#twice fluff

being able to date the minatozaki sana from twice has been a wonderful experience.

however, your anxiety had peaked when dispatch caught you both kissing right in front of sana's apartment complex after your date night one evening (and you’ve always managed to be super cautious about these things, but sana couldn’t keep her sneaky hands to herself long enough for you both to reach her actual apartment door).

the pictures weren't grainy at all. they were clear enough to allow viewers to see that it's definitely two specific, well-known girl idols kissing: your hand resting on the back of her neck, with sana smiling into the kiss as she always does.

when the official article finally dropped, confirming that you both are dating because there can't be any other reasons to deny such allegations, your names stayed trending for weeks—even making it to national news channels.

and the internet practically melted at your relationship:

[dispatch really exposed sana for being the most whipped wlw alive!]

[WAIT, so that's why sana's always smiling at her phone every time the camera pans to her in twice's vlogs??!!!]

[alright, editors, do your thing and make these fan edits!!!]

[they're such a cute couple!!]

[matching phone cases, matching sweaters, matching rings...how have we missed all of this??]

a viral thread also stood out from it all: [proof minatozaki sana from twice has been publicly in love with her girlfriend for years.]

(to sana's embarrassment, there were quite a lot of pictures and video replies that fans had found and dissected to precise details under that thread.

she had hid her face in your shoulder with a groan then, your arms around her waist, while you both cuddled on your couch.

"they're never going to let this down," she mumbles in your neck, nuzzling her nose before she continues, "however...now i kind of want to go out there and kiss you just so they can keep talking about us."

you had laughed at that, your eyebrows lifting in amusement because sana is most likely serious, if the determination in her eyes say otherwise.

"don't look at me like that, darling. disptach worked so hard for those 4k quality photos. so, we can give them better ones, especially in the daylight!"

safe to say, you both did not go outside and exhibit pda (sana likes you all to herself anyway).

but she did lean up to kiss you deep enough for you to have a stupid smile afterwards).

—

spending time with your girlfriend has quickly become your favorite pastime, especially when you both go on instagram live together on a free weekend.

as sana is sprawled across your couch in your clothes, you decided to start a live on sana's account. sitting on the floor with your knees drawn up against your chest, you make yourself comfortable on the pillow in the space between the couch and the coffee table.

"hello everyone!" sana sings sweetly into the camera, scooting her face on the cushion to rest on your shoulder, cheek squished cutely. her freshly washed hair smells like your shampoo—something faintly floral—with her soft strands tickling your neck every time she moves.

"wouldn't that hurt your neck?" you murmur quietly, her hair almost making its way into your mouth.

"not if i'm close to you."

you rolled your eyes fondly at that, hand moving away her hair neatly before they go back on the screen to scroll through the comments.

many chats flew by quickly; your eyes were not able to catch up with them unless you pressed on the screen to pause the flow. sana read some of them out loud, voice lilting into amusement the more she did so.

"they’re saying you look sleepy." she tries to turn her head as much as possible on your shoulder, but eventually gives up with a huff when she can't see your face.

"yeah, i am a bit sleepy, but i do want to talk to your fans."

the blanket your girlfriend has draped over herself shifts a little, until you feel the weight on your shoulder becoming lighter. from the corner of your eye, you see her body slide down on the couch, plopping unceremoniously right beside you on the floor.

"so much for 'i'm so lazy, i won't join you on the floor.'" you teased, lips in a smirk as you glance over at her.

sana narrows her eyes mischievously before slipping her icy hand under the hem of your shirt, her palm splayed out on your warm skin shamelessly, making you yelp out in surprise. looking back at your livestream quickly, you let out a sigh of relief when you see the camera cuts off from your upper chest.

thank goodness, you did not want the world to see everything else.

"i'm just readjusting so i can go use the restroom." she gets up, making sure she is out of view from the camera before sauntering off to the bathroom, even having the audacity to look back with a wink accompanied with her own butt pat.

shaking your head as you try to hide your smile behind your hand, you continue filtering through the comments:

[they are never beating the married allegations...]

[we love you!!!]

[sing us a song!]

[so pretty~~~]

[comeback hints???]

muttering out the last question, you talk a bit about your upcoming comeback, playing around with your words to not reveal too much.

"you guys will be really surprise for my comeback! the style is way different from our usual concept, but that is all i can tell you!"

reaching over the table, you grab your drink, sipping it lazily as a comment suddenly catches your eye among the endless flood:

[you should offer sana your drink and wipe it afterwards to see how she reacts]

you snort into your hand at the suggestion, almost choking on the drink as your brain is already planning on how to let the little prank unfold.

"you guys are a menace. hopefully i don't end up girlfriend-less tonight...or else i'm blaming it on you guys!"

you barely have enough time to recover from your small laughing fit before the sound of slippers padding swiftly across the floor echoes from down the hallway.

sana settles back into her spot beside you with a contented sigh, rubbing her slightly damp hands against her sweatpants before tugging the blanket back over her legs.

the viewers immediately start spamming heart emojis the second she instinctively leans into your side again, her eyes meeting yours through the screen—a twinkle of shine in them.

quietly offering her your drink, she took the glass in hand with glee, body wiggling in excitement. completely oblivious to the prank, she happily brings the straw to her lips, face lighting instantly at the sweet taste of the juice as she takes long sips.

her eyes were soft and content the entire time, looking pleased over something as small as sharing your drink that almost makes you feel bad for pranking her in the first place.

almost.

"that's really good, thank you!" she scrunches her nose in gratitude as you take the drink from her hand, before her face expression turns into mild confusion when you pluck a tissue from the box, nonchalantly wiping the straw as you stare at your phone.

you can practically feel the gears in your girlfriend's head spinning as she stares back and forth from your face to the drink.

"...what are you doing?"

your lips press together immediately to stop yourself from laughing, eyes trained forward because you'll burst out laughing if you look at her directly.

"darling?" she pokes your cheek as you take a sip, her fingers traveling from your face to curling around the glass, plucking it out of your hand before she takes the straw into her mouth.

her phone somehow—miraculously—ends up falling out of its holder, the camera now panning up to the ceiling instead.

what the viewers don't see is how you're hypnotized with sana's scandalous action, one that an idol should never show in public—especially on live.

your eyes widen as she openmouthedly twirls the plastic tube with her tongue, coating it with her saliva before closing her mouth around it, lightly sucking on it as she looks at you with half-lidded, sultry eyes.

[wait wait wait what's happening?]

[you're so fucked]

[omg did y'all see sana's face????]

[notice me pls]

[live laugh love, but it seems like you'll be sleeping on the couch]

[the phone fell!!!! nooo what's going on???]

sana smirks after she pulls away with a small pop, arms now extending for the drink to be in front of you, guiding the straw to your mouth as she drags it along your lips.

your mouth parts on its own, feeling the spit-coated plastic pushing in; the warmth of it reminds you of where it had been.

your girlfriend hands you back your drink—to which you took with shaky hands—chin nodding to the cup to make sure you take sips.

her lips curve in a sly, satisfied smirk, before her hands busy themselves putting her phone back on the stand.

she proceeds to talk to her fans sweetly and innocently as if she wasn't completely ruining her idol image right in front of you.

[her gf's face is so red???? what went down?!!?!?!]

[omg what happened in those ten seconds???]

[??!?!?!??]

[sana-unnie you're so pretty]

[bro she's experiencing technical difficulties]

[sana flipped the script so fast]

for the entirety of the live, you can see her tiny twitch of a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips whenever her nails graze your thigh under the blanket.

it also doesn't help that she constantly licks her lips or has her tongue darting out for the rest of the livestream.

a real fucking tease she is.

—

as you both finally bid goodbye to everyone (sana had whined when you wanted to end it early because there were more important matters at hand. it was clear why she wanted to stall for so long), your girlfriend immediately gets in your lap, legs bracketing your hips possessively, almost knocking over the items on the table.

"look at you," she teases in a slight mocking tone, "completely whipped on live and i wonder why."

the smugness in her voice makes you shift in your seat, already feeling a pool of slick forming in your shorts.

"your fun little prank seems like it backfired, no? all flustered from just a bit of teasing, hm?"

before you can defend yourself, she turns to grab the drink on the table into her hand, the cold drips of the condensation makes you flinch as they drop onto your thighs. sana takes a few sips before turning back to you, an unreadable glint in her eyes.

just as your mouth parts to speak, sana grips your shirt tightly in her hands, pulling you in for a kiss as she presses her body impossibly closer—until you feel liquid sweetness spilling past your lips, making your eyes widen in surprise.

all you could taste was the strawberry drink traveling on your tongue and down your throat, moaning into the kiss as sana pushes more of the drink into your mouth. you let out a small choked sound as sana checks for any remnants of the drink still in your mouth with a slide of her tongue, feeling her grin on your lips afterwards when she finds none.

she pulls back abruptly in a daze, a pleased smile plastered on her pretty face as she takes in your flustered state. her fingers stay twisted tightly in your shirt, keeping you close as she bites down on her lower lip to suppress another wicked smile. her eyes flick shamelessly between your blown pupils and swollen lips before meeting your gaze again.

"my gorgeous girl," her thumb comes up to wipe away a trail of the drink that slid down to your chin, pulling it back towards her as she licks it off with an appreciative hum.

you cough again from the realization, quickly gulping hard afterwards, then stare at her with dark eyes. your hold on her thighs tightens, fingers gripping enough to stop her hips from grinding on your lap.

"what's wrong, darling?" she stares back with that infuriatingly annoying smug and sparkles in her eyes before leaning closer again, noses brushing lightly, "do you want more?"

to add on to your morning, you had to run toward the bus stop to make it in time. you were surprised when you managed to match the speed of it slowing down on the run there, but this ruined your hair and left you huffing and puffing for the first thirty seconds of the ride. you were already drained before then too. 

now you’re waiting for one of six elevators of the thirty-five floor building, patient and tired, hoping that one of your coworkers will surprise you with caffeine.

while you wait, a woman in a grey coat with brown hair steps in front of the elevator that the rest of the five people (including you) are waiting for. she yawns, then tucks her hair behind her ear. you can only see the side of her face from where you stand—behind her and a few steps to the right—but it’s enough to pique your interest. 

a man walks in the space between you two, but just a bit in front of her, and fixes his hair while talking into the phone. he mutters something else before turning around, seemingly looking for something. 

you can’t help but notice that his fly is open.

you manage to compose yourself, redirecting your attention away from the hint of his boxers sticking out, but the lady you eyed before snickers under her breath. she bites the inside of her lip to fight the corners of her lips that threaten to curl up before regaining composure. she looks up at the elevator again as if nothing had ever happened before it dings and the doors open. everyone steps in and you find a spot to the right of the space. the woman finds herself at the opposite side of you.

the doors close and you swallow shallowly. you tense your jaw for no reason at all before looking down barely to scratch the back of your neck. subtly, you tilt your head to the side to catch a glimpse of the woman’s full side profile.

pretty is an understatement.

for a moment you regain full clarity. it doesn’t feel like you’re running around in circles in your mind for a moment. the slope and angle of her nose pair to create a perfect match when met with the shape of her lips. to top it off, her jawline looks like it could kill. you swallow again before redirecting your attention back to the front of the elevator.

you wonder what floor she’s on, her name, and occupation. it’s been two weeks since you moved buildings and you’ve already found someone that makes you nervous. your coworkers would tease you relentlessly if they could read your mind.

it takes the first stop to realize that you haven’t even pressed the button to your floor. you awkwardly reach over past the person in front of you and click “25.”

in the midst of it, unbeknownst to you, the woman glances over to get a quick look at the side of your face. she averts her gaze and stares back at her reflection in the closed doors.

today is going to be a long day.

—

you yawn tiredly and a tear slips from the corner of your eye. 

it’s friday, which means you’ve made it through the week. still, the only thing you’re looking forward to is lunch–on jeongyeon, your beloved (and very teasing) coworker—later in the day and taking a nap before seeing your parents later. you can get through this, is what you (always) tell yourself. you only have a few meetings and one rough draft due by the end of the day.

you stand in front of the elevator and wait for it to open. you don’t bother to look around at whoever else is waiting. everyone is probably zoning out or on their phone.

once you step in, you make your way to the back. a familiar face walks through the door once you settle in your spot shortly after.

it’s the woman from monday—and yesterday. you wonder if she’s noticed that this isn’t your first time on the same elevator together this week. you feel like a fool—she can’t be thinking that. it’s just coincidence. now you’re wondering if seeing her so often is creepy. does she think you’re doing this on purpose? you want to groan then and there. you clench your jaw and let out a small breath.

the woman’s eyes meet yours for a brief second before she turns around so that you’re met with the back of her head the rest of the way up. her hair is nicer up close. it’s very healthy looking and a beautiful shade of brown. you wish you could’ve seen her face a little longer and examined that too.  

you’re being ridiculous.

you lean further back until your head rests against the back of the elevator. you look straight ahead and take a deep breath, only to be met with a very pleasant fragrance filling your senses.

she smells like spring flowers and a basket of berries. you inhale again, deliberate and slow.  whatever she’s wearing is sweet, fragrant, and blooming by the second. it’s not the kind of overwhelming scent that urges you to take a step back; the smell is light and refreshing and resembles a nice, faint memory.

she turns her head just barely to the side, almost imperceptibly, which snaps you out of it. you straighten up and swallow hard; if you were caught sniffing someone, that would definitely land you somewhere you wouldn’t want to be. how shameless are you? when did you get so… weird? does this fall in line with being a pervert? no, you think, i can’t be like one of those freaks, can i?

when you gets off at your floor, it feels like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. you stay silent, though not without huffing in embarrassment, the whole way to your office.

you continue on with your day, the thought of the woman on the elevator slowly filtering out of your mind once jeongyeon starts massaging your shoulders out of nowhere, making you jump in your seat.

“lunch?” she asks.

right, it’s that time. you had been so caught up with a draft for marketing that you nearly forgot about lunch.

(you hadn’t forgotten about the elevator incident that morning though.)

“please.” you sigh, immediately turning off your monitor.

jeongyeon laughs as you stand up to put your jacket on.

…

sana wonders if you’ve noticed it too.

her interest piqued the first time she saw you this week. today—friday—is day three of seeing you in the same elevator as her in the morning. 

you stood behind her seemingly in a daze, maybe thinking very hard about something bothering you from the way she could hear you sigh from behind her. she glances subtly at you in the reflection. you’re a little taller than her and you’ve got nice, pretty features. you’re very much her type.

she looks at the ground then, her brows furrowing just barely.

i must be desperate, she thinks, it’s just a coincidence. it means nothing.

