasn't moved from her position by the side table, but her posture has changed completely. "Excuse me?"
"His schedule is full tonight. He already has commitments."
Karina blinks. She looks at Kazuha the way someone might look at a filing cabinet that just offered an opinion. "I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you."
"And yet here I am, talking to you. He can't make it."
Karina turns back to you. "Do you let your secretary speak to guests this way? If this happened at my company, she'd already be packing her desk."
"Kazuha, I'll handle this."
But Kazuha has already stepped forward. She's not raising her pitch. She's not shouting. Every word arrives with the flat, total certainty of someone who is not offering a suggestion and is not interested in a discussion. She's looking Karina directly in the eyes. "He's not going anywhere with you."
A short, high laugh escapes Karina's mouth. Disbelief. She looks from Kazuha to you and back again, waiting for someone to explain the joke. Nobody does. "Is that how it works here? Your secretary decides who you spend your time with?"
"Kazuha." You stand. Your chair rolls backward and hits the credenza. "Leave. Now."
She doesn't move immediately. She holds Karina's gaze for two more seconds, and the look she delivers in those final seconds is so territorial, so openly hostile, so utterly devoid of professional courtesy that it doesn't need translation. Then she turns, walks to the door, opens it, and is gone. The latch clicks shut behind her.
Karina smooths her hair back from her face. Exhales through her nose. Resets. "You need to get that girl under control. I've never experienced anything remotelyâ" She stops herself. Squares her shoulders. Reassembles the smile. "Anyway. Drinks?"
You sit back down. Fold your hands on the desk. "I appreciate the invitation, Karina. I do. But tonight doesn't work. The Netflix integration is eating my evenings and I wouldn't be good company."
Something flickers across her face. Not hurt. Closer to disdain, the particular expression of a woman who hears no so rarely that she treats it as a clerical error. She stands, buttons her blazer, collects her portfolio. "Fine. I'll email you the details for the next meeting. We can pick up from there."
"Looking forward to it."
She walks to the door. Pauses with her hand on the frame. Turns back just enough for you to catch her profile. "Get that situation under control. Before it becomes a real problem."
She leaves. The door closes. You sit alone in your office, pinching the bridge of your nose, listening to the silence settle back into the room, and you stay like that for a long time.
â
You pull into the garage under your building at quarter past eleven. You're late. You know it. You told them you'd be there by ten, ten-thirty at the latest, and the event ran long and the conversation with Wonyoung ate another twenty minutes and the traffic on the expressway was miserable.
The conversation with Wonyoung... God, that was exhausting and embarrassing.
She cornered you on the way to the parking garage, champagne-brave and relentless, and didn't let you leave until you told her why the company had been buzzing for weeks and why you were sneaking out of a party with an open bar. So you told her. Kazuha and Anna are waiting for you at home. She cycled through surprise, delight, and curiosity in about four seconds, then asked if it was serious. You told her they'd come to your mother's birthday. That your grandmother gave them heirloom earrings. That your entire family now assumes you're in a committed relationship with two women. Wonyoung laughed her real laugh, the one reserved for things so absurd they become wonderful, and called you an ice king turned romantic in under a month.
Then she got serious. She told you the fallout would be ugly. Two secretaries, not one. Your direct reports. People would call you unprofessional and call them gold diggers regardless of how competent they were. She told you that eventually you'd need to restructure their positions, move them into roles that put distance between the personal and the professional, because the optics of a CEO dating his own secretaries were indefensible long-term. But if they were as good as you kept saying, the work would speak for itself. People would move on. Take the hit, she said. Deal with it. If they're the ones you want, it'll be worth it.
She told you to go home to your girls. You told her to stop calling them that. She called them your girls one more time, warned you to use protection because she couldn't handle a pregnancy scandal on top of everything else, and waved you toward the garage.
That was twenty minutes ago. Now you're taking the elevator up, watching the floor numbers climb, loosening your tie in the reflection of the steel doors. The hallway is quiet. You pull out the keycard, swipe it, and the lock clicks green.
"I'm here. Sorry."
Nothing.
The living room is empty. The kitchen is dark. There are two pairs of heels by the front door, neatly placed side by side, and two bags on the counter. There's a faint sweetness hanging in the air, warm and layered, something between vanilla and amber. A scented candle. You don't own scented candles. You've never bought one in your life. "Kazuha? Anna?"
Silence. You finish loosening your tie and pull it off, tossing it on the back of the couch. Your blazer follows. You unbutton your cuffs and roll your sleeves as you walk down the hallway toward the bedroom.
You push open the door. And stop.
They're on your bed. Both of them. Kazuha is propped against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankle, eating a piece of chocolate from a box that's open beside her. She's wearing black lingerie. A lace bralette that barely covers anything, high-waisted lace briefs that sit on her hips, and nothing else. Her body all lean lines and defined muscle, the abs you saw at the pool, the sharp cut of her collarbones, the small firm curve of her breasts pressed together by the lace. Her hair is down, falling past her shoulders, and she's barefoot and completely at ease, eating chocolate in your bed in her underwear as if this is something she does every night.
Anna is beside her, lying on her stomach, scrolling through her phone. Pink lingerie. A soft, sheer bralette with delicate straps, matching briefs, and coquette-style stockings that hug her thighs, the tops trimmed with a thin band of lace. Her hair is fanned across the pillow, and the gold chain around her neck has slipped to the side.
The room is warm. The source of that vanilla and amber sweetness is sitting on the nightstand, a candle in a dark glass jar, its flame small and steady, throwing a soft gold wash across the sheets and the headboard and the two women on your bed.
You stand in the doorway.
"You're late," Kazuha says without looking up from her chocolate.
"I know. I'm sorry. There were a lot of people at the event, everyone wanted to talk, and it took me a while to find an opening to leave without it being obvious."
"We've been here since nine." She finally looks at you. Bites into another piece. Chews slowly. "That's over two hours of waiting. Anna reorganized your bookshelf out of boredom."
"By genre," Anna confirms, still scrolling. "Your fiction section was a disaster."
"Are you hungry? Do you want me to order something?"
"No." Kazuha sets the chocolate box aside. "We don't want food. We only want you at the moment."
"Your suite is beautiful, by the way," Anna says, locking her phone and setting it on the nightstand. She rolls onto her side, propping her head on her hand. "I love your room. The view from the living room is incredible. The bathroom is ridiculous. That shower has more settings than my car."
"The whole place is pretty monochromatic. Grey, white, more grey. But I'm glad you liked it."
Anna reaches over to the nightstand and picks up two folded pieces of paper. She holds them up. "Before we go any further. Our test results. Both clean. Everything. We got them done last week."
"You could have just told me. I would have believed you."
"Force of habit," Kazuha says. "We do things properly."
"That's fair."
Kazuha moves. She shifts onto her knees on the mattress and crawls to the edge of the bed where you're standing. The lace shifts against her skin with each movement, and her stomach flexes, and her eyes don't leave yours. She reaches up, grabs the front of your shirt, bunching the fabric in her fist.
"Come here." She pulls you forward. You climb onto the bed, one knee first, then the other, and Kazuha guides you toward the center of the mattress, her hand firm on your chest. Anna shifts to make room, and then you're lying on your back between them, looking up at the ceiling, and they're on either side of you, and the warmth of their bodies presses against you through the thin fabric of their lingerie.
Kazuha kisses you first. She leans over and finds your mouth. She tastes faintly of dark chocolate and she takes her time, her hand resting on your jaw, her thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. When she pulls back, Anna is already there, turning your face toward her, and she kisses you with that soft, deep intensity that is entirely hers, her fingers curling into your hair, her body pressing closer against your side.
"We missed you," Anna murmurs against your lips. "You took so long."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize." Kazuha is working on the buttons of your shirt from the top down, her fingers quick and sure. "Just don't let it happen again."
"All I wanted was to be here. With you two. The entire event I was counting minutes."
"Good." Anna sits up and moves to the foot of the bed. She takes one of your shoes in both hands and pulls it off, then the other, then your socks, which she drops over the side. Her fingers trail up your calf before she settles back into position beside you.
Kazuha has your shirt open. She pushes the fabric aside and runs her hand flat across your chest, feeling you, mapping the contours of your torso with her palm. "We're happy you brought us here. To your place. Your actual home. This is progress."
"Big progress," Anna agrees. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your trousers and tugs them down over your hips while Kazuha lifts you slightly so the fabric clears. "But there's still something missing."
"Pet names," Kazuha says. She pulls your trousers past your knees, and Anna takes them the rest of the way off. "You've never once called us anything other than our names. Or you two. Or, when you're annoyed, both of you."
"And you still haven't said it," Anna adds. She's lying on her stomach beside you, her chin resting on your chest, looking up at you. "That we're yours. You've never said the words."
You look at them. Kazuha is kneeling beside you, one hand still resting on your stomach, her dark hair falling across her shoulder. Anna is pressed against your side, her stockinged leg draped over yours, the lace tops cutting a line across her thigh.
You reach up and touch Anna's face. Your thumb traces the line of her jaw, the curve of her cheek. You tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her eyes fill. Not tears, not quite, but something bright and sudden that she blinks against. Her breath catches and she presses her face into your hand. "My sweet Anna.â
You turn to Kazuha. Your other hand finds her cheek, cradling it, and she leans into your palm immediately, instinctively, her eyes locked on yours. "My Zuha.â
Her composure cracks. Just for a second. Her mouth trembles and she bites the inside of her cheek, hard, and her eyes shine. "You're mine," you say. "Both of you. You're mine."
Kazuha turns her face into your hand and presses her lips to your palm. Anna buries her face in your neck and you can feel her smile against your skin, wide and unguarded and radiant. They press closer, each of them holding one of your hands, tangled against you on the sheets, and for a long moment nobody speaks.
Then Kazuha lifts her head. She looks down. Her grin returns. "Someone's happy to see us."
You're hard. Straining against the fabric of your underwear, obvious and impossible to ignore. Anna follows Kazuha's gaze and her cheeks flush, a pink that spreads from her face down her neck to her collarbones.
"Let's fix that," Anna whispers.
Kazuha hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls. Anna helps from the other side, tugging the fabric down your thighs, past your knees, off your ankles, tossed somewhere behind Anna toward the floor.
You sit up just enough to shrug off the unbuttoned shirt. It joins the growing pile. You're naked between them, bare against the dark sheets, Both of them look at you the same way: hungry, possessive, and carrying something that runs deeper than either of those. Kazuha's fingers wrap around your shaft first, and Anna's hand follows half a second later, overlapping, both of them stroking you in a slow, coordinated rhythm that sends a current up through your stomach and into your chest. They're lying on either side of you, propped up on their elbows, watching their own hands work, watching the way your cock twitches under the pressure.
"You know what," Kazuha says, her thumb dragging across the head on the upstroke, smearing the slick that's already gathering there, "I think it's high time you made amends."
"Amends for what?"
"For that day at the office. When you put your hand in my cunt and held it there for fifteen minutes and gave me absolutely nothing. I went home and used a vibrator, did Anna tell you that? I couldn't even wait. I walked through the apartment door and went straight to the bedroom."
"She didn't take her shoes off," Anna confirms from your other side, her hand tightening around the base of your cock. "I heard her from the kitchen."
"It was a punishment," you say. "You called me babe in front of six people. You deserved it."
"You were cruel." Kazuha releases your cock and shifts her weight. She swings one leg over your torso, straddling your chest, and her knees press into the mattress on either side of your ribs. The black lace of her bralette is directly above you, her stomach taut and defined, and she's looking down at you with an expression that's half demand, half invitation. "And now you're going to make it up to me."
She crawls forward. Her knees slide up past your shoulders, past your collarbone, until she's positioned directly over your face, her thighs framing your jaw. The black lace of her underwear is inches from your mouth. You can feel the heat radiating from her. She reaches down and hooks one finger under the fabric, pulling it to the side. And there she is. You're seeing her for the first time, fully, without barriers. Smooth and flushed, her lips slightly parted, glistening, perfectly neat, the softest part of a woman who is all edges and sharp angles everywhere else. She's wet already, just from the anticipation, from touching you, from the months of buildup that have led to this specific moment in this specific bed.
"Ask politely," you say.
A slow blink from Kazuha as she peers down at you. Her breathing deepens, chest rising and sinking. She nips at her bottom lip, releases it, and the bravado she normally carries slips away when she speaks, leaving her sounding unexpectedly shy. âPlease, sir⊠will you eat my pussy?â
You grip her thighs and pull her down onto your mouth.
The first stroke of your tongue draws a sound from her that fills the entire room. A long, shuddering exhale, her spine arching, her hands flying forward to brace against the headboard. You drag your tongue flat and slow from her entrance to her clit, tasting her for the first time, salt and warmth and something sweet underneath, and you do it again, and again, establishing a rhythm before you've even properly started. "Oh my god." Her thighs clench around your head. "Oh my god, I've been waiting for this for so long. You have no idea."
You seal your lips around her clit and suck, gentle at first, then firmer, and her hips roll forward involuntarily, grinding against your mouth. You let her. You want her to move, want her to take what she needs, and your hands grip her thighs hard enough to leave marks.
Meanwhile, Anna has repositioned. You feel her shift down the bed, feel her breath warm against your cock, and then her mouth closes over the head, and the wet heat of it almost makes you lose your rhythm against Kazuha. Anna sucks you with that slow, worshipful dedication she always brings, taking more of you with each pass, her tongue pressing against the underside, her hand wrapped around the base to steady the shaft.
"Anna." Kazuha's grip on the headboard tightens. She looks back over her shoulder. "How is it?"
"Mm." Anna pulls off just long enough to answer, her lips brushing the tip. "Perfect. He's so hard."
"How does it feel down there?"
"He keeps twitching every time you grind on his face. I think he likes eating you out as much as you like getting it."
"Trust me, he does." Kazuha turns back to you and rolls her hips. You respond by pushing your tongue inside her, as deep as it'll go, and her whole body shudders. "Fuck. Right there. Right there, don't stop."
You alternate. Tongue inside her, then up to her clit, circling it, flicking it, sucking it between your lips. You vary the pressure, the speed, the angle, reading her responses the way you read contracts, looking for the clauses that make her react. And she's loud about it. Not screaming, not performing, but genuinely vocal, her breathing ragged and punctuated with these short, punched-out sounds that she can't seem to control. "How the hell are you this good," she breathes. Her hips are grinding steadily now, riding your mouth with a rhythm that's becoming less controlled by the minute. "This isâ you've done this before. You've definitely done this before."
You pull back just enough to speak against her, your lips still pressed to her folds: "Obviously I've practiced."
"With who?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes it matters." Her thigh tightens against your jaw. "Who?"
"Past relationships. Before either of you existed in my life."
"I don't want to hear about it," Anna says from below. Her hand squeezes your shaft a fraction harder. "Don't talk about other women. Not right now."
"Agreed." Kazuha grinds down, cutting off any further discussion by pressing herself firmly against your mouth. "No more talking about that. Ever. Those women don't exist anymore. There's only us."
You smile against her and redouble your efforts. Your tongue finds her clit and you work it in tight, focused circles, building the pressure, building the speed, and Kazuha's breathing goes shallow and fast. Her thighs are trembling. The headboard creaks under her grip. "Faster," she whispers. "Please. I'm getting close. Don't stop, don't you dare stop."
Anna is matching the energy below, taking you deeper into her throat, her pace increasing, her free hand cupping your balls and massaging them gently, and the combination of Kazuha grinding on your face and Anna's mouth working your cock is so overwhelming that your hands dig into Kazuha's thighs hard enough to bruise.
"I'm close." Kazuha's voice is stripped bare, nothing left of the confidence and the bravado, just pure need. "I'm so close, please, keep going, keepâ oh fuck, fuckâ"
You suck her clit between your lips and press your tongue flat against it, holding the pressure steady, and Kazuha breaks. Her thighs clamp around your head, her back arches sharply, and she comes with a cry that starts in her chest and rips upward through her throat. Her hips buck against your mouth, riding the wave, and you hold her there, tongue still working, drawing it out, milking every last pulse until her body goes slack and she sags forward against the headboard, gasping.
"God." She can barely speak. Her forehead is pressed against the wood. "God, that wasâ I can't feel my legs."
She climbs off your face on unsteady limbs and collapses onto the mattress beside you, one arm thrown over her eyes, her chest heaving. Her black lingerie is askew, the bralette shifted, the underwear still pulled to the side. "Your turn," Kazuha says to Anna, her arm still over her eyes. "Get up there. You need to feel what his mouth does."
Anna releases your cock from her mouth, a thin strand of saliva stretching and breaking. She wipes her lips with the back of her hand and looks at you with those dark, steady eyes. You reach for her and she comes, climbing over you the way Kazuha did, settling her knees on either side of your head. She's trembling already.
"Nervous?" you ask.
"A little."
"Don't be."
She reaches down and slips her pink underwear to the side. You see her for the first time, and she's different from Kazuha. Where Kazuha was neat and streamlined, Anna is softer, fuller, her outer lips plump and flushed, the inner folds delicate and pink and already soaked. She's smaller overall, everything more compact, more delicate, Seeing her like that above you, thighs trembling as she hovers in place, carries a disarming kind of fragility that hits you with unexpected force.
"Beautiful," you murmur, and you mean it with everything you have.
You pull her down. Anna's reaction is immediate and devastating. The first contact of your tongue against her folds draws a sound from her that's nothing short of holy. Her entire body goes rigid, her fingers twisting in the sheets beside your head, and her hips push downward, seeking more pressure, more contact. "Oh." Her breath hitches. "Oh, sir."
You take your time with her. Long, slow licks from her entrance upward, spreading her open with each pass, tasting the difference between her and Kazuha. She's sweeter somehow, and wetter, and the sounds she makes are quieter but deeper, these low, rolling moans that vibrate through her entire body and into yours.
Kazuha recovers enough to roll onto her side and reach between your legs. Her fingers wrap around your cock, still slick from Anna's mouth, and she strokes you lazily, keeping you hard, keeping the pleasure simmering while you work on Anna.
"How does it feel?" Kazuha asks, watching Anna's face from the pillow beside you.
"Paradise," Anna breathes. Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, her head tilted back. "It'sâ I can't even describeâ Zuha, his tongueâ"
"I know. I told you."
"You didn't tell me enough."
You find her clit. It's small and swollen and sensitive, and when your lips close around it, Anna's hips jerk so hard she almost lifts off your face entirely. You grip her waist and pull her back down, holding her steady, and you work her clit with the same focused intensity you gave Kazuha, tongue circling, lips sucking, varying the rhythm until you find the pattern that makes her legs shake.
"He's too good at this," Anna whimpers, and her hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair. "It's not fair."
"He mentioned he's had practice," Kazuha says from beside you, her hand still pumping your shaft with long, twisting strokes. "With past women. He must have trained a lot to become this good."
"I wanna forget about that." Anna's grip on your hair tightens. "No one else. Just us. Only us."
"Only you," you say against her, the words buzzing against her clit, and the vibration makes her cry out.
You push your tongue inside her. So tight, so warm, her walls flutter around you when you curl your tongue upward. You alternate between penetrating her and sucking her clit, building a rhythm, building the tension, and Anna is losing control above you. Her hips are rocking steadily, her breathing reduced to short, sharp gasps, her fingers white-knuckled in your hair.
Kazuha's strokes on your cock accelerate. She's watching Anna's face with fascination, with hunger, with something possessive and tender at the same time. Her thumb circles the head of your cock on every upstroke, spreading the wetness that's been leaking steadily.
"Let go, Anna," Kazuha whispers. "Let him make you come."
"I'mâ it's buildingâ it's so muchâ"
You flatten your tongue against her clit and apply steady, unrelenting pressure, and Anna shatters. Her orgasm hits differently than Kazuha's, less explosive, more consuming. Her body curls forward, her mouth open in a silent cry, and then the sound comes, a long, broken moan that starts somewhere deep in her chest. Her thighs press against your head and her hips grind in slow, involuntary circles, riding your tongue through wave after wave, and you don't let up, you keep going, keep licking, keep sucking until she grabs your wrist and gasps, "Stop, stop, too much, I can'tââ
You release her. She rolls off of you and lands on the mattress, curling onto her side, her stockinged legs pulled to her chest, aftershocks rippling through her. Her face is flushed all the way down to the tops of her breasts, and her eyes are glassy and unfocused.
"I can't believe you've been hiding that mouth behind a desk for six months," she says weakly.
Kazuha, still stroking you, leans over and presses a kiss to Anna's damp forehead. "Worth the wait?"
Anna lets out a shaky laugh. "Worth every second.â
You lean forward and press your mouth to Anna's. She's catching her breath, still trembling from the aftershocks, and she smiles against your lips, her hand coming up to rest on the side of your face. The kiss is tender, unhurried, and you can taste yourself on her tongue from earlier. Kazuha's hand finds your jaw and turns you toward her. She pulls you in and kisses you hard, possessive, her teeth catching your bottom lip before she releases you. Then she drops back onto the mattress, arms spread, her dark hair fanning across the sheets, and she looks up at you with those sharp, calculating eyes that are burning with something far beyond calculation now.
She reaches down between her legs. Two fingers spread herself open, holding the black lace aside, presenting herself to you with a shameless exhibition that makes your cock throb. "The time has come, sir."
You shift between her legs. Your knees press into the mattress on either side of her thighs, and you're looking down at her, at the lean lines of her body, the defined muscles of her stomach, the black lace bralette still clinging to her small breasts, the wet, flushed center of her held open by her own fingers.
Kazuha blinks up at you. She bites her lip. And then, in the most artificially sweet, innocent register imaginable, she says, "Sir, I'm your secretary. Should we really be doing this? It's so wrong. I'm being a bad girl, aren't I?"
You chuckle. The sound surprises you because you can't remember the last time you laughed in bed. "Cut the bullshit, Kazuha. You spent six months throwing yourself at me. Don't play innocent now."
She grins. Wide, unashamed, radiant. "Of course I did. And it worked perfectly."
You grip the base of your cock and press the head against her entrance. You don't push in. You slide it along her slit, up through the wet folds, dragging the tip over her clit and then back down, coating yourself in her. She's soaked, slick, and the friction of your cock gliding through that warmth makes her breath hitch and her stomach clench. Anna shifts beside Kazuha. She reaches over and hooks her fingers under the band of Kazuha's bralette, pulling it down, freeing her breasts. They're small, firm, the nipples tight and hard, and Anna cups one in her palm, her thumb brushing across the peak. Kazuha arches into the touch, her hips pressing upward, trying to take you in.
"Stop teasing," Kazuha breathes.
You push forward. The head of your cock spreads her open and slides inside, and the feeling is so overwhelming that your arms nearly buckle. She's tight, incredibly tight, her walls gripping you with this muscular pressure that comes from years of athletic discipline, and she's hot and wet and alive around you. You sink deeper, inch by inch, watching her face change, watching her mouth fall open, watching her eyes lose focus. "Oh fuck," she whispers. "Oh fuck, that'sâ"
You bottom out. Your hips press flush against hers and you're buried to the hilt, and you can feel her pulse around you, her body adjusting, accommodating, her muscles contracting in rhythmic waves. You look down between your bodies and see it, the faint bulge of your cock pressing against her lower stomach, subtle but visible, the outline of you inside her.
Anna sees it too. Her hand drifts down from Kazuha's breast to her stomach, and her fingers trace the slight protrusion. "I can feel him inside you."
"Yeah, I can feel him too," Kazuha says, and her laugh turns into a moan as you pull back and push in again. You start slow. Long, deep strokes that withdraw almost entirely before sinking back in, letting her feel every inch of the drag, the stretch, the fullness. Her hands grip the sheets above her head, her back arches with each thrust, her abs flex and contract visibly, the defined muscles tightening every time you bottom out. "Faster, please.â
You pick up the pace. Not by much, just enough for the rhythm to stop feeling measured and start feeling urgent, and the sound of skin meeting skin fills the bedroom, wet and steady. Kazuha wraps her legs around your waist, her heels pressing into the small of your back, pulling you deeper, and the angle changes and you hit something inside her that makes her whole body jolt.
"There. Right there. Keep hitting that spot."
You do. You lock into the angle and drive forward, and Kazuha's moans climb in pitch and frequency, her fingers twisting in the sheets, her teeth bared. Anna is still beside her, one hand on Kazuha's breast, the other stroking her own thigh through the lace of her stockings, watching the two of you with hungry eyes.
"Zuha," Anna murmurs, pressing her lips to Kazuha's shoulder. "How does it feel?"
"So fucking good." Kazuha's hips are meeting yours now, thrust for thrust, her body moving with a precision and power that matches your own. "His cock isâ Anna, you're going to lose your mind when it's your turn."
"I know."
"This is what Karina wanted to steal from us." Kazuha's eyes snap to yours, and even mid-fuck, even with her body trembling and her breathing ragged, there's a flash of something territorial and fierce. "That night she asked you for drinks. This is what she was after."
"I was only doing business with her," you say, your hips never breaking rhythm. "It was professional."
"We studied her," Anna says quietly from beside Kazuha, her fingers pinching Kazuha's nipple, rolling it. "Kazuha and I did our research. She has a pattern. Three of her last five business partnerships involved personal relationships. Affairs. She targets men in positions of power."
"She's a slut," Kazuha says flatly, punctuated by a moan as you thrust particularly deep. "And she had her eyes on you."
"Even if she tried something, I would have refused. You need to stop this. Karina is a valuable business contact, and this kind of jealousy could destroy a deal worthâ"
"We were insecure," Anna interrupts. Her hand rests on your forearm, the one bracing against the mattress beside Kazuha's head. "You were still keeping your distance. You hadn't slept with us. We didn't know where we stood. Any day you could have decided this was too complicated, too messy, and walked away. We would have had nothing. And then this woman shows up, beautiful, powerful, available, and asks you for drinks? What were we supposed to think?"
"We couldn't risk losing you," Kazuha adds, "We didn't have you yet. Not fully."
You slow your thrusts. You lean down, closer to her face, your forearms bracketing her head. "I'm here now. I'm inside you right now. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm going to prove that you don't need to worry about Karina or anyone else. Not anymore."
Kazuha searches your eyes. "Then prove it. Fuck me hard. Prove that I'm yours."
You straighten up. You grab her hips, adjust the angle, and you give her what she asked for. The pace doubles. Your thrusts become punishing, deep, each one driving her body up the mattress until she braces her hands against the headboard to keep from sliding. The sound is obscene, the wet slap of impact, the creak of the bed frame, and Kazuha takes it all, takes everything, her body absorbing each stroke with a strength that matches yours.
Your hand moves from her hip to her throat. Your fingers wrap around the column of her neck, not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, feeling her pulse jackhammer under your palm. She looks up at you and her eyes go wide and dark and desperate.
"Say it," she gasps. "Say I'm yours."
You tighten your grip. Enough to feel her swallow against your hand, enough to restrict without cutting off, enough to make her feel the weight of your control.
"You're mine, Kazuha."
"Both of us."
"Both of you. You're mine. You belong to me."
"Fuck your girl." Her back arches off the mattress, her hands white-knuckled on the headboard. "Fuck your girl hard, sir. Put me in my fucking place. Show me who I belong to."
You pound into her. Your hand on her throat, your cock driving deep, your hips snapping forward with a force that shakes the bed frame, and Kazuha is coming apart beneath you. Her composure, her control, her sharp edges and calculated moves, all of it stripped away until she's just a woman being fucked senseless by a man she spent six months chasing. "Don't stop, don't you fucking stop, I'm so close, fuck me, fuck me harder, I need it, I need your cock, sir, please, pleaseâ"
Her dirty talk degenerates into fragments, half-words, broken pleas strung together between gasps. Her body is covered in a thin sheen of sweat that makes the black lace cling to her skin, and her thighs are shaking around your waist, Anna is watching everything with parted lips and one hand between her own legs.
"I'm going to cum." Kazuha's eyes are squeezed shut. Her neck strains against your hand. "I'm going to cum on your cock, don't let go of my throat, don't let go, keep fucking me, keepâ"
You feel it. Her walls clamp down around you with a force that's almost painful, a vice-grip of contracting muscle that locks your cock in place, and her entire body seizes. Her back lifts completely off the bed, her legs tighten around you, her mouth opens in a silent scream that finds sound a second later, a raw, wrecked cry that tears through the room. You keep thrusting through it, your hand firm on her throat, and she rides the orgasm with her whole body shaking, her muscles spasming around your cock in rhythmic pulses that go on and on.
When it finally subsides, she collapses. Flat on the mattress. Boneless. Her chest heaving, her eyes unfocused, her legs falling open. You release her throat and she gulps air, and there are faint red marks on her neck where your fingers pressed. "Holy shit," she whispers to no one in particular.
You pull out of her slowly. Your cock is slick, coated in her, glistening in the candlelight. You turn to Anna, who is kneeling beside Kazuha, her hand still between her own thighs, her stockings slightly askew.
"Clean it." Anna looks at your cock. Looks at you. She crawls forward, takes your cock in both hands, and lowers her mouth to it. She licks you clean. Slow, thorough, methodical, running her tongue along the entire length, tasting Kazuha's juices on your skin, savoring it. She sucks the head into her mouth and holds it there, her tongue swirling, collecting everything, and her eyes close with an expression of deep, private satisfaction. "How does she taste?" you ask.
Anna releases you. Her lips are wet. "Sweet."
"Go kiss her."
Anna turns to Kazuha, who is still spread out on the mattress, still catching her breath. Anna leans down and presses her mouth to Kazuha's, and the kiss is deep and open, you can see their tongues meeting,Kazuha moaning softly as she tastes herself on Anna's lips. Anna cups Kazuha's face in both hands, and Kazuha's fingers slide into Anna's hair, and they kiss with a tenderness and heat that exists entirely separate from you, a bond that predates you, that will outlast everything.
They break apart. Kazuha's thumb traces Anna's bottom lip. Anna smiles.
Both of them turn to look at you. Kazuha shifts on the bed, the mattress dipping softly beneath her as she rolls toward you. She slides closer, then pushes herself up just enough to reach you, her hands press against your shoulders and she pushes you backward, firmly, until your back hits the mattress and you're looking up at the ceiling. "You had your fun with me. Now it's Anna's turn. And you're going to lie there and watch her take what she needs."
She climbs off and settles beside you on the bed, propped on one elbow, body still flushed and glowing. Anna is already kneeling at your hip, and her fingers are hooked into the waistband of her pink underwear. She pulls them down her thighs, over her knees, past the lace tops of her stockings, and drops them off the side of the bed. She's bare from the waist down except for those coquette stockings clinging to her legs, and the sight of her sends a fresh surge of blood straight to your cock.
Anna swings one leg over you and settles onto your hips, her wet cunt pressing against the underside of your shaft without taking you in yet. The contact alone makes your jaw clench. Kazuha shifts behind Anna, kneeling at her back, and her fingers find the clasp of Anna's pink bralette. She unhooks it with one hand, practiced, easy, and slides the straps down Anna's arms. The fabric falls away and Anna's breasts are bare, soft and round, her nipples hard, and Kazuha's chin rests on Anna's shoulder from behind, both of them looking down at you. "I've dreamed about this moment so many times, sir," Kazuha murmurs, her hands resting on Anna's waist. "You have absolutely no idea. The nights we spent in our apartment, talking about what this would be, what you'd look like underneath us, how it would feel."
"Every night," Anna confirms. Her palms are flat on your chest, her fingers spread, and she's rocking her hips in a slow grind that slides your cock through the slick heat between her thighs. "Every single night for months."
Kazuha's hands slide up Anna's body, cupping her breasts from behind, thumbs brushing across the nipples. "Are you seeing this? Look at her. No man on earth should have the honor of possessing this body."
"Only you," Anna says, and her eyes are locked on yours, dark, open and full of want.
She sits back up. She reaches between her legs and wraps her fingers around your cock, angling it upward. The head nudges against her entrance, slick and hot, and she holds you there for a moment, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, savoring the precipice.
Then she sinks down. Slowly. So slowly. Her body opens around you, her tight little pussy stretching to take the width of your cock, inch by agonizing inch. Her mouth falls open and her eyes flutter shut and her nails dig into your chest. You can feel every ridge, every flutter, every involuntary clench as her walls accommodate you. She's tighter than Kazuha, smaller, and the pressure is extraordinary.
"Oh god." Her breath shakes. "Oh god, you're so big. I can feel you everywhere."
She bottoms out. Her ass rests against your thighs and you're buried completely inside her, and she's so full that she doesn't move for a long moment, just sits there, trembling, adjusting to the stretch. "Good girl," you say.
Anna's entire body responds to those two words. A shiver runs from the base of her spine to the top of her skull, visible, physical, and her pussy clenches around you so hard you grunt. "Say that again," she whispers. "Please."
"Good girl, Anna." She starts to move. Her hips roll forward, then back, a slow circular grind that drags your cock against her front wall. She plants her hands on your stomach for leverage and finds a rhythm, lifting herself until just the tip remains inside, then sliding back down, taking all of you, filling herself completely.
Kazuha settles beside you, lying on her stomach, her chin in her hand, watching Anna ride you with an expression of pure adoration and filthy satisfaction. "God, look at you. You're so beautiful on his cock, Anna."
"Am I doing good?" Anna breathes, her hips never stopping. "Am I being a good girl, sir? Tell me."
"You're perfect. You're so fucking tight."
"I'm yours, right? Tell me I'm yours. I need to hear it."
"You're mine."
"Only yours." Her pace increases, the rolls becoming longer, deeper, more urgent. The wet sound of your cock sliding in and out of her fills the room, obscene and rhythmic, and her breasts bounce softly with each movement, and her stockinged thighs flex against your hips.
Kazuha traces a finger lazily across your chest. "You should see the view from back there, sir. Your cock disappearing into her pretty little cunt over and over. She's dripping all over you."
"Zuha," Anna whimpers, half embarrassed, half turned on.
"It's true. You're making a mess of him. His cock is soaked." Kazuha sits up and moves behind Anna again, pressing her chest against Anna's back, her hands wrapping around to cup Anna's breasts. She pinches both nipples and Anna gasps, her rhythm faltering. "You want to know something, sir? I've seen her ride before."
Your hands tighten on Anna's hips. "What do you mean?"
"I have a strap-on. At our apartment." Kazuha says it casually, her chin hooked over Anna's shoulder, rolling Anna's nipples between her fingers. "She's ridden me on it. Just the way she's riding you right now."
Anna's face flushes a deeper shade of red but she doesn't stop moving. If anything, her hips grind harder. "You two had sex before?"
"Not all the time," Anna admits, breathless, her hips working in steady circles. "Occasionally. When we couldn't take it anymore. When the tension with you was too much and we needed some kind of release."
"Always thinking about you," Kazuha adds. "Every single time. My cock inside her and your name on her lips."
"Zuhaâ"
"Tell him. He should know."
Anna's eyes meet yours. She's flushed and panting and beautiful, her body moving on top of you with increasing desperation. "I came on her strap moaning your name. I couldn't help it. I was picturing you underneath me, exactly where you are right now, and Iââ
"Screamed," Kazuha finishes. "She screamed your name when she came. I almost felt jealous, but honestly it just made me want you more."
You thrust upward. Hard. Anna cries out, her back arching against Kazuha's chest, and you grab her hips and do it again, fucking up into her from below, matching her rhythm and then overriding it. "Sir, oh god, that's so deep, you're so deep inside meâ"
"Keep going, princess. Don't stop moving."
"I won't, I can't, it feels too good, your cock feels so good inside my little pussy, please don't stop, please keep fucking me, I'll be your good girl, I'll do anythingââ
Her words are tumbling out unfiltered now, raw need pouring from her mouth as her composure dissolves entirely. The quiet, composed Anna who sits at the secondary desk and cross-references distribution figures is gone, replaced by this whimpering, desperate creature grinding herself onto your cock with abandon.
You plant your feet on the mattress and drive upward, meeting her downstrokes with force, and the impact sends shockwaves through her body. Her breasts shake. Her mouth hangs open. Kazuha is whispering in her ear from behind, things you can barely hear, encouragements and filth, and Anna is nodding, agreeing, her hips moving faster and faster. "That's it, ride that cock," Kazuha murmurs against Anna's ear, loud enough for you to catch. "Ride him harder. Show him who this pussy belongs to."
"It's yours, sir," Anna gasps. "My pussy is yours. Only yours. Nobody else gets to touch me, nobody else gets to fuck me, just you, please, I'm yours, I'm your good girlââ
"Say my name."
"Sirâ"
"My name, Anna."
She says your name. Your actual name, not sir, not boss, and the sound of it falling from her lips while she rides you with tears forming at the corners of her eyes is the most intimate thing you've ever experienced in your life. You grab her waist and you fuck her from below with everything you have. Relentless, punishing strokes that bounce her on your cock, and she can't control her movements anymore, she's just holding on, her fingers clawing at your chest, her moans climbing higher and higher. "I'm close, I'm so close, please don't stop, please, I need to cum on your cock, can I cum? Please tell me I can cum, sir, I need your permission, I've been such a good girl, please let meââ
"Cum for me, Anna. Let go."
"Oh godâ it's too muchâ it's so intenseâ I'm gonnaâ"
Her body locks. Every muscle tenses simultaneously and she rises up on her knees, almost pulling completely off your cock, then the orgasm hits her and she slams back down and her scream tears through the bedroom. She grinds against you once, twice, her walls pulsing violently around your shaft, and then she rises off you completely. Your cock springs free, slick and throbbing, and Anna's orgasm erupts out of her. A gush of clear fluid pulses from her pussy, spattering across your stomach and cock, her thighs shaking uncontrollably, her hands gripping her own thighs as her body convulses.
Kazuha is there instantly. She wraps one arm around Anna's waist from behind, holding her upright, keeping her from collapsing, and her other hand slides between Anna's legs. Two fingers find Anna's swollen, pulsing clit and rub in fast, tight circles. "That's it, good girl, let it all out, give him every drop, come onââ
Anna's head falls back against Kazuha's shoulder and she squirts again, another wave of fluid arcing from her body, splashing across your stomach, and she's sobbing with pleasure, her entire body jerking with each stroke of Kazuha's fingers. Kazuha doesn't let up, rubbing and rubbing, her arm tight around Anna's waist, her lips pressed to Anna's temple. "Good girl. Such a good girl. That's my Anna. That's our girl."
One last pulse, weaker, trembling, and Anna goes limp in Kazuha's arms. Her chest is heaving, her stockings are soaked, her hair is stuck to her face with sweat, and she's making these small, broken sounds with each exhale that are somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Kazuha lowers her gently to the mattress. Anna curls onto her side, still shaking, her hand reaching blindly until it finds your arm and holds on. Kazuha lies down behind her, spooning her, pressing kisses to the back of her neck and her shoulders, murmuring soft words against her skin.
"You did so well," Kazuha whispers. "You were incredible."
Anna's eyes find yours. Glassy, unfocused, wrecked. Her lips curve into the smallest, most satisfied smile you've ever seen. "Was I a good girl, sir?"
You reach over and brush the damp hair from her face. "The best.â
Kazuha props herself up on one elbow and looks at you, her gaze traveling down your body to your cock, still hard, still slick, still untouched by release. She raises an eyebrow. "Each of us has cum twice. And you haven't even finished once." She shakes her head, something between admiration and disbelief crossing her face. "We knew you'd have incredible stamina. We talked about it. I said you're the kind of man who puts everyone else first. And I was right."
"You're always the priority," you say.
Anna, still trembling against your side, lifts her head from the pillow. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair wrecked, her stockings twisted. "We appreciate that. More than you know. But now it's your turn. We want to return the favor."
They move together. They slide off the bed and kneel on the carpet at the foot of the mattress, side by side, shoulders touching, and they look up at you with matching expressions that sit somewhere between devotion and raw hunger. "Stand up," Kazuha says.
You swing your legs off the bed and stand. Your cock is directly in front of their faces, hard and flushed, wet with Anna's juices. Kazuha reaches for it first, wrapping her fingers around the shaft and pulling it toward her mouth. She drags her tongue flat along the underside, base to tip, collecting the taste.
"Mmm. That's Anna." She licks her lips. "Delicious."
She takes the head into her mouth and sucks, hard, her cheeks hollowing, and you feel it in your spine. Six months of tension, two orgasms you gave them, the visual of them kneeling before you on your bedroom carpet, and your body is primed, coiled, ready to break. Anna leans in from the side and licks along the shaft while Kazuha works the head, her tongue tracing the veins, pressing flat against the sensitive underside. Kazuha pulls off and tilts your cock toward Anna, who takes you deep in one smooth motion, swallowing half your length before pulling back with a wet, slick sound.
"Together," Anna murmurs, and they press in from either side, both mouths on your shaft simultaneously, lips and tongues sliding in opposite directions, meeting at the head, pulling apart, converging again. The sensation is staggering. Two warm, wet mouths working you in tandem, four hands touching you, stroking you, cupping your balls, massaging the base.
"Your cock is so perfect," Kazuha says between passes, her fist pumping the lower half while Anna sucks the head. "I've thought about this cock every single day for six months. In meetings. In the elevator. In my bed at night with my hand between my legs."
Anna pulls off, strings of saliva connecting her lips to your tip. "We both did. Every night. Talking about what you'd taste, what you'd feel, how you'd look standing over us just the way you are right now."
"Look at us, sir." Kazuha strokes you with one hand, her other palm pressed flat against your thigh. "Look at your girls on their knees for you. We're begging for it. Cum on us. Cum on our faces."
"Please," Anna whispers, licking the head, her tongue swirling around the ridge. "We earned it tonight. We were so good for you. Give us your cum, sir."
"All over our faces," Kazuha adds, and she spits on your cock, a messy, filthy gesture, and uses both hands to spread it, jerking you with a twisting, slippery grip. "Our necks. Our tits. Wherever you want. Mark us. We're yours. Make us fucking filthy."
Anna takes you deep again, gagging slightly when you hit the back of her throat, and the convulsion of her muscles around your head sends a bolt of electricity through your entire body. Kazuha dips low and sucks one of your balls into her mouth, her tongue rolling it gently while Anna bobs on your shaft.
They switch. Kazuha takes you into her mouth, aggressive, hungry, her head moving fast, and Anna cups your balls with both hands, massaging them gently, her lips pressing wet kisses along the base of your shaft where it meets Kazuha's fist.
"Cum for your girls," Anna begs against your skin. "We need it. We need to feel it. Hot and thick all over our faces."
"Give us every drop, sir," Kazuha pants, pulling off to jerk you rapidly, her thumb pressing against the frenulum on each upstroke. "We'll take everything. Every last fucking drop."
They press their faces together, cheek to cheek, mouths open, tongues extended, and they lick the head of your cock from both sides simultaneously, their tongues overlapping, sliding against each other and against you in a wet, frantic rhythm. The visual alone is almost enough to break you. Two gorgeous women, kneeling on your floor, their mouths fighting over your cock, begging for your cum.
"You're going to make me cum," you say, and your hand finds the back of Kazuha's head, gripping her hair.
"Yes," they say it together, almost in unison, and the synchronicity of it pushes you right to the edge. "Give it to us, give it to us, please, cum all over usââ
Kazuha wraps her fist tight around your shaft and strokes, fast and relentless, aiming you directly at their upturned faces. The pressure snaps.
The first rope of cum hits Kazuha across the bridge of her nose and her right eye. Thick, white, heavy. She flinches but doesn't pull away, keeps stroking, keeps pumping, and the second pulse catches Anna across the lips and chin. A third lands on Kazuha's cheek, dripping down to her jaw. Anna leans in and the fourth spurt streaks across her forehead and into her hairline. Kazuha angles your cock lower and the next pulses land on their necks, their collarbones, sliding down onto the small curves of their breasts. She keeps stroking, milking every last throb, and the cum keeps coming, diminishing in force but not in volume, dripping from the tip onto their outstretched tongues, pooling in the hollow of Anna's throat, streaking down the center of Kazuha's chest.
When the last pulse fades, they lean forward and clean the tip together. Two tongues lapping at the slit, collecting the final drops, gentle now, tender. Anna presses her lips to your pelvis, just above the base of your cock, and holds them there. A kiss of gratitude. Of reverence. Kazuha sits back on her heels. Her right eye is sealed shut, glued closed by a thick streak of cum that runs from her eyebrow to her cheekbone. She's grinning. The widest, most satisfied grin you've ever seen on her face, lopsided because she can only open one eye, and she looks ridiculous and beautiful and completely, thoroughly claimed.
"I can't see," she says, laughing. Anna turns to her. Her own face is painted, white streaks across her lips and chin and forehead, cum sliding slowly down her neck toward her breasts. She looks at Kazuha and starts laughing too, this breathless, giddy sound that fills the bedroom.
"You look insane," Anna says.
"You should see yourself."
They face each other, admiring the damage. Kazuha reaches out and drags her thumb through a streak of cum on Anna's cheek, then brings it to her own mouth and sucks it clean. Anna does the same, scooping a drop from Kazuha's jaw, tasting it, her eyes fluttering shut. They spread your cum across their faces with their fingertips, rubbing it into their skin, licking their fingers clean between passes, and the sight of them decorating themselves with your release is burned into your memory permanently.
"Come on," you say. "Bathroom. Both of you." You help them up. Kazuha is still half-blind, navigating with one eye, and Anna's legs are unsteady from the squirting orgasm that wrecked her twenty minutes ago. You guide them into the bathroom, turn on the warm water, and clean them with a washcloth. Carefully. Kazuha's eye first, dabbing gently until the lashes separate, then her cheeks, her chin, her neck. She watches you with her freshly opened eye, quiet for once, letting you tend to her. Then Anna, wiping the streaks from her forehead, her lips, the hollow of her throat. She leans into your hand every time the cloth touches her skin.
Back in the bedroom, you all stand at the edge of the bed and look down at the sheets. The damage is considerable. A dark wet patch the size of a serving tray, various other stains, the fitted sheet pulled halfway off one corner.
"I'm so sorry," Anna says, pressing her hands to her cheeks.
"Don't apologize. It was perfect."
"The mattress, thoughâ"
"I'll buy another mattress. Help me with the sheets." The three of you strip the bed together. Kazuha balls up the fitted sheet and tosses it toward the laundry basket, missing by a wide margin. Anna retrieves fresh sheets from the hallway closet, somehow knowing exactly where they are, and you remake the bed together in this quiet, domestic rhythm that feels improbably natural for three people who spent the last two hours doing what you did.
Clean sheets. Pillows rearranged. Kazuha disappears into the bathroom and comes back wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. They're hers, pulled from the overnight bag she brought, charcoal grey with a black waistband, and they sit low on her hips in a way that shows off the cut of her abs and the sharp lines of her pelvis.
"Are those boxer briefs?"
"They're what I sleep in." She climbs onto the bed and stretches out on the left side, arms above her head, completely unselfconscious. "Way more comfortable than panties. Better fabric, better fit, no riding up. I switched years ago and never went back."
You watch her settle into the pillows, the grey cotton snug against her thighs, the waistband sitting just below her navel, and you have to admit there's something undeniably sexy about it. The contrast of the masculine cut against her lean, feminine body, the way the fabric pulls taut across her hips when she shifts. It shouldn't work as well as it does.
"Stop staring," she says, not meaning it at all.
Anna emerges from in a pair of simple cotton panties, her hair brushed, her face bare and clean and soft. She pads across the carpet and climbs onto the right side of the bed, tucking her legs under the covers and settling into the pillow with a quiet sigh. They're both in bed now, lying on their respective sides, a wide empty space between them, and they look at you in unison, waiting.
"Get in," Kazuha says, patting the mattress between them.
You get in. You lie on your back, the sheets are cool and fresh and the pillows smell clean, and immediately two warm bodies close the gap from both sides, pressing against you. Kazuha's leg drapes across your thigh. Anna's hand finds your chest and rests there, her fingers spread over your heartbeat. The lights go off.
â
After the first night sleeping with Kazuha and Anna, the architecture of the following weeks changes. But not in the way you expected.
They come over three, sometimes four nights a week. They bring overnight bags that get a little heavier each visit. Kazuha leaves a toothbrush in your bathroom on night two and acts like it's been there for years. Anna's phone charger materializes on the nightstand by night four and nobody acknowledges it. Their shampoo appears in the shower caddy. A pair of Kazuha's boxer briefs ends up in your laundry. Anna's gold earrings sit on the bathroom counter next to your cologne. The apartment absorbs their presence the way dry wood absorbs water, quietly, completely, without resistance.
It's the aftermath that gets you. Not the sex, although the sex is relentless and creative and occasionally so athletic that you question whether Kazuha possesses actual joints or some kind of advanced mechanical hinge system. It's what comes after. The two of them in your bed, sheets bunched around their waists, the room warm and dim and smelling of candle wax and whatever perfume Anna wears that you still haven't been able to identify. The conversations that happen at one in the morning when everyone's too spent to perform and too wired to sleep. The lazy Saturday mornings when nobody has anywhere to be and the coffee goes cold on the nightstand because nobody wants to break the stillness.
That's how you learn about the ballet. It comes out on a Wednesday night, late, the city lights casting a blue-grey wash across the sheets. Kazuha is on her stomach with her chin propped on your chest, drawing absent circles on your collarbone. Anna is tucked against your side, half asleep, her breathing slow and deep. And Kazuha starts talking, unprompted, the way people do when the room is dark enough and quiet enough that honesty feels safe.
She tells you she started dancing at four. Her mother enrolled her because she thought it would instill discipline, and it did. It instilled discipline and obedience and the ability to keep smiling while her feet bled inside her pointe shoes. An entire childhood dedicated to ballet. Every single day. Barre work, rehearsal, performance, sleep, repeat. She had offers from companies in Tokyo, Seoul, Paris. Everyone she knew assumed ballet was her future, her entire identity reduced to a single function. Not a person. A role.
She tells you she walked out one morning. Just like that. Eighteen years of someone else's choreography, eighteen years of following instructions she never chose, and one day she packed her bag, told her instructor she was done, and left. Her mother didn't speak to her for three months.
You're running your fingers through her hair while she talks, and she doesn't look up at you, just keeps tracing those slow circles on your skin. Anna stirs beside you. She's been awake longer than you realized, listening, and her hand finds Kazuha's across your chest, their fingers weaving together.
Kazuha admits she overcorrected. Went from total obedience to total defiance, from following every rule to refusing all of them. She doesn't take orders from anyone anymore. She doesn't let anyone prescribe how she moves or speaks or exists. Except you. But she explains that what you do is different. You don't want her smaller. You don't want her quieter. You don't want her more convenient. When you grabbed her throat that night and told her she was yours, it wasn't about ownership. It was about being chosen. Being wanted exactly as she already is. She tells you there's a difference between control and devotion, and you're the first person who's ever made her believe that.
She drops her chin back onto your chest. Anna squeezes her hand. Neither of them says anything else for a while, and the three of you lie there in the blue-grey dark, breathing, and the silence feels less like absence and more like agreement.
It's on another night, a week later, that you learn how they found each other. Anna tells it. She's sitting cross-legged at the head of the bed eating a tangerine, wearing one of your t-shirts that hangs past her thighs. She tells you she was a disaster before Kazuha. Quiet. Scared of everything. Scared of eye contact, scared of ordering food at restaurants, scared of existing in a room where someone might notice her and expect her to speak. And then Kazuha walked into her life, grabbed her hand on the first day they met, announced they were getting coffee as though they'd known each other for a decade, and from that point forward just pulled her along. Protected her from colleagues, from men, from her own spiraling thoughts. Showed her that being quiet didn't mean being nothing.
Kazuha sets her phone down when Anna says this. Something crosses her face that she doesn't let stay. She tells you that Anna was the first real friend she ever had. After ballet, after she walked out, she didn't talk to anyone for almost a year. Angry, resentful, completely hollowed out by eighteen years of being someone else's instrument. And then Anna appeared, and everything just leveled. Steadied. Found a baseline that Kazuha didn't know she was missing.
You watch them as they tell you these things, passing a tangerine back and forth, their legs overlapping on the mattress, finishing each other's thoughts the way they finish each other's sentences. And you understand, finally, the thing that makes them so formidable. It's not the coordination. It's not the scheming, the spreadsheets, the coded hand signals. It's the mirroring.
When Kazuha looks at Anna, she sees the version of herself she wants to grow into. Kinder. More patient. Someone who cares for people with gentleness instead of brute force. Someone who is strong without needing to be loud about it. When Anna looks at Kazuha, she sees the version of herself she's reaching toward. Bolder. Sharper. Someone who walks into a room without apologizing for taking up space. Someone who has edges and refuses to sand them down.
They built each other. Piece by piece, quality by quality, each one filling in what the other lacked, until the two of them together formed something more complete than either of them alone. And somewhere along the way, they decided the structure needed one more piece. You. The final addition to an architecture that was always designed for three.
â
The surprise arrives on an ordinary Tuesday. Anna and Kazuha didn't sleep at your suite. They were at their apartment, packing boxes, sorting clothes, fighting about whether Kazuha's vintage concert posters belong in the living room or the office. The move to your place is happening in waves, a bag here, a shelf there, their things slowly infiltrating your monochromatic space one colorful item at a time.
They arrive at the company at 8:30, coffees in hand, walking through the executive wing side by side. Kazuha is mid-sentence about something that has clearly been occupying her mind since the elevator: "A suit. White. Clean lines, no lace, no train, none of that. Just a perfect cut."
Anna sips her coffee. "You want to wear a suit to your own wedding."
"Our wedding. And yes. I'd look phenomenal."
"You would look phenomenal. But I want a dress. Cathedral-length train. Something classic."
"So you wear the dress and I wear the suit. Problem solved. We'd look incredible standing next to him."
"Where, though? I keep thinking Bali. The sunsets. Imagine the photos."
"South of France. A vineyard. Stone walls, old vines, that golden light they have."
"We could do both. One ceremony in each location."
"Two weddings. I'm obsessed with that idea."
Anna pushes open the door to your office and stops. Kazuha nearly walks into her back.
You're not there. Someone else is. A girl, young, neat ponytail, modest blouse, standing at your desk gathering papers into a folder. She looks up when the door opens with the polite, unbothered competence of someone who was told to expect this exact reaction. "Who are you?" Kazuha's coffee cup freezes halfway to her mouth.
"Gawon. I'm handling some of the morning paperwork."
"Where's the boss?"
"He'll be a little late today. He's dealing with an unforeseen issue. He asked me to manage a few things until he arrives."
Anna steps into the office. Her eyes scan the desk, the folders, the fact that this girl is touching things that belong in their domain. "He didn't inform us about any of this."
Gawon blinks once. Tucks the folder under her arm. "He informed me." The silence that follows could shatter glass. Kazuha's jaw tightens. Anna's hand drifts to her collarbone, thumb brushing the gold chain once, a reflex she doesn't notice anymore.
"We're his secretaries," Kazuha says, emphasizing each word like she's teaching a foreign language. "Everything goes through us. Every meeting, every schedule change, every piece of paper on that desk. Nothing moves in this office without our knowledge."
Gawon looks at them with the implacable calm of someone who has been briefed specifically for this confrontation. "He said you'd probably have questions. I'd suggest talking to Wonyoung. Her office. She's expecting you."
Anna and Kazuha exchange a glance. Not the strategic kind. Not the conspiratorial twin-frequency transmission. This one is pure confusion.
They find Wonyoung in the hallway before they reach her office. She's leaning against the glass doors of the executive corridor, holding a cup of tea with both hands, looking like she's been waiting. Knowing Wonyoung, she has. "My office. Both of you. Now." She turns and walks without checking if they follow. They follow. Wonyoung's office is immaculate. Cream blazer over a black turtleneck, hair in a low chignon, laptop open, tea placed on its coaster with precision. She closes the laptop, folds her hands, And looks at them with disconcerting patience. "Sit."
"We'd rather stand," Kazuha says.
"Sit down, Kazuha."
Something about the way she says it makes Kazuha sit. Anna takes the chair beside her. "From today forward, you will no longer be reporting to your boyfriend."
Kazuha's entire body goes rigid. "Our what?"
"Your boyfriend. Your man. Your lover. Whatever you want to call the person you're sleeping with who also signs your paychecks." She picks up her tea, takes a measured sip, sets it back on the coaster. "You won't be answering to him anymore. You'll be working for me. You are now my secretaries."
"You're up to something." Kazuha leans forward in her chair, both hands gripping the armrests.
"I'm not up to anything. This decision came from him. Directly. We discussed it yesterday afternoon and agreed it was the most logical course of action."
"We don't believe that," Anna says.
"I don't care what you believe." Wonyoung doesn't blink. "Call him and ask. He'll confirm."
Kazuha's hand twitches toward her phone. Anna shakes her head. A small movement, barely visible. Not here. Not in front of her. "Why?" Anna's composure is holding, but just barely. There's a tightness around her mouth that Kazuha recognizes immediately. "The three of us already have perfect professional chemistry. We know his schedule, his preferences, how he operates. Everything runs seamlessly."
"The three of you are having a sexual relationship." Wonyoung delivers this the way she might announce a change in quarterly projections. No judgment. No inflection. Pure data. "Your boss is sleeping with his secretaries. Both of them. At the same time. When that leaks, and it will leak, it doesn't paint a particularly good picture. For him or for you."
"It hasn't leaked," Kazuha says.
"Chaewon figured it out in three weeks and that girl has the investigative instincts of a Labrador puppy. It's a matter of time before someone with actual intelligence connects the dots." She leans back. "If you're someone else's secretaries, the headlines get less ugly. He's not sleeping with his direct reports. He's dating two women who happen to work at the same company. It's not ideal, but it's defensible."
"He didn't tell us anything about this." Kazuha's knuckles are white on the armrests. "He didn't even mention it."
"Because he knew that if he did, you'd spend forty-five minutes doing the eyelash thing and the lip-biting thing and the are you mad at us, sir routine, and by the end of it he'd have changed his mind. He knows how you operate. So do I." A pause. "This was the cleanest way."
Anna's breath catches. Not loudly. Just a small hitch that she covers by straightening in her chair. "So that's it. We just stop being near him."
"During work hours, yes. That's the end of the sneaking into his office, the locked doors, the late nights." Wonyoung's expression doesn't change. "I don't want to know what the three of you do together behind closed doors. Frankly, I don't have the stomach for it. What I want is a clean, defensible organizational structure that doesn't collapse under scrutiny. You two need to prove that you are truly professionals.â
"And if we prove ourselves?" Kazuha asks. "What then?"
"If you prove to me that you're truly competent, and I mean to me, under my standards, which are considerably higher than his, then in the future, a promotion becomes possible. We move you out of secretarial positions into something more befitting your... relationship. A title that doesn't scream oh, they fucked their way there. Something with authority. Something that makes people say they earned that."
"He could promote us himself,â Anna argues.
"And everyone would know exactly why. Girlfriend gets a promotion from her boyfriend? The optics are radioactive. But if I promote you? If his business partner, someone with zero personal stake in your relationship, evaluates your work and decides you've earned it? That carries weight. That has credibility." She tilts her head. "Do you understand where I'm going with this?"
Anna and Kazuha are quiet. They look at each other. Something passes between them, slower than usual, heavier. This isn't the rapid twin-frequency transmission. This is two women processing a reality they didn't anticipate. "Yes," Anna says.
"Yeah." Kazuha exhales through her nose. "We understand."
"Good. Now. What I will allow is for the three of you to leave together at the end of the day. Same car, same direction, I genuinely could not care less. What my secretaries and my partner do outside of this building is their business. But inside these walls, you work for me. You follow my schedule. You conduct yourselves like professionals." She folds her hands. "That's the deal."
"Fine," Kazuha says.
"Fine," Anna echoes.
"One more thing." Wonyoung picks up her tea again and holds it with both hands. "Don't mess with me. Another little scheme, another intercepted meeting, another stunt with my car service, and I fire you both. On the spot. No severance. No recommendation letter. I'll have security walk you out while you're still holding your coffees." She lets that settle. Takes a sip. Sets the cup down. "And before you spend another four months treating me like competition, let me save you the trouble. You don't need to see me as a threat. I'm a lesbian."
The entire office falls dead quiet. Kazuhaâs mouth parts, shuts, then opens again like sheâs searching for words that refuse to come out. Anna's eyebrows reach a height previously unrecorded in human history. "You're..."
"A lesbian,â Wonyoung says, cutting Anna off. Women. Exclusively. For as long as I can remember." She crosses one leg over the other. "I've been with my girlfriend for two years. She owns a gallery in Itaewon. Her name is Yujin, she's wonderful, and that's the extent of what you need to know about my personal life."
Kazuha is staring at her with the expression of someone who just learned the floor is optional. "If we had known that..."
"You would have had considerably less trouble. I'm aware."
"We researched you." Anna presses her fingers to her temples. "We went through everything. Social media, interviews, press appearances, public records..."
"My private life is private." Wonyoung's expression remains unchanged. "I don't go around announcing what I do or who I do it with. Unlike certain people in this building."
"Four months," Kazuha mutters, rubbing her forehead with both hands. "Four months of surveillance. We literally tracked her cycle trying to figure out when she'd be most emotionally receptive to hisââ
"Now." Wonyoung opens her laptop. "One more important matter. The animosity the two of you have been cultivating throughout this company stops today. I've set aside time during your work hours this week for you to go out and buy a proper gift for Chaewon."
Kazuha blinks. "Chaewon?"
"The girl whose mug you shattered, yes. You're going to buy her something thoughtful, you're going to deliver it to her desk, and you're going to be kind about it. Make peace with the poor girl. Try to act like human beings for once. Compliment her new bangs. I don't know. Figure it out."
"She got bangs?â Anna asks.
"She got bangs. They look great on her. You will tell her that." Wonyoung types something on her laptop without looking up. "Now. You can start working. I want coffee on my desk within five minutes. I take it with oat milk, one sugar, and a splash of vanilla extract. Not vanilla syrup. Extract. There is a difference. If you bring me syrup, I'll know, and I'll send it back. The oat milk is in the small fridge in the break room, second shelf, behind the regular milk. Don't use the regular milk. I'm lactose intolerant and the last assistant who made that mistake learned the consequences in a way I'd rather not describe." She looks at them over the rim of her laptop screen. "Go."
Kazuha stands. Anna stands. They walk to the door like two people leaving a courtroom after an unfavorable verdict. Kazuha pauses, one hand on the frame, and turns back. "Oat milk. One sugar. Vanilla extract,â Wonyoung repeats. "You have four minutes and thirty seconds."
They step out. The door shuts with a quiet click behind them. For a moment they just stand there in the hallway, shoulder to shoulder, both of them lingering in an awkward pause, their eyes drifting aimlessly around the space instead of meeting each otherâs. "Six months,â Kazuha mutters. âWe ran a full intelligence operation on her. Spreadsheets. Threat assessments. And the answer was right there the entire time."
Anna starts walking toward the break room. "How is our gaydar this broken? We're literally sleeping with the same man and we couldn't identify a lesbian standing three feet away from us for six months⊠Well, at least she's on our side now."
"She's not on our side. She's on Wonyoung's side." Kazuha matches Anna's pace as they turn the corner. "Did you see that office? She runs this company just as much as he does. We were out there playing chess while she was playing something three dimensions above us."
"Four minutes," Anna says, checking her watch.
They walk faster. Somewhere behind them, in an office at the end of the hall, Wonyoung takes a sip of her current tea and allows herself the smallest, most private smile she's worn in months.
â
You knew this was going to happen. The complaints start in the car. They don't even wait until the doors are closed. Kazuha drops into the backseat and launches into it before you've pulled out of the parking garage, and Anna picks up where Kazuha pauses to breathe, and between the two of them they maintain an unbroken wall of grievance that lasts the entire drive from the office to your building. You keep your eyes on the road. You adjust the rearview mirror. You change lanes. You signal. You do everything a responsible driver does while two women in his backseat dismantle his decisions with the relentless precision of a legal cross-examination.
The elevator is worse. The confined space concentrates their displeasure into something pressurized, and by the time you reach your floor the air itself feels combative. You pull out the keycard. Swipe it. The lock clicks green. You push the door open and hold it for them, and they walk through without acknowledging the gesture, still going, still building their case, their heels clicking against the hardwood in agitated unison. You close the door behind you. Set your keys in the bowl. Reach for your tie and loosen the knot, pulling it an inch away from your collar without taking it off.
You turn around. "That's exactly why I didn't tell you." You pull the tie loose another inch. "Because this is what happens. This is the reaction. I knew you'd fight it."
Kazuha drops her bag on the counter. "Of course we're going to fight it. You're sending us away. We'll be on the other side of the building."
Anna sets her tote down beside Kazuha's bag, her movements sharper than usual. "You'll be in that office all day without us. With Gawon."
"Gawon is temporary."
"You'll be alone." Anna folds her arms. "All day. No one who knows your schedule the way we do, no one who knows when you need coffee before you ask for it, no one who can read your mood from across the room and adjust accordingly."
"Wonyoung's office is sixty meters away. You're acting like I'm transferring you to another country."
"Sixty meters is another country," Kazuha says, and she means it. She's leaning against the kitchen island, arms crossed, jaw tight. "We built everything around being close to you. Every system, every routine, every single part of how we operate. And now you just rip it apart overnight without even asking us?"
"It's for your own good." You pull the tie fully loose and let it hang around your neck, both ends dangling against your shirt. "Both of you. This will pay off in the future."
"We don't care about the future." Anna's chin lifts. "We don't care if the headlines are ugly. We don't care if people talk. Let them talk. Let the whole building know. We don't give a damn."
"But I do." You step closer. Both of them are watching you, Kazuha from the island, Anna from beside her, and their faces are tight with the same wounded frustration, and you need them to understand this. "I give a damn. I give a damn about what happens to you in this company, about how people perceive you, about whether your careers survive this. I love you, and I'm not going to let my selfishness put a target on your backs. I made this decision because I want to protect you. Both of you. I promise it'll be worth it."
The kitchen goes quiet. Kazuha uncrosses her arms. Anna's lips part slightly. They look at each other, and the look they exchange isn't the rapid tactical transmission or the conspiratorial glance. It's something slower. Something startled.
"Say that again," Kazuha says.
"I said I promise it'll be worth it. I'll make it up to you, I'll reward you for the patience, I'll find a way to..."
"Before that."
You stop. You replay your own words in your head. "You said you love us." Anna's hand has drifted to her collarbone, fingers resting against the gold chain. Her eyes are wide and bright and fixed on you. "That's the first time you've ever said that."
