Photo after photo your heart only melted more. The hair on your arms stood erect in her presence. She swayed with elegance, the pure focus in her eyes. The crowd was eating it up right from the palm of her hand. Of course it included you, too.
The show had ended hours ago at this point in time. After it was over all four girls immediately sought you out in the crowd of people, assigned a bodyguard to your side so you did not get lost. Well, it was more of Tzuyu doing that. See, the other three girls weren’t too wary of you and Tzuyu’s situationship. To call it a relationship was not on the cards for you. If anything, this only further pushed the question that pummeled at your temples and transformed into a migraine.
Why has she gone through all this trouble just for you?
When the moments began to feel close to a Lamborghini flying by your Uber on the way to the venue, you blinked once. Now you lay in the master bedroom with nothing but the soft ambience of silence surrounding you with eyes on the digital clock by the bed. The time was glaring back at you; it being 2:30 a.m. and annoyingly bright. Those red numbers were some sort of sign yet you could not read it now. Your eyes soon track your phone screen as it lights up. A text from Tzuyu.
“I can’t sleep…can I come to your room? We can just hang out if you want.”
A slow hand ruffled your hair with a soft sigh passing your lips. Just hang out? Then again the quad of girls were sharing drinks an hour or so ago. You took some pictures with them but nothing out of the ordinary. However, Chaeyoung watched you with a smile the whole time. Something that the Idol you knew, you did not. You assumed she was always the weird one in the group. You knew where this was leading though.
“Makes two of us. I will let you in.”
The message was marked as seen with a heart attached to the corner indicating that she had double tapped it as well. The rooms were only a short walk apart from each other. She wouldn’t waste much time considering what was waiting for her, but rather, who.
You rolled out of bed phone in hand making your way over to the bedroom door. Your eyes are hazy and the room is a little blurry. After wiping your eyes with a careful hand you heard the door to the hallway close. She already made her way over? In just a few minutes? You step out of the bedroom and are greeted by…Son Chaeyoung? She wore an oversized hoodie, with a pair of shorts. Her sneakers slightly shuffle against the vinyl plank flooring of the room.
“Chae-…what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t feeling well-”
“I want to ask you something. It’s important.”
Chaeyoung stared directly into your eyes when she started to speak to you. Her voice was husky and low compared to Tzuyu’s. For some reason her eyes were so dark brown that they looked black. It didn’t help that her posture was perfect, erect without a single sight of a lean or sag. To your knowledge, Chaeyoung was battling an illness and could not travel. You slowly nod your head being a tad unnerved about her straightforward approach and sudden appearance. She also was shorter than you remembered.
“Yeah…ask away. I will answer as honestly as I can.”
Chaeyoung’s eyes locked with yours as she took three steps towards you. You were taller than her but her gaze made you feel smaller in a way. She looked down at your feet, then back at you.
“Do you love Tzuyu?”
“Do I what?” Your heart was in your throat now.
“Do you, the photographer she’s been seeing behind my back, love her?” Chaeyoung asked again without a falter in her speech. She was seemingly protective of Tzuyu.
The question would scrape your temples and call forth a migraine so profound you applied your hand to the front of your head. Rubbing your forehead gently as now your mind paced. Did you say that you loved her, or that it was just a friends with benefits thing? You felt Tzuyu would say it wasn’t a serious thing. However you felt the answer in your chest.
“I love her, yes. I won’t lie. I fell in love after our first night together. She was so…sensual and honest. She admired me for who I am, not what I did. I cannot imagine not being with her. She has shown me a lot. Not even just sexually. She is genuinely so sweet. I don’t just want her for sex or any of the favors she may do for me. I am seriously attracted to her. Also…what do you mean behind your back?”
Chaeyoung’s hands would fix her hair and she softly hummed while you spoke to her. You placed your phone into your jeans pocket and walked over to the island in the kitchen where an assortment of wine was sitting. It was looking like a drink would be had now. Especially when you were basically forced to relay your feelings about her fellow member. You popped the top off but remembered that Tzuyu hates the taste of beer. Great, now you wasted a beer.
“Tzuyu means a lot to me, and the rest of the girls. Seeing her fawn over you the way she does makes me a little jealous. She hasn’t felt this way about a boy in a while and it is nice to see her enjoy your company.” Chaeyoung chirped in response.
Your smile returned and you turned to the fridge with your left hand opening it. The first thing you grabbed? A beer. You place it onto the counter while replying to Chaeyoung.
“Yeah…she is what I never thought I could have. I never knew that taking pictures could get me this far. I guess it is a dream come true.”
Chaeyoung’s eyes didn’t move. Her hand reaches behind her which is followed by the doorknob being grasped. It turns with the door opening up which shows the empty and well lit hallway. Her eyes peer over at the beer you had in your hand.
“For your sake, y/n, I hope you’re not lying. You’re gonna need that ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. Better grab it now, pretty boy.”
She departs with a few steps and a teasing tone and the door being pulled closed quietly. Once it shut again you just let off an exasperated sigh.
The tension was thick enough to where you could cut it with a knife now. She just…showed up like that and gave you a heart attack and interrogated you about her best friend.
Was she always that way? You thought that to yourself and softly sighed deeply. You chuckled finally.
“Okay…so...I did not think I was going to be interrogated..”
Just as you were collecting your thoughts you heard another set of footsteps coming towards the door. This time, you relaxed your shoulders. The door slowly opens and Tzuyu's pretty eyelashes batted at you. Why was she so cute?
“May I come in?” She asks softly with a sneaker crossing the threshold. With a tone smooth as silk.
“Yeah. Come in. You know I don't mind.”
As she steps inside and closes the door you couldn't help but admire the outfit she chose. A cream colored crop top with a green strap that seemed to come from what else with a hem that hugged her abdomen. Her own toned abs in view complimented by a dainty gold chain around her waist. Nails still decorated and pink, with a series of rings adorned on her right hand. A necklace or two around her neck also in tangent with a pair of gold earrings.
As she stepped a little closer with a hand reaching to your chest you noticed her jeans were unbuttoned yet the hem folded neatly downwards. Despite this, those jeans hugged her curves tight. They seemed to be comfortable.
“I wished I could have caught you before you left. I wanted to talk to you about…us.”
Tzuyu mused back, “Us. You and I? What is there to discuss? You're with me, and have been together just a week or more now.
A lump formed in your throat while gathering the correct words. “I…I am more than a good fuck to you, right?”
As you utter those words Tzuyu puts her arms around the back of your neck with the feeling of her nails grazing that spot where your neck and shoulders are connected. It sent a series of tingles up your back and your brain nearly grew fuzzy.
“You're a great fuck, a better photographer, and an amazing boyfriend. Why else would I do what I do?”
Tzuyu leans up to you as now she wasn't wearing a pair of heels or boots. So you were taller than her just this once. After a brief moment of eye contact her lips touch a delicate spot under your chin. The sound of her lips sampling your skin filled your ears. She pulls away softly as your hands find their purpose and hold her hips. Thumbs now grazing that chain.
“Was sending Chaeyoung in here necessary? I felt like she was going to murder me. Like…she just showed up in here all monotone and stoic before asking me if I loved you.”
Tzuyu gave a smile to you and covered her lips with her hand as a chuckle came with it.
“She is protective of me. All she wanted was to make sure you were going to treat me right and all.”
“But…she introduced me to you. You think she wouldn't be so…mistrusting.”
Tzuyu adds, “I wanted you the moment I met you. I just didn't say anything while my bodyguards were around. They would have told my manager and…I don't need him on my ass. I'm already working hard.”
The reality then set in. An Idol was not a fun occupation. Yes despite the concerts and fansigns they had to do it was a lot of hard work. You knew that from all the times Tony's friends talked about how one of them managed to bump into Soyeon of i-dle.
That's another story for another day.
You simply nod in agreement with Tzuyu with your hands just heading back to her shoulders where they belonged for now.
“You don't think we moved too fast?”
Tzuyu’s lips parted as her head shook in response. When you softly move your head to the side to check the door her face moved closer than before. Your lips brush together and you felt the gloss of her lips glide over yours. Then she fully engulfs your lips with a slow kiss. Her head shifts to the side to broaden the reach she had with her lips. Her tongue even grazes your lips once she pulls away. Your lips parted while you looked into her eyes.
“You forgot the condom, again.” Tzuyu teases you with a hand on your chest.
“Yeah. I forgot it a few weeks ago and you brought one. I assume you didn’t bring one this time?”
Tzuyu softly shakes her head at you and turns to the door. Her fingers latch onto the ‘Do Not Disturb’ placard. Her arm reached around the door itself and then you could hear her speaking to someone. Who could she be talking to? You step forward with a quick step and try to see who is there. Tzuyu glances over her shoulder and waves you over with a quick hand. Once you were able to be in view you see Chaeyoung standing there with the placard between her fingers. Your eyebrow raises but you nod to her in greeting.
“You’re back, huh?”
“I am covering for you two so you can have your time alone. Better get back inside.”
Chaeyoung flashes a smile at you as Tzuyu’s hand grips your hand firmly. She pulled you inside with haste with your socks sliding across the floor. Who knew she was this strong? The door closes and the placard can be heard as it was placed over the doorknob. Your eyes locked while she took you across the room. But you didn’t make it to the couch before the two of you locked lips again.
The kiss was rushed and messy with your lips clashing and missing the others lips. Tzuyu even bites your bottom lip as your hands grab the waist of her jeans, tugging them down. They slip off with ease as if they were silk and lace. With her black panties now in your line of sight. You pulled away for air as she was attacking the nape of your neck with her lips. You panted softly as your fingers tangled in her panties waistband. You grunted while her teeth sink into your skin which leads you to just pause for a moment.
“You like that, don’t you?” Tzuyu mused with a hand basically inside of your jeans. Her hand grabbing the whole length of your bulge. Nails scraping your skin through the fabric.
“I won’t say no. But…you don’t have a condom.”
Tzuyu chuckled as your jeans were unbuttoned and now were dropped to your ankles. As you stepped out of them your lips were met with her own again. Slow and careful as if your lips were the canvas and she was the brush. Her nails drag across your chest as her eyes turned to something hungrier. Something a little darker.
“I don’t want you to wear one this time. I just need you before you have to go, so do me a favor?”
“Whatever you want..” You mumbled against her lips.
Tzuyu pulled away and grabbed your chin with a firm hand. She then whispers in your ear.
“Shut up and just fuck me already.”
A switch flipped in your mind once Tzuyu spoke to you. Her eyes narrowed and a smirk graced her lips. She knew she had pressed the right button now. She quickly steps away while holding her jeans in her left hand. Her hips swayed side to side and perhaps it was on purpose. Just to draw your attention to where it needed to be. Why focus on anything else now?
Your heart was racing yet your hands slowly grabbed your jeans and you made your way back there to the bedroom you had slept in. The sight before you was Tzuyu removing her earrings and placing them neatly on the dresser. The lights were dimmed but you could see her perfect figure. With a slow movement you slip off your boxers and place them with your jeans by the door. Dropping them carelessly.
You made your way over with your cock standing erect against your abs with precum just running from the tip. Her necklace came off but your eyes were drawn to that gold chain she had around her waist. It shimmered in the light. Your hands grabbed her hips prompting a playful gasp from her lips. She turned around and sees your shaft was waiting and ready.
“For me? You shouldn’t have.”
Tzuyu trails a kiss along your jaw as her hand gently strokes your length. You put a hand on her midriff as her hand just takes its time caressing every inch you have. A few moans slipped past your lips while she kept eye contact with you. Each stroke just pushes more precum to your tip. A smile soon cascaded over your lips with your eyes closing. A moan comes out, then another. Then she suddenly stops her strokes leading you to open one eye.
“You’re such a tease…” You mutter as you put a hand on her ass with fingers pressing into her cheeks in the attempt to pull her forward. She gives in to the pull and pushes back. With a quick motion the two of you land on the queen sized bed. Once there, her panties make their way onto your chest. She was upright over your cock with her wet entrance just so dangerously close. With a smile on her face she grabs your shaft and sets herself down onto it nice and slow.
The sensation prompted you to moan with a tilt of your head. Tzuyu did the same with a shaky exhale passing her parted lips. She puts both hands on your chest and raises her hips up and down. Her breath hitched hard.
“Shit-..you feel so much better than I thought…”
Your reply was a sigh of relief between you panting as the sensation. Her walls were hugging you tightly as if you were going to try to leave. Truth be told you weren’t going anywhere. Not now. A hand grabs that gold chain firmly as the other slapped her ass hard. She jolted, a shriek passing her lips yet it was followed with a giggle.
Her eyes held that same gaze from earlier as her legs would supply her the power she needed. She began to bounce on your cock at a fast pace. Her hands go to your shoulders with the roughness of her nails digging into your skin. The bed moved slightly at the impact the two of you shared. Her moans were quick, panting with every exhale. Your fingers tug on the chain and it makes her come to a very slow halt. You didn’t want her to stop but you knew this would be difficult to pull out of.
“Need a break already, baby?”
“Yeah…unless you want me to get you pregnant.." You mutter between heavy breaths.
The Taiwanese idol began rolling her hips against you at an agonizingly slow pace yet her pussy was just stroking you as if it was trying to push you deeper. You watch as Tzuyu’s head lifted up and her lips parted again. A guttural yet low moan comes out as she looks down at you. Your lips press together as your free hand slaps her ass again.The sound echoed through the room and it made her moan again. She spoke low with a hunger in her voice.
“You keep doing that..and you won’t be leaving this position for a while..”
Your heart leapt around your chest and now your hands would grip the chain tight. The eye contact was a silent way to confirm you knew the dangerous game you were playing with Tzuyu. You seriously could not afford to get her pregnant and now, the worry was in the back of your mind. Your eyes focus on her hips as they roll and grind against you. It was like you felt the tension now. Every roll, every bounce, and every stroke. Would she let you even pull out?
“You’re so…damn-”
Tzuyu cuts you off by bouncing on it again. Your breath hitched as her hands were now on your abs. She allowed her moans to get progressively louder each time she touched down on your waist. She whimpered with her eyes closing tightly. A sight you loved seeing from where you laid.
“Oh god! I’m cumming-” Tzuyu cried out softly between her ragged breaths.
Your hands would pull her all the way down to where she couldn’t move off of you. You felt her walls clench more and it was soon followed by her body quivering. Her back arched back as her nails dug into your sides to keep herself upright. You groaned softly watching her beautiful agony unfold in front of you.
Quickly thinking, you hold her waist and sit up so now you were face to face. She smiles at you and cups your cheeks with both hands. Your cock twitches inside of her and she looks down and gently rubs your abs. Then she slowly began to grind against you once more. Her hair falls like a curtain over her eyes and cascades across your face like water.
The warmth started on the crown of your head and then rushed to the tip of your cock. With a quick gasp before you could speak, Tzuyu latches her lips with yours. Her soft lips gently pull away after a moment. She continues grinding on you but she knew you would bottom out soon.
“Yes baby…you don’t wanna hold it in. I promise you won’t regret it…do it for me. Cum inside of me. Please fill me up. Don’t fight it. Don’t resist…”
Tzuyu whispers it against your lips as her hands wrap around your back. Your cock was slick with a mixture of her own nectar and your own precum. A hand finds its way to your cheek as Tzuyu’s lips, swollen and still glossy, quietly form a smile. Her grinding is now picking up pace.
“I-I can’t. You would get pregnant and…I don’t want to ruin your career..” You managed to squeak out between moans.
“Yes you can. Yes you can, baby. Just give in. Let my body take you away..”
Tzuyu gently holds your shoulders and nods her head slowly at you just coaxing you to cum. That smile was there, and it was luring you in like a melody. She softly moans and wraps her arms around your head. Your face was now buried in her sweet smelling neck. Vanilla had filled your nostrils as the pleasure was mounting up. Her fingers tangle in your hair as she moans in your ear just loud enough so you couldn’t think straight anymore. Your eyes fluttered shut as the moment had come. Your hands wrap around her back and it was then you could not hold it anymore.
“I’m cumming…oh shit-”
When you managed to get the words out your body stiffened and your cock was buried deep inside of her. She stopped her movements and simply held you close. Your seed would begin to fill her up. She smiles at the sensation while throwing her arms around your neck. You grunted and exhaled deeply while you pulled back and saw two of her as your vision blurred. Her sweaty body was against your own, nails scratching the back of your head in a loving way. You slowly fell back onto the bed with her coming with you. She panted along with you while rolling off of you, and the cum that was pushed deep inside had come running down her thighs.
Tzuyu would lay next to you and put her arm around your chest and kiss the space between your ear and neck. Her lips were pillow soft and moist enough to where it felt like the fresh dew that covered the grass. Your eyes looked towards her but as she stroked your cheek with her thumb she said three words that you were not expecting at all.
“I love you.”
You thought you were dreaming. There was no way, right? She didn’t just say that. Between your vision being blurry and the sound of static in your ears you took a very careful moment to reply. Just before your eyes closed and you could feel her warmth lulling you to sleep.
“I love you, too.”
When you could feel the bed around you again you did not feel Tzuyu next to you. The cool air brushes against your exposed legs and your eyes flicker open. You immediately notice your boxers were on and next to you was an outfit to wear. A pair of sweatpants laid with a black hoodie. Both in your size. A soft sigh passed your lips once you could see the sun was risen and the light was being let in. You instinctively reached for your phone which should be next to you on the nightstand. Once you feel it in your hand you turn it on while you sit up on the edge of the bed.
You were met with a flurry of notifications. The majority of them were Instagram likes and comments.Upon tapping the block to open them, you were greeted by the photos you had taken of TWICE the night before. Of course, they had blown up. The girls had reposted the photos on their own accounts so the likes came pouring in but so did the following for your own account.
A quick swipe here and a tap there leads you to your own page where you went from 3k followers to now 90k followers. It seems the photos you had posted of Tzuyu and the girls were getting the traction you strived for in the beginning. Not only that, but your inbox was flooded with messages. A lot of them. While marveling over how many messages you had, you remembered why you were here and most of all who was partly responsible for the followers.
“Tzuyu…”
You said her name with a worried tone as now you finally remembered the time you two shared last night. She hadn’t probably had the time to say bye last night after the two of you had unprotected sex. With a quick gesture you close Instagram and see you have one single message. Thankfully, it was from her and it was a voice memo. You press play and turn up the volume with an eager ear.
“Hey baby. I hope you’re sleeping well. You really needed the rest after last night.~ I wanted to let you know that I did have to leave earlier for South Korea. Your flight I think…leaves at 3pm tomorrow? Mine was around…9am today. I am actually on the flight now. I wanted to…let you know I left you an outfit and some breakfast on the table in the main room. I miss you so much and I cannot wait until you get back here. I even left you a gift on the couch. I think you’ll like it. I gotta go. I love you, and I will see you soon.”
You smiled the whole time as you listened to her drowsy voice. You knew she would get busy between now and tomorrow so you double tap the message to leave a heart and send a quick text back.
“Love you too, Tzuyu. I’ll miss you until I get back tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you again. Maybe we can have another session. ;)”
Just as you sent the message you made your way into the kitchen and found a clear plastic container of breakfast food that was steamed up. It was recently cooked, or, at least reheated. It was some eggs, pancakes, and sausage. An American breakfast for certain. After glancing at it you then see a large photocard on the couch.
You tilt your head at the photo and pick it up. It was a photo of Chaeyoung and Tzuyu together during what seemed to be a concert. Earpieces still in, and all of that but then you notice something. The back of the photo had something taped on it, and it felt…familiar. When you flip the photograph you have a note with a heart on it attached. However this one was drawn differently than how Tzuyu drew hers.
Even as you investigate further you then notice that there was a box not far away. You gently place the photo on the table and sit down on the couch. Your fingers would slowly open the piece of paper and you would watch as it was the size of a legal sheet of paper. You rubbed your eyes and began to read the small letter.
“Hey y/n! Remember me? If not, let me jog your memory. We met yesterday. Truth be told, I was a little skeptical of you. I didn’t think you were such a nice guy as Tzuyu said you were. Turns out I was wrong about you, so I apologize for that. Needless to say, I wanted to say thank you for being so sweet to Tzuyu. You two are so cute together and I am so happy for you. I left something for you in that box. Make sure to open it!”
Your memory was foggy but then you realized who this was from. Chaeyoung. The girl who thought you a fraud when you first met just last night in the midst of waiting for Tzuyu to come over that night. You softly exhale at the realization that she was here this morning, and that would explain the food being reheated. As you pick up the medium sized box that came with a black bow on top you slowly undo the bow. Carefully, you open the top and find a silver necklace that was adorned with three fake strawberry halves. It was certainly hand made. A gift from her to you, it seems.
“This is…unique. She must have made this. Wait…there’s something else.”
You reach back into the box and then find a photograph of the window across the room that overlooked the city. You were on the 6th floor of the Hotel so the view was breathtaking. You admire the photo itself but then you noticed something on the window itself in the photograph. Another piece of paper that was taped to the double hung window. You put down the necklace, placing it back into the box.
A set of careful steps would take you to the window and you raise a finger to the paper. This one had another heart on its front. You take it off the window carefully and open it up. The contents of this paper was, of course, another photograph.
“Chae…you love your scavenger hunts. I have to say I am very impressed you went this far.”
This last photograph was of the bedroom window. Your bedroom window to be exact. With haste you went back to the bedroom, flicked the light on and stood at the center of the room with the window in view. Taped to the window? A condom in a gold package.Your eyebrows furrowed. Now, you were confused. What was she trying to say? You make your way over to the window and find a paper note written on the desk adjacent to the window.
Don't bother bringing this. I found it in your bag. You're so cute when you get flustered while talking to me. I guess you were thinking about me when you put it down. I was on your mind and you got distracted. Just how I like it. -Tzuyu <3
She found the condom you could not after rocking your world again last night.
A knock came to the front door and you jolted wildly, dropping the photograph you had in your left hand. You picked it up carefully and announced your intention to answer the door simply with ‘Coming!’. After a brief moment of putting the photos together and onto the desk in the bedroom you go to the door and answer the door. Thankfully, it was the receptionist who checked you in. A nice man with a clean cut combover and a two piece suit.
“Good morning, y/n. I hope you slept well. I wanted to let you know that there will be lunch in the mess hall at 12pm. As one of our many VIP Members staying here, I wanted to let you know.”
“Ah, well, thank you. I appreciate it greatly, sir. Thank you.”
As the receptionist leaves the hallway to head to the elevator you close the door and sit back on the couch. Your mind was crossing itself trying to make sense of this seemingly endless debacle. Tzuyu and you were together for a few weeks and now Chaeyoung was congratulating you? You weren’t sure how to feel exactly at the moment. For now, there is only one thing you can do.
You look towards the photograph of Tzuyu and Chaeyoung and you softly smile. Pictures often tell stories. This one story would now hold a special place in your heart.
That's the end! I want to say thank you to everyone for the reblogs and likes on this series! Thanks for reading!
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You were still there, hunched over the same problem set you'd been staring at since the clock ticked past four. Your third attempt at the Lagrangian multiplier question had produced yet another nonsense answer—something with seven decimal places and a negative root that shouldn't exist—and your pen had started to leave grooves in the paper where you'd crossed things out too hard.
A door clicked open somewhere behind you.
Footsteps. Deliberate ones. The kind that didn't hurry because they knew you'd wait.
"Still here, Y/N?"
Professor Dayeon's voice carried that particular lilt she used when she already knew the answer. You straightened in your seat, vertebrae popping, and turned to find her leaning against the doorframe of the lecture hall's side entrance. She'd taken off the blazer she'd worn during class. Her white blouse was unbuttoned one notch lower than before—or maybe you were imagining that, maybe the afternoon light through the tall windows was playing tricks, maybe your exhausted brain was conjuring things that weren't there.
"I'm, uh." You gestured at the catastrophe of papers spread across your desk. "I'm still kind of stuck with these…"
"Ah." She pushed off the doorframe and walked toward you. Her heels made soft thk-thk-thk sounds against the linoleum. "My homework?"
Something about the way she repeated it made your stomach tighten.
She stopped beside your desk and looked down at your work. Up close, you could smell her perfume—something clean, something with bergamot and white tea, something that didn't belong in a room that still held the ghost-odor of three hundred students' anxiety and energy drinks. She placed two fingertips on the edge of your paper and turned it toward her.
"Lagrangian multipliers," she said. "You've been struggling with these."
It wasn't a question.
"I keep getting negative values where there shouldn't be negative values."
"Mm." She pulled out the chair next to yours and sat down. Crossed her legs at the ankle. Her skirt was a dark charcoal pencil cut, and it rode up just slightly when she settled into the seat—not indecently, not enough that anyone could call it inappropriate, but enough that you noticed. Enough that you had to force your eyes back to the paper. "Show me your approach."
You walked her through it. The constraint equation first, then the objective function, then setting up the partial derivatives. Your voice sounded thin in the empty hall. The room was too big for two people, too echoey, every word bouncing off the tiered seating and the far wall and coming back slightly distorted.
Dayeon listened without interrupting. When you finished, she reached over and took the pen from your hand. Her fingers brushed your knuckles—cool fingertips, a fleeting contact that lasted maybe half a second—and then she was writing on your paper, her handwriting precise and slanted, nothing like your cramped scrawl.
"You forgot to check the boundary conditions," she said. "That's where the negative values are coming from. You're finding interior critical points that don't exist on the feasible region." She slid the paper back toward you. Her solution was elegant. Three lines where you'd taken three pages. "You understand the mathematics. You just started to panic when you apply it."
"I-i'm not…"
"You are in panic." She leaned back in her chair and studied you. Without her glasses—she'd taken them off at some point, you hadn't noticed when—her eyes were darker than you'd realized. Almost black in the dim lecture hall light. "I've been watching you, Y/N. All semester. You understand the material during lectures. You nod at the right moments. You even ask intelligent questions." A pause. "Then you sit down to do the work and something shuts off."
Your throat had gone dry. You swallowed and it made a clicking sound.
"Midterms are in three weeks," she said.
"I know."
"If you fail the midterm, you fail the course. Your scholarship requires a B-minus average."
"I know."
She tilted her head. A strand of black hair slipped loose from behind her ear and fell across her cheek. She didn't tuck it back. "What's really going on?"
The question landed somewhere between your ribs.
You could have lied. Could have blamed it on the workload, on your other courses, on the fact that complex mathematics at eight in the morning was a special kind of torture designed by people who hated joy. But Dayeon was looking at you with those dark eyes, and the empty lecture hall felt very far away from the rest of the world, and you'd been carrying this particular fear alone for months now.
"If I lose the scholarship," you started. Stopped. Started again. "My parents can't afford this place. I'm here because I got the grades in high school and someone in an admissions office took a chance on me, and if I mess this up—" The words were coming faster now, tumbling. "I'll have to go back home. Work at my uncle's garage. That's not—I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, but I came here to do something different, and I'm so close, and this one course is going to be the thing that—"
A hand on your wrist.
Dayeon's fingers circled the bone, light but definite. The contact stopped your words like a hand clamped over a faucet.
"Y/N," she said. "Take a Deep breath."
You breathed. Shaky and shallow and not particularly deep, but you breathed.
"Better." She didn't remove her hand. Her thumb rested against the thin skin where your pulse beat, and you were suddenly aware that she could feel it, could measure the rate of it, could tell exactly how fast your heart was going. "Now. You want to pass my class."
It wasn't a question, but you answered anyway. "Yes."
"You want to pass very badly."
"Yes."
Her thumb moved. Just slightly. A quarter-inch stroke along your pulse point that could have been accidental. "What would you be willing to do?"
The lecture hall's heating system clicked on somewhere in the ceiling. Warm air began to push through the vents. Neither of you moved.
"I don't…" You stopped. Licked your lips. "I don't understand what you're asking."
Dayeon smiled.
It wasn't the smile she used during office hours, benign and professional, the one that said I'm happy to help you understand partial derivatives. This one was different. This one had edges.
"You understand perfectly," she said. "You just want me to say it out loud so you don't have to feel responsible for agreeing."
Your pulse hammered against her thumb.
She released your wrist and stood up. Walked to the front of the lecture hall, where the whiteboard still held the ghost-traces of this afternoon's equations, smeared and half-erased. She picked up an eraser and began to clean the board in long, methodical strokes.
"You're not the first student I've had this conversation with," she said, not turning around. "I moved here six months ago. New city, new university, new apartment that still smells like paint and doesn't feel like home. I teach brilliant students who freeze up during exams because the system has convinced them that one wrong answer means their entire future collapses." She wiped away a stubborn cosine function. "And sometimes those students need… special arrangements."
"What kind of arrangements?"
She turned. The eraser was still in her hand, white dust coating her fingers.
"The kind that benefit everyone involved." She set the eraser down and leaned against the whiteboard. Her blouse had come untucked slightly at the hip. "You need a passing grade. I need…" She seemed to consider her word choice. "Company."
"Company."
"Don't repeat my words back to me. It makes you sound simple, and you're not simple." Her voice sharpened momentarily before softening again. "I'm not propositioning you for sex in exchange for grades, if that's what you're worried about. That would be crude. And illegal. And frankly beneath both of us."
Relief washed through you. Then confusion.
"Then what—"
"I'm offering you an arrangement." She walked back toward you, slower this time, each heel-strike deliberate. "You'll stay after class twice a week. We'll go over the material together. One-on-one tutoring, officially. But during those sessions…" She stopped beside your desk. Looked down at you. "During those sessions, you'll belong to me."
The words didn't compute immediately. They bounced around your skull like a coin dropped into an empty fountain, clinking and spinning and refusing to land.
"Belong to you," you said, and then immediately regretted it because she'd just told you not to repeat her words.
Dayeon didn't seem to mind this time. "That's right." She reached down and hooked a finger under your necktie—the one you'd loosened hours ago, the one that hung slack against your chest. She pulled. Not hard. Just enough to make you lean forward in your chair. Just enough to bring your face closer to hers. "You'll be my pet….. My toy.."
The word landed in the pit of your stomach and sent heat radiating outward in all directions.
A pet.
Your brain offered up a cascade of images: kneeling, obeying, being owned. None of them were appropriate. None of them made you want to say no.
"I don't…." Your voice came out rough. You cleared your throat. "What exactly would that entail?"
Dayeon's smile widened. She still had hold of your tie.
"I think you know." Her free hand came up and removed her glasses—she must have put them back on when you weren't paying attention, or maybe they'd been on the whole time and your memory was unreliable, stress did that to cognitive function—and set them on the desk. Without them, her face was different. Younger. Sharper. "But I'll be explicit, since you seem to need things spelled out. You'll kneel when I tell you to kneel. You'll speak when I tell you to speak. You'll do whatever I ask, within the boundaries we establish together, and in return…" She tugged the tie harder. You had to brace your hands on the desk to keep from sliding off your chair. "In return, I'll make sure you pass my class. I'll make sure you graduate. I'll make sure your scholarship stays intact and your parents never have to know how close you came to losing everything."
"That's…." Your brain was static. White noise. "That's insane."
"Is it?" She released your tie and stepped back. The sudden absence of tension made you sway forward. "Think about it, Y/N. Really think. You're a smart boy. Run the cost-benefit analysis."
She picked up her glasses and folded them. Slid them into the breast pocket of her blouse.
"You know where my office is. You have until Friday." She walked toward the door, the same deliberate thk-thk-thk rhythm, and paused with her hand on the frame. "Oh, and Y/N?"
"Yeah?" Your voice cracked on the single syllable.
"Don't tell anyone about this conversation. If you do, I'll deny it. And then I'll make sure you fail." She smiled over her shoulder. It was warm and cold at the same time, somehow, a paradox of a facial expression. "Have a good evening."
The door clicked shut behind her.
You sat in the empty lecture hall for a long time after that. Long enough for the automatic lights to dim and then shut off entirely, leaving you in darkness except for the emergency exit signs glowing red at the edges of the room.
You'll be my pet. my toy.
The words replayed in your head in a loop. You should have been horrified. You should have been offended. You should have been drafting an email to the department head in your mind, cataloging all the ways this was inappropriate and predatory and wrong.
Instead, you were hard.
The realization came with a fresh wave of something that wasn't quite shame and wasn't quite arousal—some third thing, some hybrid emotion your brain didn't have a name for. You shifted in your seat and felt the pressure of your own body responding to the memory of her finger hooked under your tie, her thumb on your pulse, the way she'd looked at you like you were something she already owned.
Fuck.
You gathered your papers with unsteady hands. Shoved them into your bag without bothering to organize them. The walk back to your dorm was a blur of autumn air and campus pathways and the distant sound of someone playing guitar through an open window.
Your roommate wasn't there. Small mercies.
You dropped your bag on the floor and lay on your bed without taking off your shoes. The ceiling had a water stain in the corner that you'd stared at a hundred times before, but tonight it looked different. Tonight it looked like the shape of Dayeon's mouth when she'd said the word pet.
Friday. You had until Friday.
Tuesday's class was a special kind of torture.
Dayeon lectured as if nothing had happened. She wore a burgundy blouse and her hair up in a twist and her glasses perched precisely on her nose, and she explained eigenvalue decomposition with the same crisp professionalism she'd always used. Her voice didn't waver when she called on you. Her expression didn't flicker when you answered correctly.
But at the end of class, as everyone was packing up, she caught your eye.
Just for a moment. Just long enough.
Then she turned back to the whiteboard and started erasing, and you walked out of the lecture hall with your heart slamming against your sternum and your hands clenched so tight your nails left crescents in your palms.
Tuesday night, you didn't sleep.
Wednesday, you went to the library and tried to study. The words on the page blurred together. All you could think about was the way she'd said company—the pause before it, the weight she'd given the word, the implication that had hung in the air like smoke.
Wednesday night, you opened your laptop and typed "teacher student power dynamics" into the search bar. Deleted it. Typed "femdom" and stared at the results for thirty seconds before slamming the laptop shut.
Thursday morning, you woke up from a dream you couldn't quite remember. All that was left was the feeling of it, the phantom sensation of hands on your shoulders pushing you down, and your body responded to the memory before your brain could catch up. You took a cold shower. It didn't help.
Thursday afternoon, you walked past her office.
The door was half-open. You could hear her voice inside—she was on the phone with someone, speaking in rapid Korean, laughing at something. You stood in the hallway like an idiot, your shoulder against the wall, listening to a language you didn't understand and feeling your pulse in your throat.
The laughter stopped. Footsteps approached the door.
You bolted.
Thursday night, you finally made your decision.
Friday. Four-fifteen PM. The mathematics building was quiet, most of the faculty already gone for the weekend. Your shoes made no sound on the carpeted hallway as you approached her office.
The nameplate on the door read DR. KIM DAYEON in silver letters on black.
You knocked.
"Come in."
Her office was small but organized. Bookshelves lined two walls, mathematics texts and journals arranged by subject. Her desk was clean except for a laptop and a single framed photograph turned away from you. The window behind her looked out onto the campus quad, where a few students were throwing a frisbee in the golden late-afternoon light.
Dayeon was sitting in her chair, ankles crossed, watching you with a expression that held no surprise whatsoever.
"I wondered if you'd come," she said.
"You knew I would."
That made her smile. Genuine this time—or something closer to genuine, at least. "Yes. I did." She gestured at the chair across from her desk. "Sit."
You sat.
The chair was uncomfortable. Deliberately so, you suspected—the kind of chair designed to discourage visitors from staying too long. You shifted your weight and tried to find a position that didn't make your back ache.
"The terms are simple," Dayeon said, as if you were discussing a syllabus. "Tuesdays and Thursdays, after my last class. You'll come here. We'll review the material until I'm satisfied you understand it, and then…" She leaned forward, elbows on the desk. "Then we'll move on to other things."
"Other things."
"I warned you about repeating me." But her tone was almost playful. "Yes, Y/N. Other things. The things I mentioned on Monday."
You swallowed. The sound was loud in the quiet office. "You said I'd be your pet."
"I did."
"What does that mean? Exactly."
Dayeon stood up and walked around the desk. She leaned against the front of it, crossing her arms, looking down at you from a height that wasn't particularly impressive but felt enormous in the confined space of the office.
"It means you do what I tell you." Her voice had dropped half an octave. "It means you kneel when I say kneel. You're quiet when I say be quiet. You touch me when I give you permission, and not a moment before." She uncrossed her arms and braced her hands on the desk behind her. "It means I own your Tuesday and Thursday evenings. Your body during those hours belongs to me."
"And in return?"
"In return, I make sure you pass." She said it simply. Flatly. Like it was the most obvious transaction in the world. "I'll tutor you properly. The mathematical content won't suffer just because our relationship has… evolved. You'll learn the material. You'll pass the exams. You'll graduate on time and your scholarship will remain intact and your parents will never have to know about any of this."
Our relationship.
She'd said it like it was already established. Like she'd already decided, and your presence here was merely a formality.
"I have conditions," you said.
Dayeon's eyebrows rose. "Do you."
"I'm not going to do anything illegal. Nothing that could get either of us arrested."
"Naturally."
"And nothing that leaves marks. Nothing permanent."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "You've thought about this."
"You gave me until Friday." Your hands were sweating. You wiped them on your pants under the desk where she couldn't see. "I thought about it."
"Clearly." She tilted her head, studying you the way she'd studied your incorrect problem set on Monday—clinical, assessing, finding the errors. "Any other conditions?"
"If I want to stop—" The words caught in your throat. You forced them out. "If I want to stop, we stop. No questions. No consequences for my grade."
"Of course." She said it immediately, without hesitation, and something in your chest unclenched slightly. "Consent can be withdrawn at any time. That's non-negotiable from my end as well." She paused. "Is that everything?"
You ran through the list in your head. Marks. Legal boundaries. An exit strategy. "I think so."
"Then we have an agreement." She extended her hand.
You looked at it. Her fingers were long and pale, nails manicured but unpainted, a silver ring on her index finger that caught the light from the window.
You shook it.
Her grip was firmer than you expected. Cool palm, strong fingers, the kind of handshake that said I know exactly what I'm doing and I've done it before.
"The first session," she said, releasing your hand, "will be this Tuesday. Six PM. Come directly here. Don't be late."
"I won't be."
She smiled again. That edged smile, the one that made your stomach do something complicated. "I know you won't."
She turned back to her desk, a clear dismissal, and you stood up on legs that felt like they belonged to someone else. You made it to the door before her voice stopped you.
"Y/N."
You turned.
She was sitting in her chair now, glasses back on, the picture of academic professionalism. "Bring your textbook. And wear something nice."
The door clicked shut behind you.
Tuesday arrived like a countdown clock hitting zero.
You spent the weekend in a state of low-grade anxiety that made everything feel slightly unreal. Food tasted like cardboard. Conversations with your roommate felt like you were reading lines from a script someone else had written. You went to your other classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate moments, and all the while your brain was running a constant background process labeled Tuesday Six PM that consumed more and more of your processing power as the hours ticked down.
Monday night, you laid out your clothes. Then changed them. Then changed them again. Something nice, she'd said, but what did that mean? A suit felt like overkill. Jeans felt disrespectful. You settled on dark slacks and a button-down shirt—the one your mother had bought you for job interviews, the one that made your shoulders look broader than they actually were.
Tuesday's class was a form of psychological warfare.
Dayeon wore a black dress. Not the kind of black dress that meant mourning or formality—the kind that meant intention. It was sleeveless, modest in cut but not in fit, and when she walked past your desk to hand out problem sets you caught a drift of her perfume and nearly dropped your pen.
She didn't look at you once during the lecture.
Not. Once.
By the time six o'clock arrived, you were vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with mathematics and everything to do with the way she'd spent ninety minutes pretending you didn't exist.
The mathematics building was empty. Your footsteps echoed in the stairwell as you climbed to the third floor. The hallway lights were on motion sensors, clicking on one by one as you walked toward her office.
You knocked.
"Enter."
She was sitting behind her desk, the same as before, except now the blinds were drawn and the overhead lights were dimmed and there was a single lamp on her desk casting a warm circle of illumination. The framed photograph that had been facing away was now gone entirely—put away somewhere, or maybe it had never existed in the first place and your memory was inventing details.
"You're on time," she said. "Good."
"I said I would be."
"That doesn't always mean anything." She gestured at the chair across from her desk. "Sit. Show me what you've been working on."
The first forty-five minutes were almost normal. Almost. Dayeon reviewed the problem set with you, patient but exacting, pointing out errors in your reasoning with the same clinical precision she used in lectures. She was good at this—genuinely good, the kind of teacher who could make complex concepts feel simple without making you feel stupid for not understanding them in the first place.
But the whole time, there was an undercurrent.
The way she leaned closer than necessary to point at something on your paper. The way her knee brushed yours under the desk and stayed there. The way she said "good boy" when you got a question right, and the words landed somewhere low in your stomach and stayed there.
By the time she closed the textbook, you'd forgotten half of what you'd supposedly learned.
"Acceptable," she said. "You're not hopeless. You just need structure."
"I've been told that before."
"I'm sure you have." She stood up and walked around the desk. This time, instead of leaning against it, she stopped directly in front of your chair. "Stand up."
Your body obeyed before your brain could process the command.
She was shorter than you by several inches, but it didn't matter. Standing this close, with her looking up at you through those dark eyes, you felt small in a way that had nothing to do with physical dimensions.
"The tutoring portion of the evening is over," she said. "From this point forward, you're not my student. You're not Y/N. You're mine. Do you understand?"
Your mouth was dry. "Yes."
"Yes, what?"
She'd mentioned this. You'd known this was coming. But knowing and experiencing were two different things, and your voice stuck in your throat for a full three seconds before you managed to force out: "Yes, Professor."
Dayeon's expression flickered. Something dark and satisfied passed through her eyes. "Better. We'll work on it." She reached up and loosened your tie—the one you'd knotted carefully in the mirror an hour ago, checking and re-checking until it was perfect. She pulled it free in one smooth motion and let it drop to the floor. "Undo your top two buttons."
Your fingers fumbled with the buttons. The first one came undone easily. The second one required two attempts because your hands were shaking.
"Look at you," she murmured. Stepped closer. Her perfume was stronger now, or maybe you were just more aware of it, the bergamot and white tea and something underneath that was just her. "You're terrified. And you're—" Her gaze dropped to the front of your slacks, where your body was betraying you in the most obvious possible way. "You're also not terrified. Interesting combination."
"I've never done anything like this before."
"I know." She said it almost gently. "That's part of the appeal." She reached up and traced a finger along your jawline—light, barely there, a whisper of contact that made your breath catch. "You're going to learn so much from me, Y/N. Things that aren't in any textbook."
She stepped back.
"Kneel."
The word hit you like a physical blow. Your legs didn't want to cooperate. Your brain was screaming a dozen different objections, most of them variations on this is wrong, this is inappropriate, this could ruin your life.
But your body was already moving.
The carpet was thin and institutional, the kind that left impressions on your skin, and you felt it through the fabric of your slacks as your knees hit the floor. Dayeon looked down at you from what felt like an impossible height.
"Good," she said. "Very good." She reached down and ran her fingers through your hair. The touch was surprisingly gentle. "Stay right there."
She walked to her desk and opened a drawer. You heard the rustle of something, couldn't see what it was from your position, and a fresh wave of anxiety rolled through you.
When she turned back, she was holding a strip of black silk.
"A blindfold," she said, holding it up so you could see. "For tonight. We'll start simple."
"Simple."
"Simple doesn't mean easy." She knelt in front of you—an unexpected gesture, bringing her face level with yours, and for a moment you were just two people on the carpet of an office, looking at each other. "I'm going to put this on you. And then I'm going to touch you. And you're going to stay exactly where you are, on your knees, without moving, without speaking, without doing anything unless I give you permission. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Professor."
The silk was cool against your eyelids. She tied it carefully, not too tight, and the world became darkness and the sound of her breathing.
Then her lips were on yours.
It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tentative. It was a kiss that claimed territory, her mouth hot and demanding, her tongue pressing past your lips before you'd even fully registered what was happening. One hand gripped the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place while she kissed you like she was trying to consume you.
Your hands came up instinctively—to touch her, to steady yourself, something—and she broke the kiss immediately.
"No." Her voice was sharp. "What did I say?"
"Don't move."
"And what did you do?"
"I moved."
"Put your hands behind your back."
You did. Clasped your wrists together at the small of your back, feeling exposed and ridiculous and aroused beyond anything you'd ever experienced.
"Better." Her voice softened. "Let's try again."
The kiss resumed. Slower this time, but no less intense—she took her time exploring your mouth, her tongue tracing the edges of your teeth, her lips capturing your lower lip and tugging gently. You heard yourself make a sound, something between a whimper and a moan, and felt her smile against your mouth in response.
The blindfold made everything more intense. Every brush of her fingers was magnified. Every shift of her weight was a seismic event. When she pulled back, you were breathing like you'd run a marathon.
"Mmm," she hummed, and the sound vibrated against your lips. "You taste nervous. Adrenaline has a particular flavor. Metallic. Sharp." Her thumb traced your lower lip. "I'm going to enjoy teaching you."
She stood. You heard her footsteps, the rustle of fabric, the creak of her chair as she sat down. Distance. Space. A gulf between you that felt like miles.
"You can take off the blindfold."
Your hands were clumsy behind your back. It took a moment to untangle them, and then you were reaching up, pulling the silk away from your eyes, blinking in the sudden lamplight.
Dayeon was sitting in her chair. Composed. Unruffled. As if she hadn't just kissed you senseless while you knelt at her feet. The only sign that anything had happened was the slight flush on her cheeks and the way her lipstick was smeared at the corner of her mouth.
"Same time Thursday," she said. "Bring the problem set. And Y/N?"
You were still on your knees. Too shaky to stand. "Yeah?"
"Practice kneeling. You'll be doing a lot of it."
She smiled. That smile. The one with edges.
"Now get out. I have papers to grade."
You stumbled to your feet. Retrieved your tie from the floor. Made it to the door without falling over, which felt like a significant achievement given the circumstances.
Her voice stopped you one more time.
"Oh, and Y/N? Good boy."
The door clicked shut.
You stood in the hallway, your shirt untucked and your hair disheveled and your lips still tingling, and realized you were counting the hours until Thursday.
Sixty-six.
Sixty-six hours until you'd be on your knees again, blindfolded in the lamplight, belonging to her.
You walked home through the autumn evening, and the world had changed shape around you, and you couldn't find it in yourself to mind.
Wednesday arrived with the kind of autumn sunlight that made everything look like a photograph. Golden hour stretched across campus, turning the mathematics building's windows into sheets of bronze. You walked to class with your textbook clutched against your chest like armor, your heart already doing something complicated behind your ribs before you'd even reached the door.
The lecture hall smelled like chalk dust and floor wax. Students filed in with the usual shuffle of backpacks and murmured conversations, finding their seats in the tiered rows. You took your usual spot—third row, slightly left of center, close enough to see the board but not close enough to draw attention. The same seat you'd occupied all semester. The same desk where you'd hunched over Lagrangian multipliers while your life quietly rearranged itself around you.
Dayeon wasn't there yet.
You arranged your notebook. Uncapped your pen. Recapped it. Uncapped it again. The girl two seats over was scrolling through her phone; the guy in front was reviewing his problem set with the frantic energy of someone who'd finished it ten minutes before class. Normal Wednesday things. Normal academic behaviors.
Your knee bounced under the desk. Thmp-thmp-thmp against the metal support bar. You made yourself stop.
The side door opened with a soft click.
Dayeon walked in carrying a leather briefcase and a travel mug. Her hair was down today—black silk falling past her shoulders in a curtain that caught the window light and held it. She wore a cream-colored blouse tucked into a pencil skirt the color of merlot, and her heels were higher than usual, adding an extra inch to her stride. The thk-thk-thk of them against the linoleum sent a pulse of something electric straight down your spine.
She didn't look at you.
Set her briefcase on the lectern. Opened it. Removed a stack of papers—the graded problem sets from Tuesday. Her glasses were perched on her nose, professional and precise, and when she began to speak her voice carried the same crisp authority it always had.
"Good morning. I have your work from last session. Most of you did well on the eigenvalue problems but struggled with the applications section." She began walking the rows, distributing papers. "We'll review the common errors before moving on to new material."
Your paper landed on your desk. Face-down. You turned it over. A red 87% sat in the corner—not perfect, but solid. Passing. The kind of grade that wouldn't raise any alarms with your scholarship committee.
You exhaled something you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
And then Dayeon was beside your desk.
Her hip brushed your shoulder as she leaned past you to hand a paper to the girl on your right. The contact was brief—two seconds, maybe three—but the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt like water through paper. Her perfume wrapped around you: bergamot, white tea, and something underneath that you now associated with kneeling on institutional carpet while she kissed the breath out of your lungs.
Your face caught fire.
Not a gradual flush. Not a subtle pinkening. A full-body conflagration that started somewhere in your chest and surged upward until your cheeks were burning and your ears were scarlet and there was absolutely no hiding it.
Dayeon glanced down at you.
Just a glance. A micro-expression. Her eyes flicked to your face, registered the color, and then—so quick you almost missed it—the corner of her mouth twitched.
She's enjoying this.
She continued down the row without a word. Handed out the remaining papers. Returned to the front of the lecture hall and began discussing the eigenvalue decomposition errors with the same composed professionalism she'd always used.
The lecture lasted ninety minutes.
Ninety minutes of her voice filling the room while your brain struggled to focus on mathematics instead of the memory of her fingers in your hair. Ninety minutes of taking notes with a pen that felt too heavy in your hand. Ninety minutes of not looking at her mouth, because looking at her mouth led to thinking about what her mouth had done, and thinking about what her mouth had done led to—
You shifted in your seat. Crossed your legs. Uncrowned them.
The girl two seats over gave you a weird look. You pretended to be deeply absorbed in your notebook.
Dayeon wrote an equation on the whiteboard. The motion made her blouse pull slightly across her shoulders, and you could see the faint outline of her bra strap through the cream-colored fabric—nothing scandalous, nothing anyone else would notice, but you noticed, and your face got redder, and you wanted to bang your forehead against the desk until the thoughts stopped happening.
She's your professor.
She kissed you while you knelt at her feet.
She's your professor.
She called you a good boy and you nearly came undone on the spot.
The cognitive dissonance was going to kill you before finals ever could.
At the fifty-minute mark, Dayeon paused the lecture for a water break. Drank from her travel mug. Walked the perimeter of the room while students stretched and checked their phones and pretended they weren't counting the minutes until freedom.
She stopped beside your desk again.
You kept your eyes fixed on your notebook. Studied your own handwriting like it contained the secrets of the universe. The letters blurred together into meaningless shapes.
Her fingers—cool, pale, the silver ring on her index finger catching the light—placed a yellow sticky note on the corner of your desk. The motion was fluid, casual, the kind of thing a professor might do a hundred times a semester.
"Your approach to the application problem was creative," she said aloud, her voice carrying to the nearby seats. "I left some notes for improvement."
Then she walked away.
The sticky note sat on your desk like a live grenade.
You stared at it for thirty seconds. Forty-five. A full minute. The guy in front of you was packing up his bag; the girl two seats over was yawning. Normal things happening to normal people in a normal classroom.
Your hand trembled slightly as you picked up the note.
Her handwriting. Precise and slanted, just like it had been on your problem set that first evening. Four words:
Meet me tonight. Classroom 307, 9 PM.
And below that, in smaller letters, two more:
Don't be late.
Your pulse hammered in your throat. In your temples. In the places you couldn't mention in polite company.
You folded the note once. Twice. Slipped it into your pocket before anyone could see.
Dayeon was back at the lectern now, launching into the second half of the lecture like nothing had happened. Her voice was steady. Her expression was neutral. She didn't look at you again.
Not once.
The rest of the day dissolved into formless waiting.
Your afternoon class was a blur of notes you wouldn't remember taking. Dinner at the dining hall was a plate of food you tasted but didn't experience. Your roommate wanted to know if you were coming to some party on Friday night, and you made a sound that could charitably be interpreted as "maybe," and then you went to your room and stared at the ceiling and watched the shadows lengthen.
The sticky note was in your pocket. You kept touching it. Checking that it was still there. As if it might spontaneously combust, or as if you'd imagined the whole thing.
9 PM.
You changed clothes three times. The first outfit was too casual—Dayeon had told you to wear something nice, and even though this wasn't a Tuesday session, even though you didn't know what this was, you couldn't shake the feeling that presentation mattered. The second outfit was too formal—you looked like you were going to a funeral, or a job interview, or both simultaneously. The third outfit was the dark slacks and button-down from Tuesday. The same shirt. The one she'd unbuttoned with her fingers while you stood there shaking.
You wore it anyway.
Eight forty-five.
The campus pathways were mostly empty. A few students walked in pairs, talking quietly, their breath fogging in the cooling air. The mathematics building loomed ahead, its windows dark except for a single light on the third floor.
Classroom 307.
You let yourself in through the side entrance. The one Dayeon used. The one that didn't require passing the security desk.
The stairwell was cold. Your footsteps echoed too loudly. The motion-sensor lights clicked on one by one, illuminating each landing just before you reached it, and the effect was something like walking into a memory that hadn't happened yet.