—

sana sees you again on monday. it can’t be nothing.

she spent the day before helping her friend, jihyo, rearrange her apartment. jihyo mentioned at one point after a glass of wine: “you can’t start off your monday’s weak, or it’ll throw off your week.”

the rhyming along with her cheery tone made sana cringe and giggle at her, but she did have a point.

seeing you again right before her day starts makes her embarrassingly giddy. it’s even worse that she had looked forward to seeing you in the mornings here and there throughout the week. sana tells herself that it’s the lack of anything in her life at the moment that is making her a fool.

you’re both separated by a man between you two and the cologne he wears drowns out any other scent in the elevator. it’s strong, too strong. you bite down subtly when he reaches over, his wrist passing your nose, to press the number of his floor.

she takes a good look at you through the reflection. you’re in a formal outfit: a blazer, dress shirt, slacks, and a tie. it fits you. sana thinks you look really good.

it takes two full seconds for sana to realize that you’ve made eye contact with her through the reflection as well. you both stare for a second longer before breaking it, both of you turning your heads in the other direction bashfully.

a blush graces your cheeks and you inhale sharply.

she must think i’m a creep, or something. you think. coincidences are one thing, but hoping to see this woman and somehow running into her? that has to fall under something problematic.

-

you see her the following wednesday and friday, then the monday and tuesday the week after as well. it’s brutal seeing her—at least to the flow of thoughts that pour in your head—she must think there is something up with you.

fortunately, as equal as it is unfortunate, you don’t see her for the rest of the week after that. you don’t see her the week after either. 

you’ve also started carpooling in the mornings with your friend sooyoung, who’s building is two blocks away, and started arriving a little after 8:30am. that was on the first day you stopped seeing the woman, then the days following. you figure your elevator woman is an early bird since you used to arrive around 8am and frequently saw her around that time.

you’re overthinking it. you tell yourself. it’s not that serious.

as much as you love spending time with sooyoung in the mornings, as well as the convenience and extra few minutes of sleep in the morning; you wish you’d run into the pretty woman on the elevator again.

…

sana loses it a bit.

she hasn’t seen you in nearly two weeks and keeps getting teased by her coworkers because there is an increased amount of pouting in the mornings. sana brushes it off, initially saying that it’s probably because of the lack of sleep or because that time of the month is soon—she can’t possibly admit that it’s because her morning eye candy hasn’t been around for a worrying amount of time. 

she wonders if you’ve moved buildings or if you’ve noticed her presence and found it uncomfortable. there’s too many options that might be the reason behind your disappearance and it has sana staring at her screen for a few minutes longer than usual in the mornings. 

“there she goes again,” momo sighs, catching sana by surprise. 

mina raises a brow, then asks, “what’s gotten into you?” 

“nothing.” sana says, though not convincingly. 

her shoulders sink a bit as she stares at her two coworkers, who share a brief look at each other before shaking their heads.

“you’re not the best liar, you know?” mina jokes, handing her a piece of chocolate. 

sana furrows her brows, looking at the candy before starting, “i’m not on my—”

“it doesn’t matter.” mina assures. “i just knew something sweet would cheer you up.”

“you’re going to need it. submissions for the magazine are due by the end of the week and from what i can see you have—” momo stops, then squints at sana’s screen, “---two and a half paragraphs.”

“it’s something.”

“is two and a half paragraphs enough to cover climate change and how it affects the beauty industry?”

“i—” sana begins, then sighs. she leans back in her chair defeatedly, and gives the two a look of agony and despair. “i’ll tell you during lunch. i have to actually get this done.”

“do you need more chocolate?” mina puts her hand out, displaying two different flavors of ghiradelli squares in her palm.

sana smiles and the light in her eyes slowly brightens up again. “i love you.”

—

it would be embarrassing for sana not to run into you for yet another week and a half right after gushing about how you always manage to look gorgeous without trying. 

but what is embarrassing is that sana gets jealous pretty easily, even for someone she doesn’t know too well (or at all, really). 

she decides to change up her tactic and comes a little later—half-past eight—and prays that you’ll be there. luckily for her, you’re there standing beautifully in an easy sweater and loose slacks. business casual looks great on you.

sana steps in first and you head in after her. she stares at the side of your head through the little gap that sits between two sets of shoulders and traces your skin with her eyes.

before the door closes completely, someone sticks their shoulder in and opens them back up. she apologizes before stepping over right next to you and handing one of two coffees in her hand. sana’s eyes narrow.

“what a coincidence! i was going to give you one. it’s buy one get one free day! i know how much you need it…” she teases quietly, nudging your shoulder and making you smile.

“thank you,” you nearly whisper, taking it gratefully. 

“how are you settling in? it’s been almost two months now.”

“oh, well.” you tell her, your voice is a little louder now. sana can hear the soothing timbre of how your words flow. “it’s great. better than the old building they had me at.”

“and where was that?”

“somewhere less… urban. i like it here better.”

“and the work?”

“ah, sometimes it’s a bit much but it’s not bad. i like it though.” you tell her.

sana watches the woman lean in a bit too close for comfort and nudge your shoulder again. the woman says, “well seems that everyone likes you.”

“couldn’t say the same for you, nayeon.” you joke, earning a roll of her eyes that sana barely makes out. 

sana bites down on her back teeth as she watches you two converse freely. she feels like there’s a small pit in her stomach that sits and churns and renders her uneasy. a pout slowly forms on her lips, but it doesn’t stick for long.

an idea pops up in her head. she rummages through her bag and plans for what she’ll do to get your attention next time you two meet. she picks out her business card and considers it, but it’s way too formal. the next thign she pulls out is her small notepad that is littered with notes and important details that relate to any article she’s working on. that’s too personal and too precious. she does think about the lip gloss in one of the small pockets, but if it touched the ground she’d be paranoid and never use it again.

she huffs, then rummages further until she picks out her nametag. 

not only does it display her name and company—but she likes how the id picture turned out too.

perfect. 

—

work has been rough. it’s only thirty minutes after noon.

your lunch break starts and you decide you might need a little more caffeine and a good sandwich to make it through the rest of the day. nayeon and jeongyeon send you off to grab them coffee and sandwiches at the little cafe a block away. the only reason you did it was because they paid you a little extra for delivery and service fees.

(you tell them that they both owe you so much for the labor you’re always providing. 

you also punch jeongyeon in the shoulder and flick nayeon’s forehead.)

it takes about five minutes for you to walk there and ten minutes for your order to be ready. you grip onto a carrier with one hand and the bags with your meals with the other as you make it back to the building. whoever created a carrier that holds more than two drinks and has a handle deserves an award, seriously, because without it you would’ve already dropped every drink.

when you’re back and pushing on the doors to your building with half your bodyweight, the front receptionist looks up from her phone to see you walking a little faster than you did when you first left. she responds back at you casually when you greet her with a rushed, “good afternoon!”

you press on the up arrow with your knuckle and take a step back, finding time to take a real, deep breath.

the doors open and you find a spot right in the middle. the man next to the buttons to each floor looks at you and tilts his head—you respond with, “25, please.”

right as he presses it, a woman walks in—your pretty woman. she makes eye contact with you before settling right next to where you stand. it feels like the walls of the elevator start to close in.

you reach floor 9 and two others step out, leaving you, the woman, and three others in the elevator. you rub your fingers against the material of the takeout bag and hope that you don’t look ridiculous holding three beverages and a large bag of sandwiches that are starting to lose their freshness. 

…

sana glances at you through the reflection and feels a little bad that you have such a large load to carry. she rethinks her plan of dropping something for you to pick up, but she doesn’t know when she’d get the opportunity to do so because nothing is promised.

she can’t let you get away.

sana lets the lanyard connected to her id swing once, then twice, before purposely letting go. her id falls in between both of you, though it’s closer to your shoes than hers.

the man behind both of you seems to notice—the same man with the overwhelming cologne—sana prays that he doesn’t reach over instead. luckily for her, he brushes it off and sticks to his phone.

she glances at it for a few seconds and it stays right in its place until the next floor. she bites the inside of her lip out of anticipation.

a few seconds later and still nothing.

sana sighs, looking at the ground and mentally cursing to herself. you’ve got full hands anyway, what was she thinking? if you had even the slightest interest, you would’ve noticed already. you would’ve maybe talked to her too, and way before this. she clenches her fists and prepares herself to pick it up, but you beat her to it.

she turns her head to meet your eyes directly.

“excuse me?” your voice brings her back to the ground. in between your pointer finger and the top of the bag is her work id. the bag crumples a little more when you start to speak again, “um, this—this is… yours?”

sana can’t speak for a moment, but offers a nod before taking it with both hands.

“thank you.”

“mhm.” you hum, nodding. you smile awkwardly then, unable to look away from her and how pretty her hair is when it’s tucked behind her ear to make a side part. it’s new and different and she’s still pretty regardless of anything and you can barely say, “h-hi. i, uh—”

the elevator dings, interrupting you, as it reaches your floor. 

you sigh lightly in defeat, pursing your lips into another awkward attempt at a smile before nodding at her. you step out and sana’s left speechless for a moment.

she can’t wait to see you again.

—

you’re going to be late.

you stayed up a little too long calling your best-friends from college and spent an additional few minutes thinking about the elevator woman before going to bed. 

and sure you felt great after talking to your friends, yes, but a little pathetic thinking about a woman who has only flashed you a beautiful smile. you think about impressing her and talking to her and maybe landing a good look that lasts more than two seconds just so you can appreciate her more.

you’re going to be so late. 

in fifteen minutes—maybe less—your best friend sooyoung will be right outside the entrance of your apartment complex. you have about five minutes to brush your teeth, do your skincare, and then ten minutes to make yourself look presentable. you have no time for lunch, but who cares about lunch when there’s bigger issues at hand: looking nice in front of a pretty woman for a few minutes.

when you arrive you start to feel quite fatigued just from the lack of breakfast, sleep, and caffeine. not only that, but the elevator is being loaded by everyone working 9-5 or some other variant of hours and you’ve got to add a little pep in your step just to catch it.

you stick your foot in, catching the door before it closes fully, and apologize as you step in. 

no one seems to mind, but you scan around the small space and make eye contact with your elevator woman. sana was her name, if you can remember right, it was the name on her id card. 

you give her an easy smile—barely there but the slight turn of the corner of your lips is enough—before turning around and letting out a huff, still catching your breath.

the way up seems to squeeze you in. you get off before her, but you’d like to exchange a simple good morning. it’s kind of hard to say anything to her when she’s in the corner of the elevator and you stand right in the front. you let out another, smaller, huff. you should’ve slept earlier.

with each floor, more people step out and the chance for you to scoot closer opens up. with each person that steps away, you do your best to shuffle a little closer to the pretty girl in the back. a few more stops go by and you’re five floors away from your stop and four people away from it being just you and sana. 

two more people leave then, leaving four people left in the elevator—including the two of you.

you suck in the corner of your bottom lip and fidget with the tips of your fingers as you stare at yourself in the reflection. your eyes shift over to her, and she’s staring at you too. you look away quickly, fighting the blush that threatens to rise.

as if the day hadn’t started off awful already; you’re sentenced to your floor and sighing as soon as the doors slide open. sana watches you step off, your head turning just barely to the side as a silent way to acknowledge her—or at least that’s what she thinks.

sana is left with two others, though none catch her eye like you do.

she leans her head against the wall and sighs in defeat.

—

sooyoung is late to pick you up the day after, which happens to be a friday, and this means you won’t see sana until next week.

the rest of work goes terribly. your mood is soiled and your motivation to meet deadlines for whatever marketing strategy you’re tasked with is nearly zero. 

…

sana made sure she looked extra nice before heading to the building. she even sprayed an extra spritz of her pricier perfume, only to be consumed by disappointment when you weren’t in the same elevator as her.

just when she thought this was going somewhere.

she groans and sends momo a quick text:

extra shot of espresso in my americano pls

:-(

elevator lady isn’t here

—

“yes, yes,” you fight back a sigh, “i’ve laid out an outline already, i’m just waiting on nayeon and jeongyeon to add their own input.”

your boss gives you a look—eyes narrowing and pursed lips—before giving you an accepting nod. she puts a hand on your shoulder and says, “i’ll be waiting on that email then. have a good weekend y/n.”

the day is finally over once you’ve compiled everything you need to submit an outline for one of your marketing projects. you’re not sure where it’s going since you had only been handed a simple prompt and task, but you could care less because the week is finally over. 

despite your day not being the best, you’ve still got your spirits up because of the events that are planned for tomorrow: dinner at your parents’ house for your mother’s birthday. 

you have a wonderful plan and itinerary for the evening and tomorrow morning that requires a lot of time, care, and effort. even though you’re tired, your shoulders are slightly slumped, and there’s a mild headache that makes you wince every few minutes—you’re willing to push through and bring a smile to your mother’s face.

sooyoung picks you up and takes you back home—though not without hearing you complain about your day and popping one of the spare headache pills she has in her car—which takes about twenty minutes with traffic. you unwind once you’re back at your apartment, throwing your jacket at the couch before sighing and quickly changing into something more comfortable. then, you take a five minute break to lay down on the couch before swiftly getting up and grabbing your tote bag.

your mom’s favorite baked goods are your salted butter rolls and coconut custard buns, which you’re very low on ingredients for, so your first task is to head to the grocery store. the store is three blocks away, so it’s not too much of a hassle to get there. as you walk down the pavement you think about getting a few extra ingredients to make yourself a nice dinner because you deserve it. 

once you head in, it’s pretty busy inside. there are a few lines for each register as people stop by on the way home from work, but it’s not overwhelmingly crowded or anything. you grab a basket and head toward the section for baking ingredients before making your way toward where the butter is. apparently you’re too focused and excited to retrieve your butter that you accidentally bump into someone with your basket.

“i’m sorry,” you apologize quickly.

surprised, beautiful brown eyes meet yours when you turn to see who you’ve run into:

sana.

she stands there taken aback just as much as you are before flashing a friendly smile. the world stops, you stand there like an idiot, and finally smile back.

“hi.” she says, her gaze caressing every part of your face. 

you scan her for a moment and forget how to breathe in the process. it seems like every single stolen glance and accidental eye contact on the elevator led to this exact moment; you and sana meeting while you look like you’re ready for a night in and with her still looking as gorgeous as ever in her work attire.

