The scrolling stops.

Not dramatically, she doesn't gasp or drop her phone. Her thumb just... stills. A half-second pause that she covers immediately by scrolling again, slightly too fast now.

"Okay," she says.

"Just thought you'd want to know."

"I really didn't."

"She says hi, actually."

"She does not."

"She didn't," you admit, "but she did ask about you after. Like genuinely asked, not small talk. Wanted to know if you were seeing anyone."

Jinsoul's jaw shifts. Just slightly. "Cool."

"I told her no. That you don't really—"

"Cool," she repeats, louder.

You should stop. You know you should stop—you can read Jinsoul better than anyone and every signal she's giving is the polite version of I will actually get up and leave. But there's a different feeling tonight. Usually her annoyance is surface-level, the kind she shakes off in ten minutes. This is something else. She's not looking at you at all now, which she usually does even when she's pissed, because Jinsoul's the type to maintain eye contact out of sheer stubbornness.

"She's a good time," you say, mostly just to see what happens. "Really good, actually. Very—"

"I know what Chuu is like." Flat. Quiet.

Interesting.

"Do you?"

"She's my friend." She finally looks up, and there it is—not quite anger, something more complicated than that sitting right behind her eyes. "Can you please just talk about literally anything else."

"Sure." You shrug, lean back into the couch cushions. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Anything."

"Okay. Did you finish Horimiya?"

"Yes."

"Was it good?"

"Yes."

"Cool." A pause. "Chuu told me she—"

The second pillow hits you square in the face.

You're laughing before it even falls to your lap, fully delighted, and you hear her exhale hard through her nose—that sound that means she's trying not to smile and winning by the smallest margin.

"You're insufferable," she says.

"You love me."

"Genuinely debatable right now."

The TV's got some cooking competition running on mute, and for a few minutes you actually let it sit quiet. Jinsoul pulls her knees up to her chest, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, and goes back to her phone. Normal. Routine. Except she's sitting a little more coiled than usual, and twice you catch her starting to say something and swallowing it.

The third time, it comes out.

"Was it actually her?"

You glance over. "What?"

"Chuu." She isn't looking at you. "Was it actually her or are you just saying that to be annoying?"

"Would I make that up?"

"Yes."

"Fair. But no. Friday night, after Heejin's thing." You watch her process that—Heejin's party, which Jinsoul left early, which Chuu stayed at. The math is easy and unpleasant and you can see her doing it. "It just kind of happened."

"Mm."

"She's really—"

"If you say really good one more time I'm going to kill you."

"I was going to say really into eye contact," you say, which is somehow worse, you can tell by the way Jinsoul's shoulders climb half an inch toward her ears. "Very intense. Very—"

"Stop." She puts her phone down. Not throws it, not slams it—just sets it face-down on the cushion beside her, which is somehow way more scary. "I'm serious. Stop talking about her."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to hear it."

"You've never wanted to hear it. That's never stopped you from—"

"I really don't want to hear it right now." Her voice has dropped. Different tone than the pillow-throwing, different tone than the eye-rolling. She's looking at you straight-on now, glasses slightly pushed up, jaw clenched. "Okay? Can you just—for once—drop it."

"Okay," you say.

Quiet.

The cooking show flickers. Someone on screen is upset about a soufflé.

"Whatcha gonna do about it?" you say.

You mean it as a joke. Mostly. The same way everything tonight has been mostly a joke. Mostly just pushing because she always shoves back and it's funny, it's always funny, that's the whole routine. Except she goes very still when you say it, and the stillness isn't the same stillness as when the phone-scrolling-stops.

She moves before you fully register it—just closes the distance between you two with absolutely zero hesitation, her hand grabbing a fistful of your shirt, and then she's kissing you.

It's clumsy. She comes in at a slightly wrong angle and her glasses bump your face and she makes this short frustrated sound against your mouth and corrects. The correction is worse, somehow—more direct, her fingers tightening in your shirt like she's worried you're going to pull back.

You are too stunned to do anything for about two full seconds.

She pulls back first. Barely an inch. Her eyes are open and she's watching you with this expression that is trying very hard to look like she does this all the time and failing completely—cheeks already going pink, breathing through her nose, waiting.

"There," she says. "That."

Your brain catches up.

Jinsoul's still watching you with wide eyes behind her glasses, her hand still fisted in your shirt, and you can see the exact moment where she realizes what she's done.

She starts to pull back. "I shouldn't have—"

You don't let her finish.

Your hand comes up to cup the back of her neck, fingers sliding into her hair, you take half a second to reach up and carefully pull those glasses off her face, setting them somewhere on the couch without looking. Then you pull her back in, properly.

"Oh," Jinsoul breathes against your mouth, and then she's kissing you back.

She tastes like the coffee she was drinking earlier, slightly bitter, and her lips are softer than you expected. Softer than Chuu's, softer than any of the girls you've ever mentioned over the last few months. The thought flickers through your mind and then disappears entirely because Jinsoul makes this small sound—not quite a whimper, not quite a gasp—and presses closer.

Her other hand comes up to your chest, not pushing, just resting there like she needs to steady herself.

You pull back just enough to look at her. "Jinsoul—"

"Don't." Her eyes are still closed, her breathing uneven. "Don't ask if I'm sure. Don't ask if this is weird. Just—" She opens her eyes, and there's something almost defiant in her expression, that stubborn way her jaw is set even as her cheeks are flushed pink. "I'm doing something about it. Like you said."

"I didn't think you'd actually—"

"Well I am." She kisses you again, harder this time, with more conviction, and her hand slides from your chest up to your shoulder, gripping tight. "I'm sick of hearing about Chuu. About all of them. I'm sick of you looking at me like I'm—like I'm just—"

She doesn't finish the sentence. Instead she shifts, trying to get closer, but the angle's wrong and she ends up half in your lap, knee digging into your thigh, and she makes a frustrated sound.

"Here," you say, and your hands go to her hips—the skin of her thighs warm under your palms. You guide her properly into your lap, her knees bracketing your hips, and the small pleased sound she makes goes straight to your cock.

She's straddling you now, sitting back slightly, and you can see the way her chest is rising and falling too fast, the way her hands are shaking slightly where they're pressed against your shoulders. She's trying so hard to look confident, to look like she knows what she's doing, but you've known her for years and you can read every tell.

"Have you ever—" you start.

"No," she cuts you off, and there's that defiance again, her chin lifting. "But I know—I'm not stupid, I know how this works, I've—" She fumbles for words. "I've watched porn. I've read things. I know what to do."

The admission is so earnestly Jinsoul—so thoroughly her brand of awkward honesty—that you have to fight back a smile. "That's not the same as—"

"I know it's not the same." Her fingers curl into your shirt. "But I want to try. I want—" She takes a breath. "I want you to stop looking at everyone else."

Oh.

Oh.

"Jinsoul," you say, and your hands tighten on her hips without meaning to. "How long have you—"

"Months." It comes out almost angry. "Months of listening to you talk about fucking other girls. About how good they are, how hot they are, what they let you do to them." Her hips shift, probably unconsciously, and the friction makes you both inhale sharply. "I didn't—I wasn't going to say anything. But then Chuu—"

She cuts herself off, but you can fill in the blanks. Chuu, who's her friend. Chuu, who she's probably compared herself to more than once. Chuu, who you described in vivid detail not twenty minutes ago.