Third floor. The hallway stretched in both directions, empty and silent. The door to 307 was at the far end, slightly ajar, a sliver of yellow light bleeding through the crack.
Your shoes made no sound on the carpet as you approached.
Paused outside the door.
Breathed. Once. Twice.
Pushed it open.
Classroom 307 was smaller than the main lecture hall—a seminar room, really, with a whiteboard on one wall and windows that looked out onto the dark quad. The desks were arranged in a U-shape, chairs pushed in, surfaces clean. Overhead lights were off. The only illumination came from a single lamp on the instructor's desk at the front of the room.
Dayeon sat in the chair behind that desk.
She was waiting.
Her glasses were on. Her blouse was still the cream-colored one from class. Her skirt was still the color of merlot. She'd crossed her legs at the ankle, her posture perfect, her hands folded in her lap like she was posing for a portrait titled Patience.
"You're early," she said.
"I didn't want to be late."
The door swung shut behind you with a soft click.
Dayeon smiled. That smile. The one with edges. The one that made your stomach drop and your pulse spike and your brain short-circuit in ways that calculus never could.
"I noticed." She stood. The motion was fluid, unhurried. "You were very red this morning."
"I—"
"Don't apologize." She walked around the desk. The thk-thk-thk of her heels was the only sound in the room. "It was flattering. Knowing that you can't even look at me without falling apart."
She stopped in front of you. Close enough that you could smell her perfume. Close enough that you could see the faint glint of the lamp reflected in her eyes.
"I've been thinking about you all day," she said. Her voice had dropped half an octave, the way it did when the tutoring session ended and the other things began. "Thinking about Tuesday. About how you looked on your knees. About the sounds you made when I kissed you."
Your breathing had gone shallow. "Professor—"
"Shh." She reached up and removed her glasses. Folded them carefully. Set them on the nearest desk. Without them, her face was sharper, hungrier. "We're not in a lecture anymore."
She stepped closer.
You stepped back.
The desk behind you caught the backs of your thighs. Nowhere else to go.
"You're here," she murmured. The words were almost a chuckle, low and dark and pleased with themselves. "You actually came."
"You told me to."
"I tell you to do a lot of things. Doesn't mean you'll do them." She reached up and began unbuttoning her blouse. One button. Two. Three. The cream-colored fabric fell open, revealing a black lace bra underneath—delicate, expensive-looking, the kind of thing that belonged in a bedroom rather than a classroom. "But you did. You're here. Because you want to be."
Her blouse slipped off her shoulders. Fell to the floor in a whisper of fabric.
"I want—" Your voice cracked. You swallowed. Started again. "I want to pass your class."
"No." She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. The straps slid down her arms. She let it drop. "That's not what you want right now."
Her breasts were pale in the lamplight, the nipples dark and already peaked. She didn't cover herself. Didn't look away. Just stood there, half-naked in a classroom where she'd probably taught a seminar on differential equations that very afternoon, and watched you with an expression that held no embarrassment whatsoever.
"You want me to ruin you," she said. "You want me to take you apart piece by piece. You want to belong to someone who knows exactly what to do with you."
Your throat had closed entirely.
"Don't you?"
Silence. The lamp buzzed faintly. Outside, a gust of wind rattled the windows.
"Yes," you whispered.
Dayeon's smile widened. "Yes, what?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Good boy."
She closed the distance between you before you could react. One hand fisted in the front of your shirt; the other grabbed the back of your neck. Her mouth crashed into yours with none of the measured control from Tuesday's office—this was something else. Something hungrier. Her tongue pushed past your lips, demanding entrance, and you gave it to her without hesitation.
The kiss was a claiming. A possession. Her teeth grazed your lower lip; her nails scraped against your scalp. She tasted like coffee and something sweeter underneath, something that made your head spin and your knees weaken and your hands come up to grab her waist without permission.
She didn't stop you this time.
Her skin was warm under your palms. The curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the way her muscles shifted as she pressed her body against yours—every detail seared itself into your memory. She kissed you deeper, harder, her tongue fucking your mouth with a rhythm that made you think about other things, other parts of her body, other places you wanted that tongue to be.
Then she pushed.
You stumbled backward. Your shoulder blades hit the whiteboard; the metal tray at the bottom rattled with the impact. A dry-erase marker clattered to the floor and rolled under a desk.
Dayeon was on you immediately. Her mouth found your neck—not kissing, not exactly, but something between a bite and a suck that made your vision go white at the edges. Her hands worked at the buttons of your shirt, faster than before, more practiced, and the plink-plink-plink of buttons hitting linoleum was absurdly loud in the quiet room.
"We're going to need that shirt for class tomorrow," you managed.
"I'll buy you a new one." Her voice was muffled against your throat. She bit down—not hard, but hard enough—and a sound escaped your mouth that you'd never made before. A moan. A whimper. Something broken and desperate and utterly beyond your control. "There. That's better. I want to hear you."
Your shirt joined her blouse on the floor.
She stepped back. Just for a moment. Just long enough to look at you—chest bare, breathing ragged, already wrecked and she hadn't even touched you below the belt yet.
"Look at you," she said. The same words from Tuesday, but the tone was different now. Hungrier. "You're absolutely desperate for it, aren't you?"
"Professor—"
"Shh." She placed a finger against your lips. "I'm going to ask you a question, and you're going to answer honestly."
You nodded. Couldn't speak. Her breast brushed your bare chest with every breath she took, and the contact was driving you out of your mind.
"Have you ever been fucked properly?" she asked. The vulgarity landed like a slap—unexpected, electric. "Has anyone ever taken their time with you? Mapped out every inch of your body? Figured out exactly what makes you moan and then done it again and again until you couldn't remember your own name?"
Your face was on fire. Your cock was so hard it was painful, straining against your slacks in a way that had to be visible. "No."
"No, what?"
"No, Professor."
"Mmm." She traced a finger down the center of your chest. Your stomach quivered under her touch. "That's what I thought. You've been fumbling through mediocre encounters with people who didn't know what they were doing. Didn't know what you needed." Her finger reached your belt. Hooked under it. Pulled you forward. "I'm going to fix that."
She pushed you down.
Hard.
Your back hit the floor before your brain registered the movement. The linoleum was cold against your bare skin—shockingly cold, institutional cold, the kind of cold that made your muscles clench and your breath catch and your cock somehow get even harder.
Dayeon stood over you. Her skirt was still on. Her heels. Nothing else. The lamplight carved shadows across her torso, across the swell of her breasts, across the hungry expression on her face as she looked down at you sprawled on her classroom floor.
"Pants off," she said.
You fumbled with your belt. Your fingers were clumsy, the leather uncooperative. The clink of the buckle coming undone echoed in the silent room.
"Faster."
The zipper stuck. You yanked it. The fabric of your slacks bunched around your thighs as you shoved them down, along with your boxers, the waistband catching on your erection and making you hiss through your teeth.
Then you were naked. Both of you. Partially, at least—she still wore her skirt and heels, and you were bare from head to ankle, your clothes puddled around your feet where you'd kicked them off.
Dayeon knelt.
Not between your legs. Over you. One knee on either side of your hips, her skirt pooling around your thighs, the heat of her cunt—still covered by the thin fabric—pressed against your stomach. She braced her hands on your chest and leaned down until her mouth was an inch from yours.
"I'm going to ride you now," she said. The words were casual. Conversational. As if she were discussing the weather, or a problem set, or any other ordinary thing. "I'm going to use your cock to make myself come. And you're going to lie there and take it. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Good boy." She kissed you once—a reward, quick and almost sweet. "If it gets to be too much, you say 'red.' Otherwise, you don't speak unless I ask you a question. Understood?"
"Yes, Professor."
She sat up. Reached between your bodies. Her fingers found your cock—fuck, her fingers were cool, cooler than they should have been, and the contrast against your overheated skin made your hips buck involuntarily. She tsked.
"Patience."
She lifted her skirt. Rucked it up around her waist. Underneath, she wore nothing—no panties, just the dark triangle of hair between her legs, already glistening with moisture in the lamplight. The sight of it, the reality of it, hit you like a physical force. She planned this. Came to class like this. Sat through lectures with nothing under her skirt and thought about—
The head of your cock pressed against her entrance. Hot. Wet. Slick.
"Look at me," she commanded.
You looked.
Dayeon sank down onto your length in one motion.
Schluck.
The sound was obscene. Wet and hungry, her cunt swallowing your cock in a single fluid movement that made your vision tunnel and your fingers scrabble against the linoleum for purchase and a groan tear itself from somewhere deep in your chest.
She was tight. Wet. Hot. The walls of her cunt gripped you like a fist, pulsing, adjusting. She didn't pause at the top—didn't give you time to acclimate—just started moving immediately, a grinding rhythm that dragged her clit against your pubic bone with every stroke.
"Fuuuuck," you breathed. The word stretched out, distorted, barely recognizable as language.
Dayeon laughed. A throaty sound, delighted and dark. "That's it. Let me hear you."
Her hips rolled. Forward and back. Forward and back. The schlik-schlik-schlik of her cunt working your cock filled the classroom, wet and rhythmic and absolutely pornographic. Her breasts bounced with the movement, the lamplight catching the sweat beginning to sheen on her skin.
"You feel—" You choked on the words. "You feel incredible."
"I know." She leaned forward, changing the angle, and the new position made your cock slide deeper, hit something inside her that made her eyes flutter closed for half a beat. "Mmm. Right there. Right fucking there."
Her pace increased. Harder now. Faster. The splat-splat-splat of her thighs meeting yours echoed off the whiteboard and the windows and the empty desks arranged in their U-shape. You were going to remember this every time you walked into a classroom. Every time you saw a whiteboard. Every time you smelled chalk dust and floor wax and bergamot.
"Grab my hips," she said.
Your hands found her waist immediately. The bones of her hips were sharp under your palms. You could feel the muscles moving beneath her skin—the flex and release of her body as she fucked herself on your cock.
"Harder. I want bruises."
Your fingers dug into her flesh. She rewarded you with a moan—the first sound she'd made that wasn't entirely controlled, the first crack in her composure. The sound went straight to your cock, made it twitch inside her, made her moan again.
"That's it," she panted. "That's my—mmnpfh—my good boy. My perfect little pet."
Pet.
The word sent a surge of something through you. Something dark and electric and devastating. Your hips bucked up into her, meeting her rhythm, and the schlorp-schlick-splat of your bodies colliding got louder, wetter, more desperate.
"Look at you," Dayeon breathed. Her eyes were half-lidded now, her lips parted, a flush spreading across her chest and up her neck. "Look at you taking my cunt like you were made for it. Like your cock was designed specifically to make me come."
"I—Professor—I'm—"
"Not yet." She clamped down around you. Squeezed. Your words dissolved into a strangled groan. "You don't come until I tell you to come. Understand?"
"Y-yes, Professor."
"Good. Good boy." She straightened up. Braced her hands on your chest. Started riding you in earnest.
The sound was incredible. Schlik. Splortch. Gurgle. The wet noises of her cunt squelching around your shaft, of her juices coating your cock and dripping down onto your balls, of skin slapping against skin with increasing violence. The classroom's acoustics amplified everything—every moan, every gasp, every obscene glrk that escaped her throat when you hit a particularly deep spot.
Sweat dripped from her chin onto your chest. Her hair had come loose, sticking to her shoulders and her face. Her skirt was bunched around her waist, soaked through in places, the merlot-colored fabric darkened to something closer to black where her arousal had seeped into it.
She was beautiful. Feral. Unrestrained.
"You're close," she panted. "I can feel it. Your cock is—ah—twitching inside me." She clenched around you again, deliberate this time, a rhythmic milking that made stars burst behind your eyes. "You want to come so badly, don't you?"
"Yes." The word was a sob. A confession. "Yes, Professor, please, I—"
"Not yet."
Her rhythm changed. Slower. Deeper. Each stroke deliberate, calculated to drag the head of your cock along every sensitive ridge inside her. The schlooooorp of your withdrawal was almost as loud as the splat of your re-entry, and the variation in tempo was driving you insane.
"You're going to make me come first," she said. Her voice was strained now—the control cracking, the composure fracturing. "You're going to feel me come on your cock, and you're going to stay absolutely still while I do it, and then—" She shuddered. A full-body tremor that made her cunt flutter around you. "Then maybe I'll let you finish."
"Please."
"Please what?"
"Please, I need—"
The door handle rattled.
Both of you froze.
The rattle came again—someone testing the door, finding it locked. A pause. Footsteps retreating down the hallway. A distant voice saying something unintelligible to someone else.
Silence.
Dayeon looked down at you. Her chest was heaving. Her pupils were blown wide. A strand of hair was stuck to the corner of her mouth.
"Did you lock the door?" she whispered.
"I—no. I didn't. I—"
"I did." She smiled. That smile. The one you'd see behind your eyelids every time you closed them. "I locked it before you arrived."
Relief flooded through you. Followed immediately by a fresh wave of arousal as you realized she'd planned everything. Every detail. Every moment.
"Now," she said, resuming her rhythm, slower than before but no less intense, "where were we?"
She rode you through the aftermath of the near-interruption—slow at first, then faster, then so fast the splat-splat-splat became a continuous sound, a drumbeat, a heartbeat. Her breathing fractured into gasps. Her fingers dug into your chest hard enough to leave marks. Her mouth opened around a moan that started low and climbed higher, higher, higher—
"Gonna—gonna come—fuck, I'm gonna—"
She shattered.
Her cunt clamped down around your cock in rhythmic pulses—unnhh, unnhh, unnhh in time with her heartbeat. Her back arched. Her head threw back. A sound ripped from her throat that wasn't a moan or a scream but something in between, something raw and primal and utterly uncontrolled. Her hips bucked against you through the waves of her orgasm, grinding her clit against your pubic bone, milking your cock with the spasms of her inner walls.
Squirt.
Wet heat gushed around your shaft, soaking your balls, dripping onto the linoleum beneath you. The splish-splish-splish of her release splattering against the floor joined the chorus of your ragged breathing and her fading moans.
She collapsed onto your chest. Her heart hammered against your sternum. Her breath was hot and wet against your throat.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
Then she laughed.
It started low—a chuckle, almost disbelieving—and grew into something fuller. Richer. A laugh that held genuine delight and satisfaction and something that sounded almost like triumph.
"I found the perfect pet," she murmured against your skin. Her hips gave a weak, exhausted roll—her cunt still fluttering around your aching, desperate cock. "Didn't I?"
You were still hard. Painfully hard. Desperately hard. She'd come apart on top of you and you hadn't been allowed to follow and your entire body was vibrating with the need for release.
"Professor," you rasped. "Please."
"Mmm." She propped herself up on her elbows. Looked down at you with eyes that were still glazed, still satisfied, still hungry. "Please what?"
"Please let me come. Please. I need—I can't—"
"Can't what?" Her hips rolled. Schlik. You whimpered.
"Can't hold it anymore."
Dayeon's smile widened. She leaned down until her lips brushed your ear.
"No."
The word was soft. Gentle, even.
And absolutely merciless.
The word hung in the air like a held breath.
Dayeon's smile didn't waver as she watched you process it. Your cock throbbed inside her—still buried, still aching, still weeping pre-cum into the wet clutch of her cunt. The denial was a physical weight pressing down on your chest, making every inhale shallow and ragged.
"But—" The syllable scraped out of you before you could stop it.
"No." She pressed a finger to your lips. "No arguing. No bargaining." Her hips gave a small, lazy roll—schlik—and the sensation made your eyes roll back. "You'll come when I decide you've earned it."
Earned it. The word ricocheted around your skull. You'd done everything she asked. You'd knelt. You'd stripped. You'd let her use your body like a toy, and now she was telling you there was more to earn?
"Please," you whispered. The word was broken. Pathetic. Utterly beyond pride. "Please, Professor, I'll do anything—"
"Anything?" Her eyebrow arched. She sat up slowly, still straddling your hips, her cunt still wrapped around your cock. The movement made her skirt rustle—wet fabric rasping against your thighs. "That's a dangerous word, Y/N."
You swallowed. Nodded. Couldn't speak.
Dayeon reached down and grabbed your tie—the one she'd pulled off you earlier, the one that had been lying crumpled on the linoleum beside your discarded shirt. She held it up, examining it in the lamplight. Dark blue silk. The one your mother bought you for presentations.
"This will do nicely," she murmured.
Your wrists were pinned before you understood what was happening.
Dayeon moved with practiced efficiency—off your cock in one motion (the schlorp of withdrawal made you both gasp), flipping you onto your stomach before you could protest, gathering both wrists at the small of your back. The silk looped around them once. Twice. Three times. The knot was tight—not painful, but definite. Unyielding. When you tested the bonds, the fabric bit into your skin without giving.
"There." She rolled you back over. Your bound wrists pressed uncomfortably against the floor, trapped between your body and the cold linoleum. "Now you can't get grabby. Not that you would." She traced a fingernail down your chest. "You're too well-trained for that."
"Professor—"
"Shh." She reached between your bodies. Her fingers wrapped around your cock—still slick with her juices, still painfully erect, the head swollen and purple and leaking a steady pearl of pre-cum. She squeezed. Squelch. The sound was wet and vulgar and made your hips buck despite yourself. "Look at this. Look at how desperate you are. How much you want this."
"Please."
"I love when you beg." She stroked you once. Twice. Her grip was tight, her palm still cool despite everything, and the friction made your vision fuzz at the edges. "I love the way your voice cracks when you say 'please.' I love the way you tremble when I touch you. I love—" She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of your chest. "—everything about the way you fall apart for me."
The kiss became a series of kisses. Her mouth worked its way up your sternum—mwah, mwah, mwah—wet and deliberate, leaving a trail of cooling saliva on your overheated skin. When she reached your throat, she paused.
"Hold still."
Her teeth found the juncture of your neck and shoulder.
The bite wasn't gentle. It wasn't playful. It was a claiming—hard and direct, her incisors sinking into the meat of you while her tongue pressed flat against the trapped skin. Pain bloomed. Then pleasure, hot on its heels, the two sensations tangling until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
You moaned. Couldn't help it. The sound echoed off the classroom walls and came back distorted.
Dayeon released you with a wet smack. Examined her work. Licked her lips.
"There." She traced the mark with her fingertip—you could feel it already, the skin raised and tender, a bruise forming that would last for days. "That's going to show above your collar. Everyone's going to see it. Everyone's going to know you belong to someone."
"Everyone's going to ask."
"Let them." She bit down again. Higher this time. Closer to your ear. Ssslrk—the sound of suction as she drew the skin into her mouth, bruising capillaries, marking territory. "Tell them you walked into a door. Tell them you're seeing someone. Tell them whatever you want." Another bite, lower, just above your collarbone. "But you'll know the truth, won't you?"
"Yes." The word came out strangled.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, Professor. I'll know the truth."
"Good boy." She sat back and surveyed the damage she'd done—the constellation of bruises blooming across your throat and shoulders. Her smile was satisfied. Hungry. "Now. Let's talk about what you said earlier."
"I said—" Your brain was fog. Static. Nothing coherent. "I said a lot of things."
"You said you'd do anything." She cocked her head. A strand of hair fell across her face; she didn't bother to tuck it back. "Did you mean it?"
Your bound wrists twisted against the silk. The restraint made everything feel sharper. More real. The cold floor beneath you. The heat of her body above you. The ache in your cock, still untouched, still waiting.
"Yes."
"Then you're going to come inside me."
The words took a moment to register. You blinked up at her, processing slowly. "What?"
"You're going to come inside my cunt. And then you're going to stay hard—and I know you will, because you're young and desperate and you want to please me—and you're going to do it again." She reached down and positioned your cock against her entrance. The head notched against her slick folds. Slllrp. "And again. However many times it takes until I'm satisfied."
"Professor, I don't—I can't—"
"You can." She sank down onto you in one fluid motion—schluck—and the tight wet heat of her cunt swallowed your cock whole. "You will. Because I'm telling you to. Because you want to be good for me. Because…" She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against your chest, her mouth hovering an inch above yours. "Because I fucking own you."
The profanity hit like a slap. She'd been controlled before—precise in her word choice, deliberate in her vulgarity. This was different. This was raw. Unfiltered.
"Do you get it?" She started moving—a slow grind that dragged her clit against your pubic bone with every roll of her hips. Schlik. Schlik. Schlik. "Do you understand what you are now?"
"I'm—" Your voice fractured as she clenched around you. "I'm your pet."
"You're my pet. My toy. My property." Each word was punctuated with a thrust. "My good little student who shows up when I tell him to show up. Kneels when I tell him to kneel. Comes when I tell him to come—" She sped up. Splat-splat-splat. "—and doesn't come when I tell him not to."
"Fuck." The word tore out of you unbidden. "Fuck, Professor, I'm—"
"Close? Already?" She laughed—that same delighted, slightly cruel sound from before. "Poor thing. You've been aching for so long, haven't you? Ever since I said no."
"Yes. Yes, please, I need—"
"Look at me."
You looked. Her eyes were dark and endless, pupils blown so wide the irises were barely visible. Her lips were swollen from kissing. The flush on her chest had spread up her neck and across her cheeks—a mottled pink that made her look younger. More human.
More beautiful.
"You're going to come now," she said. Her rhythm didn't falter. Splat. Splat. Splat. The wet sounds of your bodies colliding filled the room, layered over the schlik-schlik-schlik of her cunt working your shaft. "You're going to fill me up. And then you're going to lie there while I keep riding you, and you're going to take it, and you're not going to complain. Understood?"
"Yes. Yes, Professor, I—"
"Now."
She clamped down around you—deliberate, rhythmic, the walls of her cunt milking your cock with practiced precision—and the command shattered something inside you.
The orgasm hit like a car crash. Your vision went white. Your back arched off the linoleum, your bound wrists pressing painfully into the floor. A sound ripped from your throat that was half-moan, half-shout, entirely inhuman. And then—
Splurrt.
The first pulse of cum erupted from your cock, flooding her cunt, splashing against her cervix. Splurrt. A second pulse, thicker, hotter, mixing with her juices and spilling out around your shaft in a wet gush that matted your pubic hair and dripped onto the floor. Splurrt-splurrt-splurrt. Pulse after pulse after pulse, your balls drawing up tight against your body, your cock twitching and spasming inside her while she rode you through it with merciless precision.
"Good," she murmured. Her hips never stopped moving. Schlik. Schlik. Schlik. The friction was almost unbearable—your cock oversensitive, every nerve ending screaming. "Good boy. So much. You've been saving this up for me, haven't you?"
You couldn't speak. Couldn't think. Could only lie there while she used your body, the wet schlorp-squelch of your cum being fucked back into you filling the silence.
"There's more in there." She braced her hands on your chest and changed angles. Deeper. Harder. "I can feel it. You're still hard. Still ready. Give me everything."
The overstimulation was excruciating. Electric. Every thrust sent sparks of sensation up your spine, the head of your cock scraping against her inner walls while your cum provided fresh lubrication. The sounds were obscene—gurgle-gurgle-splat—wet and sloppy and utterly pornographic.
"Professor—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." She bit your neck again—harder than before, her teeth sinking into the tender skin just below your ear. The pain cut through the fog of overstimulation, anchoring you. "You will. Because I said so."
Splat. Splat. Splat.
"I'm gonna—fuck—I'm gonna come again—"
"Good." She clamped down. Squeezed. Unnnh. "Come for me. Now."
The second orgasm was different from the first. Less explosive, more sustained—a long, rolling wave that started at the base of your spine and radiated outward in pulses. Splurrt… splurrt… splurrt… Your cum was thinner this time, less voluminous, but the sensation was no less devastating. Dayeon moaned as she felt it—felt your cock twitching inside her, felt the heat of your release flooding her cunt for the second time.
"Fuuuuck," she breathed. The word was drawn out, almost reverent. "You really can. You really—ah—" Her rhythm stuttered. Caught. Resumed. "—really are perfect."
She collapsed onto your chest. Her heart hammered against your sternum. Her cunt fluttered weakly around your still-erect cock—the aftershocks of her own pleasure rippling through her in visible waves. For a long moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the lamp and the wet drip-drip-drip of commingled fluids seeping onto the linoleum beneath you.
Then she laughed.
It started small—a chuckle that vibrated against your chest—and grew into something fuller. Richer. The laugh of someone who'd gotten exactly what they wanted.
"I found the perfect pet." She propped herself up. Looked down at you with eyes that were dark and satisfied and somehow still hungry. "I said that before, but I meant it. I really fucking meant it."
Your throat was raw from moaning. Your wrists ached from the restraints. Your neck throbbed where she'd marked you. And your cock was still hard inside her—oversensitive and aching but still hard, still ready, still desperate to please her.
"One more," she said.
"Professor—"
"One. More." She kissed you. Not the claiming kiss from before—something softer. Something that almost felt like a reward. "And then we're done for tonight. Can you do that for me?"
Could you? Your body was past the point of rational assessment. Every nerve was firing. Every muscle was trembling. The boundary between pleasure and pain had dissolved entirely, leaving only sensation—pure and overwhelming and utterly addictive.
"Yes," you whispered. "Yes, Professor."
"Good boy."
She started moving again. Slow this time. Gentle. The schlik-schlik-schlik of her cunt working your oversensitive cock was somehow more intense than the pounding from before—every millimeter of friction magnified, every ridge of her inner walls distinct and devastating. Her mouth found yours; her tongue pushed past your lips. The kiss was deep and deliberate, her taste filling your senses while her body milked yours.
"I'm going to make you come one more time," she murmured against your lips. "And then I'm going to untie you. And then you're going to clean yourself up and walk back to your dorm and lie in your bed and think about this." Schlik. "Think about me." Schlik. "Think about the fact that you belong to someone now."
"I belong to you."
"Say it again."
"I belong to you, Professor."
"Louder."
"I belong to you!" The words echoed off the classroom walls—loud and desperate and utterly sincere. "I'm yours. I'm your pet. I'm—fuck, I'm gonna—"
"Come." She bit down on your lower lip—hard enough to draw blood, hard enough to taste copper. "Now. Fill me up one more time."
The third orgasm was almost painful. Your body convulsed beneath her—splurrt… splurrt—the last weak pulses of cum spilling into her already-drenched cunt. Your vision greyed out. Your hearing muffled, the sounds of her moans and the wet schlik of her still-moving hips fading to a distant hum.
When you came back to yourself, Dayeon was untying your wrists.
The silk fell away. Sensation rushed back into your hands—pins and needles, sharp and unpleasant. You flexed your fingers experimentally. Winced.
"Sorry about that." She massaged your wrists, her thumbs working circles into the tender skin. "The circulation will come back in a minute."
"It's okay."
"It's not okay. I should have checked the tightness." She sounded genuinely remorseful—a crack in the dominant facade that was almost more disorienting than the bondage itself. "This is why we have safe words. If something hurts—really hurts, not the fun kind of hurt—you tell me. Understood?"
"Understood."
She kissed your forehead. The gesture was so unexpectedly tender that your throat tightened.
"Sit up," she said. "Slowly. You might be dizzy."
She helped you upright. The classroom swam around you—the U-shaped desks, the whiteboard still smeared with equations, the windows reflecting your own naked body back at you. The floor was a disaster. Puddles of fluid glistened on the linoleum, catching the lamplight. The air smelled like sex. Like her perfume. Like sweat and cum and something that was just the two of you.
Dayeon retrieved your clothes. Handed you your shirt first—the buttons were gone, popped off during her earlier frenzy—and you held it closed with one hand while you fumbled for your pants.
"I meant what I said," she murmured. She was dressing too—bra first, then blouse, her movements calm and efficient. "You belong to me now."
"I know."
"Do you want that?" She paused. Looked at you. Without her glasses, without the dominant persona, she looked almost vulnerable. "Do you actually want this? Because if you don't—if any part of you doesn't want this—we can stop. Right now. I'll find another student to tutor. No consequences for your grade. Nothing."
You thought about it. Really thought. About the way she'd kissed you the first time—slow and deliberate and world-altering. About the way she'd said "pet" and how your body had responded before your brain could catch up. About the way she'd just shattered you three times in a row and then apologized for tying your wrists too tight.
"Yes," you said. "I want this."
"What do you want?"
"I want to belong to you."
Dayeon smiled. Not the edged smile. Not the hungry smile. Something softer. Something that looked almost like relief.
"Good." She tucked her blouse into her skirt. Slipped her heels back on. Retrieved her glasses from the desk and settled them on her nose. The transformation was instant—Professor Kim again, composed and professional, as if she hadn't just ridden you to three orgasms on her classroom floor. "Now. Same time Thursday. Office hours. We'll review the problem set and then…" Her eyes flicked down to your throat, where the bruises were already darkening. "Then we'll continue your education."
She picked up her briefcase. Walked to the door. Paused with her hand on the frame.
"Oh, and Y/N?"
"Yeah?"
"Tomorrow. Wear a turtleneck." She glanced over her shoulder, and the smile was back—the edged one, the hungry one, the one that promised things you couldn't name. "Unless you want the whole campus to see what I did to you."
The door clicked shut behind her.
You sat on the floor of Classroom 307, shirtless and trembling and still half-hard, surrounded by the evidence of what you'd just done. The lamplight flickered. The windows rattled in the wind. Out on the quad, a group of students walked past, their laughter distant and unreal.
You gathered your ruined clothes. Wiped the floor with paper towels from the supply closet. Walked back to your dorm through the autumn darkness, your shirt held closed with one hand and your neck throbbing with every heartbeat.
Your roommate was asleep. Small mercies.
In the bathroom mirror, you examined the damage. Bruises bloomed across your throat in shades of purple and red—obvious and unmistakable, the kind of marks that told a story. Your lips were swollen. Your lower lip had a small cut where she'd bitten too hard. Your wrists had faint red lines that would fade by morning.
You looked wrecked.
You looked owned.
You looked in the mirror at your own reflection—at the marks, at the exhaustion, at the strange light in your eyes that hadn't been there before—and smiled.
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NOTE: Here's my official FINAL work for my TWICE: Book Of One-Shots x Reader. Although, I don't know if this will be REALLY my last fic before I go back to being fully retired, because I have one more in mind as my replacement for the Hanni smut fic that I deleted in my Smutrathon Special anthology on Fanprose.
WORD COUNT: 5993
GENRE: Fluff, Angst
=== START ===
The rooftop air tastes of ozone and expensive champagne. Behind, the bass of the party thumps through the concrete, a rhythmic heartbeat that feels out of sync with your own. You lean against the cold iron railing, the city lights blurring into a smear of amber and violet.
Tzuyu stands beside you. She wears a dress that catches the moonlight, shimmering like fish scales. She holds a glass of sparkling wine, her fingers tracing the rim in slow, hypnotic circles. The silence between you isn't empty; it's heavy, saturated with everything you haven't said for three years.
She turns her head, her eyes glassy and hooded from the alcohol. A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
"You're doing it again."
You blink, shifting your weight. "Doing what?"
"Looking at me like I'm a puzzle you're terrified to solve."
You let out a sharp, nervous breath that clouds in the chilly air. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Tzuyu laughs, a low, melodic sound that vibrates in your chest. She steps closer, the scent of vanilla and fermented grapes clinging to her.
"Please. You've always been a terrible liar. Even in tenth grade, when you tried to tell Mr. Han that the dog ate your geometry proofs, your left eyebrow would twitch. It's twitching right now."
You instinctively touch your forehead. "I'm just tired, Tzuyu. It's your birthday. I'm just… admiring the view."
"The view is the city skyline, and yet you're looking at me."
You look down. You are, indeed, staring at her features. You quickly snap your gaze back to the horizon, the heat climbing up your neck.
"How long did you think you could keep it up?"
The question hits you like a physical blow. You freeze.
"Keep what up?"
Tzuyu sighs, leaning her back against the railing, facing you. She sips her drink, her gaze unwavering.
"The pining. The longing glances. The way you always happen to be standing exactly where I'm walking. The way you remember my favorite coffee order even though I only mentioned it once three years ago. It was exhausting just watching you be so obvious."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You had predicted this — somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew the mask was too thin — but the suddenness of the confrontation leaves you breathless.
"I don't—"
"Stop," she interrupts, her voice softening. "We're tipsy, the stars are out, and I'm officially a graduate of the real world. Let's just be honest for once. You loved me. You still love me, don't you?"
The air leaves your lungs. The pretense collapses. You look at her, really look at her, and the weight of years of silence crashes down.
"W-what? Y-you knew?"
"Right from the start... and some rumors from others, mhm."
"Fuck, I knew it." You lowered your head and shut your eyes. It has come to this moment that you finally got busted for your worst kept secret. And you even bothered to tell your secret to her male friend who was a part of her "circle with brains".
Tzuyu shook her head as she laughs at your humiliation.
"You idiot."
"I know."
"You absolute, complete idiot."
"I've been told." You nodded rapidly, fueled by guilt.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I do." You swallowed hard, the taste of soju suddenly bitter on your tongue. "I, uh—" Your fingers gripped the railing, cool against your palms. "I didn't think you'd notice."
The lie tasted worse than the alcohol. Of course she'd noticed. Tzuyu noticed everything — the way you'd always lingered after class to "coincidentally" walk the same direction, how you'd volunteered for group projects only if she was in them, the time you'd spent thirty minutes reorganizing the department's coffee station just because she'd once mentioned liking hazelnut creamer.
Tzuyu huffed a laugh, but it wasn't unkind. "You left a love letter in my textbook sophomore year."
Your head snapped up. "You found that?" You'd torn it out immediately, panicked — or so you'd thought. Apparently not well enough. Tzuyu's smirk widened, and you groaned, pressing your forehead against the railing. "God. I was hoping you'd think it was just a weirdly passionate note about macroeconomics."
Tzuyu's smirk softened into something warmer, almost nostalgic. "It was a terrible love letter," she admitted, nudging your shoulder with hers. "You spent three paragraphs comparing me to a perfectly balanced supply-demand curve."
You groaned again, louder this time. "I was an econ major. It was the most romantic thing I could think of." The memory burned — sweaty palms, heart hammering, scribbling that godforsaken note at 3 AM before chickening out and shoving it into her textbook like a coward. You'd spent the next week avoiding the library entirely, convinced she'd report you for harassment.
But she hadn't. Instead, she'd just… watched you. Like she was waiting for you to try again.
"And yet," Tzuyu said, swirling the last of her soju in its bottle, "you never tried again."
The words weren't accusatory — just a statement, a fact, like noting the weather. But they settled between them like a stone dropped into still water.
You exhaled sharply, watching the city lights blur as your breath fogged the cool night air. "Would it have changed anything if I did?" The question escaped before you could stop it, raw and too honest. Tzuyu didn't answer immediately, and the silence stretched thin enough to snap.
"Maybe," she said finally, so quiet you almost missed it. "For a little while."
The breeze picked up, carrying the distant echo of drunken laughter from below. Tzuyu turned her face into it, letting the wind tug at her hair. "You remember that time in Professor Kang's class?" she asked, her voice almost lost in the rustling air.
You did. Third year, midterm season. The lecture hall had been packed, and you'd arrived late, scanning the rows for a seat — until you spotted her, waving you over to the empty space beside her. Your heart had nearly exploded. "You saved me a seat," you murmured.
Tzuyu laughed softly. "You were late on the first day. And you always have been." She paused, tracing the rim of her bottle with a fingertip. "And then you spent the entire lecture pretending to take notes, but you were just drawing little nonsense in the margin."
"H-hey, that was just from the first year…"
You couldn't even deny it — your face burned as if Tzuyu had held a lighter to your skin. "B-but you saw that?" you choked out, gripping the railing tighter. The memory flooded back — her perfume lingering in your nose, the way she'd occasionally leaned closer to whisper a question about the lecture, how you'd barely managed to scribble anything coherent before giving up and surrendering to the dumb, lovesick doodles instead. "I thought I erased them all."
"You did," Tzuyu said, tilting her head slightly. "Except for the one you missed on the corner of the page when you handed me your notes after class." She took a slow sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the bottle. "I kept it."
The admission punched the air from your lungs. You stared at her, searching for any hint of mockery, but Tzuyu's expression was unreadable — soft around the edges, but guarded, like she was weighing every word before letting it out. "Why?" you asked, voice rough.
Tzuyu swirled the soju bottle again, the liquid catching the faint glow of the balcony lights. "Because," she said, and for the first time that night, her voice wavered, just slightly. "For a second, I thought maybe you'd actually say something." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter, but the way her fingers tightened around the bottle betrayed her. "But you didn't. You just… kept being you."
The ache in your chest swelled, sharp and familiar. You knew exactly what she meant — the way you'd hovered at the edges of her life, close enough to ache, never close enough to matter. "I was scared," you admitted, the words scraping your throat raw. "Of ruining what little we had."
Tzuyu snorted softly. "We didn't have anything. It was all because we sat beside each other for a year."
"Ouch," you muttered, but the sting was dull, half-hearted. She wasn't wrong. You'd orbited each other for years — close enough to brush shoulders in crowded hallways, never close enough to call it friendship. Just a boy who loved her and a girl who maybe, briefly, considered letting him.
Tzuyu sighed, tipping her head back to watch the sky. The stars were faint here, drowned out by the city's glow, but she squinted anyway, as if searching for something. "Do you ever wonder…," she started, then stopped, reconsidering. "Never mind."
"No, tell me." You nudged her with your elbow, the contact sending a jolt through your arm. Four years of longing, and you still weren't used to the casual warmth of her skin against yours.
"O-okay then, do you ever wonder…," Tzuyu repeated, softer now, "what would've happened if you'd just… said it?" She didn't look at you, her profile outlined by the neon haze of the city below. The bottle dangled loosely from her fingers, empty now except for the ghosts of your confessions.
You exhaled through your nose, counting the pulse points in your throat. "Every day," you admitted, and it was the truest thing you'd said all night. The phantom versions of yourself haunted you — the braver version who'd kissed her after study sessions, the smoother version who'd asked her out properly instead of leaving notes in textbooks like some Regency-era loser.
Tzuyu hummed, a sound that wasn't quite agreement. "I almost said something first," she murmured, so quiet you wondered if she meant for you to hear it at all. Your breath hitched. She continued, eyes still fixed on the skyline. "That day you helped me carry my portfolio across campus in the rain. You were soaked, and your hair kept sticking to your forehead, and you just… laughed when I apologized." A pause. A sip of air. "I thought about it then."
Your heartbeat stuttered — once, twice — like a skipped track on a mixtape. "You—" The word stuck in your throat. Tzuyu had thought about it? About you? The revelation unraveled something in your chest, half euphoria, half agony. You'd spent years wondering if she'd ever looked at you the way you looked at her, and now, with her confession hanging between you, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They curled uselessly at your sides. "Why didn't you?" you managed, voice scraped thin.
Tzuyu shrugged, but the motion was too careful to be casual. "Same reason as you, probably." She glanced at you then, just for a second, before her gaze flicked away again. "Thought it'd make things weird. And then…" She trailed off, twisting the bottle cap between her fingers. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
"And then?" you pressed, though you already knew.
"And then," Tzuyu said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Minho asked me out." The name landed between you like a grenade, its fallout settling in the hollow of your chest. Minho — broad-shouldered, effortlessly charming Minho, who'd slid into your friend group junior year like he'd always belonged there. Of course it was Minho.
You exhaled sharply, the sound ragged at the edges. "Right," you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. "Figures." The words tasted like battery acid. You'd watched it happen in real time — Minho's easy smiles, Tzuyu's gradual softening, the way she'd started laughing louder at his jokes. You'd seen it coming from miles away and still hadn't braced for the impact.
Tzuyu turned the empty bottle in her hands, watching the streetlights refract through the glass. "It wasn't—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind."
"It wasn't what?" you pressed, voice too rough, too desperate. You regretted it immediately — the way Tzuyu's shoulders tensed, the way her fingers tightened around the bottle like she was bracing for impact. But you had to know. Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
Tzuyu exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the cool night air. "It wasn't like this," she said finally, gesturing vaguely between you with the bottle. The glass caught the balcony lights, throwing fractured reflections across her face. "With Minho, it was… easy. Obvious. No notes in textbooks, no supply-demand metaphors." Her lips quirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Just two people who liked each other and said it."
You winced. The words landed like a gut punch — not because they were cruel, but because they were true. Minho hadn't hesitated. Minho hadn't spent four years choking on his own heartbeat every time Tzuyu so much as glanced his way. Minho had just acted, like it was that simple. Maybe it was.
The silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid. Tzuyu's fingers tapped absently against the bottle, the rhythm uneven, like a heartbeat skipping. You studied her profile — the sharp line of her nose, the way her eyelashes cast faint shadows under the balcony lights. You'd memorized her like this years ago, in stolen glances across lecture halls, but now it felt different. Now, she was letting you look.
"You know," Tzuyu said suddenly, her voice quieter than before, "I almost threw it away." She turned the bottle in her hands, avoiding your gaze. "Your note. The one in the textbook."
Your breath caught. "Why didn't you?"
Tzuyu tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting to the distant city lights as if they held the answer. "Because," she said, voice softer now, almost hesitant, "it was the first time someone liked me like that — for no reason at all." She turned the bottle once more, her fingers tracing its ridges absently. "Not because I was the prettiest in class, or the smartest, or whatever. Just… because."
The confession lodged itself in your throat. You'd never considered that — how Tzuyu, effortlessly perfect Tzuyu, might have craved something as simple as being seen.
"You were wrong, though, on that note," she added, a hint of amusement creeping back into her tone. "The supply-demand curve bit was terrible."
You laughed genuinely, despite the ache in your ribs, and the sound startled you both. "Yeah, well," you said, rubbing the back of your neck, "I was desperate." The admission hung in the air, lighter now, like you'd finally stripped the bandage off a wound that had festered too long. Tzuyu's shoulders relaxed slightly, her grip on the bottle loosening.
A burst of laughter erupted from the party below, followed by a drunken chorus of happy birthday. Tzuyu's lips curved reflexively, but her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "I should probably go back down soon," she murmured, though she made no move to leave.
"Yeah," you agreed, just as motionless. The city hummed beneath you, indifferent to the quiet unraveling happening sixteen floors above. You wanted to ask — Why now? Why tell me any of this tonight? — but the question felt too fragile, like it might shatter whatever tentative truce you'd stumbled into.
"Did you ever think about it?" Tzuyu asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the hum of the city below. She still wasn't looking at you, but her fingers had gone still around the bottle. "After. Did you ever think what would've happened if you'd just… tried?"
The question landed like a pebble dropped into a pond — small, but rippling outward in ways you couldn't predict. You swallowed, watching the way the neon signs reflected in her dark eyes. "All the time," you admitted. "Mostly in the shower. Or at 3 AM. You know, when the brain's at its worst."
Tzuyu snorted, nudging you with her elbow. "You're such a mess." But her tone was fond, almost nostalgic.
You grinned despite yourself, rubbing the back of your neck where her elbow had grazed you. The spot tingled. "Yeah, well. You knew that when you dragged me out here."
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose, a half-laugh. "I didn't drag you. You followed me like a lost puppy." She mimed tugging an invisible leash, and you groaned, pressing your forehead against the railing again. "God, I am pathetic."
Tzuyu's laugh was soft, almost swallowed by the wind. "Not pathetic," she corrected, nudging your shoulder again. "Just… you." The words lingered between you, suspended like the city lights reflecting in her eyes. You studied her — really studied her for the first time that night. The way her lipstick had smudged at the corner of her mouth, how her bangs stuck slightly to her forehead from the humidity. She wasn't perfect. She was better.
The balcony door swung open with a burst of noise — someone shouting Tzuyu's name, the thump of bass, a gust of warm air thick with the scent of spilled beer. "Tzuyu-ya! Cake time!" A head popped out — Soojin, her cheeks flushed pink, her grin lopsided from soju. "Oh. Oh." Her eyes darted between you two, widening comically. "Am I interrupting something?"
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but her ears pinked. "No." The lie was obvious, even to you. Soojin's smirk deepened.
Soojin lingered in the doorway, one eyebrow arched like she'd just caught you mid-confession. Tzuyu waved her off with a flick of her wrist, but the damage was done — the moment ruptured, the careful bubble of honesty popped by reality's sharp fingers. "We'll be right there," Tzuyu said, her voice steady despite the pink creeping up her neck. Soojin waggled her eyebrows but retreated, letting the door swing shut behind her with a click that sounded absurdly final.
The silence that followed was thicker now, charged with the unspoken weight of Soojin's interruption. You cleared your throat, suddenly hyperaware of how close you still stood — close enough that you could count the individual lashes framing Tzuyu's downcast eyes. "So," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, "Cake, huh?"
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah. Cake." She toyed with the empty bottle still dangling from her fingers, her nails tapping a restless rhythm against the glass. For a wild second, you imagined her flinging it over the railing, watching it shatter on the pavement sixteen stories below. Instead, she set it down carefully on the balcony ledge, aligning it precisely with the edge.
The bottle clinked softly against the concrete ledge, a punctuation mark to everything left unsaid. Tzuyu straightened, smoothing her dress with hands that betrayed the slightest tremor. "You should come down too," she said, not meeting your eyes. "They'll notice if you don't."
You nodded, though she wasn't looking. The party noise surged through the cracked door — someone butchering the birthday song off-key, the unmistakable sound of Minho's booming laugh. Tzuyu's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly at the sound.
"You never answered," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Tzuyu paused, fingers hovering over the door handle. "Earlier. When I asked if it would've changed anything. If I'd said something."
Tzuyu's fingers stilled on the door handle. For a heartbeat, she didn't move — just stood there, her silhouette framed by the sliver of party light leaking through the gap. The city hummed below you, a low, constant thrum like the pulse of something alive. When she finally turned, her expression was unreadable, the shadows carving her face into something softer and sharper all at once. "Would you believe me," she said slowly, "if I said I don't know?"
You blinked. The honesty of it — the sheer, unvarnished uncertainty — hit you like a sucker punch. Tzuyu, who always had an answer, who mapped her life in straight lines and bold strokes, didn't know. It was almost comforting. "Yeah," you admitted, rubbing your jaw. "Actually, I would."
Tzuyu's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. "It's not—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. The party noise swelled again — Minho's voice, loud and warm, calling her name. Tzuyu's gaze flicked toward the sound reflexively, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's not that simple," she finished, quieter.
You exhaled, watching your breath dissolve into the night. "Nothing ever is with us," you murmured, more to yourself than to her. Tzuyu's fingers twitched against the door handle — a barely-there flinch, but you caught it. The party roared behind her, a living thing demanding her return, but for one suspended second, neither of you moved.
Then Tzuyu tilted her head, her bangs slipping sideways to reveal the faintest smudge of eyeliner under her left eye. "You would've been a terrible boyfriend, I think," she said abruptly, her voice carrying the barest edge of a tease. The words should've stung, but the way her mouth curled at the corners softened the blow.
You barked a laugh, startled. "Wow, just nail me to the cross, why don't you."
Tzuyu's smile deepened, but her fingers tightened on the door handle. "You'd have agonized over every text," she continued, leaning slightly into the tease like it was safer ground. "Would've taken you three days to reply to a 'good morning.'"
"Excuse you," you shot back, pressing a hand to your chest in mock offense, "I'd have crafted those replies. Artisanal texting. Handmade with love."
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased. "And then panicked when I didn't respond in five minutes."
"Probably," you admitted with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of your neck. The ghost of your laughter lingered between you, a fragile bridge over the chasm of everything else. "But seriously, I would give it all to find different ways how to tell you I love you as much as I would show you."
Tzuyu's smile faltered as another burst of Minho's laughter filtered through the door — bright, uncomplicated, the sound of someone who'd never second-guessed a single word sent her way.
Tzuyu's fingers flexed around the door handle, her knuckles whitening for a fleeting second before she forced them loose. "You should've said something," she murmured, so quiet you almost missed it. The words weren't an accusation — just a confession, slipped out like a secret too heavy to keep.
Your chest tightened. "Would it have mattered?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, raw and aching. Tzuyu's breath hitched, just slightly, her lashes fluttering as she stared at the door like it might hold answers.
Tzuyu turned the door handle halfway, then stopped. The neon glow from the party inside striped her face in alternating bands of pink and gold, making her expression impossible to read. "It would've mattered to me," she said finally, the words barely louder than the hum of distant traffic sixteen floors below. "And it could've been more for both of us. You could've been the one staying late in my apartment after my party ends."
Your pulse staggered. Somewhere in the apartment, Minho whooped loudly — probably attempting some drunken party trick. Tzuyu didn't even flinch this time, her gaze fixed on the chipped paint of the doorframe. "It might not be the way you wanted," she continued, tracing a fingernail along the wood grain. "But it would've been nice. To be someone's first choice for once."
The confession landed like a stone in your gut. You'd spent four years convinced Tzuyu had the world at her feet — admiring glances trailing her across campus, study partners tripping over themselves to help her, Minho claiming her effortlessly. The idea that she'd ever felt like anything but chosen felt like discovering gravity worked sideways.
The neon lights from inside streaked across Tzuyu's face, painting her in hues of pink and gold like some flickering silent movie. You wanted to memorize her like this — not the Tzuyu from lecture halls or birthday parties, but this Tzuyu: smudged lipstick, slightly disheveled hair, the way her fingers trembled just enough to betray the weight of her confession.
"First choice?" you repeated, voice cracking like a teenager's. "You were always—" You stopped yourself, biting down on the rest. It was too much, too raw. Tzuyu's eyes flicked to yours, sharp and searching, but you ducked your head, suddenly fascinated by a stray thread on your sleeve.
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "See?" she murmured, nudging your shoe with hers. The pink stain had spread, blending into the fabric like watercolor. "You do this. Get all the way to the edge and then—" She mimed a jump with her fingers, stopping just short of the railing.
The balcony lights flickered overhead — one of those cheap LED bulbs that never quite settled on a color — casting Tzuyu's face in shifting shades of blue and gold. You watched her fingers hover near the door handle, the way her thumb traced the metal edge like she was memorizing its shape. "You know," she said suddenly, her voice steadier now, "I remembered another. Those times you used to pretend not to notice me staring in class."
Your stomach lurched. "What?"
Tzuyu's smirk was small, private. "Third row from the back, left side. You always sat where you could see my profile without turning your head." She mimed taking notes, her free hand scribbling imaginary equations in the air. "Except you weren't writing. You were just… looking. Oh, and they were lots."
You choked on air. Tzuyu's smirk widened — sharp, triumphant, like she'd been waiting years to drop that particular grenade. "You—" Your voice cracked. "You counted it?"
"102 was your most. In just a day," she said without hesitation, tapping her temple. Your jaw dropped. "Like I said. I notice things." The balcony lights flickered again, painting her face in fractured gold. For a dizzying second, you wondered how many other details she'd cataloged — the way you'd always chewed your pen cap when nervous, how your knee bounced during exams, the time you'd shown up to class with your sweater inside out and spent forty minutes trying to subtly fix it.
The party noise swelled behind you — glasses clinking, Minho's voice rising above the din in a boisterous toast. Tzuyu's fingers twitched toward the door handle but didn't grasp it. Instead, she tilted her head, studying you with that unnerving directness. "You really thought I didn't know?"
The neon glow from the party painted Tzuyu's face in jagged streaks of pink and gold, making her expression impossible to read. Your pulse hammered in your throat. "I—" The words tangled on your tongue, caught between the weight of her gaze and the echo of Minho's laughter bleeding through the door. "I thought you were just being polite," you admitted finally, rubbing the back of your neck where the skin burned. "Ignoring it so I wouldn't feel like a total creep."
Tzuyu's lips quirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "You were kind of a creep," she said lightly, nudging your shoe with hers. The cherry soju stain had spread, blending into the fabric like a watercolor bruise. "But so was I." Her voice dropped, barely audible over the distant hum of traffic. "I used to tilt my notebook so you could see my notes better."
The confession punched the air from your lungs. You stared at her, replaying four years of lecture halls in dizzying fast-forward — Tzuyu's elbow always angled just so, the way she'd occasionally slide her notebook toward the edge of her desk during particularly convoluted lectures. You'd assumed it was for space. "You—" Your voice cracked. "That was on purpose?"
Tzuyu's smirk was small and devastating. "Sometimes." She turned the door handle slightly, the click echoing louder than it should have. "Not always. Just… when I thought you might actually need the notes."
The admission hung between you, fragile as the condensation on your abandoned bottles. You exhaled sharply, the sound ragged at the edges. Four years of stolen glances and half-formed daydreams, and she'd known. Not just tolerated — participated. The realization twisted in your chest like a knife.
Below you, the city pulsed with indifferent life — cars honking, neon signs flickering, entirely unaware of the tectonic shift happening sixteen floors above. Tzuyu's fingers tightened on the door handle, her knuckles paling for a fleeting second before she forced them to relax. "You should have seen your face," she murmured, her voice carrying the barest hint of a laugh. "Every time Professor Kim called on me. Like you were personally offended on my behalf."
The balcony door rattled again — another burst of drunken laughter, another off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Tzuyu's fingers flexed on the handle, but she didn't turn it. Instead, she leaned back against the doorframe, her shoulder blades pressing into the wood like she was bracing for impact. "You know," she said quietly, "I kept your stupid supply-demand graph too."
You blinked. "What?"
