Anti.

Yeah, safe to say you and Chaewon are back to normal.

2 minutes ago she was asleep soundly in your bed. But when her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at you with a smile, to then talk about work! You knew you had to tease her. Anyway, despite your bickering, you make a mental note that, on Chaewon’s orders, you and Yunjin are to hang posters around the city sometime this week.

“I’m using your shower, get a towel ready for me,” Chaewon demands.

---

Things are mostly back to normal now that you and Chaewon are on good terms. And by good terms, you mean Chaewon calling you in the wee hours of the night asking: “Why isn’t the time sheet updated?”, or “You ordered way too much milk today”. Yeah, supervisor duties. Still, though, it’s nice that you can talk back to her when she does call.

And of course, that talking back isn’t really talking back, just banter.

So it’s weird that you still feel like something is off. Hmm, maybe it’s your spring allergies.

But when you’re walking home from work one night (alone, Eunchae was in a rush and left on her own), throat clear of mucus, you realize it can’t be spring allergies. No, actually, it’s Eunchae.

It’s hard to pinpoint what about Eunchae. In fact, you were just goofing off together on your shift. She still smiles mischievously whenever she’s purposefully being annoying— which is pretty much all the time. And of course you don’t actually find it annoying, you just pretend you do because it makes Eunchae laugh.

It’s in your head, then. Yeah, she’ll text you tonight anyway, You guys are good.

But you fall asleep with your phone in your hand, still silent.

---

“Wanna come? We’re going Sunday,” you say, shining a glass cup in your hand for the sixth time.

“I think that glass is streak-free,” Eunchae nods. “And you want me to come hang posters?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun!”

“Right,” she says sarcastically, “fun.”

“Oh, come on,” you whine, leaning back on the counter. “You have to come!” You say with oh so much more vigour than you usually would.

“You sound like me,” she laughs. “Can we like, do something else?”

“Something else? I’m pretty busy this week— what did you have in mind?”

She leans back on the counter, foot stretching out towards you. It lands on your thigh, dangerously close to your nether region.

“I think we could think of something.” She smiles.

You’re taken aback that there’s a foot (shoe and everything!) on your thigh, but also because she’s being so blatantly flirty.

But should you be? You stand there stunned, but yeah, you should’ve known this. Eunchae has been asking you to hang out, even insinuating things she’d like to do with you ever since, oh, your little escapade in the washroom.

And then there was last week, where you spent pretty well all your time making posters, save for a moment - a moment where you walked her home and declared: ‘you’re my best friend, Eunchae’. You haven’t really been acting like it, though.

She sees your hesitation, and says “right, next time then,” and it’s not bitter. That’s what kills you the most, really. That she’s not even bitter about it. She doesn’t hold it against you because she knows you’re busy, or at least, she’s trying not to seem like she is. What was that she told you at that staff party all those weeks ago? That she used to be… pushy? And she didn’t want to be anymore?

She turns towards the kitchen.

“Wait!” You scream, which is weird, because she’s still only 3 feet away from you.

She turns back, something in her eyes lighting up.

“Saturday! I’m free Saturday.”

The smile on her face makes your heart skip a beat. “Okay, Saturday then.”

“Just you and me.”

---

You look around your apartment, figuring out what the hell to wear.

The plan to ‘hang out’ has immediate effects - the texts Eunchae usually showers you with late at night return in full force, and you think: maybe this is easy. Eunchae isn’t so much high maintenance, just, needs some love.

And you today, Saturday, you plan on giving her that love.

Coming in sweats seems okay, right? Or is that much too casual? No, you don’t think so. She’s been dropping— no launching hints at you. Hints that she wants to… fuck again. It’s weird, thinking about it. Yeah, you always do somehow end up making love to almost every girl in your life. Except Yunjin. But planning to do that? Going over to Eunchae’s for the express purpose of sex? It feels strangely embarrassing.

And plus, you just told her you were her best friend. Is this the sort of stuff best friends do? You sure as hell didn’t do it with your high school best friend. Would’ve been an awkward endeavor with one too many sticks involved.

The more you think about it, the less normal it seems. But what’s there to do? It’s Eunchae. She’s bright, funny, a beacon of laughter whenever you need it, so cute she could make a mime chuckle. But she’s also unbelievably hot at times. Yeah, maybe those times are when her body is pressed against yours, which again, is the root of the problem.

You’re definitely weak willed, because just the thought of her body pressed against you is enough to steel your resolve. Gray sweats it is.

“That’s what you’re wearing?” She asks, judgmental smile lining her face.

“Yeah, what’s wrong with it?”

“I thought we were hanging out?” She asks.

“Yeah, me too. I’m so ready to hang out.” You say, overenunciating the last words to indicate innuendo.

She cracks the door open a little more, revealing a nice pair of jeans and a white tube top.

Fuck. “Oh-”

“It’s okay, I think you look cute. Where did you want to go?” She slides out of her apartment, and her outfit really is nice. Yours pales in comparison, which seems pretty common for you these days.

“Maybe a cafe?” you ask. It’d at least explain your super casual clothing choice if you planned to go to a cafe.

“A cafe? Really? We work at a cafe.”

“Oh, right.” Well this is going horribly. You’re so damn embarrassed that you thought this was a hookup, and it’s clearly messing with you. You can barely talk to her straight. And to add onto that, the realization that this is basically a date hits you, and it’s almost as bad as the hookup confusion.

But it’s Eunchae— she’s sweet and comfortable and reminds you of coffee and she takes your hand in hers. It helps that it doesn’t really mean anything. There’s no pretense in it. When she says “Wanna go shopping then?” the grasp of your hand really just means ‘let’s go’.

It comforts you, reminds you that yeah, this is Eunchae. You can be yourself.

“Sure,” you say.

She tugs you a bit, leading you out of the building. She lets go of your hand by the time you’re walking to the mall, because again, there’s no pretense in it, but once you reach your destination, she grabs you again, dragging you off to the different stores.

“You really do think my outfit is embarrassing!”

“I never said that,” she says, lining up a pair of jeans over your legs, before switching them out with another pair. “Sweats can be a great staple to any wardrobe!”

“And do you think I wore them well?”

“Never said that either.” She smiles when the next pair of jeans hovers over you. “These are nice. Hey, wanna play a game?”

You answer with hesitation, because you’ve known Eunchae long enough to know the games she plays sometimes come with a price. “What kind of game?”

Her eyes find yours, and they have that twinkle in them, the same one that’s there whenever she’s in her playful mood, which, to be honest is most of the time. You’ve missed this, missed just, hanging out with her. You paint a suspicious look on your face, but you know probably as well as she does, whatever she says, you’re gonna say yes.

Luckily, it’s actually pretty harmless. “Let’s each pick out an outfit for each other!”

“Y-you trust me to do that?”

Her smile goes soft. “I know you’ll make me look cute. Plus, I’ve seen you dress up before,” and leaning in close, she whispers, “and I know you only wore these sweats because you were planning to fuck me.” She says it quiet, almost too quiet, and it’s jarring based on how the rest of the day has gone.

“Eunchae!?” You yelp, even though it’s misplaced, because she’s hit it right on the mark.

“Hmm?” she plays oblivious. “Anyway, meet here in 10 minutes with an outfit. Make me look cute~”

Your brain is a haze, but you manage to pick out an outfit you think she’d like. A miracle, really. Flipping through all the clothes, you tried to imagine her in them, but then you’d remember her breath on your ear, whispering to you that she knows how bad you want to fuck her. And then the clothes you were imagining her with disappear.

You shake the thought from your head, going back to the middle of the store to meet up with her. And of course, she’s not there. It’s nearly another 10 minutes before she comes back, toothy smile lining her face.

“What happened to an outfit?” you ask, gesturing to the 4 pairs of pants and 6 tops she’s carrying.

“I couldn’t just choose one! What’d you get me?”

You sheepishly hold up the plaid skirt, button up shirt and checkered sleeveless knit, unable to help the feeling you’ve been one upped. “I was going for like, a preppy look. I thought it would be cute.”

Eunchae tosses a couple of items on a nearby clothing wrack, holding up a similarly preppy looking outfit. “Looks like we’re matching!”

“I don’t know, I’d say you altered the probability a bit,” you say rolling your eyes playfully.

“No, I think we just think alike!”

After much convincing (puppy eyes are dangerous), Eunchae convinces you to buy the outfits (”You’re my supervisor now! Supervisors treat their employees!”), and leave wearing them.

It’s definitely a confidence booster. You remember how you felt when that TikTok went viral, and all the comments clowned you for getting face caked. You remember how hundreds of men flocked to the store after that, just to get a look at the two cute girls that did the face caking. You hope some of those men are here now, watching you get dragged along to the various shops of the mall, outfits matching.

“You know I had a weird strategy when I was in elementary school,” Eunchae says shortly after leaving a cosmetic store. “If I had a crush on someone, I’d buy them a candle, or facemasks.”

“That’s not so weird is it?”

“Yeah, but do you know why?”

“Hmm. No. No idea.”

“Because a candle fills an entire room with a scent! And, if they associate that scent with me, then whenever they’re in that room, they’d be thinking of me!”

“Smart,” you chuckle. “Did it ever work?”

“Yeah, but I’m also cute, so that could be a factor.”

“Good point. What about the facemasks?”

She smiles proudly. “Well, when do you do facemasks?”

“I guess… I do them before I go to bed.”

“Exactly! So I thought if someone were to do a facemask I got them before they slept, they’d have dreams about me.”

“Well, that one seems like a little bit of a stretch,” you chuckle.

“Wanna test it out?”

“What do you mean?”

She reaches into her arm bag, pulling out a candle and some facemasks. You take them slowly, and before the implication can settle in, she grabs your hand again, pulling you away again.

The rest of the mall trip goes by almost too fast. A lot more stores, pretzels, and ice cream, but eventually, it’s time to go home.

“I wonder how Chaewon’s doing,” she says as you leave the building. “That new hire is working, right? Hope he’s not a weirdo.”

“He won’t be! I personally hired him. Did the interview and everything.”

“Wow, good job Mr. Supervisor.”

The nickname gives you PTSD. “Don’t call me that!”

“Hehe~ d-do you wanna go check on the store? It’s on the way,” she asks, but her voice is different. Cautious. You have no idea what to make of it, so, you just answer honestly.

“On my day off? Not particularly, no.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you want to?”

Eunchae wraps and arm around your bicep this time, your hands being full of shopping bags. “Nope! Let’s go drop this stuff off.”

The walk there is mostly silent, but Eunchae still clings to your arm. There’s been a pep to her step all day, you’re not sure Eunchae knows how to operate without it, that boundless energy, but for some reason, it’s softer now.

You don’t even mind the silence though. It’s nice, just being here beside Eunchae. Ever since you’ve started at Cozy’s, things have been crazy, even more so once you became supervisor. Except those first few weeks, getting close to Chaewon and Eunchae in that empty cafe. Those times were peaceful. This reminds you of that.

The thought of how you started the day off, with sweats and an expectation to fuck doesn’t even cross your mind.

“Help me take the bags up?” she asks when you approach her apartment building.

“Of course.”

You’re getting that feeling, when things are about to end, the day having been spent when you don’t want it to. That bittersweet line between exhaustion and wanting to keep the fun going.

She lets you into her apartment, and you realize it’s the first time you’ve been here. You plop her bags at near her front door, some pocket you can reach without intruding too far with your shoes on. You don’t want to make the same mistake as last time in assuming you’re allowed to stay.

“Tea?” she asks right on cue.

You’re plopped down on her couch, tired after a long day out. It feels later than it is, because it’s only 4pm and you could crash right now. You sit up as Eunchae approaches, half because you could use a tea right now, and half because it looks like there’s purpose to her movements.

She puts your tea on the coffee table, sitting down on the floor between the couch and it. She lets the silence sit there for a bit, not the same as the walk home.

“I really had fun today,” she says.

“I did too, Eunchae.” You can tell she’s weighing things, deciding whether to say something. Maybe she has been the whole silent walk home. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” she says, a little too loud.

“Eunchae,” you say, sliding off the couch and onto the floor next to her. “Remember what I told you that night we— that night at Chaewon’s? We’re friends. Friends tell each other things,” you say. It’s not like this is surprising that she has something to say. It’s why you planned to go out with her in the first place. Because you could tell, something was off.

“I just—” she hesitates.

“I know, you don’t want to be pushy. But you can be, Eunchae. You’re pushy, you like when people tell you things, you like sharing your feelings with others. It’s one of the things I love about you most.”

She sits there for a bit, and you faintly remember that night in Chaewon’s apartment, where you both sat on the floor in front of a couch, and opened up to each other. “I thought you didn’t have room for me anymore.”

It’s a fair accusation, but it still pains you all the same. “Eunchae—”

“It’s just— I know I’d always ask to hang out, and I know you couldn’t because you were busy. But every time I’d ask and you’d say ‘not this time’, or ‘I have to help Yunjin,’ I thought I was being too pushy, annoying you by pestering you all the time. And then you became supervisor, and I didn’t want to keep on annoying you.”

“Eunchae, I— why didn’t you tell me?”

“How could I?”

“What do you mean, you can tell me anything.”

“It’s not like I thought you were ignoring me or anything. I just thought, I don’t know, you didn’t have the capacity for me outside of work.”

You shift on the floor, angle yourself towards her. “Eunchae, I will always have time*—*” but you stop yourself, because if you’re honest, she’s right. You haven’t been making time for her.

“I’ve seen how stressed you were over Chaewon the last couple weeks, I would see you put yourself out there to help Yunjin with posters, and I just kept thinking, ‘is there a place for me in this store anymore?’ The three of you felt so tapped in, and I don’t know, I care about the store, but it’s— I care about the people more. And I think I show that by, doing whatever it is I do that probably annoyed you in the first place”

“Eunchae, you mean so much to all of us! Never once have you annoyed me! I was— I know it’s not an excuse, but things have been busy.”

She hugs her knees. “Even saying this now, I feel so stupid. And it is a real excuse! All of you are so busy, and I feel like I’m like some kid begging for attention. It’s like I never changed. Like that same pushy kid that lost her old life, her old friends is still here.”

“But that’s not you at all!” You say, because you can see exactly how she came to that conclusion in her head, but you don’t really have the words to articulate how much of a fool she is for thinking that. “You can be pushy with me any time you want.”

She sniffles. “I can?”

“I’ve said it before, Eunchae. I mean it.”

“O-okay. Then, you still have room for me right?”

“What did I tell you last time?”

A choked chuckle comes out. “That’s right. We’re best friends. You know, I was so happy when you asked me to hang out. I’d been asking you for so long, I almost just gave up. Settled for only being your coworker. And I didn’t want to take it out on you, didn’t want to harbour any bitterness.”

“Well, I’m glad I asked you. Really. And I mean it, you really are my best friend.”

She heaves a heavy sigh, the relief of who knows how long she’s been feeling this way released. She leans a head on your shoulder. “That’s why came with sweatpants ready to fuck, right? Because we’re best friends?”

You can feel your cheeks go red. “Well— you’ve been asking for it for so long!”

“And you’ve been dodging me for so long.”

“Are we really talking about this right after, I don’t know, that heavy emotional stuff!?” You say incredulously, but it’s a good indicator that the conversation has taken a turn, and although neither of you have really apologized, it’s a sign that everything is okay.

“It’s relevant.”

“When did you become so bold, Eunchae? You were so shy when—”

“What, when you fucked me on Chaewon’s floor while she was sleeping 2 feet away?”

“Yeah, that.”

“Well luckily now, we have the whole apartment to ourselves.”

The implications are obvious, especially considering Eunchae has done this countless times within the past few weeks. This time, though, it won’t just be an empty invitation. This time, you’ll indulge her, half as an apology for making her feel like she didn’t have a place, and half because she looks so fucking good.

You’re surprised when, instead of jumping you like she did in the washroom of Cozy’s weeks ago, she rushes to the door. She fiddles with the shopping bags, and she’s back, this time with the candle she got you.

“Now, every time you light this, every time you smell this candle, you’ll remember what’s about to happen.” She says, placing the now lit candle on the table.

“Oh? And what’s about to happen?” You ask, as the scent of coffee and caramel fills the room.

She drags you by the arms, lifting you up, and her lips find yours with vigour. You know in your mind that this means something, more than you let yourselves say. There’s the candle and the facemasks, the implications of why she got it for you. There’s that want that she expressed, for her to be more important in your life, for her to have a bigger space in your heart, and it’s all framed with the casualness of it all.

She flirts, advances on you like it doesn’t mean anything. But it does— the fact that you’re not always available, clearly it hurts her. And you’re not sure what it means to you, but it does mean something.

It’s not like you can convey this in just words, so you do it with your lips as the candle burns beside you. She tastes like you remember her tasting— why would she taste any different? But it’s telling the way that familiarity eggs you on more, causes your tongues to clash even harder.

It’s problematic, probably. The way your conversation flipped from something important, from feelings to physical like the flip of a switch, but you can’t stop now. You don’t even realize your hands are practically tearing her clothes off.

“Mmm— you’re gonna ruin our matching clothes,” she says all breathy.

“Let them get ruined,” you say.

“W-wait, they’re cute.”

Your hands work to get them off anyway. “They’re just clothes.”

“But y-you got them for me. They’re important.” She huffs.

You break away from her lips, and you remember that this is Eunchae. She likes to act bold, she’s been asking for this, for sex for weeks, but when it comes down to it, she’s a softy, and things like this really matter to her. That bold act was just her way of making you pay attention to her.

You take her in, the way her chest heaves with heavy breaths, the red in her cheeks. Your hand fixes the collar of her shirt, the one you rumpled in the heat of the kiss.

She gives you a smile. It takes a lot not to jump back in while she undresses. She even takes a moment to neatly fold the clothes. She takes her shirt off first, and you see her luscious breasts, those brown button nipples you’ve been wanting to taste again, but you let her go slowly.

You almost lose it when she takes her skirt off, revealing her blue panties, before taking those off too, but then she looks at you, eyebrows raised. “Well, your turn.”

It’s so unbelievably Eunchae, the slowness of it all. The care of it. It frames her boldness earlier in a different light, like she’s been craving this.

So you take your clothes off too. It’s embarrassing, really, her naked, watching you undress. But it’s worth it, because when you finally do, she crashes her lips back on yours. This time, you can feel her skin on yours, the softness of her pressing against you. You wrap your arms around her waist softly, letting your yourself savour the feel of her skin.