"I'm sorry," you say, and mean it. "I didn't know—"

"Of course you didn't know. I didn't tell you." She's looking at you now, really looking, and her eyes are dark without her glasses. "But I'm telling you now. I want—I want you to f-fuck me. I want you to—" She swallows hard. "I want to know what it's like. What they get to have."

Your cock is fully hard now, and honestly probably has been since she first kissed you. There's no way she can't feel it pressed against her through your jeans. Her eyes widen slightly when she shifts and the angle changes, when she can feel exactly how hard you are.

"Is that—" Her voice is shaky. "Is that because of me?"

"Well," you say, manage. "It's not because of the cooking show."

The smile that crosses her face is small but genuine, pleased in a way that makes your chest tight. Then she's kissing you again, and this time there's less hesitation, more hunger. Her tongue slides against yours and she makes these breathy little sounds that drive you insane, her hips starting to move in small unconscious circles.

You slide your hands under her hoodie, palms flat against her sides, and she gasps into your mouth at the contact. Her skin is impossibly soft, warm, and when you drag your hands higher she arches into the touch.

"Can I—" You tug at the hem of her hoodie.

"Yes," she says immediately, and helps you pull it over her head.

She's wearing a simple cotton bra underneath, gray, nothing fancy. Somehow that makes it hotter—that she wasn't planning this, wasn't dressed for seduction. Just Jinsoul in her comfortable, everyday clothes, finally saying what she's been holding back for months.

You can see her nipples hard through the thin fabric, can see the way her chest is flushed, and when you run your thumb over one she makes a choked sound and her hips jerk.

"Sensitive," you murmur.

"I—yes—" She's breathing hard. "I don't—people don't usually—"

"No one's touched you here before."

She shakes her head, and fuck, the thought of being the first one to touch her like this makes something possessive appear in your gut.

You lean in, press your mouth to her neck, and she tilts her head back with a gasp. Her skin tastes like body wash, something clean and slightly floral, and when you scrape your teeth against her pulse point she whimpers.

"Oh god," she breathes. "Is it—is it supposed to feel like this already?"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm—" She can't seem to finish, her hips rolling against you with more purpose now, seeking friction. "It's too much. I'm already—"

You pull back to look at her, and fuck she's gorgeous like this—hair messed up, lips swollen, eyes half-lidded. "Already what?"

"Close," she admits, and she looks embarrassed about it. "I think—I've never felt like this before, I don't know if I'm—"

"You're turned on," you tell her, and slide one hand down to grip her ass, pulling her harder against you. She moans, full-throated and loud, and her hands scramble for purchase on your shoulders. "Really fucking turned on."

"I've been turned on before," she protests weakly. "This is—this is different."

"Because it's not just your hand this time."

She makes a strangled sound. "Don't—don't say it like that."

"Like what?" You're grinning now, can't help it. "You're the one who started this. You're the one who decided to do something about it."

"I know," she says, and then she's kissing you again, messy and desperate, her hips moving in a rhythm that's completely unconscious now, just chasing sensation.

You can feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her shorts, can feel how wet she must be already, and when you rock up to meet her she breaks the kiss to gasp.

"Please," she says, and she sounds wrecked already. "Please, I need—I don't know what I need but—"

"I've got you," you tell her, and mean it. "I've got you."

"Bedroom," Jinsoul says suddenly, pulling back. Her lips are kiss-swollen, her pupils blown wide. "We should—the couch is—"

"Too small," you finish, because she's right, you're already half falling off it with her in your lap.

She climbs off you and immediately seems to second-guess herself, standing there in just her bra and sleep shorts, arms starting to come up before she forces them back down. You stand too, and her eyes track down your body, lingering obviously on the bulge in your jeans.

"Is it—" She swallows. "Does it hurt? Being that hard?"

"Little bit," you admit.

"Oh." She reaches out, hesitates with her hand hovering inches from your belt. "Can I—"

"Yeah."

Her fingers fumble with your belt buckle, shaking slightly, and she makes a frustrated sound when it doesn't immediately cooperate. You're about to help when she gets it, triumph flashing across her face as she yanks the belt free and starts on your button.

"I've got it," she mutters, more to herself than you. "I know how to—it's just a button, I'm not—"

The button pops free. She drags your zipper down and then pauses, staring at the outline of your cock straining against your boxers like she's not sure what to do next.

"You can touch it," you say.

"I know that." But she's biting her lip, hesitating in a way that's so clearly out of her depth that something protective rises in your chest.

You cup her face, tilt it up to kiss her again, softer this time. She melts into it with a small sound, and while she's distracted you slide your hands down her sides to hook your thumbs in the waistband of her shorts.

She breaks the kiss. "Wait—I should—" She takes a breath. "Chuu probably does it better. Takes her clothes off, I mean. She probably knows how to make it—"

"Stop." You cut her off. "I don't want Chuu right now. I want you."

"But you said she was—"

"I was being an asshole." You slide her shorts down and she steps out of them, standing there in just her underwear—plain gray cotton that matches her bra, and somehow that's hotter than any lingerie. "And you're—fuck, look at you."

She glances down at herself like she's not sure what you're seeing, then back up at you. "I'm not—I don't look like—"

"You look perfect." You mean it. She's all soft curves and pale skin, the slight swell of her stomach, the curve of her hips, thighs pressed together. "Absolutely fucking perfect."

Her breath hitches. Then she's pushing at your jeans, trying to shove them down your hips, impatient now. You help her, kicking them off along with your boxers, and your cock springs free.

Jinsoul stares.

"Oh my god," she says, very quietly. "That's—that's supposed to fit inside me?"

You can't help it—you laugh. "We'll make it work."

"How?" She sounds genuinely concerned. "I've used—I have a—but it's not—" She gestures vaguely at your cock. "That's bigger than—"

"We'll go slow."

"You didn't go slow with Chuu." It comes out before she can stop it, and she looks embarrassed immediately. "Sorry, I shouldn't—"

"Chuu isn't a virgin."

"Right." Jinsoul takes a breath, lets it out. Then, with visible determination, she wraps her hand around your cock.

Your hips jerk involuntarily at the contact and she makes a startled sound, almost letting go before her grip tightens. Her hand is smaller than yours, fingers not quite meeting around your girth, and the touch is uncertain, exploratory.

"It's hot," she says, wonder in her voice. "I didn't—it's really hot."

"Yeah." Your voice comes out strained.

She strokes experimentally, base to tip, and you groan. Encouraged, she does it again, twisting slightly on the upstroke like she's remembering something she read, and—

"Fuck," you grit out. "Where did you—"

"Reddit," she admits, and there's a hint of pride in her voice now as she strokes you again. "There were guides. I read—I wanted to know what to—oh."

You've slid your hand between her thighs, cupping her through her underwear, and she's soaked through the fabric. She gasps, her rhythm on your cock faltering as you press against her.

"You're so wet," you murmur, rubbing slow circles. "Fuck, Jinsoul."