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but her voice softened. "The one you drew in the margins during Econ 302. The one where demand was just a stick figure with my face." Her lips quirked. "It was terrible."
The neon lights from the apartment stepped across Tzuyu's face as she turned the doorknob halfway — hesitating, like she'd forgotten something. "You left your jacket," she said abruptly, nodding toward the railing where your crumpled blazer hung, forgotten. You blinked at it, the fabric flapping slightly in the breeze like a surrender flag.
"You kept that too?" you asked before you could stop yourself, half-doing, half-terrified of the answer. Tzuyu's fingers stilled on the door handle.
"No," she said too quickly, then amended, "Not on purpose." A beat. "It just… ended up in my laundry pile after study group once." Her cheeks flushed pink under the shifting balcony lights. "By the time I noticed, it was too awkward to return."
The balcony door groaned as Tzuyu finally pushed it open, letting in a tidal wave of party noise — Minho's booming laughter, the tinny pop of a champagne cork, Soojin screeching about icing on her dress. Tzuyu paused on the threshold, her silhouette haloed by the warm light spilling from inside. For a heartbeat, she didn't move, just stood there with one hand still gripping the doorframe like she might change her mind.
You watched the way her shoulder blades shifted under her dress as she took a shallow breath. "Coming?" she asked over her shoulder, not quite meeting your eyes. The question hung between you, weighted with everything you hadn't said.
"Yeah," you lied, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "Just need a minute." Tzuyu nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line like she didn't believe you but was too polite to call you out.
She pauses for a moment. "By the way," she says, looking back over her shoulder. "All of those things I said, I suppose you could now tell how much you fascinated me, YN."
"Yeah, and it'll remain to be my biggest regret."
Tzuyu faintly chuckled. The door clicked shut behind her with finality, leaving you alone with the hum of the city and the ghost of her cherry lipstick on the rim of the abandoned soju bottle.
The balcony door clicked shut with a softness that felt louder than any slam. You stared at the smudged glass, watching Tzuyu's silhouette dissolve into the party's kaleidoscope of laughter and shifting bodies. Her absence left a vacuum — one you filled by grabbing the abandoned soju bottle and pressing the cool glass to your forehead. The city sprawled below, indifferent to the way your ribs ached.
A flicker of movement caught your eye — Tzuyu's reflection in the sliding door as she paused just inside. You watched, breath held, as she touched her fingertips to her lips, then pressed them briefly to the glass before disappearing into the crowd. The gesture was so quick you might've imagined it.
The bottle slipped from your fingers, clinking against the concrete. You crouched to pick it up, and there, wedged between the railing and the wall, was a slip of paper — folded so small it could've been trash. Unfolding it revealed your own handwriting from two years ago: "Demand: You. Supply: My dignity. Equilibrium: ???" Tzuyu's loopy script beneath it read, "Graph needs work. -Tzu"
The paper trembled in your hands — not from the breeze, but from the sheer impossibility of it. You'd torn this exact note into pieces after Econ 302 finals, scattering them into a library trash can like some dramatic indie film protagonist. Yet here it was, meticulously taped back together along the seams, the creases softened from handling. Tzuyu's addition curled at the bottom like a postscript to a joke you'd never realized you two were sharing.
A burst of laughter erupted from inside — Minho's voice booming above the rest, followed by Tzuyu's distinct melodic chuckle. The sound propelled you upright, the note crumpling slightly in your clenched fist. Through the glass door, you could see the party in snapshots: Soojin attempting to balance a cupcake on her forehead, Minho's arm slung casually over Tzuyu's shoulders as she leaned away with mock exasperation. Normal. Easy. Everything you weren't.
You stared at the note again. Graph needs work. Tzuyu had written that two years ago, back when your biggest problem was whether to use blue or black ink for your crush's hypothetical demand curve. Back before Minho existed as anything more than some faceless future obstacle in your daydreams. Your thumb traced the tape lines — clear, nearly invisible, applied with the same precision Tzuyu used for everything. How many times had she unfolded this? Had she laughed at your terrible doodles alone in her dorm, or shown it to Mina over boba with an eye-roll?
The balcony door swung open again — not with Soojin's drunken energy this time, but with Minho's easy confidence. "There you are," he said, his broad frame filling the doorway. His gaze flickered between the crumpled note in your hand and the abandoned soju bottle, but whatever conclusions he drew stayed tucked behind his practiced smile. "Cake's melting," Minho added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the party. "Tzuyu sent me to fetch you."
Fetch. The word lodged in your throat like a fishbone. You stuffed the note into your pocket, the paper crackling softly. "Yeah," you muttered, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "Be right there."
Minho lingered, one hand braced against the doorframe. For a suspended second, you thought Minho might say something else — might piece together the tension still humming in the air, the way Tzuyu's lipstick smudged the rim of the bottle exactly where your own mouth had been minutes earlier. But Minho just grinned, clapping you on the shoulder with a force that felt like punctuation. "Don't take too long," he said, stepping back inside. "She's weird about birthdays. Likes everyone in the shot."
The balcony door clicked shut behind Minho, leaving you alone with the ghost of Tzuyu's perfume still clinging to the air. You unfolded the crumpled note again, smoothing the creases with trembling fingers. Your own handwriting stared back at you — clumsy, earnest, painfully unaware of how the next two years would unfold.
The party noise hit you like a wall when you finally stepped back inside — a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and off-key singing that made your temples throb. You scanned the room automatically, your gaze snagging on Tzuyu before you could stop yourself. She was perched on the arm of Minho's chair, her legs swinging slightly as she laughed at something Soojin was shrieking. The sight shouldn't have stung as much as it did.
Then, as if sensing your presence, Tzuyu turned her head. Your eyes met across the crowded room, and she smiled.
With that, everybody vanished. What mattered was just you and her sharing the same space together… just like she had four years ago in that fluorescent-lit lecture hall.
Back then, you'd been late to Econ 101, scrambling for a seat when she'd glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the footsteps coming near. Her hair had swung in a perfect arc, catching the overhead lights like a shampoo commercial, and for one heart-stopping second, she'd locked eyes with you.
And back then, she knew this girl would be interesting. However, your only fault was that you kept wondering too much, that you underestimated her.
Now both of you will be forever bound to numerous possibilities that if only one of you broke this horrendous "admiring from the distance" thing, maybe with the gaze you two have been sharing right now… you would have the freedom to let your hearts act for themselves and lead you to what it prefers, creating a different ending that would require you two to be more romantically closer than you both should've been.
"I don't WANT to hang out with Diana and Hanna! They're so weird and they keep meowing at people!"
Your sister's whining barely registers. You're entirely too busy ogling the picture Tzuyu sent you twenty minutes ago. Long legs spread just enough to show the fabric of her panties, one hand resting on her thigh.
Miss you baby <3
Your dick has been half-hard ever since.
"Are you even listening to me??"
"Nope."
You pinch the screen, zooming in on her thighs. God, you can still feel them locked around your head from last week. You had made a smartass comment and she'd locked your head between them and squeezed until you saw stars.
GOD it was worth it.
"You're the worst—"
"You're going," you cut her off, putting your phone in your pocket as you two reach the front door. "Diana and Hanna are nice enough."
"They MEOW at people!"
"So? Nobody is perfect. I mean you're an annoying little shit so…" You ring the doorbell before she can continue the argument. You genuinely couldn't care less about her complaints right now. Not when you know EXACTLY what's waiting for you on the other side of this door.
The door opens.
Aphrodite incarnate. A goddess coming to Earth. Chou Tzuyu is wearing a cream sweater that's stretched tight across her tits, and yoga pants that should be illegal. Her hair is up in a loose ponytail, with a few strands framing her gorgeous face. And she has the most sweet, most motherly smile on her face.
Anyone who hasn't seen her with lips stretched around a cock would fall for that image in a heart beat.
You, of course, know better.
"Oh you're here!" She gushes the cookie-cutter host greeting. "The girls are so excited—Diana! Hanna! Your friend is here!"
From deeper in the house you hear a faint "Mrow!"
Your sister visibly cringes. Even poor Tzuyu's bright smile falters slightly before she recovers.
"They're… going through a phase," Tzuyu explains weakly, stepping aside. Your sister sulks past like she's heading to her own execution, shooting you a venomous glare as she goes.
The second she's out of sight, Tzuyu's hand brushes yours.
"Coffee?" She asks, entirely too loudly for the empty hallway you're standing in, but her eyes are screaming a very different request. Something close to I need you to fuck me until I forget my own name.
"Yeah. Coffee sounds great."
"Perfect." The way she draws the word out, followed by her dragging her tongue across her lips, should damn well be considered foreplay.
From what you assume is the playroom, your sister's defeated sigh carries over to where you're standing, followed by synchronized meowing.
You purse your lips to contain your laughter as Tzuyu turns to the wall, tapping her forehead against it softly.
"Not. A fucking. Word." She murmurs.
You make a zipping motion across your mouth.
Tzuyu leads you to the kitchen. Those yoga pants hug the curve of her ass, outlining the thick thighs you've had the pleasure of being trapped between more times than you can count.
You're already plotting all the possible ways to get between them again today.
She pours two cups of coffee that you both know neither of you will touch. Her husband is at work as usual. The man is practically married to his job, which means Tzuyu is perpetually horny.
Not that you're complaining, of course.
"So," she starts, leaning against the counter in a way that makes her tits press together, "I was thinking—"
"Bedroom?"
Fuck the small talk. You both know why you're here, why bother with the bullshit game of cat and mouse?
Her expression changes instantly, that sweet, motherly mask cracking.
"Eager today, are we?"
"You sent me that photo during my lecture." You move toward her. "I've been hard thinking about those thick fucking thighs of yours the entire way over here."
She bites her lip, grabbing your shirt and pulling you close. "My bedroom. Now."
No need to say that twice.
"So impatient," you tease, but in no way shape or form are you complaining as she takes your hand and leads you out of the kitchen.
The stairs feel endless. Tzuyu keeps glancing back at you, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth, and you're becoming very tempted to say fuck it and rail her against the wall halfway up.
But the bedroom is probably smarter. And it has plenty of pillows for you to press her face into, which is a great bonus.
The second you're through the door, she's on you. Mouth crashing into yours, her hands pulling at your clothes, backing you towards the bed. You let her push you down onto the mattress, watching her stand over you, chest heaving.
Damn she's beautiful.
She climbs onto the bed, straddles your hips, grinds down against the bulge in your jeans. "You have no idea how badly I need this."
"Why don't you show me then?"
She doesn't bother answering with words.
Her hands find the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head. You do your best to help, shrugging out of it. The second it's off she runs her hands down your chest, nails dragging lightly over your skin.
You reach for her sweater but she swats your hands away. "Patience."
"That's not my strong suit and you know it." You pout.
"I know." She grinds down harder, and you can feel the heat spreading through both layers of fabric. "That's why this is fun."
She leans down, mouth finding your neck. Kisses turn into bites, her teeth scraping against your skin. Your hands busy themselves by gripping her hips, fingers digging into the yoga pants.
"God I missed you," she murmurs against your throat. "Missed this."
"It's only been like three days."
"Exactly, three days too long." Her hands move to your jeans, popping the button. "I've been going crazy waiting."
The zipper comes down and she's working your jeans off, and you lift your hips to help. Once they're gone she sits back, taking in the sight of you in only your boxers, your cock straining against the fabric.
"Look at you," she purrs, palming you through the thin material as you hiss. "So hard already."
"Your fault," you manage.
"I know." The smirk on her face grows. "I'm very good at what I do."
She is. Too good, sometimes. You watch her lean down, hair falling around her face, and just before her mouth reaches your cock—
"Meow," you say.
She freezes.
Sits back up slowly.
The look on her face is full of murderous intent.
"What," she starts, voice barely a whisper, "did you just say?"
"I—" you start, but you're already laughing because the look on her face is just priceless. "I couldn't help it, the girls—"
"You think that's funny huh?"
Before you can react, she moves. Her hands shove against your chest, and she uses her weight to pin you down as those deadly thighs slide up on either side of your head.
Ah fuck.
"Oh, Tzu wait—"
Too late. They're locked around your skull.
The pressure is both immediate and immaculate. Warm, smooth skin pressing against your head, cutting off everything except the sight of her yoga pants stretched tight across her pussy right in front of your face. It's easy to see the damp spot forming.
Your hands fly to her thighs on instinct, gripping the firm muscle underneath.
"Think you're funny?" She squeezes harder. Stars dance at the edges of your vision. "Meowing at me in my own bedroom?"
You try to respond but what comes out is muffled against her skin.
"That's what I thought." She grinds forward, dragging the warm, damp fabric across your face, and you groan into her.
She's appears to be trying to suffocate you. Not that your dick has any complaints.
"Nothing to say now?" Another squeeze. Your vision starts going fuzzy. "No more stupid jokes?"
Your fingers dig into her thighs and you manage to turn your head just enough to press your mouth against her inner thigh.
She shudders and the grip loosens ever so slightly.
You drag your tongue along the inside of her thigh, and she makes a choked sound that manages to make your already rock-hard cock even harder.
"You're such a brat," she breathes, but there's no real anger anymore.
You hook your fingers into the waistband of those damn yoga pants and pull. She lifts her hips just enough to let you drag them down along with her panties, and finally, FINALLY, that pretty pussy is revealed to your gaze.
Beautiful.
Her pussy is bare, inches away from your face. It's glistening and swollen, her clit already peeking out.
"You going to suffocate me before I can eat this pussy?" Your voice comes out rough.
"Afterwards," she decides, lowering herself back onto your mouth.
The first taste of her makes you groan into her pussy. She's absolutely soaked, and you waste no time before getting to work, licking broad strokes through her folds before placing special focus on her clit.
Her thighs tighten around your head.
"Fuck—right there—"
You circle her clit with your tongue, then suck it between your lips. Her whole body jerks violently above you,
"Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop—"
Yeah. Like you had any fucking intention of doing that.
You double down, sucking her clit even harder, your tongue working in tight circles. You can barely breathe with her thighs clamping your head like a vice, but god the way she's gasping above you makes it all worthwhile.
"Fuck, fuck, just like that—" Her hips start rolling, grinding her pussy against your mouth. She's chasing her orgasm, using you, and your cock is throbbing so fucking hard in your boxers its borderline painful.
You slide your tongue down, pushing it into her entrance. Her soaked pussy drips down your chin, the sweet taste of it making you drool. Your hands grip her ass harder, kneading as you pull her down onto your face.
"Oh god, oh fuck—" Her voice pitches higher. She's close, you can feel it. Her thighs shake, her pussy clenching around your tongue.
You pull back just enough to suck her clit between your lips again, and that does it.
Tzuyu cums with a loud cry, her whole body going rigid above you. Her thighs lock around your head so tight you can see the pearly gates, and her pussy pulses against your mouth dragging you straight back down into hell. You keep licking, keep sucking, drawing out her orgasm as long as you can while she shakes and gasps.
"Stop, stop, too much—" She's trying to lift her hips but you won't let her go that easily. You give her clit one more slow lick and she shudders, a choked whimper escaping her throat.
Finally she manages to pull away, swinging her leg over your head. She collapses beside you on the bed, her face flushed.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your entire lower face is covered in her.
"You're evil," she pants, throwing an arm over her eyes.
"You literally tried to suffocate me like 2 minutes ago, babe."
"You meowed at me."
"Fair."
She turns to look at you, and even post orgasm with her makeup ruined and her hair fucked up beyond all recognition, she's unfairly beautiful. Then her eyes slowly travel down your body to the tent in your boxers.
"Mm," she says, breathlessly, "That looks uncomfortable ."
"Yeah, no shit."
Her hand reaches over, palming you through the fabric. You hiss at the contact. "Aw, poor baby. You want me to do something about that?"
"I think you know damn well what I'm going to say to that."
She smirks, energy already back. Her stamina is fucking insane. "I don't know, maybe I should just leave you like this. Payback for the meowing. And you look so cute all desperate and worked up for me."
"Tzuyu—"
"I'm kidding." She sits up, grabbing the hem of her sweater. "Besides, I need you to fuck me. Right fucking now."
She pulls the sweater over her head and chucks it somewhere behind her.
No bra.
Of course there's no bra.
Her tits are perfect, full and perky in a way that seems to defy the very laws of physics.
You're staring. You know you're staring. She knows you're staring.
"See something you like?" She shimmies a little, a cocky little smirk on her face.
You consciously pick your jaw up off the floor before responding. "You know I do."
She leans down, kissing you hard. She can absolutely taste herself on your tongue, but she doesn't seem to give a singular fuck, licking into your mouth like she's trying to scrape every last drop out. When she pulls back you're both breathing hard.
Her hands go to your boxers, yanking them down. Your cock springs free and she wraps her hand around it, stroking slowly.
"God, you're so hard." She squeezes and you groan. "All for me?"
"Who else would it be for? Your husband?"
She smacks your chest. "Don't talk about my husband while I'm holding your dick."
"You brought him up last week when—"
"That was different." She cuts you off with another stroke, thumb swiping over the head of your cock. She spreads the leaking precum around, using it as lube.
"How was that different?" You grunt.
"Because I was winning that argument."
"You're always winning arguments when you have your hand on my cock. It's basically cheating."
"Pretty smart strategy though, isn't it?" She strokes you again, slow and torturous. "Keeps you from saying stupid shit."
"No I'm pretty sure I can still say some stupid sh—" Your thoughts scatter when she squeezes again. "Fuck, Tzuyu."
"That's what I thought, baby."
She lets go of your cock and you have to choke back a frankly embarrassing whine, but then she's moving. Swinging her leg over your hips, straddling you again. Her bare pussy presses against your shaft, the heat making you throb.
"I," She grinds down, sliding her wet pussy along your length, "Am going to ride you until you can't remember your own fucking name. Sound good?"
"Sounds fucking perfect."
She lifts her hips, reaching down to line you up. The head of your cock presses against her entrance. She's so wet you could slide in with ease, but she takes her time, lowering herself inch by torturous inch.
She's so, so fucking tight. It doesn't matter how many times you fuck her, it always feels like the first. Her pussy grips your cock like it was made for it, lips clinging to it like it's trying to suck you inwards.
"Fuck," she breathes, sinking down until you're buried completely inside her. She sits there for a moment, hands braced on your chest. "You feel so good."
"This is great. You do all the work and I just get to enjoy."
"Not for long." She rolls her hips, grinding on your cock, and you both groan. "Just let me enjoy this for a second."
"Take your time. I've got an amazing view."
And you do. Her tits right in front of your face, abs flexing as she shifts, those thick thighs spread on either side of you. Your hands find those thighs, gripping the firm muscle.
"Obsessed," she teases.
"Yeah, like any warm-blooded male wouldn't be."
She lifts up slowly, almost, almost letting the head slip out, then slams back down. You both moan at the sensation.
"Fuck, Tzuyu—"
"What's wrong baby?" She lifts up again, slow as can be, then drops back down hard. The slap of skin echoes through the bedroom. "Can't handle me?"
"I can handle plenty. You're just—fuck—."
She does it again, rising up until just the tip of your cock is inside her, then slamming down. Her tits bounce with the impact and you can't help but stare, mesmerized.
"Just what?" She teases breathlessly.
"Being a fucking tease."
"Oh, baby," she leans down nipping at your ear, "you haven't seen half of it."
Then she really starts moving.
Her hips roll in a steady pattern, rising and falling on your cock. Every time she drops down, you can feel her pussy clench around you. The sounds filling the room are obscene. The slick noise of her pussy taking your cock over and over, her moans, your groans.
Your hands move from her thighs to her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise. You help guide her movements, pulling her down a little harder each time.
"Yes, yes just like that—" Her nails scratch into your chest. It stings like hell but you frankly don't give a shit. "Your cock feels so fucking good."
"You're so tight," you manage. Coherent thought is becoming difficult. "So fucking wet for me."
"Always—oh fuck—always wet for you."
She's riding you faster now, chasing her own pleasure. Sweat forms on her skin, a drop rolling down between her breasts. You want nothing more than to lick it off but she's moving too fast for you to reach.
The bed is creaking under you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you remember the girls are downstairs but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when Tzuyu looks like this, head thrown back, mouth open, riding your cock like her life depends on it.
"Touch me," she gasps. "Play with my tits."
You don't need to be told twice. Your hands leave her hips to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. She moans, loud and shameless.
"Harder."
You pinch her nipples and she clenches around your cock so tight you nearly cum right there.
"Fuck, do that again—"
You oblige, rolling the stiff peaks between your fingers. Her pussy floods with wetness, dripping down your cock to your balls warm and slick.
"I'm close," she whimpers. Her rhythm is getting sloppy, desperate. "So fucking close—"
"Yeah? You gonna cum on my cock?"
"Yes, yes, fuck yes—"
You thrust up to meet her, matching her pace, the angle making her cry out.
"Right there, oh god right there—"
You do it again, driving up into her. Her whole body shudders.
"Don't stop, please don't fucking stop—"
Like you could stop now even if you wanted to. You're getting close too, that familiar feeling building at the base of your spine. But you want her to cum first. Want to feel her pussy spasm and clench around you.
You sit up suddenly, wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her steady. The position change makes her gasp. You can get deeper like this, and it finally allows you to capture one of those perfect nipples in your mouth.
"Oh fuck—" Her hands tangle in your hair, holding you against her chest. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna—"
You suck hard on her nipple and thrust up at the same time.
She cums with a scream, her pussy clamping down on your cock. You can feel her pulsing, gushing wetness soaking you both.
You slow your movements, letting her ride it out. Her forehead drops to your shoulder.
"Holy shit," she pants against your neck.
You're still rock hard inside her. Throbbing.
She notices with visible interest, clenching around you once to hear you grunt.
"Your turn," she breathes, pulling back to look at you with heavy lidded eyes.
You flip her.
One moment she's on top of you, the next she's on her back with you between her legs. She lets out a surprised laugh.
"Someone's eager."
"You got to cum. My turn."
You hook her legs over your shoulders, pushing them back toward her chest. The position makes her gasp, spreads her wide open for you. Those thighs press against your face and shoulders, warm and soft and absolutely perfect.
"Fuck, I love these thighs," you mutter, turning your head to kiss the inside of one.
"I'm aware." She's still breathless. "You never shut up about them."
"Can you blame me?"
You don't wait for an answer. You thrust into her, burying yourself deep. She's so wet from her orgasm that you slide in easily, and the sound she makes goes directly to your cock.
"Oh fuck—"
You set a hard pace immediately. Fucking her into the mattress while her thighs frame your head like a goddamn work of art.
"Yes, yes, harder—" Her hands grip the sheets. "Fuck me harder—"
You oblige. Each thrust makes her tits bounce, makes the bed creak louder. She's so tight around you it's almost painful, her pussy still sensitive from cumming.
"You feel so fucking good," you grunt, squeezing her thighs. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh.
"Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop—"
You can feel your orgasm building. That pressure at the base of your spine getting harder and harder to push off. You're close. Too close.
You slow down.
"What—no, why are you—" Tzuyu looks up at you with desperation in her eyes.
"Just pacing myself." You roll your hips slowly, grinding deep instead of thrusting.
"I was getting close again," she whines.
"I know."
"You're such an asshole."
"You love it."
She does. You can tell by the way she's clenching around you, by that pout on her lips.
You pick up the pace again, just enough to make her moan. Your hands slide along her thighs, feeling the muscle flex as she tries to pull you deeper.
"Please," she gasps. "I need—fuck—I need you to fuck me properly."
"This isn't proper?"
"You know what I mean—"
You thrust hard, once, and she nearly sobs.
"Like that?"
"Yes! Just like that, please—"
You do it again. Then stop. Her pussy clenches around you in frustration.
"I hate you," she pants.
"No you don't."
"I'm going to kill you."
"With these thighs, I hope." You kiss her inner thigh again, scraping your teeth against the skin. She shudders.
"You're obsessed."
"Yep."
You start moving again, finding a rhythm that's just enough to keep you both on edge. Not enough to push either of you over. Her legs are shaking around your head, her pussy dripping down onto the sheets.
"Please," Tzuyu begs. The sound of her begging does something to you. "Please, I'm so close—"
"Not yet."
"I'm going to fucking—"
You thrust deep and grind against her, cutting off whatever threat she was about to make. She just moans instead, nails scratching desperately at your arms.
You're playing with fire. You know if you keep this up much longer you won't be able to hold back.
"I need to cum," you grunt. "Fuck, Tzuyu, I need to cum."
"Then cum." She pulls you down, her legs unwrapping from your shoulders to lock around your waist instead. "Cum inside me. Fill me up."
You drop down, bracing yourself on your forearms on either side of her head. You slide deeper.
"I'm close too," she whimpers. "So fucking close."
You kiss her hard. Your hips move on autopilot now, chasing the release you've been craving. The wet slap of your bodies fills the room, mixing with her moans and your grunts.
"Together," she gasps against your mouth. "Cum with me, please—"
Her pussy tightens around you. You can feel her getting close, that little flutter.
"Fuck, Tzuyu—"
"I'm gonna—oh god I'm gonna—"
It hits you both at the same time. You groan as your cock pulses inside her, pumping her full of cum, and you can feel her pussy clenching and spasming around you, milking every drop.
And because you're apparently an idiot with approximately zero self preservation—
"Meow," you moan into her ear.
For a second she's too lost in her orgasm to process it. Her body is still shaking, pussy still pulsing around your cock. You're both riding out the aftershocks, your cum leaking out around your cock because there's just too much.
Then she goes very, very still.
You're still buried inside her. Still trying to catch your breath. Your brain is fuzzy from the orgasm, a dopey smile plastered on your face.
Tzuyu's hands grip your shoulders. Tight.
She slowly, deliberately, pushes you off of her. You slip out with a wet sound, cum immediately spilling out of her onto the sheets. She sits up, and the look on her face makes your survival instincts finally kick in.
"Did you—" Her voice is dangerously quiet. "Did you just fucking meow while you were cumming inside me?"
Oh you're in trouble.
"I—"
"Did you?"
Your brain scrambles for something, anything that might save you.
"...meow?" you offer weakly.
Her eye twitches.
"You're dead."
"Wait—"
Too late. She's on you in a second, tackling you back onto the bed. Those deadly thighs wrap around your head again and this time there's no mercy. She's actually trying to kill you.
You try to answer but your face is pressed directly against her cum-filled pussy, your own load dripping onto your face. You're suffocating in the mess you made and honestly? You can't even complain.
Your hands tap frantically against her thighs but she ignores it.
"What do you have to say for yourself?"
She loosens just enough for you to gasp out, "Worth it?"
That is, apparently, the wrong answer.
The thighs clamp back down with a vengeance. You're genuinely seeing the light now. Your vision is going dark at the edges.
But god, what a way to go.
Just when you think you might actually pass out, she releases you. You gasp for air, coughing.
Tzuyu looks down at you with a satisfied smirk. Your face is covered in cum, hers and yours mixed together. You probably look absolutely destroyed.
"You're lucky you're cute," she says.
"Does this mean I'm forgiven?"
"Absolutely not." She climbs off you, stretching. "But I'll let you live. For now."
"Shame. Death by thighs is actually a bucket list item of mine."
"Can you go 20 fucking seconds without saying something stupid or mentioning my thighs?"
"…no."
~~~
Hi all! If you haven't already heard, most of the writers on this platform have switched to FanProse. I'm a lot more active on there for sure! But, to be fair, I also took a bit of a break from writing to deal with some life shit. I'm trying to ease back into this, but I have two commissions and a new series to work on, so hopefully it won't be another two months this time!!
Starring : Male oc x Kwon Eunbi & Karina Aespa & Yujin Ive
Warning: These theme were contained incest, Mother-Son, Brother-sister, Voyager.
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Your father.
How does his figure come to mind? Is he a suitable man to be a role model for you? Is he a responsible man?
The answer was that he is an great man,responsible man and good father figure.
A question that has been ingrained in your mind all along.
How could you stabbing your father in the back by playing with fire with your mother? Messing with your sister and family. Shouldn't you be ashamed of the depraved things you did to your mother and older sister?
What if he knew about it, about the immoral and taboo things that you all have done.
And what you will do if that happens is...
***
The first thing you registered wasn't the dawn light filtering through the curtains, or the familiar ache in your shoulders from last night's exertion—it was the wet heat engulfing your cock before you'd even opened your eyes. Your hips jerked forward instinctively, a groan tearing from your throat as consciousness crashed over you in waves.
"Mom..." The word slipped from your lips in a sleep-thick whisper as consciousness seeped back in—each syllable weighed down by the syrupy haze of pleasure already coiling in your gut.
Your eyelids fluttered open to the obscene sight of Eunbi's lips stretched around your morning erection, her cheeks hollowed with practiced suction that sent jolts of electricity down your spine.
Eunbi pulled back with a wet pop, strands of saliva clinging to her swollen lips as she smiled up at you through her eyelashes—that same smile that used to greet you over breakfast bowls of steaming rice.
"Good morning, baby," she murmured, her voice husky from sleep and misuse, before swallowing you whole again with a groan that vibrated through your entire length.
Eunbi's mouth constricted around you with terrifying precision—that warm, wet vise of a throat milking your cock in rhythmic pulses timed to the twitch of your balls. You felt it first in your lower spine, that electric tightening no amount of willpower could stop.
"Mom—I'm gonna—" The warning tore from your throat half-strangled as her fingers dug into your thighs, nails biting flesh through the thin blanket.
Her response was to hollow her cheeks violently, the suction so abrupt your vision whited out as your hips jackknifed off the mattress.
The first spurt hit the back of her throat with a wet slap you felt in your molars. Eunbi's nostrils flared as she swallowed instinctively, her eyelashes fluttering like a hummingbird's wings against your trembling stomach.
You watched, hypnotized, as her throat worked around each subsequent pulse—the bob of her Adam's apple synchronizing with your contractions as she drank you down with shameless greed. A stray pearl of cum escaped the corner of her stretched lips; her tongue darted out to catch it with a slurp that made your softening cock twitch against her chin.
"Oh… So amazing, Mom," you groaned, still shuddering from the aftershocks as Eunbi pulled back with a wet pop. She chuckled—a low, throaty sound that sent heat pooling right back into your spent cock—while wiping the last glistening strands from her lips with the back of her hand.
"Take a shower first," she murmured, already sliding off the bed with that effortless grace that shouldn't exist after what you'd just done.
"Let me cook breakfast for us.”
After finishing the shower, steam still clung to your skin as you padded toward the kitchen, the scent of sizzling garlic and sesame oil pulling you forward like a lifeline.
The first shock wasn't the heat—it was the way morning light caught the curve of Eunbi's bare thighs beneath her apron straps, the fabric barely covering the swell of her ass as she bent over the stove. The second was the thin black strap of her thong cutting between those familiar cheeks, so obscenely visible you choked on your own breath.
Your palm connected with her right cheek before rational thought intervened—a sharp smack that made her yelp and nearly drop the spatula.
"Ouch... Baby!" Eunbi straightened with an exaggerated pout, rubbing the spot where your handprint bloomed pink across her skin. Her nipples peaked visibly beneath the apron's thin fabric as she fake-glared at you over her shoulder, the effect ruined by how her thighs pressed together instinctively.
"Oops... Sorry Mom," you lied, stepping closer to press against her back, your still-damp towel brushing her legs.
"I can't stand to see your juicy ass just... sitting there." Your fingers traced the thong's edge where it vanished between her cheeks, feeling her shiver against you.
Eunbi's gasp hitched when your index finger breached her tight rim, her cooking chopsticks clattering against the wok as her hips jerked forward instinctively.
The startled noise she made—half-protest, half-pleasure—dissolved into a shuddering moan as your tongue followed where your finger had been, lapping at the puckered flesh with slow, deliberate strokes that made her thighs quiver. Sesame oil sizzled violently in the pan behind her, forgotten as her fingers scrambled against the stovetop for purchase.
"Baby... What are you doing?" Her voice came out strangled, the syllables fracturing when your tongue swirled tighter around her rim, probing deeper with each pass.
The apron strings trembled against her bare waist where you'd untied them earlier, the fabric gaping open to reveal the flushed curve of her ass as you spread her wider.
"Trying to taste this one of yours hole , Mom," you murmured against her skin, the words vibrating through her sensitive flesh before diving back in with renewed hunger.
The salt-bitter tang of her musk flooded your senses as you worked her open with your tongue, each flick and thrust drawing out another broken sound from her throat. Her thong, already damp with arousal, stretched taut between her cheeks as her hips rocked back against your face in helpless little jerks.
Eunbi's protest dissolved into a wet gasp as your cockhead caught against her clenched rim, the slick friction drawing a shudder through her entire body.
"But—ah—mommy is cooking, Baby," she breathed, her fingers scrambling against the stovetop for purchase as her hips jerked backward instinctively. The wok behind her hissed violently as garlic burned, the acrid scent mingling with the musk of her arousal as you pressed forward—just enough to make her tight ring stretch around your tip without yielding.
"Are you refusing me to fill this hole of yours, Mom?" you murmured against the nape of her neck, teeth grazing the damp strands of hair clinging to her skin.
Your hands slid around her waist, fingertips digging into the softness of her belly before dragging upward to palm her breasts—still warm from sleep, the nipples pebbled beneath your touch.
Eunbi's hips jerked back against your cock with sudden, desperate urgency, her fingers scrambling against the stovetop as burning garlic filled the kitchen with acrid smoke.
"No... Mommy wants—" Her breath hitched when your thumb circled her clit through damp fabric, "—Mommy wants you to fuck her ass, baby."
Your grin widened into something feral as the wrinkled pucker of Eunbi's asshole fluttered against your cockhead, her body tensing then yielding in alternating waves that mirrored her ragged breathing. The first inch slipped in with obscene ease—her tight ring stretching around your girth with a wet pop that made her gasp sharp enough to cut glass.
"Your so big, baby," she whimpered, fingers scrambling against the stovetop as her thighs trembled—not in resistance but in anticipation.
"Fuck—you're so tight, Mom," you groaned through clenched teeth, the words scraping raw against your throat as Eunbi's anal muscles fluttered around your cock in frantic pulses. The heat was suffocating—a wet, clenching vice that threatened to milk your orgasm from you before you'd even found a rhythm.
Eunbi's body arched backward like a bowstring pulled taut, her hips rolling instinctively against yours as her asshole gradually adjusted to your girth. You could feel the exact moment her muscles stopped resisting—that subtle shift from painful clenching to hungry pulsing as her rim fluttered around your cock.
"That's it, Mom," you growled against the damp skin of her shoulder, fingers tightening around her hips hard enough to leave fleeting white marks.
"Take it all."
The first full thrust punched a scream from Eunbi's throat—high and shattered like broken crystal—her fingers scrambling against the stovetop as her legs trembled violently. Her hips jerked backward to meet your next thrust with startling precision, her body moving with a rhythm that felt both practiced and desperate. The apron strings trembled against her bare waist where they'd come undone, the fabric gaping open to reveal the flushed curve of her ass as you spread her wider with each snap of your hips.
Eunbi's moans shattered into fragmented whimpers with each thrust, her back arching as her apron straps slid down her shoulders. The fabric pooled around her waist, exposing the heavy swell of her breasts just as your hands closed over them—her nipples pebbled instantly beneath your palms.
"Urgh... Baby... Fuck Mommy's ass like that," she gasped, her words slurring as her hips rocked back to meet your movements. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh, kneading with rough urgency as her tits spilled between your fingers, the heat of her skin searing against yours.
The rhythmic slap of skin against skin filled the kitchen, drowning out the hiss of burnt garlic in the pan.
Eunbi's breath came in sharp, fractured gasps, her body trembling as you pistoned into her tight heat. Every time you pulled back, her asshole clung to your cock like a vise, reluctant to let you go, only to swallow you whole again with a wet slurp that sent shocks of pleasure up your spine. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, the soft weight of them a delicious contrast to the punishing grip of her ass around your length.
"Mommy, I want to cum," you gasped, fingers biting into the soft flesh of her hips as her asshole pulsed around you in erratic contractions. The words tasted like shattered glass on your tongue—sharp and dangerous and exhilarating.
Eunbi twisted her head to look at you over her shoulder, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a way that made her look twenty years younger. Sweat dripped down her temples, tracing the delicate hollow of her throat before disappearing beneath her askew apron.
"Inside, baby," she panted, rolling her hips backward with a filthy grind that made you see stars. "Cum inside Mommy's asshole."
The command tore through you like lightning.
Your hips snapped forward without conscious thought—one brutal, final thrust that buried you to the hilt in her clenching heat. The orgasm ripped through you with violent precision, your cock twitching as thick ropes of cum painted her inner walls white.
You felt each pulse—deep, shuddering bursts that made Eunbi's knees buckle beneath her. Her answering moan was muffled against her own forearm, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh as her body convulsed around you.
Hot semen flooded Eunbi's tight channel in viscous spurts, each jet hitting deeper than the last as her anal muscles milked you with greedy precision. The sensation was obscene—her body pulling your seed in with each contraction as if determined to claim every drop.
You could feelthe exact moment your cum began leaking around your still-hard cock, the warm slickness mixing with the sweat dripping down her trembling thighs.
Eunbi's breath came in fractured gasps as she slumped forward against the stovetop, her fingers scrambling for purchase against the now-cold pan. Her apron straps slid completely off her shoulders, pooling around her waist like a discarded afterthought. The burnt garlic scent had long been overpowered by the musk of sweat and sex—a heady combination that made your spent cock twitch inside her.
"Fuck," you groaned, your voice raw as you slowly pulled out, watching with rapt fascination as your cum dribbled from her gaping rim.
"Are you satisfied now?" she huffed, her lips pursed in a mock scowl that couldn't disguise the swollen redness from earlier.
A single strand of hair clung to her damp temple, her apron now properly retied though slightly askew, hiding the evidence of what you'd just done to her against the kitchen counter.
You caught her wrist before she could retreat, pressing a kiss to the inside where her pulse fluttered like a caged bird.
"Not even close," you murmured against her skin, grinning at the way her breath hitched despite her exasperated eye roll.
Then after minute ago, the kimchi fried rice was slightly burnt at the edges—just how you liked it—with crispy bits of garlic clinging to the underside of the fried egg Eunbi had placed on top.
You looked at your mother and then dared to speak after you hid a fact that might surprise her later.
"Mom, I need to say something".
"If you say, I'm pretty to want myself to leave you for the next round, forget it, Baby", Eunbi looks joking but you're serious.
"No, Mom!"
From the serious tone of your speech that made Eunbi turn into serious, "Say it, Baby!"
"Mom, Actually..."
****
"Noona....Karina Noona, wait me, please! "
Karina's stiletto heel clicked sharply against the pavement as she spun around, the midday sun catching the dangerous glint in her narrowed eyes.
"Do you know how much it hurt me," she hissed through clenched teeth, her manicured fingers curling into fists at her sides, "to defend that whore instead of your own sister?"
You dropped to your knees without thinking, the concrete biting through the fabric of your jeans as you stared up at her. Shadows from the overhead awning striped her face unevenly, making her expression unreadable except for the furious tremble of her bottom lip.
"I'm sorry, Noona," you whispered, the apology tasting like ash in your mouth, "I know I'm wrong. I regret it that I didn't... I don't believe you.”
Karina's arms remained crossed, the sharp angles of her elbows catching sunlight as she listened with an expression carved from ice.
You could see the exact moment public scrutiny pricked her composure—her shoulders tensing as passersby slowed their steps, murmurs rising like steam from pavement cracks.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" The whisper tore from her clenched teeth, her stiletto tapping an erratic rhythm against concrete.
Karina's fingers flew to her temple, nails digging crescent moons into skin as she hissed through bared teeth: "Jesus Christ. You fucking embarrassed me. Get up! Now.”
"I won't stand up until you forgive me, Noona," you repeated, louder this time, drawing curious glances from passing students whose whispers prickled the back of your neck like static electricity.
Karina's jaw tightened visibly—you watched the muscle twitch beneath her pearl-pale skin—before her shoulders slumped in exasperation.
"Okay, fine," she hissed through clenched teeth, her manicured fingers flicking dismissively as she glanced around at the gathering onlookers.
"I forgive you. Now get your ass up, now", The last word cracked like a whip, her heel grinding against pavement for emphasis.
You smiled—too sharp, too tight—and followed Karina's staccato footsteps down the alleyway, her stilettos clicking like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
"About the video you sent," you started, your voice carefully neutral despite the acid churning in your gut, "is it true that Yujin and—"
Karina whirled so fast her hair lashed your cheek like a whip. "Do you think I'm lying, huh?" Her manicured finger jabbed into your sternum hard enough to bruise.
The words tasted like sawdust in your mouth even as you said .
"It's just one minute... So it's possible to deepfake, right?" You swallowed hard, watching Karina's expression twist with something between pity and disgust," They can't do it, right?”
"Follow me!" she snapped without turning, her voice sharp enough to slice through the humid afternoon air.
"Where—?"
"To prove to the fucking blind eyes of yours that fucking whore cheat on you, asshole," she hissed over her shoulder, nails biting deeper as she cut through an alleyway strewn with discarded takeout containers.
The motel's neon vacancy sign flickered like a dying heartbeat as Karina dragged you through the peeling lobby doors.
The receptionist barely glanced up from his magazine—some faded gossip rag featuring a decade-old celebrity scandal—until Karina's stiletto cracked against the linoleum like a gunshot.
"I need lemonade," Karina announced, her voice slicing through the stale air.
Her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the chipped countertop, French tips clicking like tiny knives.
The receptionist blinked slowly, his gaze drifting from Karina's heaving chest to the sweat beading on your temple.
"Sorry miss," he drawled, scratching at a patch of stubble, "we don't have that."
"It's hot here," she repeated through clenched teeth, the words sharp enough to slice through the motel's stale air.
"I heard your lemonade is fresh."
The receptionist—a gaunt man with nicotine-stained fingers—didn't even glance up from his magazine this time.
"Like I said, miss," he drawled, flipping a dog-eared page with deliberate slowness, "we only got Orange."
You blinked, sweat trickling down your temple as the exchange coiled tight around your ribs like barbed wire. Something about the way Karina's heel tapped morse code against the floorboards—three quick, one slow—made your stomach drop.
Then with a grin Karina said, "I'll make it lemonade," her crimson lips curling around the words like a predator baring teeth.
The receptionist smiled—a slow, knowing thing—and handed the key to Karina while saying, "Welcome miss, I hope you like our service later," his yellowed fingernails brushing her palm just a second too long.
After taking the elevator and passing through several hallways of the hotel room, the two of you arrived at the far end of the room without a number.
The key turned with a rusty screech, the motel door swinging open to reveal a room that smelled of Pine-scented bleach and something darker underneath. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as Karina's stiletto heels clicked across the threadbare carpet—each step precise as a sniper's bullet—toward the lone monitor humming on the dresser.
"What room is this, Noona?" Your voice came out hoarse, cracking like cheap varnish on the last syllable.
Karina's reflection in the darkened screen showed lips curving slow as a sickle moon.
"You'll find out," she murmured, fingers trailing across the monitor's power button and pressing it.
The monitor flickered to life with a static hiss, revealing a grainy CCTV-style feed that made your stomach drop. There she was—Yujin, unmistakable in her school uniform.
"What the hell is this, Noona?" The words tore from your throat like shrapnel.
Karina's fingertip tapped the monitor with a manicured click.
"Proof," she said, voice dripping with venomous triumph, "This is a video captured by a mini camera in one of the rooms of this motel. On live."
The screen flickered with digital ghosts—Yujin's familiar laugh lines pixelated into something strange. Your fingers twitched toward the monitor as if you could reach through and shake her by the shoulders until this stopped being real.
"Noona, this has to be—" Your throat closed around the lie.
Then the screen flickered again, and then the door swung open. The figure that stepped inside moved with a familiar gait—shoulders slightly hunched, that particular way of turning his wrist when pushing hair from his eyes. Your breath caught in your throat like a hooked fish as the man pulled Yujin into a crushing embrace, his hands already working at her uniform buttons with practiced efficiency.
The man lifted his face from Yujin's neck, his profile illuminated by the bedside lamp—You know him. You're familiar with him. He knows you better.
He is your father.
"Still don't believe it?" Karina voice was flat, lifeless, like the hollow tone of a doctor delivering terminal news.
You keep silent.
Actually, you already know that your father and Yujin had an affair secretly through a video sent by Karina the other day, But you tried to deny it until it was proven now.
The screen pulsed like an open wound—Yujin's bare thighs clamping around your father's waist as he lifted her onto the motel bed with a grunt that vibrated through the tinny speakers. Your vision tunneled until all that remained was the obscene glide of his tongue along her collarbone, the way her fingers twisted in his graying hair with possessive urgency.
The screen burned brighter than the overhead bulb—Yujin's lips stretched obscenely around your father's cock while her fingertips traced the veins bulging along its length. A wet pop*echoed through the tinny speakers as she pulled back, her tongue darting out to lick the flushed head with theatrical slowness.
Your father groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair—that same paternal grip that once steadied your bicycle now forcing her mouth deeper onto his shaft.
The monitor's speakers crackled with Yujin's breathy moan—"Daddy... You fuck me so good"—as your father's hips snapped forward, plunging his cock into her with a wet slap that made your vision pulse red at the edges.
His hands, the same ones that once patted your head after little league games, now gripped Yujin's thighs hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in her flesh.
It was disgusting and pain inside your heart.
Karina's stiletto tapped a nervous rhythm against the motel's threadbare carpet, her breath coming in shallow bursts that fogged the stale air between you.
When you turned your head toward her, her cheeks burned crimson—not from anger, but from something darker, wetter. Her thighs squeezed together instinctively, the whisper of nylon against nylon louder than the tinny moans still spilling from the monitor.
"You... you like this," you breathed, watching her pupils dilate as your father's grunts punctuated Yujin's falsetto cries.
Karina's protest tore through the stale motel air like a paper-thin lie, "No, I don't!" Her fingers twitched against yours, slick with sweat despite the AC unit rattling in the corner.
On screen, Yujin arched backward with a silent scream as your father's hips pistoned forward—the motel bedframe slamming against the wall in a rhythm that matched Karina's suddenly shallow breathing.Her grip tightened with each thrust, her manicured nails biting crescents into your palm.
You watched—transfixed—as Karina's lower lip disappeared between her teeth, her free hand drifting unconsciously to the hem of her skirt. The harder your father fucked Yujin on screen, the more Karina's thighs pressed together, the nylon whisper of her stockings louder than the tinny audio feed.
The monitor's glow painted Karina's trembling lips blue as your father's grunts filled the motel room—each thrust against Yujin's body seeming to vibrate through Karina's tense shoulders. Her breath hitched when Yujin's back arched on screen, fingers clawing at the sheets while your father's hips pistoned with brutal efficiency.
Karina's knees buckled slightly, her stiletto scraping the carpet as her thighs pressed tighter together.
"I hate this," she whispered hoarsely—but her hand was already guiding yours beneath her skirt with desperate urgency. The lace trim of her panties was soaked through, heat radiating through the damp fabric before you even touched skin.
Karina's breath hitched as your fingers brushed the soaked lace clinging to her folds—her thighs tensed, then parted with a shudder that betrayed her earlier protests. The monitor's glow painted her trembling lips blue as Yujin's falsetto cries filled the motel room, each moan seeming to vibrate through Karina's body like an electric current.
"Touch me, please ," she whimpered, her manicured nails digging into your wrist as she ground against your tentative fingers.
The anger and emotion over Yujin's and your father's betrayal needed an outpouring, and now, Karina offered it.
Your fingers squeezed Karina's labia with punishing force, the wet heat of her arousal slick against your knuckles as she gasped into your mouth. The kiss wasn't tender—it was teeth and tongue and the metallic tang of blood where her lip split against yours.
Karina whimpered, her body arching toward you even as her hands scrambled at your shoulders in weak protest, her stiletto digging into your calf as she rocked against your palm with frantic urgency.
The monitor behind you flickered—Yujin's ecstatic scream tinny through cheap speakers—as you shoved Karina backward onto the motel bed. Her skirt rode up around her waist, revealing the ruined lace of her panties stretched taut between trembling thighs.
You didn't bother removing them—just yanked the fabric aside with a tearing sound that made Karina's breath hitch, then drove two fingers into her without preamble. Her back arched off the mattress, a broken moan escaping her throat as her hips jerked to meet your thrusts.
Yujin's voice crackled through the tinny motel speakers—"Daddy, I want to cum"*—her whimper punctuated by the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.
Your fingers inside Karina stuttered, then matched the brutal pace on screen thrust for thrust. The wet squelch of Karina's arousal filled the stale air louder than the monitor's audio, her thighs clamping around your wrist like a vise as you crooked your fingers just so.
"Fuck—yes—like that," Karina gasped, her head thrashing against the yellowed pillowcase.
The monitor's flickering light painted sweat-slick streaks down her neck, each moan from Yujin seeming to spur her hips into a more desperate grind. You watched Karina's abdomen clench, the muscles fluttering beneath her skin as her orgasm built—so close, so fucking close—while your father's grunts through the speakers grew louder, more urgent.
The tinny speakers crackled with Yujin's falsetto scream—"Daddy, I'm cumming!"—just as Karina's thighs clamped around your wrist like a vice.
Her back arched off the motel bed with a violence that sent her stiletto flying across the room, the heel cracking against the baseboard as her hips bucked wildly. You felt it before you saw it—the sudden gush of warm liquid flooding your fingers, her inner muscles pulsing in erratic contractions that soaked the ruined lace of her panties and left dark streaks on the motel's threadbare sheets.
Karina's breath is still choking but emotions are still hanging in your mind, emotions betrayed, anger and disappointment.
Suddenly, the monitor's speakers crackled—your father's guttural moan slicing through the motel room's stale air as he pounded into Yujin with renewed fervor.
"Urgh... Karina... Your pussy is so beautiful, my daughter. Daddy wanted to cum inside you."
You froze.
Confused.
The words hit like a physical blow—sharp and sudden—leaving your lungs empty.
Karina's breath hitched beside you, her body going rigid as tears welled in her widened eyes. They spilled over in silent streaks, tracing the contours of her flushed cheeks before dripping onto the motel's yellowed sheets.
The monitor's flickering light caught the wet tracks, making them gleam like exposed nerves.
Karina's lips trembled—her carefully painted lipstick smeared in jagged streaks like war paint after battle. Tears spilled from the folds of her eyes in hot, silent rivers, cutting through her foundation in glistening tracks.
"I can explain," she whispered, the words cracking like thin ice underfoot.
***
"Mom, Actually, Dad is cheating on you" .
The wry smile that curled her lips didn't reach her eyes—those dark pools reflected only the ghost of something long anticipated.
"I knew it," she murmured, turning the words over like a stone smoothed by river currents.
"Since when?" Your voice cracked like dry wood in a silent house. The kitchen smelled of burnt garlic and something sour underneath—sweat, maybe, or the metallic tang of betrayal lingering in the air. "And why did you let it?"
She wasn't looking at you—her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window where afternoon light sliced through the blinds in sharp lines.
"It's been a long time," she said, the words measured, careful. A confession wrapped in cellophane. "And the reason for this is because I just want to maintain the integrity of our family.”
Eunbi's thumbs traced the curve of your cheekbones, her touch lingering where sweat had dried in the afternoon heat. The pads of her fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation, but with something darker, hungrier.
Your mother was gone now, replaced by someone whose pupils dilated when your breath hitched.
"But all of that doesn't matter anymore," she murmured, pressing closer until the heat of her body bled through your shirt. "I've found something more precious than all of those things", she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.
"And it's you. I love you, baby." Her teeth grazed your earlobe, sharp enough to make you gasp.
The front door bursts open then slams closed. You're in the middle of snacking, watching YouTube documentaries as part of your off day. Hearing the door makes you freeze and turn your head.
Minjeong walks in silently, her steps slow and heavy. Her entire person looks worn out, actually, most apparent in her face and shoulders. Even so, she is still incredibly beautiful.
"Hey, babe. Long day?" you ask softly, rising from the couch. Minjeong doesn't answer, blank eyes looking forward. She takes a while to register your presence, neck dragging to face you. "Evening," she croaks.
You pout, wanting to comfort her. "Wanna talk about it, or need distractions?"
Her eyes bounce lazily, tongue licking her dry lips. "No talk. Want quiet."
"Okay. Come here, I got you." You extend your arms, but it earns you a sharp glare.
"Shut up."
"Sorry?"
"Shut...the fuck up. Want quiet!" she growls. You lower your arms and gulp, sweaty hands rubbing on your thighs. Walk towards her slowly, keeping your eyes on hers. Closing the distance, you gingerly wrap your arms around her; a light hug.
Several seconds pass before Minjeong sighs and rests her head on the crook of your shoulder, dropping her bag. She doesn't hug you back, doesn't have to. You keep the light embrace, listening to each other's breathing.
Suddenly, Minjeong pulls herself free, putting an arm's length between you. Then she yanks your sweatshirt's collar, sending your lips crashing into hers.
She isn't gentle whatsoever. Her mouth is hungry, insistent, devouring yours with burning fervor. You yelp and moan and she unlatches briefly, slapping you hard. "Shut up I said. How many times do I gotta say it?"