“hi,” you begin. “i’m y/n.”

she hums, grinning wider. “i see you often in the elevator.”

“me too.” you tell her.

“i didn’t expect to run into you here.” she says.

"me neither."

“do you live nearby?”

“a few blocks down, yes.” you nod. “did you… just get off work?”

“yes. i had to work overtime, unfortunately.”

“aw, sorry to hear.” you say, then break away from her gaze momentarily. “your name is… sana? am i correct? sorry i— i remember seeing it on the id you dropped…”

maybe you’re being too forward. you second-guess yourself and think about how odd it is to memorize a detail like that from such a brief interaction. you pray that you don’t come off as a creep. your eyes widen then—what if she thinks you’re stalking her? the elevator and now outside of the building? 

sana saves you from overthinking it. “you’re right on that. yes, it’s sana.”

“right.” you reply bashfully before deciding that you should probably grab the butter. “sorry, let me just—”

“oh, sorry.”

“it’s fine.” you say as you grab what you need and place it in the basket.

she glances into your basket and takes note of everything inside. sana doesn’t let the conversation die down.

“what are you making?” she asks, eyes still on the basket. you tilt your head before realizing what she’s looking at.

“oh, i’m making bread.” you mumble, “it’s my mom’s birthday tomorrow and i wanted to make some of her favorites.”

“you’re a baker?” sana questions. she starts to step away toward the produce section and you follow her just like she hoped you would’ve. 

“no, no. it’s just a hobby.”

“you must be good if your mom likes it so much.”

“hah, you’re very sweet. i’m nowhere near pastry chef experience though.”

sana laughs and you’re smiling like an even bigger idiot than before.

“maybe… if you’d allow me, i’d love to try some one day.”

your ears perk up and a blush forms on your cheeks at the implication.

“yeah. i wouldn’t mind.”

sana picks up a few apples and puts them in a bag before grabbing a container of berries. you continue to stay by her side while conversing freely, casually, as if it weren’t the first time you two had talked to each other properly.

to think that you spent the last—almost three—months overthinking every single interaction with her made you feel a little stupid, yes, but it also took a large weight off your shoulders. if you could’ve seen into the future, knowing how easy it was to talk to sana, you would’ve spent less time making yourself look extra nice in the mornings.

(not that you didn’t want to, but the effort and time was a it draining for someone you barely knew.)

“hey,” sana says before you two part ways. you’re standing there with a paper bag in your hands and a warmth in your chest just from running into her. “when will i see you again?”

“oh, um,” you think to yourself for a moment before answering, “probably the same days as usual.”

“hm, i see.” sana hums, then puts out her hand. “let me give you my number.”

“i– your number?”

she laughs and you swear you can see a slight flush on her face. “i think you’re insanely cute and i’d like to see you again on the elevator, as well as outside of it—if you’re willing.”

sana’s smiling at you now, waiting for you to unlock your phone and hand her an empty contact but you can’t really move at the moment. she takes out her phone instead and hands it to you, which snaps you out of it. her manicured nail nearly grazes your hand when you grab her phone to type your number in. you pretend to ignore the chill it sends through your body and you call your number to make sure it’s correct before handing the phone back.

“i’d like to see you outside of the elevator too, sana.” 

she’s still smiling when she says, “perfect. and i’m hoping that we’ll reach a point where i’ll get to try your bread.”

you laugh, “i can bring you some on monday?”

“8:30?”

“i’ll wait for you in the lobby.”

she smirks then. “how chivalrous.”

“well,” you begin, squeezing the handle of the paper bag in your hand a bit tighter, “the pretty woman i’ve been eyeing for months now finally talked to me—i think i can handle a little bit more waiting.”

“you’re even cuter by the second.” she admits with a charmed smile. “i’ll see you, y/n. have a good weekend.”

“you too, sana.”

—

—

—

sana types away at her laptop, conjuring up rushed draft for a last-minute article that needs to be reviewed. she reaches over for the cup of coffee on her desk only to remember she finished it half an hour ago.

mina and momo left for lunch a minute ago and sana was supposed to join them, but insisted on finishing up her work first so she wouldn’t have to work overtime. there’s a pout on her face that continues to grow, as well as the crease her brows create as she concentrates hard.

fifteen minutes fly by and sana has four decently written paragraphs done—she tells herself it’s fine if it’s a bit botched because it’s a draft—before she feels a tap on her shoulder.

she continues to type, muttering a, “hold on,” before finishing up another paragraph without turning her head once.

when she’s finally done, she glances behind her and melts at the sight of you.

“y/n,” she says as if you had just descended from the sky. 

“hi.” you greet.

you hand her the small bag in your hands and she tilts her head in confusion. you gesture for her to check what’s inside and she does just that, her eyes widening when she pulls out a warm container.

“y/n, is this—?”

“yes.” you say as she opens up the container to reveal buttered garlic rolls that you finished baking this morning while getting ready. the bread is still warm and the smell relaxes every single muscle in sana’s body. “i know you’ve been stressed since you got the promotion and heavier workload… and it’s been a few months since we started dating, so i wanted to, you know,”

sana stands up and immediately pecks your lips, not minding anyone around her since they’re either gone or too busy still finishing up their work to notice anything. she kisses you on both cheeks before holding one side of your face in her hands, her soft skin resting against your cheek.

“thank you so much.”

“it’s nothing.”

“it’s everything.” she responds, making you giggle.

sana finds you a chair so you can sit next to her before digging in. you watch her physically sink into the seat after the first bite.

“good?”

“y/n,” she starts, still chewing her food. she looks like an adorable hamster looking at you with a sparkle in her eye. “the first day you waited for me in the lobby with bread i knew you were the one for me.”

“yeah?”

“yes.”

“is bread all it takes to win you over?”

“it helped,” she jokes, taking another bite. “but you’re just so, so amazing.”

“i think that’s the bread you consumed talking.”

“no,” she argues back. “it’s my heart. and my heart also says that we should have dinner at my place tonight.”

you laugh again. “whatever you want is fine with me.”

she continues to finish her food, offering you bites as well and feeing you in the process, before saying,

The doorbell rang at exactly 2:00 PM. You were expecting a tutor—someone with a briefcase and maybe a cardigan. But when you pulled open the door, the air in your lungs shifted.

“Hi! You must be Y/N!”

Sana stood there, looking exactly like the photo Mina had sent you, only ten times more lethal in person. Her long black coat was open, revealing a glimpse of a blush pink top and a skirt that seemed to exist only to show off her legs.

“Mina told me all about you,” Sana chirped, stepping inside with a swirl of expensive floral-scented perfume. “She said you’re brilliant but... struggling with your Japanese? I’m Sana!”

“I... yeah. Hi. Come in,” you stammered, closing the door and feeling suddenly very underdressed in your own home.

Sana didn’t wait for a tour. She walked straight to your living room and settled onto the sofa, crossing her legs. She patted the cushion right next to her.

“So,” she began, her eyes scanning your face, lingering a bit too long on your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Mina says you want to move overseas? To Japan? That’s a big dream, Y/N.”

“I’ve always wanted to live there,” you said, sitting down. “I just… the grammar is so hard. And the pronunciation feels impossible.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the grammar yet,” Sana murmured, reaching out and brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers were warm, and she didn’t pull them back immediately. “We’ll start with the phonetics. I want to see how you move your mouth. It’s the most important part of the language, you know?”

She leaned in, her shoulder pressing against yours as she pulled a notebook from her bag. “Did Mina tell you I was a strict teacher? Or a fun one?”

“She just said you were… effective,” you managed to say, your heart doing a slow somersault at the way Sana bit her lip.

“Effective,” Sana repeated, a giggle escaping her. “I like that. I think we’re going to be very effective together, Y/N.”

She had moved closer, “Japanese is a very rhythmic language, Y/N,” Sana murmured, her voice warm. “If you get the vowels wrong, the whole meaning changes. You have to be very precise.”

You nodded, your heart doing a nervous thrum. You were determined to do this right. You weren’t a slacker; you were serious about this move. So, naturally, you did the only logical thing a student would do: you locked your eyes onto her face.

You watched her intently. Not because she told you to, but because you needed to see how her tongue hit the back of her teeth, how her lips rounded or flattened with every syllable.

Sana was demonstrating the basic greetings, and you found yourself transfixed by the way her plush, glossy lips moved. You were so locked in on the shape of her mouth that you barely heard the words. You were tracing the curve of her cupid’s bow in your mind, noting the way her bottom lip looked soft enough to bruise.

Sana noticed.

She didn’t say a word about it. She didn’t call you out. But she leaned in another inch, her eyes darkening. If you wanted to watch her mouth, she was going to give you a show.

As you struggled to repeat a particularly tricky phrase, Sana slowly ran her tongue over her bottom lip, leaving it glistening under the living room lights. She drew out the sounds, her gaze dropping to your own mouth.

“Try again,” she whispered, her voice sounding like honey.

When you stumbled over the pronunciation, Sana just bit her lower lip—hard enough to leave a pale mark—and watched you with hunger. She leaned even closer, the soft fabric of her blush pink blouse brushing against your arm, her fingers tracing the edge of the sofa cushion right next to your thigh.

“I... I should get us some water,” you managed to choke out, the heat suddenly becoming too much to handle. You needed to break the circuit. “Do you want some, Sana-san?”

“Sana-chan.” she corrected and let out a giggle, her eyes sparkling as she watched you scramble off the sofa. “Yes. Water sounds perfect. My throat is getting very dry.”

The cool air of the kitchen was a relief, but your hands were still trembling as you reached for the glasses. You could feel Sana’s gaze on your back.

The sound of the ice hitting the glass was punctuated by the melodic chime of Sana’s phone back in the living room. You heard the sofa cushions shift, and then her voice.

“Moshi moshi?” Sana answered, her voice dropping.

You leaned against the counter while filling the glass. Sana was leaning back, one arm draped over the top of the sofa, her heels digging into your carpet. She wasn’t looking at her phone. She was looking at you.

She let out a low, wicked laugh, her eyes traveling slowly from your head, down your spine, and lingering on the curve of your hips.

“Aa, sou da ne,” she said into the receiver, her voice rising just enough for you to hear over the running water. “Demo, kono ko... sugoku kawaii yo.” (She’s extremely cute, you know)

You froze. You knew that word. Everyone knew Kawaii. Cute.

Sana shifted her legs as she reached out to trace slow circles on the sofa cushion—right where you had been sitting moments ago.

“Hontou ni…” she murmured, “Kisu shitai na. Gaman dekinai kurai, kisu shitai.” (I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her so much I can’t help it)

You didn’t know the grammar, but those syllables hit you like a physical touch.

Kisu. Kiss.

Shitai. Want to.

She wanted to kiss you. She was telling someone on the phone, while looking at you dead in the eye, that she wanted to kiss you so badly she couldn’t stand it.

“Honto, tabechaitai kurai da yo…” (Honestly, I could eat her up) she finished with a final, lingering look that made your skin feel like it was on fire, before snapping her phone shut.

You stood there, the water overflowing the glass and spilling onto your hand, your face burning shade of scarlet. You had to go back out there. You had to sit next to her.

“Y/N-chan?” Sana’s voice drifted in from the living room, sounding perfectly innocent again. “Is the water ready?”

The walk back to the sofa felt like it took a lifetime. You set the glasses down on the coffee table with a shaky clink, your face still red. You tried to keep your eyes on the glass, but Sana was already shifting.

“You look a little overwhelmed, Y/N-chan,” Sana murmured, setting the glass down and leaning in until your shoulders touched. “Maybe the basics are too boring for you? Should we move on to something more expressive?”

“I’m fine,” you managed to choke out, sitting as far back as the sofa would allow. “Just... thirsty.”

Sana giggles, setting her glass down and leaning in. “Good. Because I want to see how much you’ve actually learned today. Let’s do a little comprehension test.”

She didn’t open the notebook. She reached out and traced a slow, deliberate circle on your thigh.

“I'm going to say a few things in Japanese,” she whispered. “Don’t worry about the grammar. Just tell me... how it makes you feel.”

She leaned in closer, her breath hot against your skin. “Kimi no koto, hontou ni daki-shimetai. Kono ato, beddo de nani shiyou ka?” (I really want to hold you. What should we do in bed later?)

You stared at her, your brain a complete and total question mark. “I... I have no idea what you just said. Was that about food?”

Sana burst out laughing, a bright sound that made her shoulders shake. “Food? Not even close.”

“Let’s try again,” she cooed, her hand sliding an inch higher on your thigh, her fingers curling slightly. “Ima, kimochi ii? Motto... hageshiku shite hoshii?” (Does it feel good right now? Do you want me to... do it more intensely?)

Your heart stopped. You didn’t know the whole sentence, but there was one specific, jagged word—the one that always preceded a total breakdown in those videos.

“Kimochi…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I know that one. It means... it feels good, right?”

Sana froze for a split second, a flash of surprise crossing her face. She leaned in until her lips were grazing your earlobe, her hand finally sliding fully under the fabric of your shorts, her palm molding to your heat.

“Oh?” she rasped, her voice a low, dangerous velvet. “And where exactly did my student learn a word like that? Was that in the travel brochure, Y/N?”

She didn’t wait for your stuttered excuse. Her hand, already warm against your thigh, began to move with a slow, agonizing deliberation. She leaned in, her lips finding the sensitive cord of your neck, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses that made your head tilt back instinctively.

Sana kept mumbling words you didn’t understand but felt in the pit of your stomach.

“Kore wa?” she murmured, her breath hot against your throat as her fingers grazed the very edge of your panties. “Kore mo, kimochi ii n desu ka?” (Is this? Does this also feel good?)

You couldn’t answer. Your hands flew to her shoulders, your fingers digging into the soft fabric of her blouse as you tried to ground yourself. You let out a broken, needy sound—a jagged gasp that was the only language you had left.

Sana let out a low, predatory hum at the sound. “That’s it, Y/N. Give me more of that.”

She didn’t stop. With one smooth, practiced motion, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them down just enough—just enough to get the access she wanted, pinning you against the sofa cushions with the weight of her gaze.

“Hora, mite…” she whispered, her voice a wrecked, airy rasp as she looked down at what she’d uncovered. "Sugoku nureteru n janai. Hontou ni, hageshiku shite hoshii no ne?" (Look… you’re so wet, aren’t you? You really want me to do it roughly, don’t you?)