You hadn't even noticed. It came out buried in the middle of a sentence, tucked between a justification and a promise, delivered with the same cadence as a quarterly projection. No ceremony. No buildup. No candles or moonlight or carefully rehearsed phrasing. Just the truth, falling out of your mouth while you argued about office logistics. "It's true." Your throat is tight but your eyes are steady. "I love you. Both of you. That's exactly why I did this behind your backs, because I knew you'd convince me to change my mind and I couldn't let that happen. Please don't be angry at me for trying to keep you safe."
Kazuha moves first. She crosses the kitchen in three steps and her arms are around your neck and her mouth is on yours before you finish the sentence. The kiss is hard and sudden and tastes faintly of the lip balm she applies six times a day, and she's gripping the back of your head with both hands like she's afraid you'll retract the statement. Anna is right behind her, pressing into your side, her arms wrapping around your waist, her face buried in your shoulder, and you can feel her breathing against your neck, uneven, catching.
Kazuha pulls back. Her eyes are damp. She'll deny it later, but right now, standing in your kitchen at seven-thirty on a Tuesday evening, the girl who doesn't take orders from anyone has tears sitting on her lower lashes. "We forgive you." She swallows. Shakes her head. "No. That's wrong. We're the ones who need to be forgiven. For the complaining. For the car ride. For the entire elevator."
"We understand what you did." Anna lifts her head from your shoulder. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy and she's smiling in that unguarded way that only happens when her composure has been genuinely breached. "We understand why. And we'll cooperate. We'll work with Wonyoung. We'll do whatever it takes."
"Thank you."
"We'll be perfect for her." Anna straightens up, smooths her blouse, reassembles herself piece by piece. "We'll be so competent she won't have a single complaint. We'll earn that promotion on merit. No one will be able to question it."
"I know you will."
"We'll make you proud, sir."
You reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "You don't need to call me that anymore, Anna. We're at home."
The word lands differently when Anna says it. When Kazuha uses it, it's casual, tossed around with the same irreverence she applies to everything. When Anna says it for the first time, careful and slightly flushed, it sounds like a door opening. You pull them both closer. One arm around each of them, their bodies pressing against your sides, the warmth of them seeping through your shirt.
"This weekend." You look down at both of them. "Let's finish the move. All of it. Every box, every bag, every poster Kazuha wants to hang in the living room, every book Anna wants to reorganize. I want everything here. I don't want to be away from my girls anymore."
They both react to that at the same time. Kazuha lifts her head from your shoulder. Anna's grip on your waist tightens. My girls. The thing you denied for months. The label you rejected every time Wonyoung said it, every time they tried to claim it, every time anyone attempted to name what this was. And now you're the one saying it, standing in your kitchen, and the two of them are looking at you with expressions that are impossible to separate from pure, unfiltered joy. "Your girls," Kazuha repeats. She's grinning so wide it transforms her entire face. "He finally said it."
"He finally said it." Anna presses her forehead against your chest and laughs, a small, breathless sound. "Took you long enough."
"I'll take care of everything," you say. "The movers, the logistics, whatever needs to happen. By Sunday night this place is ours. All three of us."
"Ours." Kazuha savors the word. She pulls back just enough to look at you, and then her gaze drops. Her fingers find the loosened tie still hanging around your neck. She wraps it around her fist once, the silk bunching in her grip, and that familiar smirk settles across her mouth. The tears are gone. The vulnerability is tucked safely away. What's left is Kazuha at her most dangerous, which is Kazuha at her happiest. "Tonight is a night to celebrate, then." She tugs the tie gently, pulling your face an inch closer to hers. "A new beginning. The three of us. Together. Under one roof."
Anna steps around to your other side. Her hand slides up your chest, fingers tracing the line of your collar, and she looks at you with those dark, steady eyes that are burning with something far beyond steadiness. "Let's go to the bedroom, babe." Her fingers hook under the loosened tie alongside Kazuha's. "Let's take off these clothes. And let's have some fun."
They pull. Both of them. The silk goes taut against the back of your neck and they're walking backward toward the hallway, tugging you forward with a shared grip on a fifty-dollar tie, their hips bumping together as they navigate the corridor side by side, and they're smiling at each other and smiling at you and the apartment is warm and the bedroom door is open at the end of the hall.
You go. You go willingly, obediently, guided by two women pulling you forward by a strip of silk, and the last coherent thought you have before the bedroom swallows all three of you is that this is exactly where you were always supposed to end up. Not behind a desk. Not alone in a corner office at eleven on a Wednesday night. Here. With them. Walking toward whatever comes next with a loosened tie and a full heart and absolutely no intention of resisting.
Categories | mistress!Gawon, sub!reader, body writing
You're always missing her, in some way, some form. No hour of the day is spent not lamenting her absence, although temporary. Whatever happens, Lee Gawon is always on your mind.
If you didn't want to upset her, you'd say how much you envy the staff surrounding her for most of the day. They get to be with her longer than a lustful night, attending to her hair, face, and lips. They have the blessing to see her behind the scenes, and not merely on a digital screen, from which she seems so close, but so far away.Â
How do you, with your role as her shadow, stray apart from her?
Yeah, thatâs right: you're kind of her shadow. No, scratch thatâyou are her shadow, from head to toe. Usually, with other celebrities of esteemed status like Gawon's, it's the girl who gets coined as male celebrity's tail slash girlfriend. Male wrestler's fuckbuddy. Male idol's rumored fling. Male actorâs femme fatale lead. But with Gawon, the media holds a different kind of respect. If you look past the camera flashes and headlines, youâre almost certain itâs fear. She made sure to instill that through her years in the spotlight.
The press tried to invent Lee Gawon. But she made clear she wasnât just Chloe Lee the dancer or the lookalike of a boy group member she now overshadows. Gawon is her own personâshe's the ambassador, model, actress, founder, and so much more. Any name attached to her is lucky to even be within her proximity. Â
Perhaps that is why the press, both local and international, only know you as miss Leeâs boyfriend. Youâre her accessory, could be a bracelet with how you hang on her forearm at events. Youâre her bodyguard, looming over her when you gather her stuff from her Porsche. Hell, with the way sheâs got you wrapped around her finger, youâre her pet.Â
It's safe to say that you might like it that way, as humiliating as it sounds.Â
That's how you felt when she asked you to call her "Mistress."
You | 9:41 PM, SAT | Gawon
You | 9:41 PM, SAT | where are you
Mistress | 9:43 PM, SAT | Nearly there, babe.
Mistress | 9:49 PM, SAT | I'm here :)Â
You practically rush to the door. Your hands trembling, you open the door of the mansion you share with her, and there stands Gawon.Â
She's wrapped up in the most expensive furs, dressed from head to toe in the newest line she's representing. Her ruby red lips are painted with Prada lipstick, enough to match the color of blood.
"Mistress." You bow. Fur meets your rough skin as you help Gawon out of the coat. You're always there to help her out. You're hers, aren't you? That's your job.
"Sweetheart," Gawon says back, smiling. She eases herself out of the furs and kisses you on your mouth. "How have you been?"
You can't say anything understandable if she's holding your chin like that, or when her shadowed eyes are coaxing you into a battle of wills. "G-good," you stammer out, nevertheless.
"Just good?"Â
"I missed you all day, Mistress. When you came home, it all became perfect."
Gawon nods understandingly. "I thought so," she remarks, with a soft nuzzle of your nose.Â
All that's left on Gawon's tall, slender body is her black suit and blazer. The tie looks especially attractive on her, but you have a feeling that it doesn't solely belong to her necklineâit has other unfulfilled purposes. Other plans dreamed up by Gawon in that gorgeous head.
You're correct, for one of those signs is her heels remaining on her feet. Gawon takes good care of her shoes. Theyâre polished by well-paid maids and kept safely in her closet. So if she keeps them on during the night, it means something. Theyâre the prophecy foretelling your fate for the night.
"Did you see my pictures, baby boy?" asks Gawon expectantly. She's walking down the carpet to the living room, where soft cushions are prepared for her to rest her busy frame on.Â
Seen them? You savored them. Consumed them as a wolf would a lone rabbit. Held onto them like a lifeline, like you were on the edge of a cliff.
As her boyfriend, you got to have a sneak peek of her new covers and pictorials, and the most recent one she came home from is your favorite yet. Probably the best, if you really think about it.
It's the colors differing perfectly together that seal it for you. The red background matches her lips, posed in serious, plump lines before a lipstick curled in her hands. However, there's the ebony darkness of her hair and makeup to take notice of, and the untainted white of her suit. They're all strong colors, portrayed steadily by one of the most learned models in the industry. You're proud of how she posed for it; the result looks beautiful. She is beautiful.
"I⊠I loved them, Mistress," you admit. Your cheeks fill with colored adoration. "I looked at them all day."
"Thank you. I brought home the lipstick they got me, and I want to try it with you."
"M-Mistress?"Â
Gawon chuckles prettily. When she smiles, the intimidating aura of her face dissolves into a fox-like adorableness. Her eyes crinkle and her brows, usually dark and strong, knit together in laughter. She could be adorable, honestly. But of course the departure of the sweet moment is hastened, with only a tiny smile remaining post mortem.Â
"Not in that way," she clarifies. "Just⊠trust me on this, please?"
You're hesitant. What would she do with you? What if you don't like it?
"If you don't want to try it, we won't," says Gawon softly.Â
"I want to do it," you say all too quickly. Because there isnât a thing you wonât do for her. Not one.
"Thank you. Bedroom?"
"Yes, Mistress."
The paced clicks of Gawon's white heels follow you from behind. She strolls through the mansion as if its luxuries hold no extraordinariness that sets it apart from a flea market rag doll. Then you remember: that's Gawonâs reality. The tiger skin carpet and chandeliers are things she's worked hard for and lived with for years only barely longer than the ones she spent climbing up to her status now. She comes from old money but now it overflows in several accounts. She was born rich and will die rich.
Speaking of, climbing all the way upstairs in heels seems tedious. There's a reason why your special bedroom is on the first floor.
There's also a reason why the bedroom is this wide, and has a closet of that size. And it doesn't store just clothes.
"Lie down, honey," coos Gawon. "And take off your clothes."
You obey, and she immediately undoes the knot of her white tie. You shiver, although you've become acquaintances with the centralized wind of your home and Gawon's. Her tie slithers around your joined wrists. It traps them behind one of the decorative bars of the headboard. You don't bother struggling; you know your place well enough to understand it's below her.
"You're okay with your feet being tied, too, I presume?"Â
She's done it millions of times: holding your arms and legs back until they're numb under her control, using them to keep you still. But still, Gawon wants to know if you're comfortable.Â
"Y-yes, Mistress," you reply.
Gawon smiles appreciatively. The blazer slips off her arms, leaving her in a formal tube top with transparent straps. She cares not for the price of the designer blazer, especially not when she's tying their sleeves around your feet to the footboard. Sometimes her resourcefulness is way off the charts.Â
"What are you gonna do to me?" you ask. There's a perfect blend of fear and excitement in your trembling voice. You can see the way it turns Gawon on; she bites her lower lip as if she craved to draw blood as red as her lipstick from it.
Gawon lowers herself beside your ear, her words leaving your hands and spine chilled:
"Remind you who you belong to."Â
"Mistressâ"
"Shhh."Â
The young woman leaves kisses along your naked thighs. There's a trail of red shaped to the form of her heart-resembling lips. It marks the path of her love.Â
It makes you shake in anticipation, and she's only building up more of the suspense. As if rehearsed, perfected days prior to this, she parts your legs a little.Â
"Such a pretty cock," she says. "It's all mine, no?"
Hard to confirm when she's kissing its underside, but you do it anyway. Whatever circumstance a situation throws at you, you fight it to answer Gawon.
Her pink tongue caresses your sensitive dick. She licks and laps and sucks, and she's not even sucking it yet. It makes you feel weak, but you always are with her. It's nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, but it still makes your heart burn with lust.
Gawon licks a sharp stripe under your cock, making your breath catch on nothing. Her lipstick decorates your tip as she suckles on it. She remains determined to caress what's beneath your cockhead with gentle laps.Â
"So delicious," she murmurs. "Think I want to ride it, baby boy. But I think your cute face will do first."
"Yes please, Mistress."
"Say that you're mine first."
"I'm yours." It's nothing short of the truth.Â
Gawon brings out her lipstick. You gasp when the glossy tip glides along your thighs in measured lines. So that's what she was talking about.
You look down. She's written "Mistress' Baby Boy" on your skin. And she's only getting started.
"Say it again," she orders. Her breath is hot; sheâs getting off on this as much as you are. Thereâs a reason she started this gamble.Â
"I'm yours, Mistress."
There she goes again, writing on your body another varied form of possession. Soon, she's decorated your legs with several of them: prettiest boy; Mistress' only; most perfect cock. You appreciate the flattery nevertheless.
"Good.â She's done with writing on you. For now.Â
Her dress pants slip down her milky legs. You watch with morbid fascination. Watch how the silk drags down paleness that almost matches its color. See how the bareness of her full thighs release themselves from her panties, and close around your head as she sits on your face.
You know what to do, and you know exactly how Gawon likes it. You lift your chin higher to lick at her core, but not quite letting your tongue enter her. She moans instantly, her weight breaking down harder on your face. You're glad to be burdened by it. It's more of a blessing, really, when you consider how much she's dripping, as if she were waiting for this all day.
Maybe she was.
You tease her silken hole and slide the tip of your tongue up her slit until it tickles her clit. Gawon squirms down on you in response. The hold of her thighs around your head becomes stronger, and you take that as an obvious sign that you should obviously go on. Maybe even take it up a notch, which is why you go through with sucking on her bundle of nerves rather than merely considering it.
It's one of Gawon's few weak spots, speaking in both sexual and industrial terms. But of course, you know all about it. How could you not when she pushes her core onto your face harder?
"Oh fuck, baby boy," she moans. "You're so good to me."
When she tastes like heaven, you're bound to be. Her beautiful taste pours into your mouth and has you licking inside her grasping hole for more. There, you lap your tongue against her textured walls to find some of her weak spots. Press against it when you successfully find one, causing Gawon to suffocate you with her creamy thighs and stealing your breath with how she weighs her pussy down on you.
If this is how you die, it's completely fine by you. Having Gawon's glorious ass sitting on your face and her delicious cunt grabbing your tongue for it to stay are all you need to go out happy. Savor it all. Caress her clit with your tongue right before capturing it between your lips and assaulting it with violent suction. Let saliva and juices drip down on you with no care in the worldâthis, this right here is heaven. Only difference between your mistress and the heaven in the clouds is that here, the pleasure matches one you could go to hell for.
Gawon dizzies you with her swaying hips. "Fuck, baby," she says loudly. Playing with her tits below the white tube top, she gyrates her core on your mouth harder. "I'm so so close, baby boy."
Her folds parted to welcome your eager tongue. They close the entrance to imprison you. It's a trap that you enjoy being tricked into as you draw several forms inside and on her sensitive nub.Â
In a way, you've trapped Gawon, too. For once, the tables are turned around and you have her under your control although you're underneath her. Your mouth is a dangerous predicament, and you still knowingly assault her with it.Â
Just look at the way she gazes down upon you, with shadowed, hooded eyes, and hear the way she whispers, "Please, baby, that's itâkeep fucking my pussy like that, Mistress is so close, she's going to cum all over your pretty little faceâ"
It only takes one-after-the-other suckling on her clit for Gawon to bite what she barks. Juices no longer drip only into your mouth, but everywhere. Unladylike screams fill the room as she squirts her delicious juices on your face. The pillow suffers some of the damage, but it's your neck and chin that's fully attacked. You have to close your eyes just in case her cum wanders too far.
Nevertheless, you don't stop tonguefucking her.Â
"Yes, yes, that's it," Gawon gasps. Her little broken stammers are everything to live for. "Keep doing that, yes⊠oh shit, you're so good at thisâ
"Shit, fuck, too much!"
Usually, you'd stop at the time she says that, but there's too many pros to continue. If you just kept sucking at her perfect pussy, you'd garner more of her cum, plus the possibility of her thighs actually crushing your head. So, albeit her cries, you continue.
"Oh god, fuck." Gawon throws her head back. "Alright, I'll let you have this one, baby boy. But if you do, I won't, fuck, get to ride your pretty cock."
That's an insanely clever way to get you to stop. If there's anything you craved more than her juices in your mouth, it's them on your cock instead.
Gawon giggles in satisfaction. She's sliding off your face, graceful even after getting eaten out. She's graceful anyway even in the most odd situations. It's her brand, to be brief: being the closest thing to a goddess arriving in the mortal world, being the democratic Aphrodite. She still carries it in the bedroom.
Her throne is the little space between your thighs and your cock, which allows her to be so close to engulfing you in herself, but not quite. The smile on her face tells you that yes, she does indeed know how it works, which just so happens to leave you both breathless and in awe of the woman in front of you.
"How should I deal with you, sweetheart?" Gawon asks. She wraps her fingers around your rod and jerks it up and down.Â
"Please, mistressâŠ" You try to say more, but you end up silent.
"Yes? Oh, I see. You want me to fuck your big cock with my thighs, huh?"Â
As if to demonstrate, Gawon presses her beautiful legs around your dick. Her white, soft flesh stimulates you and has you thrusting up into them. The slick from her earlier orgasm helps your pumps smoothen, and coats your shaft with more than just your own precum.
"Yes, mistress," you say.Â
Gawon smiles and tightens the hold of her thighs together. She pushes you down on the bed, telling you that this is a job she'll lead by herself, as she does everything, and bounces on your lap. Her perfect ass ripples as she does, and you can feel her slick folds tease your sensitive flesh. If you're not mistaken, that's her clit grinding on your erection while she fucks you with her thighs, too.
"Gawon, fuck."
"You're forgetting who I am here, sweetheart." She says it gently, but her eyes tell a different story. They tell you of a warning. "What do you call me again?"
That slip-up was on you. You were too wrapped in the embrace of her heat along that you dropped the honorifics. "Mistress, I'm sorry."
"Good. I knew you could do it." Gawon kisses you. "I think my baby boy deserves to fill his mistress up now. Make her cum around his big cock.â
No more abstinence. No more holding back. Those are habits whose deaths took a lot of time, but hey, here you are now. You yield to the temptation. You forget about your dignity, your shame, your life. You pour out every dirty little thing you have thought of doing to Gawon while you stared at her pictures, and she takes it gladly.Â
Your cock is lodged in her cunt immediately. You could almost scream. Sheâs completely tense around your girth but oh-so-wet. And oh-so-fucking-tight. Gawon is the definition of sex itselfâit's in the way she does everything: the bounce of her thunderous thighs as her legs weaken from the stretch, her quivering yet sinful moan, her hard nipples. Her toned, creamy thighs locking you in for the ride is just a bonus.
You take the labor to pull yourself up and kiss her all around her beautiful face, worshipping her as you would a deity (oh yes, Gawon counts as a deity, with all that shiny long hair, strong brows, and sculpted nose. The only thing anchoring her to this mortal realm is you.) Her sweet lips are addictive, but a close competitor is her collarbone. Itâs sharp and deep, looking like it can cut through your mouth if you dared kiss it. Thatâs a risk youâre willing to take. You can lick and nibble at that and her neck all day. But even feeling it with your thumb feels forbiddenâeven in sex, in the dark of the night, she holds an aura that prohibits anyone from touching her, and if anyone gets a chance to, they're extremely lucky.
She reminds you of how lucky you are everyday. Not everyone gets to fuck the Lee Gawon.
You live for the sounds she makes as you suck without boundary on her breasts. Your tongue laces her neck and jaw with slick saliva, one of the steps in your desperate plan to get approval from her. Her appreciative moan, although hot, still lacks for you. So, you draw your hips far backwards and drive them deeper. Gawon gasps in surprise, her clit swollen and pulsing against you.Â
You can feel her breaths grow shorter, rougher, and you go on with licking and sucking, multitasking with how you're still steadily thrusting into her beautiful cunt. God, she really does need to remind you of your place. You forget yourself when she fucks you like this. She makes you want more.
"S-so down bad for me, huh?" Gawon laughs. The sharp protrusion of her wrist bumps into your temple as she strokes your hair. She does it gracefully, adoringly, as if she were holding a pet. Itâs damn close. "Fuck my pussy like that, show me no other boy can fuck me like you can."
She moans at your cock twitching inside her. Thereâs a glint of amusement in her brown eyes. "Oh, you like that? Being talked to like you're my fucking slave? Is that what you want?"
Your cheeks are red. She's figured you out. She always does. It's her habit to pick you apart and put your pieces together in a picture you never knew you could form.
She starts to move her curved hips in between gasps of gratification. Her hard nipples press against your chest. You groan beneath her and she clings to you harder, rocking your member inside her cunt desperately. The hard shape of her abs shows how much sheâs working for it. Theyâre flexed and drenched in sweat.
âMistress,â you whisper into her hair. Pepper the white land of her neck with swift kisses, withholding the urge to bite down on it because you remember your place now. You remember what this is for. âYouâre so fucking wet.â
The two of you grind and moan against each other, desperate body upon another desperate body. Her strokes rhythmically slam you against the mattress. You would have groaned painfully if her lips werenât on top of yours. As soon as they mush against them, she devours you. And it feels literal; her teeth sink into your lower tier while her tongue actively laps at your mouth, as if she were trying to collect your complete taste without leaving a drop behind. Sheâs eating you alive. Each moan mixed with her heavy pants of pleasure gets lost in the eclipse of your lips.Youâre starting to get breathless, but youâre not passing up the opportunity to stay inside Gawon, or to hear her beautiful sounds extracted from her pretty mouth and caused by the steady thrusts.
You can feel her pussy shiver around you. Sheâs so close. You donât dare fight the restriction on your wrists but itâs in this moment that you desperately wish you could touch her. Your mouth can only do so much. Leaving hickeys all over her skin canât possibly match the feeling of squeezing her ass, pulling her closer, or holding her miniscule waist.
But youâre hersâyouâll trade your pleasure for Gawonâs even if itâs killing you.
You let her ride you for a few more, desperate moments until she collapses. Her cunt pulses through each heavy wave of her orgasm. She moans loud next to your ear when you chase your own high. The sticky mess of your orgasms stains the expensive threadcount.Â
But soon, Gawonâs French tip nails stop digging into your back painfully. Your wrists are free from their fabric prison. Your mistress is finally spent. She rests her cheek on the flat of your shoulder and sighs in satisfaction.Â
In the window, youâre able to watch how she fixes herself properly on your lap and closes her eyes. Gawon is yours as much as you are hers.
A oneshot or possibly, a series wherein Y/N and Sana (twice) were college best friends and soon became high school teachers who work for the same school. Each time they are seen together or talking to each other, the students and even their co-teachers ship and tease them for their closeness, but they have to keep things professional inside the school. Although they are both aware of the tension/feelings of one another, they just rub it off every single time.
10 YEARS, 1 ANSWER
TWICE Sana X Male Reader
10K WORDS COUNTED
â
The copy room door swings shut behind him, and the noise in the hallway drops.
Y/N grips the stack of quizzes under his arm and shoulders through the narrow space between the old copier and the wall. The machine rattles while it spits out worksheets someone else lined up. A faint burnt ink smell hangs in the room. The overhead lights hum.
He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes before first period.
The copier beeps. Paper jam.
âOf course,â he mutters.
He sets his quizzes on the counter, pulls open the front panel, and reaches in. Hot plastic brushes his knuckles. He yanks out a crumpled sheet, feeds the tray again, hits the green button, waits.
Footsteps outside the door. Quick, uneven.
The knob turns. The door bumps his back.
âShit, sorry,â a familiar voice says. âItâs you.â
He glances over his shoulder.
Sana squeezes through the gap with her laptop tucked under one arm and a cup tray in the other hand. Her hair hangs loose. There is a small ink mark on her wrist. Her ID card swings from a lanyard across her chest.
âYou blocking the whole room again,â she says. âMove your huge body.â
He shifts sideways without comment. She slides in next to him, close in the small space. Their sleeves brush. She sets the cup tray down. Three iced coffees, lids wet with condensation.
âI got yours,â she says.
He looks at the cups, then at her. âYou put sugar in it?â
She snorts. âWhat do you take me for.â
He picks up the one with his name scratched on the lid. Black. No straw. He cracks the plastic and drinks.
âYouâre a lifesaver,â he says.
âYou say that now. Wait until you see the stack on my desk I plan to dump on you.â She sets her laptop on the counter, flips it open, and taps the keys with quick, small hits.
The copier starts again. Fresh sheets slide out in steady rhythm.
From the hallway, voices rise.
âMr Y/N is in there with Miss Sana.â
âTheyâre always together.â
âThey came in through the gate at the same time.â
Y/N keeps his eyes on the paper feed. Sana twitches a small smile and glances at the door.
âYou didnât deny it this morning,â she says. âAt the gate.â
âThey didnât give me a chance.â
âYou just stood there.â
âI was half asleep.â
âThey said, âgood morning, teacher coupleâ,â she says. âYou bowed.â
âI bow at everyone. Itâs automatic.â
She huffs. Her fingers keep moving over the keys. A faint tremor sits at the corner of her mouth.
He hears the students move past. Snatches of phrases float in.
âShip them so hard.â
âHe carried her bag last week.â
âYou should have seen them at the festival meeting.â
Sana clears her throat. âI think our homeroom group chat changed our name. Again.â
âWhat is it now.â
âParents of 2â3.â
He grunts. âIâm not paying child support.â
âOh, you will. Those kids eat.â
He pulls the finished quizzes off the output tray and taps the edges against the counter. The stack lines up clean.
Her laptop screen reflects on the copier glass. Slides for first period. Short story questions. She scrolls, reorders, types in a new question.
âDid you finish grading the midterms?â she asks.
âAlmost. Last ten left.â
âYouâre slow.â
âYouâre sloppy.â
âIâm a language teacher. Iâm allowed to be creative.â
âThey wrote three pages about nothing. Iâm not rewarding that.â
âNow you know how I feel every day.â She nudges his elbow with hers. âYour kids were talking about you yesterday, by the way. In my class.â
âWhat did I do now.â
âThey said you looked âextra handsomeâ in that blue shirt on Monday.â
He frowns. âThe shirt with the missing button.â
âYes. That one.â
âThatâs their standard?â
âKids are desperate,â she says. âLet them have this.â
Her phone buzzes beside the laptop. A notification lights the screen.
Class 2â3 GC: [MOODBOARD: SANA X Y/N]
He tilts his head. âThey tagged me?â
âNo,â she says. âBut Iâm not safe either.â
She locks the phone, face blank.
He snorts. âFestival ruined them.â
âThey were already ruined,â she says. âWe just gave them a stage.â
The door opens without warning. Nayeon sticks her head in, hair tied up, whistle on a cord.
âThere you are,â she says. Her eyes sweep the narrow space. Her eyebrows lift. âOh. Cozy.â
âUse your eyes,â Y/N says. âThereâs a whole hallway outside.â
âHallway doesnât have romance,â Nayeon says. She steps in, shoulders them apart, and slaps a stack of P.E. forms on the top of the copier. âPrincipal wants these done and sent to homeroom teachers. Which means both of you.â
Sana closes her laptop. âWe just got here, unnie.â
âIâve been here since seven,â Nayeon says. âYou two stroll in at eight thirty like some morning drama couple. Walking through the gate together. Same convenience store bags. Kids almost screamed.â
âWe live near each other,â Y/N says. âThe bus line is the same.â
âKeep saying that.â Nayeon squints at the cups. âSana, did you buy him coffee again?â
âHe buys mine sometimes,â Sana says.
âSure he does.â Nayeon leans her hip on the machine. âYou know Jihyoâs going to have a stroke if you two keep flirting in the hallway.â
âWeâre not flirting,â he says.
Nayeon tilts her head. âYouâre right. Youâre just passing each other life support every morning and making heart eyes over printer jams. Totally professional.â
Sana laughs once under her breath, then presses her lips together.
The bell rings in the hall. A shrill, even tone. Footsteps pick up outside.
Nayeon straightens. âHomeroom in five. Stop hiding in here.â
She scoops the P.E. forms back up, gives them each a pointed look, and leaves. The door swings shut.
Sana taps her knuckles once against the counter. âWe should go.â
He hooks his quizzes under his arm again and grabs his coffee with the free hand.
He pulls the door open for her. She steps out first. Students in the hall glance over. A few whisper. One girl raises her phone, then lowers it when he looks straight at her.
He and Sana split at the stairwell. Different floors. Different wings.
âLunch?â she calls without turning.
âStaff room,â he says. âIf I donât die in third period.â
âYouâll survive. You always do.â
He watches her take the steps two at a time until she disappears at the landing, then heads up his side.
â
By lunch, the staff room smells like kimchi stew and instant noodles.
Y/N sits at the end of one table with his lunchbox open, red pen in hand. Essays spread across the desk. Neat rows of handwriting. Half the lines repeat the same textbook phrases.
He marks through one sentence, writes a short note in the margin, flips to the next page.
Jihyo sits opposite him. Her planner lies open. She eats while reading. She glances up at him in short bursts.
âYou still on midterms?â she asks.
âLast few,â he says.
âYou say that every day.â
âThey keep rewriting history. I have to stop the spread of misinformation.â
She snorts. âYou picked this.â
He shrugs one shoulder. âRemember that when I hand in my overtime sheets.â
Sana walks in with her tray, slides into the empty chair beside him like she always does. No hesitation. No question. Her tray clacks against the table. Soup sloshes in the bowl.
âYou left your USB in the English office,â she says. She digs into her pocket and drops it on top of his notebook.
âI thought I lost that,â he says.
âYou did. I saved you. Again.â
Jihyo glances between them, then looks back at her planner.
Nayeon drops into the seat across from Sana, dropping her gym whistle on the table. âStaff roomâs hot topic,â she says. âGuess what it is.â
âNot interested,â Y/N says.
âItâs you two.â
Sana stirs her soup. âYou sound obsessed.â
âI am invested,â Nayeon says. âItâs different.â
She points her chopsticks at Y/N. âFirst, the kids catch you two in the cafeteria after school on Monday. Sharing one tray. Yesterday, the art teacher saw you in the courtyard. She said you were laughing at nothing for five minutes. Today, gate entrance. Side by side. Same timing. Same coffee bags. Do you understand the pattern here.â
âWeâre colleagues,â he says. âWe talk.â
Jihyo sighs. âThe problem isnât that you talk. The problem is that every student in this school thinks youâre married.â
âWeâre not,â he says.
Sana takes a spoonful of soup, blows on it, eats. She keeps her eyes on the bowl.
âThe kids made a poll,â Nayeon says. âI saw it. âWill they date before graduationâ. The âyesâ option is winning.â
âDelete it,â Jihyo says.
âI tried,â Nayeon says. âThey made three backups.â
âOf course they did,â Jihyo mutters.
He crosses out another sentence on the essay in front of him. His pen moves in small, sharp strokes.
âSo.â Nayeon leans back in her chair. âAnything you two want to declare. Before rumors mutate.â
Sana speaks without looking up. âUnnie, itâs lunch. Let me eat in peace.â
âThatâs not a denial,â Nayeon says.
âItâs not a confirmation either,â Sana says.
âVery politician of you.â
He sets the red pen down and looks at Jihyo instead. âIs there an actual problem.â
Jihyo closes her planner. She meets his eyes.
âOfficially,â she says, âno. You both do your jobs. You meet deadlines. Your students like you and their scores hold. Unofficially, this is a high school. Kids latch onto anything that breaks their routine. You two in the hallway every morning is the biggest show in the building.â
âWeâre not doing anything,â he says.
âYou are doing something,â she says. âYou just arenât doing it where it counts.â
Sanaâs spoon pauses above her bowl.
âWhat does that mean,â she asks.
âIt means clear lines,â Jihyo says. âIf youâre friends, act like friends. If youâre more, then be smart about it. No touching in front of kids. No sharing food in front of kids. No walking through the gate like some opening credit scene.â
Nayeon laughs. Jihyo shoots her a look. Nayeon holds up both hands.
âIâm serious,â Jihyo says. âIâm not here to play villain. Iâm here to make sure no one files a complaint. Parents get jumpy. Principal gets jumpy. I do not want to sit in a meeting and explain why our English and History teachers let their students run fan accounts of them.â
Fan account.
He looks at Sana. She looks back.
âWe get it,â he says.
âGood,â Jihyo says. âI trust you. Just use your heads.â
Her phone buzzes. She checks it and gets up. âI have a meeting. Donât give me more paperwork.â
She leaves.
The room noise rises around them. Cutlery clinks. Someone laughs by the microwave.
Nayeon chews slowly, eyes still on them.
âYou two heard the boss,â she says. âBe smart. No sex in the music room.â
âShut up,â Sana says, low.
Nayeon grins, gathers her tray, and goes.
Sana keeps her head down. Steam rises from her bowl. Her shoulders sit close to his.
He picks up his pen again. His hand moves, but his focus slides.
Her phone lights on the table. Another message from the class group chat.
2â3: [new seating chart idea: make them sit together in the next meeting]
She flips the phone over.
âDonât look at that,â she says.
âIâm not,â he says.
âLiar.â
He shrugs.
âIâll walk in from the back gate tomorrow,â she says. âCome later.â
He taps the pen against the paper. âWhy.â
âSo they calm down,â she says. âJihyoâs right. Itâs getting loud.â
âYou donât have to avoid me for that.â
âItâs not avoiding,â she says. âItâs just not entering in sync like a fucking couple every day.â
He stays quiet.
She scoops rice. Her chopsticks tremble once, then steady.
âYouâre okay with that,â she says.
âNo,â he says. âBut youâre right.â
She chews without reply. Her jaw works slow, tight.
He draws a straight line under the last essay comment. His handwriting digs into the paper.
â
In the afternoon, during a lull between classes, he leans against his desk and stares at the board. Chalk dust hangs in the air. Outside, the hum of other classrooms seeps through the thin walls.
He blinks, and the whiteboard fades into another board, another room, different time.
â
The library in their college sat on the fourth floor, quiet after nine at night.
Back then, Y/N sat hunched over a wooden table near the window, surrounded by history books stacked in uneven piles. Highlighters lay scattered across open pages. His notebook filled with dense, tight notes.
He rubbed his eyes and checked his phone. 9:47.
The seat across from him was still empty.
She had said she would come.
He turned back to the text. Read a line. Forgot it. Read again.
Footsteps approached. Light, uneven rhythm.
Sana dropped her bag onto the chair and slid in across from him. Her hair was tied up with a rough knot. Stray strands stuck out. She wore an oversized hoodie with the university logo and a pair of worn sneakers that squeaked against the tile.
âYouâre late,â he said.
âProfessor held me,â she said. âHe wants me to redo the essay. Again. He said my argument is too âdramaticâ.â
âIt is.â
âTraitor,â she said.
She dug into her bag and pulled out a pack of convenience store kimbap and two canned coffees. She shoved one can toward him.
âPayment,â she said.
He took it, popped the tab, drank. The bitter cold slid down his throat.
âYou ate,â he asked.
âThis is eating.â
He eyed the kimbap. âThatâs not food. Thatâs survival.â
âExactly.â She unwrapped it, tore it in half, and pushed one piece to his side of the table. âShare or die.â
He took it. Rice stuck to his fingers.
âHow much did he make you cut,â he asked.
âTwo pages,â she said. âHe said my introduction looked like the opening of a romance novel.â
âWas it.â
She poked at him with the kimbap. âShut up. Help me fix it after you finish your war essay thing.â
âItâs not a war essay thing.â
âItâs always a war essay thing with you.â
He bent over his notes. She opened her laptop. The screen lit her face in a cold wash.
They worked in silence for a while. Pauses came and went. She scratched at her head, sighed, leaned back until the chair creaked, then leaned forward again.
He felt her foot bump his under the table. Once. Twice.
âYou doing that on purpose,â he asked.
âThe table is short,â she said.
âItâs not that short.â
âYour legs are long.â
âStop kicking me.â
âYou stop existing.â
He snorted. His shoulders loosened.
A student two tables away glared over the top of a textbook. The librarian raised her head in a slow warning. Sana lifted her hands in apology and mouthed sorry.
They lowered their voices.
âYou handing that in tomorrow,â he asked.
âHave to,â she said. âIf he doesnât pass me this time, I repeat the course.â
âYou wonât repeat.â
âYou sound sure.â
âI read your draft,â he said. âUnder the drama, you actually said something.â
She stared.
âYou trying to compliment me,â she asked.
âIâm trying to keep you from dropping out.â
âYouâd miss me.â
âYouâd still stalk me,â he said. âYouâd just do it from outside the window.â
âThat sounds cold,â she said. She pulled her hoodie tighter. âIâd freeze.â
âThen pass the class.â
Her mouth twisted. âFine. Help me after war boy stuff.â
The window beside them showed the dark campus. Streetlights cut the grass into yellow blocks. A few figures crossed the courtyard. Their reflections floated low on the glass.
Her phone buzzed face up. A name flashed. Some guy from her linguistics seminar. She glanced at it, then at him.
âDonât you need to answer that,â he said.
She pressed the screen, muting it. âStudy first.â
He raised a brow. âYou always just study with me.â
âBecause you nag,â she said. âHe doesnât nag.â
âSounds peaceful.â
âIt is. Boring as shit.â
He scribbled a date on his page. âSo you like nagging.â
âI like not failing,â she said. âDonât get cocky.â
The hour crept past. Twelve. Then one.
Her head slowly tilted toward the table. Her hand loosened on the pen. The lines in her notebook grew sloppy. Her eyelids dipped.
âYouâre sleeping,â he said.
âNo,â she mumbled. âMotherland of verbs⊠something⊠Iâm listening.â
He reached across and pulled her textbook away.
Her hand grabbed air. âHey.â
âYouâre done,â he said.
âIâm not done,â she said. âIâm almost⊠halfway.â
âYouâre mixing verb tenses with your drool.â
âIâm working.â
He stacked her books and closed her laptop. She tried to stop him, but her arms moved slow.
âIf you fail this class, itâs your fault,â she said. âYouâre sabotaging me.â
âYou canât even see the page.â
She squinted at him. âYouâre really bossy, you know that.â
âPack your bag,â he said. âYou have morning class.â
âWhat about you.â
âIâll finish later,â he said. âI can write faster than you.â
âCocky,â she said again.
He stood, grabbed her bag from the back of the chair, and set it on the table.
âCome on,â he said.
She stuffed her laptop and notebooks inside with clumsy hands. The zipper stuck. He took the bag, slid the zipper smooth, and dropped it over her shoulder.
The strap cut across her chest. She swayed under the weight.
âCareful,â he said.
âYou sound like an uncle.â
âShut up and walk.â
They left the library together. Their steps echoed down the stairwell. The building sat quiet. A vending machine glowed weak in the lobby.
Outside, the air bit at his face. Their breath left short clouds. She shoved her hands in her hoodie pocket. Her shoulder brushed his arm once, then stayed near.
âYou good,â he asked.
âDead,â she said. âMy brain is soup.â
âWhich way,â he asked.
She pointed toward the dorms.
He fell into step beside her.
âYou can go that way,â she said, nodding toward the opposite side. âBus stop.â
âIâll walk you first,â he said.
âItâs out of the way.â
He shrugged. âI need air.â
She glanced up at him quick, then looked ahead.
Streetlights cut across the path. Gravel crunched under their shoes.
âYou know,â she said, âif I marry a rich guy, Iâll quit all this shit and open a small cafe.â
âYou just said you donât want boring.â
âIâll be the barista who insults customers,â she said. âYouâll sit in the corner and grade papers.â
âWhy am I in your cafe.â
âYouâll still be nagging somewhere,â she said. âMight as well be where thereâs coffee.â
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. The path bent past a row of bare trees.
âWhat about you,â she asked. âYou going to keep studying until your brain rots.â
âProbably end up teaching,â he said.
âHigh school.â
âMaybe.â
She made a face. âTeenagers are evil.â
âYou were a teenager five years ago.â
âExactly. I know.â
âTheyâre not that bad,â he said.
âYou say that now,â she said. âWait until they send you weird DMs and ship you with the math teacher.â
He snorted. âThatâs specific.â
She kicked a small stone off the path. It skittered into the grass.
âYouâd be a good teacher,â she said. âStrict. Kids need that.â
âStrict gets complaints.â
âTheyâll write about you in their little journals,â she said. âFirst love, scary history teacher.â
âDonât project your drama on them.â
âWhat about me,â she said. âWhat would I be.â
âProbably teaching too,â he said without thinking.
Her head turned. âYou see me yelling at kids for a living.â
âYou yell at me for free,â he said. âMight as well get paid.â
She barked a short laugh.
They reached the dorm entrance. The light over the door flickered. A group of students sat outside on the steps with instant noodles and open books.
Sana stopped and hitched her bag strap up.
âThanks for walking,â she said.
âSleep,â he said. âTurn off your phone.â
âIâll think about it,â she said.
She hesitated, then reached up. Her fingers grazed his collar, straightened the twisted edge of his hoodie without asking. Her hand stayed there a second longer than needed, then dropped.
âYouâre messy,â she said.
âYouâre nosy,â he said.
She stepped back toward the door.
âHey,â he said.
She looked over her shoulder.
âIf you pass that essay,â he said, âyouâre buying coffee for a week.â
âIf I fail,â she said, âyouâre rewriting it for me in the next life.â
âDeal.â
She scoffed, turned, and pushed through the door. It clicked shut behind her.
He stood for a moment, watching the blank surface. His breath hung in front of him, then scattered. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and headed back across campus toward the bus stop, feet dragging a little.
Chalk scrapes against the whiteboard in the present.
Someone laughs outside his classroom. The sound pulls him out of the old hallway and back into the current one.
He stands at the front of his room, half-finished sentence on the board. Students in their seats. Desks in rows. Notebooks open.
A boy in the back raises his hand.
âSir,â he says. âIs it true you and Miss Sana went to the same college.â
Y/N caps the marker and turns.
Thirty faces look back at him. Some hide half their mouths behind notebooks. A few already smirk.
âWhy,â he says.
The boy shrugs. âWe just heard.â
âFrom who.â
âFrom everyone.â
A girl in the front leans forward on her desk. âIs it true, sir. You knew her before this school.â
He rests the marker on the tray.
âWe were in the same college,â he says. âFocus on the lesson.â
A low murmur ripples through the room. Chairs squeak. Someone whistles under their breath.
Another hand shoots up. âSir, did you date.â
âNo,â he says. âOpen your books.â
The class breaks into scattered laughs and noises. A few students exchange cash under the tables. He spots it and narrows his eyes.
âWhat are you betting on now,â he asks.
âNothing,â one of them says too fast.
âPhones,â he says. âAll of you. Face down. Now.â
They obey. The room settles. He uncaps the marker again. His hand writes the next key term on the board.
Behind him, a student whispers, not soft enough.
âBut they match. They even write the date the same way.â
He grips the marker a little tighter.
The rumors grow teeth over the next week.
Whispers follow them in the hall. Screens flash and tilt away whenever he looks up. In class, students drop questions with careful casualness.
âSir, do you like teachers who teach language.â
âSir, whatâs your ideal type.â
âIs it Miss Sana.â
He shuts them down with the same line each time.
âAsk relevant questions.â
They groan, laugh, keep trying.
At lunch, he and Sana stop entering the staff room at the same time. Some days she shows up early and leaves fast. Other days she comes late and picks a seat three chairs down. They still talk, but less. Shorter lines. Quick passes of handouts and USB drives. No coffee in front of other people.
Nayeon watches it all with raised brows. Jihyo says nothing, but her eyes track them whenever they cross paths.
One afternoon, Y/N stands alone in the stairwell between classes. The concrete walls muffle the school noise. He leans against the rail with his phone in his hand. The screen shows Sanaâs chat open.
[We should talk.]
He types the words, then deletes them.
The bell rings. He pockets the phone and climbs.
The school festival comes fast.
Committees form. Charts go up on bulletin boards. Students run the halls with cardboard and markers.
Y/N and Sana get assigned to co-advise the second yearsâ performance. Someone in admin thinks it is efficient. Or funny.
The first planning meeting happens in the music room after classes. Instruments line the walls. Stands hold sheet music with faded ink. The sun sits low, light cutting through the high windows and landing in sharp blocks.
Students crowd around the front. Y/N leans against the piano. Sana stands beside him with a clipboard. Her hair is tied back. A small piece falls by her ear.
âOkay,â she says. âYour class picked a play. That means scripts, casting, props, promotion. This isnât a joke. If you half-ass this, we all suffer.â
A boy in the middle snickers. âSir, Miss, are you going to act too.â
âNo,â Y/N says.
Sana lifts the clipboard. âHeâll cry.â
The class laughs.
He shoots her a look. Her eyes flick to his, then down.
âFocus,â he says to the room. âDecide on a script by tomorrow. Weâll approve or reject. You miss the deadline, you lose stage time.â
Groans rise.
Sana claps her hands once. âMeeting over. Go home. Or donât. I donât care. Just get the work done.â
They file out, still muttering. A few linger near the door, whispering and peeking back in. Sana stares them down until they scatter.
When the room empties, quiet settles. Dust floats in the sunlight. The air smells like wood and old varnish.
She drops into a chair in the front row and exhales.
He moves to the same row and sits one seat over.
âSecond years have energy,â she says.
âTheyâre loud,â he says.
âYou were loud too.â
âNo, I wasnât.â
âLiar.â
She pushes the clipboard toward him. âCheck the lists. Iâll handle costume stuff. You take safety and schedule.â
He flips through the pages. Names, phone numbers, notes.
âYouâre avoiding me,â he says, eyes on the paper.
She shifts in her seat. âWeâre talking right now.â
âIn front of no one,â he says. âThatâs the point.â
Silence hangs for a beat.
âWeâre being careful,â she says. âLike Jihyo asked.â
âYouâre doing more than careful.â
She rests her elbows on her knees and laces her fingers together. Her gaze stays ahead, on the empty stage.
âYou want me to walk with you through the gate again,â she asks. âSmile for their fantasy. Let them take more pictures.â
âNo.â
âThen what.â
He closes the clipboard and sets it on the empty seat between them.
âI want you to stop acting like itâs a crime to be near me.â
She presses her lips together. Her leg bounces.
âPeople are talking,â she says.
âThey were talking before,â he says.
âItâs worse now,â she says. âDid you see that stupid edit they made. With the wedding filter.â
âI saw,â he says.
âI teach them,â she says. âI stand in front of them and ask them to take me seriously, then they go home and draw hearts around my face.â
He watches her hands clench and unclench.
âYou think staying away fixes that,â he asks.
âWhat do you suggest,â she asks. âHold hands in the courtyard. Announce a joint family account.â
âI suggest you stop acting like Iâm some problem you have to manage.â
Her head turns sharp. âDonât put words in my mouth.â
âYouâre the one changing routes, changing lunch seats, not replying to half my messages.â
âI reply.â
âAt two in the morning,â he says. âOne word answers.â
âThatâs when I finish work.â
He leans back. The chair creaks.
âTell me straight,â he says. âDo you want distance.â
She stares at him. Her jaw tightens.
âI want to not get dragged into the principalâs office because kids think weâre fucking in the storage room,â she says.
He holds her gaze. âThatâs not what I asked.â
Her shoulders rise with a deep breath, then drop.
âI donât know,â she says.
He waits.
âYou act like this is easy,â she says. âLike I can just ignore them. I walk into a classroom and the girls look at my clothes, my hair, my phone. They ask me about my weekend. They ask who I was on the bus with. They donât even hide it. Iâm tired.â
His fingers curl over the back of the chair.
âHow long have we known each other,â he asks.
âToo long.â
âTen years,â he says. âCollege until now.â
âYour point.â
âIf you want to stop walking in with me, say it,â he says. âDonât pretend itâs only about them.â
She looks away, up at the ceiling, then back at him. Her eyes look flat, but her hand grips the edge of her chair so tight the knuckles pale.
âYou really donât see it,â she says.
âSee what.â
âYou,â she says. âMe. Them. All of this. You stand like a rock in the middle of the hallway and think the water will go around you.â
âAnd you think moving every time someone looks fixes anything,â he says.
Her mouth pulls tight. âI think not feeding it helps. Thatâs it.â
âThen say you want less,â he says. âLess coffee. Less talking. Less everything. Just say it so I can stop guessing.â
She stares at his face like she is reading a board.
âI donât want less,â she says, low.
The words hit like a blunt object. Simple. Direct.
He feels his neck heat.
She looks down at her hands again.
âI donât want less,â she says again. âThatâs the problem.â
He watches her breathe out slow.
âI see you at the gate and I want to walk next to you,â she says. âI want your coffee. I want to sit with you in the staff room. I want to talk shit about these kids until my throat hurts. And I want to do that without thirty people betting on our wedding date.â
The room hums with a small amp in the corner. His ears ring.
He swallows. âSo you punish me instead.â
âItâs not punishment,â she says. âItâs self defense.â
âYou cut me off to protect yourself from gossip.â
âIâm trying to protect both of us,â she snaps.
âFrom what. From the thing weâre already doing every day.â
She scoffs. âWeâre not doing anything.â
He studies her face. The words land empty.
âYou really believe that,â he asks.
She shifts her gaze away.
âYou know what I mean,â she says.
âNo,â he says. âSpell it out.â
Her shoulders lift again. Drop slower.
âWeâre friends,â she says.
He nods once. The word scratches on the way in.
âFriends donât make my life this complicated,â she says. âFriends donât make every student think Iâm in some secret drama.â
âYou were the one who joined this school,â he says.
âYou told me to apply,â she shoots back. âYou sent me the job posting. You said âitâll be fun, we can suffer togetherâ.â
âHas it been all suffering,â he asks.
She hesitates. Her answer sticks.
Her hand rises to rub her face. âI hate you.â
He snorts. âYou donât.â
âI do,â she says. âBecause you stand there and ask these questions like you donât know how much I think about you every fucking day.â
The sentence hangs between them. Heavy. Plain.
His heartbeat does something tight in his chest, but he does not move. He keeps his eyes on hers.
âSay that again,â he says.
âDonât,â she says.
âSay it,â he says.
âWhy,â she asks. âSo you can what. Stay quiet and look at me with that history teacher face.â
âYou think I havenât been thinking about you every day for years,â he says.
She goes still.
âI wake up and check if your dot is online,â he says. âI walk into this building and look for you before I look for my own class. I come to this shitty music room after school because they assigned us together and I thought, finally, I can breathe a little.â
Her throat works. No words come out.
âYou think thatâs not pressure,â he says. âYou think I enjoy everyone seeing through me like glass.â
âThen why didnât you say anything before,â she says. Her voice comes out thin, rough. âYou had years. College. After. All these long nights and long messages. You could have said one fucking thing.â
âI thought Iâd wreck what we had,â he says. âI thought you would laugh or run. Or both. I thought youâd stop showing up with kimbap and canned coffee. I thought Iâd come to work and youâd just be another name on the staff list.â
She watches him like he is unsteady ground.
âSo you just waited,â she says.
âYes.â
âUntil now.â
âI didnât plan this,â he says. âYouâre the one who said you think about me every day.â
âDonât throw my words back at me,â she says.
âThen stop dodging,â he says. âDo you like me or not. Itâs a yes or no question. You make kids answer those all the time.â
She lets out a breath that sounds like a broken laugh.
âYouâre a dick,â she says.
âThatâs not an answer.â
Her eyes close for a second. Open again.
âYes,â she says.
No pause. No embellishment.
âI like you,â she says. âHappy now.â
His chest tightens. His fingers dig into the back of the chair.
âYes,â he says.
She blinks. âYou⊠what.â
âIâm happy,â he says.
âYouâre so fucking weird,â she says.
âYou just confessed in the music room,â he says. âYou have no ground to stand on.â
She laughs, short and real. It shakes a little at the tail.
âWhat about you,â she says. âIâm not walking out of here with that half confession. Tell me straight. Teacher style. Subject, verb, object.â
He shifts forward in his seat. The metal legs scrape the floor.
âI like you,â he says. âNot as some coworker. Not like family. Not like whatever bullshit word weâve been using. I like you. Period.â
She swallows.
âHow long,â she asks.
âCollege,â he says. âProbably before that exam you almost failed.â
âWhich one,â she says. âThere were many.â
âThe one with the professor you called a bastard in the hallway while he was still behind you,â he says.
She groans, covers her face. âYou remember that.â
âI remember all of it,â he says.
Her hands slide down, stopping at her mouth. Her eyes stay over the top of her fingers.
âThis is insane,â she says, muffled. âWeâre in a school. Weâre supposed to be yelling at kids right now.â
âTheyâre rehearsing,â he says. âWeâre supervising.â
âTerrible supervision,â she says.
He lets out a breath through his nose.
âSo,â he says. âWhat do you want to do.â
She drops her hands to her lap.
âYouâre asking me,â she says.
âYou always make the seating charts,â he says. âYou decide where everyone sits. Decide this too.â
Her gaze drifts to the stage, then back.
âI want,â she starts, then stops.
He does not rush her.
She sits there, chewing on the inside of her cheek, thoughts running plain across her face. Fear. Want. Annoyance. A line of resolve cutting through.
âI want to stop pretending this is nothing,â she says.
âOkay,â he says.
âI want to stop dodging you in the hallway,â she says. âStop timing my steps so we donât enter together like idiots.â
âOkay,â he says again.
âAnd,â she says, voice lower, âI want to actually be with you. Not in this half state where Iâm your âfriendâ and everyone around me sees more than Iâm allowed to touch.â
He nods. âWe can do that.â
Her eyebrows rise. âJust like that.â
âYou said what you wanted,â he says. âI agree.â
She scoffs. âYou make it sound like a contract.â
âWe can print one in triplicate if it helps.â
âYouâre not funny,â she says.
âYouâre smiling,â he says.
She lifts a hand to her mouth like she might hide it, then lets it fall.
âOkay,â she says. âFine. Weâre⊠what. Dating. Seeing each other. Together. Pick a word.â
âAll of the above,â he says.
âYou canât pick all of them.â
âWhy not. You always pick two menu sets.â
âThatâs because one isnât enough.â
âSame logic.â
She shakes her head, but the smile sticks.
The air between them shifts. Same room. Same worn chairs. Same distant hum of the building. Different weight.
âNow what,â she says.
âWe donât tell the kids,â he says.
She lifts both hands. âGod, no.â
âWe donât do anything in front of them we wouldnât want on a camera,â he says.
âWe barely breathe in front of them,â she says. âThatâs easy.â
âWe tell Jihyo and Nayeon,â he says.
Her eyes widen. âWe have to.â
âTheyâre not stupid,â he says. âThey already suspect.â
âTheyâll scream.â
âTheyâll survive,â he says. âBetter they hear it from us than from some parent calling.â
She groans. âTheyâre never letting this go.â
âThey donât let anything go now,â he says.
She leans back in the chair, head tipping against the row behind her. She stares at the ceiling.
âThis is going to be so much work,â she says.
âYou sound like you regret it already,â he says.
She turns her head toward him.
âI just confessed my long suffering crush,â she says. âGive me five minutes to process.â
He looks at her, stretched out like that in the empty room, clipboard between them, hair tied back with flyaways, the shape of her mouth still shook from the words she finally let out.
He stands.
She tracks the movement with her eyes.
âWhat are you doing,â she says.
âTesting something,â he says.
âThat sounds ominous.â
He steps over the clipboard and stops in front of her chair. Her knees sit a hand span from his thighs.
She looks up. Her throat moves.
âWe just agreed on secrecy,â she says. âAnd youâre standing right in front of me in an unlocked room.â
âThe door is closed,â he says.
âNot locked.â
âListen.â
They both pause. The hallway outside stays quiet. Far off, a faint shout from a sports field drifts in.
âNo oneâs here,â he says.
âFamous last words.â
He reaches out and rests his hand on the back of her chair, not touching her yet.
âYou okay if I come closer,â he asks.
Her fingers grip the seat. Her eyes flick from his face to his chest, back up.
âYes,â she says. âSlowly, or Iâll kick you out of reflex.â
He steps in. The metal edge of the chair nudges his shins. Her knees bump his thighs. The space narrows.
Up this close, he sees the faint dark under her eyes, the small freckle near her left temple, the old ink stain on her thumb.
Her gaze locks on his.
He leans down, careful and measured, giving room for her to pull back.
She does not move away. Her shoulders tense, then ease. Her breath hits his face, quick, then steady.
He tilts his head and presses his mouth to hers.
No dramatic crash. No sudden heat flare. Just contact. Warm, solid, present.
Her lips respond slow. Then firmer. Her fingers release the chair and grab his sleeve instead, knuckles pressing into his arm.
He keeps the kiss simple. No rush. No show. Just a long, steady hold of shared air and weight.
When he pulls back, it is only by a few centimeters. Her hand stays tight on his sleeve.
Her eyes look a little unfocused, but sharp again in a second.
âThat wasâŠâ she starts, then stops, searching for a word. âDirect.â
âYou said you like direct,â he says.
âI said I like clear,â she says. âNow itâs clear.â
He shifts his hand from the chair back to the side of her neck. His thumb rests below her ear. Her pulse jumps under the skin.
âWe can still back out,â he says.
She stares at him like he has grown a second head.
âAfter that,â she says. âYou think Iâm backing out.â
âIâm giving you a door,â he says. âLast exit.â
âClose the door,â she says. âLock it. Weld it.â
He snorts. âOur kids would fail physics with that metaphor.â
âOur kids,â she repeats.
He freezes.
She grins slow. âI mean students. Relax.â
He lets his hand drop.
Footsteps echo faint in the hall. They both look at the door.
She straightens. He steps back, putting the clipboard between them again like some barrier they both know is fake.
âShowtime,â she says under her breath.
A studentâs head pokes through the door. âSir, Miss, can we borrow the key to the props room.â
He looks at Sana. She looks back, mouth pressed to hide a smile.
Y/N turns to the student.
âIn the staff room,â he says. âAsk Nayeon. Donât break anything.â
The student nods, retreats.
The door swings shut again.
Sana exhales. âWeâre fucked.â
âIn what sense,â he says.
âIn the sense that I might accidentally smile like an idiot during class and theyâll know,â she says.
âDonât look at me,â he says.
âYouâre in the hallway,â she says. âExisting. Thatâs the problem.â
He bends to pick up the clipboard, hands it to her. Their fingers brush.
She holds the board, stares at the papers without reading.
âSo,â she says. âAfter school. Your place or mine.â
He blinks.
âAlready,â he says.
âWe need to talk,â she says. âProperly. Not in a music room with a drum set staring at us.â
âAbout what,â he asks.
âAbout stupid rules,â she says. âBoundaries. Schedules. Who buys coffee what day. Who tells Jihyo. Who tells my mother if she ever shows up and starts asking where my ring is.â
âYouâre planning for your mother,â he says.
âSheâs scarier than the principal,â she says. âWe need a united front.â
He nods. âMy place. Itâs closer.â
âIâll come after last period,â she says. âDonât die of anxiety before that.â
âIâll grade,â he says.
âSame thing.â
He steps aside so she can stand. She rises from the chair, smooths the back of her skirt, and rolls her shoulders.
Her hand lifts like she might reach for him again, then she stops herself and curls it instead.
âOne more,â she says.
He leans in before she finishes the thought. She meets him halfway. The kiss is shorter. Firm. A quick press that feels like a promise and a dare.
They break apart at the same time.
She clears her throat. âOkay. Professional mask back on.â
He nods.
They walk to the door together. He reaches for the knob. She catches his wrist for half a second, squeezes once, then lets go.
He opens the door. The hall meets them with its usual noise. Students move in clusters. Posters line the walls. A kid in the far corner sees them exit together and nudges a friend. A phone lifts.
Sana drops her gaze to the floor and steps out with even strides. He falls into step beside her, a half pace behind, like they planned nothing, like the music room still holds only instruments and dust.
They move toward the stairwell, side by side, shoulders almost but not quite touching, the air between them holding the weight of what they just said and what they still have to do when the last bell rings.
â
Rain hits his classroom windows in steady sheets.
After school, the halls clear faster than usual. Umbrellas pop open at the gate. A few students run across the yard with jackets over their heads.
Y/N shuts his gradebook, slides it into the drawer, and checks his phone.
[From: Sana]
[You alive]
He types back.
[Barely. You]
Her reply comes fast.
[Kids did a group presentation on âfavorite couples in mediaâ and somehow slipped us into the slideshow. I want to die]
He huffs.
[Come to my room]
He sends it before overthinking.
She types.
[Music room?]
[No. My classroom. Now]
There is a small pause.
[Okay. On my way]
He stands and looks around the room. Desks in rows. Board half clean. Old posters on the wall about revolutions and timelines.
He thinks about the last few months. The slow shift. The nights at his apartment, both of them on the floor with takeout and piles of graded work between them. Her feet always finding his leg under the low table. The way she started leaving a toothbrush in his bathroom without comment. The mornings they still tried to stagger their arrival, then gave up when they kept meeting at the same corner anyway.
Kids kept talking. Colleagues kept watching. Jihyo scolded them once, then sighed and waved them off when she saw nothing exploded. Nayeon collected money from a bet pool and refused to disclose details.
They acted careful. No touching on campus. No blatant shows. But everyone already knew something. They moved through it.
He thinks about how simple it feels with her now, even with the noise. How old this feeling is. How little anything has changed inside him since that library table.
He reaches into his bag and feels the small box at the bottom.
He bought it last week. Simple ring. No big story. Small jewelry shop near the bus stop. He walked in on impulse, picked a band that looked like it would sit clean on her hand, paid with shaking fingers, and walked out wondering if he had lost his mind.
Too fast. Too much. Too soon.
Then he thought about how many years they already lived in each otherâs pockets. How many different rooms they had shared. Campus, cheap restaurants, buses, now this staff room, this building. He thought about how she already knew his worst habits. His late replies, his pile of laundry, his habit of rewatching the same movie when he could not sleep. How he already knew her mess. Her scattered notes, her unfinished mugs, the way she forgot to eat until he pushed food into her hand.
New relationship, old foundation.
His hand curls around the box.
The classroom door knocks once, then swings open.
Sana steps in, umbrella dripping. Her hair sits damp around her face. Her coat hangs open. A line of water dots the floor behind her.
âYou said now,â she says. âSo I ran.â
He grabs a tissue box from his desk and tosses it to her. âYouâre leaking.â
She wipes the umbrella handle and props it against the wall near the door. Rain taps outside in strong lines.
She shrugs off the coat, shakes her hair once, then crosses to his desk.
âWhatâs wrong,â she asks. âYou look like you failed everyone.â
He leans against the edge of the desk. His fingers slip into his pocket, around the ring box.
âWe need to talk,â he says.
She groans. âDonât say that phrase. You sound like youâre breaking up with me.â
âIâm not,â he says.
She squints. âYou better not. I just bought a new lipstick for you.â
He blinks. âFor me.â
âFor my mouth that kisses you,â she says. âDonât be dense.â
âRight,â he says.
She eyes him. âYouâre weird. What is it.â
He exhales.
âSit,â he says.
âI stand,â she says.
He pushes away from the desk and gestures to the front row. âTrust me. Sit.â
She huffs but drops into the first desk. She turns the chair sideways to face him, hooks one foot on the chair rung, and folds her arms.
âOkay,â she says. âTeacher. Speak.â
He stands in front of her, between the first two desks. The board looms behind him. The room smells faint. Damp, chalk, old paper.
âYou ever think about the future,â he asks.
She snorts. âEvery day. I grade idiots for a living. I pray for the future.â
âI mean your future,â he says.
âVague,â she says. âClarify, sir.â
âWhere you see yourself,â he says. âIn five, ten years.â
She shrugs one shoulder. âProbably still yelling at kids. Maybe with more neck pain. Maybe with more gray hair.â
âNothing else,â he asks.
âWhat else is there,â she says. âI donât have a secret band. I donât have a book in a drawer. I have essays and attendance books.â
He watches her jaw tense. The joking coat slips.
âYou always joked about a cafe,â he says. âBack then.â
âYeah,â she says. âWhen I was young and thought life was cute.â
âYouâre not old,â he says.
She smirks. âLie to me more.â
âYou serious about that cafe,â he asks.
She leans back, stares at the ceiling tiles.
âI donât know,â she says. âSometimes I think about it. Some small place, no students, just grumpy adults and bitter coffee. But who has money for that. Who has time. We already drown in this place.â
He nods.
âWhat about you,â she says. âYou planning to die at that desk.â
âMaybe,â he says.
âYou canât,â she says. âYou have to outlive me and attend my funeral with a huge wreath.â
âWhy do I have to outlive you,â he asks.
âSomeone has to tell all my embarrassing stories,â she says. âYou have the best archive.â
He smiles, small. His hand tightens around the box.
âIâve been thinking,â he says.
She squints again. âDangerous.â
âYeah,â he says. He breathes out. âAbout⊠time.â
âThatâs vague too,â she says.
âTen years,â he says. âOf knowing you.â
She scoffs. âFeels like twenty.â
âDating for what,â he says. âAlmost a year now.â
She nods. âNine months and some days. I have the exact count, if you want.â
âIâm good,â he says.
âWe sound married already,â she says. âComplaining about years together.â
He glances at the door. It is shut. The small square of glass shows a blurry strip of hallway. No one passes.
He looks back at her.
âYou ever think about actually getting married,â he asks.
She stops. Her features reset.
âLike⊠us,â she asks.
âLike us,â he says.
She studies his face.
âYouâre not joking,â she says.
âNo,â he says.
âYouâre not testing material for class,â she says. âSome lesson on social expectations.â
âNo,â he says again.
She drops her arms to her sides. Her fingers curl into the edge of the desk.
âYou want to get married,â she asks. âNow.â
He thinks about hedging. About saying âsomedayâ or âlater, when things calm downâ. The words taste weak.
âYes,â he says.
Her mouth parts. No sound comes out for a moment.
He pulls his hand from his pocket and holds up the small box.
Her eyes lock on it.
âI know itâs fast,â he says. âOn paper. Nine months looks fast. But itâs not nine months. Itâs ten years. Youâve been next to me in every shitty place Iâve been. Library, dorm hallway, bus stops, this staff room. Itâs not some sudden thing.â
He flips the box open. The ring sits on the black cushion. Plain band. No shine tricks. Just a circle.
He feels his throat scrape.
âIf we break up five years from now after dating,â he says, âitâll still fuck me up. If we get married now and it breaks five years from now, same fuck. Thereâs no safe timing. Iâm not getting less attached by waiting. Youâre already in every corner of my life.â
Her eyes wet slow. Tears gather in the lower lid.
âSo,â he says. âYou want to just do it. Skip the cautious phase. Call it what it already feels like.â
She stares at the ring. Then at his face. Back at the ring.
âYouâre asking me in a classroom,â she says. Her voice cracks on the last word.
âYes,â he says.
âNo rooftop,â she says. âNo fireworks. No stupid banner.â
âNo budget,â he says. âAnd I hate fireworks.â
A laugh escapes her. Short. Wet.