Oh she is stressed stressed. Work must've been a real bitch. You remember she's going through her PMS as well. This will not be easy on you, and you're equally thrilled and terrified.
Minjeong keeps your mouths locked as she pushes you towards the couch. She's groaning, whining into your lips. You, meanwhile, try your best to stay silent as she asked. Every little audible slip-up is met with a harsh slap, stinging your cheek and hardening you below at the same time.
Your legs hit the couch. Fall backwards, no attempt to get up. Just lie there while you watch Minjeong ditch her blazer and unbutton her shirt, untucking it from her pencil skirt.
"Strip. Everything." Her command is short and clear, you obey straight away. "Faster!" You make haste, abandoning any regard to pride that you foolishly kept.
The moment you're bare, Minjeong leaps onto you, straddling your hips. She bites her lip, grinding hard and slow, her heat driving you crazy even through all the fabric.
Another moan escapes you. She's fast to discipline with a hard slap across your face, the hardest one yet. "You...are gonna give me what I want. Exactly as I tell you, or you'll get more of that. Understood? Nod."
You nod just once, feeling any extra will earn another slap. Minjeong's mouth stretches to a predatory grin, hiking up her tight pencil skirt to slide off her panties. Gosh, she is so hot.
"Open." She stuffs her white panties into your mouth. "Good boy. Don't think that means you can make sounds. Got it?"
You nod, getting high off her musk. Minjeong lines up her wetness with your tip, then slams down. She lets out a guttural moan, fingernails digging into your shoulder. It takes all of your might to maintain silence but you manage, tearing up instead.
"Fuuck yes...needed this dick. So fucking hard..." Minjeong doesn't bounce, she rolls her hips, letting every inch of her depth feel you. The motion is equally arousing for your eyes and shaft, you bite down on her panties hard.
Your arms go to her waist by instinct, she knife hands them away. "No...touching. Did I say you can touch? Keep them where they are!" They resort to grabbing the couch instead, increasingly difficult as time passes and they get sweaty.
Some thrusts in, one in particular is too much for you, letting out a choked cry in response. Minjeong snarls and delivers a slap, her hand resting around your neck. Not choking, but enough pressure to establish herself.
"I've—had enough...of those—ahh! Assholes telling me around. Yelling and treating me like—mmhhh! Like I'm trash." She laughs, a daunting sound among the claps of skin. "So you shut up and take what you're given. I'm giving the orders here, got it?"
Your eyes struggle to stay open as you nod, tears obscuring your vision. Minjeong's hips pick up speed, her rolls becoming shallower and more intense. "Oh fuck! Ahhh!" Her first orgasm surges through her, drawing out a long, melodic moan as her body spasms.
"Ngghhh! Don't you dare fucking cum before I tell you! You don't decide how I use this dick. Got it?"
Your nod is accompanied by a loud, helpless whimper. No way you're staying quiet and not busting with how insane her pussy's grip and wetness is. It's met with a slap as expected, but you’re starting to go numb. Heck, it's downright enjoyable.
"Mmhhh, my baby boy. You're so adorable under me," she sighs, bending down and licking your cheeks as a brief remedy. You shudder at the sensation, then gasp as Minjeong gets going again, hard and fast from the off.
"Ahh...babe. You wanna—argh! Fuck! Wanna cum? Wanna breed this—pussy?"
Nodding multiple times now, to hell with the single nods. You're desperate, begging for release. Panties are completely soaked with drool, flowing down the sides of your head.
Minjeong shifts her angle, now she actually is bouncing. It's shocking and borderline painful, arching your back, knees bucking up. But she just giggles in between her long, loud moans, eyes hazy with euphoria.
"You're so desperate, aren't you?" she mewls. "Wanna let go? Fill me up? Want it so bad?"
You nod continuously, knowing it's the only right answer anyways. Minjeong shrieks and grabs your hands, bringing them to her waist. "Touch me." You waste no time gripping it like a lifeline, cock aching for release.
"Gahhh, what a good boy. Now give it to me, baby. Let go, fill me u—arghhh!"
Not one second after hearing 'fill', you burst. Pent-up load blowing deep in her cunt. Broken cry slipping past your mouth, but Minjeong doesn't hear it. Not over the wails of her second orgasm, eyes rolled back as she milks your cock.
Minjeong collapses forward, her heavy breaths softening into thin wheezes next to your ear. Your eyelids become heavy, you relax your body, about to doze off—
"Hey," Minjeong's soft albeit slightly hoarse voice brings you back. "You okay, babe? Oh, your cheeks are so red!"
You chuckle weakly in response as she takes out her panties and drums her fingers over your cheeks. "Does it hurt?"
"It–urgh. It did, but...no problem. Really...liked it. Ehe."
"Tsch. You little freak." Minjeong pokes your reddened cheeks before kissing them gently, earning a delighted hum from you. "My freak."
"Mhm. How are you feeling? Feel better?" you ask, lightly playing with her damp hair.
"Yeah. Got...got it outta my system. Thanks, babe."
"Anytime." Your turn to kiss her now, once on the temple and another on her lips.
"Dinner?"
"Mmm...I gotta—we...clean up first. Carry me to the shower?" she murmurs, resting her chin on your chest.
You giggle at an idea that popped up in your head. "Sure...but there's a toll."
Minjeong raises an eyebrow, her breath hitching as she feels your cock twitching and hardening inside her. "Yeah? What is it?" She smirks and tilts her head.
"Another round. In the shower," you reply, rolling your hips slowly. Minjeong bites her lip and sighs, her eyelids fluttering. "Deal."
Deal sealed, you heave yourselves off of the couch, carrying Minjeong in your arms as she wraps her arms and legs around you. A good few pecks and giggles are exchanged throughout, gradually reigniting your passion.
That passion manifests as a slow candle flame rather than the firestorm that was the couch. Minjeong lets out small mewls and whimpers as you worship her neck, back and shoulders with your lips. Below, your hips roll into her tight pussy from behind, thrusting deep but gentle.
When your orgasms arrive, you share a low, long moan of each other's names, Minjeong's frame lightly trembling as her walls get another thick coat of your seed. A smooth, gradual step down from her hectic day onto your laid back, relaxed evening.
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Summary: A hungry college girl and a young cook bond over late-night meals.
Special thanks to @kwilquib, as without him, I never would have known how much this girl could eat.
“Let’s get some skewers!” said Ahyeon. There was a festival in town, and she could smell the different food stalls all the way from the other side of town. She remembered reading about the evening on the posters outside the college building: a simple street food fair with some other shops.
“You girls hungry?” asked one of her friends, turning to the other girls.
“Yeah,” “sure,” they said, and so to the town center they went.
The festival was already alive by the time they arrived. With the streets full of people, they could already hear the chatter of the crowd from far away. The golden light coming from the stands softened the chilly night air, and everything felt warm and cozy: autumn had arrived.
There were all kinds of stalls: teokkbokki, skewers, noodles, and even a corner dedicated to desserts. However, that part was a bit further away from the others because they needed to keep a lower temperature for their food.
You worked at one of those stalls. Your skewer stand wasn’t the biggest nor the brightest, but it stood proud amongst the others. The smoke and the scent of the charcoal did all the work. You were one of the only few guys with an actual grill, and everyone could smell it.
Each time the fat from the chicken and the pork dripped into the charcoal, the fire crackled, and that sweet-salty perfume of soy and garlic would rise in the crowd. It was cheap and quick, a perfect treat for the people who were just coming by and didn’t want to get anything too heavy. You could just get a couple and eat them as you were walking around.
You had handed out tray after tray all day—students, couples, elders, kids tugging at their parents for “just one more.” You were having a great time: those satisfied smiles, the little pauses before a second bite, you loved seeing people enjoy your food.
You lifted your gaze from the grill and saw another small group of girls near your stand. They were examining the menu glued to the edge of the iron pillars. One of the girls stood out as the others were laughing and teasing her for eyeing the menu too long.
“Don’t eat the whole stall this time!” one of them joked.
“Better watch out, she’ll order for three!” another added, nudging her shoulder.
She laughed nervously, slouching her shoulders. You noticed the way her gaze flicked towards the grill, lingering at the glossy skewers before darting away. She was hungry, you could tell. But she was trying to resist it.
Just moments later, the girls came to sit on the stools you’d arranged around your big wooden counter.
“Welcome, girls, what can I get you?” you asked brightly, brushing a glaze over the skewers as the grill crackled.
“What would you recommend?” one of them asked, leaning forward.
“Probably the pork skewers,” you said, turning one over and clicking your tongs. The scent of the marinade rose into the air. “We’ve also got squid and chicken, if you’re into that.”
“That sounds good,” the quiet girl replied.
You moved to the grease-covered cash register, and the girls followed you. They all placed their orders, asking for one of everything so they could try the different flavors. But the last one hesitated and mumbled something under her breath: “Just… one skewer, please. Pork is fine.”
You nodded, but you were feeling a bit doubtful about her. It didn’t match the hunger in her eyes.
“Okay, something to drink, girls? Beer? It goes well together with the grease.”
“Yeah, why not?”
You closed the order and went to the grill, flipping a couple around just for show and getting the boxes out. Some pork, some squid, and some chicken. You just picked up a bunch and shoved it in the boxes; you weren’t the type to hold back. Some of them were thinner and some were thicker, so you couldn’t really decide on a specific number. They needed to get their money's worth.
You brought out the boxes and put them on the table. They immediately started eating, but the other girl stared at you with surprise.
“Excuse me, I ordered just one…” she started, but you quickly interrupted her.
“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” you said and gave her a wink.
She blinked, glancing at the skewers. “Oh… thank you, then.” Her fingers fumbled around the tray, a little embarrassed, but she eventually picked one up and started eating as well.
Her friends leaned in, nudging her. “Hey, don’t eat too much now.”
She laughed nervously, trying to hide her blush. “I—I won’t…”
You shrugged casually. “There’s nothing wrong with eating a lot. Enjoying food is the whole point, isn’t it?”
Her friends rolled their eyes. “Sure, that’s what you say—because she’s buying everything you make!”
You shook your head. “She is eating as much as you girls, so shut it.”
The girls laughed in amusement and went back to their food. She peeked up at you, her cheeks still pink, and mumbled a soft “Thanks…”
You went back to the grill, glancing sideways at her as she chewed. Some other customers were waiting in line, and you served them all. Luckily for you, the fair was pretty packed, and you were in a good position.
After a while, you went back to their side.
“So, you girls in college?” you asked.
“Yeah,” one of them said, brushing hair from her face. “The one near the station.”
“Oh, same as me,” you said, leaning an elbow against the counter. “I go there too.”
That got a few surprised looks. “Wait, seriously? You’re a student and you work here?”
“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “After classes, I help out at the family shop. We’ve got a place across the city, near the mall.” You pointed in its direction. “You can drop by if you’re ever hungry.”
“Is it the same as the stand?”
“No, we make a lot of different stuff. Skewers, noodles, rice—whatever keeps people coming back,” you said, and it got a few small laughs.
Her friends paid and thanked you, all smiles and chatter as they left. But she turned back for a moment before following, a soft “Thanks, it was really good” slipping out almost too quietly to hear.
Ahyeon, that was her name. You caught it from her friends. You saw a lot of pretty girls that day, but somehow you remembered her quite well.
-
It had been a few days since the festival ended. It was a success, and you earned a lot. The work did not end, though. You were back in your family restaurant. The lanterns were gone now, replaced by the cool hum of streetlights. The crowd had thinned to the usual evening flow. Sometimes it was scarce, sometimes it was really busy.
You were preparing for the evening service. The grill was already on and running, skewers on the side, and sauces in containers. On the other side, you had all the ingredients for the wok. You knew your typical customers. The workers always came at the same time, and they needed their food quickly. You agreed to a special discount. They were loyal after all.
The restaurant filled up with the men, and after a couple of beers, it became lively and fun.
You spotted a girl at the front door. You had young people coming in, too, but they usually weren’t alone. She paused at the entrance, checking her phone to pretend like she had something to do. After the hesitation, she stepped inside.
“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light. “From the festival, right?”
She tilted her head, a little startled, then she smiled. “Yeah… you remember me?”
You looked at her, wrapped in a light cardigan, hair slightly messy from the breeze. She was still as pretty as you remembered.
“Yeah, I never had anyone order just one skewer.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s not a problem. You just looked hungrier than what you ordered,” you said, turning the meat on the grill. “Dinner for one?”
She exhaled through a laugh. “Yeah. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Every once in a while, a princess has to treat herself.”
She laughed again. Ahyeon sat on one of the stools at the tables in front of you. Her backpack slipped off her shoulders as she made herself comfortable.
“So, what will it be?” you asked.
She looked at the menu again, though you could tell she already knew what she wanted. “Hmm… two pork boxes, one chicken, and—” she glanced up, “is the squid still available?”
“Still got a few left,” you said. “You sure about three orders though?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly, then seemed to realize how that sounded. “I mean—uh—yeah, it’s been a long day.”
You chuckled and went back to prepare her food. The grill hissed as you set the skewers down. She sat quietly, scrolling through her phone, probably pretending not to notice you watching her. Eventually, the food was ready. You put everything on the table, bowed, and went to serve other customers.
When you came back, she seemed to have almost finished everything. The thing was that only 10 minutes had passed.
“You’re eating well tonight,” you said.
Ahyeon froze mid-reach for her drink, caught off guard. “Is that your polite way of saying I eat too much?”
“Not at all,” you said. “You seem happy.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Yeah… you could say that.” She laughed awkwardly. “My friends always make fun of me for it. They say it’s not… very girly.”
“So starving is really girly, right?”
She looked down, poking at her food. “I mean… when you say it like that.”
You clicked your tongs. “It’d be worse if you were sick and couldn’t eat.”
“Well, you’re right.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You could only hear the quiet hiss of the grill and the distant chatter of the street. You cleared your throat, calling her attention. She looked up.
“Uhm… you still hungry?” you asked.
“A little.”
“Good,” you said, sliding another skewer onto the grill. “Because I was about to give you something extra.”
She blinked. “Extra?”
“Yeah,” you said, reaching for a new tray. “Trying out a new seasoning. Want to see if it’s any good.”
She tilted her head. “You want me to taste-test it?”
You nodded. “Someone’s gotta make sure I’m not poisoning customers.”
She tilted her head, clearly suspicious. “You mean I’m your guinea pig?”
“Pretty much,” you said. “But don’t worry—it’s free.”
“I accept.”
When the skewer was done, you set it in front of her, the glaze still glistening under the light. She didn’t hesitate. She took a bite, then another. She seemed to think carefully.
“It’s good,” she said finally. “The sauce is sweet but not too heavy.”
You nodded. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You could maybe use a little more ginger, but…” she took another bite, “I like it.”
“Too salty?” you asked, feigning concern.
“No, it’s perfect. What’s in it?”
You shrugged lightly, pretending to think. “Guess.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Soy sauce, obviously. Maybe sugar? Some sesame oil… garlic, definitely garlic.”
You stayed quiet, hiding a grin as you wiped the counter.
She squinted at the menu taped to the stall window, reading under her breath. “Wait a second—this one already has sesame oil and garlic listed…”
You turned the skewer once more, trying not to laugh.
Her eyes widened slightly, then she pointed at you with her chopsticks. “So you weren’t really testing the seasoning, were you?”
You looked up at her finally, caught. “Maybe not.”
She leaned back, a small smile creeping across her face. “You just wanted me to eat more.”
You gave a half-shrug. “Is that bad? Your expressions are really cute.”
That shut her up for a bit. Her cheeks turned faintly pink, and she ducked her head to take another bite — maybe to hide her face, maybe just because she was genuinely hungry.
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
When she finished eating, she wiped her hands and leaned on the counter. “You work here every day?”
“Yeah,” you said
“Must be nice,” she said. “Doing what you like every day.”
“It’s mostly just standing around smelling like smoke, but yeah, it’s not bad.”
She smiled, fiddling with the empty skewer sticks. “Well, your food’s good. Way better than anything I’ve had around campus.”
“Glad to hear that,” you said. You knew the evening was about to come to an end. And truth was, you wanted to see her again, so you took a deep breath and tried your luck: “I try new stuff sometimes, mess around with the recipes. If you ever feel like testing them, you’re welcome to drop by. I’ll pay you in food.”
She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Free food, huh?”
“Only if you give honest feedback.”
“Deal,” she said, grinning. She extended her arm and shook your hand. “I’m good at eating.”
“I noticed,” you said.
She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t seem annoyed by your comment.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Ahyeon,” she said as you gave yours in return.
“I’ll remember it,” you replied.
“It’s gotten late, I should go,” Ahyeon said as she stood up.
You nodded. She collected her stuff and paid for the skewers she had ordered at the start. Before she could step out of the door, you stopped her for a moment.
“My offer is still up, if you want,” you said with hesitation. You rolled your lips, thinking that maybe you had been too pushy.
“I’ll be back,” she smiled, and relief washed over you.
When she finally left, so did everyone else, and the restaurant went silent. You cleaned the counter, turned down the grill, and caught yourself looking down the street where she’d gone — just for a second, before shaking your head and going back to work.
You didn’t know if she’d actually come back, but you kind of hoped she would.
After that first night, she started showing up every now and then. At first, it was once a week, usually when her classes ended late, or when she was up studying and the dorm cafeteria had already closed. She always came up with the same excuse.
“Just passing by.”
“Had to walk off a long lecture.”
“Too hungry to wait until dinner.”
She always sat at the same spot, where she would be close enough to the grill to feel its heat. That way, she could talk to you while you were working. You suggested another table, but then you’d have to walk back and forth, so she refused. She didn’t mind smelling like grease, apparently.
Sometimes she’d text first, but most of the time she’d show up unannounced, claiming she happened to be nearby.
By the third or fourth week, she knew your menu by heart. You stopped handing her the paper list. She’d just order from memory, adding, “and whatever you’re testing today.”
Ahyeon didn’t come just for the food. She came for you. You’d work the grill while she chatted about life: her professors, her roommates, the stress of the midterms, and so on. In between, you’d slide her something new to try: spicy sauce one night, honey glaze the next, and when you didn’t think of anything, just some food you had lying around, like a bowl of fried rice.
She took it pretty seriously.
“Needs more crunch.”
“Too salty.”
“Perfect. Don’t change a thing.”
Maybe she was meant to be a food critic. You pretended to jot down what she said, but you never had any intention of serving that food.
Sometimes she had her own requests too. It was after a very big meal that she leaned back in her chair and raised a finger at you. “You got dessert?”
“Dessert?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You know, sweet stuff? Something that isn’t meat?”
“No,” you said lightly. “Don’t have it.”
Her eyes widened. She was shocked, and quite frankly, offended. “What do you mean no? You’re a restaurant.”
“We only serve salty foods.”
“Unbelievable. You feed me this amazing dinner and then just… stop?”
You smiled. “Yeah, that’s how meals work. Our customers usually wash the meal down with more booze. You want some?”
“No, no,” she said, crossing her arms. “I want something sweet.”
You leaned on the counter. “What do you want me to do, go buy you a chocolate bar?”
She thought about it. “Actually, yeah. That’d work.”
“I am not doing that.”
“I am waiting,” she said, holding out her hand.
You sighed, shaking your head as you turned to the fridge behind you. “Let me see if I have something sweet for our child here.” Of course, there wasn’t anything. So you walked to the back of the kitchen, seeing if there was anything that could resemble a dessert. A moment later, you returned with a small plastic cup of pudding that had been sitting there since lunch service.
She squinted at it. “Is that… cafeteria pudding?”
“Yeah, didn’t want it,” you said. “It’s dessert, right?”
Ahyeon shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Eat it or I’m putting it back in the fridge.”
“Fine,” she said, taking the spoon from your hand. You went to the other side of the room to tidy up after some customers left. When you were done and came back, Ahyeon was staring at you.
“You got another one?”
“I thought you didn’t like it,” you chuckled.
“So?”
“Yeah, I do, actually,” you said and walked to the back again.
-
Dinner rush.
The restaurant was loud: the clatter of chopsticks, the hiss of the grill, the music, the drunks, and the families. You were behind the counter, working through a steady line of orders.
You were backed by your team, but it was still extremely hectic.
Then, through the noise, you caught a voice you recognized.
Ahyeon’s.
She was laughing somewhere near the door, but her voice was quickly joined by a couple more familiar ones. You glanced up briefly and saw them stop by the door. You didn’t call out. She didn’t see you yet.
“See?” one of the girls said. “I told you she can’t go a day without food.”
Both of them laughed. You smiled faintly at first, expecting Ahyeon to laugh it off like always, but then another voice joined in: “Of course she can’t. She’s got her own personal chef now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ahyeon asked. There was a strain on her voice; she seemed uncomfortable.
“Oh, come on,” her friend said playfully. “You’re always here. Don’t act like you’re not getting special treatment. They probably gives you extra food for free, right?”
Her words seemed to hit the bullseye on Ahyeon. She quickly lowered her head and started playing with the hem of her shirt. You were in the middle of handing a tray to a customer, so you couldn’t step out. Couldn’t correct them.
“You’re such a glutton, Ahyeon.”
“Stop it,” she said, her voice small. “It’s not like that.”
“Relax, we’re joking!” another friend said quickly, trying to reduce the damage. But it had gone too far. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wasn’t the last. You wonder how many times they repeated this to her. Ahyeon seemed used to it, but it still hurt her a little bit.
Orders kept coming in, customers calling your name. You caught her looking up once, eyes flicking briefly toward you — but you didn’t know whether to smile or pretend you hadn’t heard.
Your eyes met, and she quietly left.
It was just teasing.
Harmless.
The kind of thing friends say all the time.
That’s what you told yourself, but she stopped showing up.
You told yourself she was busy — exams, assignments, anything — but you knew it wasn’t that. You missed her, you really did. The gap she left was too obvious. You’d glance toward the door every time it opened, expecting her to walk in, pretending you weren’t.
By the fourth night, you stopped looking.
But you still found yourself setting aside a small dish near the counter before closing — out of habit more than hope.
It took a few days before you stopped expecting her to walk through the restaurant door. Then, another couple of days before you gave up pretending not to notice.
By the end of the week, it was starting to worry you.
So one afternoon, between deliveries, you packed a small take-out box yourself. Pork skewers, her favorite glaze, and a side of rice. You even added a little box of soup, which you usually handed her during the cold nights. Then you looked up her university’s website to guess where she might be.
No lessons today. Great. So she couldn’t be in a class.
What about the exams? She said they were coming up in like a month, but that was two weeks ago, so maybe she was studying?
There were some libraries near the main buildings. You thought you might as well try your luck. You didn’t have anything else to do anyway. The restaurant wasn’t far. Ten minutes on foot.
The campus was quieter than you expected. There weren’t many people around. You started walking around, looking inside the halls, around the garden. You even asked the girls walking by, but none of them knew who you were talking about.
Made sense. It was a large course after all.
After a couple of minutes, you did eventually find her. She was sitting on the low stone wall outside the library, earbuds in, a half-open notebook on her lap. Her hair was pulled back loosely, she looked very concentrated, her eyes wrinkled like she had forgotten her glasses.
You hesitated for a moment. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe she did not want to see you at all.
But you were already here.
“Hey.”
She looked up and her body jumped. She looked around her to see if it was some kind of joke, but it was just you. Ahyeon quickly brushed her hair behind her ears and straightened her back. “Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?” she said without looking into your eyes.
You held out the take-out box. “Food delivery.”
Ahyeon narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” You set it down beside her. “House special.”
Her eyes softened, and she sighed. She didn’t reach for it right away; instead, she looked at you, mortified. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did.” You crouched beside the wall so you were eye level. “You disappeared. I figured either you were avoiding me or you got sick of my cooking. And since the second one’s obviously impossible…”
Ahyeon chuckled and shoved your shoulder. It was the first time you heard her laugh in a week. She had no idea how much you missed it.
You nudged the box toward her. “Eat before it gets cold.”
She finally took it, opening the lid. Steam rose in a faint curl, carrying a smell that she knew very well. She looked at the food for a second, then at you, with a small pout. “You know people will start talking about you if you do deliver food to random girls.”
“Not random. Just you,” you said, smiling. “Besides, I wanted to tell you something.”
She paused, chopsticks hovering over the food. “What?”
You looked at the box, then at her. For a second, you almost chickened out. It wasn’t the right time, or the right place. But you were tired of waiting.
You took a breath and said, “I don’t care what anyone says. About how much you eat, or how often you come by, or whether you ‘use me for food’ or whatever that was. None of that matters to me.”
Ahyeon froze and simply stared at you with her mouth slightly agape.
“I love seeing you enjoy food,” you said simply. “It makes me happy that you like what I make. And I like talking with you. You’re… easy to be around.”
Her voice softened. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” you said. “And it’s cute, honestly. The way you eat a lot. It’s like Kirby.”
Her eyes widened. “Kirby? You’re comparing me to a pink ball that swallows everything?”
You rubbed your neck, groaning. “Okay, that came out wrong.”
You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly aware of how awkward you sounded. “If you don’t want to come by just to eat, that’s fine. I just wanted you to know I care. About you.”
She still didn’t say anything. She looked down at the food, then picked up a piece and took a slow bite.
Your heart was beating steadily while you waited for a response. She chewed carefully with her eyes closed. She inhaled carefully and looked at you.
“You really walked all the way here just to say that?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, and to feed you,” you said.
Ahyeon laughed. “Well, if you keep feeding me like this, I might get addicted… to you.”
“That’s uhh—uhm,” you said, stammering. You didn’t expect her response at all. You swallowed and reminded yourself that you did know how to talk to girls. “I’ve heard addiction’s hard to cure.”
Ahyeon grinned. “You really need to work on your lines.”
“As long as you don’t mind them,” you said. “That’s all I need.”
You sat down beside her and talked about all the things you missed. When the food was gone, neither of you got up right away.
“So,” she said finally. “If I show up tomorrow… same spot as usual?”
You nodded. “I’ll make something new.”
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t wait.”
Enami Asa x Huh Yunjin x Jeon Somi x Lee Chaeyoung x Ning Yizhuo x Yeh Shuhua x m!reader
You've been sitting here for three or maybe four hours. You're not sure anymore. The numbers on your laptop stopped making sense a long time ago, but you're finally close to finishing your review for Tuesday's exam.
At some point over the years, this corner of the library basically became your spot. Your territory. Nobody ever comes back here. Seriously, nobody. You could probably disappear into this corner for weeks and they'd only notice sometime next winter.
The shelves are packed with dusty reference books nobody's touched since, apparently, 2011. The closest outlet had been hidden behind a filing cabinet you literally had to drag aside yourself.
It's the perfect place for the absolute silence studying requires. Completely forgotten by society.
Nothing bad could possibly happen here.
Then two hands suddenly cover your eyes from behind, and before you can react, a soft, sugary voice drifts right beside your ear, "Guess who."
...
Well.
Looks like your territory's been invaded.
You reach up, thumb brushing across her knuckles. Small hands. Smooth skin. Expensive perfume. "Gotta be the janitor," you say. "Pretty sure we're moving way too fast, though."
The hands pull back immediately. Then a tiny offended noise. Footsteps around the table.
"Ha. Ha. You're sooo funny, nerd. I like you already.”
Enami Asa steps into your line of sight and every coherent thought you had about thermodynamic equilibrium just evaporates. She's wearing all black. Cropped top, short skirt, boots that go halfway up her calves. Red lipstick that makes ignoring her full lips completely impossible. Her black hair falls straight past her shoulders and she's looking at you with this amused little tilt of her head.
You blink hard and rub your eyes.
Enami Asa: one of the most beautiful girls on campus. Right there, in the dead zone of the university library. Staring at you. What the fuck is happening?
"You know you're insanely hard to find, right?" she says, placing her backpack on the table before dropping into the chair across from you. She crosses her legs and leans back, eyes drifting over the dusty shelves. "Do you always hide out back here? I literally did two full laps around the building.”
"I was studying," you say, closing your laptop halfway. "Can I help you with something?"
She grins. Not in a nice way.
And you're not dumb. You get it. You've spent enough time here to understand how the whole social hierarchy thing works. Girls like Asa don't go looking for guys like you in some forgotten library corner unless they want something. Notes. Homework help. A study guide. Some favor they can cash in with a cute smile and forget about a few hours later.
"You can, actually," she says. "In fact, you might be the only person who can help me right now."
"That's a bold statement."
"I'm a bold girl," she says, adjusting in her seat until she's comfortable. Then she casually drops, like this is the most normal topic ever, "So there's this challenge going around on Twitter."
"X."
"Eat shit, it's literally the same app." She waves you off. "Anyway. It's trending right now. Me and my friends got into it too. Sort of a competition, I guess. NSFW stuff.”
Your pen stops moving.
"Oh…"
"Yeah." Now she's fully studying your face, looking way too entertained by the horror slowly spreading across it. "The idea's simple. You record yourself getting facefucked, upload it, get some likes, drive more people to your OF. Then gooners start ranking clips and arguing in the comments over which one's best. It's become this whole thing. Hashtags and all.”
You look left. You look right. You check behind you to make sure nobody has a camera pointed at this table. "Are you serious right now?" you ask.
"Of course I'm serious," she says, sounding almost offended. "Why the hell would I walk all the way to the ass end of this library and say that kind of shit to a guy like you if I wasn't serious?"
"I genuinely don't know. It's just... a pretty strange request."
"Don't be scared. Be flattered."
"I am neither of those things." You lean back in your chair. "Look, there are like ten thousand guys at this school. You literally have a different one on your arm every week. Go ask one of them."
Asa shakes her head. Just one slow motion. "Nah. Can't do that. We set a rule that every one of us has to find a different guy for the video." She leans back a little. "Has to be a nerd. Someone who'd normally have zero chance with any of us. That's the whole trend."
You stare at her for a few long seconds. "Damn, Asa. Really appreciate you putting me in the 'absolutely no shot' category.”
She laughs, loud enough that it echoes through the shelves and instantly makes you paranoid someone nearby heard the conversation. "Don't take it like that. Seriously. It's not even an insult. Think of it as charity." Her head tilts slightly. "Besides..." Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at you. "You've actually got something going on. Nerd glasses, messy hair… It's kinda cute."
"Amazing. Please engrave that on my grave."
"Stop being so dramatic."
"No. That's my final answer," you say immediately. "Find another victim.”
Asa gets to her feet. Then she does something that completely fries your remaining brain cells. She circles the table at an annoyingly calm pace and sits right in your lap. Just... casually. Her arm drapes over your shoulder while she gives you this ridiculous pout.
"Pleeease?" she says, all soft and sweet. "It'll take like five minutes. Nobody comes back here anyway. You've been hiding in this corner for hours and not one person walked past." She adjusts herself slightly. “I just need you to lend your cock and hold the phone. That's it."
You blink at her. "I can't believe this trend actually exists."
"Oh, it exists.” She already has her phone out. She pulls it from her skirt pocket and drops back onto your lap, scrolling lazily. “See? Hashtag RuinThePrettyFace. It blew up like four days ago.”
She holds the phone inches from your face. One clip after another. Smudged eyeliner. Sloppy expressions. Girls posing for the camera after getting absolutely wrecked. Your eyebrows climb higher with every swipe. Then she opens her own profile. Asa’s account is basically curated nude photography. Soft lighting. artsy filters. Careful angles. Nude after nude after nude.
"Because I have dignity. And you should try having some too. What you're describing is slutty."
She pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. Zero shame. Zero hesitation. "But I am a slut," she says simply. "So that argument doesn't really work on me. Please," she repeats. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?”
"Anything." A pause. Then she laughs, catching herself. "Well. I can't exactly offer you sex as a reward because that's basically what's already going to happen. So that's off the table as a bargaining chip." She taps her chin, pretending to think. "Buuut you'll have my gratitude. My eternal, undying gratitude!”
"And what the fuck am I supposed to do with your gratitude?"
"I don't know, maybe shove it up your ass and stop playing hard to get?!" She hops off your lap and does a little spin in the aisle between shelves, arms out, letting you look. She stops facing you, one hand on her hip. "Look at me," she demands. "I'm hot. I'm perfect. Any guy on this campus would sell a kidney to be sitting where you're sitting right now. And you're telling me no? Be so fucking for real, dude.”
You rub your temples. "You're actually insane."
"Maybe. But I'm also not leaving until you say yes. I'll sit here all night. I'll follow you to your car. I'll show up at your next class. I will make this so much worse for you if you keep being difficult."
"That's called harassment."
"Call campus security then. Tell them Enami Asa won't stop asking you to let her suck your dick. See how much sympathy you get."
You let out a long breath through your nose. She's got you cornered and she knows it. You can see it all over her pretty face already, that smug little grin spreading because she's realized she's winning.
"Fuck me..." you mutter.
"Is that a yes?!"
You close your laptop with a soft click. Pinch the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. Then you look up at her. At the ridiculously gorgeous girl standing between rows of dusty shelves in that little black outfit, red lips, and absolutely zero sense of shame. You make a decision that's either going to haunt you forever or randomly hit you at age eighty and make you smile. "Fine. Make it quick.”
Asa actually lights up. She bounces on her heels and claps once before she can stop herself. "Yes! Okay! Perfect!" She grins at you. "You seriously won't regret this.”
"I already regret this." She starts to lower herself to her knees right there, but you raise a hand and she freezes. "Wait," you say. "Can we at least make out a little first? Just to, you know… set the mood. I can't just go from thermodynamics to getting my dick sucked with no transition."
She stares at you for a second before rolling her eyes so hard it's honestly impressive.
"Oh my god." A sigh. "Fine. Sure. Whatever you need."
She comes back and sits on your lap again, this time facing you fully, her knees on either side of your thighs in the library chair. Your hands find her waist on pure instinct, settling on the strip of bare skin between her top and her skirt. She's warm. Unbelievably warm.
"You're unfairly hot, by the way. I'm having a hard time believing this is a real situation right now."
"I know," she says immediately, completely shameless. Her hands slide onto your shoulders. "Now enough with the compliments. Kiss me.”
You kiss her. It starts slow because you're still half convinced this is an elaborate prank and someone's going to jump out from behind the reference section with a camera. But Asa's lips are soft and she tastes like mint and whatever that expensive lipstick is made of, and your brain stops looking for the trap pretty quickly. Your hands settle on her waist, thumbs pressing into the narrow strip of bare skin above her skirt. She's tiny under your palms. You can almost feel her ribs.
She's good at this. Obviously she's good at this. Her tongue finds yours and she tilts her head just right, and there's this little sound that comes out of her, this quiet, pleased hum against your mouth that makes your fingers tighten on her waist without you meaning to. She shifts on your lap, pressing closer, and her hands slide from your shoulders to the back of your neck.
You're getting into it. Really getting into it. Your hand starts to drift up her side and she makes another sound, breathier this time, and you can feel the vibration of it through her whole body. Then she turns her head, breaking the kiss, and her palm lands flat on your chest. "Okay, okay. Enough."
"What?"
"I said enough." She wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinky finger, checking for smudges. "You're going to ruin my lipstick before we even start. My makeup needs to get destroyed on camera, not during the warm up."
"You have very specific priorities."
"I have excellent priorities." She rolls her hips once on your lap, settling her weight, and then goes completely still. You watch her expression shift. Her eyes drop down between your bodies, then come back up to your face. "Well," she says, and there's something new in the way she's looking at you. "I think we can start."
She picks up her phone from the table, slides off your lap, and drops to her knees on the library carpet. She taps the screen a few times, opens the camera app, and holds the phone out to you. "Here. You're filming."
You take it. "Vertical or horizontal?"
“Of course it’s vertical. This is Twitter content, not cinema.”
You angle the phone. She reaches for your belt. Her fingers work the buckle loose, then the button, then the zipper, and she's efficient about it, tugging your jeans down your thighs with a little help from you lifting your hips. Your boxers are still on. The outline of you through the fabric is, well… it's pretty obvious.
Asa pauses. Her hands don't move, still resting at your waistband, but her eyes do. They settle on the bulge and stay there.
"Huh?'' she mutters.
Then she pulls your boxers down. Your cock springs free and bobs once, heavy and thick, settling against your lower stomach. The shaft is fat, veiny, flushed. In the dim lighting of the library corner, it looks even bigger than usual, and Asa is just kneeling there, looking at it, her hands frozen in midair. "Wow," she says quietly. Then, louder, like she's trying to convince herself as much as you. "Okay. This might be harder than I imagined."
You look down at her. "You can always give up."
Her head snaps up. The shock on her face converts instantly to pure, offended determination. "Excuse me? You think I'm afraid of a big cock? Are you seriously sitting there telling Enami Asa to give up?"
"I'm just saying."
"Don't underestimate me." She wraps her fingers around the base and the tips barely meet her thumb. She stares at that for a second, jaw flexing, then shakes it off. "Okay. Here's how this works. I'm going to suck your dick first. Get it nice and wet, do my thing. Then when I tap your thigh twice, like this," she demonstrates, two quick pats on your leg, "that's your signal. That means you can start fucking my face. Got it?" You nod. "Use one hand for the phone, one hand on the back of my head. And keep the angle tight on my face. This isn't about you, this is about me looking good."
"And then looking bad."
"And then looking incredible while looking bad." She adjusts her position on her knees, straightens her back, flips her hair over one shoulder. "You can start recording."
You hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.
The shift is immediate. Asa was already pretty, already the kind of person who pulled attention without trying, but the second the camera goes live, something changes. Something clicks into place. Her posture straightens slightly. Her chin lifts. A slow smile pulls at her lips. Suddenly she isn't looking at you anymore. She's looking at the lens. Looking at the people on the other side of it. The ones who'll watch this alone in bed at some stupid hour of the night.
And just like that, she's performing.
She leans forward and presses her lips to the tip of your cock. Just a kiss. The red lipstick leaves a faint mark on your skin and she pulls back to admire it, still smiling at the camera. Then her tongue comes out, flat and pink, and she drags it across the head in one slow pass. Another kiss, this time on the underside, right where the shaft meets the ridge. She's teasing. Taking her time. Making sure the camera catches every angle of her pretty face against your thick cock.
She licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, her dark eyes locked on the lens the entire time. Then another. Then she swirls her tongue around the head, slow and wet, collecting the precum that's already beading at the slit. She holds it on her tongue for a beat, letting the camera see it, then swallows and licks her lips clean.
She opens her mouth and takes you in. The feeling is insane. Her mouth is hot and tight and her tongue does this thing where it presses flat against the underside of your shaft as she sinks down, creating this slick pressure that makes your toes curl in your shoes. She takes about half of you on the first pass, which given the girth is genuinely impressive, and her cheeks hollow as she pulls back up.
And she looks so fucking beautiful doing it. Enami Asa, on her knees on the library floor, with her black outfit and her red lipstick and her sharp little face stuffed full of your cock. The visual is so absurd, so completely disconnected from everything your life has been up to this point, that you almost forget to keep the phone steady.
She sucks you with purpose. Bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, taking a little more each time, letting the spit build up until it's coating your shaft in a slick layer. She pulls off with a wet sound and spits on your cock, a thick string that drips down the length, and then her fist wraps around you and pumps, spreading it, twisting at the head. She jacks you off with both hands for a few strokes, watching the way your cock throbs in her grip, and then she's back on it, hungrier this time.
You can feel her jaw stretching around you. Can see the effort in the way her brow furrows slightly, the way her throat works as she tries to accommodate the width. But she doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. She finds her rhythm and sticks with it, her head moving in smooth, controlled bobs, her lips sealed tight, her tongue working the underside.
She pulls off just long enough to glance up at you. Not at the camera this time. At you.
"You better be getting my good side," she murmurs, her fist still pumping slowly.
"You're kind of busy to be giving direction."
"I'm always giving direction." She licks the tip once more, then sinks back down.
A minute passes. The wet sounds of her mouth on you fill the quiet corner of the library, obscenely loud in the silence. Spit drips from her chin onto her black top. Her lipstick is starting to smear, red bleeding past the edges of her lips, staining your shaft in uneven rings.
Then you feel it. Two quick taps on your thigh. She takes you back into her mouth, both hands dropping to rest on your knees, and tilts her head up so the camera can catch her full face. Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are swollen. She looks up at you through her lashes and gives the smallest nod.
You adjust the phone in your right hand, making sure the frame is tight on her face. Then your left hand slides to the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair, and you grip.
Your fingers tighten in her hair. You guide her head forward, slow, feeling the resistance of her throat as your cock pushes deeper than she was taking it on her own. Asa's hands grip your knees and her jaw stretches wide, lips pulling taut around your girth. She gags once, a tight spasm at the back of her throat, and you pull her back. She gasps, spit connecting her lower lip to your shaft in a thin strand, and before she can fully recover you push her down again.
The rhythm is careful at first. You're testing how much she can handle, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flex against your legs. Each push goes a little deeper. Each pull gives her just enough time to suck in a quick breath before you feed her your cock again. The wet sounds are filthy in the silence of the library. Every gag, every slick glide of her lips echoes off the bookshelves.
Asa's brow creases. She's concentrating, trying to relax her throat, but the girth keeps catching her. You can feel it, the involuntary tightening each time the thickest part of your shaft hits the back of her mouth. Her eyes water. Not crying, just the reflexive response of her body fighting what her brain has decided it's going to do. She breathes hard through her nose, hot bursts against your pelvis, and pushes through.
You set a pace. Your hand guides her head in smooth bobs, your hips rolling up to meet her on the downstroke. Spit builds and spills from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin in messy lines. The red lipstick is wrecked now, smeared in wide streaks across her cheeks and along your shaft, leaving your cock painted in uneven bands of crimson. Her mascara holds for a while, longer than you'd expect, but the constant watering finally wins and dark smudges start bleeding beneath her lower lashes.
She pulls off your cock abruptly, gasping, a thick rope of saliva stretching from her lips to your head before snapping and landing on her chin. She coughs once, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the lipstick further. Her eyes are glassy and red rimmed when she looks up at you.
"How is it," she asks between breaths. "How do I look?"
You angle the phone down at her, making sure the frame catches everything. The ruined lipstick, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the spit glistening on her chin and neck, the way her usually perfect hair is sticking to the damp skin of her forehead.
"Beautiful," you say. "Completely ruined. You look incredible."
"Good," she says. "That's the point." She opens her mouth and takes you back in, and this time you don't start slow. Your grip tightens in her hair and you thrust up into her mouth with real intent, your hips snapping, the back of her throat meeting your cock on every stroke. Asa groans around you, the sound vibrating through your entire shaft, and her hands fly to your thighs for balance.
The pace is punishing now. Her head bobs in your grip, guided by your hand, and the sounds coming from her mouth are obscene. Wet, choked, guttural. Drool pours freely, coating your balls, dripping onto the carpet between her knees. Her black top is spotted with dark wet patches. She gags hard on a deep thrust and you hold her there for a second, your cock buried to the hilt, her nose pressed against your pelvis, feeling her throat convulse around you before you let her up.
She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her lips still brushing the head, and looks up at you with those ruined, watery eyes.
"Fuck," she pants. "This cock is so thick. I can barely fit it in my mouth." She jacks you with one hand, spit making the motion effortless, her small fingers unable to close around the circumference. "How does a little nerd end up with something like this? It's not fair."
"Genetics," you manage.
"Shut up." She licks a flat stripe up the underside, collecting the mess of spit and precum. "I'm serious, this thing is fat. My jaw is going to be sore for a week." She presses her lips to the head, almost affectionately, then opens wide and takes you deep again.
You fuck her face harder. The library is dead quiet except for the relentless, sloppy rhythm of your cock in her throat. Asa has given up trying to look composed. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears cutting clean tracks through her smudged mascara. Her cheeks are flushed pink beneath the mess of ruined makeup. Spit and drool coat her entire chin, dripping in long strings onto her chest. She looks nothing like the sharp, immaculate girl who sat down across from you twenty minutes ago.
She looks better.
Your balls tighten. The pressure that's been building low in your stomach pulls into a hard knot and you feel the edge approaching fast. Asa must feel it too, the way your cock swells, the way your grip shifts in her hair, because her eyes open and lock onto yours. She doesn't pull back. She grabs your hip with one hand and pulls you deeper, taking your cock into her throat until her lips stretch around the base, and holds herself there.
You cum. The first shot fires directly into her throat and Asa's eyes go wide. You can see the muscles in her neck working, trying to swallow around the sudden flood. Your cock pulses again, a second thick load, then a third, each one making her throat bob as she struggles to keep up. It's a lot. More than she expected, clearly, because her eyes start to water fresh and you can hear this strained, gurgling sound as she tries to swallow without pulling off.
She manages. Barely. Her throat works overtime, gulping, swallowing, her fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave marks. Some of it escapes, a thick white trail leaking from the corner of her sealed lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone. She stays on you through the last few pulses, her throat milking every drop, until you finally stop throbbing and your grip in her hair loosens.
Asa pulls off slowly. Your cock slides from between her lips with a slick, heavy sound, and she sits back on her heels, breathing hard.
Her face is destroyed. The red lipstick exists only in faint, smeared traces across her cheeks and chin. Her mascara has bled into dark streaks that reach almost to her jawline. Her eyes are bloodshot, rimmed in red, lashes clumped together with moisture. Drool and cum coat her chin, her neck, the front of her top. Her hair is tangled and damp where your fingers gripped it.
She looks at the camera and smiles. This wide, satisfied, absolutely filthy smile, cum still glistening on her lower lip. She holds the look for a few seconds, letting the camera drink it in.
You stop recording. The timer reads eleven minutes and forty seven seconds. Your thumb hits the red button and the screen freezes on the last frame. Asa on her knees, wrecked, smiling. "How'd it turn out," she asks, her speech slightly hoarse. She reaches for the water bottle on the table and takes a long drink.
You scroll back through the footage, skimming. "Pretty good, actually. You have a genuine talent for this."
"I have a talent for most things." She holds her hand out. "Let me see." You pass her the phone and she watches sections of the clip, scrubbing through with her thumb, pausing on certain moments. Her expression is clinical now, analytical. She's reviewing footage, not reliving the experience.
"When are you posting it," you ask, pulling your boxers back up, getting your jeans situated.
"Probably tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I still need to throw the video into Premiere and polish the edit a bit.”
"...You're editing blowjob footage in Premiere. Okay, sure. I don't know why I'm still surprised."
"Well yeah?" She looks at you like you're the weird one. "The lighting back here was awful. I need to fix the exposure, warm up the colors a little, cut out the dead space at the beginning..." She swipes through the footage. "Probably clean up the framing too. Blur anything that points back to you. Add captions… I'm not uploading raw footage. Be serious.”
You stare at her. "Is all that really necessary? It's a blowjob video, not a short film."
"It is absolutely necessary. You can't just upload raw footage like some amateur. Quality matters. Presentation matters. This is going on my page, and my page has an aesthetic."
She puts the phone down, reaches for her backpack on the table, and pulls out a small face towel and a compact mirror. She flips the mirror open and examines her reflection, tilting her head side to side, cataloguing the damage. Then she starts cleaning up, wiping the mascara streaks, the spit, the residue from her chin and neck.
"Thank you, by the way," she says, not looking up from the mirror. "Your dick is really nice. Genuinely. It looked great in the video. The size contrast between me and that thing is pretty hot."
"Thank you. I guess."
"You're welcome. I guess." She mimics your tone without missing a beat, still dabbing at her face. "You can leave now. I need to finish putting myself back together and I can't do that with you watching me."
You gather your laptop, your notes, your pens. Everything goes into your backpack. You zip it shut and stand up, pushing the chair back under the table. "Hey. One thing."
"What."
"Change my voice in the video. Pitch it up or down, whatever. Just alter it enough that nobody can identify me."
She waves dismissively. "Already planned on it. I'll run it through a filter. I'm a pro at this stuff." She meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection. "Now bye."
"Bye, Asa." You sling your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the dead zone of the library, past the dusty reference shelves, back toward the main floor where normal people are doing normal things. The late afternoon sun hits you through the library's front windows as you push through the doors. Fresh air fills your lungs. You adjust your glasses, fix your hair, and start walking toward the parking lot.
It was a little degrading. You're aware of that. You just let a girl you barely know use you for content, boss you around, and treat you like a prop in her social media strategy. That part stings, a bit, if you think about it too hard.
On the other hand, it was also one of the best orgasms of your life. So maybe sitting with it too long isn't necessary.
—
The girls have officially taken over the theater lobby.
Ning’s holding a popcorn bucket almost as big as she is, carefully picking out the best coated pieces first. Shuhua has already loaded up on candy and a slushie. Yunjin’s in the middle of debating the water bottle policy with the cashier. Somi’s texting someone nonstop. Chaeyoung is fully invested in the ingredients list on a candy box for reasons nobody understands. Asa is standing slightly apart from the group, examining her nails.
“Has anyone recorded it yet?" Ning asks, popping a kernel into her mouth. "The challenge, I mean. I haven't even picked a guy."
General murmurs of negation ripple through the group. Shuhua shakes her head. Yunjin is still fighting the cashier. Somi doesn't look up from her phone. Chaeyoung quietly puts the candy box back on the shelf.
"I have," Asa says.
Every head turns.
"Already?" Shuhua's eyes go wide. "It's been like two days since we agreed on this."
"It was this afternoon, actually." Asa inspects a cuticle with surgical focus. "I finished about four hours ago."
Ning abandons her popcorn curation entirely. "Send it. Right now. Group chat."
"Absolutely not. I haven't finished editing. The raw footage needs color correction, the audio is unbalanced, and I want to add text overlays for the—"
"Oh my god, just send the raw version,” Ning groans.
"No. You'll see it when it's ready."
Shuhua leans in, lowering her tone even though nobody else in the lobby is paying attention. "Is it someone from our college?"
"Yes."
"Someone we know?"
Asa lets out a short laugh. “Absolutely not. He’s literally just some random library guy. Total loser. But Jesus Christ, his dick is huge. Like, weirdly huge. I was not mentally prepared for that at all.” Ning's eyebrows climb her forehead. "It was fucking hard to handle," Asa continues, touching her throat absently. "My throat still hurts a little, honestly. The girth on that thing was insane."
"The quiet ones always pack," Yunjin offers, having apparently won her water bottle argument. She rejoins the group with the confidence of a courtroom victor. "It's like a rule of the universe."
Chaeyoung has been quiet this whole time, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. She clears her throat softly. "I've been thinking, and I might not do the challenge. I don't think I can just walk up to some random guy and ask him to, you know. I'd rather die."
Somi finally looks up from her phone. She crosses the gap between them in two long strides and puts her hand on Chaeyoung's shoulder. Firm. Decisive. "You're not backing out," Somi tells her. "I won't allow it."
"But I literally cannot approach a stranger and say those things to his face. I would combust."
"Then don't. You're recording with me. We'll do it as a duo."
Chaeyoung blinks. "Wait, really?"
Yunjin nods encouragingly. "If you want, we can help you find someone too. I know a few guys in my econ lecture who would probably pass out if you looked at them."
Somi cuts her off. "No need. I already have someone picked out. Chae records with me, I handle the talking, she just needs to show up and look pretty." She squeezes Chaeyoung's shoulder. "Easy."
Relief floods Chaeyoung's face. "Okay. If we're doing it together, then yeah. I'm in. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just bring lip gloss and a hair tie."
Asa tilts her head, considering the arrangement. "A duo is smart, actually. The contrast will look really good on camera. Two girls, one cock. The timeline will eat that up."
"It's going to be so hot," Ning agrees, pulling out her phone to check the trending hashtag.
Armed with popcorn, candy, and oversized drinks, the six of them file into the theater. They talk about the movie previews, assignments, dumb campus gossip. As if they’re not all going into this week with the exact same goal: finding someone with a nice dick.
—
The next day arrives. You're walking through the main corridor on the second floor, laptop bag over your shoulder, earbuds in, heading toward your next lecture. The hallway is busy. Students moving between classes, conversations overlapping, the usual controlled chaos of midday foot traffic.
"Hey, you!"
You don't react. That shout belongs to someone else's life.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Glasses!"
Still probably not you. Lots of people wear glasses. You keep walking. Fast footsteps come up behind you, then a manicured hand lands on your shoulder and whips you around surprisingly hard.
Jeon Somi stands in front of you.
Blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. A designer jacket thrown over a top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide her massive breasts. Long legs wrapped in fitted jeans. Sharp cheekbones, light brown eyes, and a look that feels dangerously close to a threat.
“Are you deaf?” she asks bluntly.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were talking to me. People don’t usually yell at me in hallways.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Her gaze drags over you from head to toe, quick but thorough, leaving you feeling weirdly inspected. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where? Why?”
She doesn't answer. She grabs your hand and starts walking. Not beside you. Ahead of you. Pulling you behind her like a rolling suitcase. Her grip is strong and her strides are long and you have to half jog to keep up without tripping. People notice immediately. Heads turn. Conversations pause. You catch students doing double takes as you pass. Two guys from your programming class nearly short-circuit when they see Jeon Somi towing you down the hall.
And yeah, you get why. Everyone knows who she is. The leaked nude scandal last semester made sure of that. So did the endless rumors afterward, the guys she’s been seen with, the stories people tell about her like she’s some campus celebrity. Someone like her choosing someone like you feels fundamentally wrong to everyone watching.