"Is that—is that good?" She's trying to keep stroking you but her coordination is failing, her hips rocking into your hand instead.

"So good." You hook your fingers in her underwear. "Can I—"

"Yes, just—please—"

You pull them down and she steps out of them, then reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra with slightly more success than the belt. When it falls away you get your first real look at her tits—small, perfect handfuls with pale pink nipples that are hard and begging for attention.

You lean down and take one in your mouth.

"Oh fuck," Jinsoul gasps, her hand flying to your hair, gripping tight. "Oh fuck, that's—"

You suck harder, let your teeth graze, and her knees actually buckle. You catch her, guide her backward toward your bedroom, reluctant to take your mouth off her but needing somewhere better than the hallway.

She falls back onto your bed with a bounce, sprawling there completely naked, hair fanned out, chest heaving. For a second she just stares up at you standing over her, and you can see thoughts racing across her face—nervousness, want, that stubborn determination.

Then she spreads her legs.

"Okay," she says, and her voice only shakes a little. "I'm ready. Just—you should probably—" She gestures between her legs. "I read you're supposed to—before the actual—"

"You want me to eat you out first."

Her face flushes the brightest red you've ever seen. "If you want. I mean, the guides said it helps with—for virgins—"

You're already kneeling between her legs before she finishes stammering. "Jinsoul."

"Yeah?"

"Stop thinking about guides." You press a kiss to her inner thigh and she shudders. "Just feel."

"Okay," she whispers. "Okay."

You drag your tongue up her slit and she nearly levitates off the bed.

It's heaven between her legs, your face buried in her pussy, tongue working her clit while she makes increasingly desperate sounds above you. Her thighs are trembling on either side of your head, her hands fisted in your sheets, and when you slide one finger inside her she clenches around you so tight it's almost concerning.

"Oh god oh god oh god—" It's all running together, her hips rocking up to meet your mouth. "I'm gonna—I think I'm—"

You curl your finger and she cums with a sharp cry, her whole body going rigid before she's shaking through it, pulsing around your finger. You work her through it until she's pushing weakly at your head, oversensitive.

When you pull back and look up at her, she's staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, chest heaving.

"That was—" She tries to form words. "Holy shit."

"Good?" You're grinning, can't help it.

"I think I blacked out a little." She props herself up on her elbows to look at you. "Is it always—do people always—"

"Not always." You crawl up her body, settling between her legs. Your cock brushes against her and she gasps. "But yeah, it can be."

She reaches down between you, wrapping her hand around your cock again, and guides it to her entrance with more confidence than coordination. "Okay. I'm ready now."

"Jinsoul—"

"I'm ready," she insists. "Just—go slow? Like you said?"

You line yourself up, pressing just the tip against her, and even that has her breathing changing. "If it hurts—"

"I know. I'll tell you." She wraps her legs around your hips, trying to pull you closer. "Please just—I need—"

You push in slowly, just the head, and she makes a sound that's half-gasp, half-whimper. Tight doesn't even begin to cover it—she's gripping you like a vice, her body resisting even as she's trying to relax.

"Breathe," you tell her, holding still. "Just breathe."

She takes a shaky breath, then another, and you feel her relax incrementally. You push in another inch and her nails dig into your shoulders.

"Okay?"

"It's—" She swallows hard. "It's a lot. You're really—fuck, you're really inside me."

"Just a little bit." You kiss her jaw, her neck, trying to help her relax. "We can stop if—"

"Don't you dare." Her legs tighten around you. "Keep going. I want—I want all of it."

You push in further, slow and steady, and she's making these small wounded sounds that you're pretty sure are half-pleasure, half-overwhelmed. When you're about halfway she tenses up again.

"Hurts," she admits quietly.

"Need to stop?"

"No. Just—hold on." She takes a few breaths, adjusts her hips slightly. "Okay. Keep going."

You sink in another inch and she whimpers. "God, is there more? How much—"

"Almost there."

"Jesus christ." But she's trying to relax again, breathing through it. "Chuu took all of it right away, didn't she."

Even now she's thinking about that. "We're not talking about Chuu right now."

"But she did, didn't she? She probably—"

You thrust the rest of the way in and Jinsoul's words cut off in a sharp gasp, her eyes rolling back.

"There," you grit out, because fuck she feels incredible. "That's all of it."

"Oh my god." She's panting, her body stretched tight around you. "Oh my god that's—you're—I can feel you everywhere."

You hold still, letting her adjust, and after a moment she experimentally rolls her hips. The friction makes you both groan.

"Okay," she breathes. "Okay you can—you can move."

You pull out slightly and thrust back in, shallow, testing. She gasps but doesn't tell you to stop, so you do it again. And again. Building a slow rhythm that has her making these breathy little sounds on each thrust.

"Is this—" She can't seem to finish sentences. "Am I doing it right?"

You're not doing anything," you point out, and she makes an indignant sound.

"I'm supposed to—the guides said—" She tries to move her hips to meet your thrusts and the angle goes wrong, making her wince. "Fuck, how do people—"

"Stop thinking," you tell her, pinning her hips down. "Just feel it."

You thrust deeper and she moans, her head falling back. "Oh fuck that's—right there—"

You angle your hips to hit that spot again and she practically sobs, her pussy clenching around you. You can tell she's close again, her body drawn tight, sounds getting higher and more desperate.

"Touch yourself," you tell her. "Your clit."

Her hand slides between your bodies obediently, fingers finding her clit, and the added stimulation has her gasping. You pick up your pace, fucking into her harder now, and she's meeting you as best she can, all awkward enthusiasm.

"I'm—" Her words dissolve into incoherent sounds. "Please don't stop don't stop don't—"

You don't stop. You fuck her through her second orgasm, feeling her tighten and pulse around your cock, and the sensation combined with her wrecked sounds pushes you right to the edge.

"Jinsoul—" It's a warning. "I'm gonna—where—"

"Inside," she gasps. "I'm on—birth control—please—"

That's all you need. You thrust deep and cum hard, spilling inside her while she makes soft satisfied sounds, her hands stroking through your hair.

For a long moment you just stay like that, both breathing hard, sweaty and stuck together.

Then Jinsoul laughs.

It's breathless and a little disbelieving, but genuine. "Holy shit."

"Yeah," you agree.

"That was—" She's still trying to catch her breath. "Way better than the guides made it sound."

You pull out and immediately there's the wet sound of cum leaking out of her onto your sheets. Jinsoul makes a surprised noise, propping herself up to look down.

"Oh gross," she says, but she's still smiling. "It's just—coming out."

"Yeah, that happens."

"The guides didn't mention—" She pokes at your chest. "You couldn't have warned me?"

"You told me to cum inside you!"

"I was caught up in the moment!" She's laughing though, even as she's trying to clench her thighs together to stop the mess spreading. "Oh my god, do you have tissues or—this is going everywhere—"

You grab the box from your nightstand and hand it to her. She immediately stuffs a wad of tissues between her legs, looking completely unself-conscious about it in a way that's so perfectly Jinsoul it makes you grin.

"Stop looking at me like that," she says, but there's no heat in it. "This is your fault."

"You literally asked for it."