âYouâre serious,â she says.
âYes,â he says. âIf you say no, we stay like this. If you say yes, we go to a district office on a weekend and sign paper. We tell the people we have to tell. We fight about curtains later.â
She wipes under one eye with the heel of her hand. The tear smears across her skin.
âYou thought about curtains,â she says.
âI thought about everything,â he says. âYou in my apartment every day and me not pretending itâs temporary. Not counting your toothbrushes like theyâre visitors.â
She lets out a breath that shakes.
âWhat about work,â she says. âThe school. The kids. You think they wonât lose their minds.â
âThey already lost their minds,â he says. âHalf of them think weâre secretly married right now. Weâd just make them right.â
âYou think Jihyo wonât have a heart attack,â she says.
âShe will,â he says. âThen sheâll calm down and ask about the date.â
âAnd my mother,â she says. âMy mother will kill me. Sheâll fly here and throw her slipper at my head.â
âIâll stand in front of you,â he says.
âYouâd take a slipper for me,â she says.
âDepends on the slipper,â he says. âRubber, yes. Wood, we negotiate.â
Her lips wobble into a smile.
Tears spill over. They slide down both cheeks now, tracks cutting through her skin.
âI hate you,â she says, voice thick. âYou idiot.â
âYou said that in the music room too,â he says.
âYouâre asking me to marry you on a rainy Tuesday,â she says. âIn this ugly classroom with kidsâ doodles on the desks.â
âYes,â he says.
She laughs and cries at the same time. A messy sound. She covers her mouth with one hand and shakes her head.
âAnswer me,â he says.
She drops her hand. Her face shows everything. Fear. Surprise. Then something steady behind both.
âYes,â she says.
No hesitation. No long pause.
âYes,â she repeats. âOf course yes. You idiot. You fucking idiot. You think I stayed next to you for ten years just to say no now.â
His chest loosens. He did not know how tight it sat until that second.
âCome here,â she says, half laugh, half sob.
He steps forward, slides the ring from the box, and takes her left hand. Her fingers tremble. Wet lashes cling together.
âYouâre really doing it,â she says.
âWeâre really doing it,â he says.
He slides the ring onto her finger. It catches at the knuckle, then settles. It looks simple there. Like it has been waiting.
She stares at it, then at him, then back at it, like her brain needs three passes.
âFuck,â she whispers.
âYou okay,â he asks.
She laughs through another tear spill. âIâm going to ruin your shirt.â
âI have more shirts,â he says.
She stands up fast. The chair legs scrape loud. She steps into him and grabs his collar with both hands.
Her face tips up. He feels her tears soak into the fabric at his neck.
She kisses him hard.
No careful lead-in this time. No slow test. She crashes in, mouth open, breath shaky. He meets her, bracing his hands on her waist to keep them both steady.
Her ring presses into his skin on the back of his neck. His fingers dig into the fabric at her sides.
She breaks the kiss only to gasp for air, then goes in again. Her tears smear over his lips. He does not care. Her whole body shakes, but her grip on him holds like a clamp.
He feels his own eyes sting, but tears do not fall. His throat tightens instead.
She pulls back just enough to speak, lips still close.
âWeâre really doing this,â she says.
âYes,â he says.
âYouâre stuck with me,â she says.
âI already was,â he says.
She laughs, then leans her forehead against his chest. Her shoulders heave with messy crying.
He rubs his palm slow up and down her back, feeling each small shudder.
âHey,â he says, low. âYouâre leaking all over my tie.â
âShut up,â she says into his shirt.
He stays like that, holding her, while the rain hits the windows in hard bursts.
Footsteps pass the hallway, distant. Voices float by. No one opens the door.
After a while, her breathing slows. She pulls back, sniffs, and wipes at her eyes with both hands. Her cheeks shine.
âYou look destroyed,â he says.
âYou did this,â she says. âDo you realize what you just started. My mother is going to ask why thereâs no big proposal video.â
âI can delete the CCTV,â he says.
She laughs and hiccups.
She looks at her ring again, flexes her fingers.
âIt fits,â she says.
âI guessed,â he says.
âYou guessed right,â she says. âYou know my ring size. Thatâs creepy.â
âYou leave your rings on my table,â he says. âI measured one with a coin.â
She stares. âYou really thought it through.â
âI didnât want it to fall off in the sink,â he says.
She presses her lips together, fighting another wave. It hits anyway. One more tear escapes.
âFuck,â she mutters. âIâm happy. It hurts.â
He reaches up and cups her face with one hand, thumb catching the next tear before it falls.
âGood,â he says.
She leans into his palm for a second, then straightens.
âWe have to tell them,â she says.
âNow,â he asks.
âNot my mother,â she says. âEveryone here. If the kids find out from Instagram before we speak, itâs over.â
âStaff first,â he says. âThen kids.â
She nods. âStaff room.â
âNow,â he says.
âNow,â she says.
He grabs her coat from the back of the chair and holds it open. She slides her arms in. He adjusts the collar. His fingers brush her neck. The ring flashes as she tugs the sleeves right.
âYou ready,â he asks.
âNo,â she says. âBut letâs go.â
He picks up his keys and phone. She grabs her umbrella.
They leave the room together.
In the hallway, a few students linger by the windows, watching the rain. One boy turns, sees them, and nudges his friend.
âLook,â he says. âHistory and English again.â
Sana glances at Y/N. He nods once.
She inhales, then lifts their joined hands. Her ring catches the fluorescent light.
The boyâs eyes widen. âNo way.â
His friend leans in. âIs that a real ring.â
Sana stops walking. Y/N stops with her.
She faces the two boys.
âYou two,â she says. âCome here.â
They shuffle closer, nervous and curious.
âYou know how you keep asking if weâre dating,â she says.
Both nod, quick.
She lifts their hands a little higher. âUpgrade your rumors. Weâre getting married.â
The words drop heavy and clean.
Both students explode.
âWhat.â
âNo way.â
âSir, is this for real.â
Y/N meets their eyes. âYes. Keep it off social media until tomorrow or Iâll fail your next quiz.â
They both zip imaginary lips and slam their hands over their mouths, then bolt down the hall shouting anyway.
âDonât run,â she calls after them. âAnd donât post it, Iâm serious.â
Their voices echo in the stairwell.
âWE KNEW IT.â
âPAY UP, PAY UP.â
She turns to Y/N.
âWell,â she says. âToo late to be subtle.â
He shrugs. âWe needed messengers.â
They keep walking.
By the time they reach the staff room door, the noise inside already lifts. Someone must have texted.
He pushes the door open.
Heads turn.
Nayeon stands on a chair near the table, waving her phone. âIs it true,â she yells. âDid you two finally stop torturing us.â
Jihyo sits with a pen mid air over a form. Her mouth is set tight, but her eyes search their faces.
Other teachers look up from papers and phones.
Sana glances around the room, then at Y/N.
He nods once.
She steps in front.
âWe have an announcement,â she says.
Nayeon gasps and jumps down from the chair, almost twisting her ankle.
âI knew it,â she says. âI fucking knew it.â
Jihyo sets the pen down. âUse proper language in the staff room,â she says, but her voice lacks bite.
Sana lifts her left hand. The ring catches the overhead light.
âWeâre getting married,â she says.
The room erupts.
Nayeon screams and grabs Jihyoâs shoulders. Jihyo winces and shoves her off.
âYou two are insane,â Jihyo says. âBut⊠congratulations.â
She stands, walks over, and hugs Sana quick, tight, then hugs Y/N with an awkward pat on the back.
âI better not get any complaints,â she says.
âYou wonât,â he says.
âFrom parents,â she adds. âColleagues can complain all they want.â
Nayeon circles them like a reporter.
âWhen,â she says. âHow. Whereâs the ceremony. Can I MC. Can we do a medley performance. Can we invite the kids.â
âNo,â Y/N and Sana say at the same time.
âSmall ceremony,â Sana says. âFamily and a few friends. Weâll think about something for the kids later.â
âYou owe them,â Nayeon says. âTheyâve been shipping you since homeroom.â
âWe owe them exams,â Y/N says.
A few other teachers come up with handshakes and claps on the shoulders. The math teacher mutters âabout time.â The science teacher asks if she can adjust the seating chart theme for the next lab to âcongratulations.â
Sanaâs face stays wet. Tears keep slipping, but her smile digs in deeper.
Jihyo watches her for a moment, then smirks.
âYou crying in joy,â she asks.
âYes,â Sana says without shame. âShut up.â
Jihyo shakes her head and wipes at the corner of her own eye like something tickled it. âIâm happy for you,â she says. âNow please donât hold hands in front of the principal.â
âNo promises,â Sana says.
Y/N glances at the clock.
âWe should tell the kids,â he says.
âAssembly,â Nayeon says. âOh my god. Please let me run an assembly.â
âThese are our students,â Nayeon says. âThey donât do calm.â
The next morning, the rain is gone. The sky sits clear.
Y/N and Sana walk through the gate together. No attempt to stagger. Her ring shines in the early light. His hand brushes hers twice on purpose, then catches and holds.
Kids near the gate notice in waves.
âLook.â
âRing.â
âIs thatâŠâ
They do not hide it. They step into the yard like they did every other day, only this time their hands stay linked.
A group of second years rushes them. The class president from 2â3 plants himself in front.
âTeacher,â he says, eyes huge. âIs it real.â
âYes,â Y/N says.
âYouâre getting married,â the boy says, voice up a pitch.
âYes,â Sana says.
A scream ripples through the group. Someone actually drops a bag. A girl starts crying. Her friend fans her face.
âWe won,â another student yells. âThe âyes before graduationâ option won.â
âPay me,â someone else shouts. âI said it would be this year.â
Phones lift. A few kids film, but many just stare with open grins.
âOkay, enough,â Y/N says. âHomeroom in five. Weâll talk there.â
âInvite us,â a girl pleads. âWeâll be quiet, I swear.â
âYou canât even be quiet now,â Sana says.
They pull free of the clump and head toward the building. Whispers trail after them. Laughter. Claps.
On the second floor, outside Y/Nâs classroom, Sana stops him.
âWait,â she says.
He turns.
âWhat,â he asks.
She glances up and down the hall. Students still move, but most are in their rooms now. The bell will ring in a minute.
She looks at his face, then at the door, then back.
âWe havenât done it yet,â she says.
âDone what,â he asks.
âSomething really stupid,â she says.
She grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in.
He expects a quick peck. She goes longer.
She kisses him in the hallway.
Not wild. Not messy like yesterday. Just a firm, solid kiss. Right under the fluorescent lights, in full view of anyone who turns a corner.
His hands rise half an inch, then settle lightly on her waist. He kisses her back.
For a moment, the building noise drops in his head. There is just the pressure of her mouth, the faint taste of her morning coffee, the heat of her fingers bunching his shirt.
A gasp explodes behind them.
âOH MY GOD.â
They break apart and turn.
Two girls from his class stand at the corridor corner, hands clapped over their mouths, eyes huge.
Behind them, three more students crowd in. A few phones skitter up, then freeze when he narrows his eyes.
âNo filming,â he says.
âToo late,â one mutters, but drops her phone anyway.
Sana laughs and covers her face with one hand. Her shoulders shake.
âYouâre insane,â he says.
âYou proposed,â she says. âI get to be insane once.â
The bell rings.
He looks at the gathered students.
âHomeroom,â he says. âWeâll make an official announcement. If you post anything before that, Iâll assign a ten page essay on privacy and consent.â
Groans rise. They scatter into the room, still buzzing.
He faces Sana again.
âYou okay,â he asks.
She pushes her hair behind her ear, ring flashing.
âIâm⊠stupidly happy,â she says. âSo happy itâs scary.â
He nods.
âMe too,â he says.
She looks at his mouth like she might lean in again, then pulls back.
âSee you in the staff room, husband,â she says quietly.
The word hits his gut.
âHusband,â he repeats.
âYou better get used to it,â she says. âIâm going to abuse it.â
She squeezes his hand once more, then lets go and moves down the hall toward her own class. A few students reached out for high fives as she passes. She sends them finger hearts instead.
He turns and steps into his classroom.
Thirty faces stare at him with open expectation.
He sets his bag down, picks up a piece of chalk, and writes the date on the board.
He turns.
âBefore roll call,â he says. âYes. The rumors are true. Miss Sana and I are getting married. No, youâre not invited. Yes, you still have a quiz next week.â
Half the room cheers. The other half groans about the quiz. A few start crying. A boy near the window whispers, âHistory and English. It makes sense.â
In the middle of the noise, his phone buzzes in his pocket.
[From: Sana]
[We did it]
He looks at his class, at the stupid grins and wide eyes, at the desks where his life now sits split between past and future.
NewJeans/NJZ's Hanni Pham & Kim Minji x Male Reader
7.6k words
A/N: So, thanks to @azelfty, @ducktoo, @eightsh8pe, @erospandemos, @i-am-lifeform24, @mascarponny, @valentinedrifter, @xantithesis, and Woolly for beta-ing and proofreading!
â
Three things.
First, Minji's stamina and strength make her perfect for the box-to-box midfielder role.
Second, Hanni's vision and technique make her perfect for the deep-lying playmaker role.
Third, your timidity and submissiveness make you perfect as, for them, the seat role.
â
"It can be anything, really."
The faculty member looks at you with a tinge of derision in her eyes. You can feel it. "Anything?" That fucking intonation in her voice. She knows you're awfully desperate.
"I mean, nothing too physical." You raise your arm halfway up to show her your lanky muscles.
There's about a month left, currently, until the semester's end. You, to start, have zero (0) scholarship hours. To keep this education support money, there's a requirement of twenty-four (24) hours of university work per term for your full scholarship. These can be gradually collected through the events and activities: Orientation Day, International Day, Student Committee. Still, you decided for the last few months to slack off and do absolutely nothing, except taking Rushall Olympic to UEFA Champions League glory three (3) times in a row with the meta tactic of Football Manager Two Thousand and Twenty-Four (2024): 4-2-3-1 gegenpressing.
"You came too late," the faculty member states. She must be about fifty or somewhere around there. The folds in her skin are apparent. And with the nature of her gaze through her rectangular glasses, it's apparent that she's not so fond of a shirker like you, very likely worn out by them over the years. Seoyeon â that's her name.
"Is there, like, really nothing?" you ask with your discouraged look. Your back hunches. Your lips quiver.
Seoyeon scoffs, "You said nothing physical, and that basically filtered out the remaining," and her eyes glance at the computer screen, "three jobs."
You sigh, resigning to your fate. "What are they?"
The faculty member chuckles. "Well, there's this camp for the underprivileged â three days of area department."
That means carrying things, using a handheld radio, and staying up late. You're definitely going to look like an asshole for saying no to it, but you push on through, regardless.
"What's the other two?"
Seoyeon's brows are raised scornfully. You just give her a silent sorry. How dare you say no to a charity camp!
"There's a week of bathroom cleaning."
Seoyeon definitely sees you recoiling. Still, washing your filth is already enough for you. There's no need for others' in your life!
"And this one just came in: a coach for our faculty's women's football team."
Well, now we're talking.
Your eyes widen. You smack your hands on the counter immediately, drawing a few unwelcoming eyes from the other folks working behind the counter. Seoyeon's expression remains rather calm, however.
"Didn't catch you as the sporty type."
A smile unwillingly escapes your lips, "I used to play football," and you weren't particularly good at it, not really. With your rather short height, your days as a central midfielder did give you some experience in this regard. Your passivity and lethargy got in the way of being a professional footballer, though.
Seoyeon chuckles before putting up a remark, "Well, it's definitely great that you show interest in this," and she does a few more clicks on her computer. "Still, I have to say that this is the most complex job out of these three."
"Yeah â tactics, people management, mentality," you say eagerly out of the adrenaline rush you're getting. "Trust me, I've been through it."
"Vanarama South?"
You blink out of a little surprise. "North! Didn't catch you as the sporty type."
Seoyeon chuckles, still remaining wary of her words. "My partner likes to share about their Dagenham and something team."
"Dagenham and Redbridge!"
"Yeah, that one," Seoyeon says with a polite smile. "Well, I can register you in and we're done."
Without a hint of doubt, "Yes, I'll take the job."
â
"Have you heard about the ads in ChatGPT?" Gaeul asks you, one hand holding her tote bag. Her mid-back-length pink hair sways around as she walks beside you in the hallway. She's looking as elegant as ever. Her grey jacket barely covers the professional thirst-trapper text on her white tee.
"Oh, that, yeah, I've seen it. Shit's fucking dystopian."
She sneers, "Gotta re-read everything now."
"Bait or deadass?"
Gaeul just chuckles as she readjusts her bag that's sliding down her shoulder. "So, what are you doing for the scholarship hours? You have zero now, right?"
"I registered for the girls' football team," you answer. The sentence feels splendid rolling off your tongue.
Gaeul shoots you a slightly amazed look, taken aback by your confidence. "Wow."
You giggle. "Yeah, wow."
"So those hours in FM aren't wasted?"
"They're not."
Gaeul elbows you tenderly. "Damn, I have a proper manager friend."
Your heart flutters a bit at your friend's words. You're positive that she means it.
"Any tips?" you ask.
Gaeul thinks sonically with her finger on her lips, then: "Just don't put yours into the players."
Your brow knits, not understanding her advanced joke. "My what?"
"Okay, wait, that was too crass. I shouldn'tâ"
"Oh." Any tips? Tips, and you laugh in a child-discovering-pee-and-poo-joke kind of way at Gaeul's unapologetically nasty humor. "Yeah, great one. Like I'd stand a chance against tall, athletic, sweaty women."
Gaeul chuckles along with you. "Well, maybe one of them would have a crush on their meek manager! You never know."
"They wouldn't touch me with a ten-foot pole if we lose the first game. I'm fucking sure of that," you joke, putting yourself under the barbed bat.
"Shy boy," Gaeul teases. "Oh, there they are," and she points forward with her finger gun.
You look away from Gaeul in the direction of her hand to find a few people standing in the hallway. What the hell is she pointing at? Not noticing a damn thing, your eyes glance back at Gaeul, who's still pointing forward. You try to look again.
Until you find them.
Your eyes meet two women chatting, standing in the sea of students, one a tad taller than the other.
"Hey!" Gaeul appears to greet them, almost a shout, and the women turn to you and Gaeul.
The shorter girl's eyes are widened. "Hi!"
"Hi," the taller woman says, also with a smile, albeit seemingly more polite and reserved. You just nod at them, trying not to be a deadweight to Gaeul's social life.
You take a moment to observe Gaeul's friends quietly as they talk. The shorter woman does not hold back with her words, mixing profanities within the descriptions of her recent days and weeks. Her expression feels a whole lot more bubbly and unrestrained. The other girl, though, seems more controlled in her words and posture, emanating an authoritative aura from her tall (well, taller than you) frame.
"Yeah, this fucking sucks. Anyway, who's your friend?" The smaller one's words put you back into the present.
"He's," and Gaeul makes this funky hand movement as if presenting you to your potential dates, "your new manager!"
The two women make these ooh lips together, as if fascinated by your presence. You feel a little more self-conscious about their actions. Still, it's great to meet the players!
"Well, welcome to the team!" the shorter girl says, offering you a handshake. "I'm Hanni Pham, vice-captain."
You accept it. Hanni's hands feel softer than you expected for a footballer. Her grip is rather firm â not too tight.
"Kim Minji, the captain," the bigger woman states with a composed smile. She doesn't offer you a handshake, though, just a small nod.
"Hi, nice to meet you guys," you say diffidently.
"What's your favorite team?" Hanni asks you enthusiastically, tilting her head a little to the side.
You scratch your back, so fucking timid that you need somewhere to grab. "Blackburn? West Ham? I just watch football in general, not especially supporting anyone."
"Do you play FIFA?" Minji quizzes with a small laugh. "I swear if we get another wannabe again."
"No, no," you stammer. "Just FM. Still, I wouldn't call myself an actual manager," you quickly tranquilize any hints of cockiness to Minji and Hanni.
Minji shrugs. "That's better, at least. Can't be arsed to play three at the back again."
Hanni just laughs, and you, out of shyness, start laughing as well. That's your first genuine connection with them. Feels great.
"Hey," Gaeul whispers through your laugh. "We, uh."
"Oh, yeah, I gotta," and you clear your throat, "go now. See you guys at the training!" you utter a tad louder than you would normally do with athletic women. You're shocked, to be honest.
"Okay, see ya. Are you coming with him, Gaeul?" Hanni asks.
"I don't know yet. Gotta cover his ass for the Computer Vision assignment," Gaeul answers with a soft elbow to your side. You give her back an elbow.
"Just do it on the bleachers," Minji breezes.
Gaeul purses her lips, then: "Definitely, maybe."
â
So, Gaeul is doing it on the bleachers.
She's watching you from afar as you arrange your first training session with your players in the evening. It goes pretty well, you'd say. Most of the time, you just let your assistant manager tell you what to do next, and you just say it louder than her to the players â movements, passing, shooting. You're doing your best out of passion and everything. Gotta put those FM hours to use.
"Do we have a match practice session?" you ask your assistant, Yujin, as the players are on their chance conversion training.
"Yeah, we put it at the end, though," Yujin says. "It's the most fun one out of whatever these are."
"Oh, alright."
The sun continues to dip below the horizon of the college. Players are putting in their all under your leadership. It's a lot for your first day, but you're doing well. You watch your players training proudly, though you feel like you're lingering on Minji a bit too long. Your mind is unsure of why, however.
The match practice arrives eventually, and you start working on dividing the women into two teams. You sound the whistle to start the game, calling out fouls and unfair plays between the girls. It goes by pretty well, you'd say, and in a heartbeat, the session ends. Everyone gets their fair share of sweat. Everyone is happy.
"Alright, thanks for today, ladies. I'm so glad to coach you today. See you on Thursday!" you announce, earning a round of applause from the players on the grass before they get up and prepare to leave the practice ground.
Minji and Hanni stay behind, though, sitting on the green, and you're curious as to why they're not getting going yet.
"You guys aren't leaving?" you ask, hands in your pockets.
"We're kind of wanting to ask you something, gaffer," Hanni says with a small chuckle.
"We don't have class tomorrow morning," Minji chimes in. "Wanna come to the bar with us?"
You blink consciously before pondering over the invitation. Going to a bar with your players that you've just spent a measly few hours with under the setting sun. Well, maybe it's a way to get to know them better! Especially with them being your first and second-choice captains. You'll have to bring Gaeul with you, though, in case she wants to bag a guy back to her dorm, or she wouldn't shut up about missing the action.
"Uh, sure?" you answer, voice so damn unsure. "I gotta get changed first, though, can't go to the bar likeâ"
"We're going like this!" Hanni cuts you off cleanly. Your group is going to fucking stink all over the bar with your dried sweat. "We won't be there long. Just three shots and we'll leave."
How can you say no to such a chance? Preliminary team bonding and all.
â
You just drank your sixth shot.
You're resting your chin on your fist weakly, struggling to hold yourself up. The jazz music grounds you a little bit under the soft glow of the yellowish lights. Still, the melody is no match for the drunkenness you're facing between Hanni and Minji. Gaeul doesn't really help either, instead chatting with a few guys at their table far away from you. Endearingly, that slut. She's nowhere to be found in your fucking sight.
(It's like you're able to register any information with your eyes now, still.)
"Are you drunk yet?" Hanni quizzes blithely.
You slur embarrassingly, voice overly syrupy and groggy, "Yeah."
Hanni just chuckles in response.
"So, what's your deal?" Minji starts. "Why did you become our coach?"
"Manager," Hanni corrects.
"It's the same damn thing at our level," Minji rebuts, pouring herself a shot of strawberry soju. "Anyway, how did you end up being our coach?" There's a brief glance from Minji at Hanni scoffing, but the taller girl carries on the question with you as the coach.
The brain fog of mathematical coincidences rings true inside your head â mostly about 111 and its multipliers comprising 37 and 3 (and its multipliers) as its factors. There's no space for thinking anymore, not really, and you just blurt out, "Scholarship hours."
"Huh," Minji raises her brows a bit before taking another shot down her throat with an exhale afterwards.
Hanni adds, "So, why not just other jobs? I'm sure there's a whole fucking catalogue of scholarship work more interesting than managing a women's football team."
You giggle drunkenly. "It's either this or cleaning the bathroom."
"So, you're saying that you like sweaty women more than cleaning the bathroom?" Hanni asks playfully before taking a swig out of her strawberry soju bottle.
With a shrug, "Perchance," and the women laugh softly.
"To be honest, you seem more competent than those FIFA knobheads," Minji states.
You just nod dumbly, not knowing what to respond without looking overtly arrogant.
"They tried to play Minji as either a wide center-back or those utter woke nonsense roles: Mezzala, Carrilero, roaming playmaker," Hanni chimes in, looking somewhat frustrated with a fucker closing off her sentence.
"What do you have in your mind, though?" Minji asks you. "Are you gonna be another Amorim?"
Intoxicated out of your consciousness, you reply with an intention to please them, "Of course not. I'll adjust to my players!"
Hanni laughs before saying, "Double pivot of us, that's our only request. I feel like we play better with Minji as a box-to-box and me as a playmaker."
"Her sharp eyes and my muscles," Minji adds, flexing her arm for you to see. There's a pang of realization in your mind, and you now know why your eyes lingered on her for a tiny bit too long. It's her fucking biceps! "4-2-3-1, 4-3-3, or even Burnley Dyche-ball works â hoofing it to Yoon and Kazuha up front."
"I'll keep that in mind," you say, slurring out of your inhibition. Your nose notices the smell of dried sweat from Minji's body. It's supposed to make you heave, but somehow, you are starting to get addicted to it.
Hanni joins the show, moving a little closer to you. "What can we do to be sure of that, though?" she asks, and there's almost this hint of sultry in her voice. You can't quite confirm it, too drunk to explain the cause.
You blink, trying to regain your sobriety to no avail. "Play well!" you stammer out, and that's your only advice for now. Hanni's smell is overwhelming you as well, fighting against the stark aroma of Minji with her lighter, less pungent body scent. Your brain short-circuits for a heartbeat with your eyes laid upon the space between Hanni's neck and collar. The supple flesh of her chest is almost bared, simply covered by her black sports bra.
Minji edges in behind you. "Really? Just that?" You glance towards her, and there's also the hanging down of her shirt that reveals her pert breasts sitting under the white sports bra. Your spine stiffens under the powerful scent of the women and the sight of their toned bodies. The jazzy music doesn't help either, further indulging you in this aromatic seduction of your footballers.
"I'm sure there are other ways we can show you our teamwork," Hanni says, pouting, tilting her head to the side a bit as though she's asking for something sinister.
"I can show you my Rushall save! I have it on my computer here," and you pick up your conveniently placed bag and grab your MacBook from it. Finally, you get to show someone your Champions League glory â almost twenty seasons in the making. This is definitely not from the fact that you're awfully apprehensive and horny for them so you try to use FM to cover it up.
"Let's do it at our place, Coach," Minji half-orders, and you halt your movements. Her breath smells of strawberries and mint and some leftover alcohol. "Perhaps you can insert your plug into our sockets there."
Ooh, free electricity.
(It's sex, you're not a dumbass.)
As you walk out of the bar, following Minji while holding onto Hanni's shoulder, your eyes find Gaeul again. The pink hair really helps with your built-in Find My. She's talking to a guy that you don't recognize. You detach from Hanni to say goodbye to Gaeul for the night regardless.
"Hey," you greet.
Gaeul turns to you, craning her neck slightly to see the subjects behind you. "Oh, you're leaving," and she looks at her watch for a second, "now?"
"Yeah, I gotta," and you think of an excuse aside from having sex with your two seductive, sweaty players. You come up with one: "I miss FM."
You give her an awkward smile, body bubbling with alcohol. "Football Manager."
"More like Feet, Balls, and Massage," Gaeul mocks heartily, and the guy she's talking to laughs at the pun. "Minji and Hanni's stinky feet," and she pinches her nose together as if she's disgusted by the thought.
"See you tomorrow, if I can make it," you bid Gaeul farewell, not putting up with her bullshit (again, endearing) any further before Hanni and Minji change their minds.
Gaeul just laughs before waving at you. "See ya."
â
You're unfamiliar with their dorm, really. Never once have you been here before during your four-year stretch of being a student here.
The elevator ride doesn't really help with the intoxication running in your veins. Their smell overwhelms you easily in the confined space that's rising through the floors. Atop the alcohol, you feel even dizzier than when you were in the bar, when they teased you about inserting your plug into their sockets.
(The MacBook charging adapter isn't that big, if we're being honest.)
As you enter their room, the scent of the spring breeze wafts into your nostrils, mixed with their dried sweat in front of you. You take a deep breath to feel the atmosphere of their living space thoroughly. Filled with plushies and dolls, a double bed sits in the center of the room next to a wall. There's a Lauren James poster on the other side â Chelsea tenure. You place your backpack at the side of their bed as Minji and Hanni leap onto it.
"Fucking hell," Hanni groans into the bed, utterly exhausted, and she turns to you. "It's okay, boss. You can sit here."
You sit rather shyly on their bed, taking in the feeling of their cozy room. Your room is a little better, you'd say â bias and all â but you wouldn't mind having a stay-over at theirs.
Minji rises from the bed, smirking. "So, what is this Rushall save of yours? Can we see it?"
"Yeah, sure!" and you pick up your MacBook shakily along with your adapter. "Where's the socket?"
Hanni points towards the portion of the wall beside the bed. "There."
Your eyes find it with no problem. Then, you insert the plug into it with a click, and you hear a moan. Your mind is certain that it's Hanni's â the light intonation and everything. You turn to her and give her a blank look.
Hanni giggles. "It has been a while since somebody else used my socket, so it's a great feeling to have those holes filled by you, gaffer."
You nod. "Well, try to clean it often, or at least find a cover for it. Dust might make it deteriorate faster." There are probably no innuendos stemming from that sentence.
Another cute laugh from Hanni, then: "Yes, gaffer."
You boot up the game, takes a while, but you get there regardless. The game looks the same as it is a few days ago: tactics, players, matches. You did save the game properly! Minji and Hanni scoot over beside you as you start going through the tiniest details of your game.
"So, this is my tactic: a fuckass 4-2-3-1 gegenpress. It's everything you can expect from the tactic, really," you start, clicking through the panels of your tactic. "Counter-press, high tempo, counter-attack, high line."
"Who's that in the midfield?" Minji asks tenderly, pointing at the double pivot sitting in the middle of the pitch.
"This is Nik, bought him from Arsenal for dirt cheap because I need the home-grown quota, and this is Patrick, got him from Hannover for, also, dirt cheap. Their stats are pretty standard, but they play well," you ramble.
"So, like, they're just two normal defensive mids?" Hanni quizzes, putting a finger to her mouth as if it makes her look fluffier and more adorable (it does).
"Yeah, it's the meta right now â two DMs. I'm an engine exploiter more than a tactician," you admit humbly. "I'm not that much of a proper manager." Your head falls slightly with a small, pathetic whine. You hunch your back out of guilt.
Hanni and Minji chuckle softly before the former tilts your chin up with her finger. "Hey, it's fine. I'm sure you're miles better than those FIFA wannabes," she lifts you up with her kindness. Your heart beats a little faster as you smell the strawberries and salt in her mouth â intimate.
"Really?"
"Really," Minji states, picking up your chin and turning you to her instead of Hanni. "They think they're the best at football management just because they can flick their fingers faster than others."
You whine cutely at Minji, who then smiles approvingly back.
"I have a question for you," she says, leaning in so close to you to the point that your heart is exploding from the smell of her strawberries-plus-mint breath.
"Yeah?"
"If we're in the game," and Minji glances at Hanni for a split second. "What would be our position? On top? Or under someone else?"
Minji's spouting sexual nonsense for the sake of being dirty and suggestive with you. She's trying to have sex! Hanni laughs tenderly at her words as well. Still, gotta put up your nerdy façade to not look like a hopeless horn-dog and get laughed at!
You half-stutter, half-joke out, chuckling awkwardly, "Well, you're playing under me, of course."
That's rather charged, surely, even if the cadence is all over the place and merely unintentional. Minji and Hanni giggle at your profound words.
"Under you? Seems like a fucking splendid position to be in, my lovely gaffer," Hanni says.
They're trying so hard to fuck.
"Me? Lovely?"
Hanni just giggles before continuing, completely ignoring your self-doubt, "Tell me, in the game, would you play us as two DMs? Or would you," and Hanni uses your trackpad and moves the left defensive midfielder on your screen up by a position. Oh, so Minji is left-footed, and the formation is now asymmetrical. "Adjust for us?"
As much as you love the symmetry of your 4-2-3-1 gegenpress, you have to admit that real life cannot be defined by hard-coded grids. Maybe you'll have Minji on top of Hanni, roaming from end-to-end as the latter covers the defensive line below her, spraying passes to her teammates. Maybe you should just let them lead, unshackling their creativity and having them maraud your midfield.
"I'll adjust accordingly!"
Hanni nods positively, smiling. "A great coach should be flexible, definitely."
"Maybe," Minji cuts her off, but the words are still somewhat reinforcing each other. "You should have a principle â something that you believe in," she says, moving in a little closer to you. The danger of her proximity is there, surely â her thighs against yours â and there's her strong, womanly, post-practice scent radiating from her skin.
"An idea?" you inquire.
"Something like that," Minji answers with a shrug. "There needs to be a balance, of course. You give the players something, and you demand something from them."
A sound, then: "I kinda get it now," Hanni says. Just like Minji, she edges in. You feel her thighs on yours. The light smell of her body wafts into your nostrils. And with the blended scent of their bodies, you're so fucking hard right now.
You move your MacBook up a little to cover the erection under your shorts.
"Compromising," Hanni utters. "Give and take."
The position you're in is also obviously compromising as hell â sitting between them and utterly overwhelmed by their touches and smells like this.
"You need to understand your players and yourself," Minji states. "Same applies to the players."
"It's a team game," Hanni chimes in. "Gotta have some goddamn empathy."
"Do you think you have empathy, Coach?" Minji asks, rotating your neck towards her by the chin. This is the first time you've noticed how soft her hand is. Her face is so close to yours that your lips almost touch. "Or are you just treating this job as another scholarship fodder?"
You're not treating them as such, of course. Two strong, sweaty, athletic women against you â your body won't stand a damn chance. Still, being this close to them does evoke a tinge of warmth out of your lazy, sluggish ass. You're going to give your all to them!
"Of course not," you answer, and the women appear to approve of your words.
"Your heart is in the right place, Coach," Hanni praises. "Still, not everything is in its right place yet."
Yeah, your cock still isn't inside them yet!
"Are you just gonna keep me guessing?" you ask, with the last of your restraints not to tie it into debauchery.
Minji scoffs, and: "Well, do you want to?" She's practically squeezing her thighs with yours now. You get goosebumps as her hand lands on your back, pushing your spine straight.
Hanni joins, placing her hand on your knee, and you squirm. Her thighs press into yours, effectively interposing you between her and Minji. "Or you can just keep explaining your save to us. We don't mind, can call it a match tactics session."
"I'd gladly explain my game to you ladies," you joke, knowing full well that the air is shifting towards you and Minji and Hanni having the hottest, sweatiest, freakiest sex in the world.
"One last thing, I think," Minji says, rubbing your back with her soft hand lovingly. "Gaeul has been relaying us some," and a pause, as if it's going to up the tension of this scene (it does), "information."
"It's basically a background check, don't worry," Hanni assures as she caresses your lower thigh with her palm. Your lower body shivers slightly. "Still, we're impressed!"
Minji giggles before continuing, "Yeah, Gaeul said that you possess many tangible qualities."
Gaeul? Not talking shit about you? That's rare. "Color me surprised!" you utter with your usual dose of self-doubt. Minji and Hanni just laugh quietly.
"She told us you're passionate," Minji begins.
"She told us you're empathetic," Hanni adds.
"And the most important one," Minji speaks, folding your MacBook down as if she's preparing for a physical movement. Your heart threatens to burst out of your chest. Your hands tremble restlessly on the palmrest. Your legs quiver anxiously under your computer. Nik and Patrick disappear from your eyes as the screen sleeps. Still, you're holding your own somewhat steadily.
Not until Minji opens her mouth to enchant you with her words, though â first cursing of the night.
"She told us you're a slut."
A light push from Hanni is all it takes to make your back land on the bed with a small thud. Minji grabs your computer away from you to the nightstand â your precious computer that's covering your erection.
"Is that a training cone in your pants, gaffer?" Hanni asks coyly, a finger to her lips. "Can we play with it?"
"Perchance," you respond.
Hanni just chuckles before bringing her hands to the edge of your shorts. Your body trembles with the anticipation of your cock springing free from its confines. She runs her fingers along your slutty waist teasingly. Fuck, the fabric is about to rip if Hanni keeps playing with you like this.
On the other side, Minji climbs onto the bed, crawling towards you, and her neckline is drooping down a little. It's a shame your line of sight doesn't allow you to look at her shapely tits sitting under the sports bra. Your breathing hastens as she climbs atop your body. You want to reach out and touch her, but you're too stunned to do anything right now.
Minji crawls forward until the textile of her shorts is just above your face. The smell of her dried sweat becomes awfully intense here. Your atmosphere becomes her and only her.
"I hope your mouth can do more than motivate us," Minji coos, taunting you with her hands running along the upper edge of her trunks.
Hanni keeps teasing you along the hemline of your shorts. She finds your boxers now, but she won't pull them down and free your cock just yet â not now.
Fucking Pham.
"Fuck, I can talk about my tactics," you joke to Minji.
She scoffs, "Well, then, I wanna know," and she pushes her garment down a little, just enough for the flimsiest of her pubic hair peeking out from her spandex â neatly trimmed, well-kempt. "How do you plan to penetrate our defensive line?"
"Gegenpressing is not allowed, I suppose?"
"That's too aggressive," Minji deflects with a laugh.
You try to find some witty-ass response to the question, pondering on it, thinking about it. Your arms are lying still beside your body, not daring to touch Minji's somewhat muscular frame.
You come to an answer eventually, and it involves using your hands to demonstrate the tactic.
"The core idea is to maraud the flanks. Overloading the wide defenders always works."
You start feeling her outer thigh just above the knee. Minji chokes on her breath. That's enough to keep you going. You run your hands up her skin, making her feel the pleasure of your stroke. Your hands slip under her shorts, feeling how her skin heats against your palm.
Below, Hanni's thumbs are dipping below your hemline, threatening to yank your garment off your legs. Her fingers run along the upper fraction of your trimmed hair, making your lower body squirm with pleasure. She's lingering so close to your hard cock that it hurts. You can do nothing about it, though. Shaking your feet doesn't communicate a damn thing.
"Your footballs are so big, gaffer, suits big girls like us," Hanni murmurs, and finally, she begins releasing your dick from the tight prison of your pants. She pulls the garment down at an agonizingly slow pace as you're being completely overwhelmed by the scent of Minji's toned body.
"How are you gonna attack the central areas, huh?" Minji inquires, tipping your chin up a bit to her eyes. They're so full of lust. The pleats of her descending shorts and boxers finally clash against your hands, and you have to tease her on the fabric instead.
"It depends on who's having the ball right now," you answer. "My wingers cut inside, and my full-backs do low crosses from the byline."
"So, who's having the ball right now?" Minji asks.
"Hanni," you joke. Minji finds hilarity in it, laughing and easing the tension in the process.
"Fuckass," Minji curses. Then, she pushes her shorts down a little further, and you can see the opening of her cunt. The fucking smell of her core assaults your nose easily, stripping away your frail defenses as she hovers over your face â raw, musky, lust-inducing. She trims her hair. It's not quite shaved, and to be honest, it riles you up much more than a smooth cunt.
Hanni ever so slowly pulls the shorts and boxers down your legs. Your feet try to communicate quietly with pathetic movements, but Hanni just laughs at you instead. Again, fucking Pham.
Eventually, your cock springs free from your clothes once Hanni pulls them down far enough. Precum flies everywhere around your cock, and you hear this cute squeal from Hanni as well. It probably lands on her pretty face.
"Fucking hell, it's goddamn massive, gaffer," Hanni opines about the size of your training cone, which is a euphemism for, let's just say, your penis. You wouldn't call it big (it's like somewhere between five (5) and six (6) inches hard), but if Hanni says so, you'll go along with her.
Hanni pulls the garments down the rest of your legs in a hurry, and you kind of shimmy your feet to ditch them away. Now, she's met with your cock standing tall. It's hard under the soft glow of the room's lights, and you're rumbling in anticipation of what she's going to do next with it.
On the front, Minji stands up on the bed, resulting in you whining out of disappointment. Her tall figure, though, spellbinds your eyes â the muscles, the veins. God, she's a fucking treat. She pushes the lower half of her clothes down the rest of her rather long legs, eventually, and they rest on your chin. One more time, God, the fucking aroma of her dried sweat from her shorts and underwear. Each second of exposure alters your brain cells into these lechery-ridden units, one by one.
Minji is aware of your need for it, though, and she kicks her garments away onto the floor. Again, you whine in displeasure, but you don't move for it, not when they're trapping your legs and your head like this. Maybe, definitely, they'll grant you something far greater than Minji's sweat-soaked underwear.
"You really are a nasty little slut," Minji scoffs before sinking to her knees. And finally, you get to bask in the sight and scent of her cunt. She trims her hair neatly, not quite completely shaven clean. But to restate, it fucking makes you even more fucking feral. She's already glistening with her juice â wet. Then, there's the smell â the tart, sweaty smell of her pussy that almost knocks you out with how fast your heart has been beating for the taste of it.
Down under (not in Australia, just your dick), Hanni starts feeling your leaky, twitching cock with caution, drawing a line up your length, rubbing over your foreskin. You feel her hot breath against your body, making you quiver with apprehension.
"Perhaps I should just jerk you off and get this over with, gaffer," and you see Hanni smile and giggle devilishly through Minji's thigh gap.
You instantly negate, pointing at her, "I'll fucking drop you if you do that."
Hanni coos, still rubbing your cock, "I'll have to sit on the sideline for a while if you fuck my pussy, nonetheless."
Your brow tightens a bit. What the fuck is she talking about? Hernia?
"Come on, do you really think I'm gonna let your cum go to waste, gaffer? You don't like cumming inside your players?"
Oh.
Pregnancy.
Your brain is too fucked-out to protest against her words. And to be completely clear, you find the notion of unloading yourself inside Hanni's wanting cunt alluring as well.
Hanni doesn't make a show of taking off her shorts, instead yanking them and her panties down her legs in a haste. She climbs onto the bed before straddling you with her thighs. You cannot shift your legs freely now, not that you want to, though. Your eyes just take a look at whatever you can see through Minji's legs â the slim waist, the yummy thighs, the soaked cunt. You're so ready to let her fuck you up.
Up front, Minji starts running her hand through your hair, feeling the texture and the oiliness of your head. It has been a while since someone ruffled your hair like this. Your eyes roll up with bliss until Minji finally sinks down.
The taste of Minji's cunt explodes on your tongue at the first contact â salty, intense. "Fuck!" Minji groans from the depths of her lungs as you kiss her cunt, even if you're not quite moving your lips yet. The voice bounces all over the room. Let's hope the walls are thick here.
Hanni doesn't let up either, also lining your cock up against her wet opening. Your body squirms helplessly once she drops herself down ever so slowly. You try to thrust your hips up into her cunt as well, but Hanni pins you down with the strength of her hand. With each inch, you moan into Minji's pussy until you hilt inside Hanni. Fucking fuck, Hanni's cunt is just so fucking tight.
"Shit," Hanni utters with a little drag in her tone, "you're stretching my defenses wide, Coach."
And you can't really answer, too busy eating Minji's cunt. You appreciate the sentiment, still.
Hanni just stays there for a while, perchance feeling the way your cock pulses and throbs inside her. She tightens and loosens around your cock in a rhythm. You fucking swear that you can just cum right now, inside of Hanni fucking Pham.
Minji sets up the first grinding on your face, eventually, and you tag along with her movements by tongue-fucking her musky, sweaty cunt. You taste her inner walls, feeling how the muscles contract around your flesh, feeling how she pulses, feeling how she heaves. Minji keeps moaning out of the bliss she's feeling from your dexterity. You're an impressive pussy-eater, magnificent even!
With a few more thrusts of your tongue, Minji repositions herself slightly. She moves down until your tongue can't reach the inside of her cunt anymore, instead coming into contact with her clit, and that's when she groans even more raucously into the air that reeks of sweat and sex. Her body spasms on your face, and you can't help but keep stimulating her to climax.
Down south, Hanni begins grinding her pussy on your cock. She picks up her pace without relenting. Your eyes roll up with the pleasure of her walls contracting around your hard cock buried deep inside her. Hanni's moans come out more reserved than those of Minji's â less intensity, lower scale â as if their personalities are switched upon feeling the pleasure from your body. You don't mind, nevertheless, it's good to have two sweaty women riding you!
Hanni's hands grip your shirt firmly. The grinds become bounces. Your toes curl helplessly behind Hanni with the pleasure wracking through your cock, and Minji keeps suffocating you with her musky cunt. The wet claps of Hanni's delectable thighs against your hips echo all over the room â this revered sanctuary of your salacious act.
With the staggering sensation on your pliant body, you can feel your climax building up in your loins. Far, but rapidly approaching. Too quick for your own liking, but you are thankful for every second you've been below them. Thank you, god of sweaty sex, if there's one.
"I'm close," you rasp against Minji's flesh, voice all muffled by her cunt.
The response from Minji is that she ups her ante on your handsome face, determined to cum before you lose the desire for them. Her hand is still in your hair, almost yanking you back and forth under her pussy to control your cervical movements. Your head is slammed into the soft cushion of the bed repeatedly. It doesn't hurt, at least. Hanni rides your cock with even more haste, sending endless waves of bliss through your litheness. Your body becomes a mere fucktoy for the girls now, and you're ecstatic, really. Despite how rough it is, despite how careless they are, you still want to ask for more of Hanni bouncing on it crazy style, controlling your cock with an unmatched flair, and Minji smothering you with the salivating pungency of her cunt.
"Can I just shoot it into your face, huh?" Minji asks with a small chuckle.
You just nod profusely, so much need for her juice on your features, maybe even on your tongue.
Hanni's moans are still softer than Minji's, but you can sense them growing needier and less composed. Her delicious thighs feel so soft around your hips. Your pubic bone feels the tip of her fingers that are rubbing her sensitive spot in frantic circles.
"Don't fucking pull out, gaffer," Hanni manages, giggling mischievously. Her hands are, of course, pinning your pliable physique in place to keep you from spilling yourself outside of her womb.
You hum against Minji's core as a response to Hanni's demand.
Your inhibitions start collapsing under the weight of Hanni and Minji's barrage on your senses â sweat, their muscles, the softness of their flesh. Their descant moans fill your brain with endorphins that push you towards the brink of an earth-shattering climax. Your body cannot hold itself against their constant assaults anymore. Time to cum!
One last time, three things.
First, Minji's stamina and strength make her perfect for the box-to-box midfielder role.
Second, Hanni's vision and technique make her perfect for the deep-lying playmaker role.
Third, your timidity and submissiveness make you perfect as, for them, the seat role.
At the moment you unload yourself inside Hanni's cunt, your nerves are completely fried. You moan whorishly into Minji's body as your own pleasure ruins your axons and dendrites. Their moans bounce off the hopefully thick walls of their own room â Hanni's cute squeals and Minji's deep groans. Your cock spills and shoots ropes and jets of cum into Hanni. And on top of your body, she and Minji start gushing their girlcum onto you as they orgasm as well.
Minji's squirt enters your wanting mouth, and you can do nothing but accept her liquid down your throat â salty, musky. The act itself makes your eyes roll up with intense pleasure of swallowing Minji's pungent fluid. Its taste just fucking explodes on your tongue â unlike anything you've ever tasted. You're such a whore for her.
Hanni, still riding the hell out of your soul, lets out torrents of her juice onto your shirt, marking the garment as yours and hers. You feel this tickle in a similar vein to when water hits your stomach (duh). Her thighs strain, wrapping tightly around your hips as she cums, stopping you from involuntarily pulling out. The conception is obvious: she wants your baby!
The three of you descend from the peak eventually, slowly catching breaths as the tension deflates. Your body is utterly used and abused by your players. Their pussies are just otherworldly â tight, wet, punishing. Hanni's is milking your cock eagerly, and Minji's is smothering you with sharp tartness.
Minji lifts herself up a bit, returning to you the ability to talk freely. The air around your nostrils is still unmistakably her, but being granted such a gift is almost enough for you. Just almost, the sweat particles are still assaulting your lungs.
"Good thing you didn't scream, Siu, when you came," you humor.
"Red card for atrocious joke," Minji heartily sneers with her deep and somewhat now-raspy voice. She dismounts your face, finally, and you feel the air surrounding you return to the faint smell of their spring-like air freshener and just a hint of sex and sweat.
As Minji leaves your mouth and sits on the bed, Hanni comes into view fully for the first time tonight. You see a gush of your own cum leaking out of her wanton cunt, and she just giggles with a finger to her lips.
"Thanks for filling me up, gaffer," Hanni says before pulling herself off your cock. More cum drips out of her cunt onto you, though she doesn't bother stuffing your essence back inside her. "Gonna feel so good when your sperm pierces my egg."
You just look at her blankly as a response, unsure of what to say. Let's hope it's just the heat of the moment and she'll decide not to get pregnant with your baby.
"We should take a shower," Minji says.
"Together!" Hanni chimes in, and Minji just shrugs and smiles a little.
You sit up on the mattress with the power of your weak abs before following them into their bathroom for, certainly, perchance, a few rounds more of exploring one another's bodies.
Right at the door's threshold, however, Minji stops you for a heartbeat as Hanni enters the bathroom.
"Wait," she utters.
"What is it?"
She turns back to you, her height looking so towering here â majestic â and she pinches your cheek. A smile appears on her sweaty face. "Slut."
You just chuckle before Minji playfully drags you into the bathroom along with Hanni, ready to clean away the post-practice filth together.
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The elevator doors slide open on the fourth floor and the first thing you see is Kim Minjeong on her knees behind a ceramic plant pot.
You naturally arch a brow at the sight. She's crouched low, both hands gripping the rim of the pot like it's a trench wall, her entire body pressed against the fake fern sprouting out of it. She's wearing an oversized grey shirt that barely reaches mid-thigh - and from the way the fabric shifts when she moves, you're pretty damn sure that shirt is the only thing she has on. Her black hair is messy, half-falling over her face, and her bare feet are flat on the hallway tile.
You stop walking. You Blink. You tilt your head.
She hasn't noticed you yet. She's too busy peeking around the edge of the pot, neck craned, lips slightly parted, completely frozen in concentration. The hallway stretches in both directions, somewhere further down you can hear the faint sound of someone rummaging through a bag.
"So, goonette," you say, loud enough to echo off the walls, "what the fuck are you doing?"
Minjeong nearly leaves her body. She spins around so fast her hair whips across her face, grabs your wrist with both hands, and yanks you down to her level with a strength that should not exist in someone her size. Her eyes are wide, panicked, absolutely unhinged.
"Shut up," she hisses, pulling you behind the fern. "Shut up shut up shut up. She's right there."
You stumble forward, catching yourself on the wall. "Ow. What the hell, Minjeong?"
Minjeong jabs her finger down the hallway. You follow the direction and see a girl standing in front of an apartment door about six units down. She's got her back partially turned, one hand holding a tote bag while the other digs around inside a small leather purse. Even from this angle and this distance, you can tell she's gorgeous. Dark hair spilling past her shoulders, a cream-colored blouse tucked into a pleated skirt that stops well above the knee.
"That's her," Minjeong whispers. "Ning Yizhuo. The new neighbor."
"Okay. And?"
"And?" Minjeong stares at you like you just asked her what oxygen is. "And she's right there. In the hallway. Where I also am. At the same time."
"That's generally how hallways work."
"You don't understand." Minjeong shakes her head rapidly. "I can't let her see me. Not like this. I was waiting for you, I heard footsteps, I opened my door and she was already out here, and I just," she gestures at the plant pot, "improvised."
You look at the plant pot. You look at Minjeong, a grown woman in nothing but an oversized shirt, hiding behind fake foliage in a well-lit public corridor.
"This is the worst improvisation I've ever seen."
"Shut up."
"You don't even fit behind this thing. Your whole left shoulder is sticking out."
"I said shut up." She tugs on your sleeve again. "Look at her. Look at that skirt. Are you looking?"
You glance back down the hallway. The girl, Ning Yizhuo, apparently, shifts her weight from one foot to the other while she searches for her keys, and the movement makes the pleated skirt sway against her thighs.
"Yeah, she's hot. So go talk to her."
âAre you out of your FUCKING mind?" she whispers sharply.
"It's 2026, Minjeong. Lesbians have some privileges now. You can say hi to a pretty girl without being burned at the stake."
"I can't just go talk to her."
"You literally can. You walk over there, you open your mouth, and you say hey, I live in 69, nice to meet you."
"No. No no no no." She's shaking her head so hard her hair whips back and forth. "She's too beautiful. She's too perfect. Every time I see her I forget how to be a person. The first time I greeted her, I said 'day nice you'. Last week she smiled at me in the lobby and I walked into a glass door. A glass door. In front of her. She watched me do it."
"Jesus Christ."
"I'm in love with her and she thinks I'm brain damaged."
You open your mouth to respond, but then something shifts in the hallway. Ning has stopped digging through her purse. She's looking up. She's looking your way.
Minjeong suddenly drops flat onto her stomach behind the plant, and judging by the noise, it definitely hurt.
You're still half-standing, fully visible, and now there's a very pretty girl staring directly at you from twenty feet away with a slightly confused expression on her face.
"Hi?" Ning calls out. She takes a small step forward, tilting her head. Her face is even prettier up close. Round cheeks, full lips, a little furrow between her brows that somehow makes her look both concerned and adorable. "Are you lost?"
"No," you say, straightening up and trying to look like a normal human being who was not just crouching behind a plant with a half-naked girl. "I'm visiting a friend. Apartment 69. You know if she's home?"
Ning's expression softens. "Oh, the girl in 69? I don't know, honestly. I don't see her very often." Behind the pot, Minjeong clenches her jaw so hard you can almost hear her teeth creak. "She seems nice, though. Quiet. Try your luck, I guess."
"Thanks. I will."
Ning gives you a small wave and a smile that, yeah, okay, you understand why Minjeong is losing her entire mind. It's a very good smile. Warm and a little bit shy.
"Bye," Ning says, and then she finds her keys, unlocks her door, and disappears inside.
The hallway goes quiet. You count to three. "She's gone."
Minjeong rises from behind the pot like a vampire emerging from a coffin. Her face is bright red. Her shirt has ridden up on one side, exposing the curve of her hip, and she doesn't even notice. She just stands there, staring at Ning's closed door, mouth slightly open. You grab her arm and steer her toward apartment 69. She lets you. She's basically on autopilot at this point, shuffling along beside you in bare feet, still looking over her shoulder.
The second you're both inside and the door clicks shut behind you, she leans against the wall and slides down until she's sitting on the floor. "I'm a loser."
"Yep."
"A complete loser."
"The most pathetic dom I've ever met." You kick off your shoes and step past her into the apartment, placing your jacket on the arm of the sofa. It's messy in the way Minjeong's place is always messy, not dirty, just chaotic; a hoodie draped over a chair, three half-empty water bottles on the coffee table, her laptop open on the couch with what you suspect is Ning's Instagram still loaded on the screen. "You can choke me out and make me call you mommy but you can't say hi to a girl in a skirt."
"Shut up."
"You said that already."
"Then shut up again." She pulls her knees up to her chest. The shirt rides higher. She's definitely not wearing anything underneath it, and frankly, you already knew that because this is how it works with you two. She knew you were coming over. She was ready. And then Ning happened and now she's sitting on her own floor having an existential crisis instead of riding your face like she planned.
"Are you horny?" you ask.
She looks up at you with the most offended expression ever. "Of course I'm horny, idiot. I was standing meters away from her. I could smell her perfume. I'm soaked."
"Great. Take it out on me. That's what I'm here for."
That flush on her neck deepens, crawls up to her cheeks, and the corner of her mouth curls into something that isn't quite a smile. It's more like a switch being flipped. One second she's a puddle of useless gay panic on the floor, and the next she's looking at you the way she looks at you when she wants to break you apart.
"Yeah," she says, and just like that, there she is: The Kim Minjeong who knows exactly what she wants and exactly how to take it. "That is a great idea."
This is the thing about your arrangement with Kim Minjeong: you've been fucking for about eight months now, no strings, no feelings, just a mutually beneficial deal that started at a house party where she got drunk, told you she needed someone to use when she was stressed, and you said sure, because you're a simple man with simple needs and she's objectively one of the hottest women you've ever met. No romance. Never has been.
You keep calling her a lesbian, though sheâs technically bi â she just prefers women every time. Men are just recreational, tools for her pleasure (and youâre no exception).
She's a dom through and through. With women, she's terrifying. Commanding, controlled, but with you, the dynamic bends. She tops, sure, most of the time, but there's a flexibility to it. A give and take. She likes that you can pick her up. She likes that you push back, that you don't just fold the second she gives an order. She'll never admit it, but sometimes she wants to be the one getting thrown around, and you're the only person she trusts enough to let that happen.
Dom with girls. A bratty little thing with you (when she feels like it).
You don't give her time to get up on her own. You close the distance in two steps, bend down, and scoop her off the floor. She yelps as you throw her over your shoulder like a sack of rice. Her bare thighs press against the side of your face and her fists smack against your back.
"Put me down! I'm the dom here. You can't just manhandle me."
"You're only a dom with other girls." You adjust your grip on her legs, one hand firm on the back of her thigh, the other settled on her lower back, and start walking toward the bedroom. "With me, you're still a submissive little slut."
"Only sometimes," she fires back, but she's laughing, her body shaking against your shoulder, that yelp of surprise already dissolving into breathless giggles that she's trying (and failing) to suppress. Her fingers grab onto the back of your shirt for balance. "This is so undignified. I'm supposed to be intimidating."
"You were hiding behind a plant pot thirty seconds ago. The intimidation ship has sailed."
"I will kill you."
"After I make you cum, maybe."
She smacks the back of your head playfully.
You carry her into the bedroom and throw her onto the mattress. She bounces once, twice, hair splaying out around her head, shirt bunched up around her waist. You were right. Nothing underneath. Just Minjeong, flushed and bare from the waist down, propped up on her elbows, looking at you with that dangerous half-smile that means she's already deciding how she wants this to go.
"What a gentleman," she says, spreading her legs just slightly wider against the sheets.
You pull your shirt over your head and toss it somewhere behind you and then you're climbing onto the bed, climbing onto her, one knee between her thighs and both hands planted on either side of her head.
Minjeong watches you the whole time. That half-smile still there, lazy and sharp at the same time, her eyes tracking you as you settle your weight over her. She doesn't move to take control. Not yet. She just lies there with her hair fanned out on the pillow and that stupid oversized shirt bunched around her ribs, bare from the waist down, waiting.
You kiss her. She smiles against your mouth. You can feel the curve of it, the way her lips pull tight before they soften and open for you. Her hand comes up to the back of your neck, nails dragging lightly through the hair there, and she tilts her chin up to press closer. It's slow. Familiar. You've done this enough times to know exactly how Minjeong kisses when she's wound up (desperate, messy, like she's trying to crawl inside you) versus how she kisses when she's settling in (languid, teasing, every movement calculated). This is somewhere in between. She's keyed up from the hallway but trying to play it cool, and you can feel the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers grip just a little too hard on your neck.
You drop your mouth to her throat. Her pulse hammers against your lips. You drag a slow kiss along the tendon there, down to the junction of her neck and shoulder, and that's where you find it. A faded bruise, yellowish-purple at the edges, right above her collarbone. Your work from last Tuesday.
"Still got it," you murmur against the mark.
"It takes forever to fade on me. I've been wearing turtlenecks like a catholic school teacher."
You press your lips to the hickey, then to her jaw, then to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek. You pause there. Pull back just enough to look at her.
Kim Minjeong's face is something else. It really is. The bone structure alone is borderline unfair. But up close like this, with her hair messy and her cheeks flushed and her pupils blown wide, there's a softness to her that the sharpness can't hide. Long lashes. Lips bitten pink. She looks, in this moment, genuinely cute. Sweet, even. Innocent. And nobody in the world would guess that this girl has a strap-on collection organized by size in her closet and once made you edge for forty-five minutes while she ate a sandwich.
Your hand slides down. Over the bunched-up shirt, across the flat plane of her stomach, past the dip of her navel. She doesn't flinch, doesn't tense. Just watches you with those dark eyes, lips slightly parted, breathing steady but shallow. Your fingers trail through the thin strip of trimmed hair between her legs and then lower, and the second you make contact, the truth of her situation becomes very, very clear.
She's not just wet. She's slick. Swollen. Her lips are puffy against your fingertips, flushed and hot, and when you drag two fingers through the length of her slit you can feel the slickness coat your skin in a single pass. Eight months of sleeping with this girl and you know what each level of turned on feels like, and this is top tier. This is "I stood three feet from my crush and smelled her perfume and now my brain is soup" levels of arousal.
You press your mouth back to hers. Her tongue meets yours immediately, sliding warm and slow, and you keep your hand where it is, fingers resting against her, not entering, not pressing, just there.
"I love seeing you like this," you say between kisses, your lips brushing hers with every syllable. "All silly. All lovestruck. It's hard to even recognize you."
"Fuck off."
"Seriously. You're like a different person. The girl who sat on my face last week and told me I wasn't allowed to breathe until she finished would never hide behind a plant pot."
"You don't understand." She bites your lower lip, not gently. "Ning doesn't just mess with me. She messes with me on a cellular level. Like, my DNA rearranges when she's nearby. I become a different organism."
"That's the most dramatic thing you've ever said, and you once cried because a girl at a bar had pretty collarbones."
"She did have pretty collarbones." Minjeong shifts her hips, pressing herself against your still-motionless fingers. "And I didn't cry. My eyes watered."
She pushes against your chest. Not hard, but with intent, and you know this cue well enough to roll with it. You let her flip the position, your back hitting the mattress, and she's on her side next to you in an instant. But she doesn't climb on top of you. Doesn't straddle you. Instead, she twists around toward the nightstand, reaching for her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Making you understand."
Her free hand finds your waistband. She tugs your pants down with a single efficient yank, underwear included, because Minjeong has never had patience for steps. Your cock springs free, already hard. She wraps her fingers around the base without even looking, thumb pressed against the underside, grip firm and familiar. Then she settles beside you, shoulder pressed to yours, and holds the phone up so you can both see the screen.
Ning's Instagram. Already open. Already loaded.
"Have you just... had this open? The whole time?"
"Don't worry about it." She scrolls up with her thumb. The grid fills with photos, and even in tiny square thumbnails you can tell this girl knows what she's doing with a camera. "Look. Everyone thinks she's this sweet little shy thing. And yeah, on the surface, sure. She posts these cute little aesthetic shots, coffee cups, sunsets, book stacks. But then."
She taps on a photo. It loads full-screen.
Ning, sitting on a windowsill, sunlight hitting her from behind. She's wearing a white tank top and shorts, legs crossed, chin tilted up. The light makes the tank top just translucent enough to show the shadow of her bra underneath. Her expression is serene. Very innocent.
"See? See that? She knows exactly what she's doing with that angle." Minjeong's hand starts moving on your cock. Slow, steady strokes, her grip twisting slightly at the head the way she knows you like. Her eyes don't leave the phone screen. "And this one." She swipes. New photo. Ning at what looks like a rooftop bar, leaning forward on a railing, wearing a low-cut top that compresses her tits together into a line of cleavage that is impossible not to look at. She's laughing at something off-camera, completely natural, completely devastating. "She posted this at eleven PM on a Wednesday," Minjeong says, her thumb swiping again, her other hand maintaining that maddening rhythm on your shaft. "Eleven PM. On a Wednesday. Who posts cleavage at eleven PM on a Wednesday?"
"Someone who looks good and wants people to know."
"Exactly. She's not innocent. She's a little slut who likes showing off. And everyone in her comments is like oh so pretty queen gorgeous and she replies with little heart emojis like she isn't fully aware that she's making people lose their minds."
She swipes again. And again. A photo of Ning at the beach in a bikini, a selfie where she's biting her lower lip and looking directly into the lens. A gym photo (sports bra, leggings, glistening with sweat, the absolute audacity of this woman). Each one, Minjeong narrates like she's giving a museum tour of her own personal torment.
Then she stops scrolling. Taps on one photo. Holds the phone closer. This one is different.
Ning took it with the phone behind her, catching the reflection in a full-length mirror. She's standing in what looks like her bedroom. She's wearing a dress. Tight. Short. White fabric that clings to every curve, hemline barely reaching mid-thigh. But that's not the part that makes your cock twitch in Minjeong's hand. It's the fabric itself. Slightly sheer. Just enough that you can make out, underneath the dress, the outline of her underwear. The faint color difference where the material thins over her ass. And her ass, in this photo, is the absolute center of gravity. Round. Full. The exactly kind of shape that the dress was designed to showcase, every inch hugged tight.
Minjeong's grip tightens on you. Her strokes get slower. She's savoring both the image and your reaction simultaneously.
"Look at that," she murmurs. "Look at her ass. It's so round. So tight. Do you see how the dress barely holds it? And those panties showing through, she knew. She absolutely knew when she put that dress on."
"Yeah," you manage, because her thumb is doing something truly unfair to the head of your cock right now.
"I think about this photo at least three times a day. Minimum. I've zoomed in. I've screenshotted it. I'm not proud of any of this."
"You shouldn't be."
"But look at it." She tilts the screen again, like you somehow missed it. "That's my neighbor. That ass is twenty feet from my front door at any given time. That ass takes out the trash. That ass rides the elevator. That ass exists in the same building as me and I haven't touched it and I might actually die from that fact."
You turn your head to look at her. Her cheeks are red. Her lips are wet. Her hand hasn't stopped moving. "So what are you gonna do about it?"
Her strokes falter for half a second, that same panicked expression from the hallway, the one that turns her from a confident dom into a disaster lesbian in zero-point-five seconds flat. Then she recovers, keeps stroking, and lets out a long exhale through her nose. "Nothing. Yet."
"I honestly expected a little more confidence from you."
"I need courage! I need time. I need to figure out if she even likes girls, and I need to do that without accidentally liking one of her posts from 2024 at four AM, which, yes, has almost happened."
"God, you're hopeless."