By tomorrow, half the school is probably going to know your name too.
Somi takes you up a stairwell. First floor, second floor, third floor. Down a corridor that gets progressively emptier. Past classrooms that are clearly in use, then past ones that aren't. The fluorescent lights up here flicker intermittently. One of the ceiling tiles has a water stain shaped like Florida.
"Somi. What do you want so badly that you had to physically drag me across the building."
"It's just a favor," she says over her shoulder.
And there it is. That word again. Favor. The exact same word Asa used yesterday at your table in the library, right before she dropped the most insane proposition you’d ever heard in your life. Suddenly the pieces line up perfectly in your head. They know each other. Asa and Somi. Same friend group. Same social circle. Same weird fucking challenge.
Yesterday it was Asa. Today it’s Somi.
You stop walking and pull your hand free from her grip. She turns around, annoyed, "What?!"
"This is about that challenge. The Twitter thing."
Somi stares at you for a beat. "You know about it?"
"I'm familiar, yeah."
"Great. So I don't need to waste time explaining." She folds her arms under her chest, drawing your attention exactly where she probably expects it to go. “Are you in?”
"Why me specifically?"
"Because you're the most pathetic looking guy on this campus." She says it without a shred of hesitation or remorse. "But you're also decent enough that I wouldn't gag just from touching your dick. That's a narrow window, and congratulations, you fit through it."
"That's the worst compliment anyone has ever given me."
"It wasn't a compliment." The two of you are standing outside a classroom at the very end of the corridor. A laminated sign taped to the door reads CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.
"This is where you picked," you say, looking at the sign. "A room that's closed for maintenance."
"Nobody will come in here. It's been shut for two weeks."
"A ceiling panel could literally fall on our heads."
"It's not going to." She pushes the handle and the door swings open. "Stop making excuses and get in."
You step into the classroom. The room is dim, lit only by thin strips of sunlight slipping through the blinds along the far wall. Desks have been shoved aside in crooked rows, and dust drifts lazily through the light. Half-erased equations still cover the whiteboard, leftovers from whatever class used this room last. And at the front of the room, perched casually on the professor’s desk, is a girl you’ve seen around campus but never spoken to. She has a pretty, sculpted face, big round eyes and dark hair with faint highlights catching the light. She's wearing an oversized cream colored sweater and a plaid skirt; the whole look makes her seem way too cozy and cute for a place this depressing.
She sneezes violently out of nowhere.
“Somi!” she groans, rubbing at her nose. “This room is disgusting. I’ve been here fifteen minutes and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed lung disease.”
"Stop being dramatic, Chae. A little dust never killed anyone." She closes the door behind you and strides further into the room. She motions between you and the girl on the desk like she’s hosting introductions at some awkward social event. “This is the guy I was talking about. Nerd boy, meet Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, meet nerd boy.”
Chaeyoung hops down from the desk, landing lightly on her sneakers. She’s almost the same height as Somi, though Somi still has a couple inches on her. "I've seen you around before," she says. "You're usually in the library, right? Or sitting by the fountain near the engineering building."
"Yeah, that's my usual orbit."
"We've never actually spoken, though." She extends her hand. "I'm Chaeyoung. Lee Chaeyoung."
You shake it. Her grip is gentle, her palm warm. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too."
Finally, you think. Someone with basic social skills and a functioning sense of decency. You glance between the two of them. They're both wearing a noticeable amount of makeup. Chaeyoung has this soft, glowy look, peachy tones and delicate details. Somi went heavier. Contoured cheekbones, defined brows, lips glossed to a mirror finish. They look like they're ready for a photoshoot, not a afternoon on the third floor of a building with water stained ceiling tiles.
"Great," Somi announces, clapping her hands once. "Now that we all know each other and we've done the little handshake thing, let's record."
You lean against one of the pushed aside desks. "Can I ask what the point of this is? Genuinely. What do either of you gain from recording this?"
"Likes," Somi says immediately. "Followers. Engagement. Clout. Take your pick."
"And that's worth it?"
"We don't care what you think. It's none of your business what we do with the video." She crosses her arms. "You're here to provide a service. That's it."
Chaeyoung shifts her weight, tugging at the cuff of her oversized sweater. "I almost gave up on the whole thing, honestly. I know it's kind of crazy. Like, objectively, this is insane behavior."
"It is insane behavior," you confirm.
"But she's here now," Somi cuts in, putting her arm around Chaeyoung's shoulders. "And she is not backing down. Right, Chae?"
"Right. Yeah. I'm here. I'm doing it."
Somi turns her attention back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Speaking of which. Your dick. Is it at least big? Because I swear to god, if I dragged you up three flights of stairs and you pull out a micropenis, I will be furious."
"It's decent."
"Decent, huh? That's exactly what guys say when they have a tiny cock. Every single time. 'It's decent.' 'It gets the job done.' And then you pull their pants down and it's like finding a AA battery in a sock."
"That's a very specific image. Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
"Don't test me right now."
Chaeyoung steps forward, putting herself slightly between you and Somi. "Can you stop being so mean to him? He's already doing us a favor by agreeing to this. The least you can do is be civil."
Somi rolls her eyes with her entire body. Her head tilts back, her shoulders drop, her hands fly up. "Please. Look at him, Chae. Look at this guy. He has never received a blowjob in his life. We are going to be the first people to ever touch his dick. He should be on his knees thanking us for the privilege."
"That's not true," you say. "I've had sex before."
"Sure you have."
"I'm serious. I actually got a blowjob yesterday."
Both of them look at you. Chaeyoung with genuine curiosity. Somi with theatrical disbelief. "Oh, really?" Somi takes a step closer, tilting her head. "Who gave you a blowjob yesterday? Name and surname, please."
The name almost leaves your mouth. It sits right there on the tip of your tongue, ready to go. And for a split second you consider it, because telling Somi that her friend already used you for this exact challenge would probably create enough chaos to shut this whole thing down. Asa mentioned that every girl had to pick a different guy. If Somi finds out she's not the first, that Asa already had you, she'd lose her mind.
Better to keep that card in your back pocket.
"It's personal," you say.
Somi stares at you for two full seconds, then turns to Chaeyoung. "See? Obvious lie. He panicked and couldn't even make up a name." She points at a chair near the center of the room. "Now sit over there."
You grab your backpack, drop it in the corner by the door, and sit in the chair she indicated. It's one of those standard classroom chairs with the little desk arm attached, but you push the arm out of the way and settle in. Somi is already moving around the room, scouting angles. She finds a spot on a shelf near the whiteboard, props her phone against a stack of old textbooks, and adjusts the lean until she's satisfied with the frame.
"The phone stays here,” she explains, tapping the screen. “It'll get both of us in the shot."
"Professional setup,” you say.
"I don't do amateur." She walks back toward you, Chaeyoung falling into step beside her. "Here's how this works. It's simple. The goal is for us to get facefucked until our makeup is ruined. That's the whole point of the trend. Cute face goes in, wrecked face comes out. So you need to not cum in thirty seconds like some premature disaster. Hold it together until our makeup is properly smudged. Can you manage that?"
"I think I can handle it," you say.
Somi raises an eyebrow. "You think?"
"... I'll handle it," you correct.
She nods once and starts heading toward the phone to hit record, but you lift a hand.
"Wait. One thing."
She stops and turns. "What now?"
"Can you show me your tits? Just... help me out a little. Get things moving."
The look she gives you is lethal. You're genuinely not sure if she's about to slap you or walk out. "You're such a pervert."
"You're about to do all this for Twitter likes. I don't think I'm the only pervert in this room.”
Chaeyoung lets out a laugh, immediately stifled behind her hand. Somi shoots her a look and Chaeyoung straightens her face, pressing her lips together.
"Fine," Somi mutters, then reaches back and taps the record button on her phone. She walks back over to you, stops right in front of your chair, and shrugs off her jacket with way more force than necessary, tossing it onto the floor. Then, without hesitation, she grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head in one smooth motion. She'd been going braless this whole time.
And her breasts are genuinely, absurdly large. Full and round on her narrow frame, heavy enough to bounce slightly from the motion of pulling her top off. Her skin is smooth, even toned, her nipples a soft pink against the pale expanse.
She stands there with her hands on her hips, topless and defiant. "Happy now, pervert?"
Chaeyoung is pulling at the collar of her cream sweater, fanning herself. "God, it really is hot in here. No ventilation at all." She tugs the sweater over her head and folds it neatly, setting it on a desk. Underneath she's wearing a simple white bra. Her chest is small, barely filling the cups, her collarbones delicate and pronounced above the band.
The contrast is staggering. Somi's huge, bare breasts next to Chaeyoung's petite frame in her little white bra. The tall, aggressive blonde towering over the soft, nervous brunette. Both of them in front of you, half undressed, in a locked classroom on the third floor of a building nobody visits.
Your cock is hard. Fully, uncomfortably hard, straining against the front of your jeans. There's no hiding it and you don't try. "Okay," Somi says, her eyes dropping to your lap for a fraction of a second. "Let's begin."
She kneels in front of the chair. Chaeyoung follows, settling on her knees to Somi's right. Somi's hands go to your belt, her long fingers working the buckle with efficiency. She yanks your jeans down your thighs with both hands, and your boxers come with them. She doesn't bother with the slow reveal. She pulls everything to your ankles in one sharp tug and your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach, thick and fully hard.
Somi stops. Her hands are still on the bunched fabric at your knees. Her eyes are locked on your cock. Her lips part, just slightly, and you watch her throat move as she swallows. "What the fuck," she mutters.
Chaeyoung, kneeling beside her, has gone completely still. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are wide. She's staring at your cock the way people stare at car accidents. Unable to look away, unable to process what she's seeing.
"Okay, that's..." She cuts herself off and stares for another second. "No. Hold on… That is actually the biggest dick I've ever seen in my entire life." She looks back up at you. "I'm being serious.”
Somi recovers. She flips her hair over one shoulder and wraps her fingers around the base. They don't close. Her fingertips fall about a centimeter short of her thumb.
"Well," she says, tone forcibly casual. "At least you won't embarrass us in the video."
"That's all you have to say?" Chaeyoung is still gaping. "Somi, look at this thing."
"I'm looking at it. I'm literally holding it. Stop acting like you've never seen a cock."
"Not one like this."
Somi starts stroking. Slow, tight pulls from base to tip, her grip adjusting to accommodate the girth. Her palm is slick with nothing but her own sweat and it's not enough, so she leans forward and spits. A thick, glossy string that lands on the shaft and she spreads it with her fist, twisting on the upstroke. Chaeyoung reaches out tentatively and wraps her smaller hand around the shaft just below Somi's. Her fingers look even more inadequate against the thickness. She strokes in tandem, following Somi's rhythm, and you can see the fascination on her face. She's studying your cock like it's a specimen, tilting her head, watching the way the veins pulse under her fingers.
"I literally do not know how I'm going to fit this in my mouth," Chaeyoung says quietly.
"The harder it is to take, the hotter it'll look on camera," Somi says, pumping steadily. "Trust me. You're gonna look amazing struggling with it. Just try not to throw up on his cock. I'm not doing another take because your gag reflex decided to betray us."
Chaeyoung immediately scrunches up her face. "Ew. Why would you even say that?"
"Because I'm thinking ahead.”
You lean back in the chair, watching both of their hands work your shaft. "Somi, quick suggestion: instead of talking about vomit, maybe switch gears and give me a titjob. Feels a lot more productive.”
Somi's head snaps up. "Who do you think you are? Asking me for a titjob? This isn't about your pleasure, this is about our content. You have no rights here. You're a prop."
Chaeyoung glances between you and Somi. "Actually, that would look really good on camera,” you explain.
"Excuse me?"
"Think about it," you say, keeping your tone light, reasonable. "Your tits wrapped around my cock, all wet and shiny with spit. Glistening in the light. That's premium content. The timeline would lose their minds."
"God, fine!” Somi snaps. "But only because it'll look good. Not because you asked." She shifts forward on her knees, positioning herself between your legs. She grabs your cock and angles it straight up, then presses her breasts together around the shaft.
The visual is pornographic: your thick cock disappearing into the soft, warm valley of her massive tits, the head poking out from the top of her cleavage on every upstroke. "Chae, spit on it," she orders.
Chaeyoung leans in and spits on the head of your cock, a neat string that drips down the shaft and into Somi's cleavage. Somi starts moving, sliding her breasts up and down, using her hands to press them tight around you. The friction is insane. Warm and slick and pillowy, her soft skin squeezing your girth from both sides.
She finds her rhythm, bouncing her tits on your cock with smooth rolls of her torso. More spit from Chaeyoung. More from Somi herself, leaning down to drool on your shaft before pressing it back between her breasts. The saliva mixes with the thin sheen of sweat building on her skin, and soon her entire chest is glistening, your cock sliding effortlessly through the slick channel.
"There," Somi says, watching the head of your cock emerge from her cleavage on each upstroke. "Happy now?"
"Extremely."
"Enjoy it. This is the only titjob you'll ever get from these." She works you for another minute, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each motion, wet and gleaming in the dusty light filtering through the blinds. Your cock throbs between them, flushed and leaking, leaving trails of precum that mix with the saliva coating her skin. Eventually Somi pulls back, her breasts separating from your shaft with a slick sound.
"Okay. Enough warmup. Time for the real thing." She grabs your cock and angles it toward her face. "Don't go easy on me. I can handle whatever you've got."
You put your hand on the back of her head. Blonde hair, silky and thick between your fingers. You pull her forward and your cock slides past her glossy lips, stretching them wide. Somi takes half of you on the first push, her jaw straining around the girth, and you feel her throat clench as you hit the back of her mouth. You pull back, then push again, deeper. Her eyes water but she doesn't flinch. She grabs your thighs and braces herself, and you start fucking her face with real momentum.
Somi is aggressive even when she's the one being used. She pushes back against your thrusts, trying to take more, making these low grunting sounds in her throat every time you bottom out. Spit builds fast, coating your shaft in thick, frothy ropes that drip from her chin onto her bare chest. Her lipgloss is the first casualty, smearing in wide, shiny streaks across her cheeks and along your cock.
You pull out and she gasps, spit hanging from her lower lip in long strings. "Harder," she demands. "Come on, nerd. That's all you've got?"
You grab a fistful of her hair and shove her back down. Harder this time. Faster. The slapping of her lips meeting your pelvis fills the classroom, wet and rhythmic and obscene. Her mascara starts to run. Dark streaks bleeding from the corners of her eyes, tracking down her cheekbones. Her contour, her foundation, all of it softening and smudging under the assault of spit and tears.
You pull out of Somi's mouth and angle your cock toward Chaeyoung. She's been kneeling beside Somi this whole time, watching with flushed cheeks and parted lips, her hands resting on her thighs. "Your turn," you say.
Chaeyoung takes a breath and opens her mouth. You guide yourself in gently, slower than you did with Somi. Her lips stretch around the head and she whimpers, high and soft, her brow creasing as the girth fills her mouth. You push in a few inches and feel her gag, her throat tightening, her hands flying to your hips.
You stop. Let her adjust. She breathes through her nose, her eyes squeezed shut, and then nods slightly. You push again, easing into a shallow rhythm, just the first half of your shaft sliding between her stretched lips. She's struggling. Her jaw isn't built for this. But she's trying, god is she trying, her tongue working the underside of your cock, her lips sealed tight despite the strain.
"Relax your throat," Somi coaches from beside her. "Stop fighting it. Let him in." Chaeyoung adjusts her angle, tilting her chin up, and on the next stroke you slide an inch deeper. She gags again but pushes through it, her fingers gripping your thighs, her eyes watering. The peachy blush on her cheeks is bleeding, her subtle eye makeup starting to track.
You alternate. A minute in Somi's mouth, rough and fast, her mascara running in black rivers while she glares up at you with those defiant eyes. Then a minute in Chaeyoung's, slower, gentler, watching her struggle and adapt and gradually take more of you. Between rounds, they lick your cock together. Somi on one side, Chaeyoung on the other, their tongues meeting at the tip in a messy, overlapping tangle. Chaeyoung giggles when their lips brush. Somi pretends she doesn't notice.
Somi grabs the back of Chaeyoung's head suddenly, fingers tangling in her dark hair, and pushes her down on your cock.
"Deeper," Somi orders. "Don't be a pussy about it. Take it." Chaeyoung's eyes go wide and she gags hard as your cock hits the back of her throat, but Somi holds her there, keeps her down. You feel Chaeyoung's throat spasm around the head of your cock and her fingers dig into your thighs. Somi eases up after a few seconds and Chaeyoung pulls off gasping, a thick web of spit connecting her lips to your shaft.
"See?" Somi says. "You can take it. You just needed a push."
"You're crazy," Chaeyoung breathes. But she's smiling.
She leans back in, licking along the shaft, and takes you into her mouth again on her own terms. Deeper. More confident. Her eyes find yours and stay there, glassy and adoring. Then Somi pushes Chaeyoung aside and swallows your cock to the base. All of it. Her nose pressing into your pelvis, her throat bulging, her eyes rolling back for just a second before she catches herself. She holds you there, breathing through her nose in sharp bursts, then pulls off and jacks you with both hands.
"Fuck," Somi mutters, staring at your cock. "Why does your stupid dick feel so good in my throat." She says it like she's genuinely annoyed about it.
You fuck her face until her foundation is gone entirely, until the careful contour is just a memory and her cheeks are flushed and raw and wet with tears and spit. You fuck Chaeyoung's face until her peachy blush is smeared sideways and her mascara has bled into dark smudges beneath her lashes. They take turns. They share. They kiss each other around the head of your cock, their ruined lips meeting in sloppy, wet passes, tasting each other and tasting you.
The pressure in your stomach is winding tight. The balls deep thrusts into Somi's willing throat, the sweet suction of Chaeyoung's eager mouth, the visual of two beautiful, wrecked girls on their knees fighting over your cock. You won't last.
"I'm close," you tell them.
Somi pulls off immediately, gripping the base of your cock with one hand. "On our faces. Stand up."
You stand. Your legs are shaky but you manage. Somi and Chaeyoung press their cheeks together, kneeling side by side in front of you, looking up. You stroke your cock over their faces. Fast, tight pulls, your fist slick with the accumulated spit of both their mouths. Somi's hand comes up and wraps around yours, helping you pump, her eyes locked on the head of your cock inches from her face.
And then you cum. The first shot catches Somi across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, a thick white rope that clings to her skin and starts to drip. She flinches and then holds still, jaw clenched, taking it. The second hits her forehead and tracks into her hairline. The third you aim at Chaeyoung, a long, heavy streak from her eyebrow down across her cheek to the corner of her open mouth. She gasps, her tongue darting out to catch what landed on her lips, and she moans.
More. A fourth shot across Chaeyoung's nose, landing on Somi's cheek where their faces are pressed together. A fifth that paints Chaeyoung's chin in a thick, dripping coat. A sixth, weaker, that drips from the tip of your cock onto Somi's chest, landing between her glistening breasts.
Chaeyoung is glowing, cum splattered across her flushed face and dripping down to her collarbone. She's smiling like she means it. Genuine and gorgeous. She licks the mess off her lips and laughs, breathless and bubbly, like getting painted with your load is the highlight of her day.
Somi wipes cum out of her right eye and stares at the evidence stringing between her fingers. "Okay," she admits, chest still heaving. "That was pretty fucking hot.”
She stands, crosses to the shelf where her phone is propped, and brings it close to their faces. She angles the screen so the camera captures both of them in tight frame. Glazed, ruined, beautiful. "Say goodbye," Somi tells Chaeyoung.
Chaeyoung waves at the lens with her fingers, cum still webbed between them. Then Somi turns Chaeyoung's face toward hers and kisses her. Soft, brief, their cum smeared lips pressing together and pulling apart with a slick sound. Both of them grinning when it's done.
"That turned out great," she announces, scrubbing through the footage. "The angle caught everything. The titjob, both of us choking, the facial, the kiss. This is premium content."
Chaeyoung wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and looks at you. "Thank you. Seriously. That was actually really fun."
"Anytime," you say, pulling your boxers and jeans back up.
Somi goes to her bag, pulling out wet wipes and a compact mirror. She starts cleaning her face with brisk, efficient motions, checking her reflection between each pass. Chaeyoung walks up to you while Somi is distracted. She's still got traces of cum on her jaw and she doesn't seem to care. She pulls out her phone.
"Can you follow me on Insta? I'd love to chat sometime. Outside of, you know, this whole situation."
You take out your phone. She tells you her handle and you type it in. Her page loads. Aesthetic photos, cute selfies, pictures of coffee and cats. You hit follow.
"I'll text you tonight," she promises. "For real. Not just saying that."
"I believe you."
Somi's reflection catches Chaeyoung in the mirror. "Chae, you know you're way too pretty for him, right? You could do so much better."
Chaeyoung rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to her. She's like that with literally every person on the planet."
"I'm used to the type," you say.
Somi snaps her compact shut. "Okay, we're done here. You can leave now. We don't need you anymore. Go study or whatever it is you do."
You grab your backpack from the corner, sling it over your shoulder. Chaeyoung gives you a little wave, her fingers wiggling, that warm smile still on her face. You wave back.
"Bye, nerd," Somi calls without looking up from her phone.
You push through the heavy door and step into the empty hallway, adjusting your glasses and shifting your backpack as you start toward the stairs. Behind you, through the closed door, you can still hear Chaeyoung complaining about the dust.
Two days. Two separate encounters. Two groups of gorgeous girls actively searching for you because of the same completely insane Twitter challenge. At this point, you're not even questioning it anymore.
This is very quickly becoming the best week of your life. And, to be honest, you’re more than ready to see how much weirder it gets.
—
The lecture hall slowly empties around you while you're still shoving your laptop into your bag. Your phone vibrates against the desk. Instagram DM. Chaeyoung. Her name appears with the little sparkle emoji from her profile, and you catch yourself smiling.
hey! how was class? hope ur not dying of boredom 🥲
You type back as you walk into the corridor. The conversation flows easier than you expected. She tells you about her morning, complains about her statistics professor, asks what you're studying. You mention you've been into a sci fi book lately and it turns out she's read it twice. She sends a screenshot of her bookshelf and half the titles are ones you own. The exchange feels weirdly normal. Like she's a person, not the girl who was on her knees beside Somi yesterday with cum dripping off her chin.
Then a notification slides down from the top of your screen.
Instagram DM. Huh_Yunjin.
You stop walking in the middle of the hallway.
hey 🤍 you free rn?
You open the DM and instantly do what literally anyone would do. You tap her profile. Black and white profile pic. Dark lipstick. Looking unfairly good for no reason. Almost a million followers. Yeah. That tracks. You scroll a little. Pictures that somehow survive Instagram moderation by the smallest possible margin. Sheer tops. Suspicious camera angles. Captions written like ongoing jokes between her and her followers. A tiny link in her bio leads exactly where you'd expect.
You know what this is about. You'd have to be brain dead not to. You reply:
wyd?
wanna give you a little something. trust me, you’re not gonna regret it
where r u
the theater room. building C, the big one with the stage. place is empty rn. just me. come find me 😈
how do i know this isn't some prank
Typing dots. Gone. She gives up on whatever she was typing. Then an Instagram notification slides onto your screen.
Photo • View Once.
Yunjin is in front of a full length mirror backstage somewhere, phone angled to catch herself in profile. Her plaid skirt is bunched up around her hips. No panties. The curve of her ass is right there, the dip of her lower back, one hand lifting the fabric to show you everything. A cropped top that barely contains her. Heels. Her face turned slightly toward the camera with a smirk that says she does this kind of thing on Tuesdays for fun.
The photo disappears. A new message pops up almost immediately.
does that seriously look like a prank?
been watching you for a while
you're cute
i'm interested. but hurry up. i'm not sitting here waiting all day
omw🏃
You shove your phone in your pocket and start walking faster.
Building C is across the quad. You take the path behind the library, the longer one, less foot traffic. Halfway there you stop and dig into the small zippered pocket of your backpack. A little plastic bag, sealed tight, three gummies left inside. Small, innocent looking, red and shaped like cartoon bears. You bought a whole bulk order after that stream went viral last year. The one with the two streamers who lost their minds on camera. You only tuned in because Hyeju was supposed to make a guest appearance, and you stayed because, well, the clips that came out of that night are still floating around the seedier corners of Twitter for a reason.
You pop one into your mouth and bite down. Sweet. Faint chemical aftertaste. You feel it start to dissolve under your tongue.
This thing is going to load your balls up like you've been edging for a week. The first time you tried one you came so much you genuinely thought something was wrong with you. Now you keep them around for special occasions, mostly solo sessions, but lately the universe has been throwing special occasions at you like it owes you back pay.
Four girls in three days. All from the same circle. This whole hot little clique of certified sluts is going through you like a relay race, and you're still undecided on whether that should hurt your pride or massively inflate your ego.
You push through the theater doors and lock them behind you with the inside latch. The auditorium is dark. Rows of empty seats descending toward the stage, which is lit warm and amber by the work lights overhead. You walk down the center aisle, your sneakers quiet on the carpet.
"Are you sure this is a safe place for this," you call out as you reach the stairs leading up to the stage.
A figure straightens up from behind one of the prop tables near the back of the stage. She steps into the warm pool of light, and yeah. Okay.
Yunjin in person is something else.
Tall. Legs that go forever, made even longer by the black heels strapped around her ankles. The plaid skirt from the photo, riding high on her thighs. A black crop top with thin straps, her stomach toned and bare, the slight curve of her chest visible underneath. Her hair is blonde. Freshly done, by the look of it, that bright platinum that catches every bit of stage light. Full pouty lips painted a glossy plum that's already smudged slightly at one corner. Sharp eyes. Mischief lives in them.
"My friend works here," she says, stopping a step away from you. "She runs lighting for the drama department. She told me the building is dead until evening rehearsal. We've got at least an hour, probably more." She looks you up and down, slow, taking inventory. "I'm glad you actually showed up."
"You called me."
"I did call you." She grins. "Not gonna do the whole introduction thing because everyone here knows who I am. Let's save the time. There's this Twitter challenge going around right now. Me and my girls all jumped on it. The premise is pretty simple. I need to get absolutely ruined on camera by a guy who looks exactly like you." Her hands come up and find the collar of your shirt, fingers playing with the fabric. "You're perfect for this," she tells you. "Glasses, the messy hair, the whole shy genius thing. I clocked you in the cafeteria last week. You were mumbling to yourself about some equation, and I thought, yeah. Him. Definitely him."
"I've heard about the challenge."
Her eyebrows lift. "Oh, really?"
"Word gets around." You hold her gaze. "I'm in."
"Smart boy." Her hand drops from your collar and slides down your chest, your stomach, and lands square on the front of your jeans. She squeezes lightly. "Oh, look at this. You're already hard. Is that for me?"
"That picture would make a dead man hard."
She laughs, head tipped back, her throat exposed. "Listen to you. I expected some stuttering little nerd, all sweaty palms and broken sentences. You're way more confident than I gave you credit for."
Your hands find her waist. She's warm under your palms, her skin smooth where your thumbs rest against her bare stomach. You let one hand slide down and around, palming the curve of her ass through the skirt. Squeezing. It's even better than the photo suggested. Thick and full and firm under your fingers.
"Mm." She presses into your hand. "Yeah, okay. You can definitely keep doing that." She squeezes your cock through your jeans again, harder this time, mapping out the shape of you. Her grin widens. "Wait. Hold on." She squeezes again. "What are you packing under here? This feels promising."
"You'll find out."
"I'm finding out right now, apparently." She leans her face close to yours, plum lips almost brushing your mouth. "This video is gonna be way better than I planned. I was expecting cute and mid. This is feeling more like cute and dangerous."
"I'll do my best."
"Yeah? Tell me what you're gonna do."
"I'm going to make you gag on it until you can't talk straight. I want to see you wrecked. Drooling on yourself. Huh Yunjin choking on my cock until your makeup is in your lap."
"Fuck yes. That's the energy." She closes the distance and kisses you.
She kisses like she's trying to eat you alive. Plum gloss smearing, tongue immediately in your mouth, both hands fisting the front of your shirt and pulling you against her. You back her up two steps until she hits the prop table behind her, and your hands are everywhere. Up her sides, palming the soft swell of her chest through that thin top, down to grab two handfuls of her ass and pull her tight against you. She rolls her hips into your bulge and groans into your mouth.
You make out for what feels like a while. Long enough that you're both breathing hard, her gloss completely gone from her lips and smudged across yours, her hair mussed where your fingers tangled in it. She pulls back, panting. "Okay. Okay, let's actually do this before I get carried away and just ride you in a folding chair." She steps out of your reach. "I'm gonna get undressed."
"All the way?"
"All the way." She's already reaching back to unzip the skirt. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. None of this half clothed business. I want my whole body in frame."
She undresses without an ounce of self consciousness. The skirt drops to the floor and she steps out of it. The crop top comes off over her head and her hair tumbles back down around her shoulders. Just heels left. She stands there in the warm stage light, completely bare, hands on her hips, watching you watch her.
She is staggering. Toned legs flowing up into thick thighs that gap at the top. Her ass round and full behind her. Her chest is small, soft, her nipples pierced with delicate silver bars catching the light. A subtle line of definition down her stomach. Her plum lips swollen from the kissing, her eye makeup still mostly intact, sharp and dark.
"Well," she says, doing a slow turn for you. "What's the verdict, professor?"
"You're perfect."
"Correct answer." She picks up her phone from the table, taps it into camera mode, and hands it to you. "Don't drop it. And try to keep me in frame, but don't worry about being artsy. The chaos is the point." She sinks down to her knees on the wooden stage floor, looking up at you. The amber lights catch her hair and turn it almost gold. She tilts her head, smirks, runs her tongue slowly along her lower lip. "Alright, babe. Let's see what we're working with."
Her hands settle on the front of your pants.
Yunjin’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants with an ease that makes it immediately clear this isn’t new territory for her. And definitely not the weirdest place she’s done it. She keeps looking up at you while she works the button open, her glossy lips curved in that teasing little smile, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she tugs the zipper down.
“You’re trying so hard to look calm,” she says, amused, her knuckles brushing the hard outline of you through your underwear. “It’s cute. I can feel your dick jumping every time I touch you.”
“You’re naked on your knees in front of me,” you answer. “I’d be more worried if I looked calm.”
She laughs under her breath and pulls your pants down with your underwear in one smooth motion. Your cock springs out hard, heavy, already leaking precum from the kissing and the gummy spreading heat through your veins. Yunjin actually goes silent. You watch the reaction hit in stages. First surprise. Eyes widening. Taking a second look. Then comes the grin. Slow, filthy, pure excitement.
“Oh my god,” she says, sitting back on her heels. “No fucking way.”
You glance down at her, trying not to grin too much. “Still think I’m just cute and dorky?”
“Shut up, I’m processing.” She wraps one hand around the base, and her fingers don’t close all the way. That makes her smile wider. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Quiet guys are always hiding something evil in their pants. This might be the biggest dick I’ve ever had in my mouth, and I’m not even saying that to boost your nerd ego.”
“That’s a pretty strong review.”
“I have experience. My review matters.” She strokes once, slow, her thumb dragging along the underside. “Jesus. It’s not even just long. It’s fat. Like, I’m gonna feel personally disrespected by my own jaw in ten minutes.”
She leans in and spits directly onto the head, letting the saliva slide down before she spreads it with her palm. Her hand moves over you with immediate ease, slicking you up, twisting around the ridge, cupping the head, rubbing the wetness down the shaft until your cock gleams under the stage lights. She watches the shine build with open appreciation.
“Pretty,” she murmurs, smiling to herself before lightly tapping your cock against her cheek. Once. Then again. Soft little smacks against skin. She tilts her head, looking way too pleased. “Jesus. Look at this thing.” Her grin widens. “This is absolutely gonna ruin me.”
She drags the underside over her lips, leaving a wet smear of saliva and precum across the plum gloss. Her mouth opens slightly, tongue slipping out to trace the swollen head. She gives you one slow lick, then kisses the tip like she’s flirting with it, her eyes staying locked on yours the whole time.
“You know what’s dangerous?” she says, rubbing your cock along her lower lip. “I can already tell I’m gonna be stupid about this. I’m supposed to make a cute little challenge video and go home, but this dick looks like it could ruin my plans for the week.”
“You’ve barely started.”
“I know. That’s the problem.” She opens her mouth wider and lets the head rest on her tongue. “I’m excited.” Then she takes you in.
The first slide into her mouth is hot, wet, and far too smooth for something that should be difficult. Her lips stretch around the girth, glossy and plush, sealing tight as she sinks lower. You feel her tongue flatten beneath you, guiding the shaft in a practiced line, easing the thickness over the middle of her tongue and toward the back of her throat. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t panic. She makes room.
You swear under your breath when she takes more than half of you on the first try. Yunjin hums around your cock, pleased with the reaction, and pulls up slowly until only the head remains between her lips. Her cheeks hollow, suction tightening in a way that nearly makes your knees buckle. She swirls her tongue around the ridge, collects the slickness gathering there, then sinks down again, deeper this time, both hands on your thighs for balance.
Yeah, okay. She absolutely knows what she’s doing. There’s skill in the way she moves, not just enthusiasm. She angles her head to take the girth without scraping teeth. She uses her tongue constantly, dragging it along the underside, pressing into the sensitive strip beneath the head whenever she pulls back. Her lips never loosen. Every inch of you gets attention, and when she reaches the point where most girls would stop, she relaxes her jaw, breathes through her nose, and keeps going.
Your cock hits the back of her throat. She gags once, barely, more like her body acknowledging the size than refusing it. Her hands squeeze your thighs. Her eyes flutter, watery already, but she forces another inch down until her lips are close to the base. Then, with a slow, obscene determination, she swallows around you and noses against your pelvis.
“Fuck,” you say, because there isn’t anything smarter available in your brain.
She pulls off with a slick gasp, saliva stretching from her mouth to your cock before breaking across her chin. Her lips are swollen and wet, the plum gloss already smeared beyond repair. “See?” she says, breathing hard but grinning. “Made for it.”
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate about head. That’s sacred.” She strokes you in one hand while the other drops to your balls, cupping them with a reverence that surprises you. Her eyes lower. “Oh, these are heavy. What the hell are you feeding them?”
“Would you believe gummy bears?”
She looks up sharply, amused. “Don’t joke with me while I’m worshipping your balls.”
“I’m not joking.”
She studies your face for a second, then laughs. “You’re weird. I like it.” Her fingers roll your balls gently, feeling the weight, her tongue slipping out to lick along the base of your shaft. “These are going to make an insane mess of me, aren’t they?”
“That’s the plan.”
“That better be a promise.” She bends lower and takes one of your balls into her mouth, lips sealing around it, tongue moving with slow, wet attention. Her hand keeps stroking your cock while she sucks gently, then switches to the other, giving it the same treatment. The stage lights catch every trail of saliva on her chin, every smudge of makeup beginning to soften around her mouth. She looks completely at home like this, naked, kneeling, eyes bright with hunger.
“You have no idea how hot this is,” she says between kisses along your shaft. “Your cock is stupid big, your balls are full, and you look like you still think this is a weird dream you’re gonna wake up from.”
"It’s crossed my mind, yeah.”
“Don’t wake up. I’m not done being a slut for you.” She goes back down on you, more aggressive now. Her hand grips the base while her mouth works the upper half, fast and wet, tongue flicking, lips dragging, throat opening whenever she decides to take you deep. She alternates between worship and hunger, kissing your shaft, licking the veins, spitting on it again when she wants more slickness, rubbing the mess over you with her palm before swallowing you down.
Your phone stays in your hand, recording, the frame centered on her face. It catches everything. The way her lips stretch around you. The way her eyes lift to the lens whenever she takes you deep. The slow collapse of her makeup. Plum lipstick smeared across her chin, mascara damp at the corners, saliva slipping down her neck and onto the small rise of her chest.
She pulls off, panting, and slaps the head of your cock against her tongue twice before rubbing it over her lips. “I’m getting attached,” she says, almost accusatory. “That’s so unfair. You show up with this fat thing and expect me to act normal after?”
"You invited me."
"Yeah, and now this cock is mine. I'm calling dibs." She plants another wet kiss on the tip, then smiles up at you from below with spit running down her chin and eyes half-lidded from sheer arousal.
Yunjin leans in and swallows you deep again, this time she doesn't pull back when her throat tightens, the discomfort is part of the pleasure, swallowing repeatedly, forcing herself to adjust, her eyes watering harder, completely red now. You feel the muscles contracting around your cock, feel her body working to accept every inch. You watch as her thighs press together beneath her, the shine between them highlighted by the overhead stage lights when she shifts.
"Fuck, you're soaked," you groan.
She pulls off just enough to speak, lips still brushing the head. "Obviously I am. Do you have any idea what it's like having this monster prying my mouth open? My pussy's been dripping since I saw it." Her hand slides between her legs for one quick touch, collecting the proof of just how much of a slut she is, then she shows the wet shine on her fingers to the camera with a shameless smile.
"See? Your fault." She licks her own fingers making an obscene sound that makes your cock throb, then looks up at you. "Okay. I want it now."
"Want what?"
Her smile turns wicked. "Don't play dumb. Grab my hair and use my throat. I've been nice to your dick. Now ruin me for the video. Fuck my face, I know you're dying to do it."
"Alright, since you insist." Your free hand slides into her blonde hair, gripping close to the scalp. Yunjin opens her mouth immediately, tongue out, waiting, that look of a bitch in heat as deliberate as it is involuntary. You guide her forward and push your cock between her lips. Yunjin accepts the first thrust with a deep inhale through her nose, then braces her hands against your thighs.
You start hard right away. There's no need to build a rhythm when you already know what Huh Yunjin is capable of. Your thrusts are deep, each one pressing into her throat, nothing brutal yet but firm enough that her body has to be actively working to keep from gagging badly on your cock. Her eyes start watering again. Her lips stretch around you, swollen and slick. Saliva spills from the corners of her mouth almost immediately, pooling under her chin before dripping onto her chest.
Yunjin takes it beautifully.
The more you give her, the more alive she looks. She doesn't retreat from the roughness. She leans forward, seeking more force, gripping your thighs and letting you control the angle while she focuses on relaxing her throat around every thrust. A professional cocksucker, indeed. Your cock slides in and out of her mouth with wet sounds that echo louder and louder across the vastness of the theater, the camera catching her face coming undone in real time like a painting in the rain.
The lipstick is no longer neat, smeared across her cheeks and your shaft, purple and red streaks mixing with spit. Her mascara begins to run in thin lines, and when Yunjin looks up at you through wet lashes, you see genuine happiness stamped across her ruined face; it's beautiful to witness such raw passion in simply being the biggest slut on campus.
"Fuck, Yunjin," you say, driving deeper. "You really can take it."
She tries to answer around your cock and only manages a garbled, eager sound. Her hands go to your hips, pulling you forward — a clear signal for you to pick up the pace. So you fuck her mouth harder. Your hips slam into her face, your hand holding her in place, and every deep thrust makes her throat bulge and clench. She gags, recovers, takes it again. Tears spill freely now, cutting through the makeup on her cheeks. Drool runs down her neck in thick streams, sliding over her collarbone, dripping onto her small breasts and leaving glossy trails across her nipples.
You pull out to let her breathe. She inhales sharply, laughs, and spits a filthy string of saliva onto your cock.
"That's it. That's the clip. Holy shit, keep going. We're making history. My pussy is literally dripping onto the stage right now. How do I look?"
"You already look completely ruined," you tell her. "In other words: pretty fucking hot."
"Good. Make it worse then." Yunjin rubs her cheek against your shaft, nuzzling affectionately like she has genuine fondness for the thing destroying her face. "This cock is too fucking good. I hate that I found you through a trend. I should've hunted you down weeks ago. My bad."
You push back into her mouth, and she takes you with that same hunger. Now the rhythm is getting rougher and less careful, driven by the gummy bear's effect creeping through your bloodstream. Your balls feel heavy, too full, aching with all the pressure, and Yunjin notices. Her hand reaches down to cup them while you fuck her throat, squeezing gently, rolling them between her fingers.
The rhythm is partially interrupted when you see her thighs starting to tremble. You notice a full-body tremor rolling through her before she finally locks up completely. Both hands clench around you, fingers digging in, her throat contracts hard around your cock in thick, rhythmic pulses. She's cumming. Unironically, she's cumming right there on her knees with your cock buried in her throat, cumming just from having a cock in her mouth. Her eyes blow wide, then roll back until only the whites are visible, lashes fluttering as tears cut down her ruined face. Her whole body shudders and her hips jerks against nothing. You've never seen anything this hot in your life.
When you pull back to let Yunjin breathe again, you ask: "Holy fuck, d-did you just cum?"
She slumps forward with forehead pressing against your thigh, laughing in these ragged, wrecked little gasps. "I told you I was a slut." She tilts her face up and there's mascara smeared everywhere, along with spit, tears, and pure satisfaction. "Don't act so surprised." She drags the back of her hand across her chin and only smears it worse. "A cock like that shoved down my throat? Yeah. That's what happens."
"That's, like, really insane."
"That's talent, babe. Now put it back." You do, of course, and she gives herself over with even less restraint. The next stretch is messy beyond any salvation. She alternates between taking full-on facefucking and pulling you out to worship the head, tongue circling, lips sucking hard, hands pumping the base. The dirty talk pours out nonstop whenever her mouth is free because she simply can't contain herself, and you love that about her.
"This is mine now," she says, pumping you with both hands. "I'm serious. You don't get to walk around campus with this fat cock pretending it's public property. I found it, I choked on it, I came from it, so I have rights."
"Okay so you're making legal claims now?"
"Sexual claims. Way more serious." She kisses your tip, leaving a ruined smear of lipstick and spit. "You know, I'm going to think about this in class from now on. I'm going to be sitting there pretending to take notes while remembering how your cock stretched my throat open.”
Your orgasm starts building for real, low and heavy, dragged out by the gummy until it feels almost too intense. Yunjin senses the shift and pulls off, wrapping both hands around your cock. Her grip is slick, fast, frantic, using all the spit coating you. “You close?”
“Yeah.”
“On my face,” she says instantly. “All over it. Don’t waste a drop anywhere boring. I want to look disgusting.”
She jerks you harder, her hands sliding from base to tip in quick, wet strokes. Her ruined face is right below the head of your cock, eyes locked on you, mouth open, tongue visible between glossy lips. “Come on,” she urges. “Make me pretty. Paint this slutty face. I want it in my hair, on my lips, down my neck. Give me that huge nerd load. I know you’ve got it.”
The pressure snaps. The first jet hits her cheekbone hard, thick and white, streaking toward her ear. Yunjin gasps, delighted, and doesn’t stop stroking you. The second shoots across her forehead and into the roots of her blonde hair. The third lands over her nose and upper lip, splattering hot across the smeared makeup. She laughs, breathless and amazed, pumping you faster. “Holy fuck,” she says. “There’s so much.”
More comes. Another heavy rope spills over her open mouth, coating her tongue before sliding down her chin. She tilts your cock with one hand, aiming the next burst at her neck, and it paints a thick line down her throat. She drags the head lower, still milking you, and more cum spurts across her collarbone and small breasts, catching on her nipples and dripping toward her stomach.
It keeps going. The gummy turns the orgasm into something ridiculous, relentless, your cock pulsing over and over while Yunjin works every contraction out of you. She aims you back at her face for the final spurts, letting them splatter across her lips and jaw, adding more white to the ruined plum and black makeup already smeared everywhere.
By the time the last weak pulse drips from the tip, she is covered. Face, neck, chest, the top of her stomach. Cum clings to her lashes, streaks through her hair, sits thick on her lips. She stares down at herself, stunned for half a second, then bursts into laughter.
“Oh my god,” she says, genuinely amazed. “What are you, a fucking fire hose?”
You’re still catching your breath, phone aimed directly at her. The frame catches her kneeling there in the stage lights, naked and trembling, grinning through a mask of cum and destroyed makeup.
Yunjin lifts her chin toward the camera and smiles like she knows exactly how filthy she looks. She drags one finger through the cum on her cheek, brings it to her mouth, and tastes it slowly.
“Yummy,” she says, making sure the camera catches the way her tongue cleans her fingertip.
Then she pouts at the lens, exaggerated and sexy, lips glossy with your cum, eyes half lidded and sparkling with trouble. She holds the pose long enough to make the ending perfect.
You stop recording. For a moment, both of you just stand there in the afterglow of it, the empty theater silent around you except for Yunjin’s uneven breathing. She rises carefully, one hand finding the edge of the prop table to steady herself. Her knees shake a little, and she laughs again when she notices.
“That,” she says, pointing at you with a cum covered finger, “was the best blowjob, deep throat, facefucking situation I have ever been part of. And I’ve got an extensive resume.”
You pull your underwear and pants back up, still sensitive enough that even the fabric brushing you makes you wince. “Glad I ranked highly.”
“Highly? Babe, you broke the scale.” She looks down at the mess on her chest, then back at your jeans like she can still see through them. “I’m obsessed. That’s so annoying. I was supposed to film a hot clip, post it, brag in the group chat, and move on with my life. Now I’m standing here covered in your cum wondering if I can fit you into my schedule as a recurring problem.”
“That sounds flattering.”
“It’s extremely flattering. Don’t let it make you arrogant.” She bends down carefully, picking her clothes off the floor one by one. She doesn’t put anything on yet, probably because there is no clean way to do it while coated like this. “Are you free tonight?”
You pause with your belt half fastened. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. My place.”
“I thought you got what you needed.”
“With you?” She gives you a look that makes it very clear how stupid she thinks that sentence was. “No, babe. I have so many things I need to do with your dick that I should not start listing them, because if I do, I’ll get wet again and try to fuck you right here on this stage before the drama kids show up.”
You glance toward the backstage hallway. “How are you getting rid of all of that?”
“There are showers behind the dressing rooms.” She waves it off, completely unconcerned. “I’ve made bigger messes here during tech week. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re really inviting me over after this?”
“I’m not inviting. I’m claiming.” She steps closer, still naked, still streaked with cum, and taps a finger against your chest. “I’ll send you my address on IG. Come tonight. Bring that cock, bring the weird gummy thing if that’s part of your magic, and don’t make plans for tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” you say.
“Good. And hey. Seriously. That was insane.”
“You were insane.”
“I know. That’s why people like me.” You hand her phone back. She checks the video quickly, scrubbing through the timeline with professional focus despite the fact that cum is still dripping from her chin onto her chest.
“Oh, this is disgusting,” she says happily. “Perfect. The lighting is hot, my face looks wrecked, your dick looks criminal. I might not even have to edit much. Maybe just cut the parts where I was yapping my ass off about being in love with your cock.”
“Glad the production value survived.”
“Barely. My dignity did not, but that wasn’t invited.” She heads toward the backstage showers with her clothes bundled in one arm, hips swaying, heels clicking lightly on the stage floor. Before disappearing behind the curtain, she turns back, still grinning. “Tonight,” she says. “Don’t make me chase you.”
You leave the stage feeling absurdly good about yourself. The theater doors shut behind you, and the hallway outside is empty, too normal for what just happened. Your legs are steady enough now, your breathing mostly back.
Four girls so far. Not that you're counting. Okay, maybe a little. Asa. Somi and Chaeyoung. Now Yunjin. Two more should still be out there somewhere. You head back toward the main campus mentally preparing for the next completely normal and not concerning interaction of the week.
—
The park looks stupidly nice today. One of those afternoons where the lighting is so good everything suddenly feels edited. Trees glowing, grass looking greener than usual, the whole thing straight out of a stock photo. Families on blankets. Dogs losing their minds over frisbees. People jogging. Just regular people doing regular Thursday stuff.
Shuhua walks beside Ning with a cherry popsicle in hand, somehow managing to eat it with impossible levels of grace. No sticky fingers. No drips. Every little movement neat and automatic, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth between bites. Her pale blue dress shifts softly around her ankles in the breeze, dark hair pinned back with a single clip. Between the sunlight and the whole effortless look she's got going on, she barely feels real.
Next to Shuhua, Ning looks like the opposite side of the same coin. Tiny shorts, cropped tank, dark hair down around her shoulders. The center part frames her face in a way that somehow makes her eyes stand out even more. People call her features feline all the time. Mostly because of her eyes. Sharp. Alert. Always tracking everything around her.
"Have you seen Yunjin's numbers?" Ning asks, scrolling her phone while walking, a skill she's perfected over years of content creation. "Forty thousand views in twelve hours. Forty thousand. And she barely edited. The color grading is flat and the audio peaks twice. Imagine if she'd actually put effort into post."
Shuhua takes another careful bite of her popsicle. "I thought her video was quite good, actually."
"It was fine. Asa's was better. The library setting, the composition, the slow buildup. That's how you do it." Ning locks her phone and slides it into her back pocket. "The point is, we're the only ones who haven't filmed yet. Somi and Chaeyoung posted theirs this morning. Asa posted yesterday. Yunjin went up last night. We're falling behind."
"It's not a race, Ning."
"Everything is a race when likes are involved." She glances sideways at Shuhua. "I can't afford to lose momentum. My account gained six hundred followers just from reposting Asa's clip with commentary. If I post my own content from the trend while it's still peaking, the engagement will be insane. But we need to find someone today."
Shuhua finishes the last bite of her popsicle and holds the bare stick between two fingers, looking around for a trash can. "I agree we should film soon. I've been thinking about it more than I expected, honestly. The idea is growing on me."
"Growing on you how?"
A faint blush spreads across Shuhua's cheeks, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She looks away for a second. "I'd rather not get into that in the middle of a public park.”
Ning grins. "That's all the elaboration I needed."
They round a bend in the path and that's when Shuhua spots you. Sitting on the grass under an oak tree, legs crossed, a paperback open in your lap. Earbuds in. Glasses catching the afternoon light. Completely oblivious to the world around you, which is your default state and, apparently, your most attractive quality. "I know him," Shuhua says, slowing her pace. "He's in my Wednesday seminar. Quiet. Sits in the back row. He's quite smart, from what I can tell."
Ning studies you with the detached precision of a photographer framing a shot. "I've seen him around too. Library, mostly. Always alone, always reading." She tilts her head. "He's got the look. The glasses, the messy hair, the whole unaware thing. The contrast would photograph beautifully."
They exchange a glance. Shuhua raises one eyebrow. Ning nods once.
"Together?" Shuhua asks.
"Together." Shuhua deposits her popsicle stick in a trash can along the path and the two of them walk across the grass toward you. Their shadows fall over your book before you register their presence. You pull one earbud out and look up.
Oh. Sure. The last two.
Ning shifts her weight onto one hip and studies you quietly. Not openly suspicious, not exactly friendly either. Up close, she's honestly more striking than her photos ever made her seem. You've seen her Instagram enough times to know that. There's something magnetic about her in person. The sharpness of her features. The unwavering eye contact. Like once she looks at you, looking away becomes your responsibility.
And then there's Shuhua. You keep trying to come up with a better word for it, but ethereal is annoyingly accurate. Pale skin glowing under the sunlight, big dark eyes, delicate features that somehow look even softer up close. She has her hands folded in front of her dress so neatly that she looks like she belongs at some afternoon tea party, not here near you.
It's incredible, genuinely, how you went from being invisible on this campus to being the gravitational center of the six hottest girls at the university. One week. Seven days of your previously unremarkable life, and suddenly you can't sit in a park without attracting beautiful women who want to use your cock for content.
"Have you heard of a Twitter trend called Ruin the Pretty Face?" Ning asks, skipping past any greeting.
"Yeah,” you say, closing your book. "It's gotten huge lately. Honestly kind of wild.”
"We want to record a video," Shuhua adds, her tone polite as ever, like she's asking you to proofread an essay. "With you. If you're willing."
You look around the park. Families. Dogs. Vendors selling popcorn and ice cream. A man flying a kite about thirty meters away. "Here? Right now?"
"Not here, obviously," Ning says. "I drove today. We can film in my car. Tinted windows, good camera, plenty of privacy."
"And both of you are recording this together."
"Yes," they say in unison.
You let that sink in for approximately half a second before your brain finishes its cost benefit analysis.
"Okay," you say, standing up and tucking the book under your arm. Shuhua falls into step beside you as the three of you start walking toward the parking area. Ning leads, phone already out, checking the light conditions, probably calculating optimal filming angles based on where her car is parked relative to the sun.
"Can I ask you something?" Shuhua asks gently. Her hands remain clasped as she walks, pale blue fabric shifting around her calves with every step.
"Go ahead."
"Has any girl ever approached you before asking for the same thing? For this challenge, I mean."
You don't hesitate. "No. You two are the first crazy ones to come up to me with something like this."
Shuhua nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I'd feel strange if we weren't the first. It would change the dynamic."
Ning glances back over her shoulder. "The dynamic's fine. Let's stay focused." The parking garage is only about a five minute walk from the park. Ning's SUV is parked on the second level, black with windows tinted dark enough to look at least a little suspicious. She unlocks it with her key fob and jerks her head toward the back door. "Get in the back.”