"Shut up." She throws a used tissue at you and you dodge, both of you grinning like idiots.

When she's cleaned up enough to move without dripping on everything, she shifts to lie on her side facing you, sheet pulled haphazardly over her waist. Her hair's a complete mess, lips still swollen, and there's a hickey blooming on her neck that you definitely remember making.

"So," she says.

"So."

A pause. Then: "You're not gonna tell me about this one, are you."

You snort. "What, brag to you about fucking you?"

"Would be weird," she admits. She's quiet for a second, then: "Was I better than Chuu?"

"Jinsoul—"

"I'm just asking." But she's biting her lip, trying to look casual about it and failing.

You reach out and tuck her hair behind her ear. "You were perfect."

"That's not an answer."

"Yes it is." You lean in and kiss her, soft and brief. "And I'm not talking about other girls anymore. Kind of ruins the mood when you're right here."

She processes that, and slowly, that pleased smile from earlier returns. "Good."

"Good?"

"Good." She shifts closer, throwing a leg over your hip despite the mess, despite everything. "Because if you do, I'll just have to do something about it again."

You laugh. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise."

And when she kisses you this time, there's no hesitation at all.

~~~

Hello all! I am indeed alive. I am proud, and a little nervous, to say that this is my first commissioned post! My commissions are now officially open on my Ko-Fi.

If you feel like throwing money at me for a fic, feel free to take a look and add my discord :)

the silence of your dressing room in los angeles is a sharp, polished contrast to the chaotic, dorm-room laughter that once echoed through your days in seoul. outside, the city hums with the electric potential of a career that has defied your own wildest, most anxious expectations. a grammy nomination sits on your vanity, a gold–plated testament to the risk you took—the risk of leaving behind the only family you had ever known to run into the arms of a foreign industry.

you look at the mirror. the woman looking back is a star, someone who controls her own narrative, someone who never has to worry about the predatory fine print of a subsidiary contract again. but as you scroll through your phone, the distance between you and your past feels like a physical ache.

it has been three years since the final signatures were dry, since the contracts were officially terminated in april 2025. you are technically "inactive" as a member of loona, but in the court of public opinion, you are a ghost.

you see the posts. you see artms—heejin, haseul, kim lip, jinsoul, and choerry—navigating the complexities of their new collective identity under modhaus. they look fierce, polished, and synchronized, a tightly knit unit that managed to capture the lightning of your old chemistry. you see loossemble, blossoming under the stewardship of ctdenm before their departure, hyunjin and hyeju finding their footing in a new space. you see yves, standing tall as a soloist, her artistic integrity shining through collaborations that bridge the gap between k–pop and western alternative scenes. you see chuu, still the radiant, refreshing force that the world fell in love with, finding her groove in the k–pop landscape with a resilience that makes you proud.

you follow them all, of course. you drop a ‘like’ on a teaser photo. you leave a heart emoji under a milestone post. it’s what fans do. it’s what you do to pretend that the silence isn't deliberate. but deep down, you know that your silence isn't born of malice—it’s born of a paralyzing, irrational fear that if you reach out, the ghost of your past will start haunting your future. you were so terrified of the systemic mistreatment that tore you all apart that you decided, perhaps selfishly, to burn the bridge to keep yourself warm on your own path.

then, your eyes catch a post from choerry: it’s a candid photo from a rehearsal break. she looks tired, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, but her eyes—those expressive, sparkling eyes that were once the mirror to your own—are looking at a space in the group where you used to stand. the caption is simple, a lyric from a song you both loved during the max & match era.

your heart stutters. you remember the promise you made on the night the news broke, the night you all sat on the floor of a rented space, holding hands and swearing that distance wouldn't mean abandonment. “we’ll always be each other's home,” she had whispered, her head resting on your shoulder, her tears staining your shirt.

you broke that promise, and you know she knows it.

the move to the american market hadn't just been a business pivot; it had been an identity reformation. you were tired of being a piece of a puzzle controlled by suits in blockberry creative. you wanted to be the one holding the brush. your debut mini-album was a cry for help turned into a manifesto.

“this is what i wanted to say,” you told the label executives in your first meeting. you brought them your own visual concepts—mood boards filled with surrealism, vintage film textures, and themes of liberation. they were stunned. they expected a copy of what you were doing in korea; you gave them something entirely new.

when the album dropped, the success was an avalanche. it wasn't just the music—it was the authenticity. the lyrics weren't just catchy; they were heavy with the weight of the years you spent fighting for your agency. the public didn't just consume your songs; they devoured them. you were no longer just “the member of loona”; you were an artist in your own right.

but as the success grew, the barrier between you and your sisters solidified.

you remember the last text you sent to choerry. “i’m really proud of you. i’m just so busy with the comeback preparation. i’ll call when things settle down.” things never settled down. success is a relentless beast. it eats your free time, it consumes your weekends, and eventually, it makes you feel like you don't belong in the spaces you used to occupy. you started to feel out of place in their group chats, watching them discuss schedules and outfits that didn’t involve you. you felt like an outsider looking into a life you once lived.

you convinced yourself that by distancing yourself, you were protecting them from your own success, or perhaps protecting yourself from the pain of being a memory to them. but you were wrong. you were just cowardice dressed up as independence.

six months after the anniversary of the contract termination, an opportunity arises. a global music festival in london. your name is on the lineup, right next to a few others from the k-pop industry. you see the artms schedule. they’ll be there.

the night before the performance, the festival organizers host a private mixer for the headliners. you stand at the edge of the room, sipping a glass of water, watching the crowd. you feel the weight of your own notoriety, but it feels hollow compared to the sight of them.

they are in the center of the room—heejin laughing at something jinsoul said, kim lip checking her watch, and there, a few steps behind, is choerry.

she looks different. she has grown into a woman who possesses a quiet, steady strength. she isn't the girl who used to cling to your sleeve at airports anymore.

your pulse quickens. you know you should walk away. you should retreat to your hotel room and continue the cycle of digital acknowledgment and physical silence. but then, choerry’s eyes wander. she catches your gaze across the room.

her expression doesn’t shift into a smile. she doesn’t wave. she simply stares at you, a look of profound, quiet sorrow that cuts through the noise of the party. it’s the look of someone who has spent years waiting for a phone call that never comes.

you find yourself moving before you can talk yourself out of it. you weave through the crowd, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. as you get closer, the rest of them notice. the conversation dies down. heejin turns, her eyes widening in surprise. kim lip goes still.

but it’s choerry who doesn't move. she stays anchored, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze locked onto yours.

“i didn’t think you’d be here,” heejin says softly, her voice bridging the tension.

“i didn’t think i would be either,” you admit, your throat dry. you look at them—five of them, a group, a unit, a family—and then you look at yourself, the soloist, the successful, lonely outlier.

you turn to choerry. you want to apologize, but the words feel too small for the magnitude of the hurt you caused. “choerry,” you start.