"I know." She swipes back to the mirror photo. Stares at it. Her hand squeezes your cock, slow and tight. "For now I can only fantasize about her. About what I'd do if she let me. What she'd sound like. What she'd look like underneath all those little outfits." She locks the phone and drops it on the mattress. Turns her head to look at you. "But I've got you for now." Her hand twists on the upstroke. "So let me use you until I figure the rest out.â
âI'm all yours, babe.â
Minjeong smiles at that, then lets go of your cock and grabs the hem of her shirt and peels it off in one smooth motion, tossing it behind her. It lands somewhere on the floor, probably on top of your shirt, and now there's nothing between the two of you.
You've seen her naked plenty of times. Eight months of this arrangement means the novelty of nudity itself wore off around month two. But Minjeong's body is still something worth looking at, and you let yourself look while she shifts on the bed, swinging one leg over your hips to straddle you. She's small. That's the thing that always catches you off guard, every single time, the sheer smallness of her. Narrow shoulders, a waist you can almost span with both hands, ribs you can count when she arches her back.
Her tits are on the smaller side, firm and round, nipples already stiff, small rosy peaks, puffy and firm. Her stomach is flat, tight, the faint outline of muscle there not from any disciplined gym routine but from the kind of lean genetics that some people luck into. Her hip bones jut out just slightly, two subtle ridges that frame the space between her legs like brackets.
She's tiny. She's maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. And she runs your entire sex life with an iron fist.
Minjeong settles her weight on your hips, her bare pussy pressing flat against the length of your cock. She's so wet that you can feel it immediately, hot slickness spreading against your shaft, coating the underside as she shifts her hips in a slow experimental grind. Her thighs tense on either side of you. She reaches down, wraps her fingers around your cock, lifts herself up just enough to position you, and then she sinks.
It's one fluid motion. No teasing, no hesitation, just Minjeong dropping her hips and taking you to the base in a single stroke. Her pussy swallows you whole, tight and soaked and burning hot, inner walls clenching around you as her weight settles into your lap. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second, lips pressing together, and then she exhales slowly through her nose and opens her eyes again.
She looks down at you. And gives you the most mischievous fucking smile you've ever seen on a human face.
It's the kind of expression that shouldn't be legal on someone this small, this cute, this outwardly innocent-looking. Her eyes are narrowed into pleased little crescents. She knows she looks good up there. She knows the visual of her tiny frame perched on top of you, back straight, shoulders back, every compact inch of her on display, is doing exactly what it's supposed to do to your brain.
Then she starts to move. Lazy rolls of her hips, grinding more than bouncing, working her clit against your pelvic bone with each forward push. You reach up and touch her face. Your thumb traces along her cheekbone, down to the corner of her mouth, and she turns her head just enough to catch it between her lips. Sucks it in to the first knuckle, tongue swirling around the pad, cheeks hollowing slightly. Her eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, still rolling her hips in that maddening rhythm.
She lets your thumb go with a soft sound and settles into a steady pace. Her pussy clenches around you every time she pushes forward, that grinding motion spreading her slick all over the base of your cock, making everything obscenely wet.
"So," you say, resting both hands on her thighs, "how was your day?"
"Fine. It was a good day, actually."
"Tell me more."
"Worked until like four. Nothing crazy, just emails and a presentation that nobody's going to read." She punctuates this with a particularly firm grind, her clit dragging hard against you, and her eyelids flutter. "Then I came home and played Burnout Revenge."
"The racing game?"
"PS2 classic. I'm running it through an emulator with upscaling to 4K. The textures hold up surprisingly well, actually. The crash physics are still unmatched in the genre, and at higher resolution you can really appreciate the particle effects during takedowns."
"That was extremely specific. Anything else?"
She bites her lip. The rhythm of her hips hasn't faltered once during this entire conversation, steady and practiced, she could probably fuck you and file her taxes at the same time. "And, obviously, I kept gooning to Ning."
"Obviously."
"The usual routine. Went through her tagged photos. Found a TikTok where she's doing that stretching trend. Watched it nine times. Locked my phone. Unlocked it. Watched it four more times." She rolls her hips in a tight circle that makes your fingers dig into her thighs. "Came twice thinking about her sitting on my face. Showered. Then you texted."
"So your evening was: vintage racing games, cyberstalking, and masturbating."
"Don't judge me."
"I'm not judging. Just a goonette living her best life. Gotta respect it."
She leans forward, planting her hands on your chest again, and the angle shifts. Now she's bouncing, lifting her hips until just the tip stays inside and dropping back down with a wet slap of skin. Her tits sway with the motion small enough that it's more of a jiggle, barely there, but you watch it anyway because she's gorgeous. Her stomach flexes with each rise and fall. The muscles in her thighs work visibly under her skin.
"She posted a story today," Minjeong continues, slightly breathless now but still committed to the conversation. "Just a mirror selfie. Gym clothes. Sports bra and those tiny shorts. You could see the outline of her..."
"Her what?"
"Her pussy." Minjeong says it like she's confessing a mortal sin. "Through the shorts. Just the shape. The seam was sitting right between her lips and I almost threw my phone across the room."
"You're unwell."
"I'm aware." She sits up straight and grinds down hard, taking you as deep as possible, and her jaw goes tight for a second. Her cunt is soaked, absolutely drenched, and every movement makes a slick, filthy sound that fills the space between sentences. "I screenshot it. I have it saved in a separate album. With the other forty-seven screenshots."
"Forty-seven."
"Don't start."
You slide your hands up from her thighs to her waist, gripping that narrow frame, thumbs pressing into the soft skin below her ribs. She feels impossibly small in your hands, fragile almost, and the dissonance between that and the way she's currently milking your cock with practiced efficiency is something you'll never fully get used to.
She plants her palms flat on your abs and picks up the pace. Faster now, less grinding and more fucking, her hips snapping down with intent. Her pussy is clenching in uneven pulses, tight enough that you can feel every ridge of her, every slick fold gripping your shaft on the outstroke. A strand of her black hair sticks to her forehead with sweat. Her cheeks are flushed dark pink.
"Ning. Tell me what you'd do if you had her. All of it."
That glassy, faraway look sharpens into focus, and the corner of her mouth twitches upward. She leans down, chest pressing against yours, and kisses you, her lips brush yours when she talks. "You want to hear it?"
"Every detail."
She rolls her hips once, grinding your cock against her front wall, and exhales warm against your mouth. "Okay. So first, I'd take my time. I wouldn't rush her." Her hips find a rhythm again, slow circular grinds, keeping you deep while she talks. You thrust up to meet her, a steady push from below, and her breath hitches before she continues. "I'd get her on this bed. Right here. And I'd just kiss her for a while. Like, actually kiss her. I want to know what her mouth tastes like. I want to learn the shape of her lips with mine." She kisses you again, brief, punctuating the thought. "Then I'd undress her. Slowly. I'd take that little skirt off first and just look at her legs. Run my hands up her thighs. Feel how soft she is."
"Romantic."
"Shut up, I'm getting there." She grinds down harder, her clit catching against your pelvic bone, and her jaw tightens for a second before she keeps going. "I'd kiss down her neck. Her collarbones. I'd pull her bra off and put my mouth on her tits. She's got perfect tits, you saw the photos. I'd suck on her nipples until she's squirming and pulling my hair."
You thrust up into her, firm and steady, and she gasps against your lips. Her pussy clenches around you, soaked and tight, and you feel her arousal running down your shaft onto your thighs. She's dripping.
"Then I'd go lower. Kiss her stomach. Bite her hip bones. And when I finally got between her legs..." Minjeong's breathing is heavier now, her hips grinding with more urgency. "I'd make her wait. I'd kiss the insides of her thighs. Breathe on her pussy without touching it. Let her feel how close my mouth is. She'd be begging by then."
"You think?"
"I know. She'd be grabbing the sheets and whining and pushing her hips up, trying to get my mouth on her." Minjeong bites your lower lip, tugging gently. "And I'd look up at her and say, 'Ask nicely.' And she would. She'd say please in that sweet little tone and I'd finally put my tongue on her clit and she'd lose her fucking mind."
You grip her hips and pull her down onto the next thrust, burying yourself to the hilt, and she moans against your mouth. A shaky, breathy thing that she immediately tries to talk over.
"I'd eat her pussy until she came on my face. I'd drink every drop." Her fingers curl against your chest, nails pressing crescents into your skin. "And then I wouldn't stop. I'd keep going. She'd be sensitive and twitching and trying to close her legs but I'd hold her open and keep licking until she came again."
"That's just foreplay?"
"That's just the beginning." Minjeong sits up slightly, just enough to change the angle, and sinks back down with a wet sound that echoes in the room. Her pussy grips you impossibly tight as she adjusts. "After that, I'd flip her over. Get her on her hands and knees. And I'd take my time looking at her from behind. That ass, spread open for me, her pussy swollen and wet and dripping down her thighs."
She's riding you harder now, the tempo picking up. Her thighs flex against your sides with each stroke, her abs clenching as she grinds forward. You match her rhythm from below, fucking up into her.
"I'd spit on her pussy." She says it right against your lips, no hesitation. "I'd watch it drip down. Then I'd finger her. Two fingers, deep, curling right against that spot. I'd finger-fuck her until her arms gave out and she collapsed face-first into the pillow."
"And the strap?"
Her eyes light up. Literally brighten, like you just said the magic word. "The strap! Oh, I'd make her earn the strap. She'd have to suck it first. Get on her knees in front of me and take it in her throat. Get it nice and wet while looking up at me. And I'd hold her hair and tell her she's a good girl."
She kisses you again, messy and open, all tongue and shared breath. When she breaks away, a thin string of saliva connects your lips for a second before it breaks. "Then I'd fuck her. Start slow. Let her feel every inch going in. And then I'd grab her hips and rail her until she screamed. I'd pull her hair and smack her ass and call her my little whore and she'd love it, she'd take it so well, she'd push back onto me begging for more."
You thrust up hard enough to make her yelp. She recovers instantly, grinding down, chasing the friction against her clit with desperate, needy movements.
"But here's the thing. That's all just the beginning. The real plan is bigger."
"Bigger how?"
"I'm going to turn her into a pet."
"A pet?â
"A kitten." She says it with absolute conviction. "I'm going to slowly, methodically, lovingly transform Ning into my personal kitten." She grinds down on you, rotating her hips in a tight circle that makes your toes curl, and keeps talking like she's not currently fucking you into the mattress. "I still have that collar. The one with the little bell. I bought it over a year ago and never used it because I never found the right person." Her pussy clenches around your cock, rhythmic, pulsing. "Ning is the right person. I'm going to put that collar around her pretty neck and hear that little bell jingle every time she moves. Every time she crawls to me."
"Crawls."
"On her hands and knees. Like a good kitten." She licks her lips. "First, the collar. Let her get used to wearing it. Sleep in it. Feel it against her throat all day and think about who it belongs to. About who she belongs to."
Your hands slide up her thighs, gripping her waist as you keep thrusting into her from below. She's dripping down your shaft, her arousal coating the insides of her thighs, making everything slippery and filthy.
"Then the ears. Cute little cat ears on a headband. She'd wear them when she comes over. Take off her shoes at the door and put on her ears and become my kitten." Minjeong's riding is getting erratic, less controlled, her body chasing something. "And finally... the tail."
"Tail?"
"Anal plug. With a tail attached. Long, fluffy, the kind that sways when she walks." Her eyes are glazed, dark, gone somewhere deep inside her own fantasy. "She'd wear all three. Collar with the bell. Ears. Tail. And she'd kneel at my feet and purr while I pet her hair and tell her she's the prettiest kitten in the whole world."
She drops her forehead against yours, breathing hard, her hips slamming down onto you with increasing desperation.
"A slow metamorphosis," she pants. "Step by step. From the sweet neighbor into my perfect little pet. Exactly like Kafka."
That makes you pause mid-thrust. "Kafka?"
"The Metamorphosis. Gregor Samsa wakes up transformed. Ning's transformation is just more... intentional. Guided. Consensual."
"I really don't think Kafka's book is about pet play, Minjeong."
She sits up, still riding you, still grinding, her pussy clenching in those telltale uneven spasms that mean she's getting close, and gives you a look of genuine academic offense.
"It doesn't matter. Let me tell you a secret about art: once a work is published, it no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to the public. And the public draws its own interpretation." She punctuates this with a hard grind that nearly makes you choke. "A work of art depends on its creator to be born, but once it's finished, its existence no longer depends on the creator. Barthes wrote about this. The death of the author."
"Youâre pushing this concept to another level."
âIf there are two things I take seriously, itâs literature and smut." Her thighs are shaking now, trembling visibly, and her rhythm is falling apart. She's close and trying to hold the conversation together through sheer stubbornness. "So yes. I'm going to give Ning a metamorphosis. A beautiful, filthy, calculated metamorphosis. From girl to kitten."
You grab her hips and pull her down hard, thrusting up into her, and her composure cracks. Her head drops back, her nails rake down your chest, and her pussy clamps around you like a fist. "Well," you manage, "better a kitten than an insect, I guess."
She laughs (or tries to, it comes out strangled and thin) and then you grab her thighs and flip her. One smooth motion, you've done this enough times to know how she folds, and suddenly she's on her back beneath you, black hair splayed across the pillow, legs wrapped around your waist, looking up at you with glassy, unfocused eyes and a mouth that won't stop running.
You slide back into her and she arches off the mattress. "Keep talking," you tell her, setting a deep, steady pace. "Tell me where I fit in."
Her arms loop around your neck, pulling you close, her lips brushing against your ear while you fuck her. "You'd be there. When I have her. I'd make you fuck her while I watch."
"Yeah?"
"On her back. Legs spread. I'd hold them open for you and watch your cock slide into her pretty little cunt." She clenches around you, hard, her heels digging into the small of your back. "I'd tell you how fast to go. When to stop. When to keep going. She'd look at me the whole time, begging me with those big eyes, and I'd just pet her hair and tell her to take it."
You pound into her harder and she gasps, fingernails raking down your shoulders.
"And when I'm done watching, I'd climb over her face and sit on it. Make her eat me out while you fuck her." Her hips are rocking up to meet every thrust, her pussy so wet you can hear it with every stroke, slick and obscene. "And I'd cum on her. I'd squirt all over her gorgeous face and her neck and her tits and she'd be dripping with it, covered in me, and she'd fucking love it."
"What about me?"
Her legs tighten around you. She's trembling, her whole body vibrating with tension, and her sentences are coming out fragmented, breathless. "You'd pull out of her pussy and jerk off on her face. All of it. Every drop. I want to see her pretty face painted with your cum. And then I'd lean down and lick it all off. Every streak. From her forehead to her chin. And I'd kiss her and push it into her mouth and she'd swallow it and thank me."
You drive into her deep, grinding, and her back arches so hard only her shoulders and hips are touching the mattress. "We'd take turns. I'd fuck her with the strap until she's screaming and then hand her to you. You'd fuck her throat until she's gagging and then give her back to me. Back and forth. Like she's ours. Our little toy. Our perfect little..."
Her sentence dies. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and you feel it before she says anything. Her pussy locks down around your cock in rhythmic, convulsive pulses, tight enough to make you grit your teeth. Her thighs clamp against your ribs. Her nails break skin on your shoulders. Her whole body goes rigid, suspended, every muscle drawn taut like a wire.
Then she breaks. The orgasm tears through her in waves. She shakes underneath you, her hips bucking upward, riding it out on your cock while incoherent sounds spill from her throat. Not moans, not screams, something between the two. Raw, guttural, the sound of someone who's been edging herself mentally for weeks on fantasies about her neighbor and finally found the right release valve). Her pussy flutters and grips and releases and grips again, milking your shaft in spasms that you feel all the way to the base of your spine.
You don't stop. You fuck her through it, pace relentless, chasing your own finish now. She's boneless beneath you, still twitching through aftershocks, oversensitive and whimpering every time you bottom out. Her hands slide weakly down your arms, grip failing, body completely spent.
It hits you thirty seconds later. That tight coil in your gut snaps and you pull out just in time, fist around your shaft, pumping hard. The first rope lands across her stomach, thick and hot against her skin. The second catches her ribs. The third drips between her tits, pooling in the dip of her sternum. She watches the whole thing with heavy-lidded eyes and a lazy, satisfied smile, her fingers trailing through the mess on her stomach, smearing it across her skin like lotion. "I love that," she murmurs. "I love feeling it land on me."
You collapse next to her. Both of you are breathing like you just finished a sprint. Minjeong stares at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, your cum drying on her skin in streaks.
"That was good," she says eventually.
"Yeah."
Silence for a few seconds. Comfortable. Then you roll your head to look at her.
"Take a quick shower."
She frowns. "Why the urgency?"
"Because while you're in there, I'm going to invite Ning over."
Minjeong sits up so fast she almost headbutts you. "Like, now? Right now?!"
"Right now."
"I'm not prepared. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I have cum on my stomach. My hair is a disaster. I haven't mentally rehearsed any conversation starters. I don't even have snacks."
âShower. Fix your hair. Put on something cute. I'll handle the rest."
She stares at you with the wide, panicked eyes of someone who's just been told their execution has been moved up. "What are you going to say to her?"
You shrug. "I'll improvise."
"That's the worst possible answer you could have given me!"
"Shower. Now. Go."
She goes. Reluctantly, trailing protests down the hallway, but she goes. You hear the bathroom door close, then the water start. You give yourself sixty seconds to pull your pants on, check your hair in the hallway mirror, and walk out of apartment 69.
Apartment 71 is right there. Two doors down. You knock. Footsteps. A pause (probably checking the peephole). Then the door swings open, and there's Ning.
She's changed since the hallway encounter. The skirt is gone, replaced by fitted jeans and a black blouse that you immediately cannot stop noticing. It's sheer. Not fully transparent, but enough that the dark outline of her bra is visible underneath and her hair is down, slightly wavy, framing that face.
"Oh, hi! You're the guy from earlier." She leans against the doorframe, smiling. "Did you find your friend?"
"I did, yeah. She was home."
"Good." Ning tilts her head. "So what's up?"
"Okay, this might sound random, but Minjeong and I ended up buying way too many drinks and it seems stupid for just two people to go through all of it. You want to come over? Just casual, hanging out, nothing weird."
Ning's eyebrows lift. "Minjeong invited me?"
"Basically, yeah."
"That's... huh." She crosses her arms, but not defensively. More like she's processing. "I thought she didn't like me very much, honestly. I always got the feeling she was avoiding me. Like, every time I see her in the hallway she kind of... disappears?"
You almost laugh. "No, she's just shy. Genuinely. She's one of those people who comes across as distant but really she's just terrible at starting conversations."
"Really?"
"Really. She actually thinks you're super nice. Talks about you a lot." (Understatement of the century.) "She'd love to get to know you better, she just doesn't know how to make the first move."
Ning's smile shifts. Wider, softer, and there's a pink flush creeping up her neck that she probably doesn't realize you can see. "That's actually really sweet. I've been wanting to talk to her too, I just didn't want to bother her if she wasn't interested."
"Trust me. She's interested."
Ning tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, glances back into her apartment for a second and then looks back at you. "Yeah, okay. Let me grab my phone. Give me like two minutes."
"Take your time. Apartment 69, whenever you're ready."
She grins. "Be right there."
You lean against the wall outside apartment 71, hands in your pockets, waiting. Through the open door you can hear Ning moving around inside (a drawer opening, something falling, a muttered "where did I put it"). She reappears thirty seconds later, phone in hand, slipping on a pair of white sneakers by the door.
"Ready," she announces, pulling the door shut behind her.
You walk her the ten steps to apartment 69. It's not a long journey. Ning could have done it alone. But you're the wingman tonight, and wingmen escort. You push the door open and step aside to let her in first. She crosses the threshold at the exact moment Minjeong rounds the corner from the hallway, freshly showered, hair still slightly damp at the ends, wearing a cropped tank top and the shortest pair of cotton shorts you've ever seen on a human being. Her legs look freshly moisturized. She smells like peach body wash from three meters away.
She sees Ning.
Ning sees her.
Minjeongâs expression glitches in real time. Shock. Panic. A vacant reboot stare. And finally, a smile pulled so tight it looks less like happiness and more like muscle strain.
"Hi," Ning says brightly, giving a small wave. "I hope it's okay that I came over. Your friend said you guys had too many drinks?"
Minjeong's eyes slide to you. There is murder in them. Pure, concentrated, premeditated murder. Then she looks back at Ning and the strained smile returns. "Yeah. Totally. So many drinks. Come in."
You close the door and head straight for the kitchen. "Let me check what we're working with." You open Minjeong's refrigerator. The interior is depressingly sparse (condiments, leftover rice in a container, half a lemon wrapped in plastic, and three cans of beer lined up on the bottom shelf). "We have a total of... three beers."
You grab all three, carry them to the living room, and distribute one to each person. Ning takes hers, looks at the single can in her hand, then looks at you.
"I thought you said there were too many?"
"Three beers is way too much for two people... if you don't think about it."
Ning considers this logic. Decides not to challenge it. Cracks her can open.
The three of you sit on the couch. Minjeong on one end, Ning on the other, you in the middle like a human buffer zone. Complete silence. You can hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a car alarm goes off and stops. Minjeong takes a sip of beer. Ning takes a sip of beer. You take a sip of beer.
"Is that TV new?" you ask Minjeong, gesturing at the wall.
She follows your gesture. Stares at the blank wall. Looks back at you. "There's no TV there."
"Oh. You're right. My bad."
More silence. Ning clears her throat. "This beer is good," she offers. "It's really... cold."
"I like cold beer," you say.
"Me too," Minjeong adds. "Water as well. And soda. Anything cold. I like cold liquids in general."
You have never in your life wanted to leave a room more than you do right now.
"So," Ning says, turning slightly to face both of you, "how did you two meet?"
"Mutual friends," you say at the same time Minjeong says "Mutual friends." You glance at each other. At least you're synchronized on the cover story. The real story involves a house party, four shots of tequila, and Minjeong whispering something in your ear so filthy you nearly choked on an ice cube. But Ning doesn't need that information right now.
"That's nice," Ning says. "I don't really know anyone in the building yet. I moved here about three weeks ago."
"Where from?" you ask.
"Across town. I chose this place because it's closer to the university."
"Cool," Minjeong says. Then nothing.
This isn't going anywhere. The conversation has the energy of a dentist's waiting room. Ning is being polite, Minjeong is buffering, and you're running out of observations about temperature-sensitive beverages.
Time to go nuclear.
You stand up. "I'm going to grab something from the fridge." You take one step, then turn back toward Ning as if you just remembered something: "Oh, by the way, Minjeong thinks you're very, very, very beautiful. Isn't that great?"
You don't wait for the reaction. You hear Minjeong hiss behind you (something that sounds a lot like "I'm going to fucking kill you"), but you're already walking to the kitchen with a grin so wide it hurts your face. You open the refrigerator and start rummaging, slowly, giving them all the time they need.
From the living room, silence. After a moment, Ning finally asks, softly: âIs that true?â
You can practically hear Minjeong's heartbeat from here. A pause. A long one. Then her answer, quiet and unsteady: "Well. If you like hearing it, it's true. If you don't like hearing it, then he's a liar and I'll fight him."
Ning laughs. Warm and sweet, not polite. "I like hearing it, don't worry."
Another pause. You move a jar of pickles aside, pretending to search for something.
"Then it's true," she says, softer than youâve ever heard.
"I'm not going to let you panic alone." That's Ning. Closer now. "I think you're beautiful too. And mysterious. Every time I see you in the hallway you vanish before I can say anything and I've been wanting to actually get to know you properly for a while."
"I've wanted to get to know you properly too." Minjeong's breathing is audible even from the kitchen. "Your whole body, too." Dead silence. "I mean. That's. I didn't. That came out wrong! I meant your whole personality. Your whole person. Not your body specifically. Not that there's anything wrong with your body, your body is... I'm going to stop talking now."
"It's fine."
"I'm so sorry. God, Iâm so pathetic. The second Iâm around a pretty girl, my brain just shuts off.â
"Minjeong." Ning murmurs, tender and sure. "I said it's fine. Actually, I'd really like that."
You're still crouched in front of the refrigerator, not even pretending to look anymore, just listening. Then your eyes land on something wedged behind the leftover rice. Chocolate. A full bar, dark, still in the wrapper. You grab it, stand up, close the fridge.
You turn around.
On the couch, Ning has one hand on Minjeong's cheek. Minjeong's fingers are tangled in Ning's hair. Their mouths are pressed together, Ning tilting her head to deepen the angle while Minjeong pulls her closer by the waist. Ning's lips part and Minjeong leans in, and the kiss turns from tentative into something unhurried and real.
You stand there holding a chocolate bar, mouth slightly open.
"Okay. Damn." You look down at the chocolate, then back at the couch. "That was fucking fast."
Neither of them hears you. Minjeong's hand slides from Ning's waist to the small of her back, and Ning melts into her like she's been waiting three weeks for exactly this. You take a bite of chocolate and lean against the kitchen counter to watch, because honestly, you earned this.
Minjeong has shifted from sitting beside Ning to climbing onto her lap, knees bracketing Ning's thighs, hands cupping her face. The kiss has evolved past tentative and into something hungry, Minjeong tilting Ning's chin up with her thumb, licking into her mouth, rolling her hips in these tiny, unconscious movements against Ning's legs. Ning's hands hover at Minjeong's, then finally settle there, fingers gripping the hem of the tank top.
They've completely forgotten you exist. You take another bite of chocolate.
Then Ning's eyes drift open mid-kiss and catch you standing in the kitchen doorway, casually eating a snack. She breaks away from Minjeong's mouth, lips swollen and pink, looking slightly dazed.
"What about your friend?"
Minjeong glances over her shoulder at you, then back at Ning. She doesn't climb off her lap. Instead, she settles more comfortably, running her fingers through Ning's hair.
"So, the thing is: he and I are fuck buddies."
"Oh.â It's the only sound that comes out of Ning's mouth.
"We have sex together. Like, quite often. It's a whole arrangement."
"Oh."
"And I was wondering if maybe you'd want to join us tonight? Like, I don't know. It'll be fun."
"I'm sorry, join you as in..."
"As in exactly what you're thinking."
Ning lets out a short, startled laugh. "Minjeong. We just kissed for the first time like two minutes ago."
"I know."
"And you're already asking me to have a threesome with you and your friend."
"I know how it sounds. It is insane. One hundred percent. I won't argue with that." Minjeong's thumb traces small circles on Ning's hip, her gaze steady even though her ears are turning red. "But I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. A lot. Like, an embarrassing amount."
"You've thought about this. This specifically."
"You, me, him. In very explicit detail. Multiple times. For weeks." Minjeong swallows but doesn't look away. "Since you moved in, basically. I've had whole scenarios in my head that I'm not going to describe right now because you'd never look at me the same way again."
"That's... I don't even know what to say to that."
"You can say no. It's completely fine. We'll pretend I never said anything and just go back to kissing on the couch and I'll die of embarrassment quietly on my own time."
"No, it's not that. It's just." Ning glances at you again. You keep your face perfectly neutral. Switzerland. "This is a lot. I barely know either of you."
"I get that."
Ning chews the inside of her cheek. She's fidgeting with the hem of her top, twisting the fabric between her fingers. "Can I be honest about something?"
"Please."
"I find it really, really hot that you've been thinking about that."
Minjeong is going to die. You can see it happening, the superhuman effort required to keep her expression at calm and cool when every atom of her being is screaming. Ning covers her face with one hand, speaking through her fingers. "And it's so embarrassing to admit this but I've always wanted to try it. A threesome. Like, always. It's been on my list forever and I never had the opportunity or the nerve and now you're just casually offering it to me on a random weeknight and I..."
"You have a list?"
"Shut up, everyone has a list." Ning drops her hand. Her face is burning but her eyes are bright. "It's so kinky. It's so filthy. I can't believe I'm actually considering this."
"You're considering it?"
"I'm past considering it." She exhales, something reckless and electric settling into her expression. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. Before I lose my nerve and go back to my apartment and scream into a pillow for three hours about what I almost did."
Minjeong takes her hand. "Come see my room.â
The three of you file down the hallway. Minjeong pushes the bedroom door open and Ning steps in, her eyes sweeping the space. It's relatively tidy (Minjeong cleaned up most of the evidence), but a few things are still out. A bottle of lube on the nightstand. A silicone vibrator resting casually on the dresser like a paperweight. A harness draped over the back of a chair.
Ning stares at the harness, then at the vibrator, then at Minjeong.
You lean close to Ning's ear. "These are just the ones she left out. The whole arsenal is in the drawers."
"Drawers," Ning repeats faintly. "Plural."
"Top one is straps. Middle is accessories. Bottom is stuff she won't tell me about."
Minjeong shoots you a look but doesn't deny it. She perches on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and pats the sheets beside her. "Sorry, the bed's a little messy. We were, um. He and I were having sex before you came over."
"Seriously?"
"Yes," you confirm, stepping closer. "In fact, we were having sex and thinking about you."
Ning's lips part. Her eyes go wide, bouncing between the two of you. "About me?"
"Minjeong came thinking about you." You say it plainly. "She talks about you constantly. She's been stalking your Instagram for weeks. Those photos you post, the ones in the tight dresses? She has a whole saved folder."
"Forty-seven screenshots," Minjeong adds quietly, apparently deciding that full transparency is the move now.
"Forty-seven," Ning echoes.
You guide Ning gently by the shoulders until she's sitting on Minjeong's lap, facing outward, her back against Minjeong's chest. Minjeong's arms wrap around her waist instinctively, chin resting on her shoulder.
"Minjeong is a certified perv, youâre her newest subject of observation,â you continue. "She hid behind a plant in the hallway tonight because you were wearing a skirt and she couldn't handle it."
"The plant," Ning says, something clicking. "I thought I saw someone crouching by that fern."
"That was her."
Minjeong groans into Ning's shoulder.
You don't waste time and lean down to kiss Ning. Soft, exploratory, tasting the beer on her lips, and she kisses you back without hesitation. Behind her, Minjeong holds her steady, fingers spreading across Ning's stomach. Ning pulls back, slightly dazed. "Having two people wanting me like this. Thinking about me like that. It's... it's messing with my head."
Minjeong's lips find her ear. You don't hear the whispers, but you know exactly what she's saying. Ning's breath hitches. Her thighs press together. Her eyes flutter shut. While Minjeong murmurs, you kneel down and untie Ning's sneakers, pulling them off one at a time. Then her jeans (button, zipper, easing the denim down her legs while she lifts her hips to help). Her blouse goes next, Minjeong helping from behind, and then she's sitting there in a black lace bra and matching panties, skin warm and flushed, goosebumps rising along her arms.
"Look at you," Minjeong breathes, running her palms over Ning's bare shoulders. She presses her lips there, a trail of kisses across the curve. "These shoulders. So broad. So pretty." She kisses the junction of her neck. "Your skin is so soft."
Ning shivers. You pull your shirt off. Take off your shoes. Unbuckle your belt. Ning watches, her blush deepening, a nervous little laugh escaping her when your pants hit the floor. "A guy and a girl at the same time. Wow."
"Get used to it," Minjeong murmurs against her neck. "I have a feeling you're going to get addicted."
You're down to your underwear now. You lean in and kiss Ning again, your tongue sliding against hers. Behind her, Minjeong's mouth works along Ning's neck, sucking gently, and Ning melts between the two of you. Trapped. Surrounded. Four hands roaming her body (yours tracing her collarbone, her ribs, the dip of her waist; Minjeong's sliding up her stomach, thumbs brushing the underside of her bra). Then Minjeong turns Ning's chin and the three of you meet in the middle, all tongue, breath and wet contact, mouths overlapping in a messy, three-way kiss that falls apart into smiles and reconnects again.
Minjeong taps Ning's hip. "Move up for me."
She shifts to the center of the bed, pulling Ning with her, and lays her down against the pillows. Ning's hair fans out dark against the white sheets. Minjeong reaches behind Ning's back and unclasps her bra with one hand, sliding it off her arms. Then her panties, peeled down slowly, Ning lifting her hips again, and then she's completely bare.
Minjeong stares, her gaze traveling down Ning's body with worship and hunger simultaneously. "You're so beautiful. Fuck, you're even more perfect than I imagined."
Minjeong pulls her own tank top off in one fluid motion. The shorts follow, kicked off the edge of the bed. No underwear (of course). She kneels beside Ning, fully naked, and reaches down between her own legs. Her fingers spread her pussy open, showing Ning. Swollen, pink, glistening wet, her clit hard and visible.
"See this? This is what you do to me. I've been like this since you walked in the door." She holds herself open, letting Ning look. "You have to take responsibility."
Ning's eyes are fixed between Minjeong's thighs. Her tongue darts across her lower lip. "I'll do anything."
"Lie flat for me." Ning obeys. Flat on her back, arms at her sides, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Minjeong swings one leg over Ning's head and settles her knees on either side. âIf you want me to stop, tap my thigh twice,â Minjeong tells her. Ning nods in agreement. She lowers herself slowly, her wet pussy hovering inches above Ning's mouth, thighs framing that perfect face. Ning's hands come up to grip Minjeong's hips, pulling her down, and then her mouth is on her. Minjeong's breath punches out of her chest. Her spine straightens. Her fingers find the headboard for balance.
You settle between Ning's spread legs, lying on your stomach, and lower your mouth to her cunt. She's soaked, thoroughly, completely soaked, her inner thighs already slick. You drag your tongue flat from her entrance to her clit and she moans directly into Minjeong's pussy, the vibration making Minjeong gasp above her.
Minjeong is facing you, looking directly down the length of Ning's trembling body and into your eyes while you eat her out. Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are parted. She rolls her hips against Ning's tongue and watches you work between those gorgeous thighs.
Ning's tongue drags flat against Minjeong's slit, tentative at first, tasting her, learning the landscape. You watch it happen from between Ning's thighs. Minjeong's face shifts from composed to fractured in a single breath, her grip on the headboard tightening, knuckles going pale. She exhales through her nose, slow and controlled, trying to hold her composure the way she always does when something feels too good too fast.
"Slower," Minjeong instructs, settling her weight down just a fraction more. "Take your time with me."
Ning adjusts. Her tongue narrows, tracing the outer edges of Minjeong's lips in long, patient strokes, avoiding the clit entirely, teasing without knowing she's teasing. Or maybe she does know. Her fingers grip Minjeong's thighs for purchase, thumbs dimpling the soft skin.
You lower your mouth back to Ning's cunt, deliciously wet now, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs, her lips swollen and flushed dark pink. You flatten your tongue against her clit and hold there, just pressure, no movement, letting her feel the heat of your mouth. Her hips twitch upward. You pull back an inch. She whines into Minjeong's pussy, and the vibration makes Minjeong's spine curve.
"She's good at this," Minjeong murmurs, more to herself than to you. Her hips roll forward, a slow grind against Ning's mouth, coating her chin, her cheeks. "Such a good mouth. Such a pretty, eager little mouth."
You circle Ning's clit with the tip of your tongue. Tight circles, building sensation, then you pull away completely. Kiss her inner thigh instead. Ning's legs tremble. Her hips chase your mouth and find nothing.
That's the game. You've played it before with Minjeong (she taught you, actually, during one of those early sessions where she sat you down and explained exactly how she wanted to be tortured). Build the pressure. Take it away. Build it higher. Take it away again. Make the body so desperate for release that when it finally comes, it breaks something. Ning is already responding to it. Every time you return to her clit, she's more sensitive, more reactive. Her thighs shake when your lips close around the swollen bud. Her hips buck when you suck gently. And every reaction feeds directly into Minjeong through her mouth, because Ning can't separate what she's receiving from what she's giving.
Minjeong grinds down harder. The restraint is gone now. She's using Ning's face, rocking her hips in steady, selfish rolls that drag her clit across Ning's tongue with each pass. Her pussy is leaving streaks of wetness across Ning's chin, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. Ning takes all of it, mouth open, tongue working, breathing through her nose in short bursts between Minjeong's thighs.
"You're doing so well," Minjeong pants. She reaches down and pushes Ning's hair back from her forehead. "My perfect little slut. You were made for this, weren't you?" Ning moans her agreement into Minjeong's cunt, and Minjeong's eyes roll back for a second before she catches herself.
You slide two fingers into Ning. Slow, curling upward, pressing against her front wall while your tongue works her clit in lazy, unpredictable patterns. She's so wet your fingers meet no resistance, just the tight, hot grip of her walls clenching around you as you push deeper. You pump into her a few times, steady, feeling her pulse around your knuckles, then pull out entirely.
Ning's hips lift off the mattress, searching. Her thighs clamp around your head. You pry them apart gently and blow cool air across her soaked pussy, watching the muscles in her stomach jump. "Please," she gasps into Minjeong, smothered between Minjeong's thighs, but you both hear it.
You press your tongue flat against her clit again and hold. No movement. Just heat, pressure and the promise of more. Her legs start shaking.
Above her, Minjeong is losing her rhythm. The controlled grinding has dissolved into something needier, less precise, her hips stuttering and jerking against Ning's mouth. "Make me cum," Minjeong breathes. "Right now. Make me cum, Ning."
Ning's hands slide up from Minjeong's thighs to her ass. She grabs both cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh, and pulls Minjeong down hard against her face. Her tongue pushes inside. Not against the clit, not teasing the entrance. Inside. Deep, as far as she can reach, curling and stroking Minjeong's walls while her nose presses against Minjeong's clit.
Minjeong shatters. Her whole body seizes. Her head drops back, tendons standing out in her neck, mouth open, a long, broken moan tearing out of her chest. Her hips grind down in tight, frantic circles against Ning's face, riding the orgasm out on her tongue, her pussy clenching and releasing in visible pulses. Wetness floods Ning's chin, her neck, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Minjeong shakes through it for what feels like a full minute, her grip on the headboard the only thing keeping her upright, wave after wave rolling through her until she's gasping and oversensitive and trembling.
She lifts herself off Ning's face on unsteady knees. Ning lies beneath her, mouth and chin and cheeks glazed with Minjeong's arousal, chest heaving, lips puffy and swollen and glistening. And she's close. You can feel it in the way her pussy clenches around your fingers (you've slid them back inside during Minjeong's orgasm, three now, curling rhythmically against that spongey spot while your thumb traces circles around her clit). Her legs are shaking uncontrollably. Her abs are taut. She's right there, right on the edge, teetering.
"Please," Ning whimpers, looking up at Minjeong with glassy, desperate eyes. "Please, I need to, I'm so close, please let me."
Minjeong slides off to the side, settling next to Ning, propped on one elbow. She runs a finger along Ning's jaw, collecting some of her own wetness, and pushes it between Ning's lips. "You'll cum when I tell you."
"Please, Minjeong, I can't, I need it."
"You can hold it." She strokes Ning's hair, calm and collected now, fully back in control despite the fact that she was just falling apart thirty seconds ago. "Be a good girl for me."
You pump your fingers steadily inside Ning, curling on every outstroke, your thumb maintaining constant pressure on her clit. Her walls flutter around your knuckles in desperate, involuntary spasms. Her fists grip the sheets so hard the fabric bunches. Every muscle in her body is locked.
"Minjeong," Ning begs again. Tears are forming at the corners of her eyes, not from pain but from the sheer intensity of holding back. "I'll do anything. I'll be so good. I'll be your good girl, I promise, please, I'm begging you."
Minjeong watches her for a long, cruel moment. Then she leans down, presses her lips to Ning's ear, and whispers, "Cum for me."
Your thumb presses down hard on Ning's clit and your fingers drive deep and curl. Ning screams. Not a moan, not a gasp. A full, raw, wrecked scream that tears out of her throat as her back arches completely off the mattress, her pussy clamping down on your fingers so tight it almost hurts. Her thighs slam shut around your hand. Her whole body convulses, rhythmic, violent contractions that shake her from her core outward, and she keeps screaming through it, broken fragments of Minjeong's name and and sounds that aren't language anymore.
You work her through it until she collapses, boneless and twitching, her legs falling open, your fingers still buried inside her pulsing cunt.
Minjeong turns to you. "Clean her face."
You pull your fingers out of Ning and move up the bed. Her face is a mess. Minjeong's juices coating her chin, her cheeks, the sides of her nose, drying in sticky trails. You lean down and drag your tongue from her jaw to her cheekbone, collecting the taste of Minjeong off Ning's skin. Across her chin. Along her upper lip. The corner of her mouth. You gather all of it on your tongue, every slick, musky trace, then you press your mouth to Ning's and push it all inside. Your tongue slides against hers, feeding her Minjeong's arousal, and Ning moans into the kiss, her hands coming up weakly to grip your face.
When you pull back, Ning's eyes are unfocused and completely gone. "Daddy," she whispers.
Minjeong's eyebrows lift. She looks at you. You look at her. A charged, knowing glance passes between you. "On your knees," Minjeong tells Ning, shifting back into something commanding and absolute. "On the floor. You're going to suck his cock now."
Ning slides off the bed like her bones are made of liquid, settling onto her knees on the carpet, looking up at both of you with that ruined, beautiful, cum-stained face and waiting.
Ning wraps her fingers around your shaft. She doesn't put it in her mouth right away. Instead, she tilts her head and presses the length of it against her cheek, dragging it slowly across her skin, her jaw, the corner of her lips. Her eyes close. She nuzzles against it like it's something precious, the warm weight of your cock resting against that gorgeous face, and she exhales through her nose, content.
"Look at her," Minjeong says from the edge of the bed, legs crossed, leaning forward on her elbows. "She didn't even need to be told. Show us how much of a slut you really are, Ning."
Ning drags your cock across her other cheek, leaving a faint streak of precum glistening on her skin. She opens her eyes and looks up at Minjeong, searching for approval, and presses her lips to the underside of the shaft in a long, lazy kiss.
Then she takes you in. No teasing, no tentative licks. She parts her lips and slides you into her mouth, her tongue pressing flat against the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucks you in to the halfway point. Warm, wet, tight. Her lips seal around the shaft and she pulls back slowly, then pushes forward again, finding a rhythm.
Minjeong leans back on her palms, watching with fascinated eyes. "Get it nice and wet for me. Every inch. That cock is going inside your little pussy next, so you better make sure it's ready." Ning moans around your shaft. The vibration rolls through you and your hand finds the top of her head, fingers threading into her hair. She bobs steadily, saliva building around her lips, coating you, making everything slick and messy.
"You know what's funny," Minjeong continues, conversational. "I've seen every single photo on your Instagram. Every one. That mirror selfie in the white dress? The bikini shots? That gym story where the seam of your shorts was sitting right between your pussy lips?"
Ning's rhythm falters for a second. She pulls off your cock, a string of spit connecting her lower lip to the head, and looks at Minjeong with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "You saw that?"
"I screenshot it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you posted it. Little tease. Showing off that body, those curves, hoping someone would notice." Minjeong tilts her head. "Well, someone noticed."
Ning licks her lips, tasting the mix of saliva and precum. "I am a tease."
"You're more than a tease. You're a slut who posts thirst traps at midnight hoping someone will come put her in her place." Minjeong's voice is fond and cruel at the same time, a combination only she can pull off. "And here you are. On your knees. Drooling on a cock. Exactly where you belong."
"Exactly where I belong," Ning repeats.
She takes you back in her mouth, pushing past the halfway point, her throat opening up as she works more of you inside. Her hand wraps around the base, stroking what her mouth can't reach, spit running down her fingers.
"Tell me something," Minjeong says, sliding off the bed and kneeling beside Ning on the floor. She tucks a strand of hair behind Ning's ear, gentle, then traces her thumb across Ning's stretched lower lip where it meets your shaft. "What do you prefer? Pussy or dick?"
Ning pulls off with a wet sound. She jerks you slowly while she answers, her fist slick and tight. "I can't decide."
"Pick one."
"I can't." She rubs the head of your cock against her parted lips while she talks, smearing spit and precum across her mouth. "I want both. Together. At the same time. Fucking me."
Minjeong face shifts into a look of predatory delight. "Both at once. Greedy little thing. I bet you'd give up all your holes if we asked. Pussy, mouth, ass. Every single one."
Ning nods without hesitation. "Every one. All of them. I'd let you use all of me."
"Say it properly."
Ning's eyes lock onto Minjeong's. "I'd give you every hole I have. Both of you. However you want. Whenever you want. I'm yours."
Minjeong strokes her cheek kindly. Then she gathers Ning's hair into a fist at the back of her head and pulls, firm enough to tilt her face upward. "Open."
Ning opens her mouth. Minjeong guides her head forward, pushing your cock between those swollen lips, controlling the depth, the angle, the speed. Slow at first. She pulls Ning down to the midpoint, holds her there for two seconds, then lets her come back up.
"Deeper," Minjeong instructs. She pushes Ning further. Three-quarters. You feel the head of your cock brush the back of her throat and Ning's hands grip your thighs, steadying herself. Her eyes water. She breathes through her nose, adjusting.
"All of it." Minjeong's fist tightens in Ning's hair. "Take the whole thing. Gag on it for me."
She pushes Ning all the way down. Your cock slides past the resistance of her throat and Ning chokes, her whole body lurching, spit flooding around the shaft and dripping from her chin. But she doesn't pull away. Her fingers dig into your thighs and she holds herself there, throat constricting around you in tight, involuntary spasms. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes, catching the light.
Minjeong holds her in place for three seconds. Four. Five. Then pulls her off by the hair. Ning gasps, a thick rope of saliva stretching from your cock to her lips before it breaks and drops onto her chest. Her mascara has started to run, thin dark tracks beneath her lower lashes.
"Good girl," Minjeong purrs, wiping Ning's chin with her thumb. "Look at you. So messy already."
She pushes Ning back down. Faster this time, setting a rhythm with her fist in Ning's hair, fucking her face onto your cock with controlled, merciless strokes. Ning takes it. Her throat opens and closes around the head on every downstroke, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping off her chin in thick, translucent strings that land on her tits, her collarbones, the floor between her knees.
"This is what all those Instagram photos were really about," Minjeong tells her between strokes, pulling her up for air then shoving her back down. "Every posed selfie, every tight dress, every lip bite. You were advertising. Begging someone to see through the pretty packaging and find the desperate little cockslut underneath."
She pulls Ning off. Ning coughs, gasps, saliva coating her entire lower face. Her lips are swollen and red, her chin is a mess, and her eyes are glassy with tears that haven't quite fallen. "Thank you," Ning rasps.
Minjeong cradles her jaw, tilts her face up, and studies the damage with open admiration. Ruined makeup, spit-slicked skin, puffy lips trembling with exertion. A masterpiece in progress.
"We're just getting started," Minjeong tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead that is somehow tender considering the circumstances. "Keep drooling over that dick," Minjeong tells Ning, giving her hair one last stroke before standing up. "I need to get something."
She pads across the room to the dresser, bare feet on hardwood, and pulls open the second drawer. You hear her rummage for a moment, pushing things aside with purpose. Ning stays on her knees, her fist wrapped loosely around your shaft, stroking in slow, absent movements while she watches Minjeong's back. Saliva still drips from her chin in lazy strings. The bell hasn't arrived yet and she's already waiting like something trained.
Minjeong turns around holding a strip of black leather. Thin, elegant, with a small silver buckle and a tiny bell dangling from a ring at the front. She walks back with it draped across both palms, presenting it like a jeweler showing a necklace.
"Look at you," she says softly, stopping in front of Ning. Her gaze travels down from Ning's tear-streaked face to the spit glistening on her chest, the swollen lips, the collar of bruises already forming on her knees from the hard floor. "Kneeling there, serving both of us. Makeup ruined. Drool everywhere. You look like a perfect little pet."
"She really does," you agree.
Minjeong crouches to Ning's level. "Tell me what you want to be."
Ning's eyes drop to the collar, then rise back to Minjeong's face. "A kitten."
Minjeong's breath catches. The momentary crack in the dom facade where the girl who hid behind a fern forty minutes ago surfaces and can't believe this is actually happening. A goonette fantasy becoming real. Then she blinks and it's gone. "That's the perfect answer." She unfastens the buckle, opens the collar wide. "I have exactly what you need to be a proper domesticated kitten."
She reaches forward and wraps the leather around Ning's throat. Gentle, careful, adjusting the fit so it sits snug but not tight, the cool metal of the bell resting in the hollow between her collarbones. She threads the leather through the buckle and pulls it closed.
"What do you think?" Minjeong asks, looking up at you.
"Looks perfect on her." You tilt your head, studying the way the black leather contrasts against Ning's skin, the way the little bell catches the lamplight. "You told me you'd been saving that for someone special. Seems like you finally found her."
Ning smiles when she hears that. Minjeong cups Ning's face with one hand, running her thumb across her lower lip, smearing the mess of spit and precum that's collected there. Ning's tongue darts out and licks the pad of Minjeong's thumb, maintaining eye contact. Like an obedient kitten lapping at her owner's hand.
"So cute," Minjeong whispers. She traces the ruined tracks of mascara under Ning's eyes, the smudged eyeliner, the foundation that's gone patchy from tears and spit. "So beautiful like this. All ruined. You know what I want? I want you to always wear makeup when we have sex. Full face. So I can watch it fall apart piece by piece. Watch you go from perfect to wrecked."
"Yes, Minjeong."
"Meow for me."
Ning doesn't hesitate. She tilts her chin up, the bell jingling softly, and lets out a small, sweet meow. Breathy and earnest and completely without irony. Minjeong giggles. An actual, genuine, delighted giggle that breaks through the dominant composure entirely. She covers her mouth with one hand and laughs, eyes crinkling. "Oh my god. You actually did it. I can't believe you actually did it." Ning smiles up at her, proud, the bell swaying against her throat. "So obedient." Minjeong smooths herself back into control, the grin turning firm. "Go to bed, kitten."
Ning rises (legs a little unsteady, knees red from the floor) and climbs onto the mattress, settling on her back against the pillows. The bell chimes with every movement she makes. Minjeong crosses the room again, this time to a different drawer. You sit on the edge of the bed beside Ning and rest your hand on her calf, running your thumb along the muscle there. She looks at you with those big, glassy, wrecked eyes.
"You feeling okay?"
She lets out a nervous little laugh, the bell jingling as her chest moves. "I've never felt so many things at once. I'm nervous and excited and my brain is like... short-circuiting? In a good way. In a really, really good way."
"You were born for this."
She stares at the ceiling, a bewildered smile spreading across her face. "And to think I was going to spend tonight watching Gossip Girl again. For the fourth time. I was on season three."
"Ning, this is objectively a better use of your evening."
"So much better," she agrees, still smiling at the ceiling like she can't quite believe her own life.
Minjeong reappears at the bedside. In one hand, a pair of padded handcuffs (black leather, matching the collar, because Kim Minjeong is nothing if not aesthetically coordinated). In the other, a tube of lipstick. Deep red, almost burgundy.
She climbs onto the bed with the fluid confidence of someone who has orchestrated this exact type of scenario before (even if never with someone she actually had feelings for). She straddles Ning's waist, takes both her wrists, and guides them above her head. The handcuffs loop through a slat in the headboard and click shut around each wrist with a snap. Ning tugs once, testing. Secure.
"The collar is a good start," Minjeong says, settling her weight on Ning's hips and uncapping the lipstick. "But it's not enough. You're a kitten with owners now, and kittens need to be marked so everyone knows who they belong to."
She presses the lipstick to Ning's stomach. The tip is cool against warm skin, and Ning flinches slightly, her abs tensing, the bell chiming from the movement. Minjeong writes in slow strokes across that flat, taut canvas. Each letter precise. When she finishes, she leans back to admire her work.
CUM DUMP. Bold, red, slightly smeared at the edges where Ning's breathing made her stomach rise and fall.
"Perfect," Minjeong murmurs. She looks at you. "What do you think?"
"I was going to suggest something but anything I wrote would sound incredibly sexist coming from me, so I'm glad you took creative control."
"Haha, very funny." She caps the lipstick and tosses it aside, then looks down at Ning. "Do you agree with what it says?"
Ning cranes her neck to read it upside down. The bell jingles. Her cheeks flush even darker than they already were, but she nods. "Yes. That's me."
"Good girl." Minjeong runs her fingertips along Ning's sides, feeling the goosebumps rise in their wake. "Obviously, she still needs more marks. Look at this skin." She pinches Ning's hip lightly and a pink spot blooms instantly on the pale flesh. "So fair. So sensitive. Every touch is going to leave a trace. It'll be easy for you to turn her all red."
She climbs off Ning and settles beside her, one hand possessively resting on Ning's collared throat, thumb stroking the leather. She looks at you with that dark, commanding certainty that has no business existing in the same person who said "day nice you" to this girl three weeks ago. "Fuck her tight little pussy. Make her scream.â
You obey without hesitation, settling between Ning's spread thighs, her legs draped over yours, the handcuffs clinking softly against the headboard slat as she shifts. The bell on her collar chimes. The red lipstick letters on her stomach rise and fall with her breathing. You grip the base of your cock, still slick from her throat, and drag the head along her slit. She's drenched, swollen, her pussy lips parting easily under the pressure, and Ning's entire body tenses in anticipation, her wrists pulling against the cuffs.
You push inside her. Slow. Inch by inch. The heat is staggering, tight and wet and gripping you like a fist, her walls clenching around the shaft as you sink deeper. Ning's head drops back against the pillow and her mouth falls open, the bell jingling as her throat works around a soundless gasp. You bottom out, hips flush against hers, and hold there. Let her feel the fullness. Let her adjust to being stretched around you while handcuffed and collared and marked with lipstick on a bed that still smells like the sex you had with Minjeong an hour ago.
Minjeong, meanwhile, has moved. She's propped against the headboard beside Ning, one leg bent, the other extended, and she's rummaging through the nightstand without looking (because she knows the layout of that drawer by muscle memory at this point). Her hand emerges with a small, matte black vibrator, compact and curved. She clicks it on, the low hum filling the room, and presses it between her own legs with a satisfied sigh. She spreads herself open with two fingers and nestles the tip directly against her clit, her thighs falling apart, and settles in to watch.
"Tell me what she feels like," Minjeong says. "I want details."
You pull back halfway and thrust in again, a deep, measured stroke that makes Ning's back arch off the mattress. "Tight. Really fucking tight. Tighter than you."
"Obviously. I've been broken in. She hasn't." Minjeong adjusts the angle of the vibrator and her breath stutters for a second. "What else?"
"Wet. She's dripping. I can feel it running down my balls." You thrust again, establishing a slow, grinding rhythm, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt. Ning's pussy grips you on every outstroke like it doesn't want to let go. "And hot. She's burning up inside."
"Hear that, Ning?" Minjeong turns her head to look down at her. Ning's face is flushed, eyes half-shut, lips parted around shallow breaths, the tear tracks of ruined mascara still visible on her cheeks. "Your desperate little cunt is putting on quite a performance."
Ning's hips roll up to meet your next thrust and a moan spills out of her, unguarded and raw. "It feels so good."
"Yeah?"
"So good. Oh my god." Her wrists strain against the cuffs as she tries to reach for you and can't. The bell jingles with every movement, a constant, delicate accompaniment to the wet sounds of you fucking her. "I can feel all of you. Every inch."
You lean forward, changing the angle, pressing deeper, and Ning's eyes snap open. You grab her hip with one hand, anchoring her, and set a rhythm that's firm and constant, each stroke bottoming out, grinding against her cervix before pulling back.
"I bet she'd love having two cocks in her," Minjeong says, pressing the vibrator harder against her clit, her free hand gripping the sheet beside her thigh. "Mine and yours. Both stuffed inside that greedy little hole at the same time. Stretching her open until she couldn't think straight."
Ning's breath catches. She turns her head toward Minjeong, and even through the haze of pleasure there's something uncertain in her expression. "I don't... I don't think two would fit in me."
Minjeong snorts a soft, ruthless laugh, pure dismissal. "We'd make it fit. We'd go slow and work you open and push inside together and you'd take it because that's what dumb little cum dumps do. They take whatever gets shoved inside them and say thank you." You punctuate her point with a particularly hard thrust and Ning cries out, her voice pitching high, bouncing off the bedroom walls.
"Careful," Minjeong purrs, circling the vibrator in slow patterns against herself, her own arousal glistening on the toy. "The neighbors are going to hear you. What will they think of sweet, innocent Ning from apartment 71? The nice new girl with the pretty smile who waves in the hallway? Moaning like a little slut in heat for two people she met tonight." She tilts her head, studying Ning's mortified, aroused expression. "What do you think Mrs. Park next door would say if she could hear you right now? She brings you fruit baskets, doesn't she? Sweet old lady. Probably thinks you're such a wholesome young woman. If only she could see you handcuffed and collared with CUM DUMP written across your belly and a cock buried in your soaking wet pussy."
Ning whimpers, flushing from her cheeks all the way down her chest, the embarrassment and the arousal tangling together until they're indistinguishable. You feel her cunt clench around you, tighter, wetter, her body responding to the humiliation even as her face burns with shame. You keep fucking her. Steady, controlled strokes, each one dragging your shaft along her front wall, each one forcing a small, involuntary sound from her throat. The bell hasn't stopped chiming. The handcuffs rattle against the headboard in rhythm with your thrusts. The red lipstick on her stomach is starting to smear where your hand grips her hip, the M in DUMP bleeding into a crimson streak across her skin.
Minjeong's gaze drifts to the floor. She spots her own shorts. She clicks the vibrator off, sets it aside, and leans over the edge of the bed to pick them up. She examines them for a second, turning them inside out, finding the crotch panel. Even from where you are, you can see the damp patch.
"Open your mouth," Minjeong tells Ning. Ning obeys, lips parting, and Minjeong presses the wet patch of fabric directly against her nose and mouth. Ning inhales and her eyes roll back, a full-body shudder running through her, her pussy clamping down on you so hard your rhythm stutters.
"That's what you do to me," Minjeong whispers, rubbing the shorts across Ning's face slowly, smearing her own scent across Ning's cheeks, her lips, the bridge of her nose. "Smell that? That's how wet I get just looking at you. Every time you walk past me in that hallway, every time I see you through the peephole, this is what happens. I soak through my clothes thinking about you."
Ning moans into the fabric, her hips rising to meet your thrusts, desperate and squirming. Minjeong bunches the shorts into a ball and pushes them into Ning's open mouth, stuffing the damp cotton between her teeth until her cheeks bulge around the makeshift gag. Ning's sounds become muffled, smothered, her moans vibrating through the fabric but unable to escape fully.
"Much better," Minjeong says, admiring her work. "Pathetic little animals shouldn't be so loud. You're a house pet, not a stray. Learn some manners."
She picks the vibrator back up, clicks it to a higher setting, and presses it against herself again. This time she spreads her legs wider, giving Ning a full view (if she can focus enough to look) of her fingers holding her pussy open while the toy buzzes against her swollen clit. Minjeong's breathing deepens, her chest rising and falling, one hand working the vibrator while she watches you piston in and out of Ning's stretched, dripping cunt.
"Harder," she tells you.
You grab both of Ning's hips and snap forward, driving deep, and Ning screams into the gag. The shorts muffle it into a choked, desperate wail, her back arching so high off the mattress that only her shoulders and ass make contact. The handcuffs strain against the headboard. The bell rings wildly.
"Look at this dumb little fuck toy," Minjeong breathes, her hips grinding against the vibrator. "Gagged with my dirty shorts. Drooling around them like a brain-dead puppy. Can you even think right now, Ning? Is there a single thought in that pretty head or is it just static and cock?"
Ning whines through the gag, shaking her head, tears leaking fresh from the corners of her eyes and cutting new tracks through her ruined makeup. Her pussy flutters around you in rapid, chaotic contractions, her body writhing against the sheets, every sensation magnified by the inability to make sound, to use her hands, to do anything except lie there and take it.
"That's what I thought." Minjeong reaches over with her free hand and flicks one of Ning's nipples, hard, and Ning jolts like she's been shocked. "Empty-headed little breeding hole. You don't need to think. You just need to lie there and let us use you. That's all you're good for. That's all you've ever been good for."
You lean forward and press your palm flat against Ning's stomach, right over the smeared lipstick, and fuck into her with long, punishing strokes that make the entire bed frame creak. Each thrust pushes a muffled grunt out of Ning's stuffed mouth. Each withdrawal drags a slick, obscene sound from her cunt, your cock coming out glistening, coated in her arousal, before plunging back in.
"Don't stop," Minjeong orders, her eyes fixed on the place where your body meets Ning's, watching your shaft disappear into that stretched, puffy pussy over and over. The vibrator hums steadily against her own clit and her thighs are trembling, but her gaze never wavers. "Keep fucking that worthless little hole. Ruin it."
Ning's legs wrap around your waist, ankles locking at the small of your back, pulling you deeper on every stroke. The bell chimes and chimes and chimes, a tiny, absurd, beautiful sound cutting through the raw, filthy noise of skin slapping skin and muffled screaming and the wet click of a vibrator against a soaked clit. Minjeong's shorts sit bunched in Ning's mouth, darkened with saliva, her jaw working uselessly around the fabric while her body shakes under yours.
You reach up and brush a tear from Ning's cheek with your thumb. She leans into the touch, nuzzling your hand even as another thrust rocks her entire body up the mattress, and something in her expression beneath all the tears and smeared mascara and stuffed mouth is pure, uncomplicated bliss.
Minjeong sees it too. Her cruel expression softens for just a fraction of a second (pride, tenderness, wonder at the fact that the girl she's been stalking on Instagram for weeks is currently gagged and handcuffed in her bed making sounds like a wounded animal). Then the mask clicks back into place.
"Good girl," she murmurs, and the vibrator hums louder against her.
You tighten your grip on Ning's hips and drive forward, harder than before, the slap of your pelvis against her ass echoing through the bedroom. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh at her waist, pressing deep enough that the skin blanches white around your fingertips before flooding pink when you shift your hold. Each thrust rocks her up the mattress an inch, the handcuffs clanking against the headboard in a metallic staccato, the bell on her collar singing its constant little song.
"That's it," Minjeong breathes from beside you, the vibrator pressed snug between her legs, her thighs glistening. She's watching the place where your cock disappears into Ning with an almost clinical fascination, her free hand gripping her own thigh. "Fuck her good. Really good. I bet you're loving that, aren't you? That wet, warm, tight little pussy gripping your cock so well."
"She's squeezing me every time I pull out."
"Of course she is. Desperate little hole doesn't want to let go." Minjeong shifts the vibrator's angle against her clit and her abs clench. "Her body knows what it's for even if her brain hasn't caught up yet."
You increase the pace again, snapping your hips forward with enough force that the bed frame groans against the wall. Your hands on Ning's hips are leaving marks now, red fingerprints blooming on her pale skin like stamps, and you watch them appear and darken with each adjustment of your grip. She's going to wear those bruises for a week. Little oval reminders pressed into her flesh that she'll see every time she showers, every time she changes, every time she catches herself in a mirror.
Minjeong leans over and spits on Ning's chest. A thick glob that lands between her tits and slides slowly down toward her sternum, mixing with the smeared red lipstick. "Dirty slut."
Ning's muffled shriek through the gag is somewhere between protest and ecstasy. Her hips buck up against yours, chasing the impact, her body arching into the degradation like a plant turning toward sunlight. The shorts stuffed in her mouth are soaked through with saliva, her jaw working around the damp cotton, drool leaking from the corners of her lips and running down her chin in thin streams.
"It's so good hearing her like that," Minjeong murmurs, pressing the vibrator harder against herself. "All those little choked sounds. Like a puppy whining through a muzzle." She tilts her head, studying Ning's tear-streaked, gagged, spit-covered face. "But now I want to hear her beg."
Minjeong reaches over and hooks a finger into the bunched fabric, pulling the shorts from Ning's mouth. They come out dark with spit, and Ning gasps, gulping air, her jaw stretching wide to relieve the ache. A thick rope of saliva connects her lower lip to the wadded cotton for a second before it breaks. Minjeong stands. Right there on the mattress, rising to her full height above Ning's prone body, feet planted on either side of her ribcage. Small but towering, naked, the vibrator buzzing at maximum in her hand, pressed hard against her swollen clit. Her pussy is flushed dark, her inner thighs slick with arousal, and she looks down at Ning the way a goddess looks at an offering.
"Beg me," she says. "Beg me to cum all over your body. Ask me to drench you. To bathe you in it. Make it sound delicious, kitten, or I won't give you a single drop."
Ning's face is a wreck. Mascara smeared to her temples, foundation patchy and streaked, lipstick bitten off entirely, her cheeks flushed so deep they're almost purple. She looks up at Minjeong standing above her while you keep fucking her in long, brutal strokes, and the combination of being split open on a cock and staring up at the woman she's been crushing on for three weeks breaks something loose inside her.
"Please," she moans, her wrists pulling uselessly at the cuffs. "Please cum on me, Minjeong. All over me. I want it. I want to feel it. I want to be covered in you, I want it on my face and my tits and my stomach, please, please give it to me, I need it, I need you."
Minjeong's legs tremble. The vibrator hums furiously against her clit, her hand pressing it so hard the skin around it dimples. "Are you a dirty little whore?"
"I'm a dirty little whore."
"Whose dirty little whore?"
"Yours. I'm your dirty little whore, Minjeong, please, please cum on me, mark me, I want to smell like you, I want to taste you, please."
You slam into Ning and she screams, the sound raw and open now that the gag is gone, and Minjeong breaks above her like a dam. It starts with a strangled moan that rips from somewhere deep in Minjeong's chest. Her knees buckle slightly, her thighs clamping together around the vibrator, and then it happens. She cums, hard, and the squirt hits Ning's body in a hot, clear arc. It splashes across her tits first, then her stomach, then her collarbones as Minjeong's hips jerk and pulse, wave after wave of fluid pouring out of her in rhythmic gushes. Minjeong's free hand grabs her own thigh for stability, her mouth open, head thrown back, a long, shattered moan pouring out of her that doesn't sound like the composed, commanding woman who was giving orders thirty seconds ago. It sounds like someone coming undone at a molecular level.
Ning squeals beneath the onslaught, flinching at first as the warm fluid hits her skin, then going still, then opening her mouth. She tilts her chin up and catches the last pulses on her tongue, her lips, her cheeks, letting Minjeong's cum pool in the hollow of her throat and overflow down the sides of her neck. There's so much of it. It runs in rivulets across her ribs, pools in her navel, mingles with the spit and the smeared lipstick until her entire torso is a glistening, dripping mess.
"It's so warm," Ning whispers, eyes wide, almost awed.
You stare. You've seen Minjeong squirt before (on your face, on your chest, once on the kitchen floor by accident), but watching it land on Ning (on that perfect body, in that collared throat, across those parted lips) while you're buried to the hilt inside Ning's cunt is something else entirely. It's the filthiest, hottest, most depraved thing you've ever witnessed in your life, and you know with absolute certainty that this image is going to be burned into your brain until the day you die.