She slid two fingers inside you in one smooth motion, the sudden stretch making you cry out her name. Sana didn’t go slow; she started at a relentless pace.

“Sana.. ahh fuck!” you sobbed, your vision blurring.

Sana didn’t let up. Her fingers were a relentless blur inside you, driving into your heat with a speed that made your breath come in short hitches. You were a mess of broken Japanese and desperate gasps, your fingers digging into her sleeves as you arched off the sofa cushions, trying to meet her pace.

“Motto... hageshiku…” (More... roughly...) you sobbed, the words you’d learned from those late night videos finally falling from your lips in a needy plea.

Sana let out a growl at the sound of you finally using the words she taught you. She leaned in, her teeth nipping at the sensitive skin of your shoulder, before her gaze drifted to the glass on the coffee table.

“You’re so hot, Y/N,” she reached out and grabbed the glass. You watched, dazed and trembling, as she used her tongue to fish out a single, jagged cube of ice. She held it between her mouth.

She leaned back over you, her free hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back.

“Open,” she commanded through the chill.

When you obeyed, she pressed her mouth to yours. She pushed the cube into your mouth, her lips sealing over yours to catch the meltwater as it trickled down.

“Tsumetai?” (Is it cold?) she whispered against your lips as she pulled back, watching you shiver. She didn’t wait for an answer. While you were still reeling from the freezing sensation in your mouth, Sana redoubled her efforts below. She curled her fingers deep inside you, hitting that specific, sensitive spot with a sudden, heavy pressure that made your eyes roll back.

The contrast was too much—the freezing ice melting against your tongue while a literal wildfire was starting between your thighs.

Sana was taking her precious time now, pulling her fingers nearly all the way out just to trace slow, agonizing circles around your opening with her damp fingertips before plunging back in.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The chime of Sana’s phone cut through your hazy consciousness. You expected her to ignore it, but she reached for her phone on the coffee table. She didn’t even check the caller ID before sliding it open and pressing it to her ear, all while her other hand redoubled its pace inside you.

“Moshi moshi, Mina-chan?” Sana chirped, her voice sounding maddeningly casual, even as her knuckles grazed deep inside you.

“Sana? Is the tutoring session actually happening?” Mina’s voice was soft but clear in the quiet room. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. What is that sound? Are you with a hook-up? Sana! Tell me you’re actually at Y/N’s!”

You let out a loud, broken moan as Sana’s thumb rubbed your clit, her fingers curling. The sound was unmistakable.

“Oh, Y/N?” Sana murmured into the phone, her eyes locked on your glazed ones as she watched you unravel. “She’s right here, Mina-chan. She’s just having a very difficult time with her oral exercises. The pronunciation is making her quite breathless, isn’t it, Y/N?”

“If you’re with someone, hang up!” Mina huffed, sounding both annoyed and suspicious.

You were beyond caring about Mina; your hands were frantic, reaching up to fumble with the delicate ties of Sana’s blouse. You needed the fabric gone. You needed her skin against yours.

“Ah-ah,” Sana scolded softly, pulling the phone away from her lips for a split second but not hanging up. “Don’t be a brat, Y/N. A good student doesn’t ruin the teacher’s clothes just because she’s losing her mind.”

Mina was still talking, but Sana was too focused on your needy body to really listen. “She’s definitely learning something,” she muttered into the phone.

You whimpered, grinding desperately against her hand, barely able to process that Mina could literally hear everything.

“Mina-chan? Sorry, Y/N is being very demanding right now. I’ll call you back later~” Sana tossed the phone aside without caring where it landed, her full attention finally on you. “Where were we?”

Your hips were moving on their own, a frantic, stuttering rhythm as you tried to keep that feeling alive.

“Oh?” Sana murmured, she felt the way you were chasing her hand, your body doing all the heavy lifting while she simply watched you with hunger. “You don’t even need me to move, do you? You’re doing all the work yourself, Y/N.”

She curled her fingers one last time before pulling her hand completely away.

The void she left was agonizing. You let out a broken, needy whine, your hands reaching out to grab her wrists, but Sana was already shifting. She sat up straight as she gave her thigh a pat.

“Since you’re so eager to move,” she whispered, her eyes locked on yours. “Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate. You crawled forward, your knees dragging across the sofa cushions until you were straddling her right leg, your wet pussy meeting her bare skin.

Sana’s hands coming up to your waist—not to hold you, but to guide the pace. As you began to grind against her thigh, seeking the heat, she reached for the hem of your top. In one swift, effortless motion, she pulled it over your head and tossed it into the pile with her phone.

Sana breathed, her eyes traveling over your exposed skin with a look of pure possession.

She reached for the delicate ties of her own blouse. You watched, transfixed, as she slowly undid them, the silk falling open to reveal her shoulders and the lace of her bra. You reached out, your fingers fumbling to help her, your skin finally meeting hers as she pulled you flush against her chest.

The moment your bare skin collided with hers, your mouth finding hers in a frantic, sloppy mess of teeth and flavored gloss. It was desperate and uncoordinated, your tongues tangling with a raw hunger.

Sana let out a low, muffled groan into the kiss, her hands moving from your waist to your back, pulling you so flush against her that you could feel every rhythmic thud of her heart.

You were grinding against her thigh like your life depended on it. You were completely undone, your fingers digging into the soft skin of her shoulders, clinging to her as the only solid thing in a world that was spinning out of control.

Sana didn’t stop you. She didn’t even try to take over. She pulled back from the kiss just enough to watch you. Her eyes were heavy-lidded—like she was watching a particularly entertaining show on TV.

“So loud. So greedy. Is this what you wanted to learn, Y/N?” she rasped, her voice wrecked.

While you were lost in the haze of the friction, Sana’s fingers moved with a ghost-like precision. You didn’t even feel her reach for the clasp of your bra. One moment you were constricted, and the next, the tension snapped. The lace fell away, and Sana’s cool palms immediately moved up to cup your tits, her thumbs grazing your nipples that made your back arch.

“So sensitive…” she whispered, her thumbs circling your nipples almost mockingly slow compared to the desperate speed of your hips grinding against her thigh. “You’re riding my thigh like a puppy in heat. Does it feel good? Rubbing that desperate clit all over my thigh?”

Your hips stilled for only a second, mortified by the brutal accuracy of her words—riding her thigh like a puppy in heat. That’s exactly what you were doing. You were so lost in the sensation, so embarrassingly desperate to finish, that you didn’t even care anymore.

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice raw and wrecked. “It... it feels so good…”

“Is that so?” she purred, her voice a low, dangerous velvet. “Then don’t stop now, baby. If it feels so good, tell me why. Tell me what you’ve been thinking about since I walked through that door.”

You didn’t just tell her; you unraveled. Every filtered thought, every observation you’d tried to hide behind the notebook came spilling out.

“You’re so... pretty, Sana,” you sobbed, your hips resuming that frantic, unhinged grind against her bare thigh. “I couldn’t even look at the book. All I could see were your lips... I wanted to see how they’d look bruised. I wanted to see you look at me like this.”

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you gasped, your fingers digging into her shoulders. “The way you look on your blouse... the way you smell... I wanted to rip it off the second you sat down. I wanted to be your little puppy. I wanted you to ruin me.”

“Y/N…”

“You’re the hottest woman I’ve ever seen,” you continued. “I don’t care about the Japanese lessons. I just want to feel you. I want your fingers back inside me. I want to taste you. Please... Sana, please.”

Her eyes darkened with lust as you poured out your filthy thoughts. Without a word, she slipped her fingers back inside you. You cried out, hips jerking violently against her hand.

She fucked you mercilessly with her fingers. You were so wet that her fingers slipped in and out with ease, making wet, squelching noises that only seemed to drive her on. “Keep talking, baby.”

Your breath hitched as she curled her fingers, hitting your g-spot with perfect precision. “I-I’m… you’re going to make me squirt,” you whimpered, your hips bucking against her hand. “I want to soak your pretty fingers, Sana.”

Her eyes flashed with dirty images at your request. She immediately changed the angle of her fingers to hit harder and deeper. Your body shuddered, your pussy making wet, sloshing noises that told her exactly how horny you were. “Like this?”

“Mmm... yes!” you cried out, your legs trembling as she fucked you relentlessly. Your orgasm builds quickly, the pressure in your core growing intense. “I’m gonna... I’m gonna fucking—hngh, Sana…” You panted desperately.

At your desperate plea, she pressed her fingers deeper. Your pussy spasmed violently, gushing all over her hand like a broken faucet. You screamed, your body convulsing as you squirted everywhere, soaking the couch and her hand.

She kept fucking you through your orgasm, making you squirt over and over until you were a sobbing, twitching mess. Once you finally stopped squirting, she slowly pulled her fingers out, bringing them to her mouth to suck off your juices. “Mmm... you taste so good, baby.”

She pulled you close, letting you collapse against her chest. Her soft hands stroked your hair gently as you trembled through the aftershocks. She pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

She felt you shiver against her, your muscles still too wobbly to even consider sitting up. With a soft giggle, Sana shifted slightly, her arm tightening around your waist to keep you from sliding off as she reached toward the coffee table. Her fingers snagged the box of tissues.

“Stay still, baby,” she whispers.

She began to wipe you up that felt maddeningly intimate. Every gentle swipe of the tissue against your sensitive, aching pussy made your breath hitch, your fingers digging onto her arms for support. You were so far gone, so completely drained, that you just let her do it, your head lolling against her shoulder.

“I... I think I need a minute,” you managed to choke out, your voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. “My legs... they won’t work.”

You didn’t plan on becoming an actress.

It wasn’t some childhood dream tucked between storybooks and daydreams. No grand ‘I want to be on screen’ moment. No mirror rehearsals. No imaginary award speeches.

It just happened.

A friend dragged you to an audition. You almost didn’t go. You shouldn’t have gone—you had classes, responsibilities, a life that made sense in its own quiet way.

But you went anyway.

And somehow, out of dozens—hundreds—you got a callback.

Then another.

Then another.

Until one day, you were sitting in a room that smelled faintly of coffee and paper, staring at a script with your name printed on the front like it belonged there.

It didn’t feel real.

Even now, it still didn’t.

The project was big.

Bigger than anything you could’ve imagined stumbling into.

A GL series. High budget. Heavy promotion. The kind of show people would dissect frame by frame the moment it aired.

And then there was your co-star.

Minatozaki Sana.

You knew her, of course.

Everyone did.

Even before stepping into the industry, her name existed everywhere—interviews, dramas, brand deals.

Talented. Experienced. Effortless.

The first day on set wasn’t filming.

It was the table read.

You got there early. Too early.

The room was still half-empty, staff moving around, setting up scripts and water bottles like a ritual you didn’t quite understand yet.

You picked a seat. Not too close to the center. Not too far either.

Your fingers tapped nervously against the script.

You hadn’t even opened it yet.

People started arriving in clusters.

They greeted each other like old friends, laughter spilling easily, conversations overlapping like waves.

You stayed quiet.

Tried to memorize names, faces, dynamics—like studying for a test you didn’t know how to pass.

And then the room shifted.

Minatozaki Sana had arrived.

Just a simple “Hi” to the room, a small bow of her head as she greeted people one by one, her voice easy—like she belonged everywhere at once.

She smiled at people like she remembered them.

Maybe she did.

“Hi,” she said.

You looked up. Too fast.

Sana was already there, standing just beside your chair, her smile softer up close.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked.

You shook your head.

“No.”

Brilliant. One word. Incredible.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding into the seat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Of course she sat next to you.

You became very aware of everything all at once—the slight shift of the chair, the faint brush of fabric as she settled in, the way the space beside you didn’t feel like empty space anymore.

For a split second, her eyes flickered toward you.

“First project?” she asked quietly, glancing at the script in your hands.

You nodded, a little too quickly.

“Yeah.”

She hummed softly, like she expected that answer. “You’ll be fine.”

The director called everyone to settle.

Scripts opened almost in sync, pages flipping like a coordinated sound effect.

The reading started.

At first, your voice felt foreign.

Like you were borrowing someone else’s tone, someone else’s confidence. Every line you delivered sat on the edge of almost right.

But the more it went on, the easier it became to sink into the character.

To forget, just a little, that this wasn’t you.

And then came her lines.

Sana’s.

She didn’t read them.

She lived them.

Every word landed exactly where it needed to, soft or sharp or teasing, like she understood the character in a way you were still trying to catch up to.

It was intimidating.

Because when she spoke to you—to your character—it felt easier to respond.

Like she was pulling you into the scene without forcing it.

You almost forgot where you were.

Scene 17. A kiss.

Your stomach dropped.

Close-up.

You kept reading.

Because you had to.

Your next lines came out a fraction delayed, your focus split between staying in character and the sudden, loud realization sitting in your chest.

You were going to have to do that.

With her.

When the reading ended, people relaxed almost instantly.

Chairs scraped, conversations sparked back to life, the tension dissolving like it had never been there.

But yours didn’t.

You stared at the script for a moment longer before closing it.

You stood up and made your way toward the director.

“Director,” you started, trying to keep your voice steady, “about Scene 17…”

They looked up immediately, attention sharp in a way that made it clear they’d had this conversation before—with other actors, other projects, other versions of the same hesitation.

“Yes?”

You shifted your weight, fingers curling slightly around the edge of your script.

“I was wondering if we could… adjust it? Maybe rely more on camera angles or cuts instead of—”

“The kiss?” they finished for you.

You nodded.

They didn’t answer right away. Instead, they leaned back slightly, studying you.

“It’s an important scene,” they said finally. “It sets the tone for their relationship moving forward. If we soften it too much, it loses impact.”

“I understand,” you replied quickly. “I just—I don’t have much experience with… that kind of scene.”

That felt like the safest way to say it.

Not I don’t know how to kiss.

Just… lack of experience.

The director hummed, considering.

“Then you should practice.”

“I—”

Before you could find a response—

“Sana!”

Oh no.

You didn’t turn around immediately.

Because if you didn’t look, maybe this wasn’t happening.

“Yes, Director?” she said, stopping beside you.

The director gestured between the two of you like this was the most natural solution in the world.

“We were just talking about Scene 17. There’s some hesitation.”

You wished the floor would open up.

Sana glanced at you.

“Ah,” she said softly, like she understood more than what was being said out loud.

“This is her first time doing a scene like that,” the director added.

You really wished the floor would open up.