You climb in. The interior is clean, almost obsessively so. No fast food wrappers, no loose change, no clutter. Just a faint scent of clean air and leather. Shuhua slides in on your left, gathering her long dress around her legs with careful, ladylike precision. Ning gets in on your right, pulling the door shut with a solid thunk. The tinted windows turn the afternoon light dim and amber. You're sandwiched between them. Shuhua's thigh brushes yours through her linen dress. Ning's bare leg presses warm against your other side.
Ning reaches into a bag near the front seat and produces a compact makeup kit, the professional kind with multiple compartments and a lighted mirror. She flips it open and starts touching up her face, quick and efficient. Then she hands it to Shuhua, who applies a careful layer of lip tint and a fresh coat of mascara, checking her reflection from three different angles before she's satisfied.
"We'll record on my phone," Ning announces, then hands you the device. "Hold it. I want mobility in the shot. Don't shake it, keep us in frame, and don't film anything identifiable about the car."
"I can handle it." You barely stop yourself from smiling. She has no clue you've somehow ended up doing this three separate times in the same week. At this point you could probably run a masterclass on filming angles for horny Twitter content. "Trust me.”
"We'll see." Ning turns to face you more fully, one leg tucking beneath her on the seat. "And one more warning. You're cumming in my mouth. Tell us when you're about to blow, because I’m not letting you make a mess in my car. Understood? Now get that cock hard."
Two hands find your lap simultaneously. Ning's on the right, confident and direct, her fingers pressing against the growing shape beneath your jeans. Shuhua's on the left, lighter, more tentative, her touch exploratory as it traces the outline of you through the fabric.
Ning leans in first, kissing you without much hesitation. Her lips are cool and smooth, carrying the faint taste of gloss. A quiet hum leaves her before she pulls away again. Then Shuhua takes her place.
The shift is instant. Shuhua kisses more softly, more carefully, barely parting her lips at first. But her hand around your cock tightens slightly, betraying nerves or excitement. She still tastes faintly like cherry from the popsicle. When your tongue brushes against hers, her breathing catches and a small surprised sound slips out before she can stop it.
Then suddenly it's all three of you at once. Kisses overlapping, mouths brushing against mouths, everything blurring together into something messy and warm. For a few seconds it gets hard to tell where one kiss ends and another begins. Shuhua's perfectly composed expression slips just a little, her eyes growing heavy. And Ning's whole cool princess act cracks for a split second when you catch her lower lip between your teeth and a real reaction slips out before she can stop it.
"You kiss well for a nerd," Ning murmurs against the corner of your mouth. They keep kissing you. Both of them. Taking turns, sharing, their hands still stroking you through your jeans, until Shuhua's brow furrows, her hand stops moving on your lap and her fingers press down, tracing the shape more carefully. Her eyes widen.
"Your cock is actually fucking huge," she murmurs.
Ning's hand joins Shuhua's, both of them feeling you through the denim now, mapping out the length and thickness with growing disbelief. "Hmm, it's probably just the pants," Ning says, though her expression suggests she doesn't believe that for a second. "Let's check if that's actually the case."
Ning yanks your belt open with zero hesitation. She tugs your pants down your thighs, and you lift your hips so she can pull them past your knees. Your boxers go with them. Your cock springs free, half hard and swelling heavier by the second in the warm, close air of the car.
Ning just stares for a second. Her lips part slightly, eyebrows lifting before she can stop them, and for one brief, completely unguarded moment she looks genuinely caught off guard. Her hand comes up slowly, wraps around the shaft, and her fingers don't even come close to meeting. "Okay," she breathes. "This is going to be way better than I imagined."
Shuhua leans across your lap to see, her pale face inches from your cock, and her dark eyes go impossibly round. "That is the biggest dick I have ever seen. In my entire life. Holy shit."
Your cock's still a little sore, honestly. Yunjin kept you at her place until almost two in the morning. At some point you completely lost track of how many times she made you cum, how many positions she somehow folded herself into, or how many times she looked you dead in the eyes and told you your cock belonged to her now.
The gummy lasted way longer than the package claimed it would, and by the time you finally collapsed onto her couch, you were pretty sure your body had reached its limit. For the first time since this whole insane week started, you actually felt drained.
But you can find some more stamina. For Shuhua and Ning, you can dig deep.
Ning strokes you once, twice, feeling the girth, watching the way your cock thickens further under her touch. She glances at Shuhua with a grin spreading across her face. You lift the phone, frame the shot tight on both of them, and hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.
Ning leans down and drags her tongue in a long, flat stripe from the base to the tip. Shuhua follows immediately, her tongue tracing the opposite side, and the two of them meet at the head with their mouths brushing against each other. Ning takes you in first, wrapping her lips around the crown and sinking down, taking as much of your girth as her small mouth can manage on the first pass. Her cheeks hollow and she pulls up slow, letting the camera catch the slick shine coating your shaft. "Your turn," she murmurs, and guides your cock toward Shuhua's mouth.
Shuhua parts her lips and takes you in gently. Her eyes flutter closed and a soft, quiet sound escapes her throat. She bobs her head in shallow, careful motions, her hand gripping the base where her mouth can't reach. She's tentative at first. Testing. Adjusting to the stretch of her jaw around something this thick. But she doesn't pull away. If anything, she sinks deeper, taking another inch, then another, her throat working around you.
"Good?" Ning asks, watching Shuhua's face with curiosity.
Shuhua pulls off just enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head. "Very good." She kisses the tip softly, then takes you back into her mouth with more confidence.
They trade off. Ning goes deep, sloppy and showy, letting spit pool and drip down her chin because she knows exactly how it looks on camera. She moans around your shaft, loud and performative, her dark eyes finding the phone lens and holding the gaze. Her tongue works the underside with practiced skill, and when she pulls off, thick strings of saliva connect her swollen lips to your cock. Shuhua takes over with a steadier, quieter intensity. She sucks you with focus, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She discovers a rhythm that makes you twitch in her mouth and she stays there, repeating the motion, building on it. Her hand cups your balls, rolling them gently, and you hear her whimper against your shaft.
This looks like the kind of porn video you'd scroll past on your feed and immediately save. Two insanely beautiful women in the backseat of a car, heads in your lap, taking turns swallowing your cock while the afternoon light filters through tinted windows.
You decide it's time to step it up. Your free hand slides into Ning's dark hair and you push her head down. She takes it with a muffled sound of surprise that melts into a groan as your cock hits the back of her throat. You hold her there, feeling her throat constrict around you, then pull her back and push forward again. Fucking her face in slow, deep strokes. Her hands grip your thigh for balance and she opens her throat for you, letting you use her mouth however you want.
"Fuck yes," she gasps when you let her up for air. "Use me. Treat me like your slut." You push her back down and pick up the pace. Your hips roll up from the seat, driving your cock into her mouth while your hand controls the depth. Spit spills from the corners of her stretched lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her crop top. Her mascara starts to bleed at the corners of her eyes.
Then you switch. You pull Ning off and guide Shuhua down by the hair. She resists for half a second, startled by the rougher handling, then melts into it. You thrust into her mouth and she makes this sweet, overwhelmed sound, her eyes going wide and wet. You fuck her face slower than you did Ning's, giving her time to adjust, but you don't go easy. She doesn't want easy. You can tell from the way her hands keep drifting to her chest, squeezing her breasts lightly whenever she gets too worked up.
"Your dick feels so good in my mouth," Shuhua whispers when you give her a moment to breathe. Her usual elegance is slipping. Hair sticks to her lips, her cheeks are flushed, and every word sounds less put together than the last. "I didn't expect to enjoy it this much. It's so thick, it stretches my jaw so wide, and I just want to keep taking it."
"Then take it," you tell her, and she does. Shuhua sinks down on her own, swallowing as much of you as she can manage, and works her throat around you with a determination that borders on desperate.
You alternate between them. A dozen strokes into Ning's willing throat, then a dozen into Shuhua's eager mouth. Your hand switches between their heads, pulling, guiding, controlling the pace. Their makeup is slowly losing the fight. Ning's contour is smudged along her jawline now, and the gloss she'd put on earlier is long gone, leaving her lips puffy and messy. Shuhua's mascara has started to run beneath her eyes, creating dark crescents that weren't there before. Even her lip tint is smeared across her cheek now. The polished look both of them started with has completely fallen apart.
The pressure builds low and heavy in your stomach. Your balls tighten. The gummy's lingering effects make the orgasm feel enormous, swelling bigger than you can hold back. "I'm about to cum," you announce.
Ning pulls Shuhua off your cock and moves in front of you, kneeling on the floor of the backseat between your spread legs. She wraps her lips around the head and seals them tight, her hand pumping the shaft in fast, wet strokes. Her dark eyes look up at you, then at the camera, holding the gaze while she works you toward the edge.
You cum hard. The first pulse floods her mouth and she flinches, her cheeks bulging slightly before she swallows. More follows. Thick, heavy spurts that fill her faster than she can manage. Her throat works overtime but some of it escapes, leaking from the corners of her sealed lips and dripping down her chin. You keep cumming, pulse after pulse, the gummy ensuring that the load is obscene, far more than any normal session should produce. Her eyes water but she doesn't pull off. She takes everything you give her, her hand milking every last drop from your shaft.
When you finally stop throbbing, Ning pulls off slowly. She keeps her lips pressed tight together and turns to face the camera. She opens her mouth.
It's full. Completely full. Your cum pools on her tongue, thick and white, some of it already dripping from her lower lip. She tilts her head back slightly to show the camera, letting the load sit there, visible and obscene. Shuhua leans in close, her face next to Ning's. Ning cups Shuhua's chin and tilts her face up. Slowly she lets the cum dribble from her mouth into Shuhua's open lips. A thick strand stretches between them before breaking and landing on Shuhua's tongue.
Shuhua closes her mouth and swirls it, her expression somewhere between wonder and arousal. Then she leans toward Ning and passes it back, letting the cum slide from her lips into Ning's waiting mouth. They go back and forth, the load shrinking slightly with each transfer as they swallow bits of it, giggling between passes, their lips brushing together each time.
Finally, Ning swallows the last of it and pulls Shuhua in for a kiss. A real one. Deep and slow and wet, their tongues visible between their joined mouths, cum and saliva smearing across both their chins. They break apart and turn to face the camera with matching grins.
Ning winks at the lens. Shuhua blows a kiss.
Their faces are destroyed. Mascara tracking down their cheeks, lips swollen and smeared, chins dripping, hair tangled and damp. Ning's crop top is stained dark with spit. Shuhua's pale cheeks are flushed pink all the way to her ears. They look absolutely ruined and absolutely gorgeous.
Perfect content.
You stop recording. The car falls quiet except for their breathing and the distant sound of a car alarm somewhere in the structure. You hand the phone to Ning.
"Thanks," she says, already scrubbing through the footage. Her eyes move quickly, evaluating. "You did a great job filming. The angles are solid, you kept us in frame, the lighting caught everything. This is usable."
"I did the best I could."
"You succeeded." She watches a specific section again, the cumswapping part, and nods approvingly. "This is going to perform so well. The engagement on this will be insane."
You reach down and pull your pants back up, fastening your belt with slightly shaky fingers. "Well. I need to go now." You look between them. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. Genuinely."
Shuhua tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear and smiles at you, still flushed, still catching her breath. "Thank you for your help. I mean it. You were very kind about the whole thing."
"Anytime." You open the car door and the cool air of the parking structure hits your face. You step out, legs a bit unsteady, and turn back to close the door.
Ning is watching you with a slight frown. She glances at Shuhua, saying, "It was a little too easy."
"What do you mean?"
"He wasn't surprised by the request. He wasn't overly excited about having two girls sucking his dick in my car. He treated the whole thing like it was just another day." She tilts her head. "That's weird, right? Most guys would be losing their minds right now."
Shuhua considers this for a moment. "Yeah, he was actually quite calm. Unusually calm. But maybe it all happened too fast and he didn't have time to process everything properly."
"Maybe," Ning says, not fully convinced. She shrugs and looks back at her phone. "Whatever. We better clean up. I still need to edit and post this before the trend peaks."
Shuhua reaches for the makeup kit. "Don't forget to tag me in the video."
Shuhua rolls her eyes and smiles at the same time somehow. "Of course. Nothing says friendship like performance metrics.”
—
As usual for a weekend, Yunjin's living room is full. The girls have somehow claimed every inch of the giant L shaped couch, stretched out with their legs tangled together and their attention split between their phones and conversations happening in five directions at once. The TV's running in the background, ignored completely. Empty sushi containers crowd the coffee table beside abandoned wine glasses and Somi's energy drink.
Chaeyoung sits in Somi's lap with her back against Somi's chest, scrolling her phone while Somi braids a small section of her hair absentmindedly. Asa is cross legged on the floor cushion by the window, her laptop open, analytics dashboard visible. Ning occupies the armchair with her legs draped over one side, editing something on her phone. Shuhua sits upright at the end of the couch, both feet on the floor, posture perfect even at eleven at night.
Yunjin paces behind the couch in an oversized t shirt and shorts, wine glass in hand, narrating. "Final conclusion: Asa is winning," she announces, pointing at the screen Asa turns toward the group. "Obviously. She posted first, the algorithm favored her, the library setting was aesthetic, and her editing is annoyingly good. Twelve thousand likes and climbing. The comments are losing their minds."
"Thank you," Asa says simply.
"Second place is me." Yunjin grins with absolutely no humility. "As it should, honestly. I killed it and looked amazing doing it. Ning, put my video back on. Show them the ending.”
Ning taps the link and angles her phone so the group can see. The final thirty seconds of Yunjin's clip play on the small screen. The stage lighting, Yunjin's ruined face, and then the cumshot. The girls lean in and watch as rope after rope lands across Yunjin's cheeks, her forehead, her open mouth, her chin, her neck. It keeps going. And going. The volume of it is genuinely startling.
"What the actual fuck," Somi says, pausing mid braid.
"That's not real," Ning adds, rewinding and playing it again. "That can't be real. That's like a full minute of cum."
"It felt like a full minute," Yunjin confirms, swirling her wine. "My face was dripping. It got in my hair and I had to wash it three times."
Shuhua tilts her head, studying the footage with clinical interest. "I've genuinely never seen anyone produce that much. Is that medically normal?"
"He told me he had these gummy bears that act like some ridiculously overpowered aphrodisiac. Explains the massive cum loads. Pure genius." Yunjin takes a sip. "Look at those numbers. People are sharing that clip specifically because of the finish. The algorithm is pushing it."
Chaeyoung covers her eyes. "I can't watch it again. It's too much."
"You literally made out with Somi on camera with cum all over your face," Yunjin reminds her. "Don't get all puritan on me now."
"Watching and actually being part of it are two completely different things,” Chaeyoung replies.
By the way, their duo video is doing pretty well too. Somi's chaotic, aggressive energy mixed with Chaeyoung's softer vibe ended up creating this weirdly perfect contrast people are absolutely obsessed with. The comments are exactly what you'd expect: half thirsty, half completely unhinged. Which is apparently the dream outcome, even if Somi keeps pretending she never reads them. Ning and Shuhua's clip has the lowest numbers so far, but that's mostly because theirs went up last.
"My video's gonna do numbers too. Give it forty eight hours," Ning says, unbothered. "Late posts always start slower. Lower engagement upfront, longer lifespan after. Some big NSFW accounts already picked it up and are funneling people over.”
"You and your analytics," Yunjin mutters.
"My analytics pay my rent."
Asa closes her laptop and leans back against the wall. "Honestly? I think this worked out for everyone. The videos are getting attention, engagement's solid, and none of us got banned. That's good enough for me.”
For a few seconds, the room settles into this quiet, satisfied silence. Then Shuhua casually says, "It's the same guy."
Every head turns. Nobody says anything. Just several seconds of confused blinking until Ning finally asks: "What do you mean?"
Shuhua points at Ning's phone, which still has Yunjin's video paused on screen. "That cock. It's the same one in our video. Look at it. The size, the shape, the slight curve to the left. It's identical."
"No way," Yunjin says. "That's impossible."
"Play all the videos side by side," Shuhua insists. Asa immediately gets to work. A few quick movements later, all four clips are sitting side by side on the screen. She hits play.
The evidence is damning. The same thick shaft. The same slight leftward curve. The same heavy balls. The same pair of hands, same forearms, same skin. It's definitely the same person.
"Oh my god," Chaeyoung breathes.
"It's the same fucking guy," Somi says after a long silence. "How did six different people somehow land on the same nerd? There's no way that's statistically possible."
Ning gives a small shrug. "Shared good taste."
"This isn't funny."
"I'm not joking." Ning barely reacts. "He checked every box. He was available. Apparently very available."
Chaeyoung's face visibly crumples. She sinks lower into Somi's lap and hugs a pillow against herself. "We texted every day...I thought we had something going on.”
"Aw, Chae..." Somi murmurs softly, and her hands go back to braiding Chaeyoung's hair.
Yunjin lowers her wine glass onto the counter and looks around. "Okay, before anyone gets mad… I slept with him after.”
"You WHAT?" Somi sits up so fast that Chaeyoung nearly topples off her lap.
"His dick is amazing," Yunjin says, completely unapologetic. "I got hooked. We had sex for hours and I was about to schedule a second date. Sue me."
Chaeyoung's eyes are glassy. "I can't believe I was starting to fall for someone who was getting blowjobs from all my friends behind my back."
"Nobody knew anything," Asa says firmly. "That's the point. None of us coordinated. None of us told each other which guy we picked. We all approached him independently."
Shuhua folds her hands in her lap. "I asked him directly. When Ning and I found him in the park, I asked if any girl had ever approached him before with the same request. He told us no. That we were the first."
"That lying piece of shit," Somi hisses.
"Honestly?" Asa starts. "We can't judge him. Think about it. If we had known we were all using the same guy, we would have dropped him immediately. He saw an opportunity and he took it."
Shuhua nods. "It's somewhat fair when you consider the full picture. We used him for content and engagement. He used the situation for his own benefit. We're not really in a position to be angry."
"I'm in a position to be angry," Somi declares. Chaeyoung sniffles. Somi's hand moves from her hair to her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. "I warned you that you deserved better than him," she says.
Ning rolls her eyes from the armchair. "Please. It's not like she and him were dating. There was no exclusivity, no commitment, no cheating. She texted him for a few days. That's hardly a betrayal."
"It felt like something," Chaeyoung mumbles into the pillow.
Yunjin walks around the couch and stands in front of all of them. Her posture shifts, shoulders back, chin up, that specific energy she gets when a plan is forming behind her eyes. "We're all going out," she announces.
"Out where?" Asa asks.
"The mall. After hours. We're going to find him and we're going to settle this."
"Settle it how?" Shuhua inquires, politely but with clear suspicion.
"Chaeyoung, text him right now. Tell him to meet us." Yunjin pauses. "Actually, forget it. Let me handle this. I know how to persuade him."
Somi crosses her arms, careful not to dislodge Chaeyoung from her lap. "What exactly are you planning, Yunjin?"
Yunjin looks at her like the answer should be written on the ceiling. "Isn't it obvious? A fucking orgy. All six of us. One night. One guy. In the mall after closing."
Asa grins and laughs. “Girl, you’ve officially lost it.”
"Consider it a farewell orgy," Yunjin continues, pacing now, warming to the idea. "We get it out of our systems. All of us. Every last fantasy and curiosity and frustration. And after that, he's free. Completely free for Chaeyoung, if she still wants him. Clean slate."
Shuhua raises a finger. "Nobody is pursuing him. The only person who had sex with him outside of the challenge was you."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miss Dump-the-Lore. I'm horny and I want an orgy. Are you in or not?"
"Fuck it," Somi says. "This is my shot at getting even. I'm gonna destroy that dick. Brutally.”
Asa sets her laptop aside and stretches her arms above her head. "I'm in too. I'll admit it. I've been curious about what that thing feels like somewhere other than my throat."
Ning locks her phone and swings her legs off the armchair. "I'm in. I'm honestly curious to see how this drama's gonna end. Plus Amazon still hasn't delivered my new super vibrator, and rewatching all those clips got me horny as hell.”
Shuhua smooths her skirt over her knees, considering. "Since everyone else is going, I suppose I'll participate as well.
Everyone’s attention lands on Chaeyoung. She slowly raises her head from the pillow in Somi’s lap, pink-cheeked and blinking through damp lashes. “...Fine,” she says. “I’m in too. I want to feel that cock filling me, stretching my pussy open.” She glances down, embarrassed but honest. “I dreamed about it last night and woke up dripping.”
Then comes the collective murmur. Quiet gasps. Suppressed laughs. Multiple people making deeply judgmental mmm sounds at once. Chaeyoung lets out a tiny embarrassed laugh and hides behind her pillow again.
"Oh my god, shut up," she mumbles. "All of you, shut up, please.”
Yunjin claps her hands together so hard it echoes off the apartment walls. "Perfect! Up, everyone. Go get changed." She grabs her keys from the counter and points at the group. "And I hope every single one of you is on the pill, because things are going to get pretty fucking intense.”
—
The mall is nearly deserted when you get there. A handful of people drift toward the exits while janitors sweep through the empty walkways. The background music hums through the open space, weirdly loud without the usual crowd to drown it out. At the top of the escalator, you spot them right away. Six girls sitting around a table by the pretzel stand, looking way too good to be here for anything innocent. You know exactly what this is. You figured it out the second Yunjin texted you. The game’s up. And somehow, instead of feeling nervous, you feel completely calm. You stroll over with your hands in your pockets and pull up a chair.
"Hey girls," you say, sitting down and leaning back. "How are the videos going?"
Somi’s glare is intense enough to be considered a health hazard. Her arms are folded tightly, her expression hard, pure annoyance radiating off her in waves. Yunjin, on the other hand, looks almost entertained. She rests her chin in her hand and studies you with narrowed eyes.
“Wow,” she says. “You really had us all fooled, huh? Playing all six of us while acting like you didn’t know what was happening.”
You shrug. "You guys wanted to use me for content. I let you. Every single time. The fact that you all happened to pick the same guy isn't really my problem to solve."
Shuhua tilts her head. Those elegant features carry a trace of genuine hurt underneath the composure. "You lied to me. I asked you directly if anyone else had approached you, and you looked me in the eyes and said no."
"Yeah," you admit. No point denying it. "I did. But be honest, the video turned out great, didn't it? If you'd known I already filmed with four other girls, you would've found someone else, and maybe that someone else wouldn't have been half as good on camera."
Ning, who's been scrolling through engagement metrics on her phone this entire time, murmurs without looking up. "He has a point."
"Don't encourage him," Somi snaps.
Chaeyoung hasn't said much. She's sitting between Somi and Asa, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. When she finally glances up, her face is calm, but her eyes give her away. There’s hurt there, even if she’s trying to hide it.
"You were sleeping with Yunjin," she says quietly.
"This only happened once.”
Somi leans forward. "Chaeyoung likes you, you absolute idiot."
You meet Chaeyoung’s eyes and hold them. “Hey, I like you too. But we’ve been talking for less than a week” You spread your hands toward the table. “And I didn’t exactly know what to make of you yet. Mostly because, no offense…” You gesture at the others. “The people you’re surrounded by aren’t exactly screaming reliable.”
Asa slowly lowers her iced coffee onto the table. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Are you calling us sluts?”
“Asa, you literally called yourself a slut in the library. Those were your exact words.”
“Yeah, and when we say it, it’s empowering,” Asa shoots back smoothly. “It’s reclaiming the word. We're owning our choices, our bodies, and making money on our own terms. It’s about autonomy. What you’re doing is using it like an insult, which is a completely different thing.”
You raise your palms in surrender. "Fair enough. My bad. So why am I here? Are you gonna jump me in a food court? Beat me up behind a Cinnabon?"
Yunjin's smile spreads slow and dangerous. "Something like that. We do plan to break you. Just not in the way you're thinking." She pauses for effect, clearly enjoying herself. "We want to fuck you."
You blink. Then you lean back in the chair and let out a long breath through your nose. “Oh.” You nod once. “Yeah. Okay. That probably should’ve been my first guess.” Your eyes find Chaeyoung again. "Are you okay with this?"
She gives a small shrug that's trying very hard to look casual. "Why wouldn't I be? You're not my boyfriend or anything."
“For the record,” you say, tone shifting into something more genuine, “I’ve actually really liked talking to you. The late-night texts, the movie recs, all of it. I’d like that to keep being a thing. No matter what happens tonight.”
Chaeyoung watches you for a second, searching your face. Then a small smile tugs at her lips. “If you make me cum hard enough,” she says lightly, “I might hear your case.”
Somi snorts. Ning grins.
"I don't think I deserve to be put on trial here when I didn't actually do anything wrong," you reply. "But fine. Challenge accepted."
Ning tucks her phone into her purse and claps once. "Okay, okay, enough with the romance subplot. How exactly are we doing this? Logistics. Where, when, how."
You look around the emptying food court. "You're not seriously planning to do this here. In the mall."
Yunjin spreads her arms wide. "We've already filmed blowjobs in a library, a classroom, a theater, and a car. What's a mall?"
"The difference is we could get caught and arrested. All seven of us. Public indecency. That goes on a record."
Asa sets her iced coffee down like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to speak. She clears her throat and begins: “The mall closes in twenty minutes. After that, security drops to basically nothing. One guard for the whole building, and he usually camps out by the loading dock on the north side.”
Everyone turns to stare at her.
Completely unfazed, she keeps going: “I know a girl who works at the mattress store on the first floor. SleepHaven, over by the west corridor. She told me that whole section had all its security cameras taken down for replacement this morning, and the install crew never showed. No cameras until at least Monday.” She takes a casual sip of her coffee. “I’ll head down now, ask to use the restroom, pretend to leave, then hide in there until they lock up. The bathroom lock’s been broken for weeks, so there’s no chance of getting stuck. Once the store’s closed and everyone’s gone, I’ll open the front gate from the inside and let you all in.”
Silence around the table. Shuhua exhales slowly. "So either this is going to be the best sex any of us have ever had, or we get arrested, end up on the local news, and our lives are effectively over."
Yunjin grins so wide it's almost manic. "Both of those outcomes sound pretty great to me. Let's go."
Chaeyoung shifts nervously in her seat. Ning puts a hand on her knee under the table. "Relax. Think about that huge cock that's about to be inside you. Focus on the positives."
"I'm literally right here," you say.
Ning just smirks at you. Doesn't say a word. Shuhua stands up and smooths down her skirt. "Fine. Let's go to the first floor. Split up. Move separately. Stay away from any active camera zones. We'll reconvene at the restrooms near the west corridor."
And that's how you end up locked in a mall bathroom stall at eleven thirty on a Saturday night, sitting on a closed toilet lid, scrolling through your phone while the building goes quiet around you. The lights in the corridor outside dim to half power. The muzak cuts off. You hear the distant rumble of security gates being pulled down over storefronts.
Forty minutes pass. Your phone buzzes. Yunjin's text reads:
on our way. going separately. be careful
You crack the stall door open and listen. Nothing. You slip out of the restroom and into the corridor. The first floor is eerie with most of the lights off, storefronts shuttered behind metal gates, the air conditioning humming low. Your sneakers barely make a sound on the polished floor. When you reach SleepHaven, five silhouettes are already gathered outside the gate. Asa's face appears behind the glass a moment later. She fiddles with something, and the front gate slides open just enough for everyone to duck under.
You file in one by one. Asa pulls the gate back down behind you. Yunjin doesn't waste a second. She kicks off her shoes and throws herself backward onto a king size display mattress near the front.
"The universe loves me. An orgy in a mattress store. This is genuinely the greatest night of my life."
Asa hisses at her immediately. "Keep it down. And we can't do this out here, anyone walking by the storefront might overhear. Grab a mattress, take it to the back area behind the counter. There are pillars back there, it's more concealed."
They end up choosing a queen-size display bed that’s already dressed in spotless sheets and looks ridiculously high-end. You grab one end, Somi grabs the other, and together you haul it behind the service counter to the back section of the store. Yunjin surveys the setup and nods approvingly. "This is actually perfect. Way better than I expected."
Shuhua is running her hand along the sheets. "This is a three thousand dollar mattress. Egyptian cotton sheets. If we're going to commit a felony, at least we're doing it in luxury."
"Okay," you say, standing at the edge of the mattress. "I'm going to be honest. I have absolutely no idea how this works. I've never done anything like this before."
Somi steps forward. She puts one hand flat on your chest and pushes. Hard. You lose your balance and fall backward onto the mattress, the expensive sheets puffing up around you. "Lie down," Somi orders, looking down at you. "And leave the rest to us."
You look up at the six girls standing over you and grin, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Alright then,” you say. “I’m at your service.”
There’s no drawn-out moment to it. Everyone just starts undressing. Yunjin finishes pulling off the top she’d already loosened earlier and casually flings it behind the counter. Somi pops her bra loose with one hand while kicking off her jeans. Ning pauses long enough to fold her skirt perfectly before setting it aside. Chaeyoung turns a little as she slips out of her bra, clearly self-conscious, while Asa strips down with the detached efficiency of someone changing after class. Shuhua carefully unbuttons her blouse, smoothing it flat over a nearby pillow.
You pull your shirt over your head, shove your jeans and boxers down, and your cock springs free. Already half hard from the sheer visual assault of six naked women in a dimly lit mattress store.
Yunjin goes first, exactly as everyone expected. She swings herself over your lap, straddling your hips as the mattress dips beneath her knees. Then she leans in and claims your mouth without warning, her tongue sliding past your lips like she’s not interested in asking permission. There’s nothing tentative about it. She kisses hard and deep, all heat and confidence. Her hand snakes down between your bodies, gripping your cock and stroking until you’re fully hard under her touch. Then she guides you lower, dragging the tip through her soaked folds until it catches at her entrance.
"God, I'll literally never get tired of this," Yunjin breathes against your lips. "The way you stretch me open. It's so fucking good every single time." She sinks down. Slow. Taking inch after inch until her ass meets your thighs and she's fully seated with your entire length buried inside her. Her walls grip you tight, clenching, adjusting. Her head tips back and her mouth falls open.
Then Somi is there. Standing over you, looking down at your face with that cold, mean expression she wears so well.
"Alright," she says, one leg swinging over your head. "Let's put that tongue to work. See if it's actually good for anything besides lying to people."
She lowers herself onto your mouth. Her pussy presses against your lips, wet and warm, her thighs framing your face. She's facing Yunjin, their knees almost touching on either side of your body. You flatten your tongue and drag it through her folds, tasting her, finding her clit and circling it. Somi's thighs twitch.
"Don't be gentle about it," she tells you, grinding down harder. "You owe me."
To your left, Ning takes Chaeyoung's hand. "C'mon babe, lie down," she murmurs. "We're not just gonna stand here watching."
Chaeyoung settles onto the mattress beside you, on her back, her dark hair fanning out across the white sheets. Ning crawls between her legs, pushes her thighs apart, and dips her head. Chaeyoung gasps when Ning's tongue touches her, her back arching slightly off the mattress.
Behind Ning, Asa kneels. With Ning on all fours, her ass presented perfectly, Asa spreads her cheeks with both hands and buries her face between them. Her tongue drags from Ning's clit all the way back, slow and thorough, circling her asshole before dipping back down to her pussy. Ning moans into Chaeyoung, the vibration making Chaeyoung whimper. Shuhua watches. She's standing beside the mattress, one hand between her own legs, fingers sliding through her wetness as she takes in the scene. Her eyes are locked on where Yunjin's body meets yours, watching your cock disappear inside her with each roll of her hips.
Yunjin notices. She reaches out with one hand, hooks it behind Shuhua's neck, and pulls her in for a kiss. Shuhua leans into it, her fingers working faster between her thighs while Yunjin's tongue slides against hers.
Yunjin breaks the kiss and looks back at Somi. "Fuck, your tits look so good from here," she says, openly staring at the way Somi's chest bounces with each shift of her hips against your face. "So fucking hot, seriously."
"I know," Somi responds, not even slightly humble about it. She rolls her hips forward, smearing herself across your mouth. "Deeper. Get your tongue inside me."
You push your tongue into her, as deep as it'll go, and she grinds down on it. Her full weight presses against your face, and breathing becomes genuinely difficult. Your nose is pressed against her clit, your mouth completely covered by her pussy. She's suffocating you and she knows it and she doesn't care.
It’s heaven. You’d die smiling buried in her ass.
Yunjin picks up her pace on top of you. She plants her hands on your chest and starts really riding, lifting her hips until just the tip remains inside before dropping back down with her full weight. Each time she takes you to the root, her breath hitches, her nails dig into your skin. Your cock is coated in her arousal, glistening every time she rises.
"You feel so deep like this," Yunjin groans, rolling her hips in a circle before slamming back down. "I swear you're in my fucking stomach right now."
Somi reaches forward and grabs one of Yunjin's tits, squeezing roughly. "Ride him harder. I wanna feel him moan into me when you do it." Yunjin laughs breathlessly and complies. She speeds up, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the dark store. Every time she bottoms out, your hips jerk involuntarily, and Somi feels the moan travel through your tongue directly into her cunt. She bites her lip, satisfied.
To your left, Chaeyoung is squirming under Ning's mouth. Her fingers are tangled in Ning's hair, pulling gently, her chest heaving. "Right there, Ning, don't stop, fuck, please don't stop."
Ning hums in acknowledgment, then gasps herself as Asa's tongue pushes inside her ass. Her back dips, pushing her hips back against Asa's face, seeking more.
"Asa, that feels insane," Ning mumbles between Chaeyoung's legs. "Do that again." Asa doesn't respond verbally. She just grips Ning's hips tighter and keeps going, alternating between her holes with a precision that has Ning trembling on her knees.
Shuhua pulls away from kissing Yunjin and kneels beside the mattress, still touching herself. “Yunjin, if I may say so, you look exceptionally pretty taking that cock,” says softly, and even her dirty talk sounds polished somehow. “The way it stretches you is... deeply impressive.”
"Shu, babe, it's unreal," Yunjin responds between bounces. "His dick is literally ruining me for everyone else. That's not even a joke. No one else is ever gonna measure up."
Somi grabs the back of your head with one hand, lifting it slightly, pressing you harder against her. Your tongue aches from the effort but you keep going, sucking her clit between your lips, flicking it rapidly. Her thighs are shaking now. "Shit," Somi breathes. "Okay, maybe your mouth isn't completely useless."
Yunjin's rhythm becomes erratic. She's chasing it now, grinding her clit against your pelvis with each downstroke, her walls clenching tighter around you. Her moans get louder, less controlled. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," she pants. "Your cock is so deep, I can feel it everywhere, I'm literally about to lose it."
She slams down one final time and holds there, grinding in tight circles. Her whole body seizes, thighs clamping against your sides, her pussy spasming around your shaft in rhythmic pulses. She throws her head back and her mouth opens in a silent scream before the sound catches up, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the store walls. Somi watches Yunjin cum and something about it tips her over the edge too. Her thighs slam shut around your head, trapping you completely, her hips bucking against your mouth in short, sharp jerks.
"Don't you dare stop," she hisses through her teeth, one hand braced on Yunjin's shoulder. Her whole body goes rigid for three seconds, then she comes apart, grinding down on your tongue through it, her slick flooding your lips and chin. Her legs tremble violently on either side of your head before she finally loosens her grip and you gasp for air.
They both climb off. Your face is drenched, Somi's arousal smeared from your forehead to your chin. Your cock is still hard, still throbbing, slick with Yunjin's cum.
Yunjin collapses onto the edge of the mattress, spent and grinning. "Okay. Who's next."
Chaeyoung sits up. Her cheeks are flushed from whatever Ning was doing to her moments ago, her eyes bright. "Me!"
The other girls shift, making room. Ning wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Asa sits back on her heels. You pull yourself upright and move toward Chaeyoung, settling between her legs as she lies back down. You look down at her. She looks up at you. In the dim glow of the emergency lights, her face is soft and beautiful and a little nervous.
You smile softly. “Hey.”
She meets it with a little smile of her own. “Hey.”
"I'm gonna go slow," you tell her quietly. Just for her. "You tell me to stop whenever you need me to." She nods, her hand finding yours on the sheet and squeezing gently.
You guide yourself to Chaeyoung's entrance and press forward. Just the tip at first, barely pushing in, letting her feel the stretch before you commit. Her eyes go wide, her lips parting, fingers curling into the sheets beneath her. "Oh my god," she whispers, staring up at you. "That's just the beginning?"
"Just the beginning," you confirm, and push another inch inside her.
Behind you, the mattress shifts as everyone else finds their positions. Yunjin grabs Shuhua by the waist and pulls her close, tangling their legs together until their pussies press flush against each other. Yunjin starts grinding immediately, rolling her hips in slow, lazy circles, her wetness mixing with Shuhua's. A few feet away, Ning swings a leg over Asa's face and settles down, her knees bracketing Asa's head. Asa's hands come up to grip Ning's thighs and she gets to work without being asked. Somi kneels between Asa's spread legs, slides two fingers inside her, and starts pumping with a casual, almost bored efficiency that makes it clear she's done this before.
You sink deeper into Chaeyoung. She grabs your forearm, squeezing hard, her back lifting off the mattress. You stop halfway and let her breathe. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just... give me a sec. You're really thick." She exhales slowly, her walls fluttering around you, adjusting. Then she nods. "Keep going." You push the rest of the way in. All of it. Chaeyoung's mouth falls open and no sound comes out for a solid three seconds. Then she lets out this shaky, overwhelmed little moan that makes Yunjin glance over from her scissoring position and grin.
"There it is," Yunjin says approvingly, grinding harder against Shuhua. "That's the face. I made that exact same face my first time with him."
You pull back slowly and thrust in again, building a gentle rhythm. Chaeyoung's hands find your shoulders, pulling you down closer. You lean in and kiss her, soft and deep, and she melts into it. When you pull back, she's smiling.
"You taste like Somi," she murmurs against your lips.
"Bet that's a taste you know pretty well."
Chaeyoung's cheeks flush even darker. "Maybe."
Somi doesn't even look up from fingering Asa. "I heard that. And yes, she does."
Ning laughs from her perch on Asa's face, then cuts herself off with a sharp gasp when Asa does something particularly good with her tongue. "Fuck, Asa, what are you doing down there? That's so good, keep doing that."
Asa can't respond because her mouth is full of Ning's pussy, but she gives a thumbs up with one hand, which makes Shuhua giggle breathlessly from where she's grinding against Yunjin.
"This is genuinely the most unhinged thing I've ever participated in," Shuhua manages between heavy breaths, her hips moving in rhythm with Yunjin's. "And I'm including the time Ning convinced me to skinny dip at that resort."
"Shu, babe, this is so much better than skinny dipping," Yunjin replies, reaching down to adjust the angle of their hips so their clits press together more directly. Shuhua whimpers at the change in pressure. "This is like... peak friendship activities right here."
You pick up the pace with Chaeyoung. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind your back, and the new angle lets you go deeper. Her nails rake down your shoulders. "Right there," she breathes. "Oh god, right there, don't move from that spot."
"Chae's getting loud," Somi observes, curling her fingers inside Asa and making her jolt. "I love that for her honestly."
"She deserves it," Ning says, then rolls her hips against Asa's mouth, chasing the sensation. "After all those sad little crushes she's had? Let the girl have her moment."
"Can you guys stop talking about me while I'm getting fucked, please," Chaeyoung says, but she's laughing, and then the laugh dissolves into a moan when you thrust particularly deep.
Yunjin is sweating. They're all sweating. The store has no ventilation running this late, and the combined body heat of seven people fucking on a three thousand dollar mattress has turned the back area into a sauna. Skin glistens under the dim emergency lighting. The sounds are obscene and layered: wet skin, heavy breathing, Ning's sharp little gasps mixing with Shuhua's softer ones, the rhythmic slap of your hips meeting Chaeyoung's.
Somi adds a third finger inside Asa, stretching her, and Asa's hips buck off the mattress. Ning grabs Somi's shoulder to keep her balance. "Warn me before you do that, she almost threw me off."
"Not my fault Asa's a squirmer," Somi says, pumping faster. "You good down there, Asa?"
Asa pulls her mouth away from Ning just long enough to gasp, "So fucking good, oh my god, keep going,” before Ning pushes her head back down.
"Nope, you're not done," Ning tells her sweetly.
You shift your weight onto one arm and bring your free hand down between your body and Chaeyoung's. Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and sensitive, and you start rubbing in slow circles while you fuck her. The effect is instantaneous. Chaeyoung's whole body tenses, her grip on your shoulders turning desperate.
"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, that's not fair, you can't do both at the same time."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm gonna lose my mind, that's why." Her hips are grinding up to meet yours now, matching your rhythm, trying to get more of everything at once. "Your cock is literally splitting me open and now you're touching my clit and I can't, I actually can't—"
Yunjin, still grinding against Shuhua, looks over with pure delight on her face. "She's gonna blow. Look at her legs shaking."
Ning is rocking faster on Asa's face, she grabs her own breast, squeezing, her head tipping back. "Shit, I'm close too. Asa, please, keep going, I'm so close, I'm gonna cum so hard."
You press harder on Chaeyoung's clit, rubbing faster, your hips snapping into her with deep, steady strokes. She's clenching around you so tight it's almost difficult to move. Her moans have gone high and thin, her eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in her body coiling. "Look at me," you tell her quietly. She opens her eyes. They're glassy, overwhelmed, gorgeous. "Cum for me, Chae."
She shatters. Her back arches completely off the mattress, her legs lock around you, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in hard, rhythmic spasms. And then the gush comes. Warm and sudden, soaking your pelvis, the sheets beneath her, running down your thighs. She's squirting, hard, her whole body convulsing with it.
Yunjin's jaw drops mid grind. "Holy shit, she's squirting! She's literally squirting all over that poor mattress!"
The sight of it pushes Ning over. She grinds down on Asa's mouth one final time and cums, her thighs clamping around Asa's head, her fingers digging into Somi's shoulder hard. Asa cums seconds later from Somi's relentless fingers, her legs trembling and her muffled moans vibrating against Ning's cunt. Shuhua follows, burying her face in Yunjin's neck, flushed and panting, her hips stuttering through the last waves of her orgasm.
Somi pulls her fingers out of Asa, holds them up, glistening and dripping, and licks them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.
Chaeyoung is still trembling beneath you, aftershocks rolling through her. "I'm so sorry," she pants, looking down at the soaked sheets. "I came so hard. I couldn't help it. I've never done that before."
"Don't you dare apologize for squirting," Yunjin says firmly, wiping sweat from her forehead. "That was the hottest thing you could have possibly done."
Somi nods. "We'll deal with the mattress situation later. Not important right now."
"Agreed," Ning says, climbing off Asa's face and stretching. Her legs are still wobbly. She looks at your cock, still hard, still wet with Chaeyoung's cum, and her eyes sharpen with hunger. "Because I need that inside me right now. Immediately."
Yunjin sits up, her director energy returning. "Okay then. Asa, Ning, Shu. Line up. On all fours. Show us these pretty pussies." The three of them arrange themselves side by side on the mattress, knees spread, backs arched, asses presented. Asa, Ning, Shuhua. Three different body types, three different skin tones, all of them glistening with sweat and each other's spit.
Yunjin beckons you over. "Come fuck these little sluts, nerd.”
Somi circles around to the front of the lineup, taking her time as she studies them from the other side. Her gaze drifts over the three bent bodies, the way they’re all presented for you, and then she reaches out without warning and gives Shuhua’s ass a sharp smack. She jolts with a startled yelp, shooting Somi a scandalized look.
“Hey! Warn me before you start getting handsy.”
Somi only grins, entirely unbothered, then turns that wicked little expression on you. "Look at them. Three tight little pussies all lined up just for you. How's that feel?”
You stare at the three of them, each one looking back over her shoulder at you, waiting. Your cock throbs. "I genuinely cannot put what I'm feeling into words.”
Yunjin snorts, arms crossed. "Then stop trying to put it into words and start putting your cock in them. That's the only language they need right now.”
Asa, her ass arched perfectly, her cheek resting on her folded arms, glances back at Yunjin with a lazy grin. "Wow. Shakespeare could never.”
Yunjin kneels beside Shuhua and grabs both her cheeks, spreading them open with her thumbs, putting everything on display for you. Shuhua's pussy is glistening, swollen, absolutely dripping from her earlier orgasm and the continued arousal of watching everyone else get fucked.
"C'mon," she says, looking up at you with that insatiable grin. "Time to fuck."
There’s no teasing pause. You guide yourself against her and push in. The head breaches Shuhua's entrance and she immediately drops her forehead to the mattress, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You stop with just the tip inside, letting her adjust. Her walls are squeezing you so tight it's almost resistance. "Oh," Shuhua breathes. "Oh, that's... that is significantly larger than I anticipated."
Ning, still on all fours beside her, glances over. "Girl, breathe. You'll get used to it."
"Easy for you to say, you haven't taken it yet," Shuhua replies through gritted teeth, but she pushes her hips back slightly, taking another inch on her own terms. You grip her hips and feed her more, slow, steady. Shuhua's spine curves downward, her shoulder blades pinching together. When you're about three quarters in, she lets out this long, shaking exhale.
"I've used large toys before," she says, almost conversationally despite the strain in her tone. "This doesn't even compare. The heat, the way it throbs. It's completely different."
"You doing okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb along her hip bone.
"More than okay. Please keep going." You bottom out inside her and Shuhua makes a sound you've never heard from her before. Something between a whimper and a laugh, surprised and overwhelmed and deeply pleased all at once. You start moving, pulling back slow and pushing in deep, establishing a rhythm that lets her feel every inch.
On the other end of the mattress, Somi has pulled Chaeyoung into her lap. They're kissing, messy and unhurried, Somi's hands tangled in Chaeyoung's hair. Somi breaks away and licks her lower lip.
"You were so fucking hot squirting like that," Somi murmurs against Chaeyoung's mouth. "I almost came just watching you." Chaeyoung blushes but grins. Her hand traces down Somi's stomach, over her navel, and slips between her thighs. She pushes two fingers inside Somi without warning. Somi gasps, her hips jerking forward. "Shit, Chae, warn a girl."
"You didn't warn me when you shoved my face down on his cock," Chaeyoung replies sweetly, curling her fingers.
Somi's head tips back. "Okay fair. Fuck. Keep going, baby. Finger that wet pussy while I watch them get wrecked."
You're building speed inside Shuhua now. Her initial tension has dissolved into pure pleasure, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. Yunjin hasn't moved from her spot beside the lineup. She leans in and spits directly on where your cock meets Shuhua's pussy, the saliva mixing with the mess already there.
"That's it," Yunjin says, watching with dark, hungry eyes. "Fuck her good. Look at how well she takes it now."
"Yunjin," Shuhua manages, "please stop narrating and let me enjoy this."
"Never. This is the best show I've ever seen."
You pull out of Shuhua and she whines at the loss. Ning is next. You shift over, position yourself behind her, and push in. Ning is wetter than Shuhua was, practically dripping down her thighs already, but she's just as tight. The first few inches make her gasp and grab the mattress. "Fuck me," Ning breathes. "Okay. Okay I get it now. I get why Yunjin lost her mind over this."
"Right?" Yunjin says proudly. "Told you." You sink deeper and Ning's arms give out. Her chest presses flat against the mattress, ass still raised, and you can feel her clenching around you, her body trying to accommodate the stretch. You give her a moment, then start thrusting. Ning buries her face in her arms and moans.
Yunjin spits on Ning's pussy too, then smacks her ass lightly. "Take that dick, Ning. You were bragging about your skills all week, show me you can handle it."
"I am handling it," Ning says, except she very clearly isn't. Her voice is trembling. "It's just... a lot. God, it's so much."
Across the mattress, Chaeyoung has migrated lower. She's got her mouth on Somi's left breast, sucking the nipple between her lips while her fingers keep working inside her. Somi watches her with hooded eyes, one hand on the back of Chaeyoung's head.
"I love your tits so much," Chaeyoung mumbles against the soft skin, switching to the other one. "They're ridiculous. Like genuinely unfair."
"Babe, you can have them whenever you want," Somi replies, arching into her mouth. "Just keep doing what you're doing with those fingers."
You pull out of Ning and move to Asa. She's been waiting patiently, her cheek resting on her folded arms, watching you fuck the other two with analytical interest. When you press against her entrance, she pushes back immediately, trying to take you in one motion. But her body resists. She only gets halfway before she hisses and stops.
"Shit," Asa says, surprised. "I thought I was ready. That's thicker than it looks."
"Take your time."
"No, just push. I can handle it." You push. Asa's fingers curl into fists and she breathes out hard through her nose, but she doesn't tell you to stop. When you're fully seated inside her, she lets out a low groan that sounds almost relieved. "Okay," she says. "Yeah. That's incredible actually."
You start fucking her, and Asa is different from the other two. She pushes back to meet every thrust, matches your rhythm instantly, treats it almost like a collaboration. Her pussy grips you perfectly, slick and hot and eager.
Yunjin is in her element. She moves between the three of them, spitting on each pussy as you rotate, slapping asses, gripping hair, running her nails down their spines. She's the conductor of this whole symphony and she's loving every second.
"Look at them," she says to you, spreading Asa's cheeks so you can watch yourself slide in and out. "Look at how they take that fat cock. They're soaking. All three of them are dripping for you."
You switch back to Shuhua. She cries out when you enter her again, pushing back greedily. Then to Ning, who's so wet now that the sounds are obscene, filthy and loud in the quiet store. Then Asa again, who grinds back against you with precision.
Yunjin crouches next to Ning's face and lifts her chin. "You like getting fucked like this? Getting shared? All three of you lined up like good little sluts?" Ning just moans in response, her eyes glassy. "If I'd brought my strap we could've been double teaming these pussies," she continues, looking back at you. "Next time. Definitely next time. Me and you, fucking them from both ends."
Somi pulls Chaeyoung's mouth off her breast to watch. "They look so good from here. Especially Shuhua. She's completely gone."
Chaeyoung nods, her fingers still buried inside Somi, pumping steadily. "She's always so put together. It's nice seeing her fall apart."
You keep rotating. Shuhua cums first. You're deep inside her, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her shoulder, and she turns her face to the side so you can see her expression when it hits. Her eyes flutter shut, her mouth opens, and she comes apart in these beautiful, controlled waves, her pussy milking your cock through each contraction. Somehow even this is elegant.
Asa goes next. You're gripping her waist, pounding into her at a pace she set herself, and her head drops forward. "There, there, fuck, right there, I'm cumming," she whispers, and her whole body seizes. Her walls clamp down so hard it almost stops your movement. She shakes through it, silent except for these tiny, breathy sounds.
Ning is last. You're still inside Asa when Yunjin says, "Ning needs to cum. Go wreck her." You pull out of Asa and push into Ning. She's so sensitive at this point that she flinches at the first thrust. Yunjin grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her head back. "Grab her hair," Yunjin tells you. "Fuck her hard. She can take it."
You wrap Ning's hair around your fist and pull. She gasps, her back arching severely. You start pounding into her. Hard. Deep. Relentless. Ning's moans escalate rapidly into something approaching a scream.
"Ning!" Shuhua hisses sharply. "The security guard. Keep it down."
Ning slaps her own hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, her body jolting with each thrust.
The muffled sounds leaking through her fingers are still loud but contained. You don't stop. You fuck her through it, pulling her hair, driving into her until her thighs start shaking violently and she cums with a strangled sound behind her palm, her pussy contracting around you in hard, rhythmic squeezes. Her entire body goes limp when it passes, collapsing flat onto the mattress.
You pull out, wipe the sweat from your forehead, and sit back on your heels. Your cock is glistening, impossibly hard still, twitching against your stomach. "That was insane," you pant, looking at the three spent girls in front of you. "Seriously. I don't know how guys in porn last this long. My legs are shaking."
"Well," Somi says, extracting herself from Chaeyoung's fingers and crawling toward you. "You better hold on a little longer. Because now it's my turn."
She pushes you flat on your back. You hit the mattress with a grunt. Somi swings a leg over your hips, but instead of facing you normally, she plants her feet on either side of your chest, squatting over your cock in a deep stance. Her thighs flex, her core engages, and she grips the base of your shaft to line you up.
Yunjin slaps the mattress with both hands. "Yes! Amazon position! Go for it, Somi, ride that cock!"
Ning, still flat on her stomach recovering, lifts her head long enough to whistle. Shuhua immediately makes a sharp shushing sound at her, eyes wide.
Somi stares down at you, face unreadable except for that familiar look of mild annoyance she somehow manages to make attractive. Calm. Detached. In control. "Let's see what all the fuss is about," she says. "Everyone else completely lost their shit over this. I don't buy it.”
She lowers herself onto you. Inch by agonizing inch. In this position, squatting over you with her feet planted on either side of your chest, Somi controls everything. The angle, the depth, the speed. You can't thrust up, can't grab her hips, can't do anything except lie there and take what she decides to give you. Your cock stretches her open and you watch her face. She's fighting. Every micro expression is a battle between the pleasure flooding her body and the icy composure she refuses to drop, even as her jaw tightens and her breathing starts to lose its rhythm. Her thighs tremble as she sinks lower, swallowing more of you inside her, her pussy spreading around your girth.