she takes a shaky breath. “you told me you were busy, but you were on the front page of every magazine,” she says. her voice isn’t angry. it’s resigned. “i spent a year waiting for that call. and then i spent a year being angry. and now… now i think i just feel tired.”

“i was scared,” you say, the confession spilling out before you can filter it. “i was terrified that if i held onto the past, i would get dragged back into the darkness. i thought if i succeeded on my own, i would prove that we were all better off separated. i think i just… i built a wall, and i didn’t realize i was locking you out.”

“you didn’t just lock me out,” choerry says, her eyes shimmering. “you made me feel like i was holding you back. like the time we spent together was something you needed to outrun.”

the room goes silent. you can feel the weight of the others’ gazes—they aren't attacking you, but they are’'t shielding her, either. they know the history. they know the bond you shared.

“i never felt held back by you,” you whisper. “you were the only thing that made the hold bearable. i think i was just afraid of failing, and if i failed while i was still ‘one of them,’ i would be failing you too. i thought if i did it alone, the only person i could disappoint was myself.”

choerry looks at you for a long moment, searching your face for the version of you she knew. the silence stretches, filled with three years of unspoken grief, late–night texts left on ‘read,’ and the realization that growth often requires the sacrifice of the very things we love.

“you won, didn’t you?” she asks. “you got the career. you got the charts. you got the fame.«

“i got everything i thought i wanted,” you reply, realizing the truth of it as you say it. “but it doesn’t feel like much when i look at you.”

choerry finally drops her gaze. she looks at her friends, then back at you. she doesn’t step toward you to hug you; she doesn’t offer the comfort she once would have. she is no longer the girl who idealizes you. she is a woman who has learned to put herself first, just like you did.

“we’re doing well,” she says, her voice gaining a bit of its old sparkle, though it is tempered by the hard-won wisdom of the last few years. “we’re doing really well. and i’m happy for you. truly.”

it’s the dismissal that hurts the most—not a harsh one, but a final one. she isn't closing the door; she’s just showing you that you are no longer standing in the house.

“can we… is there a chance to try again?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper. “not the same way. not the way we were. but maybe… just to talk?”

choerry looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second, you see the girl who loved you for who you were, not for what you achieved.

“maybe,” she says softly. “but you have to stop being a ghost, and you have to stop treating us like memories. we’re still here, and we’re still moving forward.”

the festival ends. you perform your set, and for the first time in years, the roar of the crowd doesn't drown out the silence in your head. you realize that you didn't leave the group to move forward; you left to hide from your own shadow.

you return to your hotel room and open your phone. you go to the group chat that has been silent for 1,095 days. your fingers hover over the keyboard. you don't type an excuse. you don't try to justify the years of absence.

you simply type: “i saw you all today. you were incredible. i'm sorry i wasn't there for the climb. is it too late to ask how you’ve been?”

you set the phone down on the table, your hands shaking. you don’t know if they will reply. you don’t know if the bond can be stitched back together, or if it will forever bear the scar of your departure. but for the first time since the contracts were torn up, you aren't waiting for the industry to give you validation. you aren't building a wall.

you are just a woman, alone in a hotel room, waiting for her friends. and for the first time in three years, the silence doesn't feel like home. it feels like a space waiting to be filled.

you look out the window at the london skyline, the lights reflecting in the glass like a thousand tiny stars. you realize that the beauty of loona’s discography wasn’t just in the production or the concepts—it was in the fact that you were once a part of something that meant everything to someone.

you were part of a constellation. and even if you drifted to the edge of the galaxy, the light you shared is still traveling through the dark. you are loona, even if you are no longer together. and perhaps, that is enough of a beginning to start over.

three months later, you find yourself in tokyo.

the festival is bigger than the last one. brighter. louder. there are cameras everywhere, idols weaving through backstage hallways, managers calling schedules over headsets. it should feel familiar by now.

instead, your stomach is in knots. because artms is here again. you found out two weeks ago when the lineup was announced. and unlike london, this time nobody can pretend it was a surprise.

you've been talking to them. not constantly. not enough to erase three years of silence. but enough: heejin sends you photos of random things she sees during schedules. jinsoul replies to your instagram stories with sarcastic comments. kim lip occasionally drops into your messages just to bully you about your sleeping habits. haseul calls once every few weeks and somehow manages to make it feel like no time has passed at all. even hyeju and hyunjin have exchanged messages with you.

everyone except choerry. choerry never replied. not to the message you sent after london. not to the follow-up text a month later. not to the birthday message. nothing. and somehow that hurts worse than if she'd blocked you. because the message always says delivered. never read. just sitting there. waiting.

you spot heejin first backstage. “hey!”

she practically crashes into you before you can escape. you laugh as she throws her arms around your shoulders. “you're going to break my spine.”

“good.”

“nice to see you too.”

heejin grins. for a moment, everything feels normal. dangerously normal.

the two of you end up sitting together in catering twenty minutes later. she’s halfway through stealing food from your plate… some habits never die.

“i'm serious,” heejin says. “you look less miserable.”

“wow.”

“i mean it as a compliment.”

“thanks, i think.”

she laughs. then her expression softens. “you’ve been trying.”

you stare down at your coffee, feeling embarrassed by her sudden compliment, since it had been quite a while since you’d heard her say anything like that. heejin seemed quite serious, and her deep voice intimidated anyone who barely knew her or knew little about her, but she was always a sweet person who could easily give you a smile. “i know.”

“and everyone sees it.”

everyone. except one person.

heejin notices the shift immediately. of course she does. “you haven’t talked to her.”

it isn’t a question. it was clearly a statement from her in an attempt to bring up a topic she clearly wanted to address but didn’t know how to approach. it wasn’t surprising because you imagined that sooner or later, when you saw one of them again, they would bring up the subject of light. breaking off contact with people you’d spent so much time with was pretty crazy and would probably surprise anyone, so don’t blame them for wanting to know what was going on behind the scenes.

“no.”

“have you tried?” the question was almost mocking because she was asking something so basic, yet it carried so much weight without her even trying. it was something that people could often ask you about when they heard you deny the initial question.

“heejin.”

“have you?”

you glare, but she waits. of course she would wait because she genuinely wanted to know what was going on, since it was clear that she hadn't received any information from the other person either. you knew she was curious about the whole topic and wouldn’t let you easily change the course of the conversation, but you still wanted to try to prevent the conversation from getting to the point where she wanted.

“... yes.”

“how many times?”

“enough.”

“she’s angry.”

“i figured.”

“really angry.”

you laugh bitterly, without even wanting to continue the conversation, but also not wanting to leave her talking to herself. that’s a topic you’d been avoiding for so long that you couldn’t even imagine talking about it, so bringing up the subject again was like reopening a wound that was trying to heal after being stitched up.

“yeah. i figured that too.”

heejin studies you for a moment. “you know what the problem is?”

“probably several things.”