“This is different,” you say between breaths.

“What do you mean different?” She asks, hands roaming your chest.

“I just thought, after that time in the bathroom, you’d grown more bold.”

“Are you calling me sex-crazed?” She pushed you onto the couch, legs enclosing you. You can feel the warmth of her pussy scrape your cock, but she doesn’t move to put it in.

“Never said that.”

“Do you want me to be more bold?”

You pull her closer, and you feel her wetness on your pelvis. Your cock strains, but this moment is too tense, like any sudden movement can break it, so you just hold her.

“I want you to be Eunchae,” you say.

She rests her forehead on yours. “That time in the bathroom, do you think that wasn’t me?”

You climb your hands up her waist, across her silky back, snaking them to the front and finding her breasts. “No, that was you. A version of you.”

“And what’s this?”

You find her nipples, giving them a soft pinch. “This— it’s more real.”

She squirms as you pinch, lips finding yours again.

The heat between you two is almost unbearable, and you want to feel her. Want to be inside of her.

“Eunchae— I’m sorry,” you say almost out of desperation. “Sorry for— for making you feel lonely.”

“I’m not lonely right now,” she says.

You kiss down her face, finding her neck. You latch onto it, kissing and sucking it softly.

“Nngh, shit.” She moves her pelvis, finding your cock. She doesn’t let it enter just yet, just slides her pussy up and down the shaft with gentle movements.

You want to enter her, to feel her around you, but you can barely move your hips with how good this feels.

“Eunchae—” you moan. “Eunchae, this, I—”

“What,” she moans. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want to— nngh— to feel you again.”

She lifts her hips slightly, just enough to reach a hand down to your manhood, positioning it at her entrance.

“Fuck,” you moan, and she moans too.

You nearly explode as she lowers herself on your body. You’ve felt her before, but this time it’s different. Maybe it’s that damn candle, filling the room, maybe it’s her smooth skin, rubbing on yours, maybe it’s the confusion of it all, the feelings that she just shared.

She bottoms out, and it proves too much. Her head drops on your chest.

“Jesus, Eunchae. You— you feel so fucking good.” And you know in your heart, this isn’t what best friends do. This is something more. But you can’t let yourself think that, because if you do, your head might explode. There’s another you feel this way towards too, which complicates things even further, and going down that path, thinking about Chaewon in this moment would do nothing good.

Eunchae props herself up, and the absence of warmth of her pressed against your chest is missed, but you open your eyes, and you can see her naked body slowly bounce on top of you.

It’s almost like she’s a different person than the one you’ve been ignoring, reaching out for attention. The pressure on your cock, the feeling of her walls against you increases tenfold as you take her in. Her face, screwed up in pleasure, her breasts, bouncing slightly, her hair, all over the place, you don’t know how you ever let it go this long without giving her what she’s wanted.

You lift her off of you slowly, and she shudders at your absence, but you lay her down on the couch, positioning yourself at her entrance. You’re over top of her now, and her eyes are closed with expectancy.

You can’t delay it any longer if you tried. You enter her, strokes still slow and sensual.

“Nnngh— shit, Eunchae,” you groan as her head rolls back in pleasure.

You collapse on top of her in the pleasure, cock still lodged inside of her.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” she breaths. “Fuck, give it to me.”

You increase your speed, just by a little, but you both feel the effects. Your pelvis is a mess of her wetness, and every time you slide in and out of her is heaven.

Her body arches as you continue to pump. You finally find the strength to prop yourself up, find a better angle to thrust. You take a hand, find her clit while she squirms.

She tightens immediately around you. “Holy— nngh. I’m gonna- fuck- I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum for me,” you continue thrusting.

She grabs the forearm that’s rubbing her clit tightly, as her walls do the same to your piece. “Fu-fuck,” she cums.

You bottom out, feeling her walls convulse around you, and the pressure inside of you your pelvis starts to rise as well.

You slowly pull out, not all the way, just enough to see the strings of her cum connect your pelvises, before slowly pushing back in. The pleasure grows to a peak, it crawls up your spine. “I’m gonna cum too, Eunchae.”

She reaches up to you, pulling you back into her embrace, lips crashing against yours.

You fight it for as long as you can, pumping in and out of her, but soon, you lose control. You explode inside of her, shooting your hot spunk inside of her. Even then, as you cum, you don’t stop pumping, until the last of your load is spilled.

Only then do you collapse on top of her, both of you breathy.

“Jesus, Eunchae,” you groan. You slowly pull out, a trail of your liquids gushing out of her pussy.

“Th-that was amazing,” she moans, hugging you tightly.

The candle burns brightly beside you.

You let the moment sit between you. You know this complicates things even further, you know that at the end of the day, allowing things to continue so casually is probably a bad thing. Hell, you knew that the first time. But none of that matters in the moment. For now, you’re not coworkers, you’re not even best friends. You’re just you and Eunchae, laying on her couch.

You stay there for a while.

---

“Come on, these posters aren’t going to hang themselves!” Yunjin yells, gesturing you forward. “What the hell happened? You look like a zombie.”

“Just tired,” you say, unfurling some tape for her.

She hangs the advert on a lamp post.

“Do we really need these posters? I feel like that TikTok brought in enough customers already.”

“Well, they can’t hurt can they. Let’s go across the street. That side gets more foot traffic anyway.”

“Mmmk. Are you sure we don’t need like, permits or anything?” You question.

“To hang a piece of paper? No,” she says, crossing the street without looking.”

“Hey, be careful. Anyway, I think-”

“What the hell!?” Yunjin yells once she gets to the other side, tearing another poster off the wall. “Look at this!”

“What’s the problem?”

“Look!” She hands you the paper, and it’s a poster quite similar to yours, with the words ‘opening soon!’ in bold letters framing the page.

“So, another cafe is opening? Big deal. There’s a million cafe’s all across the city.”

“Look at the address!” she yells.

You do, and, as if challenging what you’ve built, the address is written in bold black letters.

“Shit,” you sigh. “This is right across the street from Cozy’s”.

---

A/N:

Hey all, finally, it's here. I know it's been a while, and this chapter is kind of all over the place. Definitely not where I want it to be (I know I say this for every damn chapter I release lol). But I just can't delay this any longer. Cafe Cuties is my baby, the story that got me to where I am today. But idk, let me know what you think!

Small picture.

Her hand drifts further down, and Seulgi has to catch herself before any cameras catch her—she so dearly wants her belly to be round, but only from a very specific reason: Bread.

Specifically bread of the procreation variety, the kind that takes nine months to ferment. Seulgi's so down bad that when she was in child's pose earlier all she can think about is being plowed and sown and having one of her own, praying that her wetness isn't soaking through her workout tights. And whose bread she would like to grow? Why he's back in the suite, probably unpacking and getting things all comfortable for her.

She sighs and heads back to the room from the gym for a second time, and this time things get unbearable.

"Hey, come here, let's talk." Seulgi is surprised by your bear hug, strong arms wrapping around her possessively.

"H-Huh, wait, let me go!"

"No, what's going on, you've been distant this whole trip. Did something happen?" Seulgi can hear the pout, and it just makes her feel guiltier—here you are concerned and worried, when all Seulgi can think about is getting you naked and underneath her.

"L-Let go, I'm so sweaty!" She struggles, and her latent arousal grows as you continue to "restrain" her with your arms. She's dragged to the love seat and sat in your lap, but she jumps off you as soon as she can. "I'm sorry, it's not you, it's me!"

"What?" Her words sink in and you jump to your feet "A-Are we breaking up? Oh god—"

"No no no we're not!" She grabs your hands and kisses you. "If anything, I think I like you too much."

"Then tell me what's going on."

"I, I know we talked about it, I just really want your baby."

"Yeah, but we agreed on being careful before we get married." You remind her gently.

"I know I'm sorry I just— You know I get umm..."

"Horny? Clingy?" you soften your words for Seulgi.

"Let's go with clingy. It happens when that part of my cycle comes around. It just hit especially hard this time..." Seulgi's blabbering now, the words rushing out of her. "And of course it happens when we're on vacation and it's even harder to avoid you, because I actually don't want to avoid you. Every night I see you come out of the shower I just want to jump you with no protection and let things happen. But that's not fair to you and I can't expect you to be the reasonable one and stop me every time so I try to workout extra hard and tire myself out so I won't have the energy to do that and I— Ahh I'm not making much sense am I?" Seulgi's a bit of a mess—she's definitely horny (you've sat back down and Seulgi naturally got in your lap, and she's been grinding and squirming subtly on you the whole time), but she's also conflicted, half kissing and half sniffling against your neck.

"No no, you made some sense. But we should get married first right?" That has always been a sore point of contention, despite the agreement—the two of you were married in all but name, except it wouldn't do to have a wedding just yet, not while Seulgi's an active idol.

"Yeah I know, I know—" You hold a hand up to shush her.

"This will sound crazy, and I'll do it again in the future, however you want me to do it, but for now: Kang Seulgi, will you marry me so I can knock you up?" The proposal was ridiculous, outrageous, absurd, infinitely more horny than romantic, both of you completely unprepared and poorly dressed for the moment.

But it was perfect.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Seulgi's tongue is in your mouth immediately, a giddy giggle escaping her as your tongue pushes against hers. "How is this going to work?"

"We're going to register our marriage, as soon as possible. But your word is good enough for me, so this is now our honeymoon." The implication of what happens on a honeymoon doesn't so much as hang in the air as it does dangle in front of the two of you like a delicious baguette.

"O-Our wedding would still be a shotgun wedding then." It's a bygone conclusion in Seulgi's head that she's going to be bred before then, and she gets even wetter.

"Technically it's won't be a shotgun wedding, because there the guy marries the girl because she got pregnant."

"And it's different for us because...?"

"I'm marrying you to get you pregnant. But your career would—"

"Shh deal with that later, that's the most romantic thing you've said to me." Seulgi's kisses you again lovingly, and for a moment she's happy to settle for an intimate moment, but—

"There's just one slight problem, you forgot to account for one thing." Seulgi looks at you a little confused, and you watch her pupils dilate in real time as she feels your hardness now pressed against her. "Me." Your hands drift to her waist, and you're pulling her even closer to you.

"How do you think I feel, seeing you come back home wearing your tight workout clothes all sweaty every night?" You lean in, disregarding Seulgi's sweat and kissing along her collarbone. "I don't have a cycle, so I always want to knock you up."

"Ahh!" Seulgi gasps as you slide fingers across her exposed waist. She's paralyzed by arousal, making itself very apparent between her legs and across her chest. She has been so caught up in managing her own desires, she didn't think about the effect she had on you.

"And if you're extra tired, that just makes things harder for me." Your whispered words flow into her ear, to her brain, and then straight down her spine to her horny core. "What's stopping me from holding you down and doing whatever I want to you right now?"

"Y-You would, now?" It suddenly hits Seulgi fast that she might get the very thing she wants the most in the world right now, right away.

"Right in this chair if you can get us naked without having to leave it." Your words whip Seulgi into action, and she's tugging at your t-shirt, pulling it off you. You help her out of her top the way a truant helps the class president on a group project—looking on at her all dopey as she does her thing. Seulgi takes charge, pushing your shorts down as much as she can, and then she's stuck.

"Fuck I—" She tugs on her own tights, but said tights are far too taut around Seulgi's tight toned thighs. She plants her feet on the chair, trying to stand up, wobbling but staying in it best she can, and it is far too dangerous.

"Seul!" She doesn't listen, and you have to forcefully bring her down. With two hands on her hips you tear the durable fabric apart, giving Seulgi enough purchase to properly spread her legs. "This is good enough." A pull of her plain black panties aside and you're sliding into her.

"Yes!" Seulgi whimpers, and you have to hold her still to gather yourself—you haven't seen Seulgi quite this needy ever.

"Just wait a moment, I'm not going anywhere! What were you thinking, trying to stand on the chair, it's dangerous!"

"I wasn't thinking, and you shouldn't be either." You swallow a moan as Seulgi squeezes herself around you deliberately. "Do you feel it?" She squeezes you again.

"Fuck Seulgi yes." Your hands drift to her midriff, trying to hold her still, but it is a futile effort as her pussy contracts around you yet again.

"That's how much I want it right now, it's all I can think about. If you want it as bad as you say you do, stop thinking until you've pumped this flat belly full and round." You don't have it in you to fight Seulgi, and as soon as your grip on her relaxes, her grip on you tightens, shamelessly grinding back and forth in your lap. Her teeth nip into your earlobe as she whimpers filthy nothings into your ear, thanking and begging you for the cum you're going to pour into her.

"M-More oppa, I need more!" Breeding Seulgi is a two-person job, so with a gratifying clap you grab her ass and begin shoving her up and down your cock. The love seat scrapes against the floor as Seulgi emphatically joins in, planting her knees and bouncing herself on your cock crazy please-knock-me-up style. There's no time to admire the way her midriff moves, or her entire body rolling to take your cock deep, or her little mewls into your neck—Seulgi's doing all of this to yank your cum out of you, playing tug-of-cock in your lap.

"Giveittome pleasepleaseplease!" The words come out in a rush as Seulgi peaks, and if you thought she was squeezing you earlier, it is nothing compared to the way her pussy tries to pull your cock deeper into her, and you lose the tug-of-cock all too willingly. You hold Seulgi down on your spewing shaft, splattering her walls with thick seed as she stays rooted in your lap, and the first round of planting your seed in Seulgi reaches a satisfactory end.

"It feels so warm, you're so warm in me..."

"You're so hot around me too." You're still half-hard, and you can feel Seulgi still squeezing you. "You'll need to wait a bit for round two."

"We have the whole day tomorrow, this is enough to satisfy me for now. Ooh, somebody liked that!" Seulgi feels the twitch inside her when she says the words "for now". You look around, but one key thing is out of reach—tissues!

"Wait, don't stain the couch!" You scooch the two of you forward a little to let anything drip on to the floor, but Seulgi has an easier solution. She lifts her hips slightly and quickly slips her panties back into position. The resulting view is arguably more satisfying—instead of your load dripping out of Seulgi, you watch her black panties get stained white, the blanc spot spreading across the noir fabric, visual representation of what's happening inside of her as well.

"I should've worn something looser." Seulgi gets off you, slightly struggling to peel off the torn tights.

"I'll get you a new pair, sorry."

"No I have plenty, it's not a problem." Seulgi follows your gaze—you're still looking between her legs, at her panties keeping your load in her. "What is it?"

"Isn't it going to stain?"

"I can always buy more, I'd rather keep it from leaking."

"You can always get more of that too." You hug her, waddling the two of you towards the bathroom. "Maybe give you a little more in the shower?"

"Not tonight, sorry, I want to prepare for tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?"

"Nothing, just a bit of self-care, do you want to shower first? I'll be in there for a while." You let Seulgi go first, and she takes so long she has to shake you awake. She's also clearly tuckered out, for by the time you're done showering she's already tucked under the sheets.

"Sleeping?"

"I was waiting for you." She pulls your arm across her body, letting you settle on her midriff, hand over her tummy intentionally. "Thanks oppa."

"I want what you want, I love you."

"Love you too, good night."

You wake up late next morning, and Seulgi's nowhere to be found again. You quickly fire off a text to her, and she tells you to come to the pool. You throw on some clothes and quickly realize you shouldn't have bothered.

"Hey dear." Seulgi's lounging by the pool, wearing a strapless bikini top, a blue floral dress, and a gorgeously ruinable midriff. She puts her book down and gets up, sauntering over and leaning against the window, posing for you like she's done countless times for photoshoots. "Is that your morning wood, or are you just happy to see me?"

"Yes, both, is this what you were preparing?"

"Perhaps, why don't you undress me and find out?" Except this isn't a photoshoot, this is Seulgi dolled up and offering herself to you; she loosens her dress, revealing the matching navy bikini bottoms she has on. You hold her by the hips, pressing her against the cold glass surface and kissing her.

"God you're amaz—"

"Ah ah ah, save it for when we're naked." You quickly strip, but Seulgi's still waiting for you to do the honors. Off goes her top, but when you pull off Seulgi's bottoms you're too stunned to speak—Seulgi's completely bare down there, pink lips blushing amongst pale skin. You had grown used to Seulgi keeping things neat, so seeing her completely "naked" was unexpected, to say the least. "S-Stop staring and say something."

"You're amazing." You immediately run a hand down her body, feeling her unexplored skin and delving a finger past her lips. "Is this what you were preparing last night?"

"Yeah, I— Mmm right there! I wanted to watch us clearly, to see you going in." Both of you are glued between your legs as your morning wood slips into Seulgi's morning warmth, and the sight of your tip pushing apart Seulgi's rosy lips threatens to split your brain in two. She's similarly out of it, eyes blank and unfocused at your shaft sliding into her. "Fuck, p-pull out, I want to see it again."

You've had Seulgi multiple times, and it's not like she's been blindfolded when it happens (not always, anyways), but this is the first time she's asking to watch you plunge into her. You lift her hips, giving her an angle she can look down at, and you pull out, making sure she can see your base and balls heavy with baby batter. You shove yourself back in, and Seulgi throws her head back hard enough your hear her thud against the glass.

"Oh fuck, are you okay?"

"Don't stop, fuck..." Seulgi doesn't even notice her own bump, instead imagining the bulge between her legs and the bump you're going to give her in a couple months. She draws you in, and with her legs wrapping around you you have to pin her to the glass, your tip pressed against her cervix. "Oh yes, right there!" Her fingers dig into your hair, twisting and pulling you to face her. "You have to cum right there, I want to feel it!"

Seulgi's possessed, frenzied, and she's dragging you down with her. The pool is a small private one for the suite, but what you're doing with Seulgi quickly becomes public knowledge as you start hammering her against the glass, making her whispers and whimpers turn into yelps and cries of pleasure. She wriggles her hips every time you hilt inside her, as if willing you deeper, wanting to feel you press against her womb. Her eyes drift, inching to roll back in her head, but she closes them tightly and knits her brows, as if trying to keep her sanity.

"Fuck I can't oppa, I can't! I'm going to cum!"

"Then do it!"

"Nngh no! I want to feel you cum, need to know you're cumming in me."

"Baby bear, if you're going to look like this, there's no way I'm not filling your tight little belly up." Just the promise of you filling her up has Seulgi clenching around you. "So just let go and cum, or I'll make you." You start slamming up into her, and her expression disintegrates, eyelids drooping and lips lightly parted as she grunts and takes your brutal babymaking thrusts. She gurgles, and sharp nails dig into the back of your neck as she starts to cum. Her legs go weak, no longer staying wrapped around your hips, but you don't stop, pushing through her contracting warmth, as if to say—

You're not milking me for my cum, I'm pumping you full of it!