She stops about halfway. Breathes. Then pushes down the rest of the way until her ass meets your pelvis and every inch of you is buried in her. Her eyes close for exactly one second. When they open again, she's rearranged her expression into something cool and unaffected.
"Okay," she says, looking down at you. "I'll give you this much. It's a pretty impressive cock." She shifts her hips, adjusting to the fullness, and you feel her walls squeeze around you involuntarily. "Real waste that it belongs to someone like you, though."
"Sorry about that," you reply, your breath catching as she clenches again. "I'll try to be hotter next time."
"Shut up. Don't talk. Just lie there and let me use you like the stupid little toy you are."
Somi starts moving. Slowly at first. She lifts her hips until barely anything remains, pauses for a second, then sinks back down with controlled force. The impact sends a sharp jolt through you. Then she does it again. And again. Gradually settling into a rhythm she seems satisfied with. Her pussy grips your shaft on every upstroke, wet and impossibly tight, then swallows you whole on the way back down.
The view from below is staggering. Somi's body is built for this. Her slim waist, her toned stomach flexing with each movement, and those massive breasts bouncing with every drop of her hips. They move almost independently, heavy and full, swaying and colliding against each other. Sweat is beginning to bead along her collarbones, rolling down between them.
Yunjin sits cross legged on the mattress, watching with her chin propped on her fist. "Okay, she looks fucking incredible doing that. Like, objectively."
Ning nods slowly, still recovering from her own orgasm, lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands. "It's giving professional athlete. The core strength alone."
"Seriously though," Asa adds, tilting her head to study Somi's form. "Look at the control she has. She's basically doing weighted squats right now. That's genuinely impressive."
Shuhua watches from beside Yunjin. "If I tried to do that, I would absolutely injure my lower back."
Asa glances at her. "That's because you used to walk around with your spine curved like a shrimp, Shu. You have the posture of someone who's been gaming for twelve hours straight. You only realized because Yunjin took that cursed picture of you.”
Yunjin barks out a laugh. Shuhua's mouth falls open. "That was truly offensive," Shuhua says quietly. "And for the record, I'm fixing it. My posture's good now. I bought a posture corrector and everything."
"Girl, that thing is still in the packaging on your desk," Ning says without looking up.
Somi ignores all of them. She's locked into her rhythm now, bouncing on your cock with increasing intensity, her hands braced on your chest for leverage. Each time she drops down, the sound of skin meeting skin is sharp and wet. Your hands are flat on the mattress because she hasn't given you permission to touch her, and somehow that makes it hotter. She's using you. Completely and totally.
Somi looks down at you, and her mouth curls into something between a smirk and a sneer. "God, you're adorable like this." She rolls her hips in a filthy slow circle, grinding your cock deep before picking her rhythm back up. "Pinned under me. Dumb and hard and just letting me take what I want. Like a good little fucktoy."
"View's pretty good from here too," you breathe, barely getting the words out while her cunt grips you on every drop.
"Yeah?" She lifts almost all the way off, just the tip, then slams her hips down so hard your vision whites out. "Nnngh— you like this? Like getting fucked stupid by a girl who doesn't give a shit if you cum? Just lying there taking it like an obedient little bitch?"
"Yes," you groan, hands fisting the sheets. "Fuck— yes, I like it.”
"Of course you do." She picks up speed, and the wet sounds get louder, filthier. Her breasts are bouncing so hard they're practically hitting her chin on every drop. "This is where you belong. On your back, getting used. You should be thanking me."
Yunjin starts clapping rhythmically, like she's at a sporting event. "Let's go Somi! Ride that dick! Let's go Somi!"
Ning immediately joins in, clapping along. "Bounce bounce bounce! Wreck that cock!"
Asa cups her hands around her mouth. "Give me an S! Give me an O! Give me an M!" Give me am I!”
Chaeyoung is giggling uncontrollably, clapping along with them.
Shuhua's eyes go wide. "Can you all please be quieter? There is a security guard somewhere in this building." They all drop to stage whispers, still clapping, still chanting, but at a fraction of the volume. Yunjin is whisper screaming "let's go Somi" with the intensity of a soccer mom at a championship game. Ning is doing quiet finger snaps. Asa is mouthing the letters of Somi's name with exaggerated lip movements.
Somi doesn't acknowledge any of them. She's grinding now, deep and circular, her clit pressing hard against your pelvis on every rotation. Her breathing has changed. Shorter. Sharper. That icy control is fracturing. You can see it in the way her thighs are shaking, the way her nails are digging into your chest, the way she keeps biting the inside of her cheek.
She speeds up again. Full bounces, slamming herself down, taking you to the root every time. Your cock is drenched in her, glistening in the low light. The mattress creaks beneath you. She tilts forward slightly, changing the angle, and her mouth opens in a silent gasp that she immediately tries to suppress.
"Fuck," she whispers. “Fuck…” She grinds down hard, circling her hips, pressing her clit against you with desperate pressure. Her thighs clamp around your sides. Her head drops forward, blonde hair curtaining her face, and her whole body locks up. You feel her pussy spasm around you in tight, rhythmic contractions, milking your shaft as the orgasm rolls through her. She grinds through every wave of it, extracting every last second, her hips stuttering and her breath coming in these ragged, broken exhales she can't quite control.
When it passes, she stays seated on you for a long moment. Still full of you. Catching her breath. Then she rises slowly, your cock sliding out of her with a wet, obscene sound, and she climbs off the mattress on slightly unsteady legs.
Somi rakes her fingers through her hair and gives you this perfectly curated look of mild disinterest. "Your dick's... fine. Nothing I couldn't replace with a ten-minute Amazon order.”
Yunjin snorts so hard she almost chokes. "Please. Even you don't believe that. I saw your legs shaking, Somi."
Somi's cheeks flush hot. "That doesn't mean anything. I'm not some pathetic slut who gets attached because a guy has a big dick. That's your department."
Yunjin doesn't flinch. Just smiles, soft and knowing. "You're so full of shit, babe. But it's cute. Keep pretending.” Somi rolls her eyes and turns away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smirk before she kills it.
Then Yunjin claps her hands once and the energy in the room shifts. "Okay. There's someone here who still hasn't gotten off." She looks at you pointedly. Your cock is still hard, still slick, throbbing against your stomach. "Stand up."
You get to your feet. Your legs are genuinely wobbly. Six pairs of eyes look up at you as the girls arrange themselves on their knees in a loose semicircle on the mattress. Asa to your left, Ning and Shuhua in the center, Yunjin to the right, Chaeyoung directly in front of you.
Somi steps forward. She reaches up and slides your glasses off your face. The world goes slightly blurry. Then she turns and places them carefully on Chaeyoung's face. The frames sit crooked on her smaller nose. She adjusts them, pushes them up, and looks up at you through the lenses with those big, pretty eyes.
Yunjin surveys the six of them kneeling around you and puts her hands on her hips. "Alright. Here's how we're doing this. I'll play distributor. Make sure everyone gets their fair share. No one girl hogging more than she's entitled to. Equal distribution of cum across all parties."
Shuhua tilts her head. "That's not really necessary. We're perfectly capable of organizing ourselves. No central authority needed. We just take turns, share naturally, everyone gets what they need."
Yunjin points at her. "And that is how you get one girl with a face full of cum and four girls with nothing. You need structure. Leadership. I'm the one who put this whole thing together. I organized the venue, the logistics, the communication. I am essentially the vanguard of this entire sexually transgressive movement." She pauses, then touches her hair with genuine regret. "Shit, I really should've brought a beret.”
Somi tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and exhales through her nose. "We're literally waiting for him to cum on our faces and you two are doing dialectics.”
"You're not the vanguard of anything," Shuhua replies calmly. "You're just horny and bossy. Those aren't the same thing."
Ning snorts. Asa covers her mouth.
"Can you two please shut up and start sucking," Chaeyoung says flatly, already wrapping her hand around your shaft. Your glasses sit crooked on her face, way too big for her, and she looks up at you through them with this expression that's equal parts sweet and filthy. She leans forward and takes the head into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, tasting the combined slick of every girl who rode you tonight.
"Fine. Actions over theory. I can respect that,” Yunjin says before she ducks her head and runs her tongue along the left side of your shaft while Chaeyoung works the tip. Ning joins from the right, her tongue tracing a vein from base to mid shaft.
Three mouths on you at once. Your cock is more than big enough to accommodate them. Chaeyoung sucks the head with these slow pulls, her cheeks hollowing, while Yunjin and Ning lap at the shaft from either side, their tongues occasionally meeting and sliding against each other.
Somi kneels behind Chaeyoung, watching over her shoulder. "Tilt your head more, Chae. You're losing the angle."
Chaeyoung adjusts and takes you deeper, the glasses sliding down her nose. She pushes them back up with one finger without missing a beat.
Asa taps Ning's shoulder. "My turn." Ning pulls back and Asa takes her place, her technique immediately different. More controlled, more rhythmic. She sucks along the side of your shaft in long, measured strokes, her hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently. She remembers from the library how sensitive they are.
Shuhua waits patiently until Chaeyoung comes up for air, then leans in and takes over the tip. She's less hesitant than she was in the car. Something about tonight has unlocked her. She takes you halfway down without flinching, her throat relaxing around you, and holds there for a few seconds before pulling back with spit connecting her lips to your cock.
"Good girl, Shu," Yunjin murmurs approvingly, stroking Shuhua's hair back from her face.
"Don't patronize me," Shuhua replies, then immediately goes back down on you.
They rotate. Pairs and trios. Somi finally takes her turn, and true to form, she's rough about it. She grabs the base and sucks hard, her tongue doing something cruel and brilliant against the underside of the head. When she pulls off, she spits on your cock and strokes it with both hands, spreading the saliva, then passes you to Yunjin, who takes you to the root in one smooth motion. She holds you in her throat, her nose pressed against your pelvis, her long tongue extending to lap at your balls while you're still buried in her mouth. Asa watches with genuine admiration.
Yunjin pulls off with a wet gasp and grins. "Talent, baby."
Ning and Chaeyoung work you together next. Chaeyoung on the shaft, Ning sucking your balls into her mouth one at a time, humming against them. Then Shuhua and Asa, Shuhua taking the head while Asa licks the base. Then Somi alone, because Somi doesn't share well, her massive tits pressed against your thighs as she bobs her head with aggressive speed.
Your legs are trembling. The gummy bear you ate before coming to the mall is doing its job. You can feel the pressure building, heavy and dense, your balls tight and aching with the volume they're carrying. Every rotation of mouths pushes you closer. Six different techniques, six different temperatures, six different rhythms. It's sensory overload.
Yunjin can tell you're getting close. She reads your body, the way your stomach muscles tighten, the way your breathing goes shallow. "He's almost there," she announces. "Everyone get in position."
The six of them arrange themselves in a tight semicircle on their knees, faces upturned, close together. Chaeyoung in the center with your glasses still perched on her face. Yunjin and Somi flanking her. Asa, Ning, and Shuhua filling in the gaps. Twelve eyes looking up at you. Six open mouths.
You wrap your fist around your shaft and start stroking. Fast, tight, your hand slick with six girls' spit. "Cum for us," Yunjin says, her tongue extended. "Give your little pornstars everything you've got. I wanna be dripping."
"Cover my face," Ning adds, licking her lips. "I want to taste it again. Give me what you gave me in the car."
Somi tilts her chin up. "Don't you dare miss me."
Chaeyoung just looks at you through your own glasses, her mouth open, waiting. She doesn't need to say anything. The image alone almost sends you over.
"Paint us pretty," Asa says. "All of us. Don't leave anyone out."
Shuhua closes her eyes and tilts her face upward. "I'm ready."
You cum. And the gummy delivers. The first rope hits Chaeyoung across the bridge of your glasses, splattering the lenses, dripping down onto her nose and lips. She gasps and keeps her mouth open, catching the next spurt on her tongue. You angle toward Yunjin and she catches a thick streak across her forehead and cheek, letting it drip down to her chin. She moans, savoring it.
You move to Somi and land a heavy load across her lips and jaw, cum sliding down her neck onto her collarbones and the tops of her breasts. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just takes it.
Asa gets the next several spurts. Across her nose, her left cheek, her open mouth. She swallows what lands on her tongue and lets the rest sit on her skin. Ning leans in eagerly and catches a rope from her hairline all the way down to her chin, cum beading on her eyelashes. She licks it from the corner of her mouth and grins. Shuhua receives the final waves, thick streaks landing across her forehead and cheeks. She keeps her eyes closed through it, her lips parted, cum dripping from her jaw onto her bare chest.
And it keeps coming. The gummy turns what should be a normal orgasm into something absurd. You go back through the lineup, adding more to each face. A second coating on Chaeyoung's glasses, now completely opaque with cum. More on Yunjin's neck and tits. Another streak across Somi's parted lips. By the time you're finally spent, shaking, your hand still wrapped around your softening cock, all six of them are glazed. Thoroughly, comprehensively, disgustingly covered.
The store is silent for a moment.
Then Yunjin starts laughing. Then Ning. Then all of them. Chaeyoung takes the glasses off and holds them up, both lenses completely coated, and that sends everyone into hysterics.
"That was unreal," Asa says, wiping cum from her eyebrow. "Genuinely, medically, that shouldn't be possible."
"I told you guys, these gummy bears are straight-up magical. Holy shit,” Yunjin beams, cum dripping off her chin.
Somi examines the mess on her chest with raised eyebrows. "Okay. I take back what I said earlier. His cock is more than 'fine'."
Asa stands up first, grabbing her shirt from the floor. "Okay. This was incredible. But we need to get out of here before sunrise."
Shuhua freezes mid laugh. "How exactly are we getting out of here, by the way?"
Six girls exchange glances. A long, terrible silence.
Asa looks at Yunjin. "Please tell me you planned the exit."
Yunjin blinks. "My plan went as far as the orgy part. I figured we'd improvise after."
Somi turns to Shuhua slowly. "You're supposed to be the smart one. Please tell me you thought about this."
"The idea wasn't even mine!" Shuhua protests. "And if I were truly the smart one in this group, I wouldn't have come here at all. I was driven entirely by lust, which I am not proud of."
Chaeyoung wipes your glasses on the sheet and puts them back on. "I mean, to be fair, every single person here was driven by lust. Not one of us was thinking logically tonight."
Ning sits back on her heels and surveys the scene. Cum on their faces. A mattress stained beyond repair with squirt. A clearly vandalized store.
"This is fantastic. We're stuck in a mall with the evidence of multiple crimes on our bodies and on this three thousand dollar mattress."
Shuhua nods solemnly. "Yeah, we're done for. Roll credits. Little cartoon circle closing in around our faces and everything." She sighs. "'That's all, folks.'”
All six of them turn to look at you. Hopeful. Desperate, even. Ning clasps her hands together. "Please tell me you have an idea."
You look past them toward the back of the store. Storage area. Receiving dock. "The store's on the first floor. There's gotta be a back door for deliveries. Loading area that opens to the outside. And somewhere back there, a spare key or a push bar."
The relief on their faces is instantaneous. Shoulders dropping. Exhales all around. Yunjin throws her arms up. "See? No reason to panic. Everything was under control the entire time. I planned for this."
"You absolutely did not," Shuhua says flatly.
"Details. Minor details." Yunjin stretches her arms above her head and rolls her neck. Then she looks at you with that familiar, dangerous glint. "So. Who wants a second round?"
Chaeyoung sputters. "Now? Here? We literally just figured out how to escape."
"We have time! The back door isn't going anywhere. And neither is his dick." She gestures at you. "Look at him. He's already getting hard again."
She's not wrong. The gummy's still doing its job. Somi glances down, then looks back up at you. "You seriously got another round in you?”
You look at the six of them. Flushed, sweaty, ridiculously attractive. Still hanging around half delirious at two in the morning in a dark mattress store. Somehow this is reality now.
"For you guys," you say, "I think I can power through.”
Asa smirks. Somi rolls her eyes but she's already moving toward you. Yunjin claps once, saying, "Then it's settled. The night continues." She pushes you back onto the mattress and the rest of them follow, six bodies closing in around you, hands and mouths everywhere.
It was finally time for what most high school students liked to call the highlight of their teenage lives.
Well...most of them, anyway.
For some, it was nothing more than an overpriced event designed to make students spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes they would only wear once before shoving them into the darkest corner of their closets or returning them to the rental store.
For others, it was practically a holiday to an extent.
It was just one night but that was all it took for the school gymnasium to transform into something almost unrecognizable.
Gone were the squeaky basketball shoes, half-hearted morning assemblies, and painfully boring lectures that made students question every life decision that led them there. In their place were fairy lights draped across ceilings, elaborate decorations that tried very hard to scream elegance, and slow music that promised either magical confessions or deeply awkward dancing.
And most importantly, there were no uniforms.
No stiff blazers.
No wrinkled ties.
No skirts measured by strict school rules.
Just dresses that glittered beneath warm lights and suits tailored enough to make boys suddenly think fixing their hair once or twice would mold their attitude into gentlemen.
I'm talking about prom of course!
Which explained why Minju currently looked like she wanted to try each and every excuse to not go.
"This is stupid."
Her friend groaned for what felt like the fiftieth time that evening.
"You've said that twelve times already," Yunah said from across the room.
"Because it remains true all twelve times."
Minju stood in front of the full-length mirror in her dress shop, aggressively adjusting the fabric of her dress like she could somehow bully it into becoming less embarrassing.
"This feels weird."
"Did you suddenly develop an allergy towards dresses?"
"I might have at this point."
Yunah snorted from her seat near the fitting room platform, one leg crossed over the other as she watched Minju spiral in real time.
The shop was far too bright for Minju's liking.
Every employee looked far too excited and every rack around her hung dresses that looked like they belonged to people significantly more confident than she was.
The dress she wore was simple compared to the others she had been bribed into trying on.
And by that, she meant Yunah had to bribe her with a week's worth of free lunches and the promise that she would use her position in the media club to hide the unflattering prom photos before they were posted online.
Minju had accepted far quicker than she cared to admit.
The dress she currently wore was teal.
It hugged her waist before falling softly down her legs, the fabric smooth and tiny silver details lined the straps.
"Do I really have to go?" Minju asked.
Yunah had already stood up from her seat, already pushing through hangers of dresses.
"Yes," she answered immediately.
Minju frowned at her reflection.
"It sounds boring anyways. You just stand around while the loud music blasts into your ears and eat food no better than what the cafeteria serves."
"Don't be like that," Yunah replied as she pushed another hanger back. "You already submitted your attendance sheet plus (YN) is going to be there."
Minju nearly tripped over absolutely nothing.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Her head snapped toward Yunah so fast it almost broke off her head.
Yunah slowly turned to look at her then smiled.
Minju immediately knew she had fallen into a trap she should've seen a mile away.
"I don't know, I just thought that it would motivate you just a tiny bit."
Minju stared at her.
"...No," she said flatly.
Yunah blinked. "No?"
"No, it doesn't motivate me knowing he will be there."
"Don't be so rash, don't you want to see what he looks like in a tux?"
Minju opened her mouth and raised to point a finger at her yet nothing came out.
And that alone told Yunah everything she needed to know.
A grin spread across her face with the speed of someone who had just caught her friend in denial.
"Oh my god," Yunah gasped dramatically. "You do want to know."
"I do not."
"You practically blue-screened in front of me."
Minju turned back toward the mirror quickly, crossing her arms across her chest tightly.
"I was simply caught off guard by how ridiculous your question was."
Yunah hummed. "Mhm."
"It's not like I care what he wears."
"Yeah, sure you don't."
"He could show up in a trash bag and I still wouldn't care."
"That sounds weirdly specific." Yunah's reflection struggled not to laugh.
Minju narrowed her eyes at the mirror.
Annoying as it was, Yunah's question had already planted itself in her brain like a virus, already creating more thoughts and images in her mind uninvited.
What would you look like?
Would your hair still be slightly messy because you always forget to fix it?
Would your outfit stay smooth all through the night or would you move enough to mess it up and create wrinkles.
Would you somehow still look annoyingly comfortable with everyone else while she shoved herself to a corner?
But most importantly,
Why was she thinking about this?
"This is your fault," Minju muttered.
Yunah looked offended. "For being a supportive friend?"
"For being so annoying like everybody else."
Minju groaned and dropped into the small platform seat beside the mirror.
"I genuinely don't understand why everyone acts like prom is some grand event."
"Because for some people it is."
"It's dancing in the school gym."
"It's about the memories you make throughout the night."
"You get tabbed for pictures that are way overwise."
"C'mon, it's romantic."
"Disgusting." Minju made a face like she had tasted expired milk.
"That's very bold coming from someone who literally accepted crocheted flowers from a boy and carried them home like they were the ark of the covenant." Yunah laughed.
Minju went completely still.
"H-he was just being generous." She replied.
Yunah's laughter only grew louder.
"Generous?" she repeated. "Minju, he bought you handmade flowers because you once said real ones die too fast. That's not generosity. That's him remembering something oddly specific that came out of your mouth on a random day."
"That does not mean anything." Minju's face heated immediately.
Yunah stared at her as the expression on her face turned into the blank one her friend always used.
"It's very surprising how long you've gotten when you are this dense."
"I am not dense." Minju gasped.
Yunah let out a laugh so loud that one of the employees glanced over in concern.
"You absolutely are," she said, wiping at the corner of her eye. "You're academically gifted yet socially...dense."
Minju stood from her seat again, glaring as Yunah approached her..
"Let me ask you something," Yunah said.
"No."
"You don't even know the question."
"And yet I still know I won't like it."
Yunah ignored her.
"When he gave you those flowers, did you throw them away?"
"No." Minju's lips pressed themselves together.
"Did you leave them somewhere in your room and forget about them?"
"Oh my god," Yunah whispered like she had uncovered government secrets. "You kept them somewhere special."
"I did not."
"Minju."
"They're on my desk." she groaned.
Yunah continued to stare at her.
"They're on my desk," she repeated through gritted teeth. "And before you say anything, it's only because throwing them away felt wasteful."
"You stare at them before bed, don't you?" Minju gasped at how easy she was to figure out. "I hate talking to you."
"You like him." Yunah said, looking far too pleased with herself.
"No." Minju immediately shook her head.
"You do."
"No."
"You are literally blushing."
"It's just hot in here."
"We're standing in a place with air conditioning."
She scoffed as turned back toward the mirror and stared at her reflection.
The teal dress really did look nice and it was unfortunate because now she actually looked like someone attending prom with the possibility of being looked at by everyone else.
Her fingers lightly touched the frills of her dress.
"What if I look ridiculous?" she asked quietly.
"You don't." Yunah's teasing softened almost instantly.
"That's easy for you to say."
"No, Minju," Yunah said gently. "You really don't."
Minju met her eyes through the mirror.
Yunah smiled, "You look beautiful."
Just like that, all of Minju's sharp yet sarcastic defenses seemed to fade away.
Her shoulders relaxed, only slightly.
"And when (YN) sees you during prom, I hope he forgets how to breathe." Yunah immediately continued.
"Yah! Noh Yunah!" Minju nearly slipped on the platform.
"What? That's supposed to be a good thing."
"It is not a good thing if he actually passes out and dies in front of me."
"Fair point. That would ruin the mood." Yunah shrugged.
Minju turned to look at herself in the mirror once again. The skirt of the dress pooled around her shoes as she held them.
For a moment, she simply stared.
"This still feels weird." She narrowed her eyes at her reflection.
Yunah laughed from behind her. "Looking pretty?"
"No, that's normal. I always look pretty." Minju flicked some strands of her hair behind her.
Yunah tried to hold in her laugh before it bursted right out of her.
"Oh my god," She wheezed through a breath.
"Why are you laughing like you're choking?" Minju raised a brow at her friend.
Yunah clutched her stomach dramatically as she tried and failed to recover.
"You said that with a completely straight face."
"Because it's true."
"That might be the most confidence you've shown all year."
She rolled her eyes and stepped off the platform carefully before one of her sneakers slipped on seemingly air and almost sent her crashing into a rack of expensive dresses.
"Yeah, shown a lot of confidence with that one." Yunah was practically folded in half now, laughing so hard she had tears gathering in her eyes.
The rack of expensive dresses trembled violently as Minju grabbed it on instinct, saving both herself and a hundred thousand won worth of fabric from falling to the floor.
The heat started to build up around the rest of her face as Yunah gathered herself somehow and helped her up.
"If you're gonna break the dress already, at least go to prom first."
"I meant to do that," she said immediately.
"Yeah, yeah, just go get changed again then we could head home."
Minju released the dress rack slowly, using the thought of home to hide her embarrassment.
Once she had her footing, she muttered under her breath the entire way back to the fitting room.
I hate this.
Why is this dress so stupidly long?
I should've stayed home and done literally anything else.
As Minju stepped out of the fitting room, finally dressed in her usual clothes again and no longer one misstep away from ruining the entire store, Yunah waited for her in front of the register with the dress already protected under a plastic sheet.
"What are you doing? I've already decided that I'm not going."
Yunah smiled politely at the woman across the counter. "Ignore her. She says that every fifteen minutes or so."
"I'm serious this time."
"Yeah but you were serious the other times too."
Yunah handed over her card before Minju could reach out and stop.
The machine beeped, and soon after payment was accepted for the both of them.
Just like that, Minju's fate was sealed with one very cheerful receipt.
The employee handed over the garment bag with a smile. "I hope both of you enjoy prom."
Minju forced out something of a smile as gratitude while she imagined herself leaving already internally.
The moment they stepped outside, the cool evening air hit her face.
She inhaled deeply.
The city streets glowed under streetlights while people walked past carrying an assortment of things, shopping bags, purses and backpacks as they traveled through the sidewalk.
Yunah bumped her shoulder lightly, their bags tapping each other in the process.
Minju looked between them before looking away.
"Thanks for the dress." She mumbled.
"No problem! That's what friends with rich parents are for."
Minju let out a quiet scoff.
"That sounds unbelievably spoiled when you say it out loud."
"What? It's true." Yunah gasped loudly. "My mom said if I was going to spoil myself, I might as well do the same for my friends."
Minju rolled her eyes before she started down the sidewalk. Yunah soon followed her footsteps that led them to the nearest bus stop.
Along their little stroll, Minju had fallen quiet though that wasn't that much different to what she normally did but her friend felt something was off in her silence.
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you silent?"
"Were you expecting me to start freestyling to keep the conversation going? Minju answered sharply.
Yunah chuckled as she shook her head. "Anyways, I was just wondering..." she said, moving on to something new.
"What if he asks you to dance?"
Minju stopped walking so abruptly that someone behind her nearly walked into her.
"What?"
Yunah turned around slowly, entirely too pleased with herself.
"At prom."
"I heard you."
"Then why do you look like your soul just left your body?"
Minju swallowed a breath then she started walking again at a pace that looked suspiciously like fleeing her question.
"That won't happen."
"You sound very sure." Yunah matched her pace.
"Because he would never ask me."
"And why not?"
"Because..." she started before she softened. "Because why would he? He's this outgoing, social butterfly that anybody could just walk to and I'm just...Minju."
"Saying that as if you didn't just call yourself pretty earlier." Yunah replied quickly after.
Minju froze on the spot as her breath stopped midway down her throat.
After another chuckle, her teasing expression softened slightly.
"You know," Yunah said quietly, "sometimes I think you're the only person who doesn't realize how much he likes being around you."
Minju laughed once in disbelief.
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"He waits for you after class."
"That's because our classrooms are right next to each other."
"He bought your favorite snacks that one time."
"It isn't my fault he also likes the same flavor of chips and bought one too many."
"He remembers things you say that even you forget saying," Yunah continued.
Minju opened her mouth as she remembered the bouquet sitting on her desk.
"That proves nothing." she finally said after another moment.
"Minju." Yunah gave her a long look.
"What?"
"He bought you crocheted flowers."
"That is just a one time thing..."
"He bought them because you said people spend money on things that wilt after a week," Yunah said in one breath, "That's not something who just wants to be friends with you would do!"
Minju turned to face her, brows burrowed in slightly. "I remembered other things he says but I also remember things you say and all of our other friends said, it isn't unusual to do so."
Once Yunah was shut down, she turned to take more steps down the sidewalk.
"Then what about the way he looks at you?" She heard her say from behind.
Minju froze on the spot yet again.
She didn't turn around and she didn't breathe right away either.
"In what way?" she asked, but it came out softer than she intended as if it was from her own curiosity than to retort
Behind her, Yunah didn't answer immediately.
"The way he looks at you," she repeated, slower this time, "like—like he was always only looking at the moon in the sky and not the miniscule stars around it."
Minju let out another short and disbelieving scoff.
"That sounds like something straight out of a fairy tale."
Yunah gave a small, almost helpless laugh, like she knew exactly how ridiculous it sounded and still meant every word anyway.
"It is," she said simply. "That's kind of the problem."
Minju finally turned her head a little, just enough to glance back.
"You're saying things like that again," she muttered. "You're going to make me regret accepting that dress."
"No, you're going to regret not noticing things sooner," Yunah corrected.
Minju scoffed, but it came out weaker this time. "There's nothing to notice." she continued on, approaching the blue-roofed bus stop down the sidewalk.
Yunha quickly caught up with her, matching her pace before she asked another question.
"When he looks at you...do you really not notice it?"
Minju's steps slowed again.
Streetlights painted soft light across the sidewalk while cars passed in one by one beside them. Somewhere nearby, teenagers laughed too loudly outside a convenience store. The world kept moving as if Minju's heart hadn't suddenly decided to perform cartwheels against her ribs.
She tightened her grip around the bag she was holding.
Minju sighed through her nose.
"Of—of course I notice when people look at me," she said carefully.
Yunah tilted her head. "And?"
"And..." Minju hesitated as she realized the problem.
The problem was that she noticed everything.
The way your eyes always found her first in crowded classrooms.
The way your expression softened whenever she rambled about things she claimed not to care about or when she was proclaiming to the world how much she hated you.
The way you looked proud whenever she succeeded at something as if her achievements somehow belonged to you too.
The way your gaze lingered just a little too long sometimes before you awkwardly looked elsewhere.
And the worst part?
She noticed how her stomach flipped every single time.
Minju stared ahead at the bus stop.
“I think…” she said, softening her voice. “I think he looks at me like I’m worth more than what I am.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could grab them out of the air and shove them back where they came from.
“That’s not a good thing,” she added after a moment, more to herself than to Yunah.
Yunah glanced at her. “Why not?”
“I just…” she started, then stopped before she tried again. “I don’t know what he’s seeing when he looks at me like that.”
The girl next to her exhaled softly, like she’d been holding it in for a while.
They walked under the bus stop.
Minju took a seat first before Yunah sat down next to her.
“Do you think he’s wrong for looking at you like that?” she asked, placing the bag over her lap.
Minju hesitated, “I don’t know,” she admitted. Then, almost stubbornly, she added, “Maybe he is.”
Yunah hummed softly, her voice carried by the soft breeze that blew by. The light above them flickered then steadied. She leaned back slightly, letting the bench creak under her weight.
“I think I know what you're afraid of.” she finally said.
Minju looked over with the sides of her eyes.
“You're afraid of someone actually seeing you and for them to actually care.” Yunah said in a single breath.
She heard a scoff beside her.
“Since when were you this poetic?” Minju mumbled before she felt a soft shove against her elbow. She rubbed the spot slowly.
“Seriously though,” Yunah leaned forward, resting her elbows against her knees. “You’re scared that if you believe he likes you and you’re wrong, you’ll feel stupid.”
“That’s—” Minju tried to retort.
Keyword, tried.
Her shoulders eased either in defeat or they also grew tired of her hiding behind herself.
“I just think,” she said quietly, “that he'll just leave after he realises I'm not as interesting as he thought.”
Minju’s eyes dropped to the floor.
“My grades are good.”
“I know how to make myself useful.”
“I know how to be someone people can rely on.”
Minju looked up at the traffic in front of them.
“But when that’s gone…”
She swallowed hard.
“What’s left?”
Yunah looked at her like she couldn’t believe Minju could sound like this.
“What’s left?” she repeated softly.
“Mhm, yeah.”
Yunah reached over and flicked Minju’s forehead.
“Ouch!”
“What’s left,” Yunah said, ignoring her glare, “is the girl who argues with teachers when they grade unfairly.”
Minju blinked at her.
“The girl who pretends she hates helping the younger years but somehow always does when they ask, even if it's the simplest thing.”
“The girl who acts annoyed when her friends call her crying at two in the morning but still picks up every single time.”
Minju stared at her.
“And the girl who should come out of hiding and face her feelings head on.” Yunah smiled softly.
The bus stop fell quiet around them.
A bus roared past without stopping, wind following behind it hard enough to push loose strands of Minju’s hair across her face. She tucked them behind her ear absentmindedly.
Yunah smiled softly at her then her expression relaxed again.
“It shouldn't be that easy.” Her head dropped again. “When people like you,” Minju said softly, eyes fixed on the pavement below her shoes, “there’s always a version of you they like first.”
“The useful version.”
“The smart version.”
“The version that gets things done.”
Minju laughed bitterly under her breath.
“And when they find out you’re actually difficult or insecure or annoying or that sometimes you say the wrong things and push people away before they can leave first…”
Her throat tightened.
“They leave anyway.”
Yunah stared at her friend like she was seeing a side of Minju had been pushed away for years.
She reached over and grabbed Minju’s hand, warmly and sincerely.
“He already sees those parts.”
“What?” Minju blinked.
Yunah squeezed her hand.
“He’s seen you snap at people, seen you overthink, seen you act like you hate compliments and seen how cranky you are before tests.”
A reluctant laugh escaped Minju before she could stop it.
Yunah smiled softly at the sound like she had been waiting for it.
“And he still stayed.”
Minju’s smile slowly disappeared.
“He stayed after all of your bad moods, he stayed after your sharp words, he stayed after every opportunity he had to lose interest.”
Her voice softened again.
"And he still stayed, didn't he?"
Minju looked away first, her ears beginning to burn. She leaned back against the bench and looked up at the night sky.
There weren’t many visible stars tonight, just the moon still shining brightly high above the city.
Against all logic, her thoughts drifted back to you.
Your laugh.
Your stupidly kind face.
The way you looked at her like she was something soft enough to protect and strong enough to admire at the same time.
“So what if he asks me to dance?” she whispered.
Yunah turned so fast she nearly fell off the bench with a gasp.
“So you are imagining it!”
Minju groaned immediately. “Why are you yelling?”
“Because you want him to dance with you!”
“I said what if. That is not the same thing.”
“If he asks you to dance—” Yunah grabbed both of her shoulders dramatically.
“He won’t.”
“and that’s a very weak if, because I just know he will—”
“Yunah.”
“YOU are going to say yes.”
“I don’t dance.” Minju stared at her as if she was speaking in another language.
“You just sway awkwardly for three minutes and it'll all be over. That’s literally all slow dancing is, you just do the dance!”
“That sounds horrifying.”
Yunah rolled her eyes.
“And despite that, I think a tiny part of you wants it to happen.”
Minju looked away first, not wanting to give her friend any more fuel for her teasing.
As if it were on cue, their bus pulled up with a loud screech.
The doors pushed themselves open.
Minju stood up from the seat first.
“Go on, be careful on your way home.” Yunah said, standing up right after her. “I’ll take a cab back to my parent’s place.”
Minju hesitated before the first step.
Just a small pause, right there at the edge of the bus door, like her body had briefly forgotten which direction it was supposed to go.
“…you too,” she muttered, not quite turning around.
Yunah smiled, raising a hand at her. “Text me when you get home.”
“I always do.”
“I know. I just like saying it.”
Minju rolled her eyes at her then finally stepped onto the bus.
-
"I'm home!"
Minju closed the door behind her with a heel and locked it soon after.
Her voice echoed faintly throughout the house with no response coming from any corner.
She wasn't expecting any different.
Her mother often worked late shifts at the hospital as one of the nurses going through the halls and going room to room while her father usually didn't come home until long after midnight if he was buried under paperwork at the firm.
The apartment was quiet in the familiar way that felt neither lonely nor comforting.
It was just the way it normally was.
Minju slipped off her shoes near the entrance and lined them up neatly against the wall out of habit before dragging herself further inside.
She walked through the dark living room and to the kitchen where she turned on the lights.
Moments after, her footsteps carried her up the stairs and towards her room where she pushed the door open and flicked open the light switch for her to see the lightly pink walls and her bed that had sheets and pillows of the same color scheme.
She placed the bag over her bed and walked to the long mirror that stood beside her closet. Leaning in, she took a closer look at herself, carefully pushing some strands of hair behind her ear.
Minju grabbed a plush headband that hung from the side as she slowly got started with her nightly routine that she had done plenty of times before.
She began with a warm bath then began applying all of the facial products she needed in front of the mirror.
When she was back in her room, she quickly got changed before heading downstairs for her dinner.
The soft whirring of the microwave echoed through the home as Minju leaned against the counter waiting for the small cup of instant noodles to finish cooking.
This was how her nights normally went when both of her parents were still out by nighttime.
Not that she minded though, of course.
That was what she always told herself.
She thrived in silence anyways, that was where she felt mostly like herself. She could make noise all she wanted, make whatever she wanted to eat, accidentally drop a pan or two, shout down the halls and watch the TV loudly with no repercussions.
But sometimes, she wouldn't have minded it.
She wouldn't have minded if she came home to a freshly cooked meal.
She wouldn't have minded if someone asked how her day was.
She wouldn't have minded if someone asked how the dress looked on her.
DING!
The microwave came to an abrupt stop as the light inside died.
Minju stared at its small window for a moment before pushing herself off the counter.
The cup was warm in her hands as she peeled back the lid.
Steam rose upward, fogging her vision for half a second before disappearing just as quickly.
She grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer and made her way back to her room.
Placing it over her desk, she crouched down under the table and after a couple of plugs being pushed into sockets, the computer whirred to life.
The screen blinked awake as it transitioned to her home screen.
Minju pulled herself back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other as she stirred her noodles absentmindedly. Her desk was cluttered in the very specific way only her desk could be, stacks of neatly highlighted notes, pens sorted by color., sticky notes with deadlines scribbled across them, a half-finished worksheet she had promised herself she would complete tonight.
She looked right beside her lamp, her eyes narrowed.
The crocheted flowers still sat where she last placed them, inside a glass cup she had stolen from the kitchen because she refused to admit she needed somewhere "proper" to put them.
The soft yarn petals were still perfectly intact.
Minju let out a dramatic sigh before taking a bite of noodles, reaching over to her mouse and clicked some apps open allowing her to spend time on another hobby of hers.
Video games.
She continued eating as a queue continued to count upwards on her screen.
She was almost finished with the cup of noodles when the words popped up on her screen.
'Match Found!'
"Finally." Minju straightened in her chair immediately, nearly dropping her chopsticks onto her keyboard.
She clicked accept without hesitation, adjusting her headset over her ears as the loading screen appeared. The game music swelled dramatically through her headphones while usernames slowly populated the lobby.
Sometimes, this was better than what real life had to offer because games are wonderfully simple.
You either won, lost or drew.
You either carry your team or watch them make decisions so catastrophically stupid that it makes you wonder how they managed to survive crossing a road in real life.
Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard as the match officially began after bans and picking which champion to use.
-
The game went on as usual, taking most of Minju's focus.
Beside her keyboard was where her phone was, laying with a dark screen before it suddenly buzzed to life.
The vibration cut through the low hum of her computer.
Minju didn't notice it at first.
She was mid-fight, her fingers were prepared on her skills, eyes sharp, posture leaning forward like she could physically intimidate the enemies to feed their gold into her.
But then it buzzed again, then again and one more to fully gain her attention.
"That better not be Yunah."
She dodged another attack before quickly glancing down.
Her phone screen lit up and her entire body froze.
Your name with three unread messages.
Her character stopped moving entirely.
Which proved to be a catastrophic decision.
You have been slain.
Minju looked at the grayed screen in front of her with the timer ticking down.
With a disgruntled sigh, she picked up her phone to finally read what you had sent her way.
Her respawn timer continued ticking down in the corner of her monitor.
"What kind of question is that?"
She stared at the screen.
Was this normal?
Did people text each other about prom so casually?
Was there a hidden meaning?
Was he asking if she had a dress?
If she had plans?
Worse, what if he was going to ask if she had a date?
Her champion respawned but she didn't move.
She picked up her phone for a moment.
Three little dots appeared on her screen immediately.
Her eyes narrowed themselves.
The phone buzzed again.
Just like that, her stomach dropped.
For a second, Minju genuinely considered throwing her phone across the room. Instead, she stared at the message so hard it nearly burned into her retinas.
Hesitantly, she typed right back.
Minju stared at your reply in complete disbelief.
"What." her eyebrows slowly furrowed.
Was that really it?
Was that all you were going to say after causing her entire body to freeze in place?
Her phone remained still in her hand before her attention was pulled back by the familiar pinging sound. Her eyes drifted back to her screen where multiple question marks started appearing around her character.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm here." Minju mumbled, placing the phone down and already reaching back for her mouse.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Minju didn't look at it.
Actually, she refused to look at it.
Her eyes stayed glued to her monitor, fingers snapping back into motion as if nothing had happened.
A picture passed through her imagination right after, one that was you staring up at your phone and waiting for her reply.
Maybe you were looking at your phone with stupid puppy dog eyes that would have totally worked on her.
Her jaw tightened.
No, she would have to reply to you right after the game.
She wasn't going to reward you for appearing out of nowhere, make her mind race just from one message then cower back to whatever hole you crawled out of.
Minju clicked furiously around her screen.
And after multiple team fights around the map, across the three lanes and inside towers, the victory carefully materialized itself on her screen.
Her phone buzzed a couple more times through all of it and she was proud enough of herself to not check it even once.
She reached for her cup of noodles instead only to discover the broth had gone cold.
Finally, she picked up her phone again and opened them to see the messages you've left.
And just like that, all of her irritation dissolved and so did most of her curiosity.
"...idiot." she mumbled.
Minju stood up from her seat, contemplating whether to still type up a reply.
Then she heard a sound from downstairs.
A rhythmic tapping against metal that echoed softly through the gap she'd left open on her door.
She was sure that she locked the front door when she got back and she was even more sure that neither of her parents left anything else open downstairs.
But still considering that she was home alone, she couldn't help but feel hesitant.
"What's that?" she dropped her arms back to her side, fingers grazing the screen lightly enough to tap the phone icon over your profile.
Then she walked out of her room.
-
Across the city, you stood inside of your room. Your hand rubbed a towel over your damp hair from the warm shower you just got out of.
Your phone vibrated suddenly against the pillow you left it on.
For half a second, you just stared at the screen.
You pressed it against your ear, towel still hanging around your neck while water dripped from the ends of your hair onto the floor unnoticed.
"Hello?"
From the other side of the call, you could faintly hear the faint sound of her footsteps.
"Hello?" you said again, a bit louder this time.
Silence followed until you heard a loud creak of metal come from her end.
"It was just the tap." Minju spoke, voice full of relief.
The girl stood in the kitchen, hand having just pushed up the faucet and oblivious to what was going on with her phone.
"Park Minju!"
The girl turned around the empty home, startled by the voice of someone calling her name. Looking across the dim living room to each dark corner, she could've swore she didn't imagine it.
"What the hell?" her grip on the phone tightened instantly.
"MINJU." On the other end of the call, you nearly choked.
She looked down to her hand as the realization slowly and painfully set in.
"Did you call me?" she asked, pressing the phone to her ear.
"What—No, you were the one who called me!"
"That must've been some kind of mistake," Minju scoffed. "I didn't call you."
"Well that's weird, I specifically remember seeing your contact calling my phone."
"Then it was an accident, that's all." She looked at her screen, "I'll hang up now, bye."
"Minju—wait!"
"...What." Her thumb hovered over the screen.
"What were you doing just now?" you asked quickly, words almost tumbling out of you.
Minju caught up half a second too late.
"Why are you asking?"
"I don't know, you seemed a little spooked when I picked up the call so I was wondering."
"It's nothing, I've already dealt with it. Is that all? Goodnight."
"Wait—wait! Maybe we could...talk for a bit." your voice trailed off on the line.
Minju's entire body went still.
The kitchen suddenly felt far too quiet.
The refrigerator hummed softly somewhere behind her. The clock seemingly ticked on louder than it was before. And through the phone pressed against her ear, your voice waited carefully on the other side with one foot tapping against your floor.
Talk?
For a bit?
Her first instinct immediately set in and almost acted on its own.
No.
Absolutely not.
Because talking to you for "a bit" somehow always became twenty minutes of bickering, accidentally saying something she shouldn't have, laughing at things she pretended weren't funny, and hanging up feeling strangely lighter afterward.
Yet.
"What do you wanna talk about then?" Minju leaned one shoulder against the kitchen counter, narrowing her eyes at absolutely nothing.
"Prom's soon, maybe that."
Minju immediately regretted asking.
Because now the topic somehow materialized itself in front of her again.
Prom.
She was once again reminded of that stupid dance occupying half the school's collective brain cells. The same event everyone kept talking about like it was some life-changing cinematic experience instead of awkward teenagers renting fancy clothes to stand around under dim lighting and pretend they knew how to dance.
"That sounds terrible already," she muttered.
You laughed quietly through the phone. "You haven't even heard what I was gonna say."
"I heard enough."
She wandered slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room, phone tucked against her ear while her feet dragged lazily across the floor.
On your side of the call, you dropped onto the edge of your bed with the towel still hanging around your shoulders.
"So," you started carefully, "are you excited for it?"
"No."
"That answer came out way too fast."
She sank onto the couch eventually, curling one leg underneath herself.
"I just don't really get the hype," she continued. "Everyone's acting like it's some grand and magical ball. And everybody's going in their own carriages with big dresses and flashy suits."
"Were you just describing Cinderella?"
"Shut it."
You laughed again.
That stupid laugh.
Minju stared blankly at the ceiling while listening to it fade through the speaker.
A short silence settled between you afterward. It wasn't awkward, it was simply silence shared across the line.
It wasn't long before you broke it though.
"Do you already have someone you're going with?"
She heard the question a second too late and didn't know how to act.
"Why?" she asked carefully.
"I was just wondering. Because if you were—"
"No," she answered quickly, too fast to sound casual. "I'm not going with anyone."
From your side, your shoulders loosened from the tension forming in them before you even noticed.
"Really?"
Minju frowned immediately. "Why do you sound relieved?"
"I don't sound relieved."
"You absolutely do sound relieved."
"I do not."
"You do."
You let out an exasperated breath through the speaker. "Fine. Maybe a little."
Her stomach flipped so suddenly she nearly hated herself for it.
Minju pressed her lips together hard.
"But why were you asking?"
For once, you didn't dodge the question because across the city, sitting at the edge of your bed with damp hair and your heartbeat trying to punch through your ribs, you figured you had already come this far.
"Because I wanted to ask if maybe you'd go with me and maybe save me a dance?"
Everything inside Minju stopped.
Inside her chest was nothing for a moment, absolute silence for one terrifying second then it all came at once.
Heat rushed straight to her face so fast she physically covered her mouth with her hand despite the fact you couldn't even see her.
You continued before she could respond. Probably because you were panicking too now.
"Not like a huge thing or anything," you rambled quickly. "And I know you said you hate prom and dancing and basically joy itself but I just thought maybe since we'd probably end up talking to each other there anyway and we already know each other and you wouldn't have to deal with random people asking you and I just thought maybe it'd be easier if we went together and I'm talking too much now, aren't I?"
The silence that followed almost killed you before you faintly heard something from her.
A short breath, one where you weren't sure if she laughed, sighed or scoffed.
"Idiot..."
"W—what?" you replied.
Minju slowly lowered her hand from her mouth though the heat in her face refused to disappear.
Her heart was beating so loudly now that she didn't know what to do with it.
How was she supposed to respond to that?
She pressed her lips together harder.
"Okay." she finally said.
"What was that? What did you just say?" you replied quickly, fumbling over your words.
"I said okay, I'll go with you. It's not like I have anybody else. Dancing on the other hand, I'll have to think about it."
"...Wait seriously?"
The sheer disbelief in your voice made Minju's eyes roll over themselves.
"No, I just said yes for fun," she replied, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. "Obviously seriously."
"I thought you were gonna reject me."
"I almost did."
"Thankfully you didn't change your mind."
A laugh escaped you then, like you were finally able to laugh without weights over your shoulders.
And annoyingly enough, hearing it did something strange to her heartbeat again.
Minju reached up and pressed the back of her hand against her cheek.
It was still warm.
"So this means you're my prom date now?" you asked carefully as if you still didn't fully believe it.
"Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like..." she faltered immediately. "Like that."
You grinned despite her not being able to see it. "You're blushing, aren't you?"
"I hate you."
"That means yes."
"It means shut up."
Your laughter crackled through the speaker again, turning the quiet apartment into something softer around the edges. The living room no longer felt so hollow now. The ticking clock faded behind the sound of your voice.
Minju stared at the dark ceiling above her.
"So," you started again after calming down, "does this mean I get to know what dress you picked?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you'll see it at prom."
"Right, guess I'll just have to wait and see."
Minju hummed through the line.
You snorted quietly, changing the topic. "You know, I was actually trying to ask you earlier through text."
"Then you cowered away?"
"No, it's just that." you started, "I just thought that if you heard it come from me directly, you wouldn't think of it as me joking around."
Minju's expression softened before she could stop it
The teasing reply she already had prepared dissipated.
Because somehow, underneath all your awkward rambling and stumbling over words, she understood exactly what you meant.
If it came through text, she probably would have overanalyzed it.
If it came through text, she might have convinced herself you were joking.
Hearing your voice now in its slightly breathless and embarrassingly sincere way through the speaker, made it impossible to misunderstand.
"Well, are you?" she asked more as a rhetorical question than anything else.
"What? No—of course not."
Minju let out a soft chuckle.
"I'm glad you called and asked though."
"Well, technically you called first."
"It was an accident."
"There are no such things as accidents only—"
"I'm hanging up now."
"Okay, okay, fine." you replied with a groan. "So um...I guess I'll see you then?"
Minju tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she stared across the darkened living room.
"Yeah," she answered quietly. "I guess you will."
On your side, you leaned your head back against the wall behind your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling with the kind of stupid grin that would've absolutely gotten you ridiculed if Minju could see it right now.
"Cool," you replied, and somehow even that one word sounded too happy as you said it.
Minju rolled her eyes instinctively yet the corners of her mouth betrayed her again anyway.
"You sound ridiculous."
"You agreed to go to prom with me. I think I've earned sounding ridiculous."
"I could always back out."
"Yeah right."
A quiet scoff escaped her.
Her home felt less lonely with your voice lingering through the speaker, with the warmth still sitting stubbornly in her cheeks and with the realization that somewhere across the city, you were probably smiling like an idiot because of her.
Minju shifted on the couch, pulling her knees closer to herself.
"You better not step on my shoes during the dance," she mumbled.
Your laugh burst through the phone instantly. "So you are considering the dance."
"I said maybe."
"I'm counting that as a yes."
She hated how easily you answered that.
For a moment, neither of you spoke again.
Minju then glanced toward the clock and sighed through her nose.
"It's late."
"Yeah," you murmured. "It is. We should get some sleep"
Neither of you hung up immediately.
"Goodnight, Minju."
Her heartbeat stumbled again at the softness in your voice.
"Goodnight..." she pulled the phone away first.
The call ended and suddenly the house became quiet again.
Minju stared down at the dark screen in her hand for a long moment before slowly pushing herself off the couch and making her way back upstairs.
The hallway lights cast soft shadows across the walls as she walked, her phone still loosely held in her hand while her heartbeat stubbornly refused to settle down completely.
Back inside her room, the light escaped through the small gap she had left behind. On her table, the crocheted flowers remained beside her lamp beside the rest of her cluttered things exactly where she left them.
Minju glanced at them briefly before dropping onto the edge of her bed.
Prom still sounded exhausting.
The loud music.
The crowded gym.
The dancing.
She still thought most of it was overrated.
Yet for the first time since everyone couldn't stop talking about it, the thought of going didn't seem completely unbearable anymore.
Maybe there was finally a reason to look forward to it after all.
Warning : This story theme was contains heavy incest, Mother-Son sex, titjob, taboo romantic.
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[Mother]
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You always feel that you're messing things up.
The day before your sister's birthday, you intend to give her a surprise gift. Because you don't have money, you was doing part time job to buy gifts for Karina. But you get sick and are rushed to the hospital.
Since then, Karina has kept her distance from you.
Not only Karina, your mother has also changed. In your eyes, Eunbi was like a mother figure in general at that time, but when you were hospitalized, you saw fear on her face. She turn out to be obsessed with you, doing anything to make you happy.
It's mean anything.
***
"Karina decided to live independently, renting a place to live with her friend, Ningning", Eunbi said in front of the three of you at breakfast.
The spoon clattered against your bowl, frozen halfway to your lips as Eunbi's announcement hung in the air like a bad smell. Your father blinked owlishly over his newspaper, the steam from his coffee curling around his furrowed brow.
"Wait—Karina's moving out today?" He lowered the paper slowly, ink smudging his fingertips. "Why the sudden rush? Shouldn't we at least discuss—"
"Karina told me that her campus activities were tied up recently ," Eunbi replied, her voice smoother.