“We can work on it,” she said.

Just like that.

No hesitation. No weirdness.

You blinked. “Work on it?”

“A workshop,” she clarified. “Just the two of us. Go over the scene, figure out what feels natural.”

“Only if you’re comfortable,” she added quickly, and that part—that part—felt real.

You looked back at the director, who seemed more than satisfied with this solution.

“This would help the performance a lot,” they said.

Of course it would. Of course.

Your options lined up in your head, one by one.

“…Okay,” you heard yourself say.

The word landed before you could rethink it.

Sana’s smile softened, “Alright,” she said. “We’ll keep it simple.”

“Exchange numbers,” the director said, already moving on mentally. “Work out a schedule that suits you both.”

Your hands felt weirdly uncoordinated as you pulled out your phone.

Sana did the same, stepping a little closer so you could see her screen.

Her name appeared as she typed it in.

Sana.

No extra flair. No nickname.

“I’ll text you,” she said.

You nodded.

“Don’t stress too much about it,” she said gently. “We’ll take it step by step.”

She gave you one last small smile before stepping away, getting pulled into another conversation like nothing unusual had just been arranged.

Like this wasn’t about to become the most nerve-wracking part of your week.

When you got home, your phone buzzed.

A new message.

Sana: Hi! It’s Sana :)

Send me your availability when you can

You didn’t reply immediately.

Not because you were busy.

Not because you didn’t know what to say.

But because suddenly, every possible response felt like it would define something.

Which was ridiculous.

You unlocked it.

Opened the chat.

Read it again.

Hi! It’s Sana :)

Send me your availability when you can.

You typed.

Hi! This is—Deleted it.

She knew who you were. Obviously.

You tried again.

Hi Sana! I’m free—Deleted.

Too eager?

You stared at the blinking cursor like it was judging you.

Five minutes passed. Then ten.

At this point, not replying felt weirder than replying.

Sent.

Y/N: Hi! I’m free most afternoons this week. Let me know what works for you

You immediately regretted it.

Too plain. Too formal. Too—

Your phone buzzed.

Too late.

Sana: I thought you’d take longer to reply

What did that mean.

Was she—No.

You typed back slower this time.

Y/N: I was thinking about it

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Came back.

Left again.

Sana: I’m free tomorrow evening

Or the day after, a bit earlier

You leaned back against your bed, staring at the ceiling for a second before looking at your phone again.

Tomorrow. That felt… soon. Too soon? Or better to just get it over with?

Y/N: Tomorrow works

Sana: Okay :)

I’ll send you the address

See you tomorrow

And just like that, the conversation ended.

But the feeling didn’t end with it.

The building itself already made you feel out of place.

Glass, steel, and quiet luxury that didn’t need to announce itself. The kind of place where even the air conditioning felt expensive.

You checked your phone.

The address matched.

You lingered in the lobby for a moment, pretending to reread her message.

Unit 2104. Just ring when you’re here :)

You made your way up anyway.

The hallway was quiet.

Soft carpet under your shoes, dim lighting, doors spaced just far enough apart to make everything feel private.

You found her unit.

Stood there. Stared at it.

This is stupid, you told yourself. It’s just practice. Just work.

You pressed the doorbell.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Loose shirt, soft fabric that moved when she did. Hair slightly tousled like she hadn’t bothered styling it for anyone.

You forgot your rehearsed greeting.

“Y/N!” she said, smiling like you hadn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes mentally spiraling outside her door.

“Hi,” you managed.

She stepped aside. “Come in.”

Her place was exactly what you expected.

Clean lines. Warm lighting. A space that felt lived in, not staged. There were small details—books, a half-forgotten mug on the counter.

You hovered near the entrance for half a second too long.

“Shoes are fine,” she added casually, noticing.

You stepped in, the door closing softly behind you.

“Do you want anything?” she asked, already heading toward the kitchen. “Water, tea, juice…”

“Wine?”

You almost laughed.

“Water’s okay.”

She nodded, grabbing a glass and filling it without another word.

You watched her for a second before catching yourself.

“Here,” she said, handing it to you.

Your fingers brushed briefly.

“Thanks.”

You took a small sip, mostly to give yourself something to do.

“Sit wherever you’re comfortable,” she said, gesturing toward the living area.

Sana joined you a moment later, not too close—but not far either.

For a second, neither of you spoke.

She broke it.

“So,” she started, turning slightly toward you, “how are you feeling about everything?”

You huffed out a quiet breath. “Nervous.”

She smiled faintly. “I figured.”

“I’ve never really…” you trailed off, gesturing vaguely. “Done something like this before.”

Sana nodded slowly, like she was piecing together exactly where you were at without needing the full sentence.

“That’s okay,” she said. “We’re not rushing into anything.”

“This is still work,” she continued, her tone shifting slightly—more grounded now. “It might feel personal, but it’s about the characters. Their connection.”

You listened. Really listened.

“I’ll guide you,” she added.

“Before we start,” she said, “I just need to know your boundaries.”

“Like—what you’re comfortable with, what you’re not,” she clarified. “We set that first.”

You nodded slowly, thinking.

“I think I’m okay with… the scene as it is,” you said. “I just don’t want to mess it up.”

“You won’t,” she replied immediately.

“Ready?” she asked.

Your grip tightened slightly around the glass in your hands. You set it down on the table.

“Yeah.”

You weren’t.

“Relax your shoulders,” she murmured, voice softer now.

You hadn’t even realized they were tense.

Her hand lifted and paused just short of your face. Like she was giving you one last chance to pull back.

Her fingers brushed lightly against your chin, tilting your face just enough.

“Just follow me,” she said quietly.

She leaned in.

A brief press of her lips against yours, so light it almost felt like a question instead of an action.

It lasted barely a second.

Your brain lagged behind your body, trying to catch up with what just happened.

“That’s a peck,” she explained gently, like nothing about that moment had just rearranged your entire sense of awareness.

“It’s usually how scenes start—testing the distance, the reaction.”

You nodded.

“Again,” she said.

But when her lips met yours again, she lingered just a fraction longer.

“And when I stay a bit longer,” she murmured as she pulled back, “you don’t freeze.”

“You respond,” she continued, her eyes flicking briefly to your lips before meeting your gaze again.

“Even if it’s small. Even if you’re unsure.”

Your throat felt dry. You nodded again.

“Okay,” she said. “Try to follow me this time.”

Your heart picked the worst possible moment to be loud.

She leaned in again.

When her lips met yours this time, you tried not to go still.

Tried to remember what she said. Respond. So you did.

“Good,” she whispered.

And then she closed the distance again.

The kiss deepened.

Not suddenly. Gradually.

Like she was guiding you through it without breaking the moment to explain.

Your hand moved before you could stop it.

Gripping the nearest thing—the couch pillow.

Sana noticed because you felt it—the faint curve of a smile against your lips.

Your thoughts blurred, replaced by the simple effort of keeping up—matching the way she moved, the rhythm she set.

When she finally pulled away, it wasn’t abrupt.

Your breathing gave you away first.

Uneven. Too quick.

Sana’s gaze softened slightly. “Breathe,” she said quietly.

You inhaled, trying to steady yourself, but your pulse was still racing in a way that felt impossible to hide.

“That’s normal,” she added.

“We should try different positions.”

Your brain stopped working.

“For the scene,” she clarified, but there was the slightest hint of amusement in her tone now.

You swallowed. “Right.”

She shifted slightly on the couch, turning toward you more fully now.

“Sometimes,” she said, “the dynamic changes depending on positioning. It affects how the scene feels.”

You nodded, even if your brain was still catching up.

“For this specific beat,” she began, “The director wants a sense of… desperation. Not just a kiss, but a need to be close.”

Her gaze flickered over you briefly before settling again. “It would look more authentic if you were on my lap. The height difference, the way you’d have to look down at me—it adds a layer of vulnerability.”

A small pause. “Are you okay with that?”

Your pulse hitched. “On your lap?”

“Just for positioning,” she said.

You swallowed.

“Okay… if you think it works better.”

Sana didn’t move.

She waited.

For you.

You shifted carefully, the fabric of the couch creasing under your weight as you moved closer, then over her.

You became aware of everything all at once.

The steady way her hands found your waist, grounding you. The faint trace of her scent—soft, expensive.

“I’m going to take this a step further now,” she murmured.

You looked down at her.

“The script calls for a lack of composure,” she continued quietly. “Try to match my pace this time.”

“And… is it okay if my hands move a little more? For the scene.”

Your breath caught before you could stop it. “Oh—okay. Yeah.”

“Good.”

When her lips met yours this time, there was no hesitation.

Her mouth opened against yours, her tongue tracing the seam of your lips with a confidence that made your knees weak even while you were sitting.

You didn’t have time to think.

Your mouth opened for her.

The first touch of her tongue against yours felt like an electric current.

It was deep. Desperate.

The kind of kiss that felt like it was trying to steal the air right out of your lungs.

You tried to match her.

Tried to move with her, but Sana was the one setting the rhythm, her movements fluid and demanding.

Then, her hands moved.

They didn’t just rest on your waist anymore.

One hand slid up, fingers splaying wide across your back, pulling you down, forcing your chest flush against hers.

The other hand dropped.

Her fingers dug into the meat of your thigh, a firm squeeze that made a small, broken sound catch in the back of your throat.

She swallowed the noise.

You felt her other hand leave your back, her fingers sliding up the nape of your neck to find your hair.

She guided you.

Tilted your head just a fraction more to deepen it.

You reached out. Your fingers curling into the soft fabric of her shirt at her shoulders, pulling her closer because the space between you felt like an insult.

You moved.

Without thinking. Without permission.

A slow, subconscious shift of your hips against hers, seeking more of that friction, more of that solid weight beneath you.

Sana noticed.

She broke the kiss for a heartbeat—just an inch of space.

Her lips brushed against yours as she spoke, her voice a low, rough thread of sound.

“Like that,” she whispered.

She was smirking.

You could feel the curve of it against your skin before she dove back in, more intense than before.

Her hand on your thigh moved higher, squeezing, guiding you closer to her as the room—and the script—disappeared completely.

The air in the Twice dorm was thick and syrupy with the lethargy of a rare, unscheduled afternoon. A late-autumn sun, weak and golden, slanted through the living room windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air. The low hum of the refrigerator was the only sound, a constant, droning counterpoint to the occasional soft tap of a phone screen or the rustle of snack packaging. On the large sofa, Momo was curled into a ball, dead to the world, her soft snores a gentle rhythm. Across the room, Nayeon and Jihyo were hunched over a shared iPad, their heads close together as they debated something with fierce, whispered intensity, probably an online shopping cart.

Sana lay sprawled on her stomach on the plush carpet, a floor cushion propped under her elbows. She was clad in a simple grey sweatshirt and a pair of black shorts, her long, dark hair fanned out around her head like a halo. She was aimlessly scrolling through her Instagram, a bottomless pit of curated perfection and chaotic fan comments. It was a familiar ritual, a way to pass the time, to touch base with the universe that adored her. Most of it was a blur: hearts, emojis, declarations of love in a dozen languages. It was pleasant, background noise.

Then, a comment snagged her attention, a single thread of silver in a haystack of cotton.

It wasn't the usual "Sana unnie is so pretty!" or "QUEEN!" It was different. It was on a recent candid photo, one their manager had posted from the lounge of their music show prep room. In the picture, she was leaning forward, laughing at something Dahyun had said, the neckline of her sweater dipping just so. The comment read:

There is a geometry to your grace, a perfect, sloping equation that culminates in a apex of pure beauty. The gentle swell is not just form, but a poem written in flesh, a verse that makes the heart stutter and the breath catch in the throat.

A warmth bloomed in Sana’s chest, a slow, creeping heat that had nothing to do with the afternoon sun. It was… poetic. Intensely specific. And undeniably arousing. She felt a faint blush creep up her neck. Who wrote this? Her eyes darted to the username: @SanaMelonMaestro.

A giggle almost escaped her. Melon Maestro? It was so absurd, so delightfully weird. Curiosity piqued, she tapped on the profile. The profile picture was what made her breath hitch. It was a high-quality fan-taken photo from one of their concerts. It wasn’t her face, or a full-body shot. It was a close-up, a slightly low-angle capture of her in one of their more daring stage outfits, the black fabric straining, the spotlight glinting off the sweat on her skin, artfully highlighting her cleavage. It was a stunningly intimate, almost reverent shot.

Before she could second-guess the impulse, her thumb tapped the ‘Posts’ tab.

The screen filled with a grid of images, and Sana’s brain short-circuited. Every single post, a mosaic of thumbnails, was the same. Hundreds of them. All her. But only one part of her. Close-ups from music video shoots. Zoomed-in frames from concert VCRs. Paparazzi-style snapshots from airport arrivals where she’d worn a low-cut top. Fan-cams that didn’t follow her dancing, but stayed locked on her chest, tracking its every movement as she breathed and performed. The captions were just as verbose and worshipful as the one she’d first read, detailed analyses of outfits, lighting, and the way different fabrics draped across her form.

She scrolled down, and down, and down. The numbers at the top of the profile burned into her retinas: 729 Posts. 78.4k Followers.

A small, strangled yelp escaped her lips. She fumbled the phone, it almost slipping from her grasp before she clutched it to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Her face felt like it was on fire.

“What was that?” Nayeon’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and curious. “You okay, Sana-yah?”

Sana scrambled to sit up, shoving her phone face down onto the carpet as if it were a venomous snake. “N-nothing!” she stammered, her voice an octave too high. “Just… just saw a scary Instagram reel. A zombie, or something.”

Jihyo looked over, a skeptical arch to her brow. “A zombie? You screamed like you saw a spider.”

“A very, very realistic zombie!” Sana insisted, waving a hand dismissively, her blush betraying her. She could feel their eyes on her, and she desperately wanted the floor to swallow her whole. “I’m fine, really. Just… jumpy.”

Momo stirred on the sofa, muttering something about cheese in her sleep before settling again. Nayeon and Jihyo exchanged a look but mercifully turned back to their iPad, losing interest. Sana let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding and collapsed back onto the cushion, her mind racing.

729 posts. The number echoed in her head. All dedicated to her breasts. It was objectifying, invasive, and more than a little creepy. And yet… that first comment. The poetry. The sheer, unadulterated dedication. This wasn't just some horny teenager. This was a connoisseur. A Maestro. The absurdity of it made her want to laugh, but a darker, more thrilling thought was taking root.