With a growl you push up and into Seulgi, making her leave her feet, and she's effectively impaled on your cock as you burst, thick potent cum surging into her, turning her womb into an infinity pool—filled to the brim and overflowing off the edges. Her eyes are blank, staring past you into the sky, wholly focused on your warm load being pumped into her, toes curling uselessly in the air. The flow into Seulgi seems to not slow down, and she so dearly wants to put a hand on her tummy, to see if you're bulging her with cum, because fuck Seulgi's starting to feel heavy.

When her feet touches the floor again she almost slips, partly because her strength has left her completely, and partly because she's stepped in a puddle of your cum, evidence of just how much you put in her—you've leaked so much out of her and she still feels full! She fidgets her toes, your cum thick and sticky between them, no doubt thick and sticky inside her as well, and a cum-lust takes over Seulgi.

"You okay Seul?" She's slumped to the floor, kneeling in the puddle of slick and cum without a care.

"Yeah I just need mo— Need to clean you up." She takes you in her mouth, servicing you all over, cleaning your shaft and your balls with sloppy drool and slurpy tongue. Seulgi takes her time with it, and if you didn't know any better, she was trying to get you hard for another round. When you're hard and poking into her cheek she releases you, and for a moment you thought you might be wrong, as she stands up and walks away, going to pick up her discarded clothing. Yet oh so slowly she bends over, picking up her bikini with the same deliberate slowness she cleaned your cock with, and you recognize it for what it is.

A fucking invitation, in every sense of those two words.

Seulgi keeps still as your hands grab her hips, and she's quickly rewarded with your tip pushing past her still-creamy lips. Her legs go weak again, and you follow her down to the floor, rutting into her doggy-style. Seulgi's a little embarrassed at just how brazenly she's asking for it, but it's clearly working for both of you as you reach over to paw at her chest, having your way with her as she whines and moans. It's almost hypnotic the way her thighs and and ass jiggle as you pound into her—this is Seulgi at her juiciest and most delectable, and a low rumble escapes you as you get close. She reaches back to grab your thigh, but she need not have worried, and a few thrusts later you're emptying yourself into her. Seulgi triggers her own orgasm too, rubbing her clit to make sure she drains you thoroughly. This time she stays there, letting gravity help her keep your seed in her.

"You really want this huh, last night was not just a moment of craziness?" You're sitting down next to her, watching her in the ridiculous yet lewd pose of her ass still perched in the air as she rests on the floor. That makes Seulgi sit up.

"Did you think I wasn't serious yesterday? Was everything you said yesterday just... Playing along?"

"N-No! I do want to marry you, but I wasn't sure if you wanted everything else to happen so quickly, this weekend." Seulgi's in your lap again, just like last night.

"I do, I want us to start a family as soon as possible." Seulgi snakes her arms around you, hugging you tightly. She sits her hips down on yours, making sure you feel your spend oozing out of her. "I remember everything you said last night, I'm treating this as our honeymoon, so as long as it ends in you finishing in me, you can do anything you want, have me anytime you want."

"As much as I want to, we need to take a break at least for lunch." You can't believe it, but Seulgi's pouting that you can't fill her up again right away. "I'm as serious as you are, so I'm here if you need me for anything. Don't!" you warn her immediately, knowing the next words out of her mouth would be her needing you to knock her up. Reluctantly she stands up and finally leaves your lap, and she disappears into the bathroom to clean up and be presentable for lunch in the resort.

You could not have forseen how lunch would become a complete mess, or rather, how you became a complete mess, because Seulgi was downright irresistible. She dressed plainly, a sundress befitting the warm climes, but the only thing plainer than her outfit were her intentions.

"Seulgi, see anything you like?"

"Oh, whatever you want. Whenever you want. I like everything I see, it all looks so delicious!" Instead of the menu she's staring right at you, bedroom eyes fluttering for all to see. Any hot-blooded male would have wondered if you were mad, not skipping lunch and just taking Seulgi back to the room for a thorough pounding before coming back out to eat. You jump when you feel a stray foot touch your leg, running it up and down your limb.

"Hello and welcome, may I take your order?"

"Yes, I'll have the carbonara pasta." You answer, ignoring Seulgi's foot dancing up to your knee.

"Very good sir, and for you miss?"

"Mmm nice and thick. I am— I mean, I'll have, what he's having." Seulgi doesn't even take her eyes off you, barely sparing the waitress an iota of attention.

"I'll make that two then."

"Oh I hope so too."

Seulgi wants twins?!

The knowledge that Seulgi wants you to breed her is fucking you up so hard, everything sounds wrong and lewd and filled with innuendo, just like Seulgi is filled with— no you have to stop!

"What are you thinking about oppa?" Seulgi knows, she fucking knows the effect she's having on you. "Was there something else you wanted to eat?" Like me?

"No, was just thinking about dessert." Even that sounds lewd coming out of your mouth.

"We can have that back in the room." You can have me back in the room.

"Y-Yeah, sounds good." Seulgi simply stays quiet, tapping at her phone, and you quickly bury your gaze in your phone too. Soon you feel her foot being naughty again, and you see Seulgi with her head resting on her hands, leaning forward and looking at you intently. "What is it?"

"Hmm? Nothing." She picks up her phone again, and this time your phone buzzes.

*Just waiting for us to finish lunch, so you can go back to knocking me up*

You look up from the message, and Seulgi's just looking at you again, as if she hasn't just sent one of the most depraved messages you've seen from her.

"Do you want to just get it to go?"

"No, we should just eat since we're here already." The pasta arrives, and Seulgi manages to clumsily knock a fork off the table. "Sorry."

"I'll get you a new one Miss."

"It's okay, five second rule."

"Please, I insist."

"Thank you!" Seulgi hands the fork to the waitress, but she doesn't get up from under the table. You're halfway into your first bite when you feel Seulgi's hand creep up your thigh, reaching through your shorts and boxers to get to you. You feel your own legs get pushed open as Seulgi settles in between them, quickly stroking you to full hardness right in the restaurant. Oh fuck, how large is the tablecloth, or is everyone just watching Seulgi give you a handjob under the table? You don't get another moment to think though, as Seulgi gets far more daring, pushing your shorts up your thigh and nestling her cheek right against the bare skin. Surely not— She starts sucking.

Kang Seulgi is giving you a blowjob in the middle of the restaurant. 

You try to close your legs, to squeeze Seulgi out from under there, but she keeps you spread. You can hear the soft suckling noises she makes, her lips enveloping your tip and tongue swirling around it, and you just pray that you're the only one that can hear it.

"And here's the fork."

"Fuck... I mean fork, t-thank you, thank you for the fork! She went to the bathroom, she's not anywhere else!"

"I see..." Oh god, does she see? Is Seulgi's feet poking out from underneath or something? The waitress walks away without another word. Seulgi gets back to eating you, and you're dangerously close to popping.

"Seulgi!" You hurriedly tap her with your knee, but it is of no use. The audible gulp of Seulgi going deep on your cock is enough to send you soaring, and the fork in your hand is trembling as you unload down her throat, feeding her thick and creamy pastaless carbonara. The fork hits the table with a thud as Seulgi finally retreats, surfacing back in her seat, tongue swiping the last of your cum from her lips. "What the hell was that?" Seulgi beckons you closer to hear her whisper.

"I couldn't wait for us to finish lunch to have you fill me up. It was either that or I ride you in the restaurant, so I settled for you in my mouth." You're left speechless as she starts on her plate of pasta. Kang Seulgi settled for giving you a blowjob in the middle of the restaurant. "Hurry up and start eating!"

You somehow manage to finish your lunch without further distractions from Seulgi, and with her half-eaten lunch packed in a container ("I had plenty right before," she said happily to the waitress) you find yourself back in the room with a fidgety Seulgi.

"So, dessert?" she asks, already slipping out of her sundress.

"I'd say yes except you kinda just reset the cooldown on things in the restaurant."

"And is there no way I can help with that?" She plays with her underwear.

"Just a little time, please."

"Okay, take your time, I'll just be in the bedroom warming up."

"Warming up?"

"Exercise, stretching, fertility rituals and home remedies, the usual." You're staring and silent as Seulgi saunters into the bedroom, leaving her sundress pooled on the floor in front of you.

You sigh as you sit on the couch, only for your phone to immediately start buzzing.

*I lied, I'm not really warming up*

*I'm touching myself thinking about what we'll do as soon as you're ready*

*my fingers don't stretch me half as well as you do*

*is it helping? I hope it is*

You had a sexting phase with Seulgi, back when she was traveling for her world tour, and her baby fever seems to have pushed things up a notch as she continues.

*I thought about getting some local remedies you know? But I know you wouldn't approve*

*you're right* you tap out.

*shouldn't you reward me for that, I know just how you can do it*

*anyways so I got some home remedies from Korea, my parents said it worked for their friends and they all have grandchildren now!*

*oh I shouldn't be talking about our parents should I? Not very sexy*

*let's just say I took it this morning before you woke up, gave me a morning lake for your morning wood, and I took it before lunch too*

That explains the under-the-table action you got from her, it's from all the under-the-counter home remedies she's taking!

*are you ready yet? I'm trying so hard to not come out and ride you so please don't make me wait too long*

*what are you wearing?* You rise from the couch.

*just my underwear, should I take it off now?*

*you choose*

You get up and cross the suite to the bedroom, finding Seulgi tucked underneath the covers.

"Thought we could do something a little more playful."

"And because you wanted to leave me guessing." Seulgi beckons you over with a finger.

"So come over and find out." You strip off your clothes and slip under the covers, only to find out that you're at the wrong level of undress. The duration of one kiss is all it takes to rectify that mismatch, and with a hand on her hip you're able to spoon your fork-dropping woman, sliding into her with ease.

"You're so damn wet bear."

"The home remedy works." There's no rush, and it's so easy to thrust slowly into Seulgi's drenched heat.

"So, got it from your parents huh, or should I start calling them mom and dad too?"

"Oh god stop! We are not talking about them now." Seulgi reaches for your hips, urging you to go faster.

"I'm surprised they're okay with it, given that you know, we're not married yet."

"They understand, ah! Given my line of work. You've met them already, they like you, they're not going to complain if I want to hurry the timeline a little." Her legs tangle with yours, squeezing you as you hit deep in her.

"Did you get me any home remedies? If you're going to pull a stunt like the restaurant again I might need a little help."

"Oh, I thought you would get some from your parents, maybe our parents could share recipes—"

"Okay, we are not talking about my parents right now."

"Then shut up and fuck me, you won't need any help, it was so thick and salty in my mouth."

"The pasta right? Yeah it wasn't the best."

"Only if you want to give me a food baby. Was talking about what's stored here," Seulgi grabs you between the legs playfully. "So thick and sticky, I'm sure you can give me a proper baby." She groans as you thrust again, and this time her hand around your neck is a little more urgent. "Less talking, need to feel you put a load in me, and then again afterwards. Fuck me roughly, fuck me gently, I don't care just fuck your wife!" You do as she asks, pushing Seulgi on her front and rolling yourself on top of her.

You press your chest to her back, hugging her tightly as your hips churn into her relentlessly. Seulgi moans and tightens around you, spreading her legs to give you maximum access. Her legs kick up uselessly as she wails and cums, and you bask in the knowledge that only you can make her feel like that. Knowledge is definitely a powerful drug, and knowing that Seulgi didn't hesistate to tell her parents of all people that she's trying to get bred is kicking in, making you drive your hips that much harder into her. You feel imperious: Seulgi's your wife, and you are going to mate her.

Mate.

You roll Seulgi on her back and spread her wide, making her yelp in surprise as you plunge back deep into her. She lets out a shrill cry as you pound right at her womb—if any round was going to knock her up, this would be the one to do it!

"My wife, mine!" you rasp, hooking her legs and bending them back to get better access. You're half squatting now, the bed helping you bounce a little and really pound Seulgi into the bed.

"Yessss yes yes yes!" You're leaning over her, putting all of your weight on Seulgi's hips. She's going to be sore, but she can take it, she has the strength and flexibility to take you—Seulgi's trained to be an idol after all.

Trained to be bred.

You groan and explode with a triumphant shout, plunging down into Seulgi and staying there. She cums with you, and watching her beautiful face dissolve into sheer ugly orgasmic pleasure you feel a rush similar to the seed that's rushing into Seulgi's womb at the same time—omnipotence, only you get to see her like this!

"I love you, I love you so much, I'm so happy..." she's babbling, hugging you with what strength she has left.

"I love you too Seulbear." You stop pressing into her and back off, giving Seulgi a little room to breathe, but all she wants to do is cling to you, legs trying feebly to wrap around you. You settle for lying halfway on top of her, letting her feel your presence still on top of her, but not suffocatingly so.

"It's going to happen isn't it? You were so deep." she asks.

"I hope so, did it hurt?"

"A little, but then I felt you and it— It was so hot, like you were everywhere in me. It felt so good." Seulgi's glowing, a sheen of sweat on her forehead somehow making her look even better. You kiss her lovingly, and Seulgi's surprisingly aggressive, sucking on your lower lip, tongue reaching out to tangle with yours.

"I want to do it again." She tries to push herself up, but can barely lift her off the bed. "In a little bit."

The two of you settle for ordering room service and never leaving the room for another meal again. Seulgi's nickname may be bear, but the two of you fuck like rabbits the rest of the trip. The tiniest of provocations is enough to trigger an extended breeding session—if Seulgi ever happens to be below your hips it's an excuse for her to get you hard and get pumped shortly after. You so much as sit down on any surface and Seulgi's liable to appear and bounce on your cock until she's dripping cum all over said surface. On the last night Seulgi bending over and catching your eye while she's packing is enough to get her out of her shorts and you into her as soon as said shorts hit the floor.

Morning comes with Seulgi riding you, grinding in your lap with the abs she worked so hard for, happy with the knowledge that this weekend just ruined all of it for the near future.

"We really should have slept," you manage between groans of pleasure. 

"We can sleep after we're done." Seulgi squeezes you expertly, having learned just how to get you fully drained over the many sessions of babymaking sex. "On the way back!"

"Fine, let's finish it together." You reach for her clit, and with a deft touch you trigger Seulgi's orgasm and let go yourself, filling her up for one last time. Over the trip you've definitely outdone the resort restaurant—you've filled Seulgi up far more than they have, that's for sure.

The two of you stumble through checkout and the airport, the two of you snoring loudly the entire flight back. After a long and sore week at work you finally meet up with Seulgi again, and you hug her happily as she enters your home.

"Hi honey, my wife." You could only call her that here. "Fancy work event?"

"You're calling me that now? I guess, hi hubby." She pecks your cheek before continuing. "Hmm, I like oppa more still. Yeah, fancy shmancy, kinda boring. You sure move fast though," Seulgi adds pointedly.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, I should get us rings soon shouldn't I, even if you can't wear it outside."

"That would be nice, but you should probably get something else too." She waves her phone at you.

Test kits, of the pregnancy kind.

"You mean— Already? How do you feel?"

"Nothing really yet, it's hard to explain, but just haven't felt fully myself this week. Maybe I caught something on the trip, but if I did, you would have caught it too right?"

"Yeah, I feel fine though, so..." You grip her hands just that little bit tighter. "It's really happening, how are you feeling? You should take it easy and rest up, I can drive you back."

"Shh, we don't know yet, don't jinx it." Seulgi leads you to the bedroom. "And since we don't know yet, we should keep trying until we're sure." You're pushed to the bed and Seulgi starts getting on top of you.

"Besides, since the trip I haven't seen you all week, so if you think I'm leaving without fucking my husband at least once you're very wrong."

You say the only thing a good husband would say in this situation.

"Yes dear."

And it's flawless, because she makes it flawless - which is the true cruelty of it.

You reply: for the record, I poison the food, trace amounts, bioaccumulative. you'll go quietly in your sleep the week before you become partner, and i'll be left to grieve into your half of a security deposit

we are never seeing that deposit again because you put your fist through the drywall demonstrating a rear naked choke

You said you felt unsafe walking to the subway

I feel unsafe walking to the kitchen, thank you very much. She turns a page she was reading - now drink your spit.

Gladly

You'd had this apartment since you were both broke - instant-noodle broke, splitting one metrocard broke, the sort of broke that's almost fun in the rearview because you survived it by the skin of your teeth.

Now she bills more in an hour than the rent. You do something with capital you've stopped trying to explain at parties - rather, take a middle distance, talk about all the publishing companies you've sponsored. exclaim books aren't dead after all! [1]

[1] of course, the irony of it is that they are, kind of dead

The radiator finds a new place to leak everyday, the second bathroom is a closet on account of all the pipe failures - and you have to pass by her bedroom to go to the bathroom. You'll take your grim - as she says - 4-in-1 facial cleanser, moisturizer, toner, window cleaner beside her 70 products to - as she says, to look like a porcelain cup. Either of you could leave tomorrow. But you don't.

I'm making you a tinder profile you say, taking her phone off the counter, sliding in the code to her phone.

I don't need a profile

You need a life. Or, at minimum, an orgasm that isn't self-induced.

She scoffs at the answer, still focused on the book -

You read aloud what you type in: emotionally available between the hours of never and also never.

Keep going. I'm aroused.

Lawyer, with three working holes

She sets the book down - this is how you know you've drawn blood - give me the phone

Make me

You had reserved a restaurant for the two of you, this new restaurant that was supposed to be great according to 15 google reviews who probably were the owner's extended family - doing their due diligence to make sure that this specific child doesn't become the family disappointment.

As always, the food comes out less than satisfactory; all the dishes are doused in butter; and the salad section was the most calorically dense section of the menu. You whisper about how much better you can make each of these dishes back home - and she'll agree, for once:

You ruined restaurants for me. I used to enjoy being disappointed by the $20 millennial man-bun burger. Now there's a douchebag at home who makes a great burger.

my pleasure with a smile.

She's scrolling tinder, still scrolling ever since the morning. Look at this, look at what's available to me. This one opened with the word 'yes'.

Atleast he's confident about it.

Oh please... she sighs, and this one wanted to know - whether i would rather have one thumb for a tongue or a tongue on every finger.

What did you land on. I think the tongue on every finger -

Nothing! It's so impractical, i'd rather think about - i don't know, vigorously masturbating.