“you’re fixing relationships with everyone except the person you actually broke.” that one lands. hard. but because she’s right. it’s easier with everyone else. everyone else didn’t spend years wondering why they weren’t enough for you to stay. everyone else wasn’t choerry.

before you can respond, a familiar voice cuts through the hallway. your entire body freezes.

artms is heading toward catering. you see haseul first. then kim lip. then jinsoul. and then—choerry. she’s laughing at something jinsoul said, until she sees you. the smile disappears instantly. not dramatically. not angrily. it just vanishes, like a light being switched off.

the group slows. an awkward silence settles over everyone.

you hate how natural conversation feels with the others now. you hate that she notices it too, because she watches as kim lip casually nudges your shoulder, as jinsoul asks about your performance, as haseul checks whether you've eaten. all these little interactions. all these reminders that somehow everyone found their way back to you. everyone except her.

choerry’s jaw tightens, barely noticeable, but you see it. she turns toward heejin, ignoring you completely in a way that made it clear her purpose was to pretend you didn’t exist, but still make you notice. “we should go.”

heejin blinks. “we literally just got here.”

“we should go.”

the tension snaps tight. you feel your chest sink, and before you can stop yourself— “choerry.”

she stops, but doesn’t turn around, doesn’t acknowledge you. just stops.

your heart pounding so loudly you’re convinced everyone can hear it. “can we talk?”

nothing.

"please."

finally, she turns: her eyes are shining with something far sharper than sadness. hurt. months ago, in london, there had still been grief. now there's resentment.

“talk about what?” the question is calm. too calm.

“about us.”

she lets out a short laugh. not a happy one. “that’s funny.”

your stomach drops. “choerry—”

“you talk to everybody else.”

the room goes completely silent. nobody moves. nobody interrupts. because this has been coming for months.

“you call haseul.”

“choerry—”

“you text heejin.” she points toward the older girl. “you reply to jinsoul.” another step. “you joke around with kim lip.” another. “but every time you see me, you act like you’re scared.”

your throat closes. because she's right. you are scared. she was always the person who mattered most, which means losing her hurts the most, and maybe that's why you've been avoiding it. “i wasn’t avoiding you.”

choerry actually rolls her eyes. “that’s your defense?”

but you don’t have one, because every explanation sounds pathetic. every reason sounds selfish.

she laughs again, this time there’s genuine pain in it. “you disappeared for three years. then you come back and suddenly you’re everyone’s friend again except mine.”

her voice cracks, just slightly, but it's enough. “do you have any idea how that feels?”

nobody says anything. not even heejin. choerry looks away, shaking her head. “i would’ve rather you ignored all of us.”

“what?”

“because then at least it would’ve been honest.” the words hit harder than any yelling could have. for the first time since london, you realize something: choerry isn't angry because you left. she's angry because you came back. just not to her. and standing there, surrounded by the people you once called home, you realize that maybe apologizing was the easy part. earning back choerry’s trust? that’s going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

the silence that follows feels unbearable. you can practically hear your own heartbeat. choerry looks away first, like she already regrets saying anything at all... like she's tired. tired of waiting. tired of hoping. tired of being hurt. and somehow that makes it worse because anger would be easier, anger means someone still cares enough to fight. and this feels like she's already halfway out the door.

“that’s not fair.” the words leave your mouth before you can stop them.

choerry’s eyes immediately snap back to yours. “not fair?”

“you think i wanted this?”

a bitter laugh escapes her. “wanted what?”

“all of it.” you gesture helplessly between the two of you. “i didn’t wake up one day and decide i wanted to lose you.”

“really?” she asks, her voice is dangerously quiet. “because from where i was standing, it looked exactly like that.”

your chest tightens. “you don’t know what was happening.”

“then tell me.” the challenge comes instantly. “because apparently nobody knows.”

you open your mouth, then close it. because how do you explain three years? how do you explain fear that sounds ridiculous now? how do you explain that success felt less like winning and more like drowning?

choerry shakes her head. “that’s what i thought.”

“stop doing that.”

“doing what?”

”acting like you know everything.”

her expression hardens.

“i know you left. i know you stopped calling. i know i sat there defending you to everyone for months.”

each sentence lands like a punch. “choerry—”

“no.” for the first time, her voice rises. not shouting, but enough. enough that everyone nearby pretends not to be listening. “you don’t get to interrupt me.”

you fall silent, and she laughs bitterly. “do you know how embarrassing it was?”

your eyebrows pull together. “what?”

“waiting for you.” the answer comes immediately, without hesitation, without mercy.

“every time somebody asked if i’d talked to you.” another step. “every time someone asked if we’d drifted apart.” another. “every birthday. every holiday. every achievement.”

her eyes are wet now, but she doesn’t look away. “i kept thinking maybe this would be the day.”

you can’t breathe, because you know exactly what day she means: the call. the text. anything. something.

”and then i started seeing interviews.”

“choerry—”

“don’t.” she points at you. “don’t tell me i’m wrong.”

you remember the interviews. the questions...

‘do you still keep in touch with your former members?’

and every time—sometimes. occasionally. we’re all busy. safe answers, careful answers. answers that protected you, but answers that hurt her.

“i watched you tell the entire world you still cared about us.” her voice shakes. “while i couldn’t even get a reply.”

you stare, completely speechless. because there isn’t a defense, there never was.

choerry lets out a shaky breath. “do you know what the worst part is?”

you almost don’t want to ask, but you do anyway. “what?”

she laughs, a small, broken sound. “i would’ve forgiven you, the first year.” another breath. “the second year.” her voice cracks. “even the third.”

you feel sick, because she means it. she would’ve. she would’ve opened the door every single time, and you never knocked.

“but then london happened. and i thought maybe things would finally be different.”

the memory flashes through your head. her saying maybe, giving you a chance, giving you hope.

”and then i watched you become friends with everybody except me.”

you close your eyes, because hearing it out loud sounds even worse. “that’s not what happened.”

“then what happened?”

you don’t answer immediately, because the truth is humiliating, but it’s still the truth.

“i was scared.”

choerry stares, then laughs, actually laughs. “of me?”

you wince. “that’s insane.”

“maybe.”

“no, not maybe.”

she throws her hands up. “you perform in front of eighty thousand people.”

“i know.”

“you’ve argued with executives.”

“i know.”

“you moved across the world.”

“i know.”

“but talking to me is too scary?” you don’t have an answer. because she’s right. it sounds ridiculous... yet somehow it’s true.

your voice comes out small. “you mattered the most.”

the room goes silent. choerry freezes and you continue before you lose your nerve. “that’s why.”

her expression falters, just for a second. “i could handle haseul being disappointed.”

your throat tightens. “i could handle heejin yelling at me.”

heejin immediately points. “i would’ve.”

nobody laughs.

you keep going. “i could handle kim lip making fun of me.”

“also true,” kim lip mutters.

still nobody laughs.

“but you...” your voice cracks. “if you hated me, i didn’t think i could survive hearing it.”

choerry just stares. completely still. for the first time since this started, she looks genuinely caught off guard, because that wasn’t the answer she expected, and maybe that’s the problem.

for years, both of you have been arguing with versions of each other that don’t exist anymore: the girl who thought she wasn't worth staying for. the girl who thought she had to leave everyone behind to survive. neither of them were telling the truth. but the damage they caused? that part was real.