That evening, after a quiet dinner and a half-hearted attempt at watching a movie together, Sana excused herself and retreated to the sanctity of her bedroom. She locked the door, the soft click a finality that made her pulse quicken. She sat on the edge of her bed, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow around her. She picked up her phone, her fingers trembling slightly.

She found her way back to @SanaMelonMaestro. This time, she didn’t just scroll. She dove in. She watched a fan-cam from their Tokyo Dome concert, the camera impossibly steady, its focus absolute as she performed a particularly vigorous dance routine. She read a caption praising the way a specific silk blouse from a photoshoot created a "shadowed valley of profound intrigue." She saw posts from their world tour, evidence that this person—this fan—had traveled from Seoul to Paris to New York, all for the sake of capturing these specific, fleeting moments.

The initial shock began to morph into something else. A strange, potent mix of flattery and power. JYP Entertainment’s security team would have a field day with this. A phone call, a report, and the account would likely be gone in a heartbeat. It was the logical, safe, correct thing to do.

But the thought felt… wrong. This was worship. Twisted, obsessive, and utterly singular, but worship nonetheless. He hadn't just noticed her; he had devoted himself to a part of her that she was sometimes self-conscious of, sometimes proud of, but always aware of. He had spent countless hours and who knew how much money to build this shrine. To simply delete it felt like… a waste. An insult to the sheer passion of the enterprise.

A wicked, thrilling idea began to unfurl in her mind, dangerous and intoxicating. Why should he get his reward only through a screen? Why should he be limited to pixels and captions? He had put in the work. He had curated the ultimate collection. Didn't he deserve to see the art up close? To experience it in the flesh?

A slow, sly smile spread across Sana’s face. Her fanmeets were controlled, chaotic blurs of a hundred faces and fleeting handshakes. This would be different. This would be a one-on-one. A private viewing. A secret, sacred ceremony.

She opened her verified Instagram account. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, crafting a message that was both a test and an invitation.

@SanaMelonMaestro, she typed. I must say, I’m impressed with your… collection. You have a truly discerning eye. It seems you appreciate fine art. I’d be interested in offering you a private showing. A chance to see the masterpiece in person. Let me know if you’re interested.

She hit send before she could lose her nerve. Her heart was pounding, a wild drumbeat of adrenaline and arousal. A minute passed. Then five. Just as she was starting to think it was a ridiculous, impulsive mistake, her phone buzzed.

A new message from @SanaMelonMaestro.

It was a torrent of text. disbelief. frantic questions. A desperate, pleading ‘YES. YES. OF COURSE. I AM INTERESTED MORE THAN ANYTHING.’

Sana’s smile widened. It was working. She was in control. For the next hour, they messaged back and forth. She, cool and commanding, laid out the terms. A discreet, high-end hotel. A neutral-sounding room number. A specific time. He was to tell no one. Come alone. No cameras. No phones. This was not a fanmeet to be documented. It was a memory to be earned.

He agreed to everything, his devotion pouring through the screen in a torrent of grateful, ecstatic capital letters. Sana finally put her phone down, a deep, satisfied sigh escaping her lips. The boring afternoon had vanished, replaced by the electric thrill of a conspiracy. She was no longer just an idol on a screen. She was the curator, and tomorrow, she was going to deliver her most devoted patron the ultimate reward. The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine, a promise of the exciting, dangerous indulgence to come.

* * *

The next afternoon felt surreal. Sana moved through her pre-meet ritual with a strange, detached calm, as if she were watching someone else. She told her manager she was meeting an old friend for a private coffee, a lie that slid off her tongue with practiced ease. Dressed in a chic, cream-colored trench coat over a simple, form-fitting black turtleneck dress and heeled boots, she looked like she was stepping off the cover of a fashion magazine, not en route to a clandestine encounter. The scent of her favorite Jo Malone perfume, a delicate blend of wood sage and sea salt, clung to her skin, a fragrant armor.

The hotel was one of those exclusive, modernist towers in Gangnam, known for its discretion and breathtaking views. She bypassed the main lobby, using a private side entrance as instructed, the sleek keycard feeling cool and heavy in her hand. The elevator ride to the 37th floor was silent, her reflection in the polished chrome doors a composed, beautiful stranger. A knot of anticipation tightened in her stomach, a thrilling mix of fear and arousal.

The suite was just as she’d imagined: understated luxury. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the sprawling city. The furniture was minimalist and expensive, the air conditioned to a perfect temperature. She shrugged off her trench coat, draping it over a plush armchair, and took a moment to steady herself. She was Sana of Twice. A global superstar. And in this room, for the next few hours, she was simply the object of one man’s singular, obsessive desire. The power was intoxicating.

At precisely 4:00 PM, a soft, hesitant knock echoed through the suite.

Her heart gave a lurch. Showtime.

She took a deep breath, smoothing down her dress, and walked to the door. She didn't look through the peephole. She wanted the raw, unfiltered reveal. She turned the handle and pulled the door open.

He stood there, exactly as his online persona suggested: a man in his mid-twenties, with a slightly rumpled but earnest look. He was taller than she expected, with a lean, athletic build that hinted at regular gym sessions. He had kind eyes, currently wide with a mixture of shock and utter disbelief, and soft brown hair that was neatly styled. He clutched a leather jacket in his hands like a security blanket. He was, Sana noted with a private, satisfied smile, objectively handsome. This was going to be more fun than she’d anticipated.

“Alex?” she said, her voice a low, melodic purr.

He could only manage a shaky nod, his mouth slightly agape as he took her in. “S-sana…ssi…” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I… you’re real.”

Sana laughed, a light, musical sound that seemed to break his trance. She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. “I am. Please, come in.”

He shuffled into the room, his movements awkward, his eyes scanning every detail before snapping back to her as if afraid she might vanish. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound sealing them in their private world.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she offered, moving toward the small, well-stocked bar. “Water? Or something stronger?”

“Water is fine, thank you,” he managed, his gaze fixed on her.

She poured two glasses from a crystal carafe, handing one to him. Their fingers brushed, and she felt a jolt from him, a visible tremor. He took a quick, nervous gulp.

She settled onto one of the velvet armchairs, crossing her legs slowly. The black dress rode up just a fraction, drawing his eyes. She let him look, enjoying the effect she had on him.

“So,” she began, swirling the water in her glass. “Alex. We have a lot to talk about.”

He nodded again, standing stiffly near the door. “Anything. I’ll answer anything.”

“Good. First, relax. I don’t bite,” she said, though the glint in her eye suggested otherwise. She gestured to the sofa opposite her. “Sit.”

He practically fell onto the sofa, perching on the edge as if ready to bolt. Sana leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. The position caused the neckline of her dress to shift, drawing his immediate, helpless attention. She saw his throat bob as he swallowed.

“Let’s start with the obvious,” she said softly. “Your… collection. It’s quite extensive. Devoted, even.”

A deep blush spread across his cheeks, but he met her eyes, a flicker of his online confidence showing through. “I know it must seem… extreme. But it’s not just a hobby. It’s… appreciation.”

“Appreciation,” she repeated, tasting the word. “That’s what I want to understand. Why me, Alex? Out of all the idols, all the women in the world… why are you so obsessed with my… with me?”

He took a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts for a dissertation. “It’s not just one thing. It’s everything. The way you move on stage, it’s not just dancing, it’s… storytelling. Your expressions, your aegyo, it’s all part of this incredible package. But then… there’s *that*. The way you carry yourself. You have this… this perfect balance of elegance and a hidden, breathtaking sensuality. And that… that sensuality finds its focal point in your chest. It’s the heart of your power, in a way.”

Sana felt a flush of genuine heat. He wasn’t just a horny fan; he was an analyst. A zealot.

“An interesting theory,” she mused, uncrossing her legs and leaning back. The movement was deliberate, a slow, hypnotic shift. “But let’s be frank. You’ve seen the others. You go to our concerts. You see Momo, with her athletic, powerful physique. Jihyo, who is, shall we say, generously endowed. By many standards, they are… bigger. Why not dedicate your shrine to them?”

This was the test. The core of his obsession.

Alex shook his head immediately, his expression turning almost reverent. “No. You don’t understand. It’s not about size. It’s about perfection. It’s about form and symmetry and… personality.”

He leaned forward, his nervousness replaced by a passionate intensity. “Jihyo is beautiful, but it’s a… a bold, loud beauty. Momo is incredible, but it’s a sharp, athletic beauty. Yours… yours is like a work of classical art. It’s the subtle slope, the perfect teardrop shape. The way they move when you walk, when you breathe. It’s not just… tissue. It’s a sculpture. The ratio, the lift, the way they sit on your frame… it’s mathematically, aesthetically flawless. They’re not just big, they’re perfect. They’re you.”

His voice was thick with emotion, his eyes shining with a feverish devotion. Sana was mesmerized. She had never heard her body described with such a blend of clinical precision and worshipful poetry. It was the most objectifying, and yet the most flattering, thing she had ever heard. A shiver ran down her spine, settling deep in her core.

“So,” she said, her voice now a husky whisper. “To you, I’m a… a masterpiece.”

“You are the masterpiece,” he corrected without hesitation. “The Sistine Chapel of cleavage.”

A genuine, unguarded laugh escaped her. It was absurd. It was insane. And it was turning her on more than she could have ever imagined. She stood up, slowly, and walked toward him. He watched her approach, his breath held in his chest, his body rigid.

She stopped directly in front of him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, smell the scent of her perfume. She looked down at him, a goddess looking down at her most devout follower.

“You’ve spent years looking at pictures, Alex,” she said, her voice barely audible. “You’ve studied the art from every possible angle. You’ve written sonnets about the shadows and the light.”

She reached out a single finger and gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“Are you ready,” she breathed, “for a hands on experience?”

A strangled sound, half-gasp, half-sob, was his only reply. He looked like a man witnessing a miracle, his face pale, his eyes burning with a feverish intensity. Sana’s smile widened. This was it. The culmination of his years of obsessive devotion.

She took a deliberate step back, giving him a full view. With agonizing slowness, her fingers found the hem of her black turtleneck dress. She peeled the clingy fabric upwards, revealing the smooth, toned skin of her stomach, the delicate shadows of her ribcage. His breath hitched, his knuckles white where he gripped his own leather jacket.

As the dress cleared her chest, his masterpiece was revealed. She wore nothing underneath. Her breasts settled into their perfect, teardrop shape, pale and flawless in the soft lamplight. They were not large in a cumbersome way, but exquisitely proportioned to her frame, full and heavy with a gentle, natural slope. Her nipples were a dusty rose, tightening instantly in the cool air, blooming into hard, sensitive points that seemed to ache for attention.

She pulled the dress over her head and let it pool at her feet. She stood before him in only her tiny black lace panties and heeled boots, a goddess carved from ivory and desire. Let him look. Let him see that the art he had worshipped through pixels was real, and infinitely more breathtaking.

“You can breathe, Alex,” she murmured, her voice a low, sultry tease.

He let out a shuddering gasp, as if he’d been holding his breath for years. His eyes were wide, devouring the sight of her. “They’re… perfect,” he whispered, the words full of reverence.

“I know,” she said, her voice laced with confident power. She took a step closer, her knees brushing against his. “Now, touch them. Show me.”

His hands trembled as he raised them, hovering so close she could feel the heat radiating from his palms. He was afraid, she realized, afraid to touch the holy grail. Sana took pity on him. She reached out and took his wrists, her touch firm and sure, and she placed his hands directly onto her breasts.

The moment his skin made contact with hers, a jolt shot through them both. His hands were warm, a little rough, and they felt glorious against her sensitive flesh. He cupped her, his palms molding perfectly to her weight, his thumbs brushing reverently against the soft undersides. He just held them for a moment, his eyes closed, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on his face.

“Feel that?” she whispered. “That’s real.”

He opened his eyes, and they were shining. He began to move his hands, his touch still worshipful but growing bolder. He traced the full, heavy curve of them, his fingers learning the topography of her skin. He ran his thumbs over her aching nipples, and Sana couldn't stop the soft moan that escaped her lips, her back arching instinctively, pushing her tits further into his hands.

“More,” she commanded, her voice husky. “Use your mouth.”

Leaning forward, he obeyed. He didn’t go straight for the peaks. Instead, he pressed his face into the soft valley between her breasts, inhaling deeply, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. He licked a slow, wet trail up the slope of her right breast until he reached her nipple. He flicked his tongue over the tight bud, and she cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

He took the nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling and his lips creating a firm, sucking pressure. It was incredible. He was a natural, his every movement guided by years of obsessive fantasy. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, licking, sucking, and then—oh god—he gently scraped his teeth against her sensitive nub.

“Fuck!” Sana gasped, the sharp, unexpected pleasure shooting straight to her cunt, making her soaked. Her panties were drenched, her clit throbbing with a desperate, insistent need. He bit down again, a little harder this time, and her knees went weak. She had to grab his shoulders to steady herself.

He was lost in it, a man worshipping at his altar. He squeezed her tits together, his hands firm and demanding, and flicked his tongue back and forth between her nipples, alternating between soft licks and hard, biting sucks. Sana was writhing, a litany of curses and moans falling from her lips. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of pure sensation.

But she was still in control.

“Enough,” she breathed, pushing him gently away. He looked up at her, his face flushed, his lips swollen and wet, his eyes dazed with lust. “Your turn to lie down.”

He didn’t question her. He scrambled back onto the sofa, lying on his back, his chest heaving. His hard cock was straining against the zipper of his jeans, a clear, desperate outline. Sana smiled, a slow, predatory grin. She climbed onto the sofa, straddling his waist but not putting her full weight on him.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered.

He did. Sana leaned forward, supporting herself on her arms, and lowered her breasts until they brushed against his face. He gasped, his hands coming up to clutch her hips. She rubbed her tits all over him, against his cheeks, his forehead, his lips. She dragged her hard nipples across his stubble, the friction sending sparks through her own body. She was giving him a boob massage, letting him feel the soft weight, the warm skin, the intimate press of her flesh against his. She could feel his ragged breath against her cleavage.

“Keep them closed,” she whispered, climbing off him.

She walked to the ensuite bathroom, her hips swaying. She returned a moment later with a small, complimentary bottle of massage oil. She knelt beside him on the sofa.

“Open your eyes,” she said. “Watch this.”