You choke on some food you were actively chewing on, and she giggles - of course she does - and this one spelled 'pussy' wrong, this one wrote 'wyd 2nite' and I just have to scoff - how lazy do you have to be. It is ONE keystroke. T-O.

She drops the phone facedown, Who raised these men. Who looked at a child and thought: i will release this, unfinished, into the apps.

You'd know more about raising them, if you'd dated more than one person since the Pleistocene.

Atleast I committed, you - you just find anybody to fuck around with. She points at you, still chewing the complimentary bread - there was that one with the lululemon workout gear, said that's her sexpertise - she mimics a gag - then the DJ. The other DJ. Then I think there was another fucking DJ. I just genuinely -

Respect the hustle, Sohyun.

Respect the hustle? Your dick has commitment issues.

You laugh, and she's laughing too, the helpless one she hates, hand over her mouth, a soft cackle, perfect, uneven teeth showing - and you pay before she can fight you about it.

There's a dress shop two blocks down, on the way back to your apartment - and there's a green dress of something very expensive, to which she slows just a tad for -

You: Try it.

No thanks. It's ten thousand dollars with a tag.

So is everything you own. And then, you can't help it, it's right there - you lower your voice into something oily, shriveled, all menace, Let your uncle get it for you.

Absolutely not, strike it from the record

Uncle's had a very good quarter sweetheart. You pat a pocket. Uncle wants to see you in the green one.

I will call the actual police, I will have you locked up in maximum security - but, that laugh, she can't help herself, laughing into her hand - ...does uncle want to come in - watch me try it?

And for once, neither of you has the line to pull back.

...That got away from us, you manage, like something's lodged in your throat

That got away from you. She says. Buy me the dress, uncle. I've earned it.

Of course. You buy it.

The weekend arrives with the both of you brushing in the same bathroom, the only usable bathroom. She gargles, lets the foam clear away before slotting a length of floss between her teeth - By the way, I've a date today

With a... functioning human being?

His name is Mark. He used a semicolon correctly, nearly proposed on the spot.

So he's unemployed

He's a structural engineer, building the finest bridges.

Man who builds bridges and stays punctual - sounds like you matched with linkedin premium.

He's nice. Two long relationships, both ending kindly. Tips like he's apologizing for capitalism.

...So a serial killer?

He's just nice, man. She moves to throw the length of loss away.

Nobody's just nice. 4 months later the neighbors will find the crawlspace. You amble a comb through your hair. and then, I'll say I told you so.

She presses an index finger into your gut and you reflexively jolt - save this barking for later, uncle.

You move into the living room, waiting for Sohyun to get ready. You didn't get to see her in a green dress yet -

Uncle, I'm ready. She says, behind the door.

This uncle bit is getting old, Sohy - She comes out, the green dress skims her curves, the v-neck that presses her cleavage together, gleaming hair, glowing skin, plump lips -

Eyes up here mister.

Right. Get a hold of yourself - yeah, it looks great. Like, I don't know, it's like an accidentally sexy librarian.

Your eyes are fixed to my cleavage, I'm not even sure if you got the full view.

You did, you definitely did. This is, without a doubt, the hottest woman you've ever seen.

Now, help me zip up this thing.

There's the long bare reach of her back, you drag it up slowly, the zipper is small and your hands are big and you don't want to waste a moment of counting all the moles on her back.

I'm sorry but there won't be a person left in this city who hasn't looked down the front of that dress you say, pulling the zipper by parts.

Here I was, hoping the one exception was you.

Afraid not. You move some hairs away from her nape to get the zipper fully closed.

And she turns again, the dress comes out even more pressed to her curves, and that v-neck, god almighty. She steps into the heels -

I'm picturing it, you - a human - and this... linkedin premium.

God please no

I'm picturing it - two barbie dolls in the dark, knocking smooth plastic parts together. You say, vulgarity be damned.

Please stop talking - a familiar twitch to her mouth, god what you would do to continue living with her.

He won't get anywhere regardless, you add, holding out her coat unasked. Ten years with one man, a year of nothing since: there are cobwebs in there.

You know what's charming about the women you date? she says, taking the coat. How they all vanish after exactly one dinner. Like you're running a very tidy little murder operation

You know what's charming about the men you date? They don't exist. Mark is the first confirmed sighting. That's a million dollar sighting. Rarer than bigfoot.

Mark exists.

We'll see if he survives contact. Go easy on him, castrator

Don't need to go easy, dahmer. He's structurally sound. She slings a bag over her shoulder. Dont wait up.

You wait up, badly: lights off, a finance newsletter open on your phone that you're not reading, slouching on the couch like a man who is definitely not watching the door, ambling away the scalding minutes.

The lock turns at around eight PM. She comes in on the green dress and a drunk smile -

So, you say

So. She drops her shoes

How was Marco

Mark - she says, with emphasis - was wonderful.

And something about it feels wrong. Like swallowing something that's whole, cratering its path through your esophagus. Wonderful how, be specific, treat it as a deposition.

He's funny, actually funny, she pads into the kitchen, where you've already moved, filling two glasses of wine - we didn't stop talking. Three whole hours of talking, they flipped the chairs onto the tables around us.

Insufferable

There's a second date, a sip from the wine, a gentle smile on her. You wouldn't know the feeling.

Conversation's never been my deliverable.

No. I've seen your deliverable. It leaves before the coffee and changes its phone number

It leaves satisfied, you gesture, A courtesy Mark may never trouble you with

She hops up onto the counter, legs swinging in a gentle rhythm. And that dress - your dress, your genuinely terrible idea - pressed high to her thigh, all pretense of hem gone, riding clean all the way to the upper -

You'd buy it anyway. You'd buy it on leverage you don't have -

Oh please, monk of the orgasm temple. She scoffs. "Satisfied." Then tips her head, lowers the lashes, entering this little play that she imagines your women sing: I see you across the bar and - gosh (this emphasis on the trashiest possible gosh) - you really want me to put my tongue there!? I've never done that before. Sweet as a song. Does that play? On the book-illiterate?

Devastatingly so, you say. You should audition to be one of these... book-illiterates. I'm always casting.

No thanks. I've got a second date to look forward to.

Do you even get to the regular stuff, you ask, or do you have to bury the body first?

Now - she aims the empty glass at your sternum - you're trying to get me worked up.

You retrieve the glass, but up close she's all wine-warmth, hot perfume, the gentle trace of another man's cologne, and your body, traitorous as it is, gets worked up.

Oh my god. she says, looking down, radiant, with a ticking-time-bomb of a laugh - is that what I think it is?

Quickly, try to play it off - Don't flatter yourself, I was outside for a while and walked past alot of women - and she catches the lie like it's nothing, scoffing: You walked past, maybe, a leaking radiator.

The radiator's been forward lately. I haven't wanted to make it weird.

Should've seen it sooner, looks like we're arranging the date soon for the radiator fucker, she rules.

Oh, but I'm shy - an awful pitch to your voice.

And there's this soft silence, like nothing's wrong in the world - and Sohyun's grinning at you, wine marking her lips a tad darker, like you could just -

She tilts her head, openly appraising - I've always had a soft spot, she murmurs, for the small and the weak.

There's nothing small about me

You bring your dick up an awful lot. She slides off the counter and lands close. I wonder what that means.

It means you keep looking. I knew you would.

I wanted a visual, she says, It'll be giving me nightmares for weeks, thank you very much.

And then nothing's said. Kitchen too small, this green dress too close, the fact that you've got a hard-on to her and she... Fucking. Knows.

Goodnight, Dahmer she brushes past - because she has never once let you have the last move - and goes down the hall to her bedroom

And you're fine.

Completely fucking fine.

A month passes, Mark, the angel Sohyun's in love with has her busy on the weekends, letting her experience the city for what it's worth, letting her live a life she's missed out on for years.

He texts you on a Tuesday. Apparently I've been dating your roommate a month and never once bought her roommate a drink. Let me fix that - Friday? Sohyun's in, obviously.

You go to hate him - an agenda that Sohyun is already aware of. They're already there in the corner booth, two of them sitting next to eachother - and Mark rises to shake your hand. Tall and good-looking, how cliche - like he's never been escorted out of a holiday party by the shoulders.

You came. Mark says. Sohyun bet me twenty you'd bail.

I should have. I had a flawless evening of resenting you from across the city already booked. You slide in across from them.

So, you say. Bridges, tell me about the one that collapsed. The bodies, all the bodies.

None of mine have collapsed

That you know of.

He won an award, Sohyun interjected.

An award for a bridge that hasnt failed yet - committee's bold then. Waitress brings a beer, foam leaking at the top, and you take a sip - Personally, cantilevers - I say as a layman - overrated.

Overrated how. He gives a pleasant smile

The general load -

You don't know what a cantilever is.

I know it's a kind of bridge

It's mostly a kind of shelf. And he's kind about it, which is just unsufferable. You just came to find something wrong with me.

A felony. An ugly walk. An ugly way of chewing. Maybe you cheer for Arsenal. You reply, suavely.

Sorry to disappoint.

It's enraging. I keep waiting for you to mention the women in the well.

No well, he mock-sighs. HOA's strict.

It's the moment you tip - Has she told you what she actually does? She castrates men for a living. It's all framed back home.

And Sohyun - careful all night, porcelain-beautiful, hair curled to perfection - It's family law, castration for itemization. There's a huge difference.

Then she adds: Don't let him do the wounded act by the way. He's a "venture capitalist" and calls it a vocation.

I also keep a few dying publishers as pets, you tell Mark.

Sohyun, not missing a beat, There's a working theory. I won't bore you with the evidence but it has to do with organs.

There's no evidence. You point at her, then finally finishing the rest of the beer. It's all gone, mysteriously.

Mark interjects: They're not dying, though, the publishers. A little lost.

Oh, they're dying, you and Sohyun say, at the same time, in almost the same key - the both of you laugh.

That's the first time you feel him fall behind. He laughs too - but it's lagged, late.

You always look like you're one step off a knife fight, she tells you.

I'm delighted to be here, actually. Means I'm not off evicting some single mother from a shelter.

That was an accident.

Hmm.

There was a - Mark starts. - a shelter?

Long story, you and she say, in unison, and don't tell it.

He sits back a little.

You mention you came straight up from the office and she says she didn't realize they let people jaunt back and forth over the River Styx[2] like that, and you say there's a small toll, it's all very very very civilized, and Mark says the cross-town traffic this time of night is honestly murder -

[2] Sohyun's foul mouth comes up with a brilliant joke: that you are dead, but you still walk back and forth over the River Styx, which is the boundary from the living world and the underworld in greek mythology. Curse her!

and hears himself, and stops. Lays an arm along the booth behind her, losing the ability to time himself, and just watches. Like this girl was nothing like what he was looking at, something nearer to wonder, a man at the aquarium glass.

She laughs, turning mid-laugh to bring him in, asking isn't this funny, and finds him already looking at her, gone soft and far off, and the laugh snags in her throat.

Mark calls for the check - On me. Least I can do. For the floor show.

Laying - drunk off my tits the wine we spilt painting the ground there's a barrier that jives around his warm face And I notice then, you could ruin my life

Chapter 2:

A day later,

You get home, you spot a bottle of something brown open, shining on the island. You're good at connecting dots. There were peonies scattered on the floor (Mark is the one to end things with flowers, pleasant as always).

And she's drunk enough to reach for the old shtick. So. Who's the lucky sixty-nine-year-old you've been ruining lately?

My aunt.

Your aunt's dead.

Which would explain why she's been so pleasantly quiet in bed.

She laughs, then she stares at the open window, ruminating:

I had someone. He left his contacts wilted on the bathroom counter, fossilized into half-globes. I'd come home and want to hear about his day - I mean I really wanted to, almost fetishistic, kiss what was left of the razor burn on his neck. He made the worst scrambled eggs. Rubbery, every morning, and I ate them every time. She turns around: ten years of rubber eggs.

What about you, she asks.

I had a woman. You take a sip of the brown she was drinking. She used to argue about the doneness of pancakes and then put her hands up my shirt and call the whole morning menial, and I'd ask: what purpose do we serve. The answer was always: I'm fine right here.

She sits, lets her head rest back against the cushion. Everyone wants somebody to understand their personality and their childhood and what each of those things has done to the other one. That's the scam of it. You show your pale underbelly, turn your ribs inside out, fashion your whole interiority for them and beg them closer, closer than that, even closer - and they get close enough, and then it's - they're already on the other side, and everything's over.

She picks up the bottle and sips. I feel like an alarm. Wailing. That's the humiliation of wanting. Capitalists fooled us into thinking wanting is shameless. Love takes you to shame two times over. 10 years. A scoff at the number.

You're not an alarm.

That's very funny. She stares past you, calculating the whole of you. A lawyer and a venture capitalist with Beckett on the shelf. He'd write us as two people in bins.

I once saw a pigeon on its back, she says. Alive but dying. It blinked at me, tire-smirched, blood-grizzled. I didn't do anything. I should've stepped on its brain. You know why that's sad? Pigeons know how to hurt but don't know how to sin. She drinks. I'm not sad about me. I get exactly what I deserve.

What do you deserve. You ask.

I don't know. Everything terrible. A man who makes bad eggs.

She's close enough now that you get the liquor and under it the her of her, the scalp, the skin, and you think of the skyscraper poem your ex wrote: how we overextend our necks staring at something enormous, like those mornings when someone's still asleep and their face is so calm and wantless and they're not even being a person yet and they're so perfect you want you want you want.

Do we ask the earth for permission? she says. Do we? There are little arachnids living on our eyelashes right now, clearing our pores and mating under the full moon, and their whole lives depend on us, and they never asked and we never asked - do, we, as arachnids, need permission from our earth?

No.

You press a hot hand to her stocking-clad thigh. She presses a flat hand to your chest, slips a whole hand in between the buttons of your shirt, spreads her fingers over the heartbeat.

Do you feel that, you say. Do you feel what you're doing to me.

You hold her hand there until the urge to kiss the fingertips wins - pen-worn hand, redness at the tips from gripping the legal pad all day, nails short and practical. You lift it, kiss one fingertip, and she makes a sound, this small mewl, and leans forward, mouth to your chest through the shirt, your neck, your jaw. You hold still. If you move you'll move wrong. You'll break whatever calculus she's built in her head to let this happen.

How am I supposed to not want you, you say.

What's the difference between you and other men. They're all horrible.

I'm horrible. But I'm here.

Don't be full of yourself. She pulls you in by the tie. You're preposterous

Her fingertips find a piece of twine protruding from a button and incise it. Your mouth on her shoulder. Her spine under your palm. The heft of her hair hooked left, more kisses, the tendon on her neck, the jaw, her mouth again, and she pulled you by the the tie, left and right, kissing whatever remained unkissed - a gesture so old, as old as the grandmother who named an ocean on her grandfather's wrist, who kissed each knuckle, who drew an island into his palm and told him which parts they would share and which they would leave alone - the open brown, the Francis Bacon print on the wall, and to think of her holding you down tugged up the wire of every species on this earth, not the electric inventions, something bigger, a fevered movement across the world, all the trees at once turning dewy -

nothing else matters at all.

stomach-churning pulses grinding through your intestines - and she's between your legs, pressing your legs apart, pulls off her dress shirt, her skirt, all that's remaining: nude bra and panties.

There's a soft unsteadiness in her, the alcohol, the need, the want all combining into this weak-knee'd unsteadiness - you hold her smallest fingers, steady her.

Did you jerk off thinking about me? she asks.

All the fucking time.

She smirks, sinking to her knees, hands bracketing the heat of your thighs. Her hands twist into your trousers.

I want to taste you, the weight of you on my tongue, the stretch. The heat of your cock.

She gently pulls down your trousers all the way, hands tracing the heat of your thighs - ignoring the obvious, the trapped heat.

She reaches up, still kneeling, finds the first button of your shirt, let's a hand go under to feel your warm abs as she unbuttons with one.

Did you do this with Mark, you say.

A smile on her - No, no I didn't. Are you glad?

You sigh with relief -

She grins, splays a hand on your chest, all the buttons off, the heartbeats -

do you feel it Sohyun - do you fucking feel it - you're driving me insane.

She takes a deep breath, breathing you in, the cologne melting off with your sweat, and you dot kisses on her scalp - that flowery shampoo, that smell that's hers, distinctively.

She's easing the lid open on you, finding the kinks in the armor. dotting kisses on your pecs, sitting up, still on her knees, pressing her fingers into soft spots and hard spots alike. She runs her palms down your thighs, closer to your cock, back up again.

You pull her hand into you, hand on her cheek, tilting her head up and pressing your lips onto hers, tonguing at her. Retaliation beckons: she palms your cock, rubs her palm over the heat, working the thin fabric for all it's worth.

She leans forward as she curls fingers over the band of your boxers, kissing the V of your waist, and she trails lower, closer to the heat. And you're pulsing, barely keeping it together and she lets your cock rest next to her neck -

it's so fucking hot

I know, please. you barely let out

please what?

stop fighting me, you're torturing me.

She presses a kiss on the first thick inch she sees:

You're granting me all this control - second inch, fingers curling on the base of your cock. kissing the inches, all the way - and the fingers - wrapped all the way around the thick of it.

it's hard to even close around it. And she's almost relieved.

It's hard to breathe, do you tell her that? Do you tell her that she's ruining you with just her hand staying static around your cock? That her little kisses are already taking you to that extreme?

You're twitching. A venom to her voice.

What do you want? your hands turning white gripping the couch.

I want you to fuck me. fuck my throat, turn me into a whore. I've all this control and it disgusts me.

But before you could process any of it, the sickening thrill of it: she grips harder, lets you throb in her hand, the burn of your cock; and leans forward, dragging her tongue flatly from base to tip in a wet line.

Your thighs tick forward.

And she mewls: I want more of that

She shifts higher, brings her mouth to the head of your cock and lets saliva drip along her tongue.

Pushing, letting it glance unevenly over the head - she flattens her tongue again, drags it over your cock, drags her fingers oh so soft. All this slick, the twist of her wrist, the second hand now closing in around the head of your cock, fist curving tighter over the sensitivity as it slips through all her spit.

And you're losing it: she's turning her wrist near the top, letting it meld into her soft tongue, letting your thick cock hit her tongue once or twice then not again and you can't fucking take it:

please

what?

please - what more can you say? She's trying to end you and it's all self-fulfilling.

you dig your palms into your eyes trying to process, you're already on the edge, twitching, weeping pre-cum onto her tongue and she's taking it all like it's everything to her. like the tears of weeping angels.