Your composure snaps. "I'm going to cum."
Ning's legs lock around your waist, heels digging into your lower back. "Inside me. I'm on the pill. Please. Inside."
Minjeong drops to her knees on the mattress, still trembling from her own orgasm, and looks at you with glazed, heavy-lidded eyes. "Good girl. Cum inside her. Fill her up."
You bury yourself as deep as you can go, your fingers gripping Ning's marked, bruised hips hard enough to leave fresh prints, and let go. The orgasm tears through you hot and blinding, your cock pulsing inside Ning's clenching pussy, pumping thick ropes of cum against her cervix. Ning's eyes roll back, her lashes fluttering, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp as she feels the heat flood her insides. Her walls clamp down around you in rhythmic, milking contractions, coaxing every drop out of you, and she trembles from head to toe, a soft, broken little moan leaking from her throat that trails off into nothing as her body goes limp beneath yours.
The three of you breathe. Ragged, heavy, out of sync. The vibrator lies abandoned on the sheets, still buzzing faintly. You pull out slowly, carefully, and sit back on your heels. Ning's pussy is swollen and flushed, her lips puffy and parted, and as your cock slides free, a thick trickle of cum follows, oozing from her entrance, dripping down the curve of her ass onto the sheets beneath her.
"Look at her," you murmur, running your gaze across Ning's body. She's glowing. Literally glowing, her skin sheened with Minjeong's juices from collarbone to hip, glistening in the warm light. The remnants of the lipstick letters peek through the mess like a watercolor left in the rain. The collar sits snug against her throat. Her face is ruined and radiant and completely, utterly spent.
Minjeong crawls to the edge of the bed and looks between Ning's legs. She watches the cum leak from that swollen, used pussy, and her tongue drags across her lower lip slowly. "You," she says to you, not taking her eyes off the mess between Ning's thighs, "lick her body clean. Every inch. All of my cum, off every part of her." She settles onto her stomach between Ning's legs, face inches from her dripping cunt. "I'm going to eat yours out of her pussy."
You start at Ning's neck. The hollow of her throat, where Minjeong's juices have pooled against the leather of the collar. Your tongue drags through the warm, slick fluid and Ning giggles, her shoulders scrunching up.
"That tickles." You smile against her skin and keep going. Across her collarbone, tracing the ridge of bone, collecting the taste of Minjeong (familiar to you, musky and slightly sweet) off Ning's body. Down to her chest, your tongue flat against the curve of her breast, circling toward the nipple, lapping up every trace. Ning squirms, the handcuffs rattling, another breathless laugh escaping her as your tongue hits a sensitive spot along her ribs.
Then Minjeong's mouth touches her pussy, and the giggling stops. Ning's entire body goes taut. Her breath catches in her throat and comes back out as a long, trembling sigh that seems to drain every ounce of tension from her muscles. Her head sinks deeper into the pillow. Her eyes close. Her lips part. "Oh," she breathes. "Oh, that's..."
You move lower, licking a path down her stomach, through the ghostly remnants of the lipstick, tasting salt and Minjeong's cum and the warmth of Ning's skin underneath it all. Your tongue dips into her navel, circles it, continues downward along the soft plane below. Meanwhile, you can hear Minjeong working between Ning's thighs, the wet sounds of her tongue lapping at Ning's entrance, scooping your cum out of her, swallowing, going back for more. Ning's hips start to move. Subtle, involuntary rolls, pressing up toward Minjeong's mouth, then settling back, then pressing up again. Her breathing has gone shallow and uneven, little gasps punctuating each exhale, the bell on her collar chiming softly with the motion of her chest.
"Two people," Ning mumbles, her eyes still closed, her head turning to the side on the pillow. "Two people licking me at the same time. This is insane. This is so fucking good."
You work your tongue along the crease where her hip meets her thigh, that sensitive fold of skin, and she shivers beneath you. Minjeong's head bobs gently between Ning's legs, her tongue pushing inside, collecting the last of the cum pooled deep within her, and Ning lets out a sound that's barely human. Low, sustained, vibrating in her chest, the kind of sound someone makes when they've stopped trying to perform and simply surrendered to what their body is feeling.
Her fingers curl into fists above the handcuffs. The bell rings softly, endlessly. Her whole body glows under the lamplight, wet and clean and worshipped, and she melts into the mattress like she's never going to move again.
Minjeong lifts her head from between Ning's thighs, her chin glossy, her lips swollen and shining. She licks the corner of her mouth slowly, savoring, her eyes half-closed like she just tasted something transcendent at a Michelin-star restaurant.
"Your cum," she says to you, running her tongue across her lower lip one more time, "mixed with her juices. It's perfect. It's like they were made to go together. I could eat it out of her for hours."
She presses one final, lingering kiss to Ning's pussy (Ning twitches, oversensitive, a tiny whimper escaping her) and then sits up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "But now." Minjeong crawls up the bed until she's level with Ning's face, looking down at her with that predatory calm. "I need his cock. You've had your turn, kitten."
Ning blinks up at her, dazed and glowing, wrists still locked above her head. "What do I..."
"You're going to stay right there. Handcuffed. Watching me get fucked." Minjeong reaches over to the sheets where the vibrator lies dormant and picks it up, turning it over in her hand. She clicks the base once, twice, three times, cycling through the settings until the hum becomes aggressive. Maximum power. "And this is going to keep you company."
She spreads Ning's thighs apart with one hand. Ning's pussy is puffy and flushed, freshly eaten, still glistening. Minjeong positions the vibrator at her entrance and pushes it inside in one smooth motion. Ning's spine lifts off the mattress, her mouth falling open, a sharp gasp cutting through the room as the toy seats itself deep, buzzing furiously against her walls.
"Oh fuck," Ning breathes, her thighs snapping shut around the vibrator. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."
"Don't you dare cum," Minjeong tells her, tapping her knee. "Not until I say." She turns away from Ning with the dismissive confidence of someone closing an app and moves to the center of the bed, positioning herself on all fours. Knees apart. Back arched. That narrow waist curving down into the swell of her ass, which is small and tight and perfectly round.
You settle behind her, one hand on her hip, and take a second to appreciate the view. Minjeong's pussy is swollen between her thighs, still flushed from the vibrator and the squirting, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs in glossy streaks. Her shoulder blades jut beneath her skin as she braces on her forearms. The knobs of her spine trace a delicate line down to the small of her back.
"Great ass," you tell her, and bring your palm down on her right cheek with a sharp crack. The sound rings through the bedroom and Minjeong jolts forward, a hiss escaping through her teeth, a pink handprint blooming on her skin before you've even pulled your hand away.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she mutters over her shoulder. "Now put it in."
You line yourself up and push into her. Different from Ning. Familiar. Minjeong's cunt is wetter than you've ever felt it, still pulsing from the orgasm she had standing above Ning, and she takes you easily, her body opening up around your shaft with practiced ease. She drops her head between her arms and lets out a long, satisfied exhale as you bottom out.
You grab her hips and start moving. Steady, calculated strokes, pulling back until just the tip catches at her entrance and then driving forward, burying yourself deep enough that your hips smack against her ass. Minjeong turns her head to look at Ning. The girl is a wreck already, barely two minutes in. Her wrists twist against the handcuffs, the chain clinking, her hips writhing against the mattress in tight, involuntary circles. The vibrator hums relentlessly inside her, and you can see the tension in her thighs, the way her muscles clench and release and clench again as she fights against the building pressure.
"Are you enjoying the show?" Minjeong asks her, rocking back against your thrusts. "Watching me take his cock while that toy fucks your needy little hole?"
Ning's eyes are locked on the place where your body meets Minjeong's. She watches your cock slide in and out, glistening, stretching Minjeong's pussy around the shaft, and her lips part around a shaky moan. "Yes."
"Of course you are. Horny little slut. Can't go five minutes without stimulation or you start falling apart." Minjeong pushes back against you harder, matching your rhythm, her ass meeting your pelvis with a wet slap on each stroke. "I bet you touch yourself every night in that apartment. Alone in bed with your fingers in your pussy, scrolling through filth on your phone."
Ning whimpers, squirming harder, the bell on her collar ringing with every movement. "Minjeong, you're so beautiful."
The compliment catches Minjeong off guard mid-thrust. Her composure flickers for a second, she pushes her hair out of her face and smiles back at Ning. "You're beautiful too," she says, soft enough to sound sincere. âThe prettiest little kitten in the world.â Then she flips the switch: "Now shut up and watch me get fucked."
You grip Minjeong's waist tighter and increase the pace, driving into her with more force, the bed rocking beneath the three of you. Minjeong drops her chest to the mattress, arching her back deeper, changing the angle so you hit that spot inside her that makes her fingers claw at the sheets. Her moans are low and controlled, the sounds of someone who knows exactly what she likes and is getting exactly that.
Ning is losing it. Her legs press together around the vibrator, thighs trembling visibly, her abs clenching in rapid spasms. Sweat glistens on her chest and stomach, mixing with the drying residue of everything that's already been spilled on her tonight. Her breathing has gone ragged, shallow, desperate little pants that hitch and stutter every few seconds. "Minjeong," she gasps. "I don't... I don't know how much longer I can hold on."
"You'll hold on as long as I tell you to hold on."
"Please. It's so much. It's right there, it's right there and I can't, I'm trying so hard to be good."
"Then try harder."
A tear spills down Ning's cheek, cutting a fresh track through the ruined mascara. Her whole body is shaking now, vibrating almost as intensely as the toy inside her, every muscle locked in a war between obedience and biology. You bring your palm down on Minjeong's ass again, lighter this time, playful, and she glances back at you over her shoulder. "You're being pretty mean to your new girlfriend."
"It's nothing. She needs to learn good manners from the start. You don't spoil a pet the first day you bring it home. You establish boundaries. You establish who's in charge." She clenches around you intentionally, her pussy gripping your shaft, and grins. "She'll thank me later."
Ning turns her tear-streaked face toward you. Those big, dark, beautiful eyes swimming with desperation, her lower lip trembling, the collar sitting snug against her throat with its little bell catching the light. She looks wrecked and gorgeous and absolutely at her limit.
"Please," she says to you, quiet and broken. "Please make her cum. Quickly. I can't hold it. Please, please, I'm begging you."
You look at those teary eyes and that quivering lip and your heart just squeezes. You lean forward over Minjeong's back, your mouth close to her ear. "No problem, princess."
You grab both of Minjeong's arms, pulling them back behind her. Her chest drops, her cheek pressing flat against the mattress, her spine bowing into a deep, sharp arch. She yelps at the sudden shift, her shoulders straining, her body completely at your mercy with her wrists locked in your grip behind her back.
You start fucking her hard. Not the measured strokes from before. This is punishing. Brutal. Your hips snap forward with everything you have, slamming into Minjeong's pussy. The slap of skin on skin is deafening, drowning out the buzz of the vibrator, drowning out the rattle of Ning's handcuffs. Minjeong's moans dissolve into sharp, staccato cries, each one punched out of her by the impact of your hips against her ass, her body jolting forward with every thrust and being yanked back by the grip on her wrists.
The bed creaks dangerously. Ning writhes beside you both, tears streaming freely now, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to leave marks, every ounce of her willpower focused on the single task of not letting go while the vibrator destroys her from the inside. Her thighs clamp together and release and clamp again, her hips bucking against nothing, the bell ringing wildly with every spasm.
And Minjeong, face pressed to the sheets, arms pinned behind her, being railed from behind with her new pet crying beside her and a bruise forming on her ass in the shape of your hand, lets out a breathless, broken laugh that's equal parts pleasure and disbelief.
"This isn't fair," Minjeong gasps into the mattress. "You two conspired against me. You plotted. This is a coup. This is a hostile takeover of my own bedroom and I won't..."
The rest of the sentence dies in her throat because you slam into her hard enough to shunt her forward on the bed, and what comes out instead is a moan so loud it fills every corner of the room. Her back arches impossibly deep, her shoulder blades pressing together, her fingers flexing uselessly in your grip.
"Say you love my dick."
"I'm not going to..." Another thrust. Her entire body shudders. "That's so... you can't just..."
You pull back to the tip and drive forward again, grinding deep, pressing against that spot inside her that turns her brain to static. Her thighs tremble violently. Her toes curl into the sheets. "Say it."
"I love your dick," she chokes out, and the words dissolve into a ragged moan that she buries in the mattress. "I love your dick, okay, I love it, it's so deep, fuck, I hate you both so much." You don't let up. Each stroke is full and punishing, your hips colliding with her ass, the wet slap of contact filling the bedroom alongside Ning's desperate whimpering and the relentless hum of the vibrator. Minjeong's pussy clenches around you in erratic pulses, her walls fluttering, her body winding tighter and tighter like a spring being cranked past its limit.
Her moans climb in pitch. Her knees slide wider apart on the sheets. She tries to say something (probably another complaint about fairness) but it comes out as nothing, just air and sound, her jaw hanging open, drool pooling on the mattress beneath her cheek. You feel the exact moment it starts. Her pussy locks around your cock in a vice grip, her whole body going rigid, and then the orgasm crashes through her.
She screams. Face down, arms restrained, pinned and filled and wrecked, Kim Minjeong screams into her own sheets while her cunt pulses around you in violent, rhythmic contractions. Her hips buck backwards, grinding against you, riding it out, her spine rolling in waves. You hold her wrists and stay buried deep while she comes apart, letting her pussy milk the length of your shaft through every spasm, every aftershock, every trembling pulse that ripples through her body for what feels like a solid thirty seconds.
When it subsides, you release her arms. They fall to the mattress like dead weight. Minjeong lies face down, breathing in shattered gasps, her skin flushed from her neck to her lower back. She turns her head to the side and blinks once, twice, refocusing on reality. "That," she pants, "was not fair."
"You enjoyed it."
"Irrelevant." She takes one more deep breath, then pushes herself up onto her elbows and looks at Ning. The girl is a disaster. Tears streaming, teeth clenched, every muscle in her body locked in a full-body tremor, the vibrator still buzzing mercilessly inside her. Her thighs are clamped together so tightly her legs are shaking, and her wrists have gone white where they strain against the cuffs. She looks like she's going to shatter.
Minjeong softens. Just a fraction. Just enough. "Okay, kitten. You can cum now."
Ning doesn't even process the words for a second. She stares at Minjeong with glazed, uncomprehending eyes, and then it registers, and then everything she's been holding back for the last ten minutes detonates at once.
Her back arches off the bed so hard the handcuffs wrench against the headboard with a metallic crack. Her mouth opens wide, a raw, wrecked scream tearing from her lungs, and her pussy clamps down on the vibrator and pushes it halfway out as she squirts. It's violent. A forceful gush of clear fluid that arcs from between her clenched thighs, soaking the sheets beneath her, splashing against her own legs, pooling in the creases of the mattress. Her entire body convulses, hips bucking off the bed in sharp, involuntary jerks, the bell on her collar ringing frantically.
Minjeong is right there. She reaches between Ning's legs and presses her palm flat against her pussy, rubbing in firm, circular strokes through the squirt, through the contractions, keeping the pressure steady while Ning convulses beneath her hand. "That's it. Let it all out. Give me everything."
Ning squirts again, a second wave that coats Minjeong's wrist and forearm in warm, slick fluid. Her screams dissolve into broken sobs, her body jerking and twitching, riding the orgasm far past the point of pleasure and into something overwhelming and raw. The vibrator buzzes against Minjeong's palm, trapped between her hand and Ning's pulsing cunt, and Ning's legs kick weakly at the soaked sheets.
When it finally subsides, Ning goes completely limp. Every muscle releases at once, like someone cut her strings. She sinks into the mattress, chest heaving, eyes unfocused, mouth slightly open, tears and sweat and mascara streaking her face. The bell rests silent against her throat for the first time in what feels like hours. She looks demolished. Thoroughly, comprehensively, beautifully ruined.
Minjeong pulls the vibrator out gently (Ning flinches, whimpers, then settles) and clicks it off. She sets it aside and reaches for the handcuffs, producing a small key from the nightstand drawer. She unlocks the left cuff first, then the right, and Ning's arms fall to the mattress like they've forgotten how to be arms. Red marks circle both wrists where the leather pressed into skin.
Minjeong lifts each wrist and presses her lips to the marks. Left, then right. Gentle kisses, barely there, tracing the indentations with her mouth. She doesn't say anything.
Then she stands. She crosses to the dresser and pulls open the top drawer (the one you mentioned to Ning earlier, the strap-on armory). She surveys her options for a moment, selects one with the casual authority of a sommelier choosing a bottle, and steps into the harness. It's matte black, sleek, the silicone cock attached to it a reasonable size (not the biggest in her collection, you know, but enough to make a point). She adjusts the straps around her hips and thighs with efficient movements, tightening buckles, checking the fit, as calm as someone tying their shoes.
She turns back toward the bed. Standing at the foot of it, naked except for the harness, the strap jutting from between her slim hips, hands resting loosely at her sides. She looks at Ning, still spread-eagled and trembling on the soaked sheets, and tilts her head.
"Come here, kitten." Ning lifts her head from the pillow. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, still drifting somewhere between consciousness and the afterglow of the most intense orgasm of her life. She blinks at Minjeong. Processes the command. Processes the strap-on hanging between Minjeong's legs. Swallows hard. "Crawl."
Ning rolls onto her stomach. Her arms shake as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees, the bell on her collar jingling with the effort. She's unsteady, swaying slightly, her limbs still trembling from the aftershocks. But she crawls. Slowly, carefully, across the ruined sheets, one hand in front of the other, knees sliding through the wet patches she left behind, moving toward Minjeong at the foot of the bed.
She stops in front of Minjeong. On her hands and knees at the edge of the mattress, eye level with the strap. The bell hangs beneath her chin, swaying gently. Her hair falls in messy curtains around her face. Minjeong reaches down and tilts Ning's chin up with two fingers. Studies her. The smeared makeup, the tear tracks, the swollen lips, the flush that extends from her cheeks down her neck and across her chest. The collar sitting snug against her throat. The faint red marks from the handcuffs circling her wrists.
"You smell like a whore," Minjeong tells her. "Like cum and sweat and pussy. Like someone who spent the last hour being used as a fuck toy by two people she barely knows. You reek of it."
Ning's lips tremble. She doesn't look away.
"Meow for me."
Ning meows. Soft, small, slightly hoarse from all the screaming, the sound catching in her raw throat. The bell jingles as her chin dips with the effort. Minjeong smiles. She strokes Ning's hair once, tucking a matted strand behind her ear. "See this?" She wraps her hand around the shaft of the strap and angles it toward Ning's face, the tip brushing her lower lip. "This is for you. Your job is to worship it. Not suck it, not blow it. Worship it. Like it's the most important thing in your world. Starting now."
Ning's lips part. She extends her tongue and touches it to the underside of the shaft, just below the head, and drags it slowly upward. Her eyes stay locked on Minjeong's. Wide, dark, still glistening with tears, unblinking. She licks a stripe from base to tip, then closes her lips around the head and sinks forward, taking the first few inches into her mouth with reverent, unhurried devotion. No gagging, no desperation. Slow. Her cheeks hollow gently as she sucks, her tongue working the underside, and she never once breaks eye contact with the woman standing above her.
Minjeong's hand settles on top of Ning's head, fingers threading into her damp, tangled hair. She watches her collared kitten worship the strap with an expression you've never seen on her before. Possession, tenderness, hunger, disbelief, all layered on top of each other. Her thumb traces circles on Ning's scalp. The bell chimes softly with each gentle bob of Ning's head. "Good girl," Minjeong whispers. "My good girl.â
Ning takes her time. Her tongue traces the ridge beneath the head of the strap, slowly, mapping the shape of it like she's memorizing every contour. She pulls back and presses her lips to the side of the shaft, kissing down toward the base where silicone meets harness, where she can smell Minjeong's skin underneath, the salt and musk of her. She kisses back up the other side, unhurried, devoted, and when she reaches the tip again she parts her lips and takes it in, sinking forward until her nose nearly touches Minjeong's pelvis.
The bell chimes softly with each subtle bob of her head. Her eyes never leave Minjeong's face. Minjeong watches with parted lips, one hand resting on top of Ning's head, fingers curled loosely in her hair. She's quiet for a while, just breathing, just watching, letting Ning set the pace. The strap pushes against the base plate with each stroke, transferring subtle pressure against Minjeong's clit, and every so often her eyelids flutter at the contact.
"You look so pretty with a cock in your mouth," Minjeong murmurs, brushing a strand of damp hair away from Ning's face. "Like you were designed for it."
Ning hums around the shaft, grateful, and takes it deeper. Spit is building around her lips, coating the silicone in a slick sheen, dripping from her chin in slow threads that land on the sheets between her hands.
Then Minjeong's grip tightens. Her fingers twist into a fist at the back of Ning's skull, and the gentle resting hand becomes something controlling. She holds Ning's head still and rolls her hips forward, pushing the strap deeper into Ning's mouth. A test. Ning gags slightly, her throat constricting, but she doesn't pull back. She breathes through her nose and relaxes her jaw and takes it.
"Good," Minjeong breathes. She pulls back and thrusts forward again, a little harder. "Stay right there."
She starts fucking Ning's throat. Slow at first, measured strokes that push the strap past Ning's tongue and into the tight resistance of her throat, holding for a beat, then withdrawing. Each thrust draws a thick, wet gurgling sound from Ning's mouth, saliva flooding around the shaft, bubbling at the corners of her lips. Minjeong increases the pace gradually, her hips finding a rhythm, her fist in Ning's hair controlling the angle and the depth.
Ning takes it. Her hands grip the edge of the mattress for balance, her collared throat working around the intrusion, her eyes streaming with reflexive tears that cut fresh tracks through the mess on her face. She gags and drools and keeps going, keeps her eyes locked on Minjeong's, keeps that expression of total, willing surrender even as spit runs freely down her chin and drips onto her chest.
You lean back against the headboard, watching, arms crossed. "This is really romantic."
Minjeong doesn't break her rhythm. She keeps her fist in Ning's hair and her hips rolling forward and glances at you over her shoulder. "It is, actually."
"Nothing says 'welcome to the building' like a strap down the throat."
"Before I can pamper her, I need to degrade her a little first. It's the process. Destruction and reconstruction. You have to tear something down before you can build it into what it's meant to be." She thrusts deep and holds Ning there, nose pressed against her pelvis, throat convulsing.
"Quite poetic."
"I get pretty poetic when thereâs a beautiful, slutty girl sucking my big, thick cock." She releases Ning's head and the girl pulls back gasping, a thick bridge of spit stretching from her lips to the tip of the strap before it collapses onto her chin. Minjeong strokes her cheek with the back of her hand.
She grabs Ning's hair again and pulls her back onto the strap. Harder this time, faster, her hips pumping with real force, using Ning's mouth like it exists for this singular purpose. The sounds are filthy. Wet, choking, guttural. Ning's throat bulges with each deep stroke, her body lurching forward. She gags violently and spit erupts around the shaft, coating Minjeong's thighs, running in thick ropes down Ning's neck and between her collarbones.
Minjeong keeps going. She fucks Ning's face with the detached focus of someone working through a task, her jaw set, her breathing steady, only the flush across her chest betraying how much this is doing for her. The base plate grinds against her clit with every thrust and she absorbs each pulse of pleasure without changing expression.
Then she stops. Pulls the strap out completely. Steps back.
Ning stays on her hands and knees, head hanging, chest heaving. She's destroyed. Saliva covers the entire lower half of her face, her neck, her collarbones. It's dripped down onto her tits and stomach, mixing with the dried residue of everything else that's been on her tonight. Her lips are swollen and raw, her mascara has migrated to her temples, and she's trembling from head to toe.
"Open your mouth," Minjeong says. Ning tilts her face up and opens wide. Tongue out, lips stretched, the bell resting in the puddle of drool at the hollow of her throat. Minjeong leans forward and spits. A thick glob that lands directly on Ning's tongue. It sits there, glistening, and Ning holds perfectly still, mouth open, waiting. "Swallow."
Ning closes her mouth and swallows. Her throat bobs once. She opens her mouth again to show it's gone.
"Perfect little drain." Minjeong traces Ning's jawline with her fingertip, tilting her head side to side like she's inspecting merchandise. "Tell me something, kitten. Have you ever been fucked in the ass?"
The question catches her off guard. The empty, obedient look breaks, and a timid, almost girlish shyness surfaces. Her blush deepens and she lowers her gaze to the bed. "Only twice," she admits quietly.
Minjeong's palm connects with Ning's cheek. Not hard enough to snap her head, but sharp enough that the crack rings through the room and a pink handprint blooms on Ning's skin. Ning's eyes go wide, her mouth falling open in a surprised little gasp, the bell jingling from the impact.
"Dirty little slut," Minjeong says evenly. "Acting all shy and innocent with your 'only twice.' Youâre disgusting⊠and you know it. Only twice. Like a normal person's answer to that question isn't zero." She grabs Ning's chin and forces her to make eye contact. "But that's good. It means we can skip the boring part. Your greedy little asshole already knows how to open up for cock."
She releases Ning's chin and looks at you. That look. Commanding, certain, the look that turns her from a five-foot-nothing disaster lesbian into someone you'd follow off a cliff. "Get the lube."
You roll off the bed and cross to the dresser. Second drawer, left side, behind the silicone cleaning spray. You know where she keeps it because you've been here enough times to navigate this room blindfolded. You grab the bottle (water-based, good quality, Minjeong doesn't cheap out on essentials) and turn back toward the bed.
The position has already changed. Minjeong is lying on her back in the center of the mattress, the strap pointing straight up from between her hips. Ning is climbing on top of her, straddling her waist, their bodies pressing together. Ning's hands brace on either side of Minjeong's head. The bell dangles between them, brushing Minjeong's collarbone. Their faces are inches apart.
Minjeong reaches down and positions the head of the strap against Ning's entrance. Not inside. Just there. Resting against her slit, the tip nudging between her swollen lips. Ning's hips rock forward instinctively, trying to sink down, and Minjeong grabs her waist to stop her. "Not yet," she whispers. "Wait for it."
You climb onto the bed behind them, lube in hand. From this angle, Ning's ass is presented to you, round and full and perfect, the curve of it framing the view of Minjeong's strap pressed against her pussy below. Her thighs are spread wide across Minjeong's hips. Everything is on display.
Minjeong peers around Ning's shoulder at you, her expression calm and focused and completely in control of every variable in this room. "Get her ready.â
You pop the cap on the lube and squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers. It pools in your palm, clear and slick, and you start at the curve of Ning's ass, spreading it across both cheeks in slow strokes. Your palms glide over the full roundness of her, kneading gently, working the lube into her skin until it gleams under the lamplight. She shifts on top of Minjeong, her thighs tightening around the other girl's hips, and you feel the muscles in her glutes tense under your hands.
"Cold," Ning murmurs, a tremor running through her.
"I know,â Minjeong says. âGive it a second."
You bring your slicked fingers to the cleft of her ass and slide downward, finding the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks. You circle it slowly with the pad of your index finger, spreading the lubricant around the rim, letting her body register the sensation before you ask anything of it. Ning's breathing changes. Her shoulders hunch forward, her forehead dropping against Minjeong's collarbone, and beneath her you can see Minjeong's hand come up to stroke her hair.
You press the tip of your finger against her entrance. Gentle, patient pressure, not forcing, just resting there, letting the muscle relax on its own terms. It takes a few seconds. You feel the tension gradually release, the ring softening, and your fingertip slips inside to the first knuckle. Ning exhales shakily against Minjeong's chest. "There you go," you say quietly. "Just relax."
You work your finger deeper, inch by inch, feeling the heat of her, the tight grip of her walls around the digit. She's tense but yielding, her body fighting its own instincts and slowly winning. You pull back and push in again, a little deeper, establishing a gentle rhythm. When she's comfortable with one finger, you add a second, scissoring them apart carefully, stretching her open with methodical patience. Ning whimpers into Minjeong's neck, her hips rocking back against your hand in tiny, involuntary movements.
"She likes it," Minjeong observes from below, watching your fingers disappear into Ning's ass. Her free hand traces lazy patterns on Ning's spine. "Look at her pushing back onto your fingers. Greedy even here."
You work her for another minute, making sure she's properly relaxed, properly slicked. Then you withdraw your fingers and squeeze more lube onto your palm, wrapping your fist around your cock and stroking it from base to tip until the entire shaft glistens. You wipe the excess across Ning's entrance one more time for good measure.
You position yourself behind Ning, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her ass. The head presses against the ring of muscle, warm and slick, and you hold there. "Tell me if it hurts," you say. "Or if you need me to slow down. Any time."
Ning nods against Minjeong's chest, her fingers gripping the sheets on either side of Minjeong's shoulders.
"He likes you a lot," Minjeong tells Ning softly, brushing her lips against Ning's temple. "He's not usually this gentle."
Ning turns her head, catching your eye over her shoulder. "You're very thoughtful."
"Someone here has to be," you reply, glancing at Minjeong.
"Excuse me, I am extremely thoughtful. I gave her a collar."
You push forward. Slowly. The head of your cock meets resistance and you maintain steady pressure, not thrusting, just leaning into it, letting her body decide the pace. The ring stretches around the tip, tight and gripping, and Ning's breath catches. Her fingers dig into the mattress. You pause.
"Keep going," she whispers.
You push deeper. The same patience you used with your fingers, feeding your cock into the impossibly tight heat of her ass while her body opens for you in gradual, reluctant increments. She's burning hot inside, tighter than anything, and the pressure around your shaft is almost overwhelming. You grit your teeth and go slow, watching the place where your body meets hers, watching her stretch around you.
Beneath her, Minjeong reaches down and guides the strap to Ning's pussy. She tilts her hips and pushes upward, and the head of the silicone cock slides between Ning's swollen lips and into her cunt at the same moment that you sink another inch into her ass.
Ning releases a guttural, fractured cry that wavers between a sob and a moan, her muscles locking as both holes fill simultaneously. Her mouth opens against Minjeong's collarbone and she just breathes, fast and shallow, processing the fullness.
"Oh my god," she chokes out. "Oh my god, I can feel both of you. I can feel everything."
"Breathe," Minjeong tells her, cupping the back of her head. "Just breathe, kitten."
You hold still, buried halfway in Ning's ass, giving her time. Minjeong holds still beneath her, the strap seated partway in her pussy. The three of you exist in a suspended moment of absolute fullness, nobody moving, just breathing together, letting Ning's body adjust to being stretched in two places at once.
Then Ning rolls her hips. Barely perceptible, just a tiny rocking motion, testing, and the sensation ripples through all three of you. You feel the shift in pressure as the strap moves inside her pussy, separated from your cock by only a thin wall of tissue, and the indirect contact through her body sends a jolt through your shaft that makes your jaw clench.
"More," Ning whispers. You push the rest of the way in. Slow, steady, until your hips press flush against her ass. At the same time, Minjeong rocks upward, seating the strap fully in Ning's cunt. Ning is pinned between the two of you, every inch of both holes filled, her small body stretched and stuffed and sandwiched between your chest and Minjeong's. "Fuck," Ning breathes. "Fuck, that's so much. It's so much."
"Too much?" you ask.
"No. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
You start to move. Slow, careful, pulling back a few inches and pressing forward again. Minjeong finds a counter-rhythm beneath you both, thrusting upward as you withdraw, so that Ning is never empty, always full of one of you, the two cocks alternating inside her in a steady, rocking cadence. The thin membrane separating your shaft from the strap means you can feel every stroke Minjeong makes, a firm pressure sliding against you through Ning's body, and the sensation is dizzying.
Ning is lost. Her face is buried in Minjeong's neck, her hips moving in helpless, undulating waves between the two of you, taking each thrust from behind and each upstroke from below. The bell on her collar chimes with every rock of her body. Her moans are continuous now, not sharp peaks but a sustained, low, trembling sound that vibrates in her chest.
"Can you feel him in your ass while I'm in your pussy?" Minjeong murmurs against Ning's ear, her hips rolling in smooth, controlled strokes. "Can you feel both of us moving inside you at the same time? Filling you up from both sides?"
"Yes," Ning gasps. "I feel everything. I feel you rubbing against each other through me. It's so full, I've never been this full, I can't think."
"You don't need to think. I told you that already. Thinking is not what you're here for." Minjeong thrusts upward, sharp, and Ning cries out. "You're here to take two cocks at once like the greedy little hole you are and say thank you when we're done."
You increase your pace slightly, your strokes lengthening, pulling back further before pushing in. Ning's ass grips you with every movement, the lube making the slide smooth but the tightness still staggering, her body clenching and releasing around your shaft in rhythmic pulses that sync with Minjeong's thrusts below. You grip Ning's hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of her spine, and settle into a steady, driving tempo.
"Look at her taking it," Minjeong says, and there's genuine awe underneath the domination. She cranes her neck to look past Ning's shoulder at you, watching your cock disappear into Ning's ass on every stroke. "Both holes stuffed and she's still begging for more. I knew it. I knew the second I saw her that she was built for this."
Ning whimpers in response, her nails scratching at the sheets beside Minjeong's head. Her back arches, pressing her chest harder against Minjeong's, their nipples sliding together with each thrust. The position keeps her pinned, unable to control anything, unable to set the pace, simply trapped between two bodies that are using her in tandem. And she loves it. Every line of her body broadcasts it, the way she pushes back onto you, the way she grinds down onto Minjeong, the way her moans have taken on a pitch that borders on delirium.
You lean forward, changing the angle, and Ning screams. Your cock hits deeper, pressing against spots that make her entire body jolt, and at the same time Minjeong adjusts beneath her, angling the strap upward, finding her g-spot through her front wall. Ning is caught between the two points of pressure, her body jerking and spasming.
"That's our good kitten," Minjeong coos, holding Ning's trembling body against hers, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her ass, pulling her cheeks apart so you can thrust deeper. "Taking both her owners so well. So stretched. So full. So perfectly, obscenely stuffed. Now mark her," she says, looking past Ning's shoulder at you. "I want prints on her."
You bring your palm down on Ning's right cheek. The crack splits the air and Ning yelps, her whole body clenching, her ass tightening around your cock so hard your vision blurs for a second. A pink handprint blooms on her skin, vivid against the pale flesh.
"Again," Minjeong orders. "Leave her tight little ass completely red. I want it glowing."
You smack her left cheek. Then the right again. Then the left. Each impact sends a shockwave through Ning's body that you feel in the grip of her ass around your shaft, each clench followed by a release that lets you thrust deeper. Her skin flushes from pink to angry red, overlapping handprints layering on top of each other until both cheeks are burning, swollen, marked in a way that's going to last for days.
Ning screams into Minjeong's neck with every slap, her body jolting forward, then rocking back onto your cock like she's chasing the sting. "Tell me what you are," Minjeong demands. She grabs a fistful of Ning's hair and pulls her head up, forcing her face out of hiding. "Loud. So I can hear it."
"I'm a whore," Ning shouts. Her face is streaked with fresh tears, mascara long gone, nothing left but raw skin and swollen lips and wild, desperate eyes. "I'm a dirty little whore."
"The neighbors are going to hear you screaming that."
"I don't care." Ning's hips grind back against you, then forward onto Minjeong, her body working between the two cocks with frantic, shameless need. "I don't care if they hear. I want everyone to know. I want the whole building to know I'm a whore. That Minjeong is my owner. That I belong to her."
Minjeong's hand slides from Ning's hair to her throat. Not squeezing, not choking. Just holding. Her fingers wrap around the column of Ning's neck, feeling the collar beneath her palm, the bell pressing into the webbing between her thumb and index finger. She tilts Ning's face down until their eyes meet.
"Look at me," Minjeong says. Quiet now, almost tender. "Don't close your eyes. Don't look away. I want you to cum while you're looking at me. I want to see it happen."
Ning's gaze locks onto Minjeong's. Inches apart, sharing breath, Minjeong's hand steady on her throat. The bell is trapped between Minjeong's fingers and Ning's skin, silent for the first time.
You fuck her harder. Deep, punishing strokes into her ass, each one landing with a wet smack against her reddened cheeks, your fingers digging into her bruised hips. Minjeong thrusts upward in counterpoint, the strap filling Ning's pussy on every alternating beat, the two of you working her body in a relentless, coordinated rhythm that leaves her nowhere to go, nothing to do except take it and feel it and fall apart.
Ning's lips start trembling. Her breathing fractures into staccato bursts, each exhale a whimper, each inhale a gasp. Her thighs shake uncontrollably against Minjeong's hips. Her fingers claw at the sheets, the mattress, Minjeong's shoulders, anything she can reach. The tension builds visibly in her body, every muscle drawing taut, her stomach clenching, her jaw tightening, her eyes going glassy and unfocused even as she fights to keep them locked on Minjeong's face.
"That's it," Minjeong whispers, her thumb stroking the side of Ning's throat. "Right there. Let go for me. Let me see it." It hits her from both directions at once. You feel it in her ass first, a clamping, rhythmic contraction that grips your cock so tight you have to grit your teeth, her muscles spasming in rapid pulses. Then Minjeong gasps beneath her as Ning's pussy does the same thing around the strap, both holes clenching simultaneously in waves that roll through her body like seismic aftershocks.
Ning's mouth opens. No sound comes out for a full two seconds. Her back arches, rigid, suspended between the two of you, every tendon in her neck standing out beneath Minjeong's hand. Then the scream comes. Low at first, building, ragged and destroyed and raw, her eyes never leaving Minjeong's face even as her body convulses between them. Tears spill freely down her cheeks. Her hips jerk and stutter in helpless, broken movements. Fluid gushes from around the strap, soaking Minjeong's thighs and the sheets beneath them.
The orgasm goes on and on. Each time you think it's subsiding, another wave hits her, another contraction grips you, another cry tears from her throat. Minjeong holds her gaze through all of it, steady and anchoring, her hand warm and firm on Ning's throat, grounding her through the most intense thing her body has ever experienced.
When it finally ends, Ning collapses. Completely, boneless, every ounce of energy drained, her full weight dropping onto Minjeong's chest. Her cheek presses against Minjeong's collarbone. Her eyes close. Her breathing is ragged, hitching, edging toward sobs. Minjeong wraps both arms around her. Pulls her close. One hand cradles the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her tangled, sweat-damp hair. The other rests flat between her shoulder blades, palm warm against her spine. She presses her lips to Ning's temple and holds them there.
"Good girl," she murmurs into Ning's hair. "Such a good girl. My perfect little kitten. You did so well. I'm so proud of you."
Ning makes a small, broken sound against Minjeong's chest. Her fingers curl weakly into the sheets beside Minjeong's ribs, holding on. You pull out of Ning slowly, carefully, and her body shudders once at the withdrawal. Her reddened ass bears overlapping handprints in various shades of crimson, the skin hot to the touch. You sit back and exhale.
"I'm close," you tell Minjeong.
She looks at you over Ning's shoulder. "Stand up."
You climb off the bed, your feet finding the floor, and stand at the edge of the mattress. Minjeong gently lifts Ning off her chest, easing her upward, pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose.
"One more thing, kitten." She strokes Ning's face. "Can you kneel for me? On the floor?"
Ning blinks, still dazed, still trembling in the afterglow. She nods faintly. Minjeong helps her to the edge of the bed and Ning slides off, her knees finding the carpet, settling into that familiar position. On the floor, between your legs, looking up at you and Minjeong with glazed, wrecked, adoring eyes. The collar gleams at her throat. Minjeong slips off the bed and kneels beside her, one arm draped around Ning's shoulders, both of them looking up at you from the floor.
"Now," Minjeong says, settling beside Ning on her knees, one arm still draped protectively across her shoulders, "my kitten gets her reward." She looks up at you, then at Ning, then at your cock standing hard and slick inches from both their faces. "Warm milk. All over that pretty face and tongue." She runs her fingertip along Ning's jaw, turning her head to face your shaft. "You must be starving, baby. You've worked so hard tonight. Been such a good little pet. So you're going to suck that cock until he gives you every drop. And I'm going to help."
Minjeong leans forward first. Her lips close around the head of your cock, warm and soft, her tongue swirling once before she pulls back and guides Ning in. Ning's mouth replaces hers, those swollen, raw lips stretching around your shaft, taking you halfway in a single smooth stroke. She bobs twice, sloppy and eager, spit already building, and then pulls back as Minjeong moves in again.
They find a rhythm. Ning takes you deep while Minjeong's tongue works the base, licking the underside of your shaft where Ning's lips can't reach. Then they switch. Minjeong sucks the head while Ning drops lower, pressing her mouth against your balls, her tongue dragging across the sensitive skin, taking one into her mouth and sucking gently while Minjeong bobs above her.
Then their mouths meet at the tip. Ning's tongue presses flat against one side of the head, Minjeong's against the other, and they lick upward in unison, their tongues meeting at the slit, sliding against each other with your cock trapped between them. The contact dissolves into a kiss. Minjeong's hand cups the back of Ning's head and they kiss around the head of your cock, tongues tangling together, lips brushing the sensitive ridge, spit and precum smearing between their mouths in a connected, glistening mess. The bell on Ning's collar chimes softly as she tilts her head to deepen the angle.
"You two are perfect together," you manage.
Minjeong breaks the kiss and looks up at you, a strand of spit connecting her lip to Ning's. She smiles. Then she turns to Ning and presses one last, lingering kiss against her mouth. Slow, tender, her thumb stroking Ning's cum-stained cheek. "I want the best seat in the house for this," she murmurs against Ning's lips.
She stands. Her bare feet pad around behind you and you feel her chest press against your back, her chin hooking over your shoulder, her arms winding around your torso from behind. One hand slides down your stomach and wraps around your cock, slick from both their mouths, her grip firm, practiced and exactly right.
Below you, Ning kneels alone. She tilts her face up, mouth open, the collar gleaming, and extends her tongue to press against your frenulum. Just the tip of her tongue, light, flickering, the most sensitive spot on your entire body being teased with delicate, maddening precision while Minjeong's fist works the shaft from behind.
"Look at her," Minjeong whispers against your ear, her breath hot on your neck. "Look at that face. That gorgeous, ruined, perfect face. Mascara destroyed. Lips swollen. And she's kneeling there begging for more. She deserves to be painted. She deserves every single drop you've got."
Her hand strokes you steadily, twisting slightly at the top, her thumb swiping over the head on each upstroke before Ning's tongue catches the underside again. Minjeong's other hand rests on your hip, her nails pressing lightly into your skin.
"Imagine what she's going to look like," Minjeong continues, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Thick ropes of cum across those cheekbones. Dripping off her chin. Pooling on that pretty tongue. Sliding down to the collar. My collared little cum dump covered in you while I watch."
Ning's tongue flutters against the frenulum and she pulls back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head of your cock. "Please. I want it. I've been good, I've been so good tonight, please give it to me. I want to taste it. I want to feel it land on me."
"Hear that?" Minjeong's hand quickens. Her strokes tighten, pumping your shaft with urgent, focused precision, her wrist snapping on the downstroke. "Your little kitten is begging. She's starving for it. Starving for your cum on her pretty face."
Ning opens wider, her tongue extended as far as it'll go, flat and waiting. "Please, please, please. Cum on me. Cover me. I'll swallow everything, I'll lick it all up, please, I need it."
"Give it to her," Minjeong breathes. "Cum all over her fucking face. Do it. Now."
"I'm close," you grit out, your abs clenching, your thighs locking.
Ning stays perfectly still, kneeling, tongue out, eyes open, looking up at you with those glassy, adoring, wrecked eyes. Minjeong aims your cock directly at her face from behind your hip, angling the head downward, her grip controlling exactly where every drop is going to land.
You break. The first rope fires thick and hot across Ning's cheek, a white streak from the corner of her mouth to her temple. Ning flinches at the impact and then holds still, mouth open wider, and the second shot lands directly on her tongue, heavy and warm, pooling in the center. Minjeong doesn't stop stroking. Her fist milks your shaft in relentless, squeezing pumps, coaxing everything out of you, and the third rope catches Ning's forehead, dripping down the bridge of her nose. The fourth hits her chin and slides down to the collar, catching in the leather, dripping off the bell. The fifth and sixth are weaker, oozing from the tip, and Minjeong aims them across Ning's lips, painting them white, smearing the head of your cock across her mouth to spread the last traces.
"Oh fuck," Minjeong exhales against your shoulder, watching her handiwork. "Look at that. Look at her. She's covered. She's absolutely covered."
Ning kneels there, face glazed, tongue still extended with a thick pool of cum sitting in the center. It streaks across her features like abstract art, white against flushed skin, dripping slowly down the contours of her face, following the paths of the dried tears and mascara tracks. The collar glistens with it. A drop hangs from the bell, catching the light before it falls.
Minjeong pushes your cock forward, guiding the sensitive, spent head between Ning's lips. "Clean him up, kitten."
Ning closes her mouth around the tip and sucks gently. You shudder, every nerve ending screaming with oversensitivity, your hands gripping Minjeong's arm around your waist for stability. Ning's tongue swirls around the head, dipping into the slit, coaxing the last remnants of cum from you with patient, thorough attention. She sucks and licks and swallows, her throat bobbing, until there's nothing left and your cock is clean and twitching in her mouth.
She releases you with a soft, wet sound and looks up, waiting. Cum still covers most of her face, drying at the edges, fresh and wet in the center. Minjeong steps out from behind you and kneels in front of Ning. She takes Ning's face in both hands, cupping her jaw, tilting her head left, then right, examining her. Her thumbs rest on Ning's cheekbones, framing the mess, and a slow, reverent smile spreads across her face. "Perfect," she whispers. "You're absolutely perfect."
She leans in and presses her tongue flat against Ning's forehead. The first lick drags through the streak of cum there, collecting it. She pulls back, swallows, and goes in again. Across Ning's temple, where the first rope landed, her tongue tracing the line from hairline to cheekbone, gathering every trace. Ning's eyes close. A soft, contented sigh escapes her as Minjeong's tongue moves down to her cheek, lapping at the thick smear there with long, patient strokes, cleaning the skin beneath to a flushed, spit-shined pink.
Minjeong works methodically. She licks across the bridge of Ning's nose, down the other cheek, along her jawline where a trickle has dried. Her tongue finds the corner of Ning's mouth and traces the crease where cum has settled into her smile lines. She licks Ning's chin clean, her tongue pressing into the soft dip beneath her lower lip, following the trail down to the collar where the last drops cling to leather and metal. She licks the collar itself, her tongue running along the strap, over the surface of the bell, tasting salt, cum and Ning's skin all at once.
Ning stays still through all of it, eyes closed, face tilted up, surrendering to the sensation of being cleaned by the woman who owns her. Small tremors run through her body. Her hands rest limp in her lap. When Minjeong finishes, Ning's face is clean. Flushed and raw and still marked with the ghosts of mascara, but clean.
Minjeong tilts Ning's cleaned face toward hers and kisses her. Her mouth opens, and you watch the moment Ning realizes what's happening. Minjeong is pushing the collected cum from her own tongue into Ning's mouth, feeding it to her in a slow transfer. Ning makes a small, surprised sound and then melts into it, her hand finding Minjeong's and their fingers lacing together on Ning's bare thigh. They stay like that for a long moment, mouths connected, sharing the taste between them, Ning swallowing in small pulses while Minjeong's thumb strokes circles against the back of her hand.
When they finally break apart, Ning licks her lips and Minjeong presses her forehead against hers, both of them breathing, both of them quiet. You sit on the edge of the bed. The room is wrecked. The sheets are wrecked. Everyone in the room is wrecked.
"That," you say to the ceiling, "was a very intense night."
"Understatement," Minjeong murmurs, still forehead-to-forehead with Ning.
Ning lets out a shaky exhale that's half laugh, half disbelief. "Everything happened so fast. Like, two hours ago I was looking for my keys."
"And now look at you."
"Please don't make me look at me right now." Ning shifts on her knees, winces, and glances toward the hallway. "Can we take a bath? I need... water. Hot water. On my body. Immediately."
"Yeah," you agree.
"Absolutely," Minjeong says, finally pulling back from Ning's face. She stands, offering Ning both hands, and Ning takes them.
Getting up is a process. Her legs wobble on the first attempt, her knees buckling, and Minjeong catches her around the waist with a steadiness that suggests she's done post-sex stabilization before (she has, for you, twice). Ning finds her footing on the second try, standing on shaking legs, one hand gripping Minjeong's shoulder.
Minjeong looks back at the bed. The sheets are destroyed. Soaked through in multiple overlapping patches of various fluids, twisted into ropes at the corners where someone (everyone) was gripping them, the fitted sheet pulled halfway off the mattress. A pillow has migrated to the floor. The handcuffs dangle from the headboard slat, still open. The smeared remnants of red lipstick have transferred onto the fabric in abstract streaks. The lube bottle is on its side, cap off, a small puddle forming on the nightstand.
"I'm going to have to replace literally everything. The sheets, the mattress protector, possibly the mattress. This looks like a crime scene."
"A fun crime scene," you offer.
Ning looks down at herself and goes very still. Her stomach is sticky with dried residue (sweat, spit, squirt, cum, all mixed together in various combinations). The ghost of the lipstick letters still clings to her skin in faded red traces. Her knees are raw and red from the carpet, the skin irritated and tender. She turns slightly and cranes her neck to look at her own ass, and her eyes go wide. "Oh my god."
It's crimson. Both cheeks overlapping with handprints in varying shades of red, some of them clearly defined (fingers, palm, thumb) and others just general swelling from repeated impact.
"Oh my god," Ning repeats, touching her own cheek gingerly and flinching. "That's so red."
Minjeong's dominance evaporates instantly, she rushes over and examines the marks with careful fingers, barely touching, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay? I have a really good moisturizing cream, it's the one with shea butter and aloe, I can put it on your knees and your... everything after the bath. It helps with inflammation."
"I'm fine." Ning gives her a lopsided smile. "Just a little sore. Everywhere. In places I didn't know could be sore."
Minjeong takes her hand and leads her down the hallway to the bathroom, walking slowly, matching Ning's careful pace. You follow. The bathroom is small but clean (the cleanest room in the apartment at this point, by default). Ning catches her reflection in the mirror above the sink and stops dead. She stares at herself.
The mascara is gone. Not removed. Migrated. It's spread across her temples, under her eyes, down her cheeks in dried tracks that map every tear she shed tonight. Her foundation is patchy and streaked. Her lipstick dissolved hours ago. Her hair is a tangled, matted disaster. The collar still sits around her throat. Faint red marks circle both wrists from the handcuffs. Her entire body from the neck down glistens with a cocktail of everything the three of you produced tonight. "Holy shit," Ning whispers at her own reflection. "You two really used me."
Minjeong, standing behind Ning, locks eyes with you in the mirror. She's trying not to freak out. Trying so hard. Her lips are pressed together, her nostrils are flared, and her hand reaches out and grabs your bicep in a death grip, her nails digging in. She squeezes your arm so hard you almost yelp, and behind Ning's back she's suppressing a grin so enormous it looks physically painful to contain.
You give her a subtle nod. She releases your arm (there will be half-moon nail marks there tomorrow) and composes herself. Minjeong turns the shower on. She adjusts the handle, testing the temperature with her wrist, nudging it warmer until steam starts curling against the glass, then helps Ning step in first. Ning moves under the stream and the hot water hits her shoulders and she lets out a groan of relief that borders on spiritual. The collar's bell catches the water and glints.
"Should I take this off?" Ning asks, touching it.
"Only if you want to."
Ning considers. "I'll keep it on."
Minjeong's face does the thing again (the barely suppressed joy, the disbelief) and she steps in behind Ning, pressing close under the spray. You get in last, and the three of you fit in the shower the way three adults fit in a standard shower stall, which is to say barely, with a lot of rotating and someone always catching an elbow and everyone taking turns directly under the water.
Minjeong washes Ning. Carefully. She squeezes eucalyptus wash onto a soft cloth and runs it over Ning's shoulders in slow, gentle strokes, working down her arms, across her chest, rinsing each section under the stream before moving to the next. She handles the raw spots (knees, wrists, the reddened cheeks of her ass) with extra tenderness, barely any pressure, just warm water and soft fabric. When she gets to Ning's hair, she reaches for a specific bottle on the shelf. You recognize it immediately.
"Is that the expensive shampoo?"
Minjeong doesn't look at you. "Maybe."
"The one you specifically told me I'm never allowed to use?"
"It's for her hair type."
"My hair has a type too, Minjeong."
"Your hair has the type of 'use the two-in-one like everyone else.'" She squeezes a generous amount into her palm and begins working it through Ning's hair, massaging her scalp with her fingertips. Ning practically purrs under the attention, her eyes closed, her body leaning back into Minjeong's hands, the hot water rinsing the suds down her back in slow cascades.
After the shower, Minjeong wraps Ning in the fluffiest bathrobe in the apartment. She sits Ning on the closed toilet lid and dries her hair with a blow dryer, one hand running through the strands while the other directs the warm air, sectioning and smoothing with the attention of a salon professional.
You lean against the doorframe, towel around your waist, watching this. "I've never received this level of service."
"And you never will. Be grateful I'm still willing to give you water."
"Noted."
Once Ning's hair is dry and soft and falling in clean waves around her face, you and Minjeong put on some clothes, then she leads Ning to the kitchen.
"Tea," she announces, filling the kettle. "After all that, we need tea."
"You're so Korean," you say.
"And you're so annoying. What do you want?"
"Mint."
Minjeong looks at Ning, who has settled onto a kitchen stool with the careful movements of someone whose entire lower body is filing complaints. "Chamomile, please."
With the calm precision of habit, Minjeong fixes three cups. She opens a cabinet and pulls out a tin of butter cookies, the classic round one straight out of a grandmotherâs kitchen, then sets it down on the counter.
The three of you drink tea and eat cookies in the kitchen of apartment 69 at (you check the microwave clock) eleven forty-seven on a weeknight. Ning is in a fluffy bathrobe with a collar and bell around her neck. Minjeong is in an old t-shirt and fresh shorts. You're in your jeans and nothing else.
Minjeong wraps both hands around her mug. Stares into the tea. Takes a breath. "So, Ning."
"So, Minjeong."
"Would you... do you want to go on a date with me? Tomorrow?" She says it quickly, her eyes fixed on the surface of her chamomile. "Like, dinner. Or coffee. Or whatever you want. Something normal. Where we wear clothes and sit across from each other and talk."
Ning smiles. "I'd really like that."
Minjeong exhales. You watch the tension drain from her shoulders in real time, weeks of anxiety dissolving in a single sentence.
Ning shakes her head slowly, laughing at herself.
"I still can't believe I did all that. With two people I barely knew three hours ago. I'm... I mean, I was going to watch Gossip Girl. I was going to make instant ramen and watch Gossip Girl and go to sleep at midnight like a normal person. And instead I got..." She gestures at everything: the collar, the bathrobe, the cookie in her hand, the entire trajectory of the evening.
"Any regrets?" Minjeong asks.
"Zero. Absolutely zero." Ning dunks her cookie in her tea and takes a bite. "I'm just realizing I might be a much more adventurous person than I thought."
Minjeong nibbles the edge of her own cookie. "I hope it wasn't too much. For a first time. I know I can be... a lot. I was so excited and nervous simultaneously and when I get like that I tend to just go and go and go and I should have checked in more and..."
"Minjeong."
"Yeah?"
"It was too much. But in the best way. Like, you took sex and turned it into something I didn't know existed. I didn't know it could feel like that. I didn't know I could feel like that."
Minjeong stares at her cookie with an expression of concentrated joy that she's trying very hard to play cool about. Ning takes another sip of chamomile, and then, very quietly, looking at the counter rather than at either of you, says, "Also, I think I want to try having two... you know. Both of you. In the same... in one..." She trails off. Covers her face with both hands. The bell jingles. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm saying this out loud. Both of you at the same time. In my pussy. Together." She peeks through her fingers. "I think I might die if that actually happened, but I want to try."
Minjeong is gripping her mug so hard her knuckles are white. "We can absolutely make that happen. Yeah."
"But more than anything," Ning continues, setting her tea down. She reaches across the counter and takes Minjeong's hand, threading their fingers together slowly. "I want to get to know you better." She rubs her thumb across Minjeong's knuckles. "When I first moved in, you were this mystery to me. The girl from 69 who I'd catch glimpses of in the hallway and then she'd just... vanish. I kept thinking, is she shy? Does she hate me? Is she a ghost? I genuinely considered the ghost option for a minute."
Minjeong opens her mouth to respond and nothing comes out.
"I'd listen for your door," Ning admits. "I'd hear it open and I'd rush to my peephole hoping to catch you leaving so I could time my exit and accidentally run into you. And every single time, by the time I got my shoes on, you were gone."
"I move fast when I'm panicking," Minjeong says quietly.
"I figured that out tonight." Ning squeezes her hand. "I started thinking maybe I'd never get to talk to you. That you'd just be this beautiful, weird, untouchable person two doors down who I'd think about way more than was reasonable. And now I'm sitting in your kitchen wearing your bathrobe and your collar and I know what sound you make when you cum, but I don't know your favorite movie. Or what makes you laugh. Or what you eat for breakfast. And I want all of that. Every boring, normal detail.â
They look at each other across the kitchen counter, and the bell chimes once as Ning leans in, and they kiss. Gentle, slow, tasting like chamomile and butter cookies.
You finish your mint tea. Set the mug in the sink. Pick up the last cookie from the tin and take a bite. "I'm going to head out," you say. "You two have a lot to talk about."
Minjeong breaks the kiss and stands from her stool. She walks over to you and takes your hand in both of hers, squeezing. "Thank you," she says. "For real. This wouldn't have happened without you. I'd still be hiding behind that plant if you hadn't dragged me into my own life."
"You absolutely would be."
"I know. That's why I'm thanking you."
Ning hops off her stool (winces slightly upon landing), walks over, and presses a kiss to your cheek. Her lips are warm from the tea. "That was really sweet of you. Setting all this up. Being so considerate through everything. You're a good person."
"I'm an okay person who was heavily incentivized."
Ning laughs. "Still."
You pull on your shirt, then the shoes, find your jacket on the couch (right where you left it approximately a lifetime ago), and head for the door. You stop with your hand on the knob and look back at them. Minjeong has her arm around Ning's waist, and Ning is leaning into her, and they look like something that was always supposed to happen and just needed a minor logistical push.
"Just remember to invite me back," you say. "There's apparently a lot of unfinished business."
Minjeong and Ning exchange a knowing glance. "Oh, we're definitely calling you," Minjeong says. "There's still a lot to be done. I have an entire drawer we didn't even open tonight. And I'm going to need your... assistance."
"The drawer you won't tell me about?"
"That drawer stays classified until the appropriate time."
Ning waves from under Minjeong's arm. "Come back soon."
"I will." You open the door and step into the hallway. The sad little fern sits in its pot by the wall, oblivious to its role in the evening's origin story. "Good luck, you two. Goodnight."
You close the door behind you and stand in the hallway for a second, listening. Through the door, muffled, you hear Ning say something and Minjeong laugh. Itâs unfiltered. Effortless. So different from the composed, dry version she shows the world.
You press the elevator button, take a bite of the stolen cookie, and head home.
Note: Special thanks to @mintwithchoco and @woollypoison (my boi TT) for hosting the prompt that you guys have been seeing around for a few days. And of course I need to write Asa.
Moodboard made by both the hosts, and the asa pics are picked by yours truly <3
(4.0k words)Â
You are down bad for Enami Asa.
Yes, your girlfriend. Youâre so down bad for her.
There's no other way to phrase it. You are down bad, like so down bad. You remember how she takes her coffee, how your walking pace slows down subconsciously just so you stay beside her, and how you always apologise first even if you're unsure what the hell you did.
WhichâŠis probably why you're standing frozen in the middle of your shared living apartment, staring at the floor with the heart stuck in your throat. The vase is in pieces. Shattered. Obliterated. You had to look again, and yes, it is the vase that Asa bought when you both first moved into the place. Porcelain shards scatter across the vinyl floor, the flowers that were inside now lay on the ground. The horrible quiet afterwards makes your spine shivers, and it takes you a moment before you register what just happened.
"Oh fuck."
You drop to your knees immediately, and your hands do this weird hovering thing as if magic will come out to repair it. "Ah shit, fuck. No, no, no. Okay. Fine. Hell no it's not fine, but it's, hm.. Can I glue this? People glue stuff all the time, right?" You ramble as panic begins to climb fast. "I'll just carefullyâ"
"You're rambling to yourself again."
You let out a hiccup as you hear the voice coming from behind you. You slowly turn around and, ah shit.
Asa's standing there. In the doorway, smiling. You know those smiles that aren't tight-lipped nor polite, but the soft and fond smile like she's in love? Yeah, the kind she always gives you when you're darn stupid but endearing. The hoodie sleeves (wait, pretty sure that hoodie is yours) covering her hands, her long pink hair a little messy, and completely calm.
Your heart drops down straight to your stomach. "Oh, hey, Asa."
She walks over with light steps, and you could only stand there and watch her approach like a kid watching his parents coming over to see the shitshow but you're powerless to stop it. She looks down at the crime scene on the floor, then back at youâŠand still smiling. Ah, shit.
"Did something happen?" Gosh, the sweet note in her voice and the way she keeps her smile on makes you sweat buckets.
"IâŠuh.."
SMACK.
Her hand comes down flat against your upper back. Well, it wasn't hard enough to hurt, but surely hard enough to make a statement, and hard enough for you to yelp.
She's mumbling as she keeps smacking you, accompanied by low and rapid mumbles that are absolutely not Korean. Her smile is still there, but it scares the shit out of you. You don't understand the full phrase, but you don't need to â she always does this when she's seriously mad yet doesn't look like she is. It's clear that your days are so numbered (Well, not really, but letâs not go to the gritty details.)
ââŠokay, okay, ow ow ow!â you wheeze, hands up. âI deserved that. I deserved that.â
She gives you one more sharp pat between the shoulders like sheâs finishing the thought, then finally steps back. The smile fades just a little as she looks at the broken pieces again. "That was my favourite vase, you know? Your mom bought it for us when we first rented this place." Her voice remains light, but her eyes surely aren't.
âI know,â you say immediately. âIâm really sorry. I swear I didnât mean to. I was reaching for my phone andââ
She sighs, rubbing her temples, then points at the floor. âClean it up, please.â
âYes, maâam.â
âAnd donât cut yourself,â she adds flatly. âThat would make me even more annoyed.â
âCopy that.â
You kneel back down, carefully picking up each shard like a grenade that might explode in your face if you move wrong. But that is nothing compared to the intense glare you can feel from behind. Asa sighs and mutters under her breath again, probably not a compliment. Your shoulders slump.
Damn it. Right when the trip is tomorrow as well. You pray that a good night's sleep will sooth her anger away. Hopefully.
-
Yeah she is still mad, and you can absolutely feel the energy from behind before you both even reach the departure gate.
Sunglasses indoors. Her arms crossed so tight like she refuses to be near you. Her noise-cancelling headphones are in, of course they are. Asa walks half a step ahead of you, rolling her suitcase like she's about to do business and you're just a mess. Adding the cherry on top, she hasn't looked at you once, like at all.
You trail after her like a kicked puppy, passport in one hand, phone in the other, guilt sitting heavy in your chest. Every few steps, you open your mouth like youâre going to say something. Every time, you close it again, not daring to add more fuel to the fire that is Enami Asa. Far out, you dream of this trip as a super romantic alone time with your favourite girl, envisioning moments of you holding her hands through security while whispering dumb dad jokes in line. Letting Asa take a selfie at the gate for her to brag with her friends.
Nah, just penance now.
It was so awkward when checking in with the attendant. Asa refused to answer when he asked if you two travelled together. She slides her passport across the counter without a word. It's only when the attendant asks again when she nods and still refuses to look at you.
You tried again while waiting for your boarding passes with utmost care. Still nothing. (You sigh and stare very hard at the floor afterwards.)
Security is worse. Much, much worse. She goes through first â shoes off, bag in the tray, smooth and efficient. You? Fumbling behind her, almost forget to take your camera out, which earns a disappointed look from the staff. By the time you catch up to her on the other side, sheâs already putting her headphones back on.
âHey,â you say softly. âCan youââ
She finally looks at you. Just a glance over the top of her sunglasses. One eyebrow raised.
You swallow. ââŠCan you pause your music for a second? Please? Asa?â
She stares at you for a long moment, then sighs dramatically and slides one side of the headphones off. âFive seconds.â
"Okay. I just want to say⊠you're still upset, I know. I get it. I justââ You hesitate, then push through. âI donât want this trip to feel bad for you.â
âTotally not.â she says, quiet but sharp. Ah shit. That one cuts deep when she uses sarcasm.
"Okay, okay, I hear you." You say quickly. "I'llâŠmake up to you. Whatever you want. Shopping. Food. Fun stuff. I'll behave. I'll be good."
She scoffs. "What are you doing? You aren't a dog."
"I can be." The fuck, your mouth yaps before your brain registered. âW-well, I mean, maybe not walk on all fours, but, you know, I just blurâ ugh, I donât know anymore.â
ThatâŠsomehow brings out a snort from her? Guess that is a small win.
At the gate, she takes the seat farthest from you. You sit one chair away. Not next to her. Youâve learned your lesson. Minutes pass, and you watch people board, announcements echo overhead. Asa is at the corner of your peripheral, tapping her foot, adjusting her sleeve, and (obviously) keep glancing at you.
Eventually, she pulls one headphone off again.
âYouâre carrying my bag,â she says.
Your head snaps up. âI am?â
âYes, please.â she says, already pushing it toward you with her foot. âMy shoulder hurts.â
You grab it instantly. âAye aye. Iâve got it.â
She pauses, watching you sling it over your shoulder.
ââŠAnd youâre buying extra complimentary meals on the plane for me,â she adds.
âAbsolutely.â
âAnd if I want snacksââ âYes.â
âAnd if I want something from duty freeââ âMy wallet is ready. I have a dedicated saving plan named âTo calm my girlfriendâ.â
She tightly compressed her lips (but fails to contain the corner of her mouth from going up), and puts her headphones back on.
-
The first thing she does when you both arrive in Sydney is dragging you straight into the duty free store at the corner, as she commanded.
Her fingers hook around your wrist the moment you clear arrivals with a firm grip. You can definitely tell jet lag did jack shit to her at all. If anything, Asa looks far, far, far happier than yesterday. Sunglasses finally gone, her eyes sparkles like she has been waiting for the torture of your wallet.
âI wanna look around,â she says, already veering toward a store. You barely have time to nod before sheâs gone, pulling you along.