choerry’s eyes shine. and when she speaks again, her voice is much quieter. “i don’t hate you.”

somehow those four words hurt more than everything else. because if she hated you, this would be easier. instead she looks devastated.

“ just don’t know how to trust you anymore.”

and for the first time during the entire argument, you realize that maybe this isn’t a fight you can win — it’s a wound, and wounds don’t disappear because somebody says sorry, they heal because somebody stays.

the door to your dorm room had barely clicked shut before choerry’s hands were all over you. the walk from the hallway felt like it took forever, but now that you were finally in the privacy of your own space, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

choerry had you backed up against the wood of the door, her body pressed firmly against yours. one of her hands was tangled in your soft hair, tilting your head back to expose the line of your throat, while the other was slid down to your waist, pulling your hips flush against hers. she looked up at you through her dark lashes, her eyes dark with a hunger that was almost primal.

“finally.” she breathed, her voice a husky rasp. she leaned in, her lips hovering just inches from yours, teasing you with the heat of her breath. “i’ve been thinking about getting you alone since we saw each other again after so, so long. you have no idea what you're doing to me, (y/n).”

she didn’t wait for an answer. she crashed her lips onto yours in a deep, demanding kiss, her tongue dancing with yours in a way that was both frantic and incredibly skilled. she tasted faintly of mint and the lingering sweetness of her lipgloss, and she moved with a confidence that made it clear she knew exactly how to take what she wanted.

choerry felt your response in the way you melted against her, and it only fueled her fire. she let out a low, satisfied moan into the kiss, deepening it as she felt your hands find her waist. she was a predator who had finally caught her prize, and she had no intention of being gentle.

she broke the kiss just long enough to trail a path of hot, biting kisses down your jawline to the sensitive skin of your neck. she knew exactly where to nip and suck to leave marks that would remind you of her long after she left. her hands began to wander more restlessly, sliding under the hem of your shirt, her palms warm and slightly rough against your skin.

“you’re so soft…” she murmured against your skin, her breath hitching. she pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze heavy lidded and dark with lust. her thumb traced your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly.

“tell me what you want, (y/n).” she whispered, her voice a sultry command. she leaned in closer, her chest heaving against yours. “do you want me to take control, or do you want to show me exactly how much you’ve been wanting this?”

“show me how much you missed me.”

choerry let out a dark, throaty laugh, her eyes flashing with a dangerous sort of excitement. She loved a challenge, and she loved it even more when you gave her permission to be as uninhibited as she wanted to be.

“oh, baby... you have no idea.” she growled, her voice thick with desire. she didn’t just want to show you; she wanted to consume you.

without breaking eye contact, she scooped you up in her arms, your legs instinctively wrapping around her waist. she carried you the short distance to your bed, tossing you onto the mattress before hovering over you, her body pinning yours down. she looked like a goddess of chaos, her hair messy and her eyes burning with a need that felt almost overwhelming.

she began to strip off her clothes with a frantic, practiced ease, her gaze never leaving yours. once she was close enough to feel the heat of your skin against hers, she lowered herself onto you, her movements heavy and intentional. she started to kiss you again, but this time it wasn’t just a tease it was a claim. her hands moved over your body with a feverish intensity, exploring every curve, every inch of your skin as if she were trying to memorize you through touch.

“i’m going to make sure you're thinking about me all night.” she whispered against your lips, her breath hot and ragged. she moved her hand down, her fingers tracing the line of your thigh, moving higher with a slow, torturous confidence. “i’m going to make you forget anyone else ever touched you.”

her fingers finally reached the edge of your underwear, hooking into the fabric to slide it down your legs. she didn’t rush, instead choosing to watch your expression, savoring the way your breath hitched and your hazy eyes darkened with anticipation. she leaned down, her lips brushing against the hollow of your collarbone as her hand moved more boldly, finding the heat between your thighs.

“you’re so ready for me, aren’t you?” she teased, her voice a low, vibrating hum against your skin. she began to use her fingers to tease and explore you, her touch expert and relentless. she knew exactly how much pressure to apply, how to move to make you arch your back and cry out her name. every moan that escaped your lips was like fuel to her fire, making her move with even more passion, her body working in perfect, hungry synchronicity with yours until the world outside your dorm room ceased to exist.

choerry was relentless. she watched your face with an intense, almost predatory focus, her eyes tracking every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features. she loved the way your soft hair fanned out against the pillows, contrasting with the soft skin of your body, and the way your pleading and hazy eyes seemed to glaze over with pure sensation.

as she worked her fingers, she increased the pace, her movements becoming more rhythmic and purposeful. she knew exactly how to hit the right spots, her touch alternating between soft, teasing strokes and firmer, more demanding pressure. she leaned down, her lips catching your moans, swallowing them whole as she pressed her body even tighter against yours, letting youfeel the heat and the hardness of her desire.

“that’s it... just like that.” she whispered, her voice a ragged, breathless command. she could feel you trembling beneath her, your muscles tensing as you neared the edge. the sound of your breathing, the way your fingers dug into her shoulders, the soft, broken sounds coming from your throat was driving her absolutely insane.

she didn’t let up. of anything, she pushed harder, her thumb working in tandem with her fingers to drive you toward the peak. she wanted to see you break; she wanted to be the one who caused it. she watched as your eyes rolled back and your body arched sharply, a beautiful, desperate movement of pure release.

as you finally shattered, a long, shaky breath escaping your lips, choerry let out a triumphant, low growl. she didn’t pull away immediately; instead, she collapsed against you, her skin slick with sweat, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your chest. she buried her face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in, her lips grazing your skin in a soft, possessive nuzzle.

“god, (y/n)....” she murmured, her voice heavy with satisfaction and a lingering, hungry heat. she lifted her head just enough to look at you, a lopsided, wicked smirk playing on her lips despite her heavy breathing. “we’re definitely not done yet. not even close.”

“ugh, we’re not, yerim. i missed you. so it’s my turn.”

choerry’s eyes widened, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her face before it was instantly replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated lust. she let out a low, breathless laugh, her head falling back against the pillow as she watched you with newfound respect. she loved a girl who took charge, and the sheer confidence in your voice sent a fresh jolt of electricity straight to her core.

“oh? is that so?” she purred, her voice dropping to a husky, dangerous register. she shifted her weight, moving back slightly to give you room, but she didn’t let you go entirely. instead, she reached down and gripped your hips, her fingers digging into your skin just enough to ground you as she guided you down the bed.

she lay back, her dark hair messy against the sheets, her legs parting instinctively for you. she looked completely undone her skin flushed, her chest heaving, and her eyes dark and heavy with anticipation. she looked like a queen offering herself up to her most devoted subject, but with that signature choerry smirk, it was clear she was the one in control of the pleasure.

“don’t hold back, gorgeous.” she challenged, her voice a sultry rasp. she reached down, her hands sliding from your hips to your hair, her fingers tangling in the messy strands to guide you. she arched her back slightly, presenting herself to you, her gaze intense and unwavering.