Another hip twitch -

this salty-sweet tang of your precum, you're so adorable. And she drags both fists up, spreading the remaining precum all over your cock -

Her mouth connects, sucking hard at the head, gripping tigher with her hands, lips stretched, mouth wide, as she sucks and tries to swallow more of you.

She pops off gently, getting breaths in, letting your weeping corded cock rest on her red-hot lips, before swallowing you back down, all the way until the head of yours bumps the back of her throat.

Relaxes - enough to breathe just a little, your cock still taking space in her throat - pulls your hand all the way to her hair, letting it entangle.

Sohyun's spit-slick, hand lands on top of your hand. And she presses down, like demonstration -

but you yank back, and a girlish yelp leaves her -

You finally coil enough power to get a turn. You pull her up by her armpits - and how light she is, like a fucking doll - you rip the stockings underneath her skirt, let two thick veiny fingers enter her sopping wet pussy.

clit rolling against your rough palm, the wet satin of her panties barely there.

And you scrape your teeth over her neck, sucking a mark onto her, as she bounces desperately over your fingers.

such a little thing, locking her waist into you as you push your fingers even deeper. two fingers trying to tear off her bra. two breasts pressed to your face, a nipple in your mouth.

made to fit me.

Cunt squelching on your palm, head dropping back. And you're sick with it, pulling her underwear to the side to watch her cunt weeping on your fingers.

Kissing all over chest, marking her up with your mouth.

On the bed, you think, sink inside her -

but you grab your cock anyway, dragging your head along the slippery pink of her pussy, and Sohyun moans - all sorts of needy that makes your cock throb, weep outside her.

sink on me, princess.

She sinks, forehead pressed to yours, and she's trying -

Feeling her, the wet and slick and tight - the spasm of her cunt, the clench, the leak of her arousal down your veiny cock.

You're fucking her raw, without a condom, rutting up into her, again and again, and she pushes back gently, trying to find a pace that doesn't utterly ruin her and you're chasing her, fucking her deeper, ruining her little pussy.

Until she presses a soft hand to your shoulder, leaning back, face flushed, nipples pink and hard, stomach tensed.

Stare at her - how fucking ruined she is: swollen lips from sucking your cock like it was made for her, sweat beading down her forehead - god is the sweat running down her face. You kiss the salt-worked forehead - a moment of softness.

Then she rolls gently, slipping a hand between her legs, past your thumb resting on her clit, onto the soaking mess of her, that hot pink mess that she's responsible for -

let me hear you, you growl, to her collar, kissing the blooming hickeys you left earlier.

grab at her hips, sit straighter, pull her into your body, let her wrap her hands around your shoulder - grasp at levity as this goddess is cock-drunk off you, still rolling, offering her clit to your thumb.

And she pants.

Clinging onto you.

letting her sopping cunt cling onto you like this was fucking prophecy - it's hot - sweat beading along your back, between your bodies, sticky - the wet noise of her cunt being excavated by a cock a smidge too large.

You're both close, these petty uncoordinated movements making the orgasm closer - sensitivities reaching an opus - only these little shifts of her hips - the urge to stretch this moment for as long as possible

And only then: the quietest orgasm, stuck to the top of her breasts, barely hanging in there, her waist locked between your thick forearms, cum spreading, filling in whatever was left between you.

poems for fucking:

romantic walks up your arm with my lips dinner on your collarbones, a bottle of wine paper bagged somewhere on your ribs I want to see your city, and by don't take me home just yet I really mean: Let's share a whiskey, take the train over your city, spot the pennies lodged between the pavement - let's make sure every part of your skin's been kiss-bitten and that'll take us a while and if it means anything at all, putting a stamp upside-down means I love you and I would turn over every post office in the world just to show you how much I care.

You wake to the cold half of the bed, and the rest of it makes a grim kind of sense: she's gone. Most of her stuff is still here, her shoes, but her daily shoes - gone.

You call, and it rings and rings until the call cancels - you text and the delivered stays there.

It's a Saturday. There's nowhere a person needs to be on a Saturday - but she's a workaholic - and the dots connect: you drive to her firm.

The weekend guard waves you up on account of being acquainted with Sohyun. And you get to the floor where she's usually working, and there she was, through the glass - neat-clothed, glasses on her, working hard on a case you'd never understand.

She looks up and clocks you, immediately bolting to the men's restroom - not toward the elevators or the stairs. And you go in after her -

Sohyun. I just want to talk

God, listen to you. "I just want to talk" Do you have any idea how many women have said that to your back while you looked for your shoes?

Yes. I'm aware of the irony, it's why I'm standing inside your firm at eight a.m instead of pretending you don't exist.

There's nothing to talk about. We were drunk, it was -

There was a shuffle outside the door - an employee? - but before you could look back, she pulled you by your tie into one of the stalls.

And you were dangerously close to her, her face, this face you've been in love with since forever. The one face that you cannot imagine living without - Listen, you try to say -

and she's off the tiles, fist in your tie, pulling you down, kissing you. Shut up.

You take her face in both hands, gently, and hold her back just far enough that the kiss can't keep doing the talking.

I'm not leaving. I'm going to be the worst thing that ever happened to your avoidance. Kiss me to keep me quiet all you like. I'll enjoy it, I'll still be here when you open your eyes.

Her hands press against your shirt, head pressed to your sternum. She stays there for a moment.

Starts kneeling -

Sohyun. You catch her hands. You dont have to -

I know. She looks up, Let me.

The Castrator, who has never once knelt to a man in her life, lowering herself to the tile of the worst room in the building.

You put a hand in her hair, to hold. The dots connect.

Daddy, she mewls.

Hands in your lap.

There's no sympathy for her. You're in this cramped bathroom with her, your groin pushed up to her face, and all she can say is: Daddy.

Open your mouth

Through the small opening in her mouth, you slot in a finger, trace the lower lip and upper lip - gather spit from the tip of her tongue to glaze her lips.

Wider. You say.

She's just sitting there, rubbing her thighs together - like she isn't so fucked and slippery in her underwear that just a small touch could make her cum - that you pressing a finger into her mouth - letting her throat close around that digit - wouldn't make her burst into decibels and let the whole town know that you are fucking her dumb.

She's staring at how you unbutton your pants. Button by button, all the way until your cock's out half-mast diagonal to her face and she's fucking drooling. Slowly moving forward and you pin her head to the wall of the bathroom stall.

How do you want this dick?

Like how you fucked all those other girls.

You think I'm not enjoying every moment with you? That day, we fucked like lovers. You cup her cheeks with one hand and her glazed lips point out duck-like. I'll show you what I like.

You bundle two fingers - index and ring - down her mouth, until her throat closes and she half-gags. Eyes fill with these tears and she tries to straighten herself. Fingers still down there, and it makes it hard for her breathe but -

She's fucking climaxing, barely keeping her hands on her lap. A breathless moan escapes her and you take this opportunity to let your fingers in deeper. Her chest jerks, a tear goes down her left cheek as your knuckles bump her teeth.

Roughly: good girl.

White-knuckled against her spit-trickled dress shirt that won her millions in lawsuits. Just then, you pull your fingers out, and she finally gets to swallow down.

You should be able to price anything. Be cutthroat about it, hedge your potential losses, then hedge on top of them - that's the only way to win. You've seen people go full-in, bet their futures on a life they so desperately deserve and by the end of it, they're lost souls, begging for the past. You thought it made you the only adult in the room. Then the day after that you came inside her and everything crumpled.

Your spit-slick fingers wrapped around your cock and you fisted it gently, just inches away from her mouth. She couldn't help but move forward, but you pin her head again and she's completely mindless - obeying any mechanic of hers that'll grant her a feather of stimulus. You tap your cock against her tongue. You could see the way her lips twitched to close, but she seemed to contextualize enough to know that anything that you didn't allow would be swiftly punished. And maybe now everything was dawning on her:

That you enjoyed sex with her rather than the opposite - that it's supposed to be as intimate as the day you came inside her.

Because this? This was heady, broken, and embarrassing - and all of it was happening in her own office bathroom that she shares with subordinates. One mistake and she's kicked off the ladder. And yet:

I want all of it. I want it. I want it.

You could see how her cloudy eyes mechanized - she was about to cum again - you let your tip on her tongue and she's already around the cycle again. You press the heft of your shaft into her mouth and push in gently. Push in gently because she already came, push in gently because you want to savor - for a few moments longer - how she crumples under you.

You're gentle with it, letting her set the pace, letting her get breaths between strokes. She anchors herself, and this control you give her makes her shiver - even the way her throat clenches when she goes too fucking deep.

She pulls back to breathe, a strand of saliva still connects your tip and her lower lip. And she's staring at the corded red-tipped shaft, speechless.

Stand up

She does, her skirt crumpled just a way's up. She's expectant, wanting something. But this wasn't a day for her wants.

You grab the waistbands of her panties and nylon, pull it down midway and her pussy's just glistening - all-pink, heady, musky, almost pulsing.

Hold your skirt up

And she does, further surrendering to your hand around her throat. And everything was a bit clearer:

You began fisting your spit-slick cock again, pointed down to her panties. Another embarrassing and heady position she can't seem to get enough of: Her eyes are full of will-you's and wants that she can't act on. You press a thumb over her pulse - grunting more hunch-backed trying to not spray your cum too early - and you tighten, tighten until she grips your forearms and loses her breath for just a second - then you release. There's this rush of inhales and exhales as she catches some air and you repeat the choke - until, just until, you press harder than you've done before - her legs going loose, eyes going to back of her head - and you cum all over her panties. Cloudy liquid dotting her skirt, the floor, the nylon , the front of her pussy, and all over the panties.

Fuck.

Is all she says, can say. You pin her jaw to the side so that she can't look at you, only the door, the cruel door that may open for a coworker - and you jolt closer, scooping a bit of your cum and letting two fingers enter her just then. And she's already climaxing, screaming in her own hand.

This is what happens when I do what I want.

Your nose is buried into her exposed throat and your fingers throttling her pussy. your callused hand scraping the hood of her clit, your hooked finger rubbing that spot that makes her legs splinter half-way. You take your fingers out and mash the front of her pussy with the heel of your palm before going into her again. She's rolling with how your cum-slicked fingers penetrate her.

Her body finally gives out and that's when you hug her, your fingers still slotted into her.

In truth, I can't fuck you the way I fucked these other girls. Your fingers finally slow their rolls. I want to enjoy my time with you, not treat you like trash.

And her reply, as best as it could be presented: a wet kiss, hands wrapped around you, grasping the hair behind your head.

Her kiss fluttered gently as you finally let her have one final climax.

I love you.

"I'm getting old," The first man said, eyes glowing neon magenta as he manifested a sickle and chain, spray painted with flashes of vibrant artistry. "But they're gonna need a lot more than that."

A little more graceful, a little more collected, the second man emerged a spear, long golden handle and shining silver tip in that same glowing magenta light. "There's more. Irene's boy is here too." His voice wavered.

"Irene's boy? I thought— I liked him."

"Well, when you're on top," he concluded, fear in his voice gone. Or hidden, at least. The pair looked around in the hall, nearly devoid of light as their eyes flicked to the dark figures waiting in the shadows. "That's not it. Even 4th and 5th gens. Too many to name. They're trying to tip the balance."

The first man rolled his shoulder, loosening it. "You scared?"

"No. We're Twice's boys."

The first man chuckled softly. "The girls, where are they? They performing?"

"Yeah. They'll be fine."

The dark figures surrounding them too briefly flashed with light, some purple, some pink, too many to count.

"The rest are on their way?"

"I think it's too late for that." The pair shared one last aching look at each other. "It was an honour."

The first man nodded, before loosing his chain and sickle.

---

Later that night, as the lights shined down upon Twice as they sang and danced, somewhere far away from Korea, a pang in Mina and Chaeyoung's heart shook them to their core. Still they smiled. Still, the crowds screamed their names.

In any case, they weren't the only one's who lost champions that night, courtesy of a spear, a chain and a sickle.

"Something happened on that stage, I'm telling you!" You yelled.

"What are you on about?" Your friend asked as you left the arena. "The girls were perfect."

"I never said they weren't perfect. I said that something happened! It was right at the start of BDZ. Mina and Chaeyoung shared a look! I swear!"

Your friend rolled his eyes. "They shared a look? Oh no! What ever could that mean! You mean to tell me two people performing on the same stage shared a look? It must be code red!" he mocked.

"It wasn't like tha—"

"I think this concert is getting to your head. Listen, I know you're the self-proclaimed 'number 1 Chaeyoung stan in the world', but don't you think you're reading into things? Hell, I'm a Chaeyoung stan too."

"Maybe— maybe you're right," you sighed.

"Hey, it was a great concert. I get it. Post concert tacos?" he asked.

You let the memory wash away from your head. That pained look in their faces. First Mina's, then Chaeyoung's. Then a look between them. And you could've sworn the whole group danced just a little more tense after it.

Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you were too deep into this. It was a great show.

"Hey, look at this," your friend said in line for tacos. The crowds had thinned out, most taking the first couple trains out, or otherwise finding restaurants to dine at.

"What is it?" you asked, grabbing his phone.

"Something about Shuhua. She collapsed during a show tonight. Hope she's alright. Anyway, did you see Nayeon? She was so perfect. I think— now don't kill me— I think she's my bias wrecker after this. What about you? Anyone challenge the hold Chaeyoung has on your heart?"

"Never."

Post concert depression was a real thing, you concluded. After highlighting the entire set list for the 6th time over a 4th order of tacos, discussing all the little details you two could remember, you finally decided to call it quits and head home.

Still, you couldn't shake the feeling that something happened during the concert. Now back at home, you analyzed the videos you took, but clearly, you weren't the best photographer (recording while singing your heart out is pretty hard). Hopefully fancams were out from tonight.

You sat at your computer desk, scouring the internet for fancams, so lost in it you didn't even notice the footsteps outside of your room, or the soft creak of your door.

Nice, at least 3 different angles of the BDZ performance. None of Chaeyoung yet, but you had Mina's. And Chaeyoung was in the background of the Jihyo fancam.

Nothing, maybe you were wrong? Maybe it was just your— no there. A slight pang, barely noticeable, as if out of nowhere. Not during a straining dance move or anything, but Chaeyoung's face screwed up in pain, and God it hurt you to see. Like, physically, which was kind of weird.

Bang

The noise rung out with such power your ears popped. You wouldn't have even noticed the windows to your balcony shatter if its glass hadn't scattered onto your floor.

Another bang.

You turned to your balcony, and a man in heavy mercenary gear stood there, poised and ready, dual pistols trained at you.

Not you, you realized, as the bullet whizzed behind you.

It clattered with a blade, so pale it looked like moonlight. It's holder stumbled back as the force ricocheted his swing.

Your first instinct was to run, but as you went to make your escape, the sharp shards of glass dug into your feet.

Still, whatever the hell was happening here, in your room for god knows what reason, you had to get out.

You ignored the sounds of battle behind you, ignored the screaming pain in your feet, and made for your bedroom door.

It flung open before you even reached a hand to it, and another entered. Ice blue clothes with a bow, already strewn. His eyes found yours.

The mercenary slammed into the bow carrier, knocking him down, before turning to you.

"Let's go!" he said, grabbing you with a rough hand, lifting you to your feet.

All you could do was scream as he dragged you to your balcony, kicking the sword carrier who lay already sprawled out on the floor, no sword to be found.

"L-let go!" you yelled, squirming in the mercenaries hand.

"H-hey! Calm down!" he yelled.

"What the f— let— me— go!" you struggled.

He sighed as you wrestled with the single arm hoisting you up by your shirt. "Sorry about this." He pressed the finger of his free hand to his ear. "I'm knocking him out."

"L-like hell you are! I know kara—"

With glowing magenta light, a gun manifested in his hand, and it's butt met your nose giving way to blackness.

Then light. Blurry, woozy, but light.

You shook, but restraints held you in place.

So, you started to scream again, because what else would you do?

"Hey, hey!" a voice rang. The same one that kidnapped you.

"What the fuck is happening! Where am I?"

"I can't believe you all left me to deal with this," he said to god knows who, voice grizzled. Now that you got a good look at him, he looked like he sounded. Battle hardened, stern. "Hey, just calm down. You like Chaeyoung, right?"

The question took you off guard, so much so you actually stopped screaming. "Ch— what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

He knelt down, hands open in front of him to signal 'I mean no harm'. "Everything." He slowly untied the rope around you. "Hey, Chaeyoung's boy. I like Momo."

You sat there incredulously. "You kidnapped me!"

"You're welcome."

"You're welcome!?"

"For saving your life."

You remembered the two intruders in your house, the way this man's bullet ricocheted a sword that looked like it was headed your way, the way he slammed the bow-wielder before they could sling an arrow into you.

"Can you just— tell me what's going on?"

He sighed, body losing it's tension. "You're—"

"Goof," a voice rung out from a walkie-talkie laid on a table nearby. "Not yet."

"What do you mean 'not yet'? You can't just keep me here!"

"You want to leave this safe house? Deal with those two again?" Goof (or, yeah you thought his name was Goof, which didn't match him at all) asked.

"N-no."

"Let me handle them," Goof said into the walkie-talkie. "Send someone else here for the kid. I can take them."

"We don't even know what's going on. Plus, we're not even there yet. You were the closest one," a voice, different than the first said.

"What, you think I can't handle Aespa's champions? I'm Momo's boy for God's sakes!"

"You only won because of the concert tonight. Karina's boy is dangerous. He felled a whole hate page in a night. Saesang's hate to see him coming."

"Tch, lucky. And now they're coming after us? Was Karina's boy there? Was he there when Art— Swan— was he there when they were killed?"

"We don't know."

Something wasn't adding up. This had to be some sort of sick joke. What it sounded like was you were kidnapped because you liked Chaeyoung, which didn't make sense at all. And apparently this guy hated Karina? I mean yeah, you liked Chaeyoung, but you liked Aespa as well! God, you were used to weird Kpop fans, but taking things to this level? It was all too much of a joke.

"I'm going after them."

"No! You still have the newbie!"

"He'll be fine," Goof said, clicking the switch of the walkie-talkie, silencing it. "You ready?"

"Wha-no!"

"Look, I know you haven't met her yet, but just think about her. Think about Chaeyoung, and you'll be fine."