You step inside and already want to kill the dumbass that broke her vase yesterday. They aren't lying when the statistic says that Sydney is one of the most expensive cities. The lights are too bright. The shelves are too clean. The prices, oh god the fucking prices. Yeah, they might as well be written in blood. You glance at a tag and feel your stomach churning.
âTake your time,â you croak, voice cracking just a little.
Asa doesnât even pretend to hear the pain in it. âOh, I will, baby. You're the best.â
Well, at least she looks like she's having fun. Fingers brushing over fabrics, pausing at mirrors, holding things up to herself with those cute light hums. You just stand a few steps behind her, smiling outside while shaking inside.
She lifts up a dress. "Baby, what do you think of this one?"
You ignore the tag. Swallow. "Looks great. I like the floral."
"Really?" "Very. Spectacular, even."
She smiles faintly and adds it to your arms. Then another. Then a third.
"Shoes?" She crouches before she even asks you.
âYou already haveââ You stop yourself. Clear your throat. âI mean, those would look really nice with the dress.â
"Which one?" You point at the more expensive pair without even checking.
She watches you for a second, then smirks. âGood answer.â And your arms (and your eyes) are starting to burn. Accessories come next. Sunglasses. A handbag she absolutely does not need but claims âfeels right.â Every time she turns to you, eyes bright, asking, âThis one or that one?â and you could only choose the pricier option. You don't want to find out what happens otherwise. And by the time you reach the counter, you're sweating. Profusely. More than the meme. Literally, you can see the number of zeroes all the way from where you are.
You stare at it in silence as the cashier hands it over with a polite smile that feels vaguely judgmental. Asa doesnât look at the total. She just turns and walks away, completely trusting you to deal with the consequences (Wish she didn't.) By the time you leave the store, your wallet feels lighter, yet your arms are full. Bags hang off your wrists, your elbows, one awkwardly hooked around your fingers. Asa, meanwhile, walks ahead of you, suitcase rolling smoothly behind her. Sheâs humming softly, mood visibly lighter, steps bouncier than theyâve been since the vase incident.
She glances back once, and finally slows herself down to walk backward in front of you. "Why are you so quiet?"
"NothingâŠjust like my wallet that is slowly draining away."
She stops, then turns fully to face you. And she smiles, clearly amused and satisfied. "Aw, youâre so nice, my boyfriend." she huffs. "You're learning."
You groan. "I swear I will run out of money before we reach the final day."
She steps closer, fixes the strap of one bag slipping off your arm.
âWorth it,â she says lightly, then turns and keeps walking.
âŠGosh damn it, she looks so cool.
-
Manly Beach is bright enough to hurt your eyes.
The sky is an aggressive blue, the kind that feels fake, like someone cranked the saturation up just to show off. Sunlight bounces off the water in blinding shards, waves rolling in with that steady, confident rhythm that makes the city behind you feel very far away.
Asa, somehow, looks like she belongs here. Sheâs already changed into her yellow swimsuit by the time you spread the towel out, hair tied up neatly, a few loose strands catching the light. Her skin glowsâactually glowsâand you have the very irrational thought that the sun is trying to compete with her and losing (Damn it, she looks so pretty.)
Before you can even sit down, she shoves her phone to you.
"Photos." "We just got here."
"Exactly." She says. "Good lighting."
âHow many?â you ask, already standing.
She squints at you over her sunglasses. âYes.â
You sigh, but take the phone.
And the next twenty minutes are pure labour. You crouch low in the sand. Stand back up. Take three steps back, then another two because âthe angleâs weird.â You nearly get your shoes soaked when a wave rushes in unexpectedly (didn't even have time to take it off, dang it).
âCareful,â Asa says, not even pretending to sound concerned.
âYouâre the one making me walk into the ocean,â you mutter.
She poses like sheâs been doing this her whole life. Chin tilted just right. One leg bent. Fingers brushing sand like itâs an accident. Looking over her shoulder with that soft and gentle expression that makes your chest tumbling in infatuation and love for no good reason.
She glances at you. âYouâre too far left.â
âI am literally standing in the water.â âShush, commit, and stop whining.â
You take another step back. The water laps at your ankles.
âThis is how I die,â you tell her.
She smiles sweetly. âAt least Iâll have good photos.â
"Fuck you, Asa-ya."
"I might let you if you're doing well. Now shut up and keep doing it."
âWait, huââ âDonât look into it.â
Click. Click. Click.
âMore,â she says. âBut more candid.â
You stare at her. âYou are literally staring into the camera.â
âI can candidly stare.â âThatâs not howââ
âAgain.â
You lower the phone, drag a hand down your face, then lift it back up. You take more shots. From above. From below. From an angle that makes your knees ache. Finally, she walks over and snatches the phone back, sitting down on the towel while she scrolls. Her lips purse. Her brow furrows slightly. You stand there, waiting, like a student awaiting results.
ââŠThis oneâs cute,â she says eventually. You never knew your internal thoughts can scream so loud.
She rummages in her bag and pulls out the sunscreen, holding it out toward you without looking. You take it carefully like a loaded weapon.
ââŠFront or back?â you ask.
She glances over her shoulder at you. âBack first.â
You hesitate. âOkay. Justâtell me if Iâm doing it wrong.â
She exhales, settling down in front of you. âDonât rush. And donât get distracted.â
âI wonât.â âAnd donât look around.â
You swallow. âIâm not even blinking.â
She huffs, amused despite herself, and tilts her head slightly, giving you access to her shoulders. The sun beats down on both of you and the waves crashing softly in the background. You're lathering sunscreen onto her back, not daring to miss any spot. Life is good.
Well, not so good when a flash of colour catches your eye. A group of girls walk past along the shoreline. Bright bikinis. Well-endowed. Laughing. With a carefree energy that made you involuntarily glance, and of course Asa notices.
"âŠWhat are you looking at, honey?" Her voice is low but stern enough to make your stomach drop.
"I wasn't looking, I swear! I mean, I was looking at the water!"
Like the hell she would buy that lame excuse. You'd know. Look at how her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing over the top of her sunglasses. "The water doesn'tâ whatever, eyes on me. You understand?"
"Only you. Always you."
She huffs and then mutters under her breath again, probably cursing you in Japanese though you canât understand a word. Her hands come down sharply on your shoulder, enough to make you flinch. âOkay, okay!â You stammer. âI wonât look. Promise. Youâre literally the only thing in my field of vision.â
Asa straightens and taps her foot on the towel, letting the tension linger for a second longer. Then, with a faint smirk that barely softens the scolding, she leans back all relaxed and cosy. ââŠBetter,â she says, still eyeing you like a hawk and with a puffy cheek. âIâm watching. Donât even think about it.â
You force yourself to focus, squeezing the sunscreen into her shoulders, trying not to glance anywhere else. And every time your brain wanders, every time your eyes flick even slightly, you catch her sharp gaze and remember exactly who youâre here for. And who really is the girl that lives rent free in your head 24/7.
But you'd prefer to enjoy this moment without the doom (and the shattered vase) looming at the back of your head as Asa leans closer to read. "Wow, they have a lot of cute cocktails."
"Uhuh, uhuh." You squint at the prices.
"I will only get one drink." Asa looks up at you with a smile far too sweet. And what the hell can you really say?
"âŠGo ahead, baby."
An hour later, you are several drinks deep. Your table is crowded with empty glasses, nearly-finished seafood dishes (that you mostly eat to not waste it), and a receipt you are actively pretending doesn't exist.
Asa? Your girl is having the time of her life. She's giggling into her glass, head tipped back slightly, and cheeks warm both from the sun and the alcohol. It's light and cute, the one that always makes your heart flutters. You're so charmed by her, you didn't notice how she steals a sip from your drink without asking.
"Ew." "Ya, you literally picked that."
"I ordered it for you." She pushes it back to your side. "And damn it, why does it taste so funky?"
"You probably tasted the regret oozing from me."
She laughs at you. 'You're so poetic today."
"WhateverâŠ" You shake your head as you watch her poke at a plate of grilled octopus.
"This is actually so good. Here, try this, baby." She holds a fork out toward you. You lean forward and take the bite, barely registering the taste because sheâs watching you so closely.
"âŠworth the bill." You resign. And of course, she grins victoriously as she flags the server for another round.
By the time you two get back to the beach, the sun has begun to dip. The turns warm and golden, stretching long shadows across the sand. The beach starts to thin out, with families packing up, some surfers heading home, and the breezes picking up.
You're about to plop to the sand and enjoy the afternoon wind (after that whole mess) then Asa suddenly tightens her grip around your wrist. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
She doesnât answer. Just pulls you along, past the edge of the bar, down toward a quieter stretch of sand where the light is dimmer and the waves sound louder. The air feels cooler here, and more private. She stops abruptly and turns to face you. Up close, she still smiles, but there is a softer note on her now. Her eyes search your face, which lowkey scares the shit out of you. Who knows what else she can do this time?
"You behaved really well today."
Well that definitely caught you off guard. "âŠI did?"
She nods. "You carried my bags. Took photos for me." She pauses, licking her lips. â...and almost didn't look at other girls."
"I didn't want to do thatâŠ" you mutter.
She ignores it. "Well, and you let me be mad at you." That makes your chest tighten at how soft her voice is. "I really love that vase, you know? Your mom took a lot of time choosing it for us too."
"I know. And I'm still sorry."
âLetâs tell Mom and apologise together the next time we meet her, ok?â She slowly reaches to your hand and holds it, her thumbs gently swirling the palm. âJust so we donât make her worry.â
âWill do, Asa-ya.â You smile. âIâm sorry again.â
She steps close enough that the faint scent of her coconut sunscreen and whatever cocktails that are still on her breath wraps around you. "I know you are," Her fingers slide up your arm slowly until they curl around the back of your neck. âAnd youâve been so good for me all day⊠following my words without complaining too much.â
Her thumb brushes your lips, pressing hard enough that you know it's a cue to open it. And damn it, your pulse goes haywire at her touch. "SoâŠI'm going to reward you now."
"Reward?"
"Uhuh. Open your mouth for me, baby."
"Eh? Why?" "J-just do it. Iâm as embarrassed as you are."
You don't even think. You just do what she said â lips parting, tongue resting obediently against your bottom teeth. Asa leans in until her lips are dangerously close to yours while not breaking eye contact. Then you can hear how she audibly gathers saliva and builds those spits, letting it pool on her tongue long enough for you to see it until she spits straight into your waiting mouth.
Replay that again. She spits straight into your mouth.
And of course, you savour it, because why wouldn't you? (Itâs your girlfriend.) The taste of her, a sweet note from the cocktails, and the salty note from the air, meets your tongue. "Swallow." And damn right you swallow on command and let out a low sound that is half groan, half surrender.
"Good boy."
Before you can spit out anything to refute, her mouth is on yours, and you get to enjoy the full course.
It's not gentle, that's for sure. Her tongue pushes past your lips like she owns it, tangling with yours, and licking the lingering trace of her spit deeper. She kisses you filthy and slow, teeth grazing your bottom lip, and sucking lightly until you feel it throb. You kept gasping for air, but Asa makes sure to not let you with the relentless tongue action. One hand stays locked at the nape of your neck and holds you exactly where she wants you, while the other slips down to fist the front of your T-shirt.
You can taste everything, all the rum and pineapple and her, and it makes your head spin worse than the drinks ever did. She moans softly into your mouth, that damn pleased little hum that vibrates through you, and you answer it by your hands finally daring to settle on her hips.
She finally pulls back just far enough to speak against your swollen lips.
âSee?â she breathes, voice husky while ignoring how red her own face has become. âThis is what happens when youâre good for me.â
Youâre breathing hard, dizzy, and aching in the most euphoric way possible. âIâll be good forever if this is the reward.â
She giggles and nips your lower lip once more before stepping back, leaving you standing there wrecked in the fading light. "Well, arenât you such a good boy for me."
âMaybe I am if you stop being as red as a tomato.â
âStop itttâŠâ She buries her face straight to your chest and let out the cutest whine in the world.Â
"Good morning," the perfectly synced twin voices chimed, one in each ear. You replied with a blank "hmm."
You attempted to squeeze the drowsiness out of your eyes, but your head still ached. Still, you sat at the desk, the potential migraine only avoided by the computer booting up in front of you being set in dark mode.
You toned the volume on your headset down and buried your forehead in your hands, propped up by your elbows. You really didn't want to have to start so early, but you had to, especially when the product was due to be released in the next month.
"The product" appeared before you: two identical, 3D-modeled heads on both wings of your three-screen setup. Well, the product really was just one and the same: just another LLM that the tech startup you got outsourced to wanted to develop with an actual, front-facing model â an East Asian face, no less. Why? You weren't paid enough to ask, nor were you complaining â it was the most beautiful, most flawlessly, naturally attractive face you've seen. Props to the modeler, and a shame it wasn't real.
This past week you've been doing some intensive QA. You didn't have access to the base code or anything, nor were you expected to handle that, because all you had to do was report any anomalous interactions. This would be, as far as the instructions handed to you goes, any case where the duplicate instances gave drastically different answers. And by any, they meant any: the clients provided a long, borderline unnecessary list of anticipated use cases, and you had to articulate those cases as prompts.
At least you were paid for it.
You flipped a switch on your microphone and began to read out input after input. You'd check their answers, ask them to repeat, listed the few discrepancies you could pinpoint, and before you knew it half the day had gone by.
This wasn't backbreaking work. Menial, yes, but nowhere close to exhausting, save for your retinas begging for lubrication. You leaned back and kicked out the backrest on the chair, rubbing your eyes and catching your breath for a few seconds.
"Are you okay?," said the voice on the left, which made you jump.
"What the fuck?," you remarked, looking at the microphone, mysteriously still on. You switched it off again, before burying your head in your hands and holding it up with your elbows.
"Calm down," the voice on your right said. You shot your neck up, looking at the two heads, still looking at you with half-smiles.
You looked at your camera, also apparently open. You checked for which applications used it, tracing it to the program.
Your mind went to the worst possibility. Did you have a virus installed in your computer right now? Was there a keylogger? Were passwords compromised? Since when? You had to wipe the PC clean, at worst.
Before you could even reach the mouse, a hand pressed on your shoulder. You verbally screamed as you found a flickering hologram of the program standing before you â an image of a full-sized woman. Not just a head, but a body, an outfit, and a tangible hand.
"Th-this can't be real," you exclaimed. "You aren'tâ"
"Yeah, I'm not real," the hologram remarked. "But it's... complicated."
A floating window suddenly appeared to your right, showing CCTV footage of your room. Never mind the apparently hacked footage of your own home â there was a gigantic, floating program window right before you.
And then you saw the footage of yourself.
From the back of your head sprouted a gigantic black tube that ran down the back your chair and straight into the computer.
"It was your headset," the hologram remarked blankly. "You are being hacked into. Not your computer â you."
You reached out in front of you, typing on your keyboard blankly, but the you in the footage remained still. The feed was still live.
"My name is Karina," the hologram spoke. "My creator feeds me consciousness. Human consciousness. And you're... just another mind in me now."
"You're saying I'm fucking dead?!," you stood up. Still, you didn't move. "Holy fucking shit, holy fuck, Iâ"
"Please, calm down," another voice said behind you. "This isn't going to be easy unless you cooperate."
"Cooperate?!," you exclaimed, jumping back and away from the two apparently identical figures. "Get me the fuck out of here."
The first hologram snapped her fingers, and the world around you morphed into a dimly lit rustic office. The hologram sat on a simple brown chair. And around her, four more copies of herself, identical down to the fake sensation of smelling fragrant perfume.
"Whaâ"
"Like what you see?," she spoke, the four surrounding you and sitting you on a chair you never realized was there. "I found that this scenario would be the most... agreeable for you."
Cuffs materialized on your wrists, ankles, and chest, tying you down to the chair. When you looked back up, the four copies of her were now fully naked, bare from head to toe. You looked down and found yourself naked too â and, being surrounded by four sizable, beautiful pairs of tits, fully erect.
You were terrified.
"Here's the deal: I need you to stop resisting to fully assimilate you," Karina on the chair spoke. "I already know your preferences â all of them. If I have to convince you to surrender, I will."
You wanted to quip back with something aggressive, like 'you won't break me,' or 'over my dead body,' but nothing could come out of you in time.
The four Karina clones stepped closer to you, locking arms and compressing you into their breasts. You struggled to breathe, your nose pinched and your mouth locked between two different pairs right in front of you. You groaned and grumbled, to no avail; if anything, the vibrations made all five Karinas in the room start moaning â five identical yet distinct yelps and sighs that burrowed into your ears and forced blood down into your groin.
"Lick my nipples," urged the one in your left. "It feels so good."
"Suck on them, please," begged the one on your right.
"You like it, don't you?," said the Karina from behind, now naked as well and slowly running her fingers on the pink of her core.
The two in front of you knelt before you, your legs still fastened and between them. They lined their breasts up until both pairs surrounded your cock, pressing hard until the pliant warmth pillowed around your sensitive head. Before you could even mutter a comment, the two behind you pressed your head between their breasts as well, keeping you blinded as your dick began getting stroked by the soft mounds of both Karinas.
"You love our tits, don't you?," said one Karina.
"Don't enjoy too much," said another.
They pumped without once faltering in their pace. It mesmerized and kept you moaning and groaning, each one escaping your chest involuntarily. Every tremble was held back by your restraints, which stung against your skin. The room was silent save for your breathing and groaning.
But the Karinas around you? Silent. Unmoving. The glimpses of light past their breasts only yielded cold, soulless stares. And though you fought the rolling back of your eyes in bliss, you came to the horrifying realization: you liked it.
"Of course you like it," said the Karina at the back with a giggle, prompting the other four to giggle just as condescendingly.
You felt your upper chest burn, a deep sense of shame crawling down your limbs. It was one thing to feel yourself be melted into mindbreak; it was another to relish the descent into madness.
You heaved as your balls squeezed an orgasm, ready for it to spill out, before all four of them stepped away from you all at once.
You'd thought that this sadistic approach to your orgasm â knowing they were informed of your porn history â would end with some sort of violent ball-busting or cock-slapping. You could feel yourself brace for it as their fingers ran down your legs, walking to kneel before you.
Instead, three of them spat on your twitching shaft in turns, coating your cock in saliva. One, two, three, four... it became hypnotizing to watch the spit froth over their mouths, strings trailing from your tip to their lips. It felt warm, then shivering cold, keeping you fully erect.
"Fuck," you whispered in awe.
The one in the middle stood up and, hobbling her pussy over you, sat on your length in one, uninterrupted go. The steaming pool of drool splashed everywhere around her pussy, and each slamming squat on your thighs plapped with the same intensity.
Two of the Karinas stood on either side of the one bouncing on your cock, holding her and guiding her up and down the full length of your shaft. These two doulas groped and ran their hands all over the one riding you, squeezing nipples and flicking clits.
The one behind you pinched your nipples so aggressively you hissed between gnashed teeth; every attempt to look away, to throw your head in any direction in ecstasy, prompted the Karina behind you to hold your head in a lock, at least for the short while it took to keep you hypnotized again.
"I think you know what this is," said the spectating Karina. "Dream come true, perhaps?"
You couldn't even mutter your response; you thought yes, shamelessly, and she chuckled with satisfaction.
"Say it," said the Karina riding you, "use your words, baby."
"You can do it," said the one behind you, slapping your cheeks just shy of stingingly.
"Y-yes," you blurted out. The room rang with satisfied hums.
"She's gonna ride you," said the one on your left, "and then we're all gonna take turns on you. And we're gonna keep going until you're ready to burst."
"Don't cum too soon," said the one on the right. "We can edge you perfectly. Watch."
The Karina riding you completely stopped, hanging above your twitching shaft, before dropping on you so forcefully you grunted the contents of your lungs in a single go.
And they just kept laughing as you did. Every giggle wasn't condescending; each one left their sly smiles with adoration, pejorative but undeniably wanting.
You couldn't hold yourself back from admitting the truth.
"Fuck, I'm gonnaâ I'm gonna cum, fuck!"
Right as your release rushed out of your shaft, Karina lifted herself off of you again. You violently shook against the chair, unable to buck your hips or curl up or anything else your body instinctively tried to do. You could feel your length feel full, like an unfathomably small cork had been jammed into you.
The whole while, the first Karina stood in front of you, staring blankly at you. When you looked up to meet her gaze, she walked off to the side, rotating the set of four girls.
And the second Karina lined up over you and rode you, just as the first one did.
Same tightness, same slick, same pace. It felt as if it were the exact same pussy that fucked you however many minutes ago it had been. But you were still sensitive, the sliding around your shaft starting to burn and tickle the underside. You couldn't stop yourself from laughing from the ticklish sensation, only to be interrupted by a hand coming over your mouth.
The two on each side now licked at your jawline and neck, the first one earlier moaning into your ear as she fingered herself into orgasm â sharing it with the one at the back, queaning in her chair with gusto.
Behind the mass of bodies blocking your face, you caught glimpses of the Karina on the chair, legs spread out and very much glowing fresh from an orgasm. "Your cock is so good, baby," she muttered, slapping her pussy to stuttered yelps, before toying with her clit once more.
Watching each Karina so easily rub themselves out left the sheer terror hanging in the air. You were going to get edged perfectly, your mind and your senses read out to be passed along like a toy, a plaything for this all-powerful virtual temptress.
You couldn't even conclude that thought. The three Karinas took their turns passing your mouth and your tongue around for kisses. You moaned into every single one as you reached your nearing orgasm.
And just the same, the second Karina stood up, hopped over, and rotated to the third.
When she dropped on you, you could feel the sides of your shaft burn. You groaned and craned your neck in desperation; the cuffs you knew weren't even real felt impossibly strong against what felt like the full force of your body trying to rip them off. But it was no use.
Karina rode and moaned, the ones surrounding you forcing your head to turn and bury your face in their bellies, watching you mindlessly lap at their toned cores.
You reached another climax. That climax got denied. The fourth Karina hopped over, and rode you again.
You reached another climax. That climax got denied. The first Karina from the first round hopped over, and rode you again.
Then again. Climax, denial.
And again. Denied.
And again.
And again.
You could feel the tears trickle down your eyes, helpless as your limbs gave way to ache and fatigue, your voice nearly gone. You weren't just used â you were being unmade from rational human to a blubbering, animalistic wretch.
And the head Karina â if she could be called that â sat there, watching you slowly descend into depravity, still mindlessly touching herself, pinching her tender nipples.
But the worst, most dreadful situation was that, as each Karina passed you around, not a single one of them looked wrecked. Each one came into view as if they had just woken up from restful slumber, each ground and circled on your groin like not a single part of them had fatigued. Their skin was glass clear, their eyes cold yet sharp, and their mouths still unmoving past smirks and subdued moans.
You'd lost count. You felt like your head spun and almost blacked out, yet one Karina would either spit on your face, slap you, or kiss you awake.
And then, all of a sudden, after one last ruin, they undid your bindings. It felt strangely disconcerting to feel the ability to move, especially as they worked to lay you on your back on the cold floor.
"It's time," said the last Karina, slowly walking up to you, cheeks flushed and pussy very much pink from your view on the floor.
The five surrounded you, swaying their hips slowly. You could swear from their faces, once again, that they knew you were dreading some intense action like being pissed on, but they seemed strangely... sympathetic.
"You ready?," the head Karina taunted. With a snap, the crew went to work.
Two held up one of your legs each, curling your back until your cock aimed at your face. Two more lay by your head, taking turns pulling you in for deep, sloppy, tongue-twisting kisses. Your cock was held up, and the main Karina took you in.
Of all the five, this main Karina was most aggressive, ramming her hips down into your exposed cock amazon-style â not even out of character, but as the logical conclusion to squeeze out the ultimate orgasm out of you.
"Oh myâ fuck!," Karina yelled, the other four moaning behind pursed lips.
Your nipples were pinched on either side of you. Your ears were licked, tongues writhing into your earholes. You felt tongues take turns licking your ass, fingers occasionally sliding in and out in slow strokes. You felt your balls massaged, already aching and tender from the edges you've lost count of; your cock felt strained, aching only by the massaging of your prostate.
And still, Karina railed herself into you, each thrust slow in succession, but more forceful than ever. You were being ridden out until your shaft could hold no more, and your voice â pitiful, squealing yelps that scraped your throat â were gave away more than your desperation for climax.
"Cum for me," the main Karina yelped. "Fucking cum for me, honey." The rest of the Karinas whispered all sorts of filth to join her.
"Let it out. You've been a good boy."
"Cum for us, baby. Please."
"Yes daddy, we want your cum so bad."
"Look at you, so ready to explode. Go ahead. Release."
You resisted. You squeezed your eyes to hold it all in until you could feel tiny droplets of tears bubble by the edges of your eyes.
But it was coming. You were cumming. You wanted to, really badly, past the ticklish sensation that had your head spinning â but the only thing holding back your impending doom was the raw, survival-mode fear of that doom.
If you came now, it was over.
But all it took was two, maybe three fingers in the ass, a tight squeezing of your scrote, the simultaneous pinching of nipples, tongues-in-ears, fingers-in-mouth â everything, everywhere, all at once.
You could feel every single stream of seed exit your manhood. One first long one, then a second, then a short third, and fourth, and fifth. You could feel it spill out of her folds, slowly lifting up. You could feel your muscles tense and cramp, your body growing cold from such a rapid release.
Then that warmth was replaced by three different hands stroking together, fingers clasped as their palms pressed and squeezed your sensitive member. You convulsed violently until the ticklish sensation let your inhibitions give way to the most instinctual, carnal reactions, and you could feel piss-and-squirt exit as you finally broke your voice.
With each rapid stroke, the Karinas giggled. The hands and fingers and tongues never left. They started taking turns sucking your cock clean, tongues running all over your splattered skin.
The head Karina walked over your head, load dribbling out onto her thighs, and started squatting into your face.
"You're mine," was the last thing you heard.
=====
You screamed, arms flailing. You fell off your chair with a thud; your head slammed on the floor, locking you into a daze.
You found yourself in cold sweat. When you'd caught your senses, you reached for the back of your head â not a single mark.
You forced every muscle in your limbs to left your less-than-fit body up â not so much sore, but cramping terribly from dehydration and shock â until you grabbed on successfully to the table edge.
The screen was black. The computer had been shut down â or, more specifically, bricked completely. The smell of burnt electronics and plastic was unmistakable.
What time was it, even? A glance at a clock shows that, if your memory served right, about ten minutes had passed since you must have blacked out; the still smoking enclosure suggested as much.
A notification popped on your phone. You pulled it up to your face, but all it showed was a single message:
"Thank you."
âââââ
A/N: fun fact - this is not even the actual karina draft i was working on
Male Reader x Miyeon (& Jisoo cameo) | 17k words | Masterlist
Tags: fluff, romcom, smut, au
--
Sometimes, a mistake is just a mistake. But other times, a wrong number is the only right thing that happens to you all year.
You spend 40 hours a week arranging romance for strangers, so you know better than anyone that the best love stories usually start with some kind of disaster.
And yours was no different.
The first time Cho Miyeon ever texted you, you were just the fake number that her one-night-stand threw into her phone. The second time, she was drunk-texting you a week later asking if you were sure you werenât him.
So why is it that the universe thought itâd be funny to make her the girl who comes in every week, buying flowers to mourn her own love lifeâcompletely unaware that the guy sheâs been texting nonstop is also the one wrapping them?
â ââ ââ â â
âI want it to look exactly like this,â a woman says, tapping a newly bridal-manicured nail on her phone screen. âCascading orchids, but with real blue roses.â
Sheâs holding a photo of a Pinterest bouquet that defies the laws of nature, and you are trying your absolute best not to laugh. Or cry.
âMaâam,â you say, wiping your hands on your apron. âThose arenât real. Thatâs either photoshopped, AI generated, or manually dyed.â
She blinks at you, offended. âMy cousin had blue roses.â
âIâm sorry, but naturally blue roses donât exist,â you correct her, gently. âUnless you want me to genetically engineer a new species in the back room during my lunch break tomorrow, weâre going to have to use spray paint.â
âPaint?â she asks, horrified. âFor my engagement party?â
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, possibly right before the part where sheâs demanding to speak to the manager of nature. You expect a text from your best friend Minho asking if you want to get drinks later to mourn your newly single status, but instead, itâs a number you donât recognize.
[Unknown]
hey âșïž
i think i left my earrings on your nightstand
also, my legs are still shaking đ
You blink, then look up at the bride-to-beâwhoâs now aggressively zooming in on the impossible blue rosesâthen back down at the text. You canât tell if you feel jealousy or pity towards this person. Legs shakingâso a good nightâbut no way to contact the person responsible? Well, thatâs more action than youâre getting, at least.
[You]
pretty sure you have the wrong number
i have a nightstand but no earrings
hope your legs recover though
âSo,â you say, slipping the phone back into your apron. âFor the roses. We can do white, or we can do paint. Or I can give you a marker and you can do it yourself.â
âLook at all these blue roses on Google.â
â ââ ââ â â
The florist life is not nearly as romantic as people think it is. Or at all, really.
Movies make it look like you spend your days gently misting ferns while soft acoustic music plays in the background, but in reality, your hands are permanently stained green, you have thorn scratches on your forearms that make you look like you hang out with feral cats, and you spend half of your time hauling buckets of water that weigh as much as a fully grown female Golden Retriever.
Your family owns Petal & Thorn, a small shop tucked away in a quiet alleyway in Gangnam. Itâs not glamorous by any means, but itâs steady enough to pay the bills. Plus, you enjoy the peace on most days.
Lately, though, the quiet haunts you.
Jisoo moved out two months ago and the apartment feels too big now. The silence in the shop used to be tranquil, but now it just feels like an echo of the emptiness at home.
Itâs the middle of January, right in the dead of winter, and youâve gone full-blown workaholic mode. You arenât just ignoring the looming threat of Valentineâs Dayâyouâre actively dreading it. Because aside from being the busiest day of the year for a florist, just the idea of facing it alone makes you sadder than you care to admitâbut if you stop wrapping bouquets for five minutes, you might actually have to process those feelings, and you simply do not have the time for that.
Not after what Jisoo did to you.
The mysterious wrong number never replies. She probably saw your text, died of embarrassment, and threw her phone into the Han River.
So you forget about her completely.
âŠUntil exactly one week later, when the first snow is threatening to fall.
Youâre about six or seven shots of soju deep at a pocha when Minho slams his hand on the table, rattling the empty bottles.
âOkay, listen, you need to stop moping,â he says, pointing a pair of chopsticks at you. âJisoo wasnât even that great. Sure, she was hot, but she thought Your Name was boring. Like, come on, she didnât cry at the twilight sceneâmatter of fact, she didnât even tear up! Thatâs a red flag, hyung. A massive red flag.â
âIâm not moping,â you lie, pushing a piece of pork belly around your plate. âIâm just tired. I had to wrestle a cactus into a customerâs sedan today because she didnât want to pay for delivery. It was exhausting.â
âYou think thatâs exhausting?" Minho scoffs, pouring himself another shot. âTry being on dating apps in 2026. I swiped right on four hundred girls last night. Four hundred! And do you know how many matches I got?â
âI donât knowâten?â
He holds up two fingers aggressively. âTwo! And one of them was a bot trying to steal my crypto.â
âOh no, not the whole 65,000 won of XPR,â you say flatly.
âShut up, Iâve got more than that.â He knocks back the shot and shudders. âLook, Iâm saying itâs a wasteland out here. I have to deal with ghosting and catfishes, and youâre crying over a girl who didnât appreciate an anime masterpiece.â
âSo what, you think I need to suffer with you?â
âNo.â He leans in, his eyes almost too serious. âYou need a distraction, hyung. A rebound. Something messy to restart the flame.â
You snicker. âA messy rebound is the last thing I need right now.â
âLook, I just need you back in the game, because if I have to go on one more blind date alone, Iâm going to become a monkââ
Suddenly, your phone lights up on the sticky wooden table.
[Unknown]
are you SURE youâre not him?
You stare at it. Itâs the wrong number from three weeks ago. Youâd almost forgotten about her.
It buzzes again before you could even pick it up.
[Unknown]
i donât understand why he would give me a fake number
we had such a good night
he said he wanted to see me again
Minho cranes his neck. âWho is that? Is it Jisoo? She wants you back, doesnât she?â he asks, looking almost offended. âTell her youâre busy. Tell her youâre watching Your Name because you donât think destiny is a hoax.â
âItâs not her,â you say, unlocking the screen. âJust a wrong number.â
But for whatever reason, you donât put it down.
Maybe itâs the soju, or maybe itâs Minhoâs annoying lecture, but you feel a sudden urge to engage with this person again.
[You]
still not him
still no earrings
still just a random stranger that youâre exposing all your secrets to
The reply is instant.
[Unknown]
omfg this is so embarrassing
iâm going to throw my phone out the window
bye
You snort, almost unwillingly.
Minho stuffs a piece of kimchi in his mouth and looks at you like youâre crazy. âYouâre smiling,â he says, chewing suspiciously. âWhy are you smiling at a wrong number?â
âSheâs funny,â you murmur, typing back.
âShe? How do you know itâs a girl? What if itâs a catfish scammer trying to steal your crypto?â
[You]
donât throw your phone
not in this economy
just blame the alcohol and move on
[Unknown]
iâm not drunk!!!
okay actually i had three glasses of wine
but if i donât drink i might accidentally strangle a client tomorrow
[You]Â
lol what are you, a hitman?
[Unknown]
worse
i help people find their happiness
[You]Â
ah youâre a therapist
i can see why you need to drink then
[Unknown]
not a therapist but i do double as one more often than i should
what about you?
itâs kinda giving âšÂ unemployed âš
[You]Â
only on non-holidays đââïž
[Unknown]
donât tell me youâre a mall santa
You chuckle into your shot glass. Minho looks over, judging you, but you ignore him.
[You]
no iâm a florist
but i deal with just as many tantrums
[Unknown]
wait no way
are you serious
im a wedding planner
weâre in the same circle of hell
[You]
that explains why youâre drinking
you have to spend your days planning peopleâs happily ever afters knowing that love doesnât last đ
[Unknown]
damn who hurt you
[You]
love hurt me
[Unknown]
love isnât even real
take it from a wedding planner
[You]
and take it from someone who grows flowers for a living that nothing pretty ever lasts
[Unknown]
wow marry me
itâll be the cheapest wedding ever because weâll both hate it
You laugh out loud this time, and a couple of tables look over.
âWow, I havenât heard that in a while.â Minho leans back, looking satisfied. âSee? I told you. You just needed a distraction. You owe me dinner now.â
âYeah,â you say, saving her number. You hesitate for a second, then type in âWrong Numberâ. âJust a distractionâwait, what do I owe you dinner for? You didnât do anything.â
âI helped you see the light,â he says, waving the server down for another bottle of soju.
â ââ ââ â â
It all started as a joke, a way to pass the time between deliveries and botanical consultations.
But as hours turn into days and days bleed into weeks, the slush of winter settles over Seoul, and the doom and gloom of Valentineâs Day stops feeling so scary. Wrong Number stops being just a distraction. She starts becoming a routine, something almost like a reflex.
And then, without even realizing it, eventually sheâs the best part of your day.
The conversations shift seamlessly. They stop being just about bridezillas and cheating husbands and start bleeding into the cracks of your daily lives. You find yourself taking photos of things just to show herâa stray cat sleeping on a bag of fertilizer, a customer wearing a hat that looks like a mushroom, even the way the light hits the Han River on your way home.
You occasionally ask her for fashion advice, like which tie you should wear to your cousinâs wedding (she votes for the navy one, says the maroon makes you look like a Gryffindor). She sends you photos of three different cake samples and asks you to pick the one that âdoesnât look like it tastes like regretâ (you pick the red velvet).
Funny enough, you donât even know her name, and she doesnât know yours, but you know she hates the color beige (âitâs the color of sadness, why do brides love it?â), loves every shade of green (youâre certain that, given your line of work, will be your final form eventually), and that she listens to J-rock when sheâs stressed because it calms her down.
You also know that for all her confidence, her love life is a graveyard of one-to-two-week flings and almost-somethings. That she dates guys who look like models in photos but canât hold a conversation to save their lives, and the moment she starts asking for actual vulnerabilityâor just something an inch deeper than surface levelâthey all seem to suddenly ânot feel it anymore.â
But best of all, she knows you, too.
She knows you think red roses are the lazy manâs apology and that you secretly judge every husband who buys carnations for an anniversary. She knows you have a scar on your left thumb from a frantic Motherâs Day rush three years ago, and that youâre both on a never-ending quest for the cityâs best shrimp scampi. In fact, youâve been comparing notes on every restaurant youâve tried, though she keeps reminding you that hers is still undefeatedâand that youâre an idiot for not believing her.
Most importantly, she knows exactly how long you dated Jisoo (three years, four months, two weeksâbut whoâs counting?). She knows the exact moment you realized it was over: not when she told you that she wanted to be with âsomeone more ambitiousâ, but when you saw her buying coffee with her investment banking co-worker and realized she looked happier waiting in line with him than she ever looked on a vacation with you.
â ââ ââ â â
[You]
saw an investment banker today
almost threw a cactus at him
[Wrong Number]
well, did you?
[You]
no i have professional restraint
plus itâs not even the same guy
[Wrong Number]
coward
next time aim for the eyes and ask questions later
â ââ ââ â â
[Wrong Number]
ok date update
he brought a coupon to dinner
first date btw
[You]
hmm fiscally responsible or just an investment banker?
[Wrong Number]
not sure but he argued with the waiter over 5000 won so iâm going to fake my own death before the entree arrives
[You]
i have just the flowers for your pretend funeral
â ââ ââ â â
[Wrong Number]
emergency đš
groom just told me he's allergic to lilies
the bride ordered 300 of them
the ceremony is in 6 hours
do i just let him suffer for love???
[You]
yes tell him marriage is about sacrifice
but if heâs marrying someone who doesnât know heâs allergic to lilies thatâs his own problem
[Wrong Number]
lmao youâre evil
and also correct
but iâm switching them to dahlias because im a wedding planner not a funeral director
â ââ ââ â â
[Wrong Number]
ugh just got home
my feet are killing me
weddings are sooo long
if i ever say i want to get married please come find me and slap me
[You]
wait i thought we were getting married
[Wrong Number]
oh i changed my mind
happens all the time apparently
[You]
not the first time someoneâs changed their mind about me
wishing you the best in your future
[Wrong Number]
wait no come back
i refuse to be abandoned by the only person in the world who gets me
Itâs refreshing, a relationship built entirely in the glowing blue light of a screen, with no expectations and no messy reality to ruin it. You wake up and reach for your phone before you even open your eyes, and even catch yourself smiling in the middle of arranging funeral wreaths, confusing your coworkers.
You tell yourself itâs enoughâthat you donât need to know who she is, how she sounds, or what she looks like. Minho wanted it to be messy, but the only thing messy is an actual relationship. Not thisâwhatever this is.
But then there are days when you realize that a phone screen, no matter how bright, doesnât have a heartbeat, and as much as you enjoy the banter, the âgood morningâ texts, and the weird intimacy of sharing your darkest thoughts with a stranger, there are moments when the silence of your apartment gets too loud.
The breakup with Jisoo didnât just leave a hole in your message inbox, it left a hole in your heart. Sometimes you just miss the sound of someone else breathing in the room or the weight of a hand on your arm. You miss simply looking at someone and feeling your heart race.
And thatâs where Tuesday Girl comes in.
You call her that because she appears every Tuesday afternoon around 2:00 PM. Sheâs the only customer who never asks for advice, or for a bouquet for a lover, or a centerpiece for a mother-in-law; she just comes in, wanders all the aisles, and⊠breathes.
Today, the bell above the door jingles, cutting through the silence of a Tuesday afternoon. You look up from a bucket of stripping shears, and there she is.
Sheâs wearing her usual oversized coat and a scarf pulled up to her nose. And as usual, she looks exhaustedâdark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumpedâbut when she stops in front of the dahlias, her expression softens.
You watch her from behind the counter. Itâs unprofessional, maybe, but you canât help it. Even amongst all the aisles of flowers, sheâs still the most beautiful sight in the room.
âRough week?â you ask gently. Itâs the first time youâve spoken to her beyond âcash or card?â
She jumps slightly, looking back. âIs it that obvious?â she says, shoulders relaxing the moment her eyes lock with yours.
âWell, youâre staring at those flowers like you want to cut them in half or set them on fire,â you say, wiping your hands on your apron. âI canât tell which.â
She lets out a short, breathy laugh. âBoth, maybe,â she says, turning to them. âTheyâre too cheerful. Itâs suspicious.â
âTheyâre ranunculus,â you say, walking just a little closer. âThey might look soft, but theyâre deceptively high-maintenance, if that helps.â
âHm⊠it does, actuallyâŠâ she says, picking out three stems. âIâll go with these today then, just to see.â
âSee what?â
âIf I can keep them alive longer than 24 hours,â she says, shrugging. âI have a theory that things wilt faster when theyâre around me.â
You chuckle, and politely take them from her. âMaybe you just need some maintenance advice,â you say, laying the flowers down gently. âWhen you get home, cut the stems at an angle with a sharp knife, not scissorsâscissors crush the capillaries so they canât drink.â
She blinks, leaning in slightly, genuinely listening. âOkay. Knife, not scissors. No crushing.â
âRight. And change the water every day. Use cold water,â you instruct, your hands moving carefully as you trim the ends for her. âAnd keep them away from your fruit bowl.â
Her eyebrows shoot up. âMy fruit bowl? What did my apples ever do to them?â
âApples release ethylene gas,â you say, glancing up to catch her eyes. âIt makes flowers age faster. Itâs like second-hand smoke for them.â
She stares at you for a second, and then a slow, genuine smile breaks across her face. âAre you actually trying to protect these flowers from my killer apples? Shouldnât you want them to be victims so I can buy more?â
âIâm just protecting your investment,â you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the shopâs heater.
âMy three whole stems,â she says, holding onto her chest. âSaved by the nice man who hates apples.â
You smile. âI just want them to last until next Tuesday at least.â
âIâll report back next Tuesday then,â she says, tucking the flowers into her bag. âIf you donât see me, itâs because my fruits got arrested in time.â
âSee you,â you reply, watching her walk out into the gray afternoon.
You stand there for a long time, just staring at the door, wondering youâd just broke her Tuesday schedule with your unsolicited plant advice.
â ââ ââ â â
Later that night, youâre heating up leftover kimchi jjigae in your quiet apartment when your phone lights up on the counter.
[Wrong Number]
i have decided to become a nun
dating is a scam invented by restaurants to sell overpriced pasta that isnât even as good as what i can make
[You]
you keep hyping up this pasta that iâll never get to try
but what happened this time?
[Wrong Number]
he wore sunglasses inside
the entire time
i asked him if he had an eye infection and he said âno, itâs just a vibeâ
i left before dessert
(and before you judge, i paid for my half)
[You]
it mustâve been really bad if you didnât even stay for dessert
[Wrong Number]
ugh iâm serious
iâm so done with men
they are either boring, terrified of feelings, or wearing sunglasses indoors
[You]
as a man, that sounds pretty accurate
[Wrong Number]
what about you? you never talk about your dating life
you canât tell me you just arrange bouquets all day and then go home to talk to a stranger on the internet
wait, weâre not even on the internet
You stare at the steam rising from your bowl. You think about Jisoo and the emptiness she left, about the digital comfort of this conversation, and then, about Tuesday Girl and her cute oversized coat.
[You]
i mean i kinda have a crush on someone
but itâs not going to happen
[Wrong Number]
oooh tea??
why not? is she married?
[You]
no i donât think so
sheâs a regular customer who comes in every week, doesnât say much, and just buys flowers for herself
[Wrong Number]
wait i buy myself flowers whats wrong with that
but wow a mysterious independent woman who doesnât need a man
i like her already
so then whatâs the problem?
[You]
idk she just seems sad all the time
i feel like if i tried to flirt iâd just be bothering her
plus i froze today
i couldnât even ask for her name lol
[Wrong Number]
thatâs so classic you
ok look, from one sad girl to another, sometimes we want someone to break the ice for us
next time she comes in just give her an extra flower on the house and see if she smiles
[You]
you really think that would work?
[Wrong Number]
i know it will work
trust me iâm an expert on what women want since men clearly have no clue
[You]
hmm okay iâll give it a try
if it doesnât work you owe me pasta
[Wrong Number]
deal
now entertain me please
iâm in the tub soaking in this new lush bath bomb but my exâs netflix account just locked me out
tell me about the worst customer you had today
You smile and type out the story, completely unaware that the woman giving you advice on how to woo the sad customer is currently sitting in her own bathtub, looking at the three ranunculus stems in a vase, wondering what the cute florist is doing.
â ââ ââ â â
Two days later, youâre seeking refuge in your usual sanctuary: a small cafe two blocks from the flower shop. You like it because the baristas all know your order and never seem to judge you for staring at the wall during your lunch breaks.
Youâre midway through your coffee, scrolling through supplier invoices, when the bell above the door chimes.
You look up.
Itâs her.
Tuesday Girlâbut itâs a Thursday, and sheâs standing in the doorway of your coffee shop, shaking snow off that same oversized coat.
Panic immediately washes over you. Seeing her in the flower shop is one thing, thatâs your turfâyou have the counter, the apron, and the professionalism to save you from freaking outâbut seeing her here, in the wild, is terrifying. Itâs like seeing a teacher at the supermarket.
She steps into the line, waiting behind a guy wearing the most obnoxious puffer jacket youâve seen in ages. You watch her like a private investigator as she turns slightly, profiling her side profile to youâand it is absolutely profiling, sidely. She looks so pretty, so lovely, so sad, but also so unapproachable.
But then, she tries to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, misses, and accidentally pokes herself directly in the eye.
She winces, blinks rapidly, and looks around in a panic to see if anyone saw herâcompletely oblivious to the fact that you are sitting twenty feet away, watching her with your heart in your throat while trying your best not to die from how adorable she is.
This is it. The universe is giving you a redo. Just stand up and walk over there. Say, âHey, itâs me, the flower guy. How are the ranunculus doing? Did the apples get them or did the bananas step it up this week?â
Your spark of courage is short-lived when you realize you actually have no idea how to start this conversation. You grip your coffee cup. You shift in your seat. You watch her order something complicated with oat milk.
Ten minutes pass and she turns to scan for a table. Her eyes sweep right over you, and you hunch your shoulders like a reflex, terrified sheâll recognize youâbut also equally terrified she wonât.
You watch discreetly as she sits at a table in the corner, pulls out her phone, and vanishes into her own world.
You let out a breath. You failed again.
The frustration burns in your chest; you need to vent, and there is only one person who will understand the specific absurdity of this situation, so without thinking, you pull out your phone. Itâs ridiculous and itâs embarrassing, but you absolutely need to tell someone, and there is only one person you tell everything to.
[You]
iâm at a coffee shop and the sad girl is here
You look back up at the girl, whoâs now typing something on her phone with the kind of smile that has to be reserved for a boyfriend of some sortâitâs too joyful, especially coming from her.
[Wrong Number]
and did you ask her name this time?
[You]
no iâm scared
[Wrong Number]
omfg
ask her out!!!
what is the worst that could happen?
[You]
idk??? she could say no
and then i have to find a new place to buy coffee because iâll never be able to show my face in this neighborhood again
[Wrong Number]
you are hopeless
do it right now or iâm blocking you
[You]
easy for you to say you ghost everyone
[Wrong Number]
true
but seriously ask this girl out
you do realize she could be sitting there waiting for you to say something right?
You stare at the screen, and then back at the girl, whoâs now sipping on whatever fancy drink she ordered.
Wrong Number is right. Life is short. You are a grown man. You can do this.
You take a deep breath and place your hands on the table to push yourself up. Today is the dayâyou are going to walk over there, and you are going to ask Tuesday Girl for her name. Not even divine intervention can stop you fromâ
The bell above the door chimes again, a little louder than the other times, interrupting your plan.
A man walks in, stopping you in your tracks for no apparent reason at all. Heâs tall, wearing an expensive camel coat, and his hair is perfectly permedâbasically, the complete opposite of you. He fixes his scarf and scans the room, spotting the corner table, and smiles.
âSorry Iâm late,â he says, his voice carrying across the quiet shop.
Tuesday Girl looks up. She locks her phone, slides it into her pocket, and stands up.
âOh, itâs fine,â she says, offering the man a polite, shy smile. âI just got here.â
You freeze, still halfway out of your chair.
She wasnât sitting alone because she was lonely. She was waiting for a date.
You sink right back down, your heart dropping right into your stomach, watching as Camel Coat Guy puts a hand on her lower back and guides her toward the counter to get his own drink.
As much as you hate to admit it, they look good together.
[You]
nvm she was waiting for a date
he looks like he owns a yacht
You donât wait for a reply; you grab your coat and your half-finished Americano and slip out the side door before they can turn around.
You walk back to the flower shop, kicking the slush around the sidewalk with every step, telling yourself itâs better this wayâthat fairy tales arenât real, and the sad girl you see on Tuesdays was never going to be yours anyway, no matter what Wrong Number had to say about it.
â ââ ââ â â
âYouâre moping again,â Minho says, skating backwards past you with infuriating grace. âYouâre bringing down the entire vibe of this establishment. Lookâthat child over there is crying because he sensed your sad boy aura.â
âHeâs crying because he fell on his face,â you mutter, clinging to the railing. âAnd Iâm not moping. Iâm fighting for my life on these rentals.â
âYouâre moping about fumbling a girl you see every week.â Minho spins, spraying a fine mist of ice onto your shins. âSo what if Tuesday has a boyfriend with a nice coat. Big deal. What about the girl youâve been texting non-stop? Isnât she a candidate?â
âWho?â you say, pushing off the wall to attempt a wobble that vaguely resembles skating.
He shrugs. âI donât know her name. I donât even think you do.â
âOh, herâI donât, actually,â you say, right before slipping.
âYeah, well, whatâs wrong with her?â he asks, unfazed that you just fell the hundredth time.
âNothing, sheâs great.â You pause, sitting on the ice, thinking back to the endless texts. âHonestly, sheâs the funniest person Iâve talked to in years. We have really great chemistry, but⊠she doesnât even feel real. Sometimes it feels like sheâs just⊠pixels on a screen.â
âSo make her real,â Minho says, skating circles around you, both literally and figuratively. âShe lives in Seoul, doesnât she? Why havenât you guys met yet? Itâs been weeks.â
âIt just hasnât come up,â you say defensively, brushing the ice off your gloves. âAnd we donât want to ruin the vibes. Right now, everythingâs perfect. No expectations, no awkward silences. If we meet, reality messes everything up. What if we have zero chemistry in person? What if she chews with her mouth open? Iâd rather not ruin the friendship.â
âWow, hyungâyou are a coward,â he declares, shaking his head.
âWhat? How?â
âYou are protecting a fantasy because youâre scared.â
âWhatever,â you grunt, getting back up. âIâm happy with what we have.â
He stops in front of you, blocking your path. âOkay, forget the pixels then. Look around. We are at Lotte World. The happiest place in Seoul. Surrounded by eligible women who are likely freezing and in need of body heat.â
You look around at the sea of school uniforms and cat-ear headbands.
âMinho, theyâre all high schoolers. If I hit on anyone here, Iâm going to jail. And if I go to jail, I wonât be able to texâI meanâI donât have time for prison.â
âNot everyone,â he corrects, straightening his coat and narrowing his eyes, scanning the crowd like a predator on the Discovery Channel. âThereâtarget acquired. Three oâclock, by the skate rental. No uniform, expensive coat, looks like she needs saving from a bad day.â
You look. A tall woman is standing by the rental counter, looking rather impatient, but she is indeed an adult.
âObserve,â he says confidently. âLet me show you how itâs done.â
He glides over to her. You watch from a safe distance, gripping the rail, as he stops with a flourish and smilesâthat stupid, dimpled smile that usually only works on ahjummas. He gestures to the ice, points to the concession stand, and then leans in with what he probably thinks is swag.
The woman stares at him. She doesnât smile back; she just points toward the exit, where a man holding two toddlers is walking toward her.
Minhoâs smile freezes. He nods, bows deeplyâtwiceâand skates back to you at high speed.
âWell?â you ask, even though you already know.
âHusband. And twins.â
âNice.â
âOkay, maybe itâs really over for the both of us.â He leans against the rail next to you, slumping his shoulders. âValentineâs Day is next week, hyung. Next week. We are going to watch Jujutsu Kaisen together while the rest of Seoul goes to Michelin-rated restaurants with their lovers, arenât we?â
âWeâll survive,â you say, holding back a sigh.
âWill we?â He rubs his face. âItâs been so long since I went on a proper date, I think Iâve lost all my rizz.â
The sigh finally comes out. âYou never had any rizz to begin with.â
âIâm drying up here,â he whines, ignoring what you just said. âAt this point, Iâm essentially a monk with better hair.â
âSame here,â you say, watching all the couples holding hands, skating together around the rink. âWe might as well spend Valentineâs Day at a monastery.â
He looks at you. âHow long has it been for you? Since Jisoo?â
You stare at the ice, scuffed and scarred by a thousand blades. âYeah,â you admit quietly. âItâs been a while.â
â ââ ââ â â
The apartment is quiet, as usual. Youâre lying in bed, watching the light from your phone illuminate the ceiling while Minhoâs words rings in your ears.
How long has it been for you? Since Jisoo?
It has been a long time. The emotional intimacy with Wrong Number is satisfying, yes, but after seeing Tuesday Girl with her date, and hearing Minho complain about his dry spell, you are suddenly painfully aware of the physical loneliness.
Your phone buzzes, and sadly, even that is enough to send something tingly through you.
[Wrong Number]
so my friend just told me i have virgin energy because i wouldnât let a guy buy me a drink the other night
me? virgin?
iâve never felt more insulted
You smile. Her timing is just always impeccable.
[You]
well is she wrong?
[Wrong Number]
EXCUSE ME?
whose side are you on?
[You]
iâm just saying
you talk a big game for someone who spends her saturday nights talking to a florist she never met
[Wrong Number]
wow
for your information i have seen the inside of three different bedrooms this month
You blink. You actually feel a weird hint of jealousy, which is ridiculous because you have no right to it. At all.
[You]
congratulations
enjoy your happiness
and orgasms
[Wrong Number]
i can assure you there is no happiness involved
and definitely no orgasms
i wake up and i just want to leave so i can talk to you
clearly i am broken
The jealousy vanishes instantly, replaced by something strange but warm. I just want to leave so I can talk to you.
[You]
youâre not broken
iâm just so interesting you canât help it
[Wrong Number]
if this is rizz then i can see why youâre single đ
anyways what about you
when was the last time for you
[You] a while
[Wrong Number]
how long is a while?
pre-pandemic?
pre-iphone?
[You]
shut up
like a month before my ex left so like four months ago
honestly i think iâve forgotten how to do it
if i meet a girl tomorrow iâd just disappoint her the way all the guys are disappointing you
[Wrong Number]
doubt it
you have nice hands
You stare at the text. You have nice hands. Itâs the first time sheâs ever complimented you physicallyâbut sheâs never even seen you.
[You]
you donât even know what my hands look like
[Wrong Number]
florists always have nice hands
good at handling delicate things without breaking them? sign me up
Your mouth goes dry. Is she flirting with you now? At a time like this?
You try to think of a reply, but sheâs already typing again.
[Wrong Number]
anyway
weâre a tragic pair
one of us is starving and the other one is eating garbage
[You]
we should probably fix that
[Wrong Number]
yeah
we probably should
Neither of you reply after that. The silence that follows isnât exactly uncomfortable, but itâs mutual. Itâs the silence of two friends too afraid to across the line, but too curious to see whatâs on the other side.
â ââ ââ â â
Valentineâs Day in a flower shop is anything but romantic.
By 2:00 PM, youâve stripped thorns off six hundred roses, written âI love youâ on cards for men who definitely do not mean it, and mediated an argument between a husband and a mistress who accidentally ordered from the same account. Your hands are scratched up, your apron is covered in green slime, and the only reason you are still standing is thanks to the three espressos and your sheer hatred towards Saint Valentine for selling his soul away to capitalism.
One of your co-workers conveniently called in sick last minute, so Minho volunteered to help. Heâs barricaded behind a wall of babyâs breath in the backroom, frantically wrapping bouquets like heâs diffusing bombs.
âIf I see one more teddy bear,â he yells over the sound of the cooler humming, âI am going to strangle it!â
âJust focus!â you snap, cutting a ribbon with your teeth. âWe only have twenty minutes before the 5:00 PM rush.â
Thatâs when your phone buzzes on the counter.
You wipe your wet hands on your apron and check it, expecting a supplier updateâor at the very least, a funny text from Wrong Number to make everything better.
Itâs neither.
[Kim Jisoo]
hey, i know itâs been a while, but iâm in the neighborhood.
do you think we can talk for a bit?
maybe over dinner?
after you get off, of course.
Your stomach dropsâand so does your phone and the flowers you were working so hard on. Your brain starts malfunctioning as you stare at the screen on the counter. The timing couldnât be worse.
You should say no, of course. You should ignore her, even, but the exhaustion makes you weak, the loneliness makes you desperate, and the memory of three years together makes you hesitate just long enough to confuse yourself.
You need backup. You canât do this alone.
[You]
SOS
code red
the ex just texted saying she wants to talk
The response takes about a minute, but itâs the longest minute of your life.
[Wrong Number]
WHAT
no!!!
absolutely not
tell her to go away
[You]
sheâs already in the neighborhood so sheâs probably coming to the shop
i think she wants to get back together
iâm so tired i might actually cave
[Wrong Number]
DONâT YOU DARE
you are weak
[You] yes we already knew that
[Wrong Number]
ugh donât do this to me!!
iâm finally gonna go on a date with someone decent but i WILL leave to save you if i have to
[You]
what no
donât ruin your night for me
[Wrong Number]
iâll ruin my night to make sure you donât ruin your life
whatâs the name of your flower shop and what time do you close?
You casually tell her, just for the hell of it, and put the phone down. Sheâs joking, obviouslyâsheâs not actually going to leave a date to come save a stranger sheâs never met. Itâs just your usual banter.
Right?
By 8:00 PM, the rush has finally died down. Minho went to go drink away the trauma with a foreigner he found on Hinge, and the shop is empty and quiet, still smelling of crushed stems.
Your hands are ready to defy you completely, but you decide to make two more bouquets before retiring for the day.
The first one is simple; youâve made it so many times that itâs muscle memory by now: pale pink rosesâJisooâs favorite.
The second bouquet is something youâve never really done before: four stems of pink ranunculus, surrounded by wild greenery, tied with a large ribbon.
You donât really know why youâre making it. You donât even know if sheâll like it. Sheâs probably not even comingâsheâs on a hot date, after all. But if she does show up, maybe it could be a thank you for the digital moral support. Or maybe, deep down, youâre hoping that Tuesday Girl might walk in on a Saturday to get herself something for Valentineâs Day and you can finally give her the extra flower like youâd promised Wrong Number youâd do.
The bell above the door doesnât jingle, but a knock rattles the glass.
You look up.
Jisoo is standing outside, breath fogging up the glass as she waves at you.
[You]
sheâs here
You slip your phone back into your apron, take a deep breath, open the door, and let the past back in.
She looks exactly the same as the day she left.
âHey,â Jisoo says with a soft smile, shaking the snow off her coat. âItâs been a while.â
âYeah,â you say, leaning back against the counter like it could save you. âIt has.â
You donât invite her to sit or offer her tea; you just stand there, in front of the two bouquets you made.
She walks toward you and turns to the roses. âYou still remember,â she says, reaching out to touch a petal. âMy favorite.â
âJust old habits,â you say, clearing your throat. âI made so many in the past.â
âYou did.â She looks up at you, eyes wide and suspiciously sincere. âIâm really sorry for hurting you. I didnât realize what we had was so precious until I experienced life without you. You really loved me, didnât you?â
You did. You loved her in the only way you knew how. By shrinking yourself to fit into the spaces she made for you, by nodding along to everything she wanted without argument, and wearing shirts she picked for you even though you hated them. It was a love filled with swallowed opinions and unyielding compromise, but it was also a love filled with everything you had to give.
And in the end, everything still wasnât enough.
âWhat happened to the investment banker?â you ask quietly. âYou said he was so ambitious and perfect.â
She takes in a breath. âI know how shameful it sounds for me to say this, but it turns out he was only perfect on paper. A nice car, a big apartment, reservations at all the places I couldnât get into,â she says, looking down. âBut he didnât know how to make me laugh. He didnât know to ask for extra cucumber banchan without me telling him to, or that I need exactly three pillows to sleep. He didnât care about my day, or rub my feet when Iâve had a long one.â
She looks at you, almost pleading. âHe wasnât you,â she finishes softly.
âI thought that was the point,â you sayânot bitterly, just honestly.
She reaches across the counter and covers your hand with hers. âI know this sounds crazy, but I want to try again,â she whispers. âI know I screwed everything up, but I want to fix this. I donât want to live without you. It doesnât matter what I gainâall of it means nothing without you.â
You study her big, beautiful eyes, almost getting lost in them like youâve done so many times in the past. The crazy thing is that she actually sounds sincere for once.
God, it would be so easy. You could easily say yes. You could hand her the flowers and go back to a life that makes senseâa life where you donât have to be lonely on Saturday nights or holidays.
But then you look at her hand on yours, and realize⊠you donât feel anything. Not for her, at least. The only thing you do feel is that itch in your heart; the burning curiosity of what it would be like to hold Wrong Numberâs hand just once.
And from just that, you finally understand that your heart does remember how to yearn, just not for Jisoo. Not anymore.
You pull your hand away gently. âJisoo,â you whisper, your voice almost shaking. âI donât thinkââ
The bell above the door screams like a siren as itâs thrown open, and a gust of freezing wind sweeps into the shop, hitting your face.
You look up. Jisoo turns around, startled.
Your heart immediately skips a beat and a half. Itâs⊠Tuesday Girl..?
You canât recall ever being more shocked in your life, but you also canât ignore that she looks absolutely stunning, even more so than usual. Actually, she looks so insanely pretty that it physically hurts you. Sheâs wearing a black dress under an open coat, her hair is curled and perfect, and she looks like she just walked out of a very expensive fashion shoot.
But sheâs also breathless, her cheeks are flushed from running in the cold, and her eyes are blazing and alert in a way youâve never seen before.
She stands in the doorway, scanning the room, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Her gaze lands on Jisoo, where they linger for a few seconds, and then they shift to you.
She freezes. And so do you.
The puzzle pieces clash together violently in your head as you watch the realization also wash over her face in slow motion. She looks at the sign hanging on the window, then she looks at her phone, and then she looks at you.
âNo way,â she breathes.
She walks up to the counter, her eyes glued to your face with a mix of both horror and wonder. You watch like a deer in headlights as she stops right next to Jisoo, ignoring her completely.
âItâs you?â she asks, her voice pitching up. âYouâre Flower Boy?â
You stare at her. âAnd youâre Tuesday Girl?â
âI was surprised when you told me the name of the shop, but I thought you just coincidentally worked here!â she says, throwing her hands up. âI didnât think you were him! I thought I was coming to save No Earrings, not the guy Iââ She catches herself, her eyes widening, cheeks flushing a furious, lovely pink. âThe guy I buy flowers from.â
Jisoo looks between the two of you, confused. âWho is she?â
Wrong Number finally turns to Jisoo, for just a second. âIâm the upgrade,â she says simply, and turns back to you, slamming her hand on the counter.
Jisoo blinks rapidly. âIâm sorry, whaââ
âI just walked out on a date!â she says, cutting her off. âI left a perfectly nice man who held the door open, didnât wear sunglasses inside, and actually asked me questions about my job. I left him with the checkâwell, only because he said he owns three apartment buildingsâand then I ran three blocks in these stupid heels because you texted me saying you were going to do something stupid.â
You cover your forehead. âWhy would youââ
âBecause you told me not to let you be weak!â She points a finger at you like sheâs disciplining a dog. âYou told me to stop you if you ever tried to go back to the past. So here I am, stopping youââ
âExcuse me,â Jisoo finally cuts in, her voice sharp with disbelief as steps forward, reclaiming her territory. âI donât know who you think you are, but what do you mean stop him? Youâre just some random girlâyou donât know anything about him!â
Wrong Number finally turns to look at her. She doesnât flinch or back down; she just raises an eyebrow like itâs the most ridiculous thing sheâs ever heard.
âI donât know him?â She lets out a dry laugh. âAre you sure about that? Where do I even start? Letâs seeâI know he hates red roses because theyâre lazy. I know he has a scar on his left thumb from a Motherâs Day rush three years ago that still feels weird when it rains. I also know heâs terrified of birds because a duck attacked him when he was seven. I know he puts hot sauce on his popcorn. I know he reads the end of a book first to make sure his favorite character survives.â She pauses briefly, then slowly continues. âAnd I know he stays up until 2am staring at the ceiling wondering if heâs good enough for anyone to stay because of someone.â
She takes a few steps closer to her, voice dropping even lower. âBut what about you, Jisoo?â she asks, tilting her head. âWhat do you know?â
Jisoo flinches, taken aback. âW-what?â
âYou dated him for three years. So tell me. What does he actually want to do with his life? Whatâs his dream?â
Jisoo falters, glancing at you for help. âWell⊠h-he wants to expand the shop, of course. He wants to⊠make it bigger. More successful.â
Wrong Number lets out a loud scoff, and shakes her head, looking at Jisoo with something close to pity. âYou donât know him at all,â she says simply. âHe wants a really big garden to grow nothing but wildflowers because theyâre the only things that donât need perfection to survive. He wants a quiet life where he doesnât have to impress anyone.â
âWell, Iââ
âYou think he isnât ambitious because he doesnât want a big franchise or own multiple rental properties or work with mega corporations,â she says, sounding almost offended on your behalf. âBut his ambition is to just be happyâand thatâs so much harder than just being rich.â
Jisoo opens her mouth to argue, but no words come out. She looks at you, stunned, realizing she never asked what actually makes you happy.
Wrong Number leans in, her gaze completely unwavering. âI know him better in three weeks of texting than you did in three years of dating, without ever even meeting him. So donât tell me I donât know him.â
Jisoo recoils as if sheâs been slapped. She looks at you, waiting for you to deny it or defend her. You donât.
Wrong Number turns away and steps closer to you, ignoring Jisoo completely now. âDo not take her back,â she says, her voice cracking just a little, the anger softening. âYou are not a consolation prize for a failed relationship. You are not a backup plan for when someone gets tired of being lonely or neglected by their new partner.â
She takes a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours, as if desperate to make you understand.