She poured a stream of the warm, scented oil directly onto her chest. It trickled down her skin, making her breasts gleam in the light. She set the bottle down and began to massage the oil in, her hands sliding over her slick skin, cupping and squeezing her own tits. His eyes were locked on her hands, on the way her oiled nipples glistened, and he let out a low, guttural groan.

“You like that?” she purred. “You like watching me play with my tits?”

“God, yes,” he choked out.

“Good,” she said. “Because now, they’re going to play with you.”

She moved down his body, her oiled breasts leaving a trail on his skin. She quickly unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans, tugging them and his boxers down his thighs. His cock sprang free, thick, long, and rock-hard, the head already glistening with precum. It was perfect.

Sana shuffled forward, positioning his cock between her slick breasts. She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, as she pressed her tits together, enveloping him in a soft, warm, oily tunnel.

“Fuck,” he moaned, his head falling back against the sofa cushions.

She began to move. She slid her breasts up and down his shaft, the oil making the movement impossibly smooth and slick. With every upward stroke, the flushed head of his cock would emerge from between them, and she would flick her tongue against it, tasting the salty precum. He was writhing beneath her, his hands fisted in the sofa cushions, his hips bucking up to meet her movements.

“Look at me,” she demanded. “Watch me fuck your cock with my tits.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto hers. The sight of her, her body gleaming with oil, her breasts wrapped around his dick, was almost too much for him. She picked up the pace, her movements becoming faster, more demanding. She squeezed her tits tighter around him, increasing the friction.

“Is this everything you dreamed of?” she panted, her own arousal building to an unbearable peak.

“It’s better,” he gasped. “So much better…”

“Then cum for me,” she commanded, her voice a raw, husky cry. “Cum all over my fucking tits. Mark me.”

That was it. That was all it took. With a loud, strangled shout, his back arched off the sofa. He came hard, thick, hot ropes of cum spurting from his cock, painting her chest, her neck, her oiled breasts. It was a primal, filthy, perfect climax to his ultimate fantasy.

He collapsed, boneless and panting. Sana sat back, looking down at the mess he’d made. A deep, feral satisfaction coursed through her. She was covered in his cum, the evidence of his obsession. And yet, her own cunt was still throbbing, still desperate and empty. She was far from finished.

She looked at him, at his sated, exhausted form, and a wicked thought entered her mind. She crawled up his body, her cum-slick tits dragging against his skin. She straddled his face, her dripping pussy just inches from his mouth.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and renewed hunger. “Sana…”

“I’m not done with you yet, Melon Maestro,” she growled, her voice low and dangerous. “You made a mess. Now you’re going to clean it up, and then you’re going to fuck me until I can’t remember my own name.”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She shifted forward, lowering her cum-splattered chest toward his mouth. It was a test. A final, debasing act of worship. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering from her eyes to the sticky, pearly fluid coating her skin. Then, his devotion won out. He closed his eyes and leaned in, his tongue tentatively licking a bead of his own cum from the swell of her breast.

A low hum of satisfaction rumbled in Sana’s chest. “That’s it,” she encouraged, her voice softer now, a reward for his obedience. “Clean me. All of it.”

He became lost in the task. He licked her skin with long, slow strokes, his tongue hot and rough. He cleaned the slick valley between her tits, tasting the mixture of oil, sweat, and his own seed. He sucked gently on her nipples, now sensitive and swollen from his earlier attention, making her shudder. He was thorough, meticulous, leaving no patch of skin untouched. He wasn't just cleaning her; he was anointing her, a final act of contrition before the main event.

When he was finished, her chest was clean, gleaming with his saliva. Sana felt a primal thrill surge through her. He had submitted completely.

“Good boy,” she murmured, sliding back down his body. His cock, which had softened slightly, was already stirring back to life, rising to the occasion with impressive speed. He was young, virile, and utterly captivated. He was ready for her.

She took hold of his slick, hardening shaft, giving it a few firm strokes. He groaned, his hips bucking into her hand. “Please, Sana…” he begged. “I need you.”

“I know,” she said, her voice thick with her own desire. She positioned the head of his cock at her dripping entrance, not yet taking him in. “But you’re going to fuck me how I want, when I want. Understand?”

“Yes,” he choked out. “Anything.”

With a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she sank down onto him. He slid into her hot, tight cunt with exquisite ease, stretching her, filling her completely. A long, guttural moan was torn from both of their lips. Sana paused, savoring the sensation of being full, of having him inside her at last. She braced her hands on his chest, her fingers digging into his muscles.

She began to move, a slow, grinding rhythm at first. She rolled her hips, swirling them in tight circles, feeling every inch of him rubbing against her inner walls. Her tits, still damp and sensitive, swayed with her movements, capturing his rapt attention. He watched them, mesmerized, as if he couldn’t believe his fantasy had culminated in this very moment.

“Eyes on my face,” she commanded, her voice sharp.

He tore his gaze from her chest and met her eyes. The raw, desperate lust she saw there sent a jolt straight to her clit. She picked up the pace, her movements becoming faster, more erratic. She bounced on his cock, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing in the quiet room. She was chasing her own release now, using his body as the instrument of her pleasure. He was just along for the glorious, unbelievable ride.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she panted, her head falling back, her dark hair a wild curtain around her face. “Your cock is mine.”

“It’s yours,” he gasped, his hands coming up to grip her waist, his fingers digging into her skin. “All yours.”

She leaned forward, changing the angle, and his cock slammed directly into her G-spot. A sharp cry escaped her, a blinding flash of pleasure. “Right there,” she moaned. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He thrust up to meet her, his movements growing frantic, driven by a desperate need to please her. The coil of tension in her belly wound tighter and tighter, a white-hot knot of pure ecstasy. The world narrowed to the feeling of him pounding into her, the sight of his face contorted in pleasure, the sound of their ragged breaths mingling in the air.

“I’m gonna cum,” she cried, her voice high and thin. “Oh, fuck, Alex, I’m gonna cum!”

Her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, a violent, shuddering release that stole her breath and blinded her. Her cunt clenched around his cock, milking him, pulling him over the edge with her. With a loud, guttural roar, he came, his hips jackhammering up into her as he flooded her with his hot release.

She collapsed onto his chest, her body trembling and limp, her heart hammering against his. They lay there for a long time, a tangled, sweaty heap of limbs, the only sound in the room their harsh, uneven breathing. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a raw, animalistic perfume.

Eventually, Sana stirred. The post-orgasmic haze was beginning to clear, replaced by the cold, sharp clarity of her purpose. She pushed herself up, his softened cock slipping out of her. A trickle of their combined fluids dripped down her thigh.

She stood up on unsteady legs and walked into the bathroom without a word. She cleaned herself up, wiping away the sticky evidence of their encounter. When she emerged, Alex was sitting up on the sofa, pulling on his jeans. He looked dazed, his expression a mixture of profound satisfaction and burgeoning panic.

Sana ignored him. She walked over to where her dress lay on the floor and pulled it on, the cool fabric a stark contrast to her still-flushed skin. She smoothed it down, her movements once again graceful and composed. She was no longer the wanton goddess; she was Sana of Twice, and the mask of an idol was firmly back in place.

She turned to face him. He was fully dressed now, standing awkwardly by the door. He wouldn't meet her eyes.

“This never happened,” she said, her voice cold, flat, and utterly devoid of the passion from moments before. It was the voice she used with sasaengs, with overstepping journalists. The voice that carried the full weight of JYP Entertainment behind it.

He flinched but nodded quickly. “I know. I won’t say anything. I swear.”

“You’d better not,” she continued, her eyes like chips of ice. “If I ever see so much as a vague allusion to this on any of your pathetic little fan accounts, I will personally make sure you’re sued into oblivion. I will make your life a living hell. You will never be able to get within a hundred feet of a Twice event for the rest of your life. Do you understand me, Alex?”

He paled, his bravado and devotion completely gone, replaced by sheer terror. “Yes. Yes, I understand. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “You got what you wanted. And I got what I wanted. Now get out.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled for the door handle, his hands shaking so badly he could barely turn it. He cast one last, terrified look back at her before fleeing into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound of finality.

Sana stood alone in the center of the room. The adrenaline was still pumping through her veins, a potent cocktail of power and lingering arousal. She walked over to the full-length mirror and looked at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, and a dark blush still stained her cheeks. She looked thoroughly, satisfyingly fucked.

A slow, secret smile spread across her face. The risk had been immense, the potential for catastrophic disaster overwhelming. But the reward… the reward was a memory she would cherish forever. The thrill of absolute control, the raw, unfiltered worship, the pure, animalistic sex.

It had opened a door inside her, a door to a world of secret, dangerous indulgences. And as she turned to leave the suite, her steps confident and sure, she knew, with a thrilling certainty, that she would be walking through that door again.

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the first time tzuyu notices you, it’s not because you’re trying. 

everyone else around her always does — they laugh a little louder when she walks by, fix their hair, whisper to their friends. some are bold enough to flirt with her outright, while others just hope that she looks their way.

she usually does, and she gets bored just as fast. but you, you don’t even look up when she passes by, your head stuck in a book as you walk. 

tzuyu glances back at you again, tilting her head in slight confusion and annoyance.  

—

late afternoon sunlight spills across the tables. the library is filled with the quiet sound of pages turning and keyboards clicking. tzuyu isn’t there to study — not really. she’s only here because her friends dragged her along, saying something about how she should try to be productive for once. 

tzuyu’s ignoring their conversation — something about thermodynamics — and scans the library, looking for something more interesting to invest her time in. her eyes eventually land on you.

you’re tucked in the corner, wired headphones on, completely focused. there’s a notebook in front of you filled with your neat handwriting. your pen moves quickly like you’re trying to catch up with your own thoughts, filling each line quickly. 

you don’t notice her or how she’s looking at you, even when she continues to stare. you don’t budge, not even when one of her friends follows her gaze and nudges her.

“tzu,” nayeon whispers, leaning a little closer to the taiwanese. “who are you staring at?”

tzuyu doesn’t answer right away. she watches you flip a page, frown a little, and then tap your pen against your lips in thought. 

“...no one,” tzuyu says finally, her tone a little too casual for someone who's been caught blatantly staring.

nayeon hums, unconvinced. she glances back and forth between you and tzuyu. “right.”

it’s not unusual for her to stare at people. she does it all the time — quick assessments of who’s watching her, who wants her attention, who might be interesting for a while. it’s easy and always predictable, but you’re not. you don’t even look back at her.

“didn’t expect her to be your type,” nayeon quips, not looking up from her textbook. tzuyu finally looks away.

“she’s not my type,” she says, but the words sound weak even to her. tzuyu’s eyes drift back immediately, like a magnet to your frame. you’ve switched tasks now, pulling out a computer from your backpack. you position the device on your thighs, typing away at something on your screen.

tzuyu exhales slowly, resting her chin lightly on her hand. “who is she?” she asks before she can stop herself. nayeon smiles immediately, putting down her textbook to look at the younger girl.

“thought you weren’t interested.”

“im not,” tzuyu replies, albeit a bit too quickly. “i’ve just never seen her before,” she says quietly. nayeon hums.

“different crowd.”

“yeah,” tzuyu murmurs. she looks back at you one last time before facing the other way.  

—

she sees you again the next day. and the day after that. 

it’s nowhere dramatic — in hallways, classes, or the courtyard. it’s always the same thing. you’re in your own world, talking to a small group of friends of sitting alone, completely unaffected by everything happening around you. 

completely unaffected by her. it’s new, and even a little annoying. 

—

by the end of the week, tzuyu’s already decided.

“im going to talk to her.”

“finally,” jeongyeon mutters. “you’ve been following her around all week, tzu.”

“i say it’ll last a week,” nayeon adds. “maybe two, if she’s feeling generous.”

tzuyu rolls her eyes. “you’re both annoying.” 

but she’s smiling, because in her mind, this is simple — it always is. 

—

the first time tzuyu approaches you, it’s deliberate. you’re by your locker, halfway through grabbing your books when someone leans against the one next to yours — almost too close.

“you always look this focused,” tzuyu says with an easy grin, like she’s continuing a conversation you never started. you pause. you slowly look up, and for the first time, you actually see her. there’s a flicker of recognition, sure. everyone on campus knows who she is. but that’s it — there’s not even a hint of fluster, excitement, or immediate interest. 

just a small polite “...hi?”

tzuyu blinks once, then twice. your reaction is subtle, but it throws her off more than she expects. most people react, but you don’t. that’s fine, she’ll just have to adjust her strategy a bit. she leans in just a little more, her smile sharpening just slightly. 

“hi,” she echoes. “are you going to tell me your name, or do i have to guess?”

you hesitate a little before answering. when you do, it’s simple and straightforward. there’s no attempt to impress her in even the slightest amount or any nerves in your voice. it’s almost as if you don’t really care who she is. 

—

from that moment on, it becomes a game for tzuyu. at least, that’s what she tells herself. she’s going to get you to fall for her no matter what, no matter how long it takes. she starts showing up in your line of view more often. she sits right next to you in class even when there are plenty of seats, steals your pen just to see your reaction, and leans over your shoulder to ‘read’ your notes. 

“you write a lot,” she comments one day after looking over your shoulder. you don’t react in the way she wants you to.

“i like to”

“why?”

you shrug. “why not.”

that’s all you say — there’s no elaboration or any attempt on your side to continue the conversation. 

“are you not curious?” she questions suddenly. 

“about what?” you ask, scribbling something in your notebook.

“about me.”

that finally gets your attention. you glance at her, studying her face for a bit before answering. “i already know who you are.” you say it like a fact, as if there’s nothing interesting about her. 

—

“she’s interesting,” tzuyu says to her friends as she scrolls through her phone. nayeon snorts at that.

“that’s new. you usually go for the easy ones.”

“well i can go for easy if i want to,” tzuyu replies, defensive for a reason she doesn’t know. 

“so then what’s your plan?” jihyo asks. tzuyu smirks, her confidence back in place.

“the usual.” 

she’ll flirt and charm you, making you laugh at all her jokes. she’ll get close, get what she wants, then leave, right before it gets complicated. 

—

you don’t let her in easily. all your answers to her questions are blunt, simple, almost always answered in a few words. they’re vague and frustrating, making it impossible for her to keep her movie-star smile. 

“do you like ice cream?” tzuyu asks spontaneously as soon as class ends. she looking at you with her dimple showing.

“who doesn’t,” you say as you pack your belongings, double-checking to make sure you haven’t forgot anything.