"Wait— what your saying is… I'm gonna meet Chaeyoung?"

"You really are a champion," Goof said, smirking. He picked you up, again by the shirt. As if you weighed nothing, and ran, kicking the door open.

Seemed you were on a roof, the night lit up with the light of the moon. He plopped you on your own two feet. "Follow me."

You could've ran away, really, but you had no idea where you were. And, yeah it was probably a joke, but he did say something about meeting Chaeyoung. You couldn't just pass on that.

Your mood kind of changed when Goof ran across the roof, jumping a whole 15 feet to the next.

"Cmon," he yelled, waving casually for you to follow.

Okay okay, yeah this is all probably some joke. And yet, you did see glowing moon blades, and pistols manifest out of thin air. Not to mention Goof, jumping 15 feet.

Okay no, that didn't mean you were going to jump 15 feet to another roof.

A crystal blue arrow split the night sky, so fast you barely noticed it. The whole rooftop went cold.

A familiar bang sounded, bullet breaking the arrow and restoring the warmth of the summer night, but a quick look behind you and, even from this distance, you could see a pale moonlight blade shine white as its holder hopped from roof to roof.

"Fuck! Run!" Goof called.

Your feet started towards the edge of the roof without even thinking.

"Think of Chaeyoung!"

So you did— you thought of the first time you laid eyes on her, on a little mobile screen as 'Fancy' played, you thought of the first time you saw her in concert, of her smile, of that little mole on her face— and you jumped.

Your feet did not find purchase as gravity carried you lower. You opened your eyes, screaming as the ground grew closer.

Again, Goof's hand closed around your shirt as he jumped in after you. He wrapped his arm around you, spinning to orient the both of you.

"Nngh," he groaned as he landed in the empty alleyway.

You still screamed as he put you down.

"Do you ever stop screaming?"

"I knew it! I fucking knew it! This is all some sick joke! We should've stayed in that safe—"

Goof pushed you out of the way as an arrow whizzed past you. You ran to the wall, placing your back against it as the same man in ice blue clothing landed in the alley.

"Shit—" Goof started, before firing another bullet to intercept the arrow fired in your direction.

"Who— is that?" you asked, backing away slowly. Goof angled himself in front of you, but both him and the bow-wielder stepped slow, weighing each other out.

"Winte— Frost. Used to be a friend," he said quietly. "Hey Frost! Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?"

Frost lifted his hood, revealing pale white hair and vivid blue eyes. "Tipping the scales," he said.

"A lot of that going around. You didn't happen to be there when Art and Swan were killed, did you?"

"I had nothing to do with the Chaeyoung or Mina boys fall. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

Goof lowered his guns, just by a bit. "But you must know why. Why? What did we do!?" He gritted his teeth, voice pleading, desperate.

"It's not what you did, it's what you have. All of you."

"What we—"

Frost loosed an arrow at him.

"Jesus, Frost," Goof said, shooting the arrow down. "I'll defend myself if I have to," he continued, and it wasn't a wall, wasn't a barrier, but a threat.

A crash from the other side of the alley signaled another. Not the moonlight blade carrier, but someone maybe just as terrifying.

A huge sword, as tall as you and a foot wide landed with him. Jade green outlines with ornate carvings making a beautiful dragon, the new person heaved its tip in your direction. "You're gonna have to," he said.

Glowing magenta light, and Goof's guns were back in his hands. Everyone moved with precision, practiced and powerful, and if you weren't glued to the wall in fear, you're sure even had you chanced to run, you would've been slashed down anyway. Goof's guns shot bullet after bullet, taking down arrows headed your direction, all while he flipped and ducked out of the way of the giant sword.

He was like an acrobat, finding angles to dodge you couldn't believe possible, before closing in with a strike to the sword holder, either a kick or a butt with his gun.

Goof worked like a machine, even against the two, whose teamwork looked practiced. Every now and then, an arrow would launch at Goof, and when he inevitably dodged it, the massive sword would propel the arrow back in his direction.

All while protecting you. You felt stupid to question him, but then again, what were you supposed to have done?

An opening? Maybe not the fault of the sword-wielder, but one forced open by Goof's expertise. Now, with a direct line of sight Goof's bullet pierced the swordsman's hand.

He dropped his sword, but in creating that opening, Goof's attention left you. Frost capitalized on it, hopping the distance between you two, gliding towards you like on ice.

Your hands flew up to defend yourself, but Frost launched a punch to your gut and your body went limp.

A bullet went straight for his head, but as if swatting away a fly, Frost brought his crystal blue bow up to deflect it.

Goof rushed him, stepping over the floored swordsman.

"You're not taking another fucking champion tonight!" he yelled in a fit of rage. Frost brought his bow up to block the dual pistol-whips trained for his head, but as the guns bounced, Goof brought a leg up, kicking him with force.

The blow was so hard, the brick wall around Frost's body shattered.

"I don't want to do this," Goof said, holding the gun to his head. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"It's… happening… you're not the only ones…"

"What's happening? We're not— who else!?"

"The great… song. Art and Swan, they died because they had to—"

Bang

Your eyes widened as the bullet entered his head, skull caving in around the entrance with a spray of blood.

"Shi—" was all you managed, before you heaved onto the pavement. You collapsed, still emptying your dinner. "Y-you killed him!"

"He was trying to kill us. He mocked them."

"T-this isn't a fucking joke anymore. That— that guy is dead! Blarghh" you heaved again.

A blood curdling scream pierced the air, and from above, a slash as white as moonlight streaked towards the two of you.

In your heaves, you had fallen to your knees, but Goof wasn't so lucky. The slash hit him in the chest, spraying another gush of blood into the alley.

He fell against the wall. "It's R-Rina's boy. Run!" he managed, but the moonblade wielder landed in the alley. His jawline was screwed up in anger, but even so, it was sharp. Maybe even sharper than the sword he brandished.

Goof struggled to stand, and his guns flashed in and out of corporeality.

You'd seen what Goof could do, seen how skilled he was, but as Karina's boy stood in front of you, you understood there was no way he could do anything in this state. His aura alone could make you cower. It was a miracle you didn't notice it in your room.

Gauntlets blazing like the Sun trailed from above, as a punch aimed at the moonlight wielder was deflected by his blade. Yet another had entered the battle.

"Take him and run!" the gauntlet wielder yelled.

"They— they said we weren't the only—" Goof stuttered

"Run!" the gauntlet wielder yelled again as his fists collided with the moonblade

Goof grabbed you, dragging you out.

The sounds of fighting rattled in your head. It sounded fierce— the other swordsman had probably awoken. In Goof's injuries, he stumbled.

"G-Goof! You're gonna need to, fuck Goof!" you yelled, but his eyes went unfocused as he coughed blood, collapsing with his arm around you. "Just stay with me."

"4…87 Tavern Lane…" he said, before collapsing unconscious.

"Go!!" a voice, bright yet commanding rang behind you.

Getting Goof to the address wasn't easy. How did it look for you to be dragging an unconscious bleeding man 12 blocks? It wasn't even downtown proper anymore by the time you got to the address. Still, you managed to get him there without too much trouble.

Looked like an abandoned garage, spray painted and caked with layers of dirt. A door at the side of the building sat unlocked, and upon entering, a cozy lounge welcomed you. Velvet carpets, plenty of space, workbenches, and soft couches.

You dragged him to one of the couches, laying him down. He was pale white, the scar on his chest stretching its whole length.

You collapsed too, huffs of air signaling your exhaustion.

You should've been helping Goof. Okay, look around here. There must be some bandage here. You got up, fighting through aching muscles to look around.

Still, you took nothing in as you searched. The events of the night kept replaying, how you got broken into. How Goof had kidnapped you. How he had killed someone. Right in front of you. The memory kept replaying over in over in your head. How the archer's eyes popped out of his head as the bullet entered his skull.

You dry-heaved again. But you knew one thing— this wasn't a joke anymore. Whatever this was, whatever was going on, it was real, and it was dangerous.

Seriously, no first aid kits here in this mercenaries hideout? Seemed like poor foresight.

So what now? Did you just, stay here? You couldn't in good consciousness leave, right? Not with Goof here, bleeding out.

On one of the other couches, you found a comfy looking blanket. Maybe you could make a tourniquet with it? Not that you knew how, but well, might as well try.

Approaching Goof revealed something odd— his wound looked better. Almost smaller. What the fuck was he? A superhuman? Shouldn't be surprised, really. He could manifest guns out of thin air.

A creak of the door jerked your attention as you wrapped the blanket awkwardly around Goof.

Fuck. Did they find you? You grabbed something, anything to defend yourself.

It slowly opened.

"Stay back! I—I'm armed!" you screamed.

A man collapsed through the door, his fitted black shirt and sweats looking ragged. He hell to his knees, but even battle worn he was handsome. It was as if the Sunlight itself had walked through the door.

"Armed with a pillow?" he chuckled brightly. "Help me up."

You faintly recognized him as the gauntlet wielder. You were drawn to help him, so much so you were sure, even if you hadn't recognized him you would've helped.

"Goof! He's unconscious!" You told him as you rushed to help him up, tossing the pillow aside.

"He'll be fine. Fans are going crazy, especially after that concert tonight." He struggled to his feet, taking you in. "You're… different than expected. Sorry for the chaotic welcome," he smiled.

You helped him stumble to the couch. "What welcome? What is this? What the hell is going on?!"

He paused, eyeing you. Weighing you. "You like Chaeyoung, right?"

You clenched your jaw. "Yes! And Goof likes Momo! What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Yeah, well, I like Jihyo. I guess, you can call me Cap'n."

"I like Jihyo too! What do Kpop idols have to do with— with all this?"

The pretty boy smiled again, and though you'd never admit it, it calmed you down. "Yeah, well, I like her a lot."

You balled your fists up. You were in no mood for this enigmatism. "Can you just tell me what's going on?"

"Never thought Chaeyoung's boy would be a yeller. Listen," he started standing up, "you're a champion."

"A… champion?"

"You feel it too. You have to. The touch of the soul, the connection, something here," he pointed to your chest, "something in your heart, when you listen to music. Don't you?"

"Yeah, well, doesn't everyone?"

"I should hope so. When do you feel it strongest?"

"When I'm listening to Twice, of course." You said it with confidence. Maybe the only thing you've said with confidence since this whole thing started.

"Be more specific."

"When I— when Chaeyoung is singing."

"Exactly! You're a champion!"

"You still haven't told me what the hell a champion is!"

"We're— you're a manifestation of the spirit of her music. The spirit of her song."

The words hit you like a truck, and the world around you disappeared. As implausible, as crazy as it sounded, you felt it. You've seen it. Still, you needed more. "How can that be true? I'm— I didn't even know who Chaeyoung was until like, 7 years ago!"

"It's more like, I don't know, the spirit of her music has manifested itself in you. I don't know the details."

Okay, so you're Chaeyoung's champion. You sat down on the couch, next to Goof who looked substantially less pale. "And what? Champions just, fight other groups champions? Doesn't feel very 'spirit of the music' does it?"

"No," Cap'n said, disappointed. "This has never happened before. Champions, they defend that spirit of music."

"Defend? Like how?"

"Music, it brings people together, it shares and amplifies positivity and joy, sometimes to the whole world. But with it comes fame, and fame, it's like the opposite. All those akgae's and saesang's you see, that's the shadows of fame trying to infiltrate the spirit of music. Trying to corrupt it. Those haters, they manifest beings. Beings from other worlds that look to take down musicians. Make their music unfit for joy. That's where we come in. To protect them from those spirits."

"Okay, so what you're telling me is some… some spirit has chosen me to be Chaeyoung's champion against the haters?"

"Kinda, yeah."

You felt a depth of gratitude spur from your heart. Chaeyoung's champion. How did that sound. Unbelievable yeah, but from what you saw today— today. Someone died today. Right in front of your eyes. What did this mean for you? That you too would be responsible to fight?

"So… wait. If champions are meant to fight the haters, why are we fighting with other champions?"

"I have no idea. They just… attacked us. Yesterday, everything was fine, and then tonight…"

You paused for a moment. "I assume I'm not Chaeyoung's first champion?"

Cap'n looked down, sorrowful. "Mina and Chaeyoung's champions were killed during the concert."

You leaned back in your seat, taking in the weight of it all. "I… and I'm their next target?"

"We all ar—"

Goof shook awake with a gasp of air, sitting up. "NMIXX! ITZY! Oh God! Cap'n!" he yelled as he jolted back into consciousness, "Frost said there were others! Do you—"

"Calm down," Cap'n said softly. "Goof, calm down."

"They said there were others!" Goof repeated. "We need to check on our dong-saengs!"

"They're fine, Goof. It's not Itzy or NMIXX this is happening to as well." His voice was strained and wary.

"Oh thank God," Goof sighed. His breathing mellowed out as he took in his surroundings. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, nodding at Cap'ns worn appearance.

"It was Karina's boy. He's so damn strong. If we were in Korea, it'd probably have gone worse."

"You're Jihyo's champion! You don't lose to anyone! We're Twice for God's sake."

"I never said I lost."

"The rest? Are they okay?"

"Timbre and Flow are at the JYP building, Wink and Sha are getting Mina's new champion."

"Those are… the rest of Twice's champions?" You asked.

"Yeah. You caught him up on the whole 'champions' thing?"

Cap'n nodded.

"You'll meet them soon enough."

"You… you said that about Chaeyoung."

Cap'n laughed. "You really are a champion. Don't worry, she's always around."

"Oh, and you'll do more than just meet her. From what I heard from Art, Chaeyoung is quite vorac—"

"Goof."

"Sorry, Cap'n."

A haze of magenta light manifested a small drone no bigger than a house fly between the three of you.

A scrawny voice sounded through it. "Le Sserafim. They're targeting Le Sserafim next."

Goof and Cap'n didn't seem fazed by its sudden appearance. "Le Sserafim? How do you know?"

"I did some digging. Cap'n, they're gonna need help. They're already dealing with the backlash from Boompala."

Cap'n sat there in thought. "Why them?" he pondered out loud.

"Cap, we have to help them! We can't just leave them alone."

"How long 'till they're attacked? Do you know?"

"I think it's happening now."

"We need to help them Cap! Call the girls. Ask their jet!"

"They need it for the tour. No matter what happens, it's not their job to get involved. It's their job to be idols. Think about what we're protecting."

"But they—"

"They'll be fine." Cap'n concluded. "Timbre and Flow can help if they need to."

"We don't even know who's attacking us yet! It could be every champion in Korea"

"They'll be fine. Those Le Sserafim boys survived the Easy era. They're probably more battle hardened us."

Chaewon arched her back as he kissed down her belly. "Holy shit, Sticks, calm down."

Sticks propped her up, sliding his hands down to her ass. "Mmm, but you just taste so good, baby." His lips kissed lower and lower, before reaching her black panties. "I wanna taste more."

"Nngh, fuck, baby," Chaewon moaned, grabbing his hair and stopping him from going further. "D— don't you have a job to do?"

"Oh, because of that damned comeback of yours? You love to keep us working, don't you. Plus, my only job is to take care of you."

"So go deal with those demons like you always do," she purred, stroking his hair.

"I have to take care of this. You're so wet, clearly you need it."

Chaewon lessened her restraint letting Sticks's tongue brush against her wet pussy.

Sticks wrapped his arms around Chaewon's legs so they rested on his shoulder, snaking them around so one of them landed on her belly, caressing it softly. The other hand found her clit, thumb rubbing it softly.

"Nngh— shit. You— you don't do it like this with Zuha, do you?"

He licked harder at the mention.

"You didn't get more turned on from hearing her name, did you?"

"Please," Sticks groaned through licks. "I'm your champion."

"That doesn't answer the question."

"Then maybe this will."' He shifted his hands so they reached her breasts, licking up to her clit.

"Nngh, Sticks!" She moaned as he tongued her while playing with her nipples. "Sticks, shit, I'm gonna cum." Her legs tightened around his face as her wetness coated it.

"Cum for me, baby."

"Nngh!" She groaned, clenching her legs even tighter.

Sticks stayed there, licking as she squirmed around him, before she eventually came down, loosening her hold.

He kissed up her belly, collapsing on her chest, feeling her hands wrap around him.

"I should probably go."

"Or you could stay?"

"Weren't you telling me to go like, 5 minutes ago?"

"Yeah, but you're comfy."

"I can practically smell the fame ghouls from all the way up here. You chose some fucking songs to release, Chae. Haters are going crazy."

"I like the songs."

"I do too baby."

"Liar. Well, can't the other champions handle them right now?"

"The rest of them are still dealing with the all the ghouls celebration brought, so thanks for that. With Boompala, we're going to be busy all damn week. The building is probably swarmed with them right now."

"It's just going to be you tonight?"

"Don't think I can handle it?"

"I know you can it's just— I'd like it more if someone else were with you."

"I'll be fine," Sticks said, leaving the bed with a grunt. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Ugh, fine."

"Are you pouting?"

"Yeah," she said, fighting back a smile. "Is it working?"

"Almost."

"I'm kidding, go. Be careful."

He propped himself up, hovering over her. "When am I not?"

Sticks stood at the edge of the roof, looking at the skyline of Seoul. He'd come up here at night sometimes, when Chaewon was on tour. The city lights seemed sharper, more beautiful. If he listened close enough, he could hear it. The city singing.

Especially at this time of night, when all of the chaos subsided. The people of Seoul sleeping, it created its own song. That's why he loved Chaewon, she had this knack, this ability to take the songs of the world and turn them into something palpable. Into art. But today, like the last couple of days, was far from unchaotic.

Though, even the ghostly purple glow of the fame ghouls, who stormed the building en masse, filling the streets below looked pretty. At least, they did now that he was used to them.

Even the breeze was nice, the howl of the wind was music in its own right. It helped calm him, remind him why he fought. His eyes glowed fearless blue as he manifested an odd sort of weapon, but one that fit his relationship with Chaewon perfectly. A pair of nunchaku dangled from his right hand.

He closed his eyes, let the rhythm of the night dictate his next move.

He could hear the battle below, creating its own song— discordious, but beneath it, hidden right under the surface, something beautiful.

Eyes still closed, he let himself fall, let the wind around him rush as he climbed lower and lower towards that discourse.

Then, the song rang its loudest. He opened his eyes, swinging his nunchaku around as he oriented himself, landing. The purple mist around him faded as the fame ghouls he struck were released from this world.

There was more tonight. More than usual. He swung his weapon around him, releasing ghoul after ghoul.