“show me exactly how much you want me. make me lose my mind…” she let out a shaky breath, her eyes fluttering shut as she waited for the first touch of your lips, her body already trembling in expectation of the sensation you were about to provide.

as you leaned down, the first touch of your lips against her most sensitive skin sent a violent jolt through her entire frame. choerry’s hips bucked upward instinctively, a sharp, choked gasp escaping her throat. her fingers tightened convulsively in your messy hair, not to pull you away, but to hold you there, anchoring herself as the sensation began to overwhelm her.

she was a girl who usually loved being the one in control, the one doing the teasing, but as you began to use your tongue with a confident, rhythmic precision, she found herself completely at your mercy. she let out a long, low moan that vibrated through her whole body, her head tossing back and forth on the pillow as she lost herself in the feeling. every time you swirled your tongue or applied a little more suction, a fresh wave of heat crashed over her, making her toes curl and her breath come in ragged, desperate hitches.

“fuck, (y/n)....” she groaned, her voice breaking. Her eyes snapped open for a moment, hazy and glazed with pure ecstasy, watching you work. the sight of your messy hair falling around her thighs as you focused so intently on her was almost too much to bear. she felt her muscles tensing, her core tightening as you drove her closer and closer to the edge.

choerry’s breathing became frantic, her chest heaving as she neared her breaking point. she was no longer the cool, composed bad girl from the hallways; she was a mess of sensation, her body trembling uncontrollably under your touch. she gripped your hair tighter, her knuckles turning white, as she felt the pressure building deep inside her, a tidal wave of pleasure ready to burst.

“don’t stop... please, don’t you dare stop… she whimpered, her voice a desperate, sultry plea as she felt herself teetering on the very brink of a massive, soul shaking climax.

she let out a broken, high pitched cry as the dam finally burst. her entire body stiffened, her hips jerking upward in a desperate, rhythmic search for more of you. every muscle in her legs tensed, and her fingers clutched at your hair so tightly it was almost a bruise, but she didn’t care. the sensation was overwhelming, a white hot explosion of pleasure that seemed to radiate from her core to the very tips of her toes.

choerry’s head thrashed against the pillow, her eyes rolling back as she surrendered completely to the waves of ecstasy you were pulling from her. she was shaking, her breath coming in short, jagged sobs of pure bliss. the world narrowed down to just the feeling of your mouth, the heat of your tongue, and the incredible, dizzying sensation of her own release.

as the climax finally began to ebb, leaving her limp and trembling, she let out a long, shaky exhale, her body sinking deep into the mattress. she looked utterly spent, her skin glistening with sweat and her dark eyes hooded and dazed. she reached down, her hand trembling slightly as she brushed a stray lock of soft hair away from your face, her touch uncharacteristically tender.

heejin definitely wants you as her pillow princess. loves seeing you laid out for her, grabbing at your sheets and she pleasures you.

she teases you so much, letting her nails drag along your skin/scalp, feeling you arch into her and gasp from the sensation. that's when she'll push her tongue into your mouth, licking against your tongue and pulling your bottom lip. she wants you fully relaxed and only focused on her.

regardless to your breast size, she's a boob worshipper. wants her baby to be fully teased and played with. will push them together and lick at both of your nipples to feel your nails scratch at her back.

also, loves it if you're a scratcher. she wants deep marks along her back.

wants you completely soaked before even going near your pussy. loves fingering you from the back because of how much your cum drips down thighs. she can lean down and lick it up to your folds.

loves face sitting, too. seeing you desperately grind against her, begging for her to help you because it's too much work for you. so she eats her fill before laying you on your back, laying at your core before pushing her fingers into you while lapping at your clit.

and dont hold your moans in, she wants you loud. it's not a thing of heejin needing to know you feel good, it's just an ego boost.

also likes pressing vibrators against you, seeing you squirm under her as your high approaches. it's a beautiful sight tbh

when you've climaxed and are clawing at her to help her finish, she's a face sitter. can easily grind against your cute face as she rides out her pleasure.

loves how stiff your tongue gets so she can press it right where she needs it. loves hair pulling when it's like this. holding you still as she (in a way) face fucks you.

optional strap content:

if you enjoy penetration, she loves tapping her strap against your clit and rubbing it between your folds. especially if it's one of those vibrating ones that pleasure the wearer, she loves bending you over and pumping you full of her strap.

when she's mean she likes you riding her, getting rid of whatever attitude you had as you beg her to fuck you.

WEEK 1

Day 1: Bondage (Wumuti)

Day 2: Exhibitionism (Yangyang)

Day 4: Threesome (Yuqi/Mingi)

Day 3: Impact Play (BM)

Day 5: Body Worship (Chaeryeong)

Day 6: Mirror Sex (Sungjin)

Day 7: Lingerie (Jinsoul)

WEEK 2

Day 8: Jealousy (Seulgi)

Day 9: Breeding (J-Hope)

Day 10: Formal Wear (Ten)

Day 11: Dacryphilia (Heeseung)

Day 12: Roleplay (Ningning)

Day 13: Hate sex (Jeno)

Day 14: Honeymoon (Bang Chan)

WEEK 3

Day 15: Degradation (Yeonjun)

Day 16: 69 (Wonbin)

Day 17: Ritual (Ryujin)

Day 18: Shower Sex (Anton)

Day 19: Toys (Yeji)

Day 20: Praise (Felix)

Day 21: Overstimulation (Somin/Giselle)

WEEK 4

Day 22: Pegging (Rui)

Day 23: Mutual Masturbation (Young K)

Day 24: Biting (Han)

Day 25: Temperature Play (Baekhyun)

Day 26: Teasing (Taemin)

Day 27: Size Difference (Soobin)

Day 28: Edging (Heejin)

WEEK 5

Day 29: Begging (Hyunjin)

Day 30: Aftercare (Joy)

Day 31: Monsterfucking (Vampire!Xiaojun)

profiles - club founders jungeun & co other

chapters

00. prologue

01. afterwards

02. totally mature

03. hyunjin

04. club fun

05. god take me now

06. worst shift ever

07. no freedom

08. love affairs

09. 2jin

10. annoyance

11. apologies

12. tomfoolery

tba...

Sex

Lots of cuddles

Lots of groping

Lots of dirty talk, love degrading you but not too much

Loves to say “you are the best girl I have sex with”

Compare you with her past sex partners but you always the better one

Always makes you to beg her

Will call you a pet name like “kitten”, “puppy” etc.

Will have the biggest strap, just for you.

Not the type to use too many toys, her fingers are enough

She will also make you ride on her thighs when you two are in public

“This is last time please…” you always trust her, but she will make cum at least 3 times after she said that

Aftercare is a must for her to do to you, and only for you

She will also give you her favourite black puppy plushie when you are going to sleep after such a tired night

Sex(⚠️g!p version)

(This one is just my personal preference, you can skip if you don’t like it)

Her cock is big, thick, long with pretty pink tip, will have scary veins on it

Loves to tease your clit with her tip

Loves being deepthroat by you

Prefer you to swallow her cum instead of cum on your face or anywhere on you

Unless she is so horny or you are being brat

Will say “your pussy are perfect for my cock, no one has ever been perfect as you” at the first time

She will be extra gentle and careful when you said you are virgin

After that, she started to show her true colours to fuck you roughly, and use different positions and toys to fuck you

She will cum inside you as she LOVES to breed you, want you to carry her baby

She also loves to fuck you from behind, with a full body length mirror in front of you two

When she gets to see you squirting , her dark side will be triggered

She will become rougher than before

Most importantly, she will will keep a bit of sanity for you, once you say anything about hurt or stop, she will immediately become normal, and asking you if she really hurts you

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The end

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