"Don't worry honey," she added, reaching across the table to pat your father's hand with a tenderness that made your stomach twist, "our Karina is grown up now.”
Your father's newspaper rustled as he folded it with exaggerated care, his wedding ring clicking against the coffee cup.
"I have work out of town for two days," he announced, eyes darting between you and Eunbi like a man calculating escape routes.
The forced cheer in his voice made your molars ache. "I hope you take good care of the house, Honey. And you, kiddo—" His calloused palm landed on your shoulder with the weight of a sandbag "—don't worry. Dad will bring back a gift."
Eunbi's smile stretched taut as piano wire. "Of course," she purred, fingers tracing the rim of her juice glass in slow circles,"We'll be just fine."
You keep silent. No respon like you're on your own world.
Eunbi's fingers trembled against the porcelain sink as she watched your father's car disappear down the driveway, taillights blurring through the kitchen window's condensation. The house exhaled around her—creaking pipes settling, the refrigerator humming to life—but all she heard was the hammering of her own pulse between her thighs.
This wasn't supposed to happen again.
The agreement had been clear: instructional demonstrations only, a mother's duty to educate her son.
No lingering touches.
No breathless whispers against his collarbone.
Certainly no nights spent replaying the way his fingers had mimicked her movements with terrifying precision.
Yet here she stood, pressing her thighs together as the memory of your hands on Yujin replayed behind her eyelids—the way your hips had pistoned forward with that same primal rhythm she'd taught you.
Her nipples tightened beneath the thin silk of her blouse, the fabric suddenly abrasive against oversensitive skin. The rational part of her mind screamed that this was wrong, that mothers didn't lick their lips imagining their son's taste, didn't press trembling fingers between their legs while recalling how full you'd looked buried inside—
***
The front door clicked shut behind you with finality, the sound swallowed by the empty house. You didn't call out—no "I'm home," no footsteps padding to the kitchen to raid the fridge like normal days. Just the squeak of your sneakers on polished floors as you beelined for the sanctuary of your room, backpack straps cutting into your shoulders with every step.
The PlayStation controller lay abandoned on your desk, its buttons crusted with Cheeto dust from happier afternoons. Now you just sat cross-legged on the rumpled sheets, palms pressed hard against your closed eyelids until kaleidoscope patterns bloomed in the darkness.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours of Yujin's empty desk in homeroom, her usual seat vacant in the cafeteria, no texts lighting up your lock screen—just that goddamn video looping behind your eyelids every time you blinked.
A floorboard creaked outside your door.
You didn't move—just inhaled the stale scent of sweat and old takeout boxes, counting the footsteps.
Too light to be your father, too hesitant to be Karina.
The knob turned with agonizing slowness, revealing Eunbi's silhouette backlit by the hallway sconces. Her silk robe clung to the dip of her waist where the belt hung loose, one hand gripping the doorframe like she might collapse without it.
Eunbi perched on the edge of your bed with the cautious grace of a bird alighting on a trembling branch, her silk robe whispering against the sheets. The scent of her jasmine perfume clashed with the stale air of your room—too sweet, too maternal, too wrong for the images still burning behind your eyelids.
"What's wrong with you, Baby?" Her fingers hovered near your knee but didn't touch. The worry in her voice was polished smooth, like a river stone worn down by years of practiced concern.
"Just tired, Mom," you muttered, dragging your palms down your face hard enough to leave pink streaks on your cheeks.
The lie tasted like old pennies on your tongue—too familiar, too easy.
Eunbi's hand froze halfway to your shoulder, fingers curling inward like petals recoiling from frost.
"Just tell mommy, baby," she murmured, voice honey-thick with concern—the same tone she'd used when bandaging skinned knees years ago,"It's okay!"
"No, Mom. I'm fi—" Your breath hitched wetly, the lie fracturing as your fingers dug into your scalp hard enough to hurt, "I'm so...".
The sob tore free before you could swallow it, shoulders hunching forward as your palms pressed harder against your leaking eyes. Hot tears seeped between your fingers, dripping onto the wrinkled sheets below in dark splotches that spread like oil stains.
Eunbi's arms encircled you with practiced maternal ease, her fingers splaying across the tense ridges of your spine in slow, rhythmic strokes.
"Shh...it's okay, baby," she cooed, the words vibrating against the crown of your head where your face pressed into the hollow of her throat.
But the hand kneading your shoulder blades wasn't soothing—it was possessive, fingertips digging into muscle with calculated pressure that bordered on pain. Her nails scraped upward through your shirt fabric just hard enough to raise goosebumps, the touch oscillating between comfort and punishment like she couldn't decide whether to console you or shake you senseless.
The words slithered out of her mouth like something oily, the forced gentleness straining at the edges. "Just spill everything, baby."
Her fingers traced the ridge of your collarbone through your shirt—a gesture that should have been comforting, if not for the way her nails lingered just a little too long against your pulse point.
Your teeth sank into your lower lip hard enough to taste copper, the hesitation stretching seconds too long before the words tumbled out in a rushed whisper: "What do you think about Yujin, Mom?”
Eunbi's fingers lingered on her chin, the pad of her thumb brushing absently against her lower lip—a gesture you'd seen a thousand times before, but now it sent an inexplicable prickle down your spine.
"Hmm..." The sound vibrated low in her throat as she tilted her head, "She looks like a good girl. Cheerful. Makes the atmosphere more colorful."
Her eyes turned into a serious gaze,"Don't tell me you two have a problem.”
You exhaled through your nose, fingers kneading the worn fabric of your sweatpants. "Actually, I guess... Yujin isn't the girl you thought she was, Mom."
"What do you mean?" Her voice was calm—too calm, the kind of measured tone psychiatrists use before asking about homicidal thoughts.
You closed your eyes, the pixelated memory of that video flickering behind your eyelids—Yujin's sweat-slicked back arching beneath someone else's hands, the familiar face made your stomach twist.
"Yujin... She... Cheated behind my back with someone I know," you said, the words like shards of glass in your throat.
After hearing it, Eunbi's fingers twitched against her thigh—once, twice—before curling into a tight fist, her manicured nails biting into her palm hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in the flesh. The smile she forced onto her lips didn't reach her eyes, which burned with a terrifying stillness, like gasoline pooling before ignition.
"I'm a loser, Mom," you choked out, the words ragged as your fingers twisted in her silk robe.
"It hurts so much. Why does it hurt so much?" Your forehead pressed against her collarbone, the heat of your tears soaking through the thin fabric as your shoulders shook with silent sobs.
Eunbi's arms tightened around you, her fingers splaying across the back of your skull like she could physically hold the pieces of you together.
"Shh...calm down, baby," she murmured, her breath warm against the shell of your ear.
Her voice was syrup-thick with something darker beneath—not just comfort, but possession,"Yujin doesn't deserve your love", Her palm slid down your spine, the pressure just shy of painful.
"There will definitely be someone who loves you sincerely.”
The voice cracked like dry kindling, the words scraping your throat raw. "No, Mom—no one will love me sincerely."
You pressed your forehead harder against Eunbi's collarbone, the sharp scent of her perfume mixing with the salt of your tears.
"They'll only hurt me", A shudder ran through you, fingers twisting tighter in her silk robe until the fabric strained,"I'm afraid of love now, Mom. It hurts too much.”
Eunbi's pulse roared in her ears like a freight train, her fingers tightening in your hair until the roots burned. The scent of your tears—salty and young and unmistakably hers—flooded her nostrils, drowning out the last whispers of reason. Somewhere between your shuddering exhale and the way your fingers twisted in her robe, the thought crystallized with terrifying clarity: If Yujin could take from you so carelessly, then why shouldn't she claim what was rightfully—
"Then let Mommy love you, baby.”
The silence stretched between you like a live wire—charged and quivering. Eunbi's breath hitched when your fingers didn't immediately release her robe, her shoulders tensing beneath the thin silk as if bracing for impact. Regret pooled in her eyes even before she moved, liquid and unmistakable.
"Ah—forget I—" The words died in her throat as she stood abruptly, silk whispering against silk in a frantic rustle. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood as she turned toward the door, one hand already reaching for the knob when your arms encircled her waist from behind.
Eunbi froze mid-step, her silk robe whispering against itself as your arms locked around her waist. You felt the hitch in her breath, the way her muscles tensed like a cornered animal before slowly, tremulously relaxing.
"Really?" Your voice cracked like dry earth, the words barely audible against the small of her back. "May I love you, Mom?”
Eunbi turned with the slow inevitability of a sinking ship, her silk robe whispering open as she pressed herself against you. Her lips met yours not with the hesitant curiosity of before, but with the crushing certainty of someone drowning—her fingers tangling in your hair hard enough to hurt, her breath shuddering against your cheek as she poured every broken promise into that kiss.
You froze—not from hesitation, but from the sheer *wrongness* of how right it felt. When her teeth grazed your lower lip, you gasped into her mouth, your hands finding her waist through the silk as she arched against you with a whimper that vibrated through your chest.
Eunbi pulled back from the kiss with a wet sound, her lips swollen and glistening under the dim bedroom light. Her fingers lingered on your jaw, tracing the stubble there as her smile curved into something dangerous—like a knife balanced on its edge. "Do you know the answer?" she whispered, breath warm against your damp mouth.
Her hands moved to the sash of her silk robe, fingers working the knot with deliberate slowness. The fabric whispered open, pooling at her feet in a liquid heap. Moonlight painted her bare skin in silver—the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips that had birthed you. Your breath caught at the obscenity of it, the way her nipples hardened under your gaze as if she knew exactly where your eyes lingered.
Your own clothes felt suddenly suffocating. Eunbi stepped closer, her fingers making quick work of your shirt buttons, each one popping free with a soft sound that echoed louder than gunfire in the silence. When her palms flattened against your chest, pushing the fabric off your shoulders, her nails scraped lightly over your skin—a mother's touch turned into a lover's claim.
The air thickened like syrup in your lungs as Eunbi stepped fully into the moonlight, her body a sinuous silhouette against the pale glow. Every curve—the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips that had once cradled your infant form—now carved shadows across the floorboards.
"Wuah... Your body is so beautiful, Mom," you breathed, the words escaping in a rush of humid air against her collarbone.
Eunbi's chuckle vibrated through your chest where she pressed against you, fingers trailing down your sternum with deliberate slowness.
"Isn't this the first time you've seen me naked, baby?" Her voice dipped into a register you'd never heard—husky and ripe with something that made your pulse stutter.
The words tumbled out before you could stop them—raw and unfiltered, dripping with a hunger that should've made you recoil. "Yeah, but the longer I look at your body like wine, Mom," you chuckled, your voice roughened by desire, "the more intoxicating it becomes."
Eunbi's breath hitched audibly, her blush spreading from her cheeks down to her collarbones in a rosy wave that followed the path of your gaze.
Eunbi's lips curled into a smirk that didn't belong on a mother's face—too wicked, too knowing.
"It turns out my son is smart to praise now," she murmured, her voice dripping with honeyed approval as her knees hit the hardwood floor with a soft thud.
Her fingers wrapped around the base of your shaft with clinical precision at first, like she was checking for fever rather than coaxing pleasure. But then her thumb swiped across the leaking slit, gathering the bead of precum with the same absentminded care she'd once used to wipe jam from your childhood chin..
"Because you're such a good boy," she cooed, blowing gently across the wetness she'd just spread, "Mommy will give you a reward."
You whimpered when she pursed her lips and exhaled another cooling stream of air across your glistening tip, the sensation so light it bordered on cruel.
Eunbi's saliva hit your cock with an audible splat, the warm wetness trailing down your shaft before her fingers caught it in a tight ring.
"You're so cute when whimpering, baby," she murmured, her voice thick with something darker than maternal pride. Another glob of spit followed—then another—until your entire length glistened under the dim bedroom light, slick with her saliva and the precum beading at your tip.
Her strokes gained speed with brutal efficiency, the wet schlick of skin on skin filling the room as her fist pistoned up and down. You could feel every ridge of her fingerprints, every callous from years of cooking and cleaning—but now those hands were wrapped around your cock with a grip that bordered on painful. Her thumb swiped over the swollen head on each upstroke, smearing your own fluid back down in a lewd parody of lotion.
The moan tore from your throat as Eunbi's lips sealed around your cockhead, the wet heat of her mouth swallowing you whole.
"Urgh...Mom, oh fuck—" The words shattered into a gasp as she bobbed forward, her nose pressing into your lower abdomen with each deepthroat that sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. Strings of saliva stretched between her swollen lips each time she pulled back, glistening under the bedroom light like spider silk before snapping against your shaft.
A blissful expression settled over her features, the kind you'd only seen during her rare unguarded moments—eyes half-lidded, lips parted around your girth, the very picture of debauched serenity.
The room filled with wet, rhythmic sounds—Eunbi's lips slurping obscenely around your cock as she worked you with a hunger that bordered on feral. Saliva dripped from her stretched lips, pooling on the hardwood floor beneath her knees in glistening strings that refused to break.
Eunbi pulled away with a wet pop, strands of saliva and precum stretching between her lips and your twitching cock before snapping. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, smearing the glistening mess over her chin as she looked up at you through her eyelashes—an expression you'd never seen on your mother's face before.
"Did you like your mom's mouth pleasing you, my dear?" Her voice was hoarse, the words vibrating with something dark and syrupy that pooled low in your belly.
"Yeah, Mom," you gasped, fingers tangling in her disheveled hair without thinking, "your mouth felt incredible."
Eunbi's lips curled into a smirk that didn't belong on any mother's face—too knowing, too wicked.
"Good," she purred, pressing her palms against the undersides of her breasts with theatrical exaggeration, "because you're going to love this too."
The moment your slick cockhead touched the warm valley between them, her body remembered the motion before her mind caught up—years of adjusting bra straps translating into the perfect upward squeeze of flesh against your shaft.
The first drag was obscenely wet, your precum mixing with her saliva as her breasts swallowed you whole.
"Aurgh—Mom—" The sound ripped from your throat like a wounded animal's cry as she established a rhythm, each upward roll of her tits forcing another bead of fluid from your slit.
Her nipples—harder than you'd ever seen them—brushed against the throbbing veins along your length with every pass, the contrast of softness and roughness sending electric jolts down your spine.
The lewd squelch of flesh against flesh filled the room as she tightened her cleavage around you, her thumbs pressing into the soft undersides to create perfect resistance.
"Does my son like his own mother giving a titjob like—" her voice dropped to a whisper, husky with something that shouldn't exist between parent and child, "this?”
Yes Mom, your son likes it, *really* likes it," you gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily.
Eunbi's grin widened into something feral as she watched the flushed head of your cock emerge from her slick cleavage, glistening with a mix of her saliva and your precum. Without warning, her tongue darted out—just the very tip—to flick against your hypersensitive slit in a quick, teasing lick that sent jolts of electricity down your spine.
"Then what about this ?" she murmured, her breath hot against the wetness she'd just spread across your tip.
"Urgh... Mom—" Your hips jerked forward involuntarily, the sound ripping from your throat as her tongue swirled around the swollen crown with slow, deliberate circles, "I like it, your tits and tongue... so amazing..."
The room dissolved into a symphony of wet, obscene noises—the slick schlick of skin against swollen flesh, the broken moans torn from your throat each time Eunbi's tongue flicked across your weeping slit. Her breasts tightened around your shaft with practiced rhythm, the softness yielding just enough to make the friction maddening without relief. A string of saliva and precum stretched between her lips and your cockhead, glistening in the dim light before snapping as she increased the pace, her breath coming in ragged little pants that warmed the slickness coating your length.
"Mom—fuck—I can't—" The words dissolved into a guttural groan as Eunbi's tongue lapped at the underside of your crown, her lips forming a tight 'O' around the tip while her hands kneaded her own flesh harder.
Eunbi's smirk widened into something feral as she felt your cock twitch violently between her breasts—her nipples brushing against the throbbing veins with each upward roll.
"Do it," she breathed, her voice thick with want, "paint your mother's face with your white load." Her fingers dug into the undersides of her tits, squeezing tighter just as your hips jerked forward uncontrollably.
The first spurt hit her chin with a wet splat, pearly white against her flushed skin. Your broken moan filled the room as the second shot landed across her parted lips—Eunbi's tongue darting out instinctively to catch the salty droplets, her eyes fluttering shut as she swallowed with a soft hum of approval. The third pulse streaked across her left breast, glazing the stiff peak in viscous strands that dripped slowly down the curve.
Eunbi's fingers trailed through the streaks of cum on her chin with the delicate precision of an artist cleaning brushes. She brought them to her lips, tongue flicking out to gather every glistening strand—slow, deliberate, savoring each drop like the last sip of an expensive wine. When her pink tongue swirled around her index finger, her eyes rolled back slightly, a shudder running through her body as she swallowed with an audible gulp.
"Mmh," she murmured, voice thick with something between wonder and greed, "I've never tasted anything this sweet before."
The words curled around your cock like a physical touch, making it twitch against your thigh despite being spent. Her gaze locked onto yours as she licked a stray droplet from the corner of her mouth—the motion obscenely slow, her tongue lingering just a second too long.
Eunbi's fingertips traced idle circles on your bare chest as you lay tangled together, her legs still straddling your hips—the warmth of her skin pressed against yours like a second heartbeat. Her breath hitched when your arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer until her sticky cheek rested against your collarbone.
"Is it okay for us to be like this, Mom?" The words left your lips barely above a whisper, raw with hesitation.
"It's okay," she murmured, the words thick with something far darker than maternal comfort, "As long as it can make you happy, your mother is willing to be your love."
The declaration hung between you—a guillotine blade suspended by the thinnest thread of plausible deniability.
"Then what about Dad, Mom?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, your fingers tightening reflexively around her waist.
Moonlight caught the sudden tension in her jaw as she turned her face slightly away, shadows pooling in the hollow of her throat where your cum still glistened.
"For now," she murmured, fingertips tracing idle patterns on your chest that felt more like Morse code than affection, "let's keep it a secret from your father. And also your older sister.”
Secret.
You also thought of keeping the dirty secret you had from your mother a secret. And that too.
Eunbi's breath hitched audibly when your half-hard cock twitched against her slick heat, the sensation sending electric jolts up your spine. A slow, wicked smile curled her lips—the kind you'd never seen outside of late-night movies she thought you weren't watching.
"It seems Mommy's little dear baby is hard again," she purred, rolling her hips just enough to smear your precum across her swollen lips.
"Want to try getting into the hole you came out of?”
You nodded.
Eunbi said, "let mommy get a condom first, Baby".
Your grip tightened around Eunbi's wrist before she could pull away, fingertips pressing into the delicate veins beneath her skin hard enough to leave fleeting white marks. "Can we do it without condoms, Mom?" The words came out rougher than you intended, scraped raw from the pit of your stomach.
"We do it raw."
Eunbi's breath stuttered—a wet, fractured sound caught between her teeth. You watched the pulse at her throat leap like a trapped animal, her pupils swallowing the brown of her irises until only black remained. The silence stretched taut between you, filled only by the slick sound of her thighs rubbing together with your cock.
"Well my dear," she murmured, thumb brushing your lower lip with deliberate slowness, "we will do it raw."
Eunbi's thighs trembled as she spread them wider, her fingers parting slick folds that glistened under the dim bedroom light like petals after rain.
"Here, baby," she breathed, her voice cracking on the last syllable as she guided your cockhead to her entrance—that same warmth that had birthed you now welcoming you back in a way that should've made your skin crawl.
Instead, your hips jerked forward of their own accord, sheathing yourself inside her with one brutal thrust that punched twin moans from your throats—hers high and broken, yours a guttural groan that vibrated through clenched teeth.
The heat was suffocating, her walls fluttering around your length with frantic pulses that felt less like resistance and more like hunger. Eunbi's nails scored down your back as she arched beneath you, her head thrashing against the pillows as her thighs locked around your hips—silk-soft skin pressed flush against yours, damp with sweat and the evidence of her arousal.
"Oh—fuck—" she whimpered, the curse strange on her usually pristine lips, "you're so—ah—so big, my baby boy—”
"Urgh... Mom, inside you are very tight and warm," you groaned shamelessly against her damp neck, hips pistoning with a brutality that made the headboard slam against the wall in time with your thrusts.
Eunbi's thighs trembled around your waist—the same thighs that had cradled your childhood naps now spread obscenely wide to accommodate the cock she'd birthed you with. Her walls pulsed around your length in rhythmic flutters, each contraction milking you deeper as her slick heat threatened to drown your senses.
"Feels like—fuck—like your pussy's sucking me back in."
Eunbi's breath hitched in a wet, fractured gasp when you hooked your arms under her knees, folding her nearly double as you drove into her at a new angle. The change made her shriek—a sound halfway between pain and ecstasy—as her nails scored bloody crescents into your shoulders.
"A-ah! There, right there—" Her plea dissolved into wordless whimpers when you focused your thrusts on that spot, the obscene slap of skin against skin drowning out her broken moans.
Precum dripped from your tip in thick strands, mixing with her arousal until the sheets beneath you were soaked through. You watched, mesmerized, as her stomach visibly bulged with each brutal penetration—the outline of your cock distorting her abdomen in a way that should've repulsed you but only made you pound into her harder.
"Look at that, Mom," you panted, slapping a hand against the rippling flesh, "you can see where I'm fucking you. Your belly's taking me so deep—”
Eunbi's hips bucked wildly beneath you, her body moving with a rhythm that felt both practiced and desperate—as if she'd been imagining this moment long before tonight.
"Aurgh... I'm really a naughty mother," she gasped, her voice cracking mid-sentence as her fingers dug into the sweat-slick skin of your back. Her pupils rolled upward until only the whites showed, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as another brutal thrust punched the air from her lungs.
"But I like it—god—I like my son fucking me—" The confession shattered into a wail as you angled your hips just right, hitting a spot that made her entire body seize like she'd been electrocuted.
Her thighs trembled around your waist, the same soft thighs that had cradled you as a child now clamping down with bruising force as she neared her peak. The sight was obscene—her breasts bouncing with each snap of your hips, her nipples stiff and flushed against the pale swell of her flesh. Drool pooled at the corner of her gaping mouth, her usually pristine lips now swollen and glistening from where she'd bitten them raw.
"F-faster—" she begged, the words slurring together as her head thrashed against the pillows. "Please, baby, please—”
The headboard slammed against the wall with each piston-like thrust, the rhythm syncopated by Eunbi's ragged gasps. Her thighs—once soft enough to cradle your childhood tears—now trembled against your hips with bruising force, her calves hooked over your shoulders as her body arched into each penetration.
"Mom, I need to cum," you groaned, the words scraping raw against your throat as her walls fluttered around you like a vice of wet silk.
Eunbi's fingernails scored down your sweat-slicked back, her hips bucking wildly to meet your thrusts. "Together, baby," she panted, her voice shredded beyond recognition, "let's cum together—" The sentence fractured into a scream as you angled upward, hitting that spot deep inside her that made her entire body convulse.
“baby-Urgh…. ”
Eunbi's scream tore through the room like shattered glass—high, broken, utterly ruined—as her back arched off the bed with enough force to lift you both slightly. Her fingers scrambled against the sheets, twisting the fabric into desperate knots while her thighs clamped around your hips hard enough to bruise. You felt it the moment her walls convulsed around you, that vice-like flutter milking your cock in rhythmic pulses that dragged your own climax from you with brutal efficiency.
Hot cum erupted from your tip in thick, ropey spurts that painted her inner walls white—each jet hitting deeper than the last as Eunbi's pussy sucked greedily at your shaft. The sensation was obscene, her body pulling your seed deeper with each contraction as if determined to claim every drop. You could feel the exact moment your cum mixed with her release, the warm slickness flooding around your cock in waves that made your thighs tremble.
"Fuck—Mom—" The curse ripped from your throat raw and unbidden as you bottomed out inside her, hips stuttering through the last violent pulses.
Eunbi's nails scored bloody trails down your back, her entire body shaking through the aftershocks as her womb greedily accepted what belonged there. Her inner muscles continued to flutter around your softening length, milking out the last pearly drops as her thighs quivered against your hips.
The silence that followed was thick as syrup, broken only by the ragged symphony of your breathing—hers high and fluttery like a trapped bird's, yours a guttural rasp that vibrated through clenched teeth. You didn't pull out. Couldn't. Not when her inner walls still pulsed around your softening length in drowsy aftershocks, milking the last pearly drops of your release as if her body feared the separation as much as you did.
Eunbi's thighs trembled where they bracketed your hips—those same pillowy thighs that had cradled your childhood naps now sticky with sweat and other fluids. A strand of saliva stretched between her swollen lips when she exhaled shakily, the bridge snapping as she licked them clean with a slow drag of her tongue that made your spent cock twitch inside her.
"I love you, Mom," you murmured into the damp hollow of her throat, the words tasting foreign yet inevitable—like a secret finally spoken aloud after festering for decades.
Eunbi's fingers carded through your sweat-damp hair with the same absentminded tenderness she'd used when checking your childhood fevers, her nails scratching lightly against your scalp.
"I love you too, my dear," she whispered back, the endearment curling around your spine like a physical touch.
Can it be like this?
Secrets become secrets, without being revealed.
You hope your secrets remain hidden until the other secrets hit you when you find out.
A massage from Karina.
Meet me and I would show what secret hiding after all this time.
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Summary: Your girlfriend is insanely pretty and... that's the problem.
Got the idea from a conversation with @ducktoo, @kwilquib, and @azelfty. Also got some help from @leafostuff. Thank you, guys.
Shoutout to s1mpleducke and my fans who wanted more fromis.
This story is not really edited because otherwise I would have never published it, so sorry for the quality.
Your girlfriend Chaeyoung was stunning. Dating her was a daily lesson in humility. Whenever you went out in public, you could feel the collective “How?” radiating from every person you met. Everyone would look at her like she was royalty and you would look like you were the one who kidnapped her.
You didn’t blame them. She looked like a runway model even while she slept. The messier she was, the more angelic she felt, and she only needed a little effort to look stunning.
But for Chaeyoung, her face was also an insecurity. She was convinced that her incapability of looking cute (which wasn’t true) meant that your parents would never take her seriously.
“They’ll think I’m a rascal,” she’d say, pacing around the apartment. “They will never accept me as your girlfriend. They’ll think I’m just some heartbreaker.”
The anxiety reached an all-time peak in the week leading up to the day she’d meet her parents. By saturday she was an unstable bomb waiting to explode. It was exhausting just watching her. Every time your phone buzzed, she’d rush out convinced it was your mother calling to cancel the day or worse, to interview her over the phone. You tried to soothe her but eventually the sound of her frantic rambling became white noise that lulled you into an accidental nap on her couch.
You had finally awakened from your nap a couple of hours later, thinking she had finally stopped. Stretching your stiff limbs to get rid of the pains of the couch, you got up and looked for some water. You dragged your feet to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass. As you drank, you could hear some rustling from the other side of the hallway.
It sounded like clothes being thrown and beaten. You took a sip and started walking towards it. There was nobody else in the house but your girlfriend so surely it must have been her.
You stopped dead in front of the room and were left with your eyes wide open. There was a giant mountain of clothes on the ground—shirts, pants, dresses flung everywhere, dangling from the shelves and sliding off the edge of the bed. In fact, it was so full that there wasn’t any more space left on the floor, and some stray garments had found their way onto her head.
“Chaeyoung, what are you doing?” you asked, scanning the room to find stuff everywhere.
Your girlfriend blew a stray lock of hair out of her face and sighed. She slouched against the rolling chair, forgetting it was indeed a rolling chair that… rolls, so it just slid off, and she fell down on her back.
“Argh!” she exclaimed and kicked her legs at the pile of clothes out of pure frustration. “I don’t know what to wear!”
“You’re stressed about tomorrow?”
“Of course! Why would I not be?” she shot back.
“Don’t worry, Chae, just wear whatever,” you said, taking another casual sip of your water.
“Oh, it’s so easy to say for you!” she yelled and got back up. “I’ll see how you’ll act when it’s your time to meet my parents.”
“I will just wear a nice shirt,” you commented dryly, which seemed to upset her even more.
She crossed her arms up, her beautiful eyes narrowing at you. “Okay, I’ll try some stuff, and you tell me how it is. Be honest, alright?”
“Alright,” you agreed.
“Go out, let me change,” she said after getting up and pushing you out.
“It’s not like I can see you under that pile of clothes anyway—” you tried to reason before she closed the door.
You went back to the kitchen to put the glass away and came back to stand in front of the door, pacing around and staring at the wall, listening to the muffled sounds of zippers, frustrated groans and the occasional hanger flying into the wall.
As soon as you caught a glimpse of your girlfriend, air completely fled from your lungs. A floor-length, long-sleeved floral dress draped over her frame. The thin fabric had a pure white glow while the red roses painted it with vivid spots of love.
With her sharp, striking features, the simple dress didn’t look plain at all.
“Uhm,” you started, desperately trying to collect your thoughts. “What are you going for here?”
“Sweet girl next door? I look like I make my own butter, it’s perfect,” Chaeyoung said, brushing some strands of her hair behind her ears, an action that revealed itself to be more lethal than she thought.
“The next door must be heaven, because you look like an angel.”
She shot you a mean, angry glare, smoothing her dress on her stomach. “It’s no time for jokes!”
She looked down at the white fabric. “Look at it. It’s basically a tent. It has no shape whatsoever.”
“Well, no, you don’t really look like a ‘sweet girl’, to be honest…”
“Wh-why not?” Chaeyoung said worriedly. To prove her point, she did a stiff, awkward twirl, turning her back to you. “It’s just a cylinder.”
As she turned, the supposedly shapeless fabric caught on the curve of her hips. The thin, silky material draped right over the butt, clinging just enough to perfectly accentuate the exact shape of it. She looked like the breathtaking, painfully pretty heroine of a historical drama—specifically designed to ruin men’s lives.
All the teasing died in your throat. You just stood there in the hallway, opening and closing your mouth like a dumb fish out of water.
“It looks conservative,” she continued, looking over her shoulder at you. “Your mom will definitely think I’m—”
Chaeyoung stopped and saw your still expression aimed at her lower half. Her eyes narrowed. She turned around and saw her reflection in the full-length mirror behind her.
“Oh, you must be kidding me,” she groaned. She reached back and desperately tried to puff out the fabric, but as soon as she let go, they settled right back onto her curves. “Why is it doing that?”
“I… uh…” you mumbled.
“Don’t even say it,” she said, raising her index at you.
“It’s not going to work. You’re still way too pretty.”
“Ugh! Okay, let’s do another one.”
She stomped back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, leaving you alone in the hallway to recover.
A few minutes later, she stepped out, and your brain entirely short-circuited. You could pretty much hear the cables in your brain frying, sizzling, popping, while smoke poured out of your ears.
She was in a suit. It was a whole look. She was wearing her black stockings that drew attention to the length of her legs, partially covered by a sharp pencil skirt, and ended with a crisp white button-down shirt and a loosely tied necktie.
At this point, you were drooling.
“So?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips and tilting her head.
“I would so fuck the shit out of you.”
“Oh my god!” She threw her hands in the air, causing the tight shirt to pull against her chest. “You can’t stay serious.”
You were truly, in all honesty and with maximum effort, trying to stay serious. This was your way of remaining grounded and sane. Actually, you were lucky she didn’t put on any makeup because that would have been the end of you. Her face was totally bare, her hair messy from the outfit changes, if she had paired the suit with red lips? Yeah would be on the floor.
“Chae, there’s no way you actually tried with this one. Are you doing it on purpose? Is this a test?”
“What’s so bad?” she whined, stomping her foot, in a strangely cute manner, which only confused your brain more. “I’m trying to look like a banker. So your mom can take me seriously. Do I look serious?”
“You look… you do look serious.” You swallowed hard, your eyes darting down to her stockings and then right back up to her face. “Uhm. Like one of those serious, confident, sexy secretaries who blackmail the CEO.”
“Fuck you. I’m throwing this out.” She grabbed the collar of her shirt, ready to rip it off.
“No, no, no, no, please!” you pleaded, lunging forward with zero dignity and grabbing her hands. “It looks too good! I didn’t even know you had any of this! Please, you have to wear it again for me later! I am literally begging you.”
“Fine! Fine! Get off me, you weirdo!” she huffed. Despite her tone and eye roll, a blush crept up her cheek. She liked the compliment, even if it completely ruined her plan. She placed her hands flat against your chest and shoved you back out into the hallway.
“Sorry,” you stated, going back to your stupid, stiff stance like a dog waiting at the door.
“I can go for something more casual.”
“Sure.”
When the door opened for the third time, she emerged wearing a mustard-yellow cardigan and a matching shell top, buttoned up to her very collarbone. It was paired with a longer skirt, and to tie the whole thing together, she had put on a pair of thick-rimmed reading glasses.
You were already a sucker for girls in glasses, but seeing them on your girlfriend's perfect nose was a lethal combination.
She pushed the frames up her nose. “This way she can think I’m smart, right? I look like a librarian.”
“We’re not getting any reading done with you dressed like that.”
“Gosh, not even this?!” She groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “It’s cute! It’s completely covered up!”
“No, Chae. It’s incredibly hot.”
“I even buttoned it all the way up.”
“You can hide your chest, but you can’t hide those curves,” you say, gesturing to her waist.
“Fuck, I really need to dumb this down.”
She retreated for the fourth time. When she returned, she was wearing a pastel pink polo shirt tucked stiffly into a pair of pleated khaki pants.
“Come on now,” she pleaded, gesturing to herself. “This is the standard suburban mom outfit. Your mom will take one look at me and think I’m the perfect, boring wife.”
“Mom, yeah. Milf, definitely.”
“What!”
“You did not dumb it down. Y-you look like a model from Vogue, where did you even get this?”
“I got it from the thrift shop!” she cried, looking genuinely distressed.
“It must be you then,” you sighed. “You make everything look good.”
“I give up!”
She disappeared into the bedroom one last time. For her final trick, she didn’t even bother with her own clothes. Instead, she chose one of your sweaters that she stole a long time ago. It was an old chunky knit sweater and a perfectly standard pair of blue jeans.
She didn’t try to style it but the sweater naturally draped in a way that was effortlessly chic, showing a hint of her collarbone. The jeans hugged her hips perfectly. She was comfortably, naturally gorgeous.
Defeated, Chaeyoung gave you a slow, lifeless spin and then slumped sideways against the doorframe, letting her head thunk against the wood.
“This is it. I surrender,” she sighed, her voice small. “This is the most boring clothing in the apartment, and it’s still not enough. Your mom is going to take one look at me and think I’m a rascal who’s going to ruin her son’s life.”
You softened and smiled. You stepped closer, gently reaching out to brush the stressed hair out of her face.
“You look beautiful, Chaeyoung.”
She looked up at you through her eyelashes, her sultry eyes genuinely vulnerable. “But do I look respectable?”
“You look adorable,” you murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry so much. Actually, my mom is really into fashion; she’s probably going to love your normal clothes. And besides... You know my dad actively chooses to wear socks with his sandals, right?”
Chaeyoung giggled.
-
You didn’t really get much sleep last night. She kept nervously pacing around your room and asking you endless questions about what your parents liked, what they hated, and what shoes she should wear.
Eventually, she did run out of energy and went to sleep, cuddled deeply by your side. She looked relaxed and didn’t seem to have any worries left.
You were dead wrong.
It was 5 AM when a sharp noise jolted you awake. You blinked and looked around in the darkness, disoriented. It wasn’t just the noise; you were sure you could smell something burnt in the air. It smelled somewhat like sugar? But there was something off about it.
You moved your arm to check on her, only to find the sheets cold and her side of the bed completely empty. Mind you, it was a sunday so there was no logical reason for your girlfriend to be up. You cursed under your breath and got up to check what was going on.
You followed the faint glow coming out of the kitchen, with the strong scent. When you turned the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks. You couldn’t believe your eyes. There was flour all smeared across the counters and tables, and even the floor. Tons of used bowls were towering precariously in the sink. They weren’t even scraped clean, some of them had big globs of heavy drooping batter dripping from their sides.
And standing in the center of the kitchen, was Chaeyoung.
She was still in her cute pyjama with the bears but was wearing a pink apron. Her hair was lazily tied up in a messy bun, with strands falling into her face, and a streak of flour smeared across her cheekbone. Of course, there was stuff all over her apron as well with mysterious stains and wet spots.
She didn’t notice you. She was standing there, hands on her hips, staring directly into the oven door.
“Chae?” you asked, groaning, “What are you doing?”
She lightly jumped and squeaked when she heard your voice. She didn’t really expect you to be awake. Her eyes saw you, then darted at her mess and back to you. She straightened her back, trying to look a little more dignified.
“I’m making cookies,” she announced, letting her voice pitch up from the nervous laughter. “Your mom said she loves sweets. And it’s well known that great women can cook. So your mom will think I’m the perfect wife material for her son when she sees what I baked from scratch.”
“You really don’t have to—”
The oven timer interrupted you. Chaeyoung gasped and in a panic, scrambled to get a pair of oven mitts. She yanked the oven door open, releasing a dense cloud of gray smoke. Coughing, she reached into the fog and pulled out the baking sheet.
She slammed the hot metal tray on the stovetop, waving the smoke away with her hand and stepped aside to look at her masterpiece.
It was a total disaster.
Instead of individual cookies, they were half-melted into each other, forming one big mega-cookie. The edges were completely charred while the center was inexplicably pale and shiny. You weren’t sure how that would be possible. There was no physical explanation for what you were saying.
Chaeyoung stared at the pan. Slowly, her shoulders slumped. She buried her face in her hands.
“Look at them,” she whispered. “They’re terrible, just like me.”
“Hey, come on,” you said softly, carefully stepping over a puddle of milk. “They aren’t that bad,” you said and patted her back, kissing the top of her head.
“Your parents will hate me,” she mumbled into her hands. “I can’t even make cookies. I’m a disaster.”
“They are not going to hate you,” you said casually. To prove your point, you reached out and broke off a piece of the cookie slop.
“Don’t eat that,” she warned you, grabbing your wrist. “You’ll die.”
“Nah, it’s fine,” you said with a brave smile, tossing it into your mouth.
Your teeth crunched through bitter charcoal, followed immediately by the squishy, gooey texture of raw flour and wet egg. You forced a smile, chewing rapidly to make it end, and swallowed hard. You could feel it dragging its way down your throat.
“Mmmh,” you managed to hum, nodding aggressively. “Wow. Incredible. Delicious.”
Chaeyoung looked at you with a deeply unimpressed, cute grumpy face. “You’re lying. You look like you’re in pain.”
“I am,” you admitted, reaching for a glass of water to wash it away. You took a big gulp and finally exhaled when the foreign object was gone.
You looked back to her and wiped some flour off her face. “But I love that you tried. I know you care a lot.”
“You know what?” you said, squeezing her hand. “Let’s clean this… mess, and we’ll buy something at the bakery. We can just put it in our dish and say you made it.”
Chaeyoung looked up at you, letting a small smile break through her disappointment.
“You’d lie to your mother for me?”
“Of course,” you laughed. “Come here,” you tell her and open your arms.
“You’ll get all dirty, I’m covered in flour.”
“Who cares,” you mumbled as you wrapped Chaeyoung in your cocoon. Your girlfriend closed your eyes and exhaled with a defeated smile. She brought her hands around your back and melted into you.
It was alright. Chaeyoung could feel it in the way you held her. She didn’t realize how much she missed it until she felt your arms around her and realized how silly it was.
When you let her go, she couldn’t look you in the eyes.
That was the adorable Chaeng you knew. Even though she looked so cold and confident, she was just a soft girl after all.
“Look at you, you’re all white.”
“Well, we’re a couple, we need matching outfits, don’t we?”
Chaeyoung giggled and shoved you. “You’re so dumb.”
You stepped back, surveying the disaster zone while the mega cookie sat on the stove. “Okay,” you said, rolling up your sleeves, “we should start cleaning.”
Chaeyoung moved toward the sink. “It won’t come off,” she hissed, leaning her weight into the spatula as she tried to pry the charred mass from the tray. A sharp clack echoed through the kitchen as the spatula broke clean. “Fuck it,” she scoffed and threw the remaining piece of the spatula into the sink.
“Come on, get the trash bag. We have to throw it at the waste disposal site. They have to burn it. You never know if it could become sentient.”
She let out a dry, exhausted chuckle and got the flour and trash into the bag. While you scraped and scrubbed, she began wiping down the counters. At one point, she stopped, staring at a particularly stubborn stain.
“I really thought I could do it,” she whispered. “I thought if I could make something nice, your mom would see it and forget that I look like… well, this.”
“A goddess?” I offered, sliding the last of the burnt evidence into the bin.
She shot me a look that was half-pout, half-glare. “A heartbreaker. A rascal. Someone who doesn't know how to take care of her son.”
“Trust me, after they see how I live, they’ll realize you’re the one doing the heavy lifting.”
You got down on your hands and knees, grabbing the floor rag to try to remove the sticky slurry near the baseboards. Looking at it, you probably needed some kind of industrial solvent to really get those out.
You were still scrubbing the floor with that dirty rug when Chaeyoung found the courage to speak up. She took a deep breath and momentarily put the bowls down. She stared at the reflections in the water, where a thousand distorted versions of her face shimmered in the bubbles.
“Everyone thinks I’m just ‘the pretty girl,” she started. “It was all fun when I was in high school, although boys were too afraid to ask me out. But when I grew up, girls would say all kinds of things.”
“They were jealous?” you said.
“I think so, or they had the wrong idea. It’s not like I was doing anything for attention.”
You put the rag down and sat back, looking back at Chaeyoung. The cheap lighting of the kitchen showed all the rough parts of her. She was tired and dishevelled, but there was a tenderness that you had never felt. An angel was shedding her wings in front of you, molting her white feathers to reveal the skin and bone beneath.
“It must be so nice to have a job where you just have to look nice for cameras all day. That’s what they would say,” Chae sighed. “I had to work really hard to prove I was capable.”
“But you are,” you said. “You’re smart. You’re capable. You’re… incredible, and you know it. People are just judgmental.”
“Even then. It’s like I’m just a trophy. You know my ex?”
You raised an eyebrow. “That guy? What did he do?”
“Well, I kinda told you about it, but I don’t think he really liked me. He would never listen to me. I think he just wanted to boast to his friends about me.”
“Yeah, he was an asshole.”
“I was careful about boys afterwards,” Chaeyoung said and sat down under the sink. She hugged her knees and stared at the floor. “About people, in general.”
You scooted closer to her, sitting with her against the kitchen counters.
“The people that mattered didn’t take me seriously, while random people would always harass me,” she confessed. “It’s like I’m just a face.”
Your right hand slipped on top of hers, and you held it there, so she wouldn’t fly away into her thoughts. Chaeyoung instinctively leaned into your shoulder.
“I always knew you were a great person, Chaeyoung. Since the first time I met you,” you said. “Maybe it was because people projected their own personalities onto you, you did all you could to let people know who you were. You were so caring, so bright, so genuine.”
Chae turned her head to look at you as you talked with shiny eyes.
“More than anyone else, you were just you. You laughed like it was the first time you ever did. You were honest, but always so kind and gentle with everyone.”
You took Chae’s face in your hands and looked straight into her eyes. “You are beautiful. You know it; you were blessed with beauty. But it’s not just on your skin, but rather in your soul. Every day, I can’t think about anyone but you. There’s nothing like the first time I hear your voice, and the day just becomes better. Looking at your beauty is an experience, but living with you gives me purpose.”
Chae started tearing up and sniffling.
“Aww, no, crybaby,” you said and snorted.
She let out a jagged breath, a sob catching in her throat. “Why do you have to say shit like that now?” she hiccuped, her laugh breaking through the tears. “You’re always so dumb.”
“Want me to go back?”
“Shut up or you’ll ruin it,” Chaeyoung hiccuped. “I fucking love you.”
Chae leaned in to kiss you, and you accepted her salty lips. It was the most delicate kiss you ever gave her. She was so fragile right now that you were scared you would hurt her.
Your girlfriend finally laughed.
“Alright, I feel better now, it will be okay,” Chaeyoung said.
“That’s the spirit, princess,” you said and brought your hand up to pat her head. She closed her eyes and giggled, enjoying your touch.
-
“Let’s get that cake,” Chaeyoung said, pointing at the glass. She was pointing at the lemon chiffon masterpiece topped with gold leaf and spun sugar. There were all sorts of nice drawings made with buttercream, yeah, no way.
“Respectfully, that cake looks a bit too nice, no offense.”
“Offense taken, that’s wildly disrespectful, what are you implying?” she said sternly.
“We don’t want to give her expectations that high, do we?”
She looked back at the golden cake, then at the rustic strawberry tart in the corner. She let out a long, defeated sigh. “You’re right…”
-
You were finally in front of your parents’ house.
You turned the engine off and were going to leave the car, but Chaeyoung didn’t seem to move. She was in her passenger side with the sun visor flipped down, staring intensely into the small mirror. She flashed a wide, overly enthusiastic, toothy grin. She held it for two seconds before her face fell flat.
“Looks weird,” she muttered to herself. “How does Hayoung do this?”
She took a deep breath, adjusting her sweater, and tried again. This time, she kept her mouth closed, giving the mirror a softer expression.
“Too formal,” she whispered, sighing heavily.
You leaned across your seat. “Chae, what exactly are you doing?”
“I’m practicing my smile,” she said without breaking eye contact with the mirror. “First impressions are everything, you know? I have to greet them properly.”
“You’re overthinking it,” you chuckled, reaching over to flip the visor back up. She pouted at you. “You don’t need it. You have a great smile. Just be the girl I fell in love with, they’ll love you too.”
“Heh,” she complained, finally clicking her seatbelt open. She glanced down at the bakery box sitting on her lap. “Do you think she’ll know these are from the bakery?”
“Nah, she won’t know. They’re in a plate.” You reached over and gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder. “It will be fine, I promise.”
“Okay, fine,” she nodded.
You both got out of the car and walked up to the house door. You knocked, and the door quickly swung open. Your mother stood in the doorway, a floral apron tied around her waist and a wooden spoon still clutched in one hand.
She froze.
Her eyes immediately locked onto Chaeyoung. She took in your girlfriend’s perfectly styled hair, her elegant but understated outfit, and the warm, genuinely sweet smile that Chaeyoung managed to produce.
Then, very slowly, your mother's gaze drifted over to you. She looked you up and down, her expression shifting from absolute awe to profound, undisguised confusion.
"Mom?" you prompted, shifting a little awkwardly under her scrutiny. "This is Chaeyoung."
Your mother finally blinked, snapping out of her trance.
"You’re gorgeous, dear," your mother said to Chaeyoung. “Why on earth would you choose this monkey of my son?”
“Come on, Mom, why would you say that?” you said. “Don’t you love your son?”
“I do love you, son, but compared to her…” she said, turning her head to Chaeyoung and offering her hand.
“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Oh, please call me Mom, you’re part of the family now,” your mom smiled brightly. “Is he treating you right? Do I need to talk to him?”
“No, Mom, he’s treating me really well, don’t worry.”
“See?” you said proudly, “I’m a good boyfriend.”
“I know she’s just being,” she said and stepped to the side, inviting both of you to come inside.
‘So far so good’, Chaeyoung thought as she stepped into the living room. You quickly went to the kitchen to put the food down while your girlfriend explored the space. To you, it all seemed familiar, but it was all new to her.
Unfortunately for you, the living room was riddled with photos of when you were younger, and your mom was really eager to talk about them.
“How old was he in this photo?”
“I think he was… 5?” your mom guessed, taking the picture frame from the wall. She handed it to your girlfriend, and the two scanned the embarrassing photo. You were riding around a toy car, and you probably were missing some teeth.
“He used to be really cute when he was little,” your mom said. “Oh, how fast they grow up. Now he’s just a brute.”
“Right!” Chaeyoung exclaimed. “How was he when he was little? Was he extroverted?”
“He kinda was. He used to do everything I told him and made friends pretty easily.”
“What about this one?” Chaeyoung said, pointing at the photo on the chimney frame.
“Oh, this one.” Your mom took that frame as well and handed it to your girlfriend. You weren’t alone in this picture. There seemed to be a girl right next to you. Judging by how you looked, it must have been around the time you started elementary school. Both of you had missing teeth and had very colorful clothes.
“They’re holding hands,” Chaeyoung mentioned, brushing her index finger on the glass.
“Oh, yeah, that was his first girlfriend. One day, he came home with that girl and said she was the prettiest girl he had ever seen.”
“That must have been fun.”
“No, I was so worried! I had to call her parents and explain why she didn’t come home,” your mom said. “And all of that for him to forget her a couple of days later.”
Chaeyoung and your mom continued to laugh and chat while watching your photos. It wasn’t much later that she decided to pull out the big folder with the child photos of when you were playing with Legos or learning to walk. To hell with not trusting Chae, your mom was telling her all your secrets and dark stories. She didn’t care a single bit.
“Oh, look at this one, Chaeyoung,” your mom cooed, pointing to a Polaroid of you aged four, wearing nothing but a diaper and a colander on your head like a helmet, pointing a wooden spoon at a dog. “He thought he was a knight and refused to take his helmet off for a week.”
Chaeyoung let out a sound that was half-giggle, half-gasp, her eyes darting from the photo to you and back. “That’s so cute.”
“Mom! When will we eat?” you shouted from the kitchen.
“Oh, right!” your mom exclaimed and hurried to put the albums away into the closet. Your girlfriend helped her and then went into the kitchen as well.
Your dad was still under the sink with tools in his hands. He partially slid out to take a look at your girlfriend.
“Oh, Chaeyoung, right?” he asked.
“Ah, yes, sir—dad.”
“Attaboy that’s my son!” he exclaimed, lightly kicking your foot. “Chaeyoung, pass me the flashlight.”
“R-right away!” she stumbled and looked around for the tool.
“It’s on the table.”
“Okay, here.”
“Can you turn it on and hold it there?”
“Of course,” she said and crouched down to help your dad. She turned it on and illuminated the area where he was working. Of course, she had no idea what he trying to see so she did her best.
“Steady on the light, Chae,” your dad grunted as he was trying to turn the joining with his greasy hands.
“Like this?” she asked softly, pointing the beat to his wrench. He kept her there for a couple of minutes as he wrestled under the sink until everything was tight and fixed. Your girlfriend felt a bit disgusted by the dirtiness that was around the area, especially the grey water. But it also meant that your dad didn’t really care about how she looked and it made her feel better.
When he was done, he slipped out on the floor and got up with a heavy grunt. “Leak’s plugged,” he announced, dusting off his knees.
“Thank you,” he muttered. “My son would have dropped the light in the water, can’t trust him with nothing.”
“I’m right here,” you shouted from the stove.
“So?” he replied and laughed.
With that done, you started to prepare the table outside for lunch. You carried the stack of plates into the dining room. The heavy oak table had already been cleared, its surface reflecting the soft light from the overhead lamp. You laid out the mismatched silverware and a stack of paper napkins while Chaeyoung followed behind, carefully placing the bakery tart in the center.
One by one, the rest of the family filed in, pulling the heavy chairs across the hardwood until everyone was settled in their usual spots.
“My son showed me some of your photos, you really know how to dress, dear,” your Mom commented while getting some food onto her plate.
“He did?!” Chaeyoung exclaimed and elbowed your side. It wasn’t a soft one; she put a hole in your body.
You coughed up some of your food.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered. “I spent hours getting dress and you already showed her everything?”
“Well, you looked good in everything, I told you.”
Chaeyoung hit you again. “If you told me, I wouldn’t have been so worried. You’re such an idiot.”
“I’m really into fashion, I think we’ll get along,” your Mom said.
“Oh, I see, you read magazines?” Chaeyoung said, putting on a bright, friendly smile like she didn’t just beat you.
“I also watch programs on TV. Oh, Dad here really doesn’t know how to dress, you have to help me.”
“I understand you.”
“Right, like father like son. They both dress terribly.”
“What?” your dad said while munching. “I put on the nicest shirt I had.”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with me?” you said.
“You see what I’ve had to deal with, Chaeyoung?” your mom sighed, gesturing with her wine glass toward the two men at the table.
“He did try,” Chaeyoung admitted. “But apparently, he likes wrinkled clothes. I had to physically take the iron out of the closet myself.”
“You ironed for him?” your mom gasped, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, darling, don't start that. You'll spoil him.”
The two women kept going back and forth, talking about their interests and commenting on how incompetent their men were at cleaning or dressing well. You two ate quietly, every once in a while talking about sports or just staring at each other.
The day ended with a trunk full of leftovers. As you pulled the car out of the driveway, Chaeyoung leaned her head back against the headrest and let out a long sigh she had been holding the entire time.
"They liked me," she whispered, as if she still couldn't believe it.
"They loved you, Chae. I told you."
"Your mom called you a monkey," she giggled, turning her head to look at you. The streetlights flickered across her face, catching the exhaustion and the lingering glow of success. She reached across to hold your hand.
“And to think you kept me awake just to bake that cookie monster.”
"Shut up," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Just drive, monkey."