If he wanted to, he could've felled the ghouls faster— the spirit of Chaewon's song was strong, but Sticks liked this. The slowness of it all. Watching the ghouls release with swing after swing; it was peaceful, cathartic.

He could spend hours out here. At times he'd close his eyes, let his ears do the work.

Like most nights, the sound was wrong, but in the middle of it all, a song so harmonious and beautiful pierced through everything. Bright and beautiful, the song filled his mind, giving him joy. He knew this song well.

Sticks opened his eyes, the street now a haze of mist as every single ghoul rose from this plane of existence.

Atop the HYBE building stood another champion, long red whip flowing, cutting the night sky in two.

Sticks smiled. He'd worked with her before. "Been a while, Luck!"

Luck stood there, her own hair flowing like her whip.

"Everything okay?"

Even from down here, Sticks could see the look on the face of Wonyoung's champion. Usually happy and smiling, it was different. A somber sort of expression, maybe even angry.

Like lightning, the whip cracked towards Sticks, circling around him and burning like passion.

"L-Luck? If you wanted to spar again, you could've just asked!"

In an instant, Luck pulled herself towards the nunchaku holder, landing beside him with a crash.

"I'm sorry for this. Really," Luck said, voice low. She gripped the handle of her whip, pulling tight. The rope constricted around him.

"Luck, what the fuc—" Sticks started, before his lungs too were squeezed.

Luck's long dark hair shrouded her face. He could barely make out her expression. "The one true song is coming.

----

A/N:

I think if someone were to ask me to recommend them one thing by me to read, it would be this. Truly, I am really excited for this. Let me know what you think other champions weapons should be. Really fun coming up with ideas for this! Doesn't even matter from which group. Clearly, this story involves the entirety of the Kpop world, so who knows, maybe groups you wouldn't expect me to write will show up.

That’s the only explanation for you meeting Chaewon at a party, because otherwise, it would be at risk of being labeled as fate—and boy, are those dangerous waters to explore.

And now, she’s ruffling her hair like nothing happened, having just taken a shot of something strong enough to get her ears red. You don’t know which; the party’s buzzing with probably each type of vice, liquor, and sin. You don’t usually attend parties for that reason. You don’t need a bad influence in your life when it’s so easy to get hooked onto the wrong thing.

Yet when your eyes find hers in this pool of bodies, you realize you’re just relapsing into an old dirty habit.

It’s written all over her easy smile, the way the fringe falls over her forehead. Chaewon turns up her chin and says, “Why don’t I know you?”

The audacity of this girl, really. Her voice is saccharine sweet. Her words sound like the lyrics to a siren’s song. You’re already six feet deep into the waters and she’s holding you down.

Yunjin rolls her eyes. She’s your best friend, but she’s also Chaewon’s best friend, which means she knows exactly how this is going to play out. It’s an old story. Chaewon does that seductress act, preying onto some poor guy, and the next thing she knows, they’re making out in the master bedroom.

 “Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re already flirting with him.”

“I’m not flirting with him,” says Chaewon, but she’s not even looking at Yunjin, her hand already ending up on your forearm. “What do you take me for, Jennifer? A slut?”

Yunjin thoughtfully places her fingertip on her chin. “Well—”

Chaewon bursts into laughter and tells her to shut up. God, even her smile is gorgeous. She’s a goddess up close—not a pore or a blemish anywhere on that flawless skin. Her scent is faint and sweet, some fragrance you can’t buy for four digits anywhere. You hate that you notice it. It just makes you think how far behind you are to Chaewon. Girls like her don’t look at guys like you.

Hanni catches Yunjin’s attention, dressed in a heart-shaped little top and fairy boots, looking like a butterfly. She squeals when she sees Yunjin, and their reunion leaves you and Chaewon to yourselves. The tension between you grows thicker. It’s impossible to breathe.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s just jealous I get to have you.” She tilts her pretty head and squints thoughtfully. “What was your name again?”

You can’t believe she’s talking to you, out of everyone in this house party. But you tell her your name anyway, and you can already tell it’s something her mouth will keep to memory. She’s circling you like you’re prey.

Don’t you want to fight back? Don’t you want to puff out your chest and say you know exactly how girls like her work? You’re just standing there, trapped by that golden voice and deadly silhouette. You’re not even pretending you want her to fuck off.

“It’s a nice party,” continues Chaewon. “Kazuha did her big one with it. Invited all the rich guys, the buff ones, the hot ones…” She pauses her stroking on your flesh to finally look you in the eye. “Tell me, are you any of those? Because if not, I’m packing my stuff.”

“I—I’m sort of—”

The serious look is immediately shattered from her face with a gorgeous laugh. “I’m just messing with you,” Chaewon assures you. It’s a cruel thing to joke about but she’s so pretty that forgiveness is instant. “I’m here to take my mind off things like you are. I’m not trying to do anything.”

But you should know by now that Kim Chaewon is a liar. From the very first second, she lied to Yunjin, lied to you about just messing with you. Her hand brushes yours as she reaches for a drink. Then it’s on your arm. Then it’s under your chin as she talks her way into a bedroom.

You don’t stop her. 

The yellow lamplight casts shadows over Chaewon, contouring her figure into a tiny silhouette on the wall. That tiny dress that reveals her back looks better in the dark. All you’re thinking is that this only ends one way, and how it shouldn’t because she’s trouble and you’ve already got problems without Kim Chaewon on your mind. What more are you looking to add?

She’s talking about her friends as she sits on the bed. And she’s got a lot of them—Yunjin, the girl she’s forever linked with; Kazuha, the biggest party girl with somehow the most innocent face, and; Sakura, who’s pretty much an introvert. She likes to stay home and crochet. It’s more fun that way, she had argued, and Chaewon rolled her eyes. This time though, she agreed to wait down in the lobby just in case anybody needed a designated driver. 

“But if you ask me,” she says (you didn’t), “Eunchae dresses best among all of us. I think it’s the sort of Gen Z fashion the older girls can’t master. Knows how to do her makeup, don’t you think?”

You realize here that Chaewon is kind of full of herself, only masking it behind asking your opinions then building another story about herself from that. Every word is a plot device leading to her, the main character. It’s something you find in too many people. They think that everyone and everything orbits around them.

It’s actually a pet peeve of yours but you have to give it to her: Kim Chaewon has every right to be narcissistic. Pretty face, great body, a great bank account to back her vices. She’s the girl every guy wants and every girl wants to be. It’s probably a statement made about girls less attractive and magnetic than her, but you know at the end of the day, it’s a title that only becomes true when given to her. She’s a carnal desire, something you cry about when you confess it to a priest.

“I guess I wasn’t really looking at her,” you admit. 

“Oh?” Chaewon sets her drink down. Her voice drops even lower. “Who were you looking at then?”

It’s a trap. It’s a fucking trap. But before you could tell her you’re leaving, Chaewon’s already kissing you. 

She tastes like vodka and sin and everything you shouldn’t be indulging in. But you do anyway.

She gets on her knees like she’s done it plenty of times for you. You get an idea of how an angel would react when they get a taste of sin when she cums around your cock. Her eyes  shut, her body curls around you like it’s the only thing in the world she can hold onto. She looks fucking perfect.

Girls like Chaewon give you heaven for a night then leave you forever. They leave you wanting more but never give it to you even if you get on your knees and pray.

But Chaewon obviously likes something about you. And come on—she’s no fucking angel anyway. You both can go to hell.

-

You have a place of your own, but most of your time nowadays is spent in Chaewon’s luxurious Gangnam apartment. You raise this concern to her as she does her makeup in the living room mirror. The lipgloss makes her lips look plusher, the mascara enlarging those pretty eyes. You raised concern over her vanity as well, but she dismissed it. You love it when I look pretty for you anyway.

(And you hated to say that she’s right. You love when she puts on lipstick that ends up all over your neck. You love when she wears the sexiest dresses of all so you can take them off. So you zipped your mouth shut and waited another hour for her to doll up.)

“Friends share, don’t they?” she replies. Her ass looks great in those cycling shorts. She said she’s going to the gym, but if she sticks her ass out at you one more time, she’d have to delay. 

You laugh. “Even friends with benefits?”

“It’s in the name, baby. Friends with benefits. Your benefit is staying in this chic place with me, while my benefit is that cock of yours.”

At least she’s clear with the fact that she’s using you. Sure, she likes that you’re easy to talk to and that there are no strings attached. But the feeling of your cock in her is too good to let pass.

And right now, Chaewon’s eyeing you like she’s up to no good.

You know that look. “Now?”

“What, you think I’m just horny 24/7?”

Chaewon walks and talks like she’s willing to go against each word. Those toned, perfect legs stride over to you. Her voice is sultry enough to stir a heat inside of you that, ironically, only she can put out.

She adds fuel to the fire by sliding onto your lap, her favorite seat. The curve of her cheeks perfectly aim at your bulge. You groan as Chaewon starts to circle her hips around you, all while she looks back at you with a bite of her lip.

You close your hands around her waist. “Thought you were driving to the gym?” 

“I could do a different type of exercise here instead.” 

“The membership is like, a fortune per month, Chae.”

You’re struggling to get your words out already. Damn those stupid shorts. Chaewon’s practically humping you. The feel of fabric upon fabric and her plump flesh pressed against yours is dizzying. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Chaewon says. Her breaths shorten but she doesn’t stop moving. The sports bra cups her tits that bounce with each rotation. “I can think of certain ways to pay it back.”

“And what could that be?”

She’s already giving you a hint with the hypnotizing sway of her hips. 

The graze of your clothed cock against her clit makes Chaewon gasp. You haven’t even gotten inside her, nor have you taken off that bra that pushes up her bouncy chest. But the feel of her gyrating against you, knowing exactly how you like it, is enough to make you go over the edge.

Not yet.

Chaewon rises from your lap. You almost groan if not for the show she’s offering you this time. She makes a show of stretching upwards, drawing your eyes to her tight midriff, before turning her back to you. Her fingers hook around the hugging material of her shorts to hike them slowly down her thighs. That bubble butt almost pops out of the fabric.

Only a thong. No wonder the wetness soaked through. 

She bends over a little as she shakes her cute little ass to you. You can see how wet she is, arousal sticking to the tiny thong snug between her cheeks. You quickly remove your pants as well because you know how this goes with Chaewon. She’s fucking insatiable. She never takes no for an answer.

And you never give no as an answer either. You’re a match made in hell.

“I was thinking…” Her knees dent the sofa beside your hips. With her palms on your chest, she works your cock, grinding her swollen clit on the head. Both of you gasp. 

“That’s new.”

“God, shut up.” Chaewon’s whimpering now. “Y-you know how we fuck like animals, right?”

She sinks onto the first few inches, her walls pulsing and fluttering around you. You let out a deep sigh. The sight of your cock disappearing into Chaewon’s tight little pussy never gets old. 

She warms your member for a few delicious seconds, her walls pulsating around you. Chaewon bites her lip and throws her head back. 

“Kind of stating the obvious here, Chae.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she says in that irresistibly cute voice. It doesn’t seem too cute anymore when you compare it to how she begins to ride you, her hips rolling forward as if she’s trying to feed her cunt more of your cock. “But who’s to say we can’t use it to our advantage?”

She isn’t even explaining herself yet but already it sounds like all sorts of bad ideas. Chaewon herself is a bad idea. You told yourself that at the party, but she ends up on your cock anyway. 

Like right now: her clever hips snap downwards, and there’s that timeless feeling of her walls clenching around you. You lay back on the sofa and try to take deep breaths. Chaewon’s done this before, more than you could tally, but the way she fixes herself onto your cock feels new each time. You have to reacquaint yourself with how tight she actually is. 

The toned line of Chaewon’s back arches beautifully. You can’t take your eyes off it. Your abs tighten up as her ass bounces on your cock. 

“Let’s see: we’re both pretty fucking hot—” You laugh, the sound drowned out by a moan of your own. Chaewon bites her lip. “And we both have a pretty hard time keeping our hands off each other. Imagine the money we could make off that.”

Chaewon’s going faster now. Her strangled groans collide with the sound of her thighs slapping against yours. 

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” you ask, because the more Chaewon bounces on you, the more you can’t think of a reason it should be a bad idea.  

Her melodic moans strike every chord. How she could even get words out from how hard she’s riding you, you’ve no idea. Chaewon is a strategist anyway. She knows how to make do. So she rises from your lap, letting each pulsing inch leave her cunt, before ramming them all back inside her. 

You groan. Chaewon laughs, but in spite of it, her languid movements never stop. When she gyrates to and fro, you start thinking about how this is probably a ploy to get you to agree. Look, her body seems to talk to you, in all its little motions and curves, look how good it is to see me stuffed with your fat cock. Look how good you make me feel. Wouldn’t you want to see it all on camera?

You both know what the answer is.

Chaewon’s smirking. “I’m saying we should make a movie.” She starts rubbing her clit, and her breath hitches between her sultry words. “And god, baby, we don’t even have to have a script or anything. It could just be me and you, doing what we do best.”

Her voice gets higher. Her hips start to move faster, more frantically than you could handle. And lord knows you’re the only one who could handle Chaewon. If it weren’t for you, who was going to keep her satisfied?

“And you know the camera’s my best friend. I’d look good getting stuffed by that hard cock from any angle. Anyone can watch you fuck me, but they know they could never be as good as you. They could never own me like you do.”

This has to be illegal. It’s the way she’s egging you on, knowing exactly what to say to ruin you, combined with the orgasmic choreography of her hips that renders you defenseless against her. And what harm could be done? Chaewon looks great on camera, even greater when it immortalizes into pixels how her face looks when she cums. It could be something you’d look back at when you’re worked up and she isn’t there (although that rarely happens), or sell with a reminder taped onto the plastic case that she’s yours. They can watch her get her little pussy destroyed but ultimately, at the end of the day, your bed is where she ends up.

You hate to say it, but all in all it sounds like a pretty fucking good idea.

“Fuck, Chaewon…”

“Is that a yes?” she asks eagerly. The lethal grip of her pussy starts to feel overwhelming. “It’s a win-win situation… please, won’t you say yes? Please, please, please—”

You could never say no to her, honestly. Not when she turns to look back at you with those sparkling doll eyes, and definitely not when she’s milking you.

You watch your cum drip outside of her like a waterfall. It’s hard to take your eyes off it, but then there’s Chaewon’s face, sweaty and lost to bliss. Yeah, she would look great on camera. And you did remember thinking back then, when you first met Chaewon, that she was never the type of girl to not be captured by a camera lens. You admit that your idea was pictorials and Vogue covers, not porn videos.

But later on, after Chaewon goes for a shower again to clean your mess up and actually works out, you find yourself setting up an account. Of course, there needs to be a discussion of some kind of how far you actually want to go with this.

“Do you want to be like… a full-on pornstar?” you ask. The question makes your ears burn. It’s not something you’d ask the average person, but you’ve been through this a million times; Kim Chaewon is not an average girl.

It’s late afternoon and you’re on a videocall with her as she drives home. The gorgeous interior of the Mustang looks almost mediocre when put next to Chaewon’s gorgeous face. 

“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I’m not made for Pornhub, sorry to disappoint.”

“How is that disappointing?” you ask in disbelief.

“I dunno. A lot of people wanna see me do porn, but it’s just gonna be a side hustle for me.” 

Nod as you get the verification code from her email. You realize that you share everything with Chaewon. You know all her passwords and she knows yours. Your bank accounts are intertwined with each other. It’s a bad idea, seeing as there isn’t a clear definition on what’s going on between you. 

But right now, you’re literally creating an account to do porn together. It can’t get worse than that.

You pick Chaewon’s prettiest photo for the avatar—one of her in that tight Diesel top with her fingers through her hair. It parallels with the small rectangle in the corner of your screen.

“It’s asking for your age,” you tell her. 

Chaewon rolls her eyes, hands tightening on the wheel. “You know the names of all the positions we’ve tried but not my birthday?”

Cowgirl at Eunbi’s house as you try to be quiet, 69 at that suite after your promotion—okay fine, maybe she has a point.

“I do know your birthday. I just can’t do math.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. There’s sweat rolling down the sides of her face. It shines on her chest and drips down the fabric of her sports bra. You can’t stop thinking of how her skin looks so good, flushed and stretched. 

Do a little mental math, eyes up to the spiralling ceiling fan. “Was I still an idiot when I made you cum thrice last night?”

Chaewon’s face burns red. The memory’s still fresh in that pretty little head of hers. “Shut up. Just fix my account and I’ll call Minju to give us advice later.”

“Park Minju or—”

“Please use your head for once. Is there another Minju who’s both a friend of mine and a pornstar?”

Alright, so she’s talking about Kim Minju. Pretty face, cute voice, thighs that could crush you. The girl’s a socialite who only does all the indie films for fun—the talent fees mean nothing to her. 

That’s probably why she does the whole porn thing so well. Top creator minjugato.__. earns millions a month from just a camera, her bed, and another girl. She’s fulfiled a whole niche: not too famous to get into an actual scandal, not too invisible for the common guy to recognize her from a small platform movie and think hey, I don’t mind paying for this.

You look at her slim, composed figure fixed on the edge of your own bed. “How long have you been doing this?” 

Minju smiles. “Not long enough,” she says teasingly, leaning over the PC. She’s typing in a caption for your first livestream. So far she’s helped you get a fair amount of followers with a helpful promotion post. 

minjugato.__.: hi all!!! any weekend plans? :3 mine is to watch my best friend ssamuwon’s new movie later tonight. maybe you should come by!! it’s pretty explicit but i don’t think that would be a problem 👀

The stats rise by the minute. Five thousand people await Chaewon’s debut to start. Everytime you look away the number seems to get higher. There’s clear demand for Chaewon, the hottest girl in Gangnam, perhaps even the whole of South Korea itself.

No need for second-guessing. Chaewon’s in your lap, wearing the tiniest tube top known to man. You’ve seen her in less clothes and without them completely but this one’s just explicit. It accentuates her waist and lets a little skin show before her black shorts—somehow even tinier—hug her hips. 

It’s no wonder at all she managed to convince you to fuck her for work. They’ve said to avoid capitalizing off your hobbies, but let the record show that you won’t ever get tired of fucking Chaewon. 

Minju makes a final click on your keyboard. “You’re live in five minutes. I set up a few ground rules in the corner just in case they get wild.” She fires you a wink. 