“let’s go get some, then. my treat,” tzuyu loops her arms around yours and drags you across campus. 

you don’t say anything, but you let yourself be dragged by her. a small smile forms on your lips when she starts rambling about what flavor to get.

“what about you?” she asks, waiting for your answer.

“you’ll see.”

—

“you always get chocolate,” tzuyu observes after your fifth outing for ice cream after class. “do you never get adventurous? i always pick different flavors.”

“i know. but chocolate’s so perfect,” you say. your answers have gotten somewhat longer. tzuyu grins pleasantly, taking another lick of her cone. at least it isn’t like she’s talking to herself anymore.

—

tzuyu starts asking you more questions, taking you out to lunches and even dinners. she asks you everything and nothing, just to hear your thoughts. 

you answer honestly and straight to the point, until you don’t — your answers get longer. you get excited about certain questions, sometimes rambling on for a full minute before you get quiet again. you even find yourself rolling your eyes at some of her questions, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. 

tzuyu finds herself actually listening. she waits patiently for your answers, laughing at your jokes as you make conversation. talking to you isn’t just a tactic anymore — it’s fun. 

her friends begin to notice, how a smile stays on her lips long after the two of you hang out.

“uh oh, our tzuyu’s smitten,” nayeon teases.

“im not!” tzuyu snaps, but even as she says it, her mind wanders to the way you laughed at lunch earlier. 

it’s supposed to be a game — just for fun. she’s supposed to get you in bed, then leave. but now that she’s learning more about you… the less she wants to leave. every laugh, every glance, every honest thing you share about yourself chips at her plan. she doesn’t even realize it, but tzuyu feels herself falling for you, falling into the mess she’s made for herself. 

–

the music is too loud. it pounds against the walls of the house, the bass vibrating through the floor. voices blend into something messy and indistinct. you shouldn’t be here — you knew that the second you walked in through the door — but your friend dragged you along, saying how much fun it would be. you’re stuck standing in a corner by yourself, nursing a drink that resembles cough syrup. 

you’re halfway through deciding whether or not you should leave when you hear your name.

“...seriously? her?”

there’s a laugh, a familiar one. you don’t mean to listen, but your name cuts through everything else.

“i mean i get it,” one of the other girls say. “she’s… different. but you? that’s a new low, tzuyu. i doubt she’s even good in bed.”

your chest tightens. you don’t think you should be hearing this.

“oh please,” tzuyu laughs. “it’s not that deep. i was just bored,” she adds. “thought i’d try something new.”

you freeze, your brain struggling to process the newfound information. the words hit all at once and sink in slowly, like ice spreading through your chest. 

she was bored. you were just something new.

you don’t wait to hear more. 

—

the next few days are quiet, but not the peaceful kind. it’s empty and cold, in a numb way. you avoid her at all costs. you take different hallways, attend different lectures, and stare solely at the floor when you eventually cross paths with her. 

one day, she seeks you out in a different class. she sits next to you and listens to the lecture for a class she’s not even in, her hands trying to find yours. she speaks softer than usual to you, trying to get you to say anything. when that doesn’t work, she resorts to leaving you frequent texts, none of which you answer. 

but eventually, she stops trying. and it hurts more than you want to admit. 

—

you don’t know why you went to the bar. hell, you can barely even handle alcohol. maybe it was to prove that you don’t care or maybe because staying alone in your dorm felt worse. either way, it was a mistake.

“you again?”

you look up to see them — the same girls that tzuyu was talking to at the party that night — the ones with smiles that never quite reach their eyes.

one of them takes a swig of her drink. “didn’t think you’d show your face after that.” a few of them laugh at that.

your grip tightens around your cup. “im just here to hang out.”

“yeah?” another girl steps closer to you. “with who?”

you don’t answer, and they laugh even harder.

“back off.” the voice cuts clean through the soft murmurs of the bar. you turn, and there she is. her hair’s slightly messy, but her eyes are sharper than you’ve ever seen them. there’s a glass in her hand, half-empty, but her focus is locked entirely on the group of girls.

“seriously?” one of them scoffs. “you’re still doing this?”

tzuyu steps forward. 

“fuck off,” she says firmly despite the slight slur at the edges. one of the girls rolls her eyes but they all exchange looks before backing off. they leave the bar, muttering something under their breaths. 

—

for a moment, it’s just the two of you. you don’t know what to say, and it seems like neither does she. 

up close, you can see it — the flush of her cheeks and the way her body sways just slightly.

“she shouldn’t have said that,” tzuyu mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes.

you let out a slow breath. “you said it first.”

she flinches — just barely — but you catch it. “...yeah i did.”

the silence stretches for a while. 

you sigh. “you should go home, tzuyu. you’re drunk.”

“no im not.”

“yes, you are,” you say. there’s another pause before she speaks again.

“can you… can you walk me home?” her voice is smaller than before. 

—

the night air is cooler and quieter. you walk besides her, close enough to catch her when she stumbles — which is more often than you’d expected. neither of you talk much, but the silence feels different this time.

it feels heavier. 

—

her dorm is dark when you enter. her roommate — dahyun — must still be out somewhere.

you help her inside, guiding her to sit on the edge of her bed. she exhales and runs a hand through her hair before focusing her gaze on you.

“you didn’t have to do that,” she says.

“i know.”

there’s another quiet beat. 

“y/n, i messed up.” it’s so blunt, so unlike her, that it makes your chest ache. you stare at her, unsure of how to respond.

she swallows audibly, her fingers toying with the hem of her shirt. 

“at first… yeah. i just—” she lets out a weak laugh. “i thought you’d be like everyone else. easy. fun. no strings.” 

your jaw tightens. 

“but then you—” she shakes her head. “you weren’t like anyone else. you didn’t care who i was. you— you just talked to me.” 

her voice softens. “and i liked it. i liked you.” 

her confession hurts, a little worse than before.

“then why would you say that?” you ask quietly, afraid to look at her.

her eyes flicker with something raw. “because i was scared. i don’t do this,” she admits, as if it’s something shameful. “i don’t catch feelings. i don’t — fall for people. everyone kept point it out, and i don’t know, i just panicked.”

she continues with a shaky breath. “so i just said the easiest thing to get out. the stupidest thing.” she looks at you fully. “i didn’t mean it, y/n. i mean, i did at first. but not after. not after i started really liking you.” 

“i don’t know how to fix it,” she continues. “and then when you stopped talking to me, i realized i didn’t just ruin a fling— i ruined…” she trails off. “something real.”

the room feels too small, like you’re being choked with unsaid words.

“why are you telling me this now?” you ask. she lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh.

“because, y/n, i think about you all the time,” she admits. “i hate it and i love it. i don’t know what to do with it.” tzuyu bites her lower lip. “i love you.”

the words hang in the air. you step close before you can overthink it. you connect your lips to hers, and her breath catches. you hold onto her, and she presses her mouth against yours softly. the kiss is slow and desperate before you eventually break it off for air.

“im still mad at you,” you say quietly.

“i know,” tzuyu pouts a little.

“but i don’t want to ignore you anymore.”

something in her expression softens entirely. she kisses you again, pressing her lips firmer. she holds onto your face, holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing on the planet.

—

a few days later, you’re sitting with tzuyu’s friends. you can feel their gazes on you, how their curiosity is barely contained. tzuyu sits right next to you, unusually quiet. under the table, her hand finds yours.

she shyly introduces you to her friends, saying each other their names. when she glances at you, it’s soft and filled with love. 

jihyo rubs her eyes, “it was phone call after phone call. then constant meetings, some of the departments don’t have annual reports ready, which only sets us back even further. i have deadlines i’m not even sure i’ll meet in time.”

you walk over to the couch, taking space next to her. “well, you’re home now, none of that is going anywhere. just take the next few days to do nothing.”

jihyo tilts her head at you, “i can’t y/n- i promised sunghoon we would take him to that new playground that we drove by a few weeks ago”

you shake your head, cutting her off, “don’t worry about it. my mom picked him up earlier, said she wanted to take him down to the beach this weekend, which he did not say no to.” you laugh softly.

she nods in response, “you need to relax, jihyo” you say quietly, reaching over placing your hands and her shoulders.

you begin to rub them slightly, working your fingers into her shoulder and neck, when jihyo moans in response.

she rolls her head to the side as you continue, you apply more pressure. and you physically feel the tension that’s been building up in her shoulders.

you push your thumbs back down the center of jihyo’s shoulder, “y/n…” her voice is breathy and full of satisfaction. you take your hands and bring them up her neck, quickly, pull the hair tie that’s holding her bun. letting it fall to the ground, you slid your hands into her hair, your nails scratching her scalp gently, jihyo leans into your touch.

you reach down pressing a kiss to jihyo’s ear, pulling away after.

“come here” you hear her say, before you know it you're sitting on her lap, kissing her softly. your hands make their way to the front of jihyo’s blouse and begin to unbutton it.

in between kisses, you pulled the shirt free from being tucked into her pants. then you undo her belt buckle, her pants get unbuttoned and unzipped.

when you both pull away, jihyo speaks up “y/n, i love this and i love you, but i am so tired-”

you shake your head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “it’s okay, i know, just let me take care of you, okay?”

jihyo raises an eyebrow before nodding, muttering a small “okay”

your palm cups her cheek, “wait here” you say softly.

you press a kiss softly to her lips, and quickly make your way to your bathroom. reaching the tub, you turn the knobs, waiting the water to reach just the right temperature before putting the stopper in. you looked in the cabinet underneath the sink, searching through the different products that sit there.

in the corner, you grab a dark blue bottle, it’s one that jihyo uses rarely, labeled “for relax and relief.” you pump the bottle a few times into the bathtub.

you watch the tub fill up slowly, some bubbles rising, the smell of the bottle filling the bathroom. you wait until the water reaches the appropriate height before shutting it off.

you return to the living room to find jihyo reclining against the back of the catch, her hand running through her hair.

you walk in front of her, reaching your hand out towards her. jihyo grabs your fingers softly, “come, i made you a bath”

her hand squeezes yours slightly, “a bath?” she replies

“yes, come on, before it gets cold.” jihyo lifts herself off the couch, allowing you to pull her to the bathroom. you reach your bathroom in seconds, “take your clothes off” you whisper to jihyo, turning around, you quickly grab some candles that you have as well, lighting them to avoid using the bright lights.

you hear water splashing slightly, turning off the main lights, you turn back to jihyo, who’s sitting in the tub and smiling softly at you.

“join me?” she asks, you begin to shake your head, “please y/n” she says again, softer.

you begin to take your clothes off, feeling your wife’s appreciative gaze on you. stepping into the warm bath, settling behind jihyo.

you’re leaning against the back of the tub and jihyo’s in between your legs, her back resting against your chest.

“relax,” you say quietly. you grab jihyo’s loofah, and dip it into the water. you apply some lavender scented body wash onto it, and then begin to gently rub it on the back of her shoulders in circles.

she sighs deeply, as you continue to her shoulders and then down to her chest. she relaxes in your embrace, allowing herself to be scrubbed clean.

you run the loofah over her stomach, sides, and as far as you could to his hips. you nudge jihyo to lean slightly forward so that you’re able to scrub her back.

you place the loofah back on the ledge of the bathtub, cupping your hands with some water, you start to wash away the soap. your hands following the similar path as before. jihyo was practically melting into you. her breathing was soft, yet deep. it was an indication for you to continue what you were doing.

your hands made their way over to jihyo’s chest again, one hand cupping her breast, the other running your thumb over her nipple.

“y/n” she whimpers, turning her head and pushing her nose along your jawline. your hands remain on her breasts, cupping and squeezing them, teasing her hardened nipples. jihyo’s breathing increases, but she doesn’t move, she keeps her head rested on your shoulder.

your hands move slowly to her back and rinse away any remaining soap. your hands linger neat her shoulders, you see the muscles laced with tension that’s been building. you apply pressure to the area, your hands in a constant motion of up and down. and you also can’t help but smile as jihyo inhales out of pleasure when you rub the right spot.

you kiss her wet shoulder softly, “my wife needs to learn to relax”

jihyo leans back into your chest, her eyes are shut now, “maybe my wife can help me?”

your hands make their way around her waist, your fingers tracing her soft skin. and your hands make their way up her breasts, cupping them.

you feel jihyo’s gaze and when you make eye contact, she reaches out and places a kiss on your lips.

you exhale into the feeling, as she turns her body slightly to make the position more comfortable. your fingers wander to her nipples, circling around it as jihyo deepens the kiss.

you break the kiss, and she leans back, pressing deeper into you, you watch as she spreads her legs slightly.

“y/n…” she says, softly. you place a kiss on her shoulder, then to her neck.

your right hand makes its way back down to her stomach, then between her thighs. your left hand remains on her breast.

jihyo throws her head back and lets out a moan. she grabs the edge of the bathtub to steady herself as you keep giving more and more.

you tease her already hardened nipples with your thumb, your hand had reached her clit, drawing circles around there too. when she starts to raise her hips into your hand, your fingers are inside of her.

jihyo tilts her head to the side, “y/n” her breath hitches. her legs begin to tremble as you continue to move your fingers, she lets out more moans, the water from the tub splashing everywhere.

you watch her face as she reaches her climax, then you turn her head and place a quick, yet sloppy kiss on her lips. when you pull apart, you let her fall back into relaxation, her hands no longer gripping the edge of the bathtub. you wait until her breath evens out again.

you tuck her damp hair behind her ear, “let me get you a towel.” jihyo nods in response, leaning up, you get out and get a towel for jihyo and yourself.

when you return, jihyo kisses you softly, before taking the towel and wrapping it around her figure, “thank you, y/n” she whispers, a relaxed smile on her face.

you return the kiss, watching as jihyo makes her way into your shared closet.

you dry yourself rather quickly, wrapping it around your body, you blow out the candle and remove the plug from the bathtub.

you enter your closet as well, picking whatever shirt and shorts are there for you to sleep in.

after getting dressed, you walk into your bedroom to find jihyo laying on the bed.

“i thought you were right behind me” she says, you’re at the edge of the bed, and you get on, crawling your way up her body. pausing to kiss her thigh, her hand, and finally her lips. “god i love you” jihyo smiles into your lips when you begin to pull away.

you giggle at her comment, and you lay right next to jihyo, wrapping your leg around her, her hand finding itself resting on your thigh. “do you at least feel more relaxed?”

“mhm” she says in response. you simply tighten your arm around her.

and when it’s silent, “i thought about giving you a massage too” you say.