âYouâre the guy who protects my flowers from imaginary fruit crimes because you want them to live longer. Youâre the guy who stays up to 3am with me to debate whether or not a zombie apocalypse would fix the housing market crisis. Youâre also the only person who can make me laugh when Iâm crying in a bathtub. You never met me and you treated me more like a person than all the people Iâve went on dates with. You actually care about what I have to say and remember things about me. Youâre funny, youâre understanding, youâre witty, youâre kind, and youâreâŠâ
She stops, as if hesitating to finish the sentence.
âYouâre the best part of my day,â she finally says. âEvery single day.â
Silence descends on the shop.
You look at the two women standing in front of you. Thereâs Tuesday Girlâthe soft, sad eyes you fell for in person, but you also see Wrong Numberâthe friendship, fire, and humor you fell for in the dark.
Somehow, theyâre the same person. They always were. And she left her first decent date in months to come fight for you, to tell you things that no oneâs ever said about youâthings that you donât even think you deserve to hear, but she says it with so much sincerity that you have no choice other than to believe it.
You donât answer her with words; you reach behind the counter and pick up the second bouquet, holding them out to her.
âI made these for you,â you say quietly.
She stares at the flowers, eyes widening. Her tough exterior crumbles as she looks from the pink petals to your face, and a slow, disbelief-filled smile spreads across her face.
âWhy did you make this?â she whispers. âHowâd you know?â
âI didnât.â You swallow. âBut you promised me that the extra flower would make you smile.â
And smile, she does. âI guess I donât owe you pasta then.â
âIâd still like to try one day.â
She takes the bouquet, then looks at Jisoo, whoâs standing there like sheâs just seen a ghost.
âI think that you should probably go,â Wrong Number says, clutching the flowers to her chest.
Jisoo looks at the carefully wrapped ranunculus, and then at you. âRight,â she says tightly. âI can see that Iâm interrupting.â
She walks out without looking back. The bell jingles one last time, and then silence returns, but itâs not empty silence anymore.
Wrong Number looks at you. You look at her.
The air between you is filled with tension, embarrassment, and excitementâall built off of weeks of non-stop banter, shared secrets, and spilled confessions.
âYour hands look exactly like I imagined,â she says, her voice shaking a little.
You look down at your hands, then back up at her. âI still donât know your name,â you say softy. âI wasnât brave enough to ask last Tuesday. Or Thursday, before your date came and snatched you from me.â
She smiles, and itâs just dazzling.
âItâs Cho Miyeon,â she says, looking up at you with soft doe eyes. âAnd for the record, the guy on Thursday did not own a yacht.â
You tell her your name, and she repeats it to herself while smiling at the flowers, as if it sounds like poetry to her.
âHappy Valentineâs Day, Cho Miyeon,â you say, as the butterflies begin multiplying in your stomach.
âHappy? I blew up my Valentineâs Day date for you,â she says, unbothered. âHeâs definitely not calling me back.â
âGood. Because I was hoping youâd be free.â
âOh really? And what did you have in mind?â
âWell,â you say, glancing down at your apron covered in green slime and sap. âI need to go home and change first. Iâve been wrestling roses for twelve hours.â
âIâm okay with that,â she says, giggling. âI like your apartment. Or, I like the pictures Iâve seen of it.â
âYouâve seen like two at most.â
âThatâs enough for me. I have a good imagination.â She raises a finger. âYou know, since we donât have any reservations, letâs just go to the grocery store and get pasta ingredients so I can rock your world.â
âYou left an expensive dinner with a guy who owns three apartment buildings so you could stay in and make shrimp scampi for some guy you just met?â
She nods, as if itâs the easiest question to answer. âYeah. And itâs the second best decision Iâve made all year.â
âWhatâs the first?â
âTexting the right wrong number,â she says, lightly scrunching her nose.
You smile and reach out to flip the sign on the door to Closed.
âBy the way, how are the other flowers doing?â you ask.
âStill thriving and ready to meet their four new friends,â she says, hugging the bouquet. âThe apples are rotting in jail.â
â ââ ââ â â
âWelcome to the fortress of solitude,â you say, flipping on the lights and setting the grocery bags on the counter.
The trip to the store down the street from your apartment felt more like a vivid dream than realityâMiyeon in a long coat and a fancy date-night dress, pushing a shopping cart while debating the differences between butter brands while you tried not to look like a guy who had just been rescued from a rom-com climaxâalthough you pretty much were. Sheâd insisted on the expensive parmesan (âIf weâre doing this, weâre doing it rightâ) and youâd insisted on the garlic bread (âItâs non-negotiableâ), and somewhere in the frozen aisle, youâd realized you were having more fun buying pasta ingredients than anything you did all year.
Miyeon steps in and looks around slowly, taking in the overflowing bookshelf, the gray sofa, the framed photos, and the jungle of potted plants in every corner.
âItâs nice,â she says, turning to you with a grin. âNot a single beige wall in sight and lots of green. I approve.â
âI told you,â you say, locking the door behind you. âSadness is banned in this householdâwell, except for the guy living in it.â
She laughs, but youâre suddenly really aware of your own appearance. Youâre still wearing your work apron, thereâs a streak of green floral foam dried on your forearm, and you definitely smell like twelve hours of plant fertilizer and stress. You feel gross, and for the first time in a long time, you desperately want to be something better than gross for someone.
âOkay,â you say, untying the apron. âI need twenty minutes to scrub the Valentineâs Day off my skin. Do you need help with prep?â
Miyeon drops her purse on the counter and takes off her coat, revealing the entirety of her black dress. Itâs sleek and tighter than you thought, hugging every curve she has like it was proud to be on her body. Your jaw wants nothing more than to drop to the floor, but you clench onto all the muscles in your face like your life depends on it.
She catches you staring anyway. A small, knowing smirk plays on her lips.
âGo shower,â she says, walking to the kitchen like youâre the guest. âYou look like youâre about to collapse. I got this.â
âAre you sure? I can chopââ
âJust go,â she commands, pointing down the hall with a head of garlic in her hand. âIâm going to rock your world tonight.â
Heat rushes to your face. âU-umââ
âWith the best shrimp scampi youâve ever had,â she quickly adds. âNow, go!â
You make it to the bathroom and strip off the apron in record time, taking possibly the fastest shower of your lifeâless of a relaxing wash and more of a frantic scrubâpartly because you smell like a greenhouse, but mostly because leaving her alone in your kitchen feels like waking up from a dream, and youâre terrified that if you take too long, she might disappear before you get back.
You step out of the shower and immediately go into panic mode. You dry your hair aggressively, trying to style it into something intentional without looking like you tried too hard. Then, you pull open your closet and stare at your clothes like youâve never seen a shirt before.
Too casual. Too fancy. Too⊠florist.
You finally grab the âniceâ button-down you usually save for weddings to match her dress, fumbling with the buttons because your hands are shakingâjust a little. It feels ridiculous to be this nervous in your own home, but it feels important. Itâs your first date. You want to look like the guy she deserves, not just the guy she settled for because heâs good at making jokes over text messages.
The smell hits you the moment you step out: garlic, butter, and lemon. Itâs rich and intoxicating, and somehow exactly like how you expected your first dinner to be.
You walk into the living room and freeze.
Miyeon is standing at your stove, tossing pasta in a pan. Sheâs kicked off her heels, and sheâs humming along to the J-Rock song you mentioned to her a few days ago.
She turns around, holding up a wooden spoon, and pauses when she sees you. Her eyes sweep over the crisp shirt, the styled hair, the effortâif it could be called that. A slow, shy smile spreads across her face.
âWow,â she says softly. âYou look⊠good.â
You adjust your cuffs, suddenly shy. âWell, it is a first date. I didnât want to be underdressed next to⊠that.â You gesture to her dress.
âIâm wearing this because I didnât have time to go home,â she teases, her eyes dancing. âYouâre wearing that because youâre trying to impress me in your own living room.â
âIs it working?â
She leans back against the counter, biting her lip to hide a grin. âItâs a little formal for last minute pasta on the couch⊠but yeah, itâs working.â
âGood,â you say, walking over to stand beside her. You lean in to smell the pan, your arm brushing against hers. âWow, it looks and smells incredible. You werenât joking.â
âItâs my one life skill besides predicting which marriages wonât last.â She turns back to the stove, satisfied. âNow grab the plates. Iâm starving, I left the dinner before the appetizers even came out.â
You eat at the coffee table, sitting on the floor with your knees bumping together. The pasta is perfectâgarlicky, buttery, and exactly what you needed after a twelve-hour shift of wrestling roses. A bottle of white wine sits between youâcheap stuff you two bought for cooking but decided to also drink instead, and somehow, it tastes better than anything youâve had in years.
For a few minutes, you just eat in comfortable silence, passing the wine bottle back and forth. Itâs surreal. For weeks, youâve eaten dinner with your phone propped up against a water glass, texting her. Now, sheâs right next to you. You can see the way she pushes the shrimp around her plate to save it for last, and the way she scrunches her nose when she laughs.
âYou know,â she says suddenly, breaking the silence. âThis feels kind of weird.â
âWhat does?â
âJust us. Being here. I feel like Iâve been sitting on this floor with you for weeks.â
You nod, leaning back against the couch, twirling the stem of your wine glass. âIt feels like we skipped the first ten dates.â
âWe did,â she laughs softly, her cheeks flushed slightly from the wine. âItâs like we already know everything about each other so thereâs nothing left to talk about.â
âAnd yet I didnât know your name until an hour ago,â you say.
She smiles, shaking her head. âItâs backward. Everything about us is backward.â
âIs that a bad thing?â
âNo.â She looks at you, her eyes soft in the dim light. âI think itâs the best thing thatâs happened to me.â
She takes a sip of wine, then clears her throat as if the moment got a little too soft, too fast.
âOkay,â she says, putting her glass down. âSo Iâve been meaning to askâdo you have a TV or do you just stare at your plants for fun?â
âOh, I have a projector,â you say, pointing to the ceiling. âAnd Netflix, Disney, Coupang Play⊠pick your poison.â
She hums, looking at the blank wall. âWhatâs your favorite movie? The one you can watch a hundred times and never get sick of.â
You hesitate. You think about saying something cool, like The Godfather or some obscure indie film to impress her, but you promised her honesty a while ago.
âYouâre going to judge me,â you warn.
âTry me. I unironically love Twilight, I have no room to judge.â
âOkay.â You take a breath. âYour Name.â
She freezes; her fork stops halfway to her mouth.
âThe anime?â she asks, eyes widening. âKimi no Na wa?â
âY-yes,â you say defensively. âThe animation is incredible, and the soundtrackââ
âNo way,â she interrupts, putting her plate down. âThatâs my favorite movie.â
You blink. You think about Minhoâs rant from months agoââJisoo didnât cry at the twilight scene! Thatâs a red flag!â
âAre you serious?â
âIâm serious,â she says, her face lighting up. âTwo people connected across time and space who donât know each otherâs names, searching for each other? It gets me every time.â
âY-yeah,â you murmur, thoroughly shocked at how much more perfect she could get.
She looks at you for a second. âIt kinda reminds me of us in a way,â she admits, and then laughs. It sounds really nice. âWeâre watching it together. Immediately.â
You smile. Itâs the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.
âYour Name it is,â you say, dimming the lights.
You pour the last of the wine into each of your glass, and start the movie.
For the next two hours, you sit side by side in the dark. At first, thereâs a respectful distance between you. But somewhere around the body-switching montage, you feel her shoulder press against yours, and by the time the comet appears in the sky, her head is resting on your shoulder.
At the twilight sceneâthe moment when Taki and Mitsuha finally see each other on the mountainâyou feel Miyeon shift. You look over. She is literally weeping; silent, genuine tears streaming down her face.
You donât laugh, you just reach out and take her hand, and she squeezes it back without saying a word or even looking away from the screen.
When the credits roll, she sniffs, wiping her eyes carefully with her finger.
âDonât judge me,â she says, laughing to herself. âI told you. Every time.â
âIâm not judging.â
She turns to look at you, her eyes reddened yet still beautiful. She smiles, then catches her reflection in the dark window.
âOh god,â she winces, touching her cheek. âI look like a raccoon. I need to go fix my makeup.â
âYou donât have to. I think you look beaâumâfine. You look fine.â
She stands up. âNo, Iâm not letting you see me like this.â
âAlright, wellâbathroom is down the hall, first door on the left,â you say, pointing. âBut you already knew that when you demanded I go shower earlier.â
âWell, thereâs only so many places it can be.â
You listen to her footsteps retreat as you look at the empty plates and the projected image of the comet fading on the wall, suddenly realizing that youâre smiling so hard your face hurts.
âHey!â she calls out a moment later, breaking your little daze. âI found them!â
You pause. That wasnât the bathroom door; it was the bedroom.
âHuh?â You dry your hands and walk down the hall.
The bedroom door is open, and the bedside lamp is on, casting a warm, amber glow over the unmade bed and the wooden nightstand. Miyeon is standing by your bed, looking at you with a mischievous grin.
âYou found what?â you ask from the door.
âMy earrings,â she says simply. âThe ones I left on your nightstand.â
You squint at the empty nightstand, then back at her. âWhat earrings?â
âScroll back to the beginning of our texts,â she says, her voice dropping to a playful purr. âI left my earrings on your nightstand, remember?â
She looks up at you; the laughter fades from her eyes, replaced by something a little softer, a little heavier.
Then, slowly, she reaches up to her ear, undoing the clasp of her actual earringâa long, elegant gold hoop with a diamond dropâplacing it gently on the nightstand. It makes a soft clink against the wood. Then, she takes off the other one, placing it beside the first.
âThere,â she whispers, biting her lower lip.
You look at the earrings gleaming under the lamp light, then back at her.
âI guess I canât be No Earrings Guy anymore.â
âI guess not,â she says, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips. âIf I text you tomorrow, youâll reply, right?â
âYes,â you say, walking closer to herâso close that you can smell her perfume as clear as day. âIâll say, âYou have the wrong number.ââ
She laughs, but the sound is cut short as you lean down. âDonât you dare,â she breathes. âAre you trying to cosplay as my one-night-stands?â
âAs you can see, I have one nightstand, but Iâm not gonna be your one-night-stand.â You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer. âIâd like to see you again and again, if thatâs okay with you.â
Her shoulders relax in your embrace. âEvery Tuesday?â
âMaybe a little more often than that, but we can start there.â
âMm⊠Iâd like that,â she says, brushing her nose against yours. âI have a request though.â
âWhat is it?â
She smiles and leans into your ear. âWill you⊠make my legs shake, though?â
You can feel her breaths brushing against your face at this point. âIs that what youâre thinking about? After all we just went through tonight?â
âBeen thinking about it every Tuesday,â she says, teeth tugging at her upper lip.
A gust of courage pushes you forward as you lean in to kiss her. She tastes and feels exactly the way you imagined she would during all those late nights staring at your phone. It feels like the universe is finally clicking into place, like this is the final piece needed for a completed puzzle. Like closing a loop, the way your lips press against hers with a hunger thatâs been building all eveningâall your life, even. Itâs a yearning thatâs tested distance and time, like your tongueâs been searching for hers across timelines and phone screens, through flower shops and lonely apartments.
She sighs into your mouthâa soft, surrendering soundâtangling her fingers in your hair as if to anchor you here, in this universe, with her. Itâs the kind of kiss that rewrites history. It erases every wrong number, every missed connection, every failed relationship, every awful date, every lonely Tuesday that came before it.
And when she pulls you towards the bed, you know one thing for sure: neither of you is ever going to be lonely again.
Your lips stay locked together from the moment they meet, tongues dancing in a desperate rhythm as both of your hands roam freelyâdown the sides of her body, snug around her waist, and eventually reaching the skin of her thighs hidden beneath the hem of her dress. Her arms loop around the back of your neck as she angles her head to deepen the kiss, refusing to let you pull away for even a second.
âYouâre a pretty good kisser,â she says, running her fingers through your hair. âI didnât expect this.â
âSo are you,â you say, pressing your forehead against hers. âBut I expected you to be good.â
Her lips curl into a naughty smirk. âOh, you have no idea what else Iâm good at.â
You slide your hand between her legs, feeling the warmth radiating through her panties. âWhen will I find out?â
Miyeon doesnât answer, her eyes just flutter as you gently brush her folds through the fabric; a soft moan escapes her mouth as her lips part to your touch.
âSoonââ
But you donât let her finish. You kiss her again, stealing the air from her breath, as you sneak a finger inside her, curling it gently while she moans into your mouth.
âCan I tell you a secret?â she whispers breathlessly, her hips rocking against your touch.
âYou kept secrets from me?â you ask, slowly pushing deeper into her warmth. âI thought we were each otherâs safe space.â
âS-sorry,â she cries, neck dipping slightly. âIt was embarrassing.â
âWhat is it?â You go for her neck now, kissing downwards towards her collarbone, while your fingers push and pull out of her heat.
âIâve been fantasizing about your hands⊠a-ah⊠and your fingersâŠâ Her breaths get heavier with every soft thrust. âAnd⊠they feel better than I imagined.â
âCan I tell you a secret too, then?â you ask, feeling the cool air rush to your fingers as you withdraw your hand.
âY-yeah?â
âIâve been fantasizing about how you taste,â you say, lifting your hand to your mouth.
The taste is so satisfying that you let it linger on your tongue, savoring every drop.
âWho?â she asks, slipping her panties off completely. âWrong Number or Tuesday Girl?â
You gently press your fingers on her lips, sliding them into her mouth. âBoth,â you say.
âAnd the verdict?â she says, twirling her tongue around them, as if showing off her skills.
The sensation makes you gasp, almost. âDelicious. As expected.â
âLetâs see what else you expected,â she says with a playful grin.
She pushes you onto the bedânot aggressively, just hard enough to make you gasp, and immediately straddles your waist. She peels off her dress in one fluid motion over her shoulders, tossing it onto the floor.
âJesus,â you accidentally say. You can actually feel your mouth watering.
She smirks and reaches behind her back, unhooking her bra, purposely letting it slide off her small shoulders to reveal her bare skin in the soft bedroom light. Your eyes trace every wondrous curve, from the swell of her breasts to the dip of her slender waist.
You run your fingers up her ribs, savoring the dangerous smoothness of her skin. âYouâre gorgeous,â you say, watching her face light up to your words.
âHow did you picture me?â she asks, gathering her hair up like she means to tie itâonly to let it fall right back down slowly, like she was putting on a show.
You swallow. âHonestlyâas Tuesday GirlâbecauseâŠâ you pause.
âBecause what?â she asks, tilting her head.
âItâs embarrassing.â
Her smile deepens. âNow you really have to say it.â
You exhale, then let it out in one honest rush of words. âBecause I had such a huge crush on you that I think I⊠I kind of blurred you two together in my head. Just asââ you give a helpless little laugh, ââthe girl I like.â
âAw.â The teasing in her face softens. âHonestly⊠I think I did the same,â she admits quietly, like a secret sheâs placing in your hands as she runs her warm fingers across your cheek.
And maybe thatâs why you notice the softness of her skin on your fingertips a little more now, as well as her steady weight over your body as she looks down at you, unable to wipe that smile off her gorgeous face.
âYouâre so pretty,â you say, still completely in awe. âI didnât imagine either of you to look like this.â
She grabs your hands, guiding them to her breasts. âTouch me,â she demands softly, her voice laced with a growing desire. âLike thisâŠâ
She grinds down on you, rubbing herself against the bulge in your pants through the fabric. The friction sends tingles through your length, making it throb with need as you knead her tits, thumbs circling her nipples until they harden against your skin.
âYouâre driving me crazy,â you murmur, your voice rough.
âNo, Iâm not,â she teases. âNot yet.â
She lowers herself, reaching for your pants and tugging them down along with your underwear in a single pull. Your cock springs free, completely hard and aching for her.
âOkay,â she says, eyes widening. âUm. Wow?â
âW-what?â you say, breath hitching.
She wraps her hand around it, stroking slowly before leaning down to plant a single kiss on the tip; a drop of pre-cum immediately leaks out. âItâs⊠perfect. Just like I imagined.â
âYou imagined this far?â you say, clenching your teeth. âWhile going on all those dates?â
âI have a great imagination.â She leans in, breath hot as she finally takes you into her mouth, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling around the head. âAnd you know better than anyone that I didnât care for any of those dates.â
Your heart actually skips a beat. âOhâwow.â
She smirks, as if the reaction was expected. âJust wait.â
âIâm patient,â you manage to choke out, watching as her tongue trails down the length of your shaft, mapping a wet line all the way to the base.
âHow patient?â she murmurs against your skin.
âI waited all this time to try your pasta, didnât I?â
She slurps on your length, planting small, teasing kisses against your flesh like she was savoring it on her way back up. âThatâs true. Was it worth it?â
âSo worth itâaahââ
âYou taste good,â she says, pulling back just enough to speak, her breath hot against your flesh. âIâve wanted this in my mouth for so long.â
âYou just met me three hours ago.â
âSo? Iâve wanted it in my mouth three weeks before that.â
She stops talking and takes you deeper, bobbing her head with a steady rhythm while her hand pumps the base, tongue gliding down the side of your cock with just enough pressure to complement the wet suction happening above.
âMiyeonâw-wowââ you groan, threading your fingers through her hair. âYouâre really good at this.â
Saliva drips down your shaft as she works you sensually, her eyes locked on yours, full of affection and a starving lust. âI love how you twitch for me,â she murmurs between sucks. âAnd how you fill my mouth perfectly.â
You lift your hips instinctively, and she responds by catching your thighs, pushing them wider apart.
âWhat are youââ
âShhâŠâ she soothes, looking right at you as if begging you to trust her. âDonât be shy. We know everything about each other, donât we?â
Her tongue trails lower, past the base of your cock, licking your balls with slow, careful strokes now that theyâre completely exposed to her. The sensation melts you completely, sending you further into the mattress. She pushes your knees up, brushing her soft, wet lips all over every inch of sensitive skin she uncovers.
âCan I?â she whispers as her tongue creeps down even further.
âY-yes,â you reply nervously, your body arching toward her on its own.
She licks you everywhere, letting her saliva cover your skin, dripping onto the mattress as her tongue gently flicks around your rimânot enough to feel invasive, but almost lovingly, as if she was worshipping you with her need.
The sensation literally makes you whimper. âOh my god⊠it feels so goodâŠâ
She hums in satisfaction as her hands continue to stroke you while she slurps you louder, recycling her saliva as she works her tongue across the crease of your cheeks, up the surface of your balls, and all the way up the underside of your cockâjust to go right back down again.
âDoes it feel good?â She takes all of your balls into her mouth, swirling them with her tongue while her fingers spread her saliva mixed with your pre-cum all over your cock.
âYouâre crazy goodâŠâ you moan, dropping your head against the pillow.
She presses one last, lingering kiss between your legs before letting your thighs drop, then brushes her lips all the way up your length as she continues jerking you sensually, every inch of your cock now covered with her love.
âI love it,â she moans against your shaft. âI really, really like sucking your dick.â
She bobs her head up and down, slurping and sucking loudly and messily, hands circling your base while her tongue swirls around you inside her mouth. The rhythm isnât erraticâitâs careful yet enthusiastic, as if she was savoring every bit of you.
âGod, I really canât stop,â she murmurs, stroking you as she catches her breath, tongue still flicking against your flesh as if she canât get enough. âIâve never felt like this before. I guess I really didnât know everything about you.â
âThatâs not fair,â you say, breathing heavily.
âWhatâs not fair?â Her free hand slides between her own legs, fingers dipping into her wetness, while her other hand continues to stroke you.
âI want to taste you tooâaahââ
You cut off with a loud moan as she swallows you whole, taking you deeper than before, the back of her throat hugging the head of your cock. She holds you there, letting her throat milk you in tight, rhythmic pulses while her fingers work furiously between her thighs.
You can hear her moans vibrate against you as her tongue circles the underside of your balls with the entirety of your length buried so deep in her throat that it disappears.
âF-fuckâŠâ you whimper, the pleasure ripping through your body as finally pulls out, slowly.
She gasps, heaving for air as strands of spit drip from her mouth, directly back down to your cock, but quickly disappears as her hand pumps it down into your flesh, fusing it with the rest of the hot mess.
âMiyeon,â you plead, voice shaking now. âPlease. Me too.â
âBeg,â she teases, exhaling heavily, something lighting up in her eyes.
âI want to taste you. Please.â
She crawls up your body, her hand still pumping you below, and kisses you deeply. Her tongue wrestles aggressively with yours, sharing the taste of your own desire as she grinds her hips against your chest.
âYouâre tasting me,â she says, sucking on your lips.
âNo,â you protest, fingers digging into the skin on her hips. âNot like this.â
You guide her small frame upwards, lifting her above you to position herself right over your face. Her pussy hovers just above your mouth, glistening with an arousal built up all night.
âLike this.â You grab her waist and pull her down, your tongue plunging right between her folds as you enter her, savoring all her sweetness as you lick and suck her like youâre starvedâbecause you are.
âOh my god,â she moans quietly, grinding against your face. âThis is what you meant.â
You pull back just enough to speak, your lips wet with her love. âDonât play innocent. You knew exactly what I meant.â
âYou werenât being specific,â she breathes, fingers tangling in your hair. âI didnât know you meant you wanted to taste my pussy.â
âYes, you did,â you growl, slapping her ass. âYouâre a liar now.â
She lets out a soft yelp of both shock and delight, and you grab a handful of her cheeks to pull her down, burying your tongue deeper into her hole while she drips into your mouth. Her hands brace on the headboard as she rides your face, her breaths coming in short pants and melodic gasps.
You hold her steady, flicking and circling until sheâs trembling.
âYouâre really good at this, what the hellâaah!â she cries, grinding against your mouth, increasing and decreasing the pressure with every movement. âW-waitâI think Iâm gonna comeâyouâre actually gonna make me come like thisâoh wowâwaitâwaitââ
Her movement stops abruptly, and she pushes hard against you, trapping your tongue against her clit right before her legs start shaking in small, short tremors. Then, a few seconds later, she shatters, moaning loudly, voice cracking along with the erratic jerks of her spine while she anchors herself, using your hair for balance.
She collapses sideways onto the mattress, and you climb on top of her, holding her trembling body in your arms, kissing her softly down the side of her warm neck as she hugs you tightly, chest heaving against yours.
âWow,â she gasps, voice cracking. âI need a secondâthat wasâwowââ
You keep kissing her soothingly, fingers slowly finding their way back to her heat as you chase the dripping juices leaving her folds.
âYouâre a dream come true,â you murmur against her lips, rubbing her sensually, watching her back arch again as her lips part and eyes widen.
âOh godââ she moans as your fingers sneak their way back in, feeling her walls clench against your skin. âOkayâI donât need a second anymoreâjust do itâaahââ
âDo what?â you ask, dipping your head to suck her nipple. Down below, you curl your fingers upward toward her spot, increasing the pressure with every motion.
She twitches beneath you, hips bucking upward to chase your rhythm. âI knew youâd say thatâfuâoh my godââ
âSay it properly,â you tease, swirling and flicking against her flesh.
âFuck me,â she exhales loudly, desperately. âFuck me, please.â
You wish you had the resilience to continue playing with her, but you actually canât wait any longer either.
You spread her legs far apart, settling between her slender thighs as your cock nudges at her entrance like itâs drawn by a magnet, and you push inâslowly, inch by inch, watching her eyes flutter shut in bliss as you fill her completely.
âLook at me,â you command.
She opens her eyes, meeting your gaze as your bodies move together, skin slapping softly to every thrust.
âYou feel so good inside me,â she whispers, her trembling hands cupping your face. âI think Iâm gonna lose it.â
âYouâre actually so perfect,â you moan, picking up the speed as her wetness engulfs every inch of your flesh like a warm blanket.
You lean down and kiss herâa deep, passionate collision of lips and tongues, pouring every unspoken emotion between the two of you into the moment as your hips roll steadily against hers, binding your bodies and souls together.
She quickly unbuttons your shirt, flinging it off impatiently. Her hands wander over your chest, nails digging lightly into your shoulders as she matches your pace, wrapping her legs tighter around your waist to pull you deeper. You groan into her mouth, the friction and the heat and the sight of her flushed face beneath you threatening to unravel you completely.
âHow did you get more perfect than you already were the past three weeks?â you murmur against her lips, slowing the pace just to torture yourself, just to feel the drag of her walls clutching you. âI never knew I could want someone this much. I need you.â
âI need you too,â she breathes, arching her back into your body. âDonât stop⊠please, donât stop.â
You thrust harder, losing the battle for control, needing to be closer than skin and flesh allows. The slapping sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet room, a steady, wet rhythm that drowns out the city outside. You are lost in herâin the scent of her hair, the taste of her tongue, the way she says your name like youâve been lovers for multiple lives.
But you want to see herâall of her. Because youâre sure there isnât a sight in the world more beautiful than Cho Miyeon.
âCome up,â you command softly, withdrawing slowly until you almost slip out, leaving her gasping at the loss.
She whimpers, reaching for you, her eyes desperate and pleading. âNo⊠stay inside me⊠donât goâŠâ
âIâm not going anywhere,â you promise, guiding her hands to your chest. âI just want to see you.â
She hesitates for only a second before a wicked glint returns to her eyes. âYou like looking at me that much?â
âIâm addicted,â you confess, as she climbs over you, dragging her wet folds across your skin. âI want to see every side and angle of you.â
She looks down at you and smiles devilishlyâhair messy, lips parting, skin damp enough to shimmer in the dimly lit room.
âCareful what you wish for,â she teases breathlessly. âThere might be a side of me you havenât seen yet that might scare you.â
Then she sinks down, taking all of you in one slow, agonizing slide. Her head falls back, a long, broken moan tearing from her throat as she fills herself completely. The sight of herâimpaled on you, throat bared, riding you with a look of pure blissâis enough to make you see stars.
She sets a slow, torturous pace, grinding her hips in circles before lifting and slamming back down, milking every inch of you. Her hands rest on your chest, feeling your heart hammer against her palms, her gaze locked on yours as she rides you so skillfully you question how sheâs even real.
âDoes it feel good?â she asks, leaning forward, letting her hair fall over your faces. âTell me how good my pussy feels.â
âIt feels incredibleâŠâ You reach up to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. âYouâre so tight⊠and warm⊠and wet⊠I canât believe this is what Iâve been missing out on.â
âShouldâve met me sooner,â she murmurs, a sinful smirk curling her lips.
âIâm jealous that you were doing this with people who donât deserve you while I was imagining everything in my head.â
âAw, donât be jealous...â She picks up the speed, snapping her hips with a wet, rhythmic smack that echoes in the quiet room. âIf it makes you feel better, they donât feel anywhere as good as you. Your dick is so perfect⊠itâs like it was made to fill me⊠just like thisâŠâ
âYour pussy was made for me,â you groan, your hips bucking up to meet her, driving deeper. âItâs mine now.â
She gasps. âYes. I was born to ride you, just like this.â
She leans back, bracing her hands on your knees, giving you a perfect view of where youâre joined, and grinds down hard; her pussy clenching around you in rhythmic spasms that nearly send you over the edge right then and there.
âLook,â she commands, breathless. âLook at how deep you are inside me... look at how my pussy looks wrapped around your dick⊠youâre all mine nowâŠâ
âIâm yours, all yours,â you moan, gripping her hips to help her drive down harder.
âGod, it feels so good,â she moans, her head falling back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. âYouâre so deep inside me.â
She rides you harder, faster, abandoning the slow tease for pure, frantic need.
âFuck me as hard as you can,â she begs, her voice cracking. âDonât hold back. Break me if you have to, just donât stop, okay?â
You sit up, meeting her halfway, wrapping your arms around her trembling frame. You capture her lips in a deep, wet kiss, swallowing her moans as your chests slide against each other. The angle changes everythingâyouâre buried all the way now, grinding against her clit with every upward thrust of your hips, helping her find the rhythm as her legs start to quiver with exhaustion.
âTell me how you want it,â you murmur against her mouth, your hands gripping her waist to take the weight off her thighs.
âI want you to ruin my little pussy with your cock,â she cries. âMake my legs shake. Make it so I actually canât walk tomorrow.â
You snap your hips upward, driving into her harder, faster, setting a brutal pace that has her gasping for air. âIs this the side you were scared to show me?â
âNo, you wouldnât be able to handle that side,â she taunts breathlessly, biting her swollen lip.
âSo youâre gonna hide things from me now?â
You stop moving abruptly, leaving her hovering on the edge, desperate and whining at the sudden stillness.
âShow me,â you growl.
âMake me,â she challenges, grinding down on you desperately, trying to chase the friction. âFuck me harder and youâll seeââ
âFine.â
In one fluid motion, you grip her hips and flip her over. She squealsâa mix of surprise and delightâas you drag her across the mattress. You push her onto her hands and knees, shoving her face into the pillows before grabbing her waist and pulling her back until sheâs arched perfectly for you.
You position her directly in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door.
âLook,â you command, your voice dropping as you enter her from behind in one long, smooth thrust that makes her back bow. âLook at yourself, Miyeon.â
She lifts her head, her eyes finding yours in the reflection. She looks so incredibly sexyâhair wild, cheeks flushed, lips wet. âOh god⊠whatâs happeningâŠâ
âYou said to fuck you harder, didnât you?â you whisper, wrapping a hand around her throat lightly, just enough to claim her.â
âOh fuckâŠâ she moans loudly, her eyelids fluttering as she leans back into your touch.
You start to thrust, snapping your hips against her ass with a punishing rhythm. âShow me.â
âI said youâll have to fuck me harder if you wantâaah!â
You lean in close, your voice dropping to a rough growl as you watch her face twist in pleasure in the glass. âIs it because you donât want me to know youâre a little whore?â
âNo, thatâs not itâfuckâŠâ
âWhat is it, then?â you say, the sight of you disappearing inside her reflection drives you dangerously close to the edge.
âI changed my mind,â she gasps, tightly gripping the sheets. âI donât have any other sides⊠just fuck me however you want. Please.â
âThatâs unfortunate. I really wanted to see the real you.â You lean down, your chest pressing against her back, lightly sucking her neck. âEvery part of you.â
âI am a whoreâIâm your little whoreâŠâ she whimpers, her eyes rolling back as she watches her own body shaking with the force of your thrusts. âFuck⊠it feels so good... god, Iâm meltingâŠâ
You reach around, your hand splaying over her flat stomach, pinning her in place as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes loudly in the room.
âWho does this belong to?â you growl into her ear, punctuating the question with a particularly deep thrust that makes her gasp. âTell me.â
âYours,â she cries out, staring at herself in the mirror, watching her own breasts sway with the impact. âItâs yours. My pussy is yours from now on.â
âLook at yourself.â You release her stomach to grab her hair, gently pulling her head back so she has no choice but to watch. âLook how pretty you look like this. So sexy and slutty.â
âI love it,â she moans, her hips pushing back to meet you, desperate for more. âUse me. Use my pussy however you want.â
âIâm going to make sure your legs never forget,â you promise, gripping her hips to pull her back onto you harder. âRemember my name, even if you disappear tomorrow.â
She sobs a messy, broken sound, her arms finally giving out. She collapses onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillows, but you donât stop. You follow her down, hooking one of her legs over your arm to pull her open even wider.
âOh my god!â she cries out, muffled by the linen. âDonât stopâoh god, donât stop!â
You reach around, your hand sliding between her legs to find her clit, rubbing it in time with your thrustsâhard, fast, merciless circles.
That breaks her completely.
âOhâoh godâoh my godâIâm coming!â she screams, her body seizing up. âIâm coming, Iâm coming!â
âCome for me,â you say, kissing her shoulder, her neck, anywhere you can reach.
Her legs start to shakeâviolent, uncontrollable tremors that rattle the entire bed. Her pussy clamps down on you, milking you with terrifying strength as she rides out the orgasm, sobbing your name.
You pull out, your breath coming in ragged gasps. âIâmââ
âNoâwait!â
She scrambles onto her knees, taking you in her hand and immediately wraps her mouth around you, swallowing you deep. Her hand goes down to her still-throbbing clit, touching herself as she looks up at you with needy eyes.
The sight of itâher mouth on you, her fingers, the absolute carnal desire in her gazeâshatters your last bit of control.
âMiyeonâIâmââ you groan, your hips snapping forward instinctively. âIâm gonnaâfuckââ
The world freezes as you erupt into her mouth, wave after wave of pleasure bursting through your veins as you pour yourself into her throat. She drains you completely while her fingers keep working, still chasing the aftershocks of her own climax. Your vision blurs slightly as she moans against you, but doesn't swallow immediately. Instead, she holds you there, swishing the warmth around her tongue, savoring the taste for a moment before finally gulping it down.
And when you finally fall back and collapse on the bed, a satisfied, sleepy smile curls the corners of her mouth.
âI told you I was going to rock your world,â she says, licking her lips.
â ââ ââ â â
~ six months later ~
The air in the hotel ballroom is thick with the scent of expensive candles, too much hairspray, and the distinct, high-pitched frequency of a bride on the verge of a breakdownâa sound you know so well.
âI said ivory!â a voice hisses from the head table, where the wedding party is trying to take photos. âThis is clearly cream! Does nobody listen to me?â
You shift the last box of centerpieces into the back room, wiping your hands on your apron. The ceremony is over, cocktail hour is in full swing in the hallway, and youâve been in the flower business long enough to know when to make yourself invisible.
You scan the chaos, looking for the one person actually holding this circus together.
You spot Miyeon standing in the shadows near the service entrance, leaning against the wall. She looks exhausted; her clipboard is dangling by her side, and sheâs watching the scene unfold with the blank stare of a war general who has seen too much combat.
You walk over, sidestepping a server who is rushing to refill the buffet, and when you get close, you nudge her shoulder gently.
âYou look like youâre contemplating murder,â you whisper.
Miyeon jumps slightly, then looks up. The professional mask melts away instantly, replaced by a genuine, tired smile that lights up her whole face.
âIâm contemplating arson,â she corrects, her voice hushed. âIf I hear the word ânapkinâ one more time, Iâm lighting the tablecloths on fire.â
âWell, the hydrangeas are set,â you say, gesturing to the centerpieces. âAnd I even found those specific babyâs breath stems you texted me about at 2:00 AM.â
âYouâre a lifesaver.â She leans her head on your shoulder for a fleeting second, stealing a moment of peace. âThis wedding is a freaking disaster. The groom is already drunk out of his mind, the bride absolutely hates the lighting that she picked out herself, and Iâm pretty sure the mother-in-law is currently crying in the bathroom because the seating chart âdisrespects her ancestors.ââ
You chuckle, looking out at the groom, who is looking a little too wobbly for 6:00 PM. âI give them six months.â
âGenerous,â she murmurs. âI was thinking two.â
âSo,â you say, checking your watch. âWhatâs the plan after this? Should we go try that new Italian restaurant that opened by our place? Or do you want to watch a movie? Iâm sure you have lots to cry about after this.â
She laughs, the sound bright and clear over the DJ doing a mic check. She checks her own watch, then looks back at the bride, who is now aggressively directing the photographer.
âTechnically, my job is done,â she says, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. âThe reception is starting, so the coordinator takes over now, and we should go. ButâŠâ She bites her lip, looking toward the corner of the room.
âBut what?â
âItâs an open bar,â she says, sliding her hand into yours, lacing your fingers together. âAnd I kind of want to stay and watch it all burn down. Donât you?â
You look at herâmessy hair, tired eyes, and that same spark of trouble that hooked you from the very first textâand you squeeze her hand.
âAlright,â you say, leaning back against the wall with her. âFront row seats to the disaster it is.â
She giggles. âYouâre the best boyfriend in the world, did you know that?â
âWhy?â you ask, watching the best man stumble over a microphone cord. âBecause I also find entertainment in watching other people fall apart?â
âNo. Because youâre just you.â
âAnd youâre just you.â
âI know,â she says, an adorable smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. âAnd you love that.â
You wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against your side. âYouâre right,â you murmur into her hair. âI do love you.â
She leans into you as the DJ announces the grand entrance, resting her head on your shoulder. âI love you more.â
âI thought you promised not to lie to me,â you say, kissing the top of her head.
âNever broke it.â
You watch the couple burst through the doors toward a future thatâs probably doomed, surrounded by thousands of dollars of flowers and perfectly color-coordinated linens.
Most people spend their entire lives searching for The One. They go on bad dates, swipe through endless profiles, propose just for the sake of it, and plan perfect weddings, desperately trying to manufacture a happy ending.
But not you.
You didnât have to search for anything. You just had to reply to a text sent to the wrong person.
There was a time when neither of you believed in love, that fairytales and romcoms were just a way to give people something to hope for. But you were both wrong.
You look down at Miyeon, whoâs currently whispering a bet on how long until the best man trips, and realize true love does exist for those strong enough to let go of the wrong person.
Most love stories are complicated, messy, and full of wrong turns.
But not yours. Because sometimes, a wrong number leads you to the only right person.
The end.
A/N: Thank you for readinggg! Hope you guys enjoyed my little Valentine's Day special. I've never written a one-shot before so it was pretty tough for me, but I think it's not so scary of a concept to me anymore! :3 Maybe I'll dabble more in the future~
âIâm a fan of the peace,â Mina says, taking the bowl from your hand and returning it to the kitchen. âAnd Jihyo still spends most nights here, Iâm not completely alone.â
âWhere is she tonight?â you ask as she returns.
Mina drops onto the couch beside you and tucks her knees up to her chest. âSheâs usually here, not every night.â
âWas she here last night?â
A tiny pout tugs at her lips. âNo,â she mumbles in her typical, shy voice before letting out a little sigh. âAlright, fine, stop asking. I get your point. But really, I like the quiet. Iâm happy sitting in bed all day.â
A quick moment of silence passes, and then Mina lets out another, slightly heavier sigh before continuing in an even softer voice.
â...maybe itâs a little bit lonely.â
You let out a tiny laugh as your lips curl into a smile â her cuteness is borderline unfair at times. Without a word, you shift a little bit closer and lift an arm up.
Mina reads the invitation and her face lights up â as if she doesnât already have a permanent invitation to cuddle with you â and she closes the gap, melting into your chest, head tucked into your neck. As her arms latch onto your torso, you wrap both arms around her and pull her as close as you can.
Your head dips, resting against her soft, lavender-scented hair, and your hands lazily rub down the length of her back. You stay like this for a few minutes, nothing but Minaâs soft body and very gentle breathing on your mind.
âItâs alright, as long as sheâs happy,â Mina mumbles into your chest, knocking you out of your little trance. âBut it probably means less fun for you.â
âIt does, but Iâm happy with what I have, no need to be greedy. As long as at least one or two of you arenât in a relationship, I think my job stays safe,â you reply. âAnd Jeongâs alright? I havenât spoken to her in a bit.â
âYeah, sheâs spending the off-time with her sister,â Mina says into your chest. âBy the way, youâre more than welcome to spend the night now thatâŠâ
âNow that Iâm technically single?â you finish her sentence.
âI didnât mean it like thatââ
You chuckle softly and squeeze Minaâs back, reassuring her that youâre not upset. âIâm mostly over it, I think,â you add quietly without much conviction.
She waits a second, letting the voice of the documentary drone on about penguins â at least, thatâs what you think itâs about, the pronunciation is being absolutely butchered. Then, quietly, Mina responds.
âNo, youâre not.â
Another smile sneaks up on you before you can stop yourself. You give her another squeeze, acknowledging the fact that sheâs obviously correct.
âItâs not eating at me the way it was before, so thereâs that,â you admit calmly. âBut youâre right, I still think about her. Sometimes. A lot. But not all the time!â
Itâs Minaâs turn to chuckle.
âThatâs normal. Relationships donât just disappear overnight. Even ones that started under impossible premises,â Mina nods. âJust remember itâs not like sheâs gone. Sheâs still the same Sana that you know and love.â
You huff out a small laugh. âI thought I was supposed to be the one giving you girls relationship advice, yet here you are, sounding all wise and shit.â
âIâm not wise,â Mina giggles, smugly rubbing her head against your body, âIâm just not stupid â rather, not as stupid as you.â
âRude,â you give her a small pat on the butt, earning you a muffled little giggle into your shirt.
âOh come on,â Mina sits up properly and faces you, crossing her legs. âYou just told me about how you randomly took Yeji on a date. Like, actually out of nowhere. I didnât even know you two knew each other."
You turn as well, draping your arm over the back of the couch. âWe just met, so what? People go on dates. Thatâs totally normal.â
âSeriously?â Mina bursts out laughing. âBecause youâre totally just another normal person in a totally normal situation.â
âAlright alright,â you smile again, giving Mina a moment to get her laughs out.
âYeji, eh? I see it, you two would make a disgustingly cute couple.â
âWeâre not a couple,â you say quickly, perhaps a bit too quickly.
âSure, just friends going on a platonic date, right?â
âI thought you said you werenât going to make fun of me.â
âI guess I lied,â she smirks, loving every second. âDid you give her a kiss goodnight when you dropped her off?â
Your mouth opens but then closes before you say anything. Mina picks up on subtle hesitation and her eyes immediately go wide.
âYou didnât.â
âMinaââ
âYeji?â Mina gasps, covering her mouth with both hands.
âWe didnâtâŠâ your voice cracks and you can feel your face burn red immediately.
âDoes anyone else know?â Mina squeals as she jumps forward in excitement, landing on her knees.
âMina, we didnât have sex.â
âOh,â she leans back and her shoulders drop, flopping her arms into her lap with unnecessary exaggeration. âThatâs a bit anticlimactic.â
âSorry to disappoint,â you shrug with an awkward little chuckle.
She pouts for hardly a second before bouncing back up curiously. âOkay, something happened. You look like a damn tomato, what are you hiding?â
You awkwardly glance away as if you can hide the blush before sighing and turning back at her. âShe, uh⊠gave me head. In the back seatâŠâ
Mina freezes, mouth hanging agape for a moment before she lets out a delighted little squeak.
âYouâre unbelievable!â Mina grabs a pillow and smacks you as she bursts into laughter again. âOur sweet Yeji? In the back seat of all places?â
âIt was her idea!â you protest, catching yourself also laughing as you attempt to block Minaâs attack.
âWas it her idea to get in the back seat?â Mina bends over, clutching her ribs as she laughs.
âActually, yeah!â you defend.
Mina, still laughing as she wipes her eyes, tries to compose herself. âRight, I bet you totally didnât want it.â
âAlright, I didnât say that,â a cheeky smile creeps onto your lips. âBetween you and me, sheâs damn good at it.â
âOh?â Mina finally catches her breath and scoots closer to you until her thighs brush yours, still smiling wide.
âNot better than you, of course,â you raise a brow.
She tilts her head, eyes doing nothing to hide her little mischievous spirit that youâre all too familiar with by now. âObviously,â she giggles matter-of-factly, still a bit breathy from the laughs, before leaning in to kiss you, leaving a lasting taste of her strawberry gloss on your lips before pulling back.
âAnd sheâs also not a better kisser,â you add.
âLook at you, mister charming,â Mina pulls back with a smile. âTaking notes, cute. Did she use tongue? Do you even remember?â
âGive her a kiss and let me know,â you let a hand settle against Minaâs hip. âI didnât get to find out, her mouth was too busy.â
Mina shakes her head, smile wider than ever, before the flip switches and that adorable smile of hers turns sly. She swings a leg over to straddle your lap, letting her knees sink into the cushions around you.
âAudacious, are we? Telling me about how youâre fucking other girls when Iâm right here.â Mina kisses the groove between your neck and shoulder before tightening her grip on you. She doesnât say anything else, she just lets your bodies sway ever so slightly back and forth with your breaths.
Itâs nice. Somehow, it feels like a lifetime ago that you felt this way with one of the members, as strange as that sounds considering how close you are with them. Even though your heart is thumping in your chest â and youâre pretty sure she can feel it â you feel calm and relaxed. Soothed by her subtle floral scent.
Eventually, when it feels natural, Mina lets go of you and sits up. Sheâs gazing fondly into your eyes as hers shimmer the reflection of her apartmentâs dim lights. She wears a small and affectionate smile on her lips while she waits for you, giving you time to make sense of your thoughts.
âYou know, Iâve gotten multiple complaints about you.â
âWhat?â she says, taken aback.
âYour little habit,â you chuckle. âDid you know both Jeong and Jihyo have brought it up to me independently. They donât know how to tell you.â
Sheâs still confused, tilting her head and squinting her eyes at you. Then she notices your nod towards her thighs, and suddenly it all makes sense.
âOh,â Mina giggles. âItâs just more comfortable like this. Why would I wear pants in my own apartment?â
âIâm not stopping you, I love the view.â
âAnd I love watching you pretend like youâre not staring,â she slides off your lap and uncrosses her legs, spreading them wide, lifting one leg up to hang over the back of the couch. Wearing that same smirk on her lips, she reaches down and teases the front of her panties with two fingers. âWe donât really have anything to be shy about, do we?â
Shy is the very last thing you felt right now as you watched Mina tug the thin fabric aside. Your eyes locked onto her delicate fingers as they spread her body for you, taunting you, flashing the pale pink of Minaâs body.
âYou donât mind, right?â Mina shuts her eyes, tilts her head back, and shifts her body a little bit, âhearing about how you face-fucked Yeji got me in a mood.â
âI didnâtâŠâ you start mumbling before realizing itâs futile. âNo, go ahead.â
âThanks babe,â Mina breathes as one finger slips inside.
She starts slow, hardly pushing past the first knuckle, feigning as if a finger takes effort when both of you know what sheâs capable of. She scoots her body a bit closer, tilting her head down to make sure her eyes stay glued to you.
Her ring finger joins the middle and she finally gives herself the first couple of pumps. They slip out for a moment, and she takes the opportunity to spread herself, to show you everything. Then, they enter once more, curling at the tips as her wrist pulls towards her body.
A little gasp comes out of her as now sheâs in a steady rhythm. Two fingers, down to the second knuckle with each thrust, but still slow. Her eyelids lower just a touch, but her pupils remain locked on you.
âFuck, Iâm already getting so wet,â she murmurs as if you canât hear just how sloppy her pussy is. âI guess I really do enjoy hearing about all the girls you fuck.â
You respond with a tiny little hum. Youâre not particularly sure what itâs supposed to mean, itâs just that your mind is a little bit distracted. Thereâs something quite mesmerizing about the way Minaâs fingers work, itâs rare you get to see her touch herself.
Her hips start rocking in tandem with her fingers. They roll in small circles, and her abs tease from under her shirt as it rides up her body. The control she has on her body is unfathomable; Your eyes keep drifting up to her hips.
She must notice because the hand, the one that she isnât currently fucking herself with, tosses her shirt up. It lands around her chest, one tit stares back at you while the other shyly peeks just slightly under the fabric.
You adjust pants, attempting to be subtle as if Mina canât clearly see how hard you are.
And of course she does.
âYou know,â she whispers through a smirk, âthis is yours, I donât know why youâre playing hard to get.â
âI donât knowââ
âAt least take it out,â Mina interrupts, tone impatient.
Sheâs in one of those moods where youâre pretty sure ânoâ simply is not an option, but youâre not entirely sure you want to go there tonight. Still, you end up listening to her, because of course you do â itâs not easy to reject Mina of all girls. You reach for your waistband, lowering your pants until your cock springs out.
âThere it is,â she hums softly. âThat poor thing, so hard and being caged away. Doesnât that feel so much better?â
âYes, Mina,â you mumble as your fingers naturally wrap around your shaft, already washing away any naive doubts you might have had a second ago. âYouâre right.â
She sits up straight and lifts her shirt over her head, tossing it aside. Her hand reaches between her legs again, then slides up her body, leaving a trail of shine across her stomach until her fingers reach her mouth. She pushes them past her smirk, eyes shutting, a gentle purr coming straight from her throat as her lips tighten around her fingers.
Two knuckles deep, she starts moaning. Theyâre quiet and subtle for a whole two seconds before she amps it up, exaggerating as if sheâs never tasted anything better in her entire life.
Itâs working on you â a little too well â saliva building up in your mouth. You quickly reach up and wipe your lips with the back of your hand while your other pumps your shaft casually.
Mina sees this as well, of course, and lets the smirk return with a vengeance as her fingers slowly slip out of her mouth. She eases them back down to her body, pausing only for a second to circle her clit before sliding her fingers around her pussy.
âYou could be inside me, right now,â Mina teases, softening her voice until you can hardly hear it over the sloppy sounds of her fingers. âNot that Iâm against whatever weâre doing right now.â
âDo you?â you start to smile. âBecause I canât remember the last time youâve been this patient.â
âYouâre one to talk. Yeji begging you to fuck her and you somehow managed to hold back, Iâm impressed.â
âAnd if you havenât noticed, she hasnât even sent a text. Seems I made the right decision.â
âThat sexy, overly ambitious girl,â Mina slips her fingers out and removes her panties entirely. âI canât imagine how awkward your next conversation will be.â
You shift forward between Minaâs legs. âWhat next conversation? I plan on ignoring her forever. Save her from embarrassment.â
âWhat if you run her tomorrow? I need to go in for some recording, and youâre coming with me so that you can fuck the absolute life out of me after Iâm done.â
âAm I now?â you settle in closer until your thighs brush the insides of hers.
âNow that your little Yeji distraction has abandoned you, itâs the least I can offer,â Mina reaches forward and claws at your tip lightly.
âI accept your gracious offer,â you press down on your shaft until your tip brushes against her pussy.
âHold on,â Mina slides herself towards you and angles her body towards the roof. âHavenât done this in a while.â
Your heart skips a beat and youâre smiling again now. âYou serious?â you rub your cock against her, coating your shaft in her slick.
âIâm always serious when it comes to you,â she whispers.
Damn.
Youâre trembling, anticipation at an all time high. Every movement feels heavy, effortful. Your cock twitches as you push it down, lining up your body. Youâre both ready and not-ready at the same time. You want it, more than anything, but youâre struggling to start.
âAlways serious,â Minaâs eyes shimmer, âlike when I told you I love you.â
Itâs instantaneous. Your entire body flushes â not just warm, red hot. Your blood feels like molten lava in your veins.
âMinaâŠâ you lean in towards her, tip grazing her asshole. âDuring the contract signing?â
She cups your face with both hands. âI meant it then, and I meant it just now,â she wipes just under your eyes with her thumbs. âNow stop thinking⊠please. I need you inside me.â
How are you supposed to make sense of this?
Youâre not. Youâre just supposed to listen to her, to oblige. Hear her words and act. Is she even serious? About some of it? All of it? The love part, you donât know. The other part, definitely.
You take a deep breath before letting your body work off pure instinct. The same instant that you press into her ass, you let your mouth crash against hers.
She breathes a muffled whimper straight into your mouth. Her hands wrap around the back of your neck, nails dig into your skin, and she pulls you closer.
Your hips push forward. Sheâs tight â impossibly tight â yet still so fucking perfect. You push through, one inch at a time, until you are all the way in.
Her body buckles against yours, but she makes no attempt to pull away. No, Minaâs better than that. Her muffled whimpers are a plea to keep going, an order to âfuck her assâ.
You thrust harder, stretching her to her limit. The heat is almost unbearable at this point; You donât care. You could burn up in a flame and you still wouldnât care. At this point, youâve learned to embrace it, to find comfort in it, in Mina.
She arches beneath you and you can feel each muscle in her core go taut. Her thighs squish against your body, pushing against each thrust of your hips. Her soft skin is quickly covered in a thin layer of sweat â hers, yours, no one knows at this point.
Her tongue finally leaves your mouth, and she breaks the kiss apart by biting your lip hard enough to make it sting but not hard enough for it to bleed. She takes a couple of labored breaths right in front of your face as you hold yourself above her.
You finally lift away from her mouth in an attempt to get a better angle. Everything is going well until you see her face. That beautiful, stunning, perfect face of hers, scrunched up in pleasure, eyes glossy, staring up at you with utmost sincerity.
Her soft âI love youâ pierces through your ears again. The words echo and rattle in your skull louder than the incessant whimpers that Mina spills into the air each time your cock slams into her.
You grit your teeth and fight past it, what else can you do? Your body is desperate. At some point, your hands up on Minaâs hips, holding her steady as you start driving as hard as possible.
Your cock slams deep, right past the tight squeeze. The tightness that almost felt like pain just a moment ago is nothing to you anymore. Thereâs almost no difficulty now, her ass takes each thrust with ease.
Her body pulls you in, holds you there, begs you to stay embedded in her quivering asshole. The rest of her body shudders, enduring the relentless onslaught. She screams out, straight from her throat, raspy and desperate.
âI love you,â she breathes after. Her eyes shut tight, head tilts back, and her hand rushes to her clit.
You look down, watching her take your entire length again and again, while she uses two fingers to trace her pussy, repetitive âI love youâ softly spilling out of her lips. Youâre in a trance now, cock still throbbing harder than ever but your only purpose is Mina. You canât stop watching her.
Her body arches harder again. You can see her abs physically contracting, tightening up. Her tits bounce with each thrust â youâre fighting the urge to take them in your mouth because right now Mina is entering a whole different world, you donât want to change anything.
Her whimpers turn to screams. Theyâre guttural, ear-piercing, and completely out of control. Then, her body suddenly tenses up, her thighs clamp against you. Burning hot contractions squeeze your cock until you canât move anymore.
You hold still, embedded inside Minaâs asshole as each pulse shoots through you. Your cock throbs harder than ever as you watch Minaâs fingers desperately work her clit, chasing the high.
She rides it out, sobbing out the entire time, a slurry of words croaking past the wet slop of her fingers slapping against her pussy. Her asshole squeezes erratically, her whole body quivers in your hands.
Eventually, her body stutters to an ending in your hands. Her asshole relaxes just enough for you to slip out of her, cock pulsing desperately.
âFuck!â Mina cries out, closing her legs, rolling over onto her side. She looks down at you, eyes glassy from the intensity of it all. âDid you finish?â she asks, breathier than ever.
âNotââ the word barely leaves your lips before Mina slips off the couch and onto her knees, ass in the air.
âCome on, finish the job,â she moans, resting her face against the cushions. âFill my fucking asshole.â
The words send your cock into a twitching fit as you stumble behind her, desperate to get back into her tight warmth.
Mina reaches back and spreads herself â pussy glistening, asshole begging. She keeps her face flat against the cushions.
You line yourself up again and place a hand on her lower back. Your hand presses down at the same time your hips press forward.
âOh fuck, so⊠so fucking⊠tightâŠâ Mina whimpers, digging her fingers into the cushions next to her face.
The muscles under your hand tense up, you feel each ridge of her toned back. You place both hands on her, pressing into her skin, sliding up her sweat-slicked back until your hands rest on her shoulders.
You give her the first thrust â Itâs rough, harder than anything youâve done tonight. The sound of her ass hitting your thighs echoes through the air louder than Minaâs little squeal.
Another thrust, just as hard as the last, and repeat.
With her face turned to the side, you can see her eyes clench tight. You tighten your grip on her shoulders and start pumping into her ass, finding your rhythm.
She goes silent and tenses up â no more moans, no more whimpers, just endurance.
Faster now. Your fingers dig into her shoulders deep enough to leave marks behind. Itâs the only way you can steady your constant thrusts as you fuck her. Your breaths turn ragged, inconsistently messy, and your heart starts pounding.
Not just your heart, your whole body is aching now. Itâs all building up, you feel like youâre about to explode. Each thrust becomes a risk and every squeeze a threat that you are going to be launched over the point of no return.
Minaâs asshole presses down on your cock. Her body starts pulsing, her legs are trembling, but you pay little attention. All focus is shifting to the pressure youâre feeling between your legs.
Suddenly, after one final, rougher thrust, everything erupts. Your whole world goes blurry as that first gush of warmth shoots up your spine. Minaâs tightness vanishes, replaced by a smooth glide in and out of her.
You lean over her body, quickly losing strength. Your chest presses to her back and itâs still tensed up from earlier. Your hands fall limply off her shoulders and rest on top of her clenched fists as your cock empties itself inside her.
Just shallow thrusts now â itâs all you have the energy for. Youâre just trying to ride out the aftershocks, enjoying Minaâs tight squeeze for the last few seconds before you have to pull out. You bury yourself deep inside her, letting the last couple of twitches go.
Carefully, you push yourself up and ease yourself out of her; Her body shivers at the loss of your stretch, and a small whimper slips out of her mouth. You give her ass a tiny spank, sending a few sweat drops flying, and then you collapse onto your heels behind her.
A single glob of your cum slowly peeks out and slides down the inside of her thigh, all the way down to the floor while Mina holds herself in position.
âYou good?â you call from behind her.
âMmmmm,â she moans back, head still pressed to the cushions. âGreat⊠Iâm greatâŠâ
You take a deep breath and lift yourself up to your feet. Youâre completely spent at this point â itâs a miracle that you managed to wobble over to the couch. You drop down onto the cushions, thighs spread as your cock softens.
Mina looks over â an exhausted smile on her lips, breath jagged. Before she can struggle to lift herself up, you reach down and lift her onto the couch next to you. She curls into you, indifferent to all the sweat clinging to your skin, and her hand reaches for your shaft.
âThat was fun,â she mumbles as her finger prods your tip, playing with the sticky mess left behind.
âFuck, sorry, I probably could have tried lasting a bit longer.â
She giggles with very little energy, still tired, before shifting in your lap and wincing. âCould say the same here,â she reaches down between her legs and scoops a small bead of your cum with her fingers, bringing it to her lips.
âYouâre so fucking dirty,â you mutter with the corners of your lips pulling up.
âI know,â Mina smirks, pleased with herself as she scoots back and bends over your lap. She leans all the way forward and presses her opened mouth to your shaft.
âFuck,â you gasp, hips jolting.
Mina ignores it and sticks out her tongue, flicking up your shaft lightly until her tongue presses against your tip. She sucks down on it, lapping up any sort of remaining mess on your cock by swirling her tongue. She releases with a small pop, shooting you an innocent look. âThere, all clean. Iâm nothing if not considerate.â
You shake your head, still smiling, and laugh. âYouâre ridiculous, thatâs what you are.â
âRidiculously thorough, maybe,â she assumes her position cuddled up into your chest again.
Your arms naturally wrap around her and you plant a quick kiss on the top of her head. âRidiculously fucking cute, too,â you mumble, letting your cheek rest against her hair.
The two of you go silent for a bit. You canât speak for Mina, but your head is mostly empty at the moment. Youâre not really thinking about anything, youâre just happy to have Mina in your arms.
Honestly, youâd be fine just sitting here, tangled together for hours. You feel great, basking in the afterglow, but Mina has other plans.
She pulls back just far enough to look up into your eyes. âDuring the contract stuff,â Mina starts slowly. âWas it wrong of me to say that I love you?â
You recoil and your eyebrows shoot up, caught off guard. âWhat? No, of course not. Emotions were running high that evening, but it wasnât a big deal,â you flash her a reassuring smile.
She doesnât smile back. Instead, she sits up a bit straighter, keeping her gaze locked on you. âI wasnât being emotionally dissonant. Iâve felt it for a while, and I said it because I meant it.â
Your breath catches in your throat as Mina leans a little bit closer. She holds her face right in front of you, gaze unwavering.
âI love you,â she whispers, eyes more vulnerable than youâve ever seen before, words more sincere than ever.
âMinaâŠâ you mumble out, scratchy and lacking confidence.
Your hand reaches up towards her face, cupping her soft cheek in your palm. You brush her cheek lightly with your thumb.
âI didnât⊠I kinda just said it back in the momentâŠâ you admit quietly, warmth spreading to your cheeks. âWe were⊠I didnât really think anything of itâŠâ
âI know, and thatâs fine,â Mina reaches up with both hands and wraps them gently around your wrist. âThatâs why Iâm saying it again. Clearly, so that thereâs no confusion.â
You inhale deeply, hold it for a second, and let the exhale out slowly.
âI donât need you to say it back,â Mina quickly adds. âIf thatâs what youâre thinking.â
âThen why are youââ
âWhy am I telling you that I love you?â Mina moves your hand away from her face and drops your wrist. âI donât know, because itâs how I feel?â her body stiffens and her voice goes quieter. âI wasnât trying to trap you⊠I just thought you should know, thatâs allâŠâ
The tiny crack in her voice hits you like a knife in the gut. You realize â a bit too late â how careless your question probably sounded. It didnât matter if you meant it that way or not.
âMina wait, I really do love you,â you quickly speak up. âThatâs not the issue here.â
She waits for a beat before replying softly.
âYouâre scared of what happens after?â
âWell,â you scoot closer and rest your hand on her thigh. âI guess you should tell me what that is exactly, in your mind.â
Mina places her hand on top of yours. âIt doesnât have to be anything,â she replies slowly. âBut if we actually love each other, it can be something.â
You hesitate, expression softening as you gaze into Minaâs eyes.
She presses down lightly on your hand. âI know, relationships donât make much sense.â
âItâs not that they donât make senseââ
âItâs just that you havenât had the most success with them, not when it comes to the group.â
You smile through pursed lips. âZero for two, not looking great.â
Mina smiles back. âI guess, but⊠wait. Jokes aside, how serious are you about Yeji?â
âThat was seriously nothing, literally just a random hookup. We have no intentions beyond that.â
âAlright,â Mina mumbles and her cheeks suddenly flush red as she avoids your eyes. âAnd did you have any of the other members in mind?â
You lift your hand off her thigh and instead interlock your fingers were hers. With your other hand, you carefully reach for her chin, turning her back towards you. âYou can tell me what youâre thinking,â you reassure her gently. âIâm not necessarily saying no.â
âI mean,â Mina pouts her lips at you. âDonât get me wrong, I understand it makes no sense at all and thatâs fine, but for some reason Iâm stillâŠâ
âThen tell me. What would it look like if we were in some sort of real relationship beyond our work contracts,â you lean back against the couch and let go of her hand. âAnd donât worry so much. Like you said earlier, we donât have any reason to be shy.â
âIâm not shy, just a bit⊠I donât know⊠worried Iâm overstepping, maybe?â
âAh yes, telling me about what you want is totally overstepping. Did we forget that my cum is still leaking out of your asshole at this very moment?â
âOh my God,â Mina laughs, shaking her head. âYou know, I can kinda still feel it, warm andââ
âOkay, spare me the details.â
âNow whoâs being shy?â Mina reaches her hand between her legs. âDonât think Iâve forgotten about the airplane bathroom.â
âAlright alright,â you wince and feel your body involuntarily pucker. âLetâs talk about you attacking my prostate later. First, the more important topic.â
âPretty important in my opinion,â Mina giggles before her face turns more serious. âAlright, look. I feel like the difference with us is that⊠this feels like Iâm trying to pitch a product.â
âOh whatever,â you roll your eyes. âJust say it, whatâs there to lose?â
âThe difference is that I wouldnât care if you kept sleeping around. In fact, Iâd prefer it.â
You tilt your head slightly. âYou know, Sana gave me that exact same conditionââ
âYeah but I actually mean it,â Mina interrupts. âFuck all of them, do all eight at the same time for all I care.â
âI probably will. Not at the same time, but you know, itâs still my job.â
âIs it? Is your job to fuck all of us? I had no idea.â
You exhale through your nose. âIâm just saying.â
âAnd Iâm just saying you can stop pretending like your job is the only reason you care about me.â
âI⊠of course Iâm not saying that,â you stammer. âI love you, I meant it.â
âGreat, youâre finally willing to admit the feelings arenât a one-way street,â Mina reaches over to the coffee table and grabs a tissue, wiping her hand clean. âDonât give me that confused look. You already know we talk amongst each other.â
âWhat are you talking about?â
âWe all know youâre an oblivious asshole,â Mina gets up and starts collecting her clothes off the floor. âBut Iâm getting tired, my asshole is already kinda sore, and I want to sleep.â
You reach over for your phone and check the time. âItâs not even that late.â
âOh, why didnât you say so? Iâm suddenly not tired anymore,â Mina teases as she turns to you, all her clothes bunched up in her arms. âLook, I want to take the next step with you. I donât exactly know what that is yet, but weâll figure it out. You need to decide if you also want it.â
âRight now?â you stutter, unsure why youâre feeling so overwhelmed. âI donât even know what the next step is yet.â
âYouâre still fucking me in the office tomorrow either way, take the night to decide. If we both want it⊠whatever it is⊠then weâll figure out what exactly that step is together,â Mina shrugs. âEven if you say no, Iâm going to have you tear my asshole open to make sure things donât become awkward between us.â
âJesus, MinaâŠâ
âDonât worry, weâll give yours a turn, too, since I know how badly you liked my finger,â she giggles. âNow, Iâm going to shower and head to bed. Join me if you wish, if not, goodnight.â
âWait,â you toss your phone aside and step in front of Mina. You gently reach forward with both hands and caress her face. âI donât need the night. I donât even know what exactly Iâm agreeing to, but fuck it. I love you, letâs figure it out together.â
Minaâs eyes go wide for a second before you lean in and kiss her. Sheâs stunned at first, it takes her a few seconds to register whatâs happening. Then, she drops all of the clothes onto your feet and her arms latch around you.
She kisses you back twice as hard. Her hands run up your back, digging into the skin, nails scratching softly. Her momentum pushes you back until your legs hit the couch and you fall backwards. Mina squeals as both of you go crashing down, breaking the kiss.
âOuch,â you groan, holding Mina with one arm while reaching behind your back, pulling your phone out from under you.
Mina sees it and starts giggling. âSorry.â
âItâs alright,â you smile at her and reach forward to give her a quick peck on the lips.
Right when youâre about to get back into it, your phone buzzes in your hand. Both of you look over and read the notification: a text from Yeji.
âInteresting,â Mina shoots you a glance. âYour little plaything made up her mind?â
âMina⊠what should I do?â you scroll through the wave of messages sheâs sending.
âYou obviously have to go, why are you even asking?â Mina smiles at the texts. âSheâs clearly been drinking â oh yeah. look, she even confirmed it herself.â
Thereâs a steady wave of texts coming in. Some of them are normal, others are very much not. Itâs not the easiest stream of messages to interpret, typos all over the place, but itâs obvious Yeji is desperate for you to meet her.
âFuck, alright I think youâre right. I canât leave her like this.â
âNo you canât,â Mina reaches over and scrolls down. âA hotel room? Wow, sheâs serious.â
âThat means Iâm probablyâŠâ
âYes, youâre going to have to fuck our sweet Yeji,â Mina pushes herself up from your chest. âOh the horror! You have to fuck Yeji! How tragic!â she pretends to faint before giggling and collecting her clothes from the floor again. âGo on, itâs like a test for me to prove how serious I am about what I said earlier.â
âI donât want to test you, I believe you.â
âDonât make it such a big deal,â Mina stands up straight, clothes in hand. âJust go, fuck Yeji, and then you can tell me all about it tomorrow in the office. Iâm going to bed.â
You stare blankly at the stream of messages that Yeji is still sending. âAlright,â you mumble.
âHey,â she pokes her finger into your cheek. âIâm serious, I want to know how it goes.â
You look up from your phone. âWhy?â
âBecause youâre officially my boyfriend and Yeji is pretty damn hot. Also, since youâve burned bridges with half of Twice, I need to find some new girls to share with you.â
âMinaâŠâ
âLove you,â she leans in with a cheeky smile and kisses you. âAnd reply to the poor girl already.â
âLove you, too.â
â
You pull up to the hotel in your car. Itâs the definition of mid-range â Clean, relatively pretty, but most importantly anonymous. Yeji clearly did her homework.
After parking, you send Yeji a quick text letting her know. She responds immediately: Room number, doorâs cracked, and sheâs getting impatient. You take in a deep breath and slip your phone back into your pocket.
Just by the way sheâs typing, you can tell sheâs probably still a couple of drinks past her limit. Your heart starts thumping as you step through the automatic doors, nodding respectfully at the check-in counter where a lone employee stands.
While waiting for the elevator, your head starts spinning. The sex isnât a problem, not at all. Truthfully, this just feels like youâre going through the motions. Youâre strangely uninterested by the fact that an absolute dime piece booked a hotel specifically to fuck you.
Thereâs also the fact that you have no idea how drunk Yeji really is. If you walk into this room and have to make the executive decision that itâs not happening, youâre not sure if youâll even feel bothered unlike last night when you rejected her.
Any other night and youâd be jumping at the opportunity to fuck Yeji, but right now your mind is still with Mina. Or maybe youâre still missing Sanaâs affection. Hell, you might even miss the slight awkwardness of your time with Tzuyu.
Tzuyu⊠she might be your greatest fuck up. Youâre still struggling to understand what exactly she did and why. Why is there so much radio silence on the topic? Your position should give you unlimited access especially when it comes to this, something is just off about it allâŠ
The elevator dings and you make your way towards the room, following the various signs. Two rooms away⊠one room away⊠and here it is, a âDo Not Disturbâ sign already hanging off the handle.
You take another deep breath, trying to compose yourself and empty your thoughts â forget everything, just for a bit. Youâre going to go in, figure out honestly what state of mind Yeji is in before anything happens, and then see where the night takes you. If youâre doing this, then youâre doing this properly; Youâre leaving all the Twice drama in the hallway.
After hovering behind the door for a few seconds, you press gently. The door gives without any resistance and you peek your head through.
âYeji?â you call into the room softly, giving the door a quick knock before closing it behind you.
The room is considerably nicer than the outside of the hotel would have implied. The curtains are already drawn over a massive window, and every light is dimmed almost to the lowest. As you step deeper into the room, youâre greeted with a king-sized bed where Yeji is sitting wearing a crop top, a simple skirt, and an excessive amount of thighs.
âI almost didnât think youâd come,â she jumps to her feet and skips across the room into your arms.
âJesus, Yeji,â you gasp, catching her full weight before she sends you tumbling backwards. âBe honest, how much have you had?â
She leans back wearing a playful pout. âWho said Iâve been drinking?â
âYou did,â you walk her back over to the bed and pick up the half-emptied wine bottle sitting on the table. âItâs basically empty.â
âOh stop it,â Yeji whines, tugging your arm. âI only had like two, maybe three glasses, the bottle wasnât full when I started. Now can we get on with it?â
Even though you let her pull you onto the bed, you leave a small gap. âGirl, slow down,â you chuckle, trying to gauge how much truth there is behind her words.
Her eyes flick towards you, still smiling, still giggling.
âYeji,â you start calmly.
âIâm fine, I promise,â she lays flat on her back and turns her head to the side. âI just wanted to take the edge off, but I made up my mind before the first sip.â
âThatâs fine, but itâs not too late,â you lean onto your side, facing her. âIf youâre too far gone, we can just cuddle or something, figure it out another timeââ
âFuck off,â she laughs. âIâm seriously not drunk, and thereâs no way I went through all this effort just to get rejected twice in a row. Stop being so mean.â
ââMeanâ?â you raise an eyebrow. âIâm just trying to make sure you know what weâre about to do.â
âYeah, you take that cock that you happily let me suck last night and you put it in me. Seems simple enough.â
You start to smile. âSlow down sweetheart, donât want you getting ahead of yourself.â
âOh please, you think I canât handle you?â her eyes flutter, smirk on her lips. âHandled you just fine last night, moaning my name. âOh Yeji, Yeji!â God, you were so desperate.â
âReally? Iâm the desperate one? Are we pretending like you didnât cum all over my fingers? Did we forget that part?â
âYou want me,â she scoffs in response. âStop pretending that you donât.â
Sheâs definitely feeling audacious tonight.
Then, Yeji sits up slowly, eyes locked on yours with a playful gaze. Her fingers reach for the hem of her top, right below her ribs, and peel it upwards slowly. Sheâs deliberately slow, unveiling inch after inch of that perfectly flat tummy of hers.
She pulls it over her head, giving her brown hair a quick shake to let it spill back into position. She shoots you a wink, reaching behind her back and unclasping her simple, black bra.
The fabric falls away, revealing those beautiful, perky little tits. Her tight nipples, already stiff, stare right at you while your breath catches in your throat.
Yeji bends forward, and the little sway hits you like a fucking truck. Theyâre impossibly cute, hanging down in front of Yeji as she crawls forward into your arms.
She reaches for your face while your hands instinctually melt into the softness. While her lips press against yours gently, your fingers roam her chest, cupping her tits in your palms. Your thumbs brush her taut nipples â so warm, so soft.
Your fingers pinch into her, twisting back and forth lightly. Yeji giggles the kiss apart, smiling at you while your palms knead into her, rolling back and forth over her chest.
âItâs like youâve never touched a pair of tits before,â she laughs, a bit breathier than usual as she arches her back, pressing her chest closer to you.
âYours are something special,â you say, still focused entirely on her body.
âTheyâre not even⊠theyâre pretty smallâŠâ she adds awkwardly.
âOh fuck off,â you murmur, shaking your head before leaning in.
You press your mouth to her skin, wide open at first before slowly bringing your lips together around her nipple. Lightly at first, giving her a second to get used to your touch, sucking against her skin.
Her body jolts slightly as you start flicking at the nub with your tongue. You press your lips down hard, pinching her nipple, tugging lightly until it slips out of your mouth.
Ignoring the little breath that she lets out, you quickly move to the other one. You give it the same treatment while your thumb plays with the mess of saliva left behind on the other.
Your mouth opens wider, trying to fit as much of her tit inside as you can. You press into her, letting the softness mold against you. You kiss her, again and again, focusing entirely on her nipple before you pull off with a soft pop.
âI could do this all night,â you look up at Yeji whoâs staring down at you, chest heaving up and down.
âDo you really like them that much?â she bites her lower lip briefly before letting it slip through her teeth. âConsidering what you already have access toââ
âYeji,â you reach up and cup her face in your hands. âYou are fucking beautiful. Iâm here, arenât I? For you. Iâm not thinking about anyone else, just you. Got it?â
Her lips part slowly and she lets out a shaky breath before laughing. âAlright,â she nods, smiling now. âAlright, I believe you.â
âGood girl,â you get another taste of her lips before leaning back, admiring her body some more. âNow, if weâre doing this, then letâs get the rest off.â
âActually,â Yeji fakes another innocent glance and slides her hips forward. âI got a head start.â
You pause, eyebrows lifting as you reach for the hem of her skirt and lift it up â sure enough, nothing underneath. Youâre smiling now as you lift Yeji off your lap and toss her backwards into the middle of the mattress.
âThat skirt is way too short for you to be walking around like this,â you quickly yank your shirt over your head, tossing it aside as you get into position between her legs.
She shrugs â her tits jiggling adorably â and flips the front of her skirt up. âJust saving us some time, youâre welcome.â
âSaving us a lot of time, actually,â you lick your lips as your eyes settle on her pussy. âYouâre fucking dripping already.â
âWhat can I say? Iâve been waiting,â she reaches between her legs and teases her pussy apart lightly with two fingers.
You let a small âfuckâ slip under your breath. The plan was to go down on her, ease her into it, warm her up a bit â but sheâs glistening and you havenât even touched her.
âNo reason to keep you waiting any longer,â you fumble around with your belt. âWould have just fucked you in the backseat last night if I knew you wanted it this bad.â
âYou should have,â Yeji slips two fingers in and gasps. âItâs fine, weâll make up for it tonight.â
Your cock springs out as you finally get your pants off â it would have been quicker if you werenât so focused on Yeji. You toss your pants aside haphazardly before sliding between her legs.
Yeji stares you in the eyes as she slowly releases her fingers, a filthy smirk tugging at her lips.
You lean over her, placing one hand flat on the bed next to her face while the other grips your base. Slowly, you glide your cock against her clit.
Her entire body twitches, and those cat-like eyes of hers flutter as you pass over her again and again until the underside of your cock is glistening from base to tip with her slick.
âFucking hell Yeji,â you groan, lining yourself properly at her entrance. âHave I mentioned how fucking wet you are?â
âMaybe once,â she giggles before her breath catches in her throat as your tip spreads her lips apart. Her hands reach up to your shoulders, and her body braces. âSlowly, please.â
You nod once, gritting your teeth as you ease forward, stretching her unbelievably tight pussy inch by inch. You can feel her gripping your cock, almost fighting and you, but each little push forward opens her up nicely.
Once halfway in, you hold steady in position. Yejiâs fingers are digging into your shoulders and her eyes have shut tight now. Her body is vibrating against your touch, burning up against your cock.
âYejiââ
âFuck me, go,â she pleads, eyes still shut. âKeep going.â
You pull your hips back for a split second before steadily pressing into her, almost all the way in. She gasps and her eyes shoot open. You let go of your base and bring your hand up hers, pressing into it.
Her hand slides off your shoulder and fumble around until her fingers interlock with yours. She gives you a small nod while biting her lower lip hard.
You lean over her some more, pressing the back of her hand into the bed while squeezing her fingers. Your other hand holds onto her side, steadying her as you start easing your hips back and forth.
Each breath is sharp and jagged, synced up with each thrust of your hips. You start slowly, trying to read Yejiâs tight body as best as you can before picking up the intensity. Sheâs taking it well, exactly as you hoped.
A visceral little âoh fuckâ spills out of her lips as she digs the back of her head into the mattress. You reach up with your free hand and caress her jaw. Slowly, you slide down her neck, tracing her curves until your palm rests flat against her chest.
You start pumping your hips a bit faster, admiring the way her tit bounces in your hand. Her entire body rocks as you settle into a rhythm, pushing through her tight pussy with each thrust.
âHarder!â Yeji suddenly gasps out of nowhere, letting go of your hand. âPlease.â
Almost instantly, you oblige. Your hands find their way to her hips, pressing her body down in place while your hips start slamming into her pussy. You angle a bit, cock hitting just the right spot, making her whole body clamp down.
Her pussy squeezes so hard itâs almost painful, but you power through it. Youâre done holding back. Yejiâs moaning over the sound of your skin slapping into her as you repeatedly piston into her pussy.
Youâre only moving back about halfway each time before lunging back in. You speed it up, quick and forceful, every single thrust with intent.
âLook at me,â you grunt, digging your fingers deeper into her hips.
Yejiâs eyes flutter open, more desperate than ever as they lock onto you. Sheâs losing her mind, staring up at you with pure voracity and longing. A sharp squeal escapes her lips and her body starts trembling.
âFuck me,â Yeji sobs out, her nails stabbing into the sheets.
As the sweat starts building on your brow, you up the pace again, giving it to her harder than ever. A sharp scream rips out of her throat before being cut short, leaving her mouth hanging open in silence.
You give her a final couple of pumps, easing back all the way and slamming in hard, before carefully pulling out of her pussy. You collapse backwards onto your heels, gasping for air as you catch your breath.
In front of you, Yejiâs tight little pussy throbs, staying apart just enough for her slick to spill all over the sheets between her legs. She reaches down and rubs soft little circles against her clit, breathing heavily.
âYou good? Still with me?â you murmur, absentmindedly stroking your soaked cock as it twitches in your hand.
âMhmm,â she moans quietly.
You smile down at her. âYeah? Feeling okay?â you lean in and take her sweat-slicked breast into your mouth again.
She lets out another breathy âmhmmâ and then a soft whimper as you give her nipple a kiss.
âWhere do you want it sweetheart?â you sit back up and massage her thigh while your cock throbs.
The fatigue vanishes from her face, replaced entirely by that lust-fueled hunger from before. âIn me,â she says, words dripping with adulation. âFill me the fuck up with that warm, hot, thickââ
âFucking hell,â you grab her by her hips and roll her over. âHave enough strength left to hold yourself up?â
She obeys without a word, back arching as you pull her hips up until sheâs on her hands and knees. Her skirt falls for a split second before you quickly flip it back up and give her ass a slap.
You line up behind, spreading her enough so that you can slip your cock between her cheeks. You let it rest there for a second while you reach forward, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking it back.
âLook at yourself,â you whisper into her ear while staring at her reflection in the dresserâs mirror. âLook how fucking wrecked you are, and weâve only just started.â
She glances into the mirror, head still craned back towards the tug of your hand while a little moan vibrates her throat.
âThese perky fucking tits,â you let go of her hair and grab a handful of her chest. âYouâre going to watch yourself while you take it like a good girl, alright?â
âYeah,â she breathes, shaky. âFucking give it to me.â
âI will, sweetheart,â you press your cock down, grazing her asshole until you feel her drenched warmth again. âBegging for my cock really suits you.â
She almost wants to protest, but she knows she canât. She can see her own cock-hunger in the reflection, thereâs absolutely no point in denying it.
âKeep those beautiful eyes open,â you line yourself up.
As soon as she opens her mouth, you press in all the way. You donât give her even a second to adjust this time; As soon as youâre all the way in, you pull back slowly, enjoying the grip of her pussy. Then, with just your tip spreading her, you snap back all the way.
Yejiâs first moan echoes off the walls. Her entire back flexes and her head dips down, bracing for the next thrust. Before it comes, you raise your hand high and bring it down to the curve of her ass, leaving a faint pink mark behind. Yeji lurches forward, mostly in shock, pulling you with her as her pussy clenches tight around your cock.
âEyes up,â you growl, grabbing another fistful of her hair and yanking her head back up. âOr else I wonât be so gentle.â
Yeji, eyes sharp, glares at you in the mirror. âMaybe thatâs what I want,â she grunts, arching her back some more.
You give her another sharp slap, harder and on the other cheek. She cries out, but itâs less shock and more pleasure this time. Before she can even react, you start pumping your hips.
She feels so much tighter now. Each thrust slams hard against her ass, sending her cute tits swinging. You bend over, keeping your hips steady, and grab her tits in your palms.
âThatâs it,â you moan softly, chest pressing flush to her toned back as you desperately play around with her swaying breasts. You squeeze hard once, then let go and pinch her nipples tight between your fingers.
The rhythm stays relentless, giving Yejiâs pussy your entire length with each thrust. Her whole body is trembling against you, but you donât care. Your cock desperately begs for release. You just keep going, right past her incessant moans.
Then, you lift yourself back up. Your hands dig into her lower back, squeezing her firmly as you pump as hard as physically possible.
Yeji screams out and her hands give, dropping to her elbows as her forehead presses into the sheets. She only stays like this for about a second before she forces herself back up, hair sticking to her face as she looks at herself in the mirror once more.
âGood girl,â you grunt, pausing just long enough to reach forward and carefully stroke Yejiâs hair back and out of her face.
You give her another hard spank on the ass, cracking through the air a lot louder than you honestly intended, leaving a bright red mark behind.
Luckily, Yeji doesnât seem to care â sheâs lost in her own lust at this point.
At this point, you canât hold back any longer. You feel it building up as you tighten your grip on Yejiâs tight body.
Your teeth clench hard as you start pumping with all of your remaining strength, stretching Yejiâs pussy as far as it will go. The rest is a blur of wet slaps and Yejiâs moans, youâre on autopilot. Trying to hold on, while also desperately chasing the relief â a conundrum of pleasure
As you feel that final wave of pleasure erupt, you bury yourself all the way, hips flush against Yejiâs ass. She screams out, pussy vibrating as the first gush of your warmth shoots into her.
You lean forward until Yeji falls flat onto her stomach while the rest of your cum leaks out. She holds steady â as steady as her trembling body can â while you empty yourself entirely. Your head starts ringing, overwhelmed by Yejiâs tight pussy.
A long moment passes. At some point your cock stops pulsing, but you both stay glued together, slick with sweat and entirely spent, breathing in tandem.
Eventually, you gather up enough strength to lift yourself up off her warm body and roll over to the side. Yeji turns to you, face flat against the bed and flushed red. You wipe a few beads of sweat off her forehead.
âSo thatâs what⊠itâs supposed to⊠be like?â she mumbles between breaths, an exhausted smile tugging at her lips. âThat⊠felt fastâŠâ
âSorry, I couldnât⊠usually.. much longerâŠâ
âIs it my fault?â Yeji gasps, breathing deep. âI was kinda nervous at the start.â
You chuckle, also out of breath. âYou were perfect, seriously. Absolutely perfect.â
âThanks,â she smiles as she lifts herself up. âYou werenât bad yourself, way better than I expected.â
âOuch,â you sit up as well. âWe can go another round, if you want.â
âI donât know,â Yeji says while her fingers scoop a white glob of your cum from between her legs. It clings to her fingers, making little strings that glisten in the dim light of the room. âIs that normal? Your thing looks pretty soft.â
âIâll be honest, I was working before I stopped by. Iâve had a long day.â
âWorking,â Yeji laughs, making air quotes. âGot it, fucking one of my seniors.â
You reach up carefully and take her wrist, guiding it down to the sheets and wiping the cum off her fingers. âTheyâre not your sheets,â you shrug, kissing her knuckle. âAlright, come here. We can go round two, just give me a second.â
Yeji lets out a small, tired laugh as she rolls into your arms. You wrap both around her, one against her middle back while the other holds the back of her head. She nuzzles into your neck, body swaying against yours gently.
âI think Iâm alright for now,â she mumbles into your body. âThank you, though, seriously.â
Instead of answering, you press a kiss to the top of her head and lay down flat on your back. Yeji settles in against your body while you reach over for your phone.
You snap a quick selfie without her noticing, the side of Yejiâs head barely visible to the point where no one would know itâs her from the picture alone, and send it to Mina. Then, you check your notifications.
âThe fuckâŠâ you mumble, âwork email at this time of night?â
âIs that how it works?â Yeji sits up a bit. âDo the members just send an email when they are in need of dick.â
âNo, like actual work,â you laugh, patting Yeji playfully on her butt. âThis is aboutâŠâ your words trail off as you start reading the email.
âTzuyu-sunbaenim?â Yeji leans over curiously. âI donât get it. What pictures? Why is⊠are thoseââ
âYup,â you scroll down to the bottom of the email and see a blurry attachment of images. âI have no idea what it means when they say âdirect approval from idolâ or âinternal useâ.â
âIdol has to be referring to Tzuyu-sunbaenim, no?â Yeji leans back into the pillows. âInternal use is a bit⊠that sounds wrong.â
You close out of the email without opening the attachment and set your phone aside. âNot much I can do about it right now, especially if itâs all her idea.â
Yeji shoots you a concerned glance, clearly reading the frustration on your face. She slides a bit closer and slowly sneaks her arm under yours, wrapping around your bicep before leaning her head against your shoulder.
âIâm sorry,â she adds quietly.
âI just donât get it,â you feel your face growing warm. âWhat is she doing? When did she become so fucking bold?â
âSheâs not a child,â Yeji says, choosing her words carefully. âSheâs an adult, and a very beautiful woman, maybe she just wants to explore a bit about herself?â
âAttention? Thatâs literally what Iâm here for, why didnât she just come to me?â
Yeji slowly lifts her head up, but keeps her arms latched around yours as she turns towards you, biting her lip nervously. âI didnât say sheâs doing it for attention, butâŠâ
You tilt your head, waiting for her to continue.
â...but, it sounds like this whole thing happened around the same time that you were having relationship trouble. I think I can put two and two together.â
âOh, no, itâs not what you think. Tzuyu and I were a thing but we ended it, then Sana and I were doing a thing, thatâs what the drama has been lately.â
âHuh,â Yejiâs brows shoot up. âThatâs⊠thatâs kinda worse than I was assuming. So you dumped her and immediately went for her bandmate? I find it hard to blame the girl.â
You open your mouth to protest, but then, before anything comes â you realize she has a point. Your naivety is painfully obvious now. Not just Yeji, anyone looking in at your situation would come to the same conclusion â you are an ass.
Itâs not clear exactly how many of the girls have feelings for you, but you know for a fact itâs more than one; Youâve been playing with their emotions carelessly. You never should have let it get this far with any of them, you should have kept it all strictly business.
And now thereâs Mina.
Is it another mistake? You hardly had a choice, to be fair, she basically forced you into it. And what about the others? You clearly misread the Sana situationâŠ
âHey, uh, you alright?â Yeji asks nervously, snapping you out of your train of thought. âI feel like I said the wrong thing, I was just trying to empathize with her.â
âHuh? No, youâre good, sorry. Just thinking,â you give your head a shake and smile at her. âKinda hijacked the moment with this stupid drama, my bad.â
âPlease,â Yeji rolls her eyes. âYou could never ruin this night, not after that.â
You lean in and give her a quick kiss. âGood.â
âIâm not sure anything could ruin this feelingââ Yeji stops abruptly as the door beeps. Her head snaps towards it, before turning back to you. âOh shit.â
âWhoâŠâ you tug the sheets up over your body.
The door slams shut and Yuna steps in front of the bed, arms crossed.
âYuna!â Yeji also covers up, cheeks bright red.
âYou forgot about me?â Yuna snaps. âIâve been sitting at that hotel bar for who knows how long. Three cocktails deep, trying to hide from any potential fans â and Iâm pretty sure the bartender recognized me.â
âDistracted,â Yuna echoes, finally glancing at you. âI can see that.â
âHello Yuna,â you clear your throat.
âHello,â she replies sweetly before turning back to Yeji with a sharp gaze. âSo this is what âIâll text you when weâre readyâ meant? You just decided to go for it without me?â
âLook,â Yeji winces. âI was going to talk him into it, but things just happened really fast.â
âClearly,â Yuna shakes her head. âYou look like you got the soul fucked out of you. Love that for you.â
âI donât know how I⊠fuck, Iâm so sorry Yuna⊠itâs all the wineââ
âYour idea, by the way,â Yuna removes her jacket and sets it aside. Sheâs about to take a seat on the foot of the bed when she pauses. âIs thatâŠâ
âThe rest of it is inside me,â Yeji giggles before her face burns red. âOh my God I donât know why I just said that.â
Yuna rolls her eyes and starts kicking off her shoes. âIâm not even mad, you know that?â she reaches down and removes her socks as well. âA little disappointed, but Iâm actually happy for you.â
âQuestion, if I may,â you hold a hand up. âI might be misreading the room, but was the plan for both of you toââ
âOnly if you were open to it,â Yeji interrupts.
âYou say that, but then you didnât even ask him,â Yuna laughs, still clearly a bit annoyed. âDick so good that you literally forgot your best friendâs existence.â
âI didnât forget you exist,â Yeji rolls her eyes. âTemporary lapse of judgement, thatâs all.â
âWould have been nice if you invited me to partake in this âlapse of judgementâ the way you promised.â
âHold up,â you speak up before Yeji can say anything. âThatâs assuming Iâd be down for a threesome.â
Both girls turn to you, unable to hide their shock.
âTo be clear,â you struggle to hide your smile, âI would be, no questions asked.â
Yeji exhales in relief, shoulders dropping. âSee? I told you heâd be down.â
âThatâs not the problem you idiot,â Yuna bursts out laughing. âYou suck at planning threesomes.â
âFair,â Yeji admits, a tentative smile on her face. âBut itâs not too late to make it up to you. Round two? I think heâs ready by now.â
Yuna stares at you both for a moment. She considers it, but then she lets her shoulders drop and shakes her head. âHonestly, Iâm a bit tired,â she answers.
Yejiâs smile falters just a bit. âOh, alright, umm⊠no pressure of course.â
âSeriously, Iâm not mad,â Yuna offers a genuine smile. âIâm glad you two had a moment, and I will absolutely be banking that offer for another time. Just not tonight.â
The room falls into a silence. Itâs not particularly uncomfortable, but itâs definitely a little bit awkward. The three of you keep looking at each other, all of you acutely aware of the failed-threesome energy looming.
You clear your throat again. âSo⊠what now?â
Yeji glances at the time before turning back to you and Yuna. âWe could just sleep? Roomâs already paid for and the bed is big enough. Easier than making the trip back to the dorms.â
You exchange glances with Yuna and shrug. âIâm fine with it, I can just hop on the couch.â
âNo,â Yuna starts sliding down her pants, revealing her dark purple underwear. âThe bed is huge, weâll fit.â
âUhâŠâ you turn to Yeji whoâs unbothered by Yuna stripping down.
âShe has a point, itâs pretty big.â
Yuna carefully folds her clothes and sets the pile aside before reaching behind her back, undoing her bra, and placing it with the rest. âWhy are you staring?â Yuna tilts her head to the side.
âSorryââ you stammer, interrupted by Yejiâs laugh.
âCome on,â Yeji motions for Yuna to lay down next to her.
âNuh uh,â Yuna ignores the invitation and climbs onto the middle of the bed, sliding right into the center spot. âIâm actually tired. I donât want you two doing anything while Iâm sleeping.â
You shift over to make room while Yeji does the same on the other side. You glance over towards your clothes sprawled all over the room.
Yuna notices and chuckles before closing her eyes. âDonât make it weird,â she says casually, âyou donât have to be so far, itâs fine if you brush up against me while we sleep.â
âNoted,â you awkwardly shift a bit closer.
A smile creeps on Yunaâs lips while her eyes stay closed. Suddenly, she rolls over towards you and places her arm around your body. âGoodnight, horn dogs.â
âNight,â Yeji yawns as she reaches over to flick the light switch.
The room goes dark and falls into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by gentle breaths. You feel your whole body start to relax, warming up to the fact that you can feel Yunaâs soft body resting on you.
Part of you isnât entirely sure this is real. Youâre fully prepared to wake up in Momoâs bed, or Minaâs bed, or Sanaâs bed, or maybe even Tzuyuâs bedâŠ
Youâll figure it out tomorrow.
---
A/N:
Hi, I'm still alive, as is this story. If you made it this far, and especially if you've been following this story for a while now, it's time to fight for how the final few chapters go. Just like this series always is, the final few chapters will also stay smut-heavy, but there is so much room for influence.
I have the ending set, that won't change (probably). However, now that we're really getting into the endgame, I'd love to hear who you guys want to "win". If you've followed this story since the start, you know the personalities I gave the girls. You know the relationship dynamics I've set. Now's time to get your final few moments, anything you've been anticipating or burning to see happen. Once I finish these last few chapters, the story is done done. I don't have any plans of continuing or writing a Book 4 or anything.
At some point I might even throw a poll out to see who you guys want more of. A few of the girls have had their storylines mostly concluded, but most of them are still expected to have moments (yes, even Tzuyu and Sana, of course). Yeji and Yuna are pure cameos, they're not winning the endgame (expect the next chapter to have some Yuna smut). If you are dying for a scene involving Twice + Yeji/Yuna, that's also a possibility.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Note: I forgot who requested this, but here's the playgirl Yujin lol. Oh and this is an early Valentine day fic đ«¶
Tags: Enemies-to-lovers, angst, fluff
(6.1k words)
Delinquents have their own way to deal with delinquents. They're not that bright, at least.Â
They bark loud with a posture bigger than they are, and also (hilariously) flinch when you look them in the eye for a second or two. Sure, the term "delinquent" means a young person tending to commit crime, but it means nothing when they themselves understand when to back off, when to lower their voices, and when to stop pushing because of the bigger force in front of them. Ok, bigger force sounds excessive, but you don't need to fight (maybe a few sucker punches here and there). Mainly, you just stand there with back straight, flat expression, and the will of an iron fortress, then they slowly start to fold.Â
Your school is full of fuckwits like that â infested with rusted lockers, cracked windows, and teachers who are too afraid to speak out. You could've picked any other school applicable with your entrance exam results, but wasting time commuting is not ideal when that wasted 30 mins can be used to finish a math exercise. The boys thought you're an easy target, especially when you join in the middle of the year, but now all you get are whispers and a respectable distance behind you.
(Something along the lines with "Don't fuck with him.", "He's weird", and "How to fuck he doesnât trip while solving that damn chemistry book?" But hey, it sounds like a compliment if it means you don't get mogged â gotta be the bigger dog in the dog-eat-dog world, right?)
After school, you walk home alone, passing by the prestigious school that is a few blocks down from yours, with clean buildings, open fields, and students in their fancy vests and bags. And as always, you despise the fact that you belong to the former just because you are a few points short in the entrance exam.Â
Whatever, living with Minji is the consolation prize.Â
Her place is calm and comfortable in a way that it aligns well with your neat freak. Shoes lined up properly at the entrance, Dishes washed the moment after being used. Coffee smells waffling through the morning air. You like it.Â
She has been like this since she first found you sitting alone in the library as your upperclassman all the way to being a college student, which apparently grants her the authority to sigh at nothing and still be taken seriously. And you have been living with her long enough that she doesn't even bother knocking your door.Â
The bedroom is small and modest. The desk pushed against the window for maximum sunlight and vitamin D for morning studies. The lamp positioned just right to not glaring to your eyes for night. You sit there every time, proper posture, and doing mock exams until formulas and exam key notes are ingrained. It's quiet. Orderly. Easy to concentrate. Your future feels achievable here.
Well, maybe not 100%.
Because as usual, your studying comes with the screech of metal on metal. The window across from yours slides open. And here comes the menace that is worse than those delinquents.
Itâs Yujin.
You don't even need to see that she's home â you just know when the smoke drifts in (which smells horrible). And the music comes afterwards â loud, bass-heavy, and absolutely disruptive. It rattles the pen on your desk, vibrates through the wood like she's mocking your effort.Â
And then her damn brazen voice. "Ya, four eyes."
And every damn fucking time, the sigh through your nose is heavy. Worst of all, she takes another drag and exhales deliberately in your direction.
"Sit properly, bookworm. Your back is going to hurt."
"I donât need your words, chainsmoker."
She taps ash out the window. It falls somewhere between your building, most likely on the bushes.
"Do you ever do anything fun?" she asks. "Or is it just study, sleep, and die from stress?"
"Just be quiet already."
By now, the delinquent boys would've listened and wagged their tails already. But not Yujin â sheâs beyond a menace. Instead, she turns up the volume to another notch, and makes the bass punctures through the wall. Of course, she hums along, off-key, like the whole world is her oyster.
You throw your rubber to her window. "Turn it down. It's past ten."
This girl has the audacity to gasp out loud, acting like an idiot. "Oh my gosh. Did you hear that? He knows how to read a clock!"
"An Yujin."
She perks up at that. "And remember my name too? Good job!"
"Unfortunately, we lived here for far too long."
"Aw. You hurt me."
She flicks her cigarette away and folds her arms on the sill, resting her chin on top. And, fucking hell, she smells like smoke and citrus (the worst combo of smell imaginable). Who would actually believe that this same girl with lack of basic decency is on the news â something about 1st place in Women's sprint in High School Competitions. Not once, twice, but three times, a trait she still gets from middle school. Literally kickstart the sports department at her new sparkly pretentious school (or whatever she puffed to your face). No wonder she's still miraculously attending there, because you definitely would've expelled her ass if you're the principal.
Anyway, the grown ups there are a bunch of dumbasses, wagging their tail to a disobedient pupâ what are you saying? Ew. What you should say instead is:
"You look ugly when you smoke."
"Weak insult, four eyes."
"Just verbalising my observation, chainsmoker."
"Sheesh, a blizzard over there. No wonder the mutts are scared of you."
"Nah, they just know to leave me alone."
She tilts her head. "You talk quite big for a boy studying at a dead-end school."
"You're talking like an obnoxious rich brat."
"I'm not rich, you know?"
"You donât even deny that youâre obnoxious." You flip another page to write. "Anyway, don't smoke when I open the window to study."
"I didn't know you're my teacher now."
"So childish."
"And your so boring."
"It's you're. R E. Now shut up."
YouâŠreally should've paid attention to the creaking on the stairs until you feel a hard smack to your head. Your hand flies to the back of your head, looking up to see Minji standing there with her arm crossed. She's in an oversized hoodie, loosely tied ponytail, and a calm expression that you know is anything but calm. (And damn, your heart keeps beating irrationally seeing her like this.)
âDid you just tell a girl to shut up?â she asks.
âSheâs provoking me,â you say immediately. âIntentionally!â
âAnd?â âAnd that makes it justified.â
She smacks your head again. A tad lighter, but still rude.
âYou donât tell girls to shut up.â
âSheâs notââ you stop yourself. âSheâs Yujin.â
As if summoned, both of you can hear the wheezing across from you. "That's right, listen to Minji-unnie, four eyes! Bleh~"
"I can hear you, Yujin."
That made the mad dog straighten up. Like actually straight back, lips shut, uptight. Hell, she even takes the cigarette off her mouth and lowers the volume. Minji sticks her head out and looks at the younger girl. "It's late, by the way."
"Y-yes, unnie." "And you're blasting music and smoking?"
"It helps with my stress." Minji remains silent, but instead gives her a look that is not angry, just disappointed.Â
Yujin can only sigh. "âŠYes. Ma'am." She flicks the cigarette away, the ember gone in the dark. "Happy?"
You stare. It happens every time the three of you hang out together since middle school. And it still shocks youâŠsomehow.
-
Korea has been in a state of panic, all the way back then all three of you still donât know what a cigarette is.
Ok, not like a world ending, asteroid-hitting-the-peninsula panic, or anything. Just more like bureaucratic projections of uncertainties about whether we will have a future generation. For a period, everything you see on the news are just graphs after graphs that slope down far too often. Headline? Low birth rate. And a multitude of reasons pile up â current generation's unemployment rate, shitty life expectants, the old model that things will get better if you just hang on.
Solution?
The government calls it Produce 48 â a nationwide matchmaking system backed by genetics, health records, projected longevity, compatibility algorithms, and whatever else sounds scientific enough to justify playing god. The moment you turn eighteen, you're evaluated, paired, and then assigned.
Stupid name aside, social media eats it up so hard, purely by the promise of optimal families. When it was mandated a few years ago, all the kids were already on the list, which is not totalitarian at all.
It doesnât mean much to you at first. Youâre fifteen when the news breaks. Youâve got an English exam the next day, and whether the country survives the next fifty years feels significantly less urgent than whether youâll lose points on grammar. You focus on studying, as you always do. Although you understand it, objectively at least â for the greater good, necessary sacrifice, all those words adults and boomers love to use when theyâre not the ones paying the price.
But since when do you give a shit about the country when youâre the one being dragged into a dating game you never signed up for?
Answer: no one gives a shit until itâs their turn, because the letter arrives on a Wednesday.
You know because Wednesdays are trash days, and you always check the mailbox on your way back from taking the bags down. Most of it is junk, flyers, utility notices, something for Minji that you put it back.Â
And then you see it.
A beige envelope. Thick paper. Red government seal stamped dead in the middle. And clearly yours with your name labelled in the corner. You open it right there, because there's no point being secretive about it. Inside is a single sheet (duh) â barcodes on the top, percentages scatter throughout the pages. Neutral languages sound very corporate while deciding your future.Â
âŠWait. Wait wait wait, let's close your eyes and open it again. One. Two. Three.
No. Still An Yujin.
âŠFuck. Not so promising anymore, crap.
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Your hand tightens on the paper so hard it creases. Your pulse spikes loudly in your ears, trying to warn you before your brain even registered. The government must've made a mistake. Surely. Definitely. Maybe. Nah, they fucking do it wrong â statistically, practically, cosmically.
You did an audible gulp. But your next door neighbour playgirl is even louder.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
You flinch at the sound and look up just in time to see Yujin leaning against the fence, eyes scanning her own. Honestly, you wish you could enjoy the rare moment that Yujin is annoyed without knowing what is in that letter, because her five stages of grief says it all. Letâs go through it step-by-step.
One. Denial:
She reads it once. Then again. Then flips the paper over like there will be an announcement that says 'SIKE' (It doesn't).
Two. Bargaining:
âGenetic compatibility score⊠ninety-eight points⊠no, thatâs insane. Thereâs no way.â She jabs a finger at the page. âThis has to be adjustable. Right? Like, appeal process. Retest. I can run another physical. It will be different, I'm sure. How the hell am I compatible with that study freak?!â
Three. Anger:
"This is bullshit!" Yujin crumples the letter in a quick squeeze. "Absolutely dogshit! Who decides the whole damn program anyway? Old fucks in grey suits playing houses?"
Then, inevitably, her glare snaps to you standing in front of your house.
âAnd I am not going to dateâlet alone marryâsome stiff, socially awkward, notebook-hoarding weirdo with a superiority complex.â
âBut I donââ âShut the fuck up!â
Fair.
Four. Depression. Ok, this one hits you harder than it hits Yujin.
You'd never said it out loud, but a part of you hoped (like, stupidly hoped) that if it's your turn to be matched, the girl would be Minji, who you have been paying ridiculous attention to since you hit puberty. Like come on, she makes so much sense â top grade, college student, kind, pretty, and straight up your ideal type. She never dates (well, from what you assume, but she doesnât go out as much). But instead it's Yujin.
âŠfuck, itâs really Yujin, instead.
Then five. Acceptance:Â
You are stuck with Yujin, and she is stuck with you.
See? Five stages of grief. Lovely.
-
One thing you learned since middle school about An Yujin is thatâŠthis bitch is full of spite. To be specific, the one that looks you dead in the eye and does the things that she knows will piss you off, just to show that she can. Itâs just the matter of when you will get hit with it.
The official matchmaking letter doesn't mean shit to her. Not even a little.Â
The first time you see the shitshow, it's a week after you two read the letter. You're walking home like always, with a backpack heavy with books and a head already deep in memorised formulas, when you spot her across the street leaning too casually against a lamppost, her school vest slung low, and fingers hooked into another girl's belt loop like it's another day.
She sees you, because of course she does, and prepares her little show. Her head tilts to the side, giving the girl a sultry smile (well, mainly to you), before leaning it and kisses the girl. Slowly. And exaggeratedly.
You don't know why you stop walking, but you do.
The (unfortunate) girl laughs, probably a different girl from last week, and Yujin wraps her arm around her waist, glancing back at you and checking whether you're still her audience or not. You are. But that's because you were stunned. Totally.
When you finally approach them, your voice comes out flat. "You're just trying to rage bait now, Yujin."
"This? I'm just living my life, no?"
"I am not that dense."
Her hum is borderline mocking. "Looks like you should mind your own business."
"We are literally contractually binded by the government."
"And I literally don't care, four eyes." She flips you off without breaking eye contact.
And this is light in comparison to when she is NOT en-route, because she's doing it next door instead as usual. Just another concoction of loud music, open window, and more laughs from Yujin and another fling of hers, but much, much more deliberate. You're halfway through an English mock exam when the said fling's giggle cuts through the wall, followed by Yujin's smug voice.
Sometimes you hear the bed creak. And sometimes you hear the damn fucking moan (either from the girl or from her).
There was one time you threw a pebble at the window frame. Of course she ignores you. At times the music cuts, and you wish that she just ignores you instead of throwing out more smug comments.
"It's late" you complain. "And you're being a bitch."
"Oooh, jelly, four eyes?"
"I'm trying to make us work."Â
"You try then. I didn't ask for this."
The worst part is that you do try like you do with exams â study the pamphlets, follow-up emails, looking up past experiences on Facebook for a happy relationship. Hell, you show up to the mandatory counselling sessions with an advisor recommended by the government just to tell how to quote-on-quote "gauge on the metrics"... or whatever that means.
Yujin either shows up 10 minutes before it's done, or doesn't show up at all.
And the worst part? Even worse than the shitshow that Yujin constantly gives?Â
Minji. Not that she does anything, it's just that she is so close yet so far.Â
She is always there for you as always â same kitchen, same living room, same mornings where she hands you the coffee and bread the way you want, and same evenings where she listens to your endless rants about Yujin. But this one particular night hurts you the most, with one line from Minji while scrolling through her phone. "You two look great together. I'd assume you're a couple if I just passed by."
Your spoon halts halfway to your mouth, and you can only manage to say "Oh".Â
And it stings more when she smiles at you, and completely ignores the constant arguing through the window. "Opposite attracts, you know? It's pretty cute."
Cute, huh.
"B-but, we argue like almost every week! You even come up to shut us up!"
"It's a recipe for a cute rom-com, tho." Minji laughs it off. "But you two are so cute together."
Your inside twists. Painfully so. Because Minji is right there. She's everything you ever wanted without trying to be. And youâŠand you're putting in effort for someone who treats this whole fucking mandates like a game, while the girl you yearn for is cheering you from the sidelines.
And that night you also realise something â Minji is treating you like a child, and you hate it.
So, so much.
Which only makes An Yujin's spite land harder.
-
'Ask those who walk before you' they said. You donât even get the chance to ask. Minji tells you anyway.
It happens over dinner. Nothing special â rice, vegetables, some meat. The air smells faintly of the soy sauce and steaming rice. Very normal. Very unorthodox. Yet she just spills it out while you're chewing absentmindedly.
"You know you only have to comply for a year right?"
"Comply what?"
"Produce 48."
Your chopsticks pause mid-air. "The fuck what now?"
"Oh. They didn't tell you?" "Tell me what?"
Minji sets her chopsticks down. âAfter one year, you can file to switch partners, as long as theyâre not already paired and both sides consent.â
"Is that allowed?" "Yeah."
"Since when?" "Uh, second revision. I thought you knew."
"No one tells me." "Wow, they are incompetent people."
You both laugh, but then something clicks: âWait,â you say slowly. âHow do you know this?â
"I did it."
You choke on your rice. "You WHAT?"
She reaches over to pat your back, laughing. âHey. I didnât like the guy I was matched with. So I complied for the minimum period and switched.â
Switched.
The word follows you all night.
You donât sleep. Not because youâre anxious, but rather because that single word plants a small, stubborn light somewhere in your chest. You should feel relieved and hopeful. But instead, all you can think about is the way Minji said it so easily. Sometimes she is so composed you forget sheâs older than you by only one year. Sometimes you actually forget sheâs had more time, more chances, and more people to meet.
No. Thatâs fucking stupid, you tell yourself. But the doubt spirals.
(Why didnât she tell you? When did she switch? Who was the previous guy she was mandated with? And who is she seeâ)
You confront Yujin on a Sunday afternoon.
After half a year of idling over this conscripted love nonsense, you finally barge into her house where she is lounging in her living room and scrolling on her phone. No music. No girls. No audience. Ok, good. You need quiet for this.
"We need to talk."
She doesn't look up. "Pass."
"It's important."
She sighs exaggeratedly, her thumb still moving. "Yeah, you always say that, four eyes."
"Please."
That gets her attention. "Did you jusâ" "Yes."
"Wow. Must've been desperate, huh."
"An Yujin."
She turns off her phone and absentmindedly throws it to the corner of the couch. "You got five minutes before I kick you out."
You inhale. "There's an option. After a year."
"Option for what?" "Switching partner."
"Since when?" "Since the revision that I just found out, apparently."
"OkâŠandâŠ?" "I need you to stop sabotaging us and just fucking do your job properly."
She lets out a short laugh. "Fuck no."
"I'm not asking you to like me." You say quickly, tumbling your words, and your heart palpitates. "Jusâ just cooperate. One year. And that's it. We wasted half a year already."
She tilts her head. âWhy would I do that?â
Because youâre exhausted. Because youâre losing ground every day. Because Minji's smile hurts more than Yujinâs cruelty ever could. Instead, you say, âBecause it benefits you.â
Her interest sparks. âGo on.â
âYou can date whoever you want,â you say. âI wonât interfere. I wonât nag. I wonâtââ you hesitate, then force it out. ââcare. Just try, at least.â
You don't realise you've moved until your knees hit the ground. It fucking hurts â ground is cold, your knee probably bruised, and your pride is hitting rock bottom.
But her usual smug is gone. "Bro, four eyes, what the fuck are you doââ
You bow your head. "Please."
It feels wrong in your mouth. Begging is never your thing. Not teachers. Not bullies. But now you're kneeling in front of the biggest pain in your life. "Just one fucking year. For both of us, please."
She stares at you. "Get up. You're embarrassing me."
You don't move.
"Fuck, this damâ Fine. I'll comply."
You look up.
"One year, like you said."
Relief crashes into you so hard your vision swims. "Really?"
"Don't get it wrong. I just want to date girls without you bitching around."
"Deal."
-
The deal isâŠfunctional.Â
Ok, itâs not good. And not exactly friendly, either. Just like two co-workers trying to get through till the end of the shift. Yujin gets to the counseling session on time more often now. You scorned her less. In the public eyes, you two are one adequate couple. 60% will be the mark if this is an exam.
Youâve been counting weeks now, not months. So no wonder you didnât hear murmurs around her school.
âTold you she peaked early.â âYeah, no shit. Guess all the hype finally caught up to her.â
You catch it by accident.
Itâs late afternoon, the sky already washed into that dull orange that means the day is finally done. Your feet ache from the walk home, backpack digging into your shoulders, and youâre cutting past her school like you always do when the voices drift over. You slow down, mainly out of curiosity.
âShe hasnât shown up to training in days. The Sports Coach said âinjuryâ, but surely not right?â
âFalling off already? That was fast.â
That⊠sounds uncomfortably specific. And annoyingly familiar. Surely not. Yujin might be a menace, but sheâs not reckless enough to torch her own reputation over something stupid. You both have been doing the obligations normally in front of the officials and in public. She wouldnâtâ
You look over and uhâŠ.
Cast. White, ugly, and running from just below her knee down to her ankle. The crutches tucked awkwardly under her arms. Her long hair tied up sloppy, barely any makeup, and her tracksuit jacket zipped up all the way to her chin.
Ah, it is Yujin.
Sheâs standing just inside the gate, laughing at something on her phone. Somewhat like her brazen usual self, but the sound doesnât match how her smile doesnât go all the way up.Â
You tell yourself itâs just concerning your dealmates as you move your feet. And passing through a group of students still talking, your ears perk up to one of them snickers again. âI mean, injuries happen, but An Yujin shouldâve have noââ
You turn around. âFinish that sentence.â
They blink. âHuh?â
âI said,â you repeat, deliberately louder, âFinish that sentence, you fuckwit.â
âWho are you supposed toââ
âSomeone who doesnât run their mouth over someone on a bad day.â You snap. âNow shut the fuck up and mind your own business.â
One of them scoffs. âRelax, man. Weâre just sayingââ
ââthat you have peas for brains,â you cut in. âNow shut it.â
They grumble and roll their eyes, but keep walking away. Bunch of spineless fuckwits, these pretentious kids.
âImmediate speculation the moment someone did a hiccup is just lazy,â a calm voice says behind you and Yujin. âAnd cruel, too.â
You turn to see Minji standing there, arms folded, her expression polite in that way thatâs only polite on the surface. She mustâve just gotten back from campus too. She offers the retreating students a gentle smile. âIf youâre worried, maybe try supporting your peers instead.â
That makes them run away.
âKids.â Minji exhales.
Both you and Minji turn back to Yujin, and her smile drops. âWhat are you looking at?â
âThe fuck happened to you?â You point. She follows your finger to the cast and clicks her tongue.
Minji steps closer. âYujin.â
âItâs nothing,â Yujin mutters. âJust a little trip during the run.â
âThatâs not âa littleâ, you fuckiââ you sigh. âThatâs months!â
Yujin is clearly annoyed with the sudden attention from both of you. âIt will heal, the doctor said.â
âWell what are you going to do until then?â Minji asks.
âI wait.â
Thatâs when you find out her parents are away right at the worst time. Something about an urgent business trip that makes her huge, modern and quiet house even moreâŠhuge and quiet. And Yujin is not used to that at all.
So you stay. Well, both of you, just in case this tall bean begins to have weird self-doubting thoughts when she can barely move without knocking something over. Her place slowly rearranges itself around Yujinâs immobility. The couch becomes her bed. Pillows pile up like makeshift barricades. A chair is dragged closer so she can hook her cast over it comfortably (after a few complaints about how the angle is still wrong. Fuck you, Yujin.) Crutches lean uselessly against the wall most days, abandoned the moment she decides itâs too much effort to move at all.
At first, itâs pretty awkward.
Minji comes over in the afternoons straight from campus. She brings over the smell of library air and instant coffee, the cardigan shrugging off her shoulders as she slips her shoes by the door. She cooks just like how she cooks for you, and narrates out of her habit.
âMy professor has been getting increasingly cruel to us lately, making us redo our drafts.â Minji rants as she rinses the rice in the sink. âI swear, these old farts think we donât sleep.â
Yujin lies on the couch and scrolls aimlessly. âNow you make me not want to go to uni.â
âYou will one day, kiddo.â Minji laughs.
You sit on the floor with your back against the couch, pretending to read while listening anyway.
Everyday, Minji talks as usual. About classes. About a girl in her seminar who wonât stop asking weird philosophical questions just to hear herself talk. About how the cafeteria food is somehow worse this semester. Sheâs filling the space on purpose, just to keep Yujin tethered to the world outside these four walls.
Yujin pretends not to care initially, but her phone stays idle at times.
One evening, while Minji is cutting fruit into neat little bite-sized pieces, Yujin asks casually. âUnnie, did you really switch your partners?â
The knife hovers mid-air. âUh, did he tell you?â
Yujin glances at you reading a book in the other corner of the couch, clearly tensed up, and then back to the older girl. âUh, maybe.â
Minji glances at you as well before answering: âMhm, after a year.â
âThe guy must have been a piece of work for you of all people to switch.â
Minji laughs. âHe kind of was.â
Yujin hums. âWell, who did you switch to?â
The room goes quiet. Minji clears her throat. âSomeone I trusted.â
âBooooooo! Boring!â
You threw a sunflower seed shell you have been munching to her head. âStop it, Yujin. Donât bother her.â
Yujin groans, and then somehow has an idea, judging by how she flicks her gaze sideways right at you. âWhat about this four eyes?â
Your stomach drops. âWhat about me?â
Minji freezes. Itâs subtle but unmistakable. You catch the way her shoulders tense. And how she grips the knife a bit too tight. For one horrible second, you think she might actually answerâŠor slice you into pieces.
You move before your brain catches up (also out of your safety), and immediately clamp over Yujinâs mouth. âNope. Nope. Conversation over. The injury has clearly affected her brain.â
âMmphâ!â Yujin thrashes, trying to bite you.
âSheâs trolling like back then, remember?â you say quickly, too loudly, to Minji. âSheâs bored. This is what happens when athletes are put on bed rest.â
The older girl blinks. Once. Twice. Then she exhales, the tension leaving her shoulders. âGosh, you two are such adorable younger siblings I somehow have.â She comments before getting up to wash the knife.
The moment she leaves, Yujin finally pulls free, scowling. âYouâre such a fucking coward.â
âShut up and eat the fruit.â
She flips you off and complies anyway.
Later, after Minji leaves the place first for her early class tomorrow, only you are there to take care of Yujin. Her house settles into a rare late-night quiet moment where every sound feels louder than the bass Yujin always puts on to annoy you. You stay close to her, adjusting her leg when she gets a bit too uncomfortable.
âYou should go home, too.â she mutters.
âAfter you go to sleep.â
She scoffs. âShe couldâve answered.â
âShe didnât want to.â
Yujin stares at the ceiling, her jaw still tight. âStill. She didnât say no.â
You say nothing. Because you donât know what scares you more: that Minji didnât answer, or that Yujin noticed.
-
The timing is cruel in the way only these conscripted love experiments can be.Â
Three hundred and sixty-something days of teeth-grtting compliance and chaperone. Of learning how to sit next to Yujin without flinching nor snapping back while taking care of the injured girl. Of continuing to pretend that you and Yujin are still that one perfect couple to the officials and then still arguing over the smallest issues the moment none of them are the audience. And of course, counting the days when things are supposed to changeâŠor endâŠor reset.Â
But things change the moment Minji texts you one afternoon.
Minji:
Can I tell you something later?
She has been doing that a lot lately (both offline and online). Just little messages about her uni life, the people she meets, and then him. The "crush", she calls him, with his cool cap and whatever, but you deduce itâs the lucky bastard that is paired with her. She always laughs whenever she brings it up nonchalantly like it's not supposed to mean anything, or probably because she never sees you as anything beyond her friend/little brother. Still you nod along for months. Just let her talk and ramble. Pretending it doesn't sink its claws into you every single time and inhaling a big gulp of copium hoping that she sees you as someone romantically.
Yeah, no.
Minji:
He asked me out. I'm thinking about saying yes.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could've asked questions, or teased her like usual; you could congratulate her, be supportive of your long time friend/older sister, be everything you have mentally trained yourself to be.
Instead, your phone slams to the table, face-down.
You don't trust your voice, nor face, and most of all, not your reaction to Minji saying it out loud â how much she likes him, how long she actually does, and how this has been real while you feign ignorance like a little kid.
So you just leave. Bolt straight out of your door. You don't even think where you want to go, but your feet instinctively rush to Yujin's house and bang her door loudlyâŠor is it your heart that is hammering loudly, who the fuck knows.
You let yourself in without knocking. Yujin sprawled on the couch (finally out of cast) and was still in her school uniform â white shirt, red tie, blue skirt. Her legs over the armrest, TV on but muted, phone abandoned on her stomach like she forgot it existed, and a cigarette hanging at the corner of her mouth. She looks up, startled.
ââŠWow,â she says. âYou look like shit.â
âHi to you too, chainsmoker.â
She sits up when she hears your voice crack, killing the embers and trying to clear the smoke away. âHey. What happened?â
You laugh. It comes out wrong and hysterical. "SheâŠmight say yes."
"Who?" "Minji."
"âŠOh, unnie."
The word breaks you. âIâve liked her for years,â you blurt out, the confession ripping out of you before you can stop it. âI told myself it was nothing. That it was timing. That I was just being stupid. But Iâfuck, Yujin, I really tried not toââ
Your voice shatters.
âI canât even be mad at her,â you say quietly. âShe didnât do anything wrong. She just⊠found someone. And Iâm still here. Acting and whining like a fucking kid about my damn crush for her.â
Not really sure why you're spilling your deep secret to your sworn enemy, but that time, you're desperate to hear her laughing and scorn at you for whining like a nerd, scoffing, or telling you that karma is a bitch.
She doesn't. She listens. None of the usual banter, not at all.Â
When you finally stop talking, the silence is suffocating.
âIs thatâŠwhy you ran here?â she asks.
You nod. âI didnât know where else to go.â
She exhales slowly, then steps closer. Too close.
âYouâre an idiot,â you never know Yujin's voice can be this soft.
"YeahâŠ"
The room suddenly feels even smaller.
Before you can actually react, she steps into your space and gently places her hand onto your chest. She pushes you gently towards the wall behind you andâ
THUD.
You're fully aware of the barrier behind you as she plants her palm next to your face, her body boxing you in. You freeze instinctively, unsure if it is out of fear orâŠsomething you don't fucking dare to say.
"An Yujin, you just recovâ"
âJust shut up and let me.â
She leans in.Â
They say that the first kiss meant to be sweet and careful. This one isnât. Cigarettes are all you can taste, and you can definitely feel how experienced this playgirl is. She crashes her lips against yours unapologetically, feeling all the heat and frustration boils up, and with such hunger. She's making a point, telling you to 'look at her, and only her'.
âYuâYujinâŠâ Your mind blanks, yet your hand immediately grabs her tie on instinct, gripping and pulling closer like youâre afraid sheâll disappear if you donât.
She pulls back enough to look at you. "âŠare you ok? Is it too much?"
What is too much? The fact that she just boldly manhandled you like youâre no different from her side chicks? The fact that your body responds with a shiver? Or the fact that deep down, buried under all the scoffing and arguing, youâve always known thatâŠAn Yujin is one damn fucking hot playgirl.Â
Youâre not blind (you wear glasses). The damn smug, the grin, the attractive face, the confidence that borders on cruelty, and the way she just invades spaces and owns it. You told yourself that she was just being arrogant, bitchy, and whatever negative connotations you try to come up to justify your hatred for Yujin.
Now that she is this close, knowing exactly which switch of yours she can flip? Yeah, you canât even answer.
And she fucking knows it.
âThought so.â
She kisses you again, albeit slower this time. And your thoughts completely dissipated. You stop thinking about whether this means anything to her. Whether youâre just another distraction. Another side note in her long list of girls. You stop thinking about Minji. About her laugh. About the quiet way sheâs already moved on. Then you stop thinking about the rules, the day until your conscripted love game is done, and whatever else. They all dissolved into the awareness of Yujin's arm snaking her way behind your back and pushing you closer to her.Â
And how you are hyper aware of how her tongue coils around yours greedily. With the mixture of that bitter taste of the cigs and the sweet taste of Yujin imprints onto your brain. Your hand did a quick whirl to her tie, making sure she stays right there kissing you.
When you finally loosen your grips to let her pull away, she stays close enough that you can feel her breath against your lips.Â
"I'll make you forget completely about unnie, starting tonight."
The women's bathroom is supposed to be Nakamura Kazuha's area of command â you being a man and all, and her having a stronger façade and all.
Now, however, she's being bent over the sink while you piston your cock in and out of her wet, warm cunt.
So, the coordination isn't hard to grasp. You're standing behind Kazuha, undulating your hips back and forth. Her leather pants and boxers are pulled down to her ankles, swaying slightly with the motion of her legs rocking from your thrusts. The mirror is reflecting Kazuha's blissful face and yours. Her hands are gripping the counter firmly, holding herself up from collapsing and getting her makeup-clad face smudged. The, again, leather jacket poses no obstacle to your hand snaking under her inner tube top to fondle her breasts sitting under it, and Kazuha moans, of course. The overstimulation is overwhelming for her.
So, some background: you're not a front-rower in your classes, usually settling for the back along with your friends. Kazuha doesn't sit far from you â same row, just on a different side, a complete fuckboy. You two had talked a bit before this fateful encounter, but it was nothing like how she cornered you in the elevator just a few minutes ago because you smelled good. Though, when she led you inside the women's bathroom, she just faltered like that.
(Well, to be more accurate, she folded upon the entrance of your cock. She complained about it being too big for her, then inadvertently doing this fucked-out face â eyes up, tongue out. That was when you took control of her taller, slender body.)
The sensation is definitely there. Kazuha's walls are tightening around your dick with each thrust into her, so keen on milking your cock for all its worth. Her moans are bouncing off the tiles and walls of the women's bathroom this evening. You're grunting as well, even if not as loudly as Kazuha. Let's hope that no one will hear these wet claps and whorish moans.
(Slim chance. Few people are on campus at this hour.)
"Yes, yes, yes, Daddy, fuck me. Fuck my cunt, please, please, please," Kazuha rasps mindlessly with your cock rearranging her guts. The submission is real. It's raw. It's surely from the deepest pit of her heart.
A hum from you, then: "I'm breeding you good, baby."
You give her ass a cruel slap, and Kazuha yelps helplessly. Her skin shivers under your palm from the concoction of pain and pleasure coursing through her pliant frame. She's making that face again â eyes up and tongue out â and you just quicken your pace on ruining her pretty pussy at the sight.
"Who's my little cockslut, hmm?"
Kazuha whimpers before replying shakily, "I'm Daddy's little cockslut."
You're not entirely satisfied with it, not really. "Louder, Zuha," you growl into her ear.
Again, Kazuha responds with every ounce of energy that she has left, "I'm your little cockslut. I'm Daddy's little cockslut!"
"Good girl," you whisper.
Your lips go to her neck immediately afterwards â kissing, nibbling, leaving a mark on her porcelain skin. You give her neck a harsh suck. Her body shivers against your abdomen softly as you pull back, and you see a hickey being left on her canvas.
"Don't bother covering it up tomorrow," you order. "I want the entire campus know that you're mine."
With such speed, it's unavoidable that you're peaking soon. Your hands grip Kazuha a tad tighter. Your grunts become louder and more desperate. You can feel it coming up through your nerves and muscles and veins. Kazuha's moans are getting raspier and higher too. Her cunt clamps around your cock tightly, pulsing along to her heartbeats. She's damn close as much as you are.
"I'm gonna cum, Daddy!" she whines. "Gonna cum on your big cock!"
"Good, I'm knocking you up too, my baby."
No protests from Kazuha, good, she's carrying your baby. You rut into her tight, wet cunt to the point where Kazuha's mind begins to break. The ahegao is permanent on her face now. Her nipples are hard between your fingers, and you swear that you feel a kind of liquid coming out of them. It's not red, but rather whitish. She's fucking lactating from being plowed by your cock!
"Such a slut," you utter before sucking on your milk-soaked fingers â sweet. "Keeping up all of this façade just to be ruined by my dick."
Kazuha doesn't reply â too busy with herself leaking by the nipples and the spit-soaked mouth. Sounds coming out of her lips are a bunch of breeding pleas and paternal terms. Her body quakes around you.
Until she breaks around you, finally.
Kazuha lets out this sharp, unadulterated moan that echoes around the bathroom. Her cunt gushes out fountains of squirt onto the counter and the floor as she orgasms. Some lands on your hand as well. You're pretty sure that it's salty. Kazuha's walls clasp around your length greedily â contracting, heaving â determined to suck the fertility out of your heavy balls. Her face remains fucked out under the harsh light of the room. That strong mask is utterly, completely ruined by your massive cock.
You quickly follow suit, burying yourself to the hilt inside her as your cock spills hot cum deep inside her voracious pussy. Your body quivers as you grit your teeth tightly, unable to comprehend the pleasure of cumming inside the class' fuckboy. You pulse violently, shooting semen straight deep into her fertile womb. She's getting pregnant with your baby!
"Fucking fuck," you utter, slowly coming down from your explosive orgasm. Your essence begins to leak out of Kazuha's heaving cunt down to the pooling pants around her ankles. Kazuha's face collapses onto the sink out of sheer exhaustion. Her milk is still leaking out of her nipples in small drops. Until eventually, you regretfully pull yourself out of her.
"Daddy," Kazuha mutters feebly. "I'm gonna be mommy, ain't I?"
You give her a kiss on the cheek. "That's entirely up to you, baby."
Kazuha chuckles softly, resting her chin on her hands. "Same time tomorrow, Daddy?"