Chaewon reads the box of rules sent in the chat, pinned to the top of the stream. It’s all pretty basic. No scat, no invasion of privacy, just the usual. Minju conveniently added that requests paired with high donations are prioritized. You shudder. What would the viewers make you do to Chaewon? There’s too many fantasies to pick from. 

“Thanks for helping me slut myself out, Minju,” says Chaewon with a smile too sweet for what she just said. 

It doesn’t faze Minju at all. She actually laughs, the crease of her eyes making her look like a sly fox. “You know what they say: you have to learn from the best.”

Oh, the best, alright: Minju’s videos speak for themselves. They’ve gotten billions of views, spread across every social media platform to the point she had to commission someone for a watermark. It’s all good publicity anyway. More people watching meant more traction and discovery of her account. 

The air in your room is thick with excitement. The ringlight casts a perfect shadow over Chaewon’s body. There she is, much smaller than you while your shadow alone could overpower here.

And of course, Minju’s hourglass shape is there as well. It doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon. You honestly don’t mind it.

One minute to showtime. Chaewon holds your face in her hands. She’s as flawless as the day you met: perfect skin, thick lashes, eyes that could kill. There’s an evil smile sewn on those glossed lips.

“You ready, baby?” she asks. You’ve often wondered how she does that: she could speak in her usual high, cheerful voice most of the time but when the world dissolves to nothing more than you and these sheets, it drops to this ridiculously sexy low note. She’s insane. She’s unpredictable. But she’s also the sexiest woman you know.

If you had to be honest—

“Never been more ready.”

Chaewon is actually the perfect girl for this job.

When it comes to porn, it has to be specific. Every detail should be. The average viewer looks for something that they can’t get anywhere and it’s her job to be that. When every comment’s assumption about her is different, she has to put on a multitude of faces, all to keep their interest.

And it comes as nothing to her.

anonymous_lurk_79: she’s way too cute to be on here NumberOneMinjuLuver replied: it’s the cute ones that are the freakiest i said the same thing about minju

The red light blinks beside the lens. So does Chaewon, getting on her knees before the camera and batting her lashes. She’s whatever they want to be.

“Hello, is this thing on?” Chaewon smiles sweetly, as if she isn’t discussing being fucked for an audience of seven thousand and counting. “It’s my first time doing this stuff. I hope you all go easy on me.”

She looks up at you then at your growing erection. She giggles. “But I hope this one here goes as hard as he likes.”

Minju giggles, too. Chaewon was a natural.

“Shall we start?” she asks. “How do you want me?”

mingmingult: she looks a lot like the girl in minjugato’s videos whenidiethr0wmyphoneintheocean donated $****: suck his cock first like a good girl

Four digits already? 

Chaewon does as she’s told. She wraps her small hand around your cock, giving it a few hypnotic strokes. Feels like your heart is beating right there in her palm, too. She could feel every hot throb of arousal.

She then wraps her luscious lips around your cock and starts to suck. She suckles on the first few inches, letting her tongue dance around the sensitive bits, before she moves on to take more. You can see her shorts ride further down her ass as she pushes her face on your cock. 

You pick up the camera and generously give the viewers a POV shot. Chaewon blinks slowly at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, and sits on her heels so they could see some of her cleavage. She looks even more enticing and tight in this angle. Try to keep your breaths controlled so it doesn’t drown out the sloppy sounds of Chaewon making out with your cock.

“Such a good little slut,” you murmur. Use your other hand to grab Chaewon’s short hair. She moans happily. Her seductive chuckle vibrates and sends ripples of electricity throughout your body.

1800hotnfun donated $****

Chaewon sloppily presses more of your length down her throat. Her breaths arrive shorter. You have no idea if she’s looking at you or the camera. You get the advantage either way; the juxtaposition of those large innocent eyes and the way she’s blowing you could make any man cum in seconds. 

nsfwizone donated $** 69__jonginkang donated $*****: what a fucking tease ANTIFRAGILENTHUSIAST donated $******: need to see this pretty little whore’s mouth filled w my cum

That would answer your rent for the next few months, with money on the side to really get this gig going. Plus, Minju did say that large donation requests should be prioritized. 

And if whoever this guy was wanted to see Chaewon with cum overflowing from her lips, then so be it.

Your grip on Chaewon’s hair borders on painful. You pull it back, angling her chin upwards. Film from the side and the viewers could see how your cock dents Chaewon’s throat, rapidly filling it up again and again. Her nipples are already hard. Her lips provide a tight suction, her hands on your waist an anchor for balance.

You’re really giving it to her now. Chaewon’s helpless little whimpers do things to you, and apparently to the other eight thousand viewers wishing they were in your shoes. The chat is filled with obscenities. The donations rank up higher. Everyone’s waited far too long to see Kim Chaewon get her face fucked.

If it hurts, Chaewon doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even push you away or tap out. She lies there with her knees red and grazed, taking every shot you eventually pour into her waiting mouth. Each swift plunge makes her tits bounce in that tight top. Your cum fills her soft cheeks to the brim.

The flash makes the tears in Chaewon’s eyes sparkle. “Did you get every drop?” you ask.

Chaewon nods.

“Show me.”

She looks directly at the camera as she opens her mouth. As expected, you’re given a view of the pool of semen she kept for herself. She swallows it all obediently.

pipipi: fuck that was so hot Bunnybaby: we have a new supreme

You look at Minju for approval. It’s tens across the board for her—she looks flushed, squirming on the chair. There’s a lazy smile on her face.

“Was I a good girl?’’ Chaewon asks. The chat responds quickly. It’s flooded with emojis, donations, and dirty remarks. “Shouldn’t I get a reward for swallowing your cum?”

What reward? There’s a million things you want to do to her. You could bend her over the bed, creampie her, then fuck her ass until her cheeks are red. The possibilities are endless.

You look at the stream for suggestions. One particularly dirty comment points out how hard Chaewon’s nipples are, poking through the tube top in need of attention.

Chaewon reads it, too. Her fingers run up the shape of her figure coyly. “Can Chaewonie touch herself, please?”

She cups her boobs, slowly placing her fingers over the soft flesh. A groan immediately leaves her used mouth. She makes sure to look at the camera when she bites her lip. 

She pushes the top down until it bunches just below her perfect breasts. The fabric pushes up her tits even more, as if coaxing the spotlight to focus on them. 

She starts to pinch her nipples, tweaking and pulling them like they were made to be. You can see her getting worked up already. Each roll of her fingers over the hard nubs makes her soak through her lace panties. The little sounds she makes could kill you.

“Please?” Chaewon pouts. “I’m so, sooo sensitive. Can you help me out, daddy?”

You don’t have to say anything for her to know your answer. Your job is to be silent after all. It’s Chaewon they’re paying for, not you.

You set the camera back in its place and gently push Chaewon to the mattress. You tower over her. You’re taller, bigger, stronger; and it’s even clearer when there’s the lack of proximity between the two of you. She could barely reach your shoulders. It’s the little things like that the audience looks for. 

It’s the little things like that which set you off. 

Chaewon looks good in any angle. She constantly proves that with her Instagram photos, where even closeups make her look like a goddess. But she looks the best when she’s underneath you, writhing for your touch. 

You don’t stall more than you need to. The hot kisses on her neck are just foreplay. You attach your lips to a stiff nipple. She arches her back, but you keep her pinned to the soft cloud that is your mattress—she’s not going anywhere yet. You make sure of that by pinching the other nipple, giving both sensitive breasts equal attention.

“F-fuck…” Chaewon’s whimper is nearly inaudible. The rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. She pushes her tits into your hand as you lick and suck. “You’re so good at that.”

You’re not selling yourself short, but these easy reactions are easily drawn from the fact that she’s sensitive. Dangerously so. The trail of your hand across her body leaves one of goosebumps. The thrill of getting her face fucked still runs high, and you discovered early on that the easiest way to make Chaewon melt was play with her tits. 

You squeeze her hard enough to make her whine. But your other hand’s grown tired of kneading her breast. It’s more interested in the soaked patch of arousal in the center of Chaewon’s shorts. Her legs immediately lock around your wrist, making you finish what you started. You can’t just play with her nipples then leave her to fend for herself. 

“Don’t stop,” Chaewon gasps. Your digits start to work between her legs. Her thighs tremble and her breath hitch in that particular way that drives you wild. The tight fabric of the shorts makes it difficult for you to intensify your movements, but you make do. Chaewon deserves to get fucked within an inch of her life. It’s what she so desperately wants anyway.

It shows in how she’s pushing herself up against you, tangling her fingers in your hair, hoisting her hips up so you could go deeper. The wet squelch of your fingers driving into her cunt is deafening. It makes her blush, but she’s got no reason to be ashamed. The viewers love it. They’re throwing money at her and betting on how fast she can cum.

Chaewon finally makes a mess on your fingers and screams at the top of her lungs, shaking and whining. When the bliss overtakes her features, you suddenly become sure of something:

You’re about to be the richest guy on the planet.

-

“Jesus.” Minju claps her hands together, looking very impressed. “You two are naturals.”

It’s been three days since Chaewon’s debut, but the profit you made could fit five months.  Chaewon’s doll eyes go wide seeing the numbers on the screen. You’re surprised as well at the followers you got in so little time. Other creators needed months of work to get this kind of traction. 

“This is insane,” you say. Hand Minju a cup of tea while Chaewon measures the damage she did on the internet. Mini tabloids are going crazy. And of course, people on your street are starting to look at her differently. They know too much about what goes on inside Chaewon’s luxury apartment, but they can’t tell the world how they found out.

Minju accepts the cup gracefully. For someone who’s been doing this for so long, she’s massively impressed by the quick success. Chaewon’s follower count will match hers in little time.

“I knew we were gonna do well, but not like this,” you tell her. “Thanks for all the help, Minju.”

Chaewon giggles. “Not that we needed any.”

“Little brat can’t even be grateful,” you say disapprovingly. Chaewon pouts, but doesn’t look regretful in the slightest.

Minju’s laugh is as charming as she is. “She’s not wrong. I don’t think getting money would be a problem, but you have to keep the hype going. You don’t want to peak so early.”

She sounds like a PR manager for all the beautifully fucked up films you’re going to make with Chaewon. You trust her word, though. This was a woman who knows what she’s talking about.

Chaewon studies her nails, painted hot pink and only long enough to scratch your back. “Maybe we could open up requests.”

“That’s a good idea,” Minju agrees. “People would pay a lot to see you live out their fantasies.” She sits back on your couch. A look of amusement crosses her face. “One time a guy paid me five hundred for feet pics.”

You raise your brows. “Feet pics?”

Minju doesn’t recognize the implication and only shrugs it off. You couldn’t believe people were actually into feet. It sounds pretty mild to Minju. She’s probably been made to do worse. “It’s easy money. He could’ve gotten videos with that amount.” 

Chaewon thinks of that for a second. It doesn’t sound too bad. It would take less effort than setting up a camera and managing through violent orgasms. But she thinks she likes the latter more anyway.

She used to hear older people give her advice when she was a student. They said to make money off what she liked to do, and she’d never have to work a day in her life. She smirks. How would they react if she told them how she made her money now?

“You could paywall the more intense stuff,” Minju’s suggesting now. “Don’t ever downplay how good you’re doing. If people want to pay for it and would pay for it, let them. But don’t post too often. You want to keep them wanting more.”

“Biweekly sound fine?” Chaewon asks. Oh, she’s serious about this. You wonder how you’ll survive the next week. 

“Perfect, actually.”

You butt in the conversation for a moment. “What about equipment?” Sure, you had a ringlight and a PC, but there’s nothing more. You imagine that this would take a lot of work and stuff, like a professional camera and neon lights. 

Chaewon was wondering about that as well. She looks at Minju, who shakes her head, much to your surprise.

“You won’t have to worry about that. The average person isn’t going to Pornhub anymore to get off. They want something unscripted now.”

Minju’s fox eyes dart pointedly at the two of you. “They want something real,” she stresses.

Her gaze is sharp with accusation. Chaewon laughs and rests her head on your shoulder. You don’t say a word to deny it.

-

Just in case anybody clutches their pearls over it, you’ll clarify here that you still have pretty normal jobs. You’re not totally prostituting yourselves for money, although you hate to use that term and you’re not desperate for the extra income.

You work a corporate job and volunteer at your nearest charity when you have time on your hands. (Taking note of the latter is advice you have to take yourself because it seems you live off sin 24/7.) It allows you to split the rent with Chaewon and buy food. 

As for Chaewon, she also works a regular job. You think? Wait, you realized that you have no idea what she does for a living. You simply assumed that with all her vices and expensive clothes, she must have a job keeping her busy somewhere.

Come to think of it, you’ve never heard her complain about work. It’s been a while since you moved in and got to know each other, but all the sticky notes about deadlines on the fridge are yours. 

“Chaewon, I have something I want to ask you.”

She turns to you, her legs swinging off the seat at the bar. You gulp. All of her beautiful legs are on display thanks to that tiny brown dress. The only things that bother saving anything to the imagination are her boots. 

That stitched cowboy hat too, if it counts. And it does the opposite of what it should. It makes you think of how well it matches her dress, and the way it makes her look like a cowgirl who could ride—

“Yes?” she says, still bopping her head to the music. 

“Where the hell do you get all your money?”

Chaewon ponders over this for some time, then takes a sip of her margarita. “Oh, I don’t know.” Seeing the surprise on her face nearly makes her spit her drink out from laughing. “Seriously, I don’t know! I think it just shows up in my bank account. I guess our little collaboration helps, too.”

She winks at you. Your breaths shorten.

Nope. Just because she’s the hottest girl alive doesn’t mean she can lie to you. “Liar.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“What was I supposed to think, Chae?” you say as diplomatically as you can. You gesture to your surroundings. “We’re in one of the most expensive bars in Hongdae where the fucking senators’ kids create scandals. You’re wearing another designer set.”

You had a point. Chaewon shrugs off the offense she took. “My fault for assuming you’d think about anything other than me in this dress.”

She stands up and twirls around. The skirt floats around her thighs. Those safety shorts are way too tiny to be considered safe. Chaewon gets a hit out of teasing you though, grinning when the realization registers on your face.

“Don’t you want to take pics of me?” asks Chaewon with a pout. She doesn’t wait for your answer and hands you her phone. It’s the latest one, pink and sleek. “So we have content to upload later!” 

While you have qualms about taking pictures of Chaewon in her ridiculously provocative outfit, she’s right. It’s been a few days since your last upload. Minju said it was important not to post too often, but too long in between posts could throw your followers off.

So here you are again, playing the role of a photographer. You snap several photos of her within minutes. Chaewon switches between poses like they’re nothing. You have one where she’s bent slightly over the bar, a finger on her lips as she looks coyly at her short skirt. There’s one in the bathroom where she looks at the mirror instead of the lens. She’s holding the cowboy hat on her head and winking. 

All that skin, that shameless seductiveness… it feels like you’re getting drunk off of these sexy photos instead of the alcohol. Chaewon is too hot for you to handle.

You return to your private booth to upload them. What would she do without you? You’re her fuckbuddy, best friend, and social media manager all at the same time. 

anyone know where i can find a ride? ❣️🤠

It’s difficult to think of a good caption. Choosing which photos to post is ruining you. Not to mention the filtering to bring out the brown of her eyes and the sunlight. It makes you stall. You have to keep staring. You have to take note of every detail, every delicious curve of her body. Images of Chaewon posing, winking, and showing off are burned forever into your mind.

Your hands shake as you hit post. Turn your phone off. Focus on having a good time and dancing and singing and whatever you do, do not take another look at those pictures. 

“Oh, you poor thing.” 

Oh no. 

Chaewon sounds smug as ever as she takes a seat on your lap. “Hard already? We aren’t even in the bedroom.”

You don’t need this right now. Getting an erection could not come at a more inconvenient time. You can’t say anything provided that you can’t even meet her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” she purrs. “I’m gonna take care of that.”

There’s a hunger in Chaewon that needs to be satiated today. You can see the fire in her eyes as she pulls you out and wraps a fist around your stiff cock. The sight of her small, dainty hand compared to your shaft is provocative by itself. Those large, deceptively innocent eyes stay on yours while she drags her delicious touch up and down, preparing you for her. 

“Been needing you so bad lately…” 

Chaewon lifts her hips slightly. She allows your cock to rub between her slick folds, teasing at her entrance but never quite giving her what she needs. Her breath hitches when you hit her clit. 

“Promise to fill me all the way up,” she whines. “Don’t leave a single drop.”

You wouldn’t dare. There hasn’t been any penetration yet the wetness of her puffy lips feels like heaven. In your hands, her core works her waist into circles. More precum ends up grinding and mixing between your sexes. 

Chaewon whimpers. “Promise me.”

“Fuck, gonna fill this pussy up, Chaewon.” Her nipples poke through the thin bikini. Her grinding grows more desperate as you groan out your obscene promise. “Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Just ride my cock like the pretty little fuckdoll you are.”

She can’t take it anymore. Chaewon slams herself down on your cock in one go.

The stretch hurts so good. Her head throws back with a breathy moan. Her soft walls immediately hold onto you, throbbing and needy. 

The music is a dull thump through the walls. You could feel the bass in your heart time with Chaewon’s bouncing. Her back is against the door. 

“There,” she gasps. “Right there, don’t stop…”

Her eyes are dim with pleasure. You bring a hand up to pinch and roll her nipple, circling the taut peak with your thumb. Immediately Chaewon’s internal muscles clench around you like a vise. 

Her hips start to lift and dance in a little choreography of an impending orgasm. You hold her down, pinning her to your lap while you thrust up in her. The tightness becomes harder to push past through. She’s so tense that you have to rub your thumb against her clit to get her to relax. 

Your eyes meet. Jesus, she was a sight for sore eyes. The toasty, sunkissed color of her makeup makes her look like she’s blushing. The two of you are flushed either way. There’s forbidden excitement in knowing one of the servers could walk in here at any moment and see Chaewon riding you harshly. You shouldn’t be doing this here. There were important people who could raise this complaint to the higher-ups and get you banned forever.

You can stop the bullshit. When has hesitation saved you from getting in trouble? When has anything convinced you not to fuck Kim Chaewon? 

-

You didn’t even mean to execute this request so well.

It just so happens that this is how a day in your life looks like with Kim Chaewon. While they pay to place themselves in your shoes and see it happen, you’re the one who actually gets to touch her. 

A guy who went by the username hanyoooojin sent a large amount of money the moment Chaewon announced requests. Unlike the other ones who filled up the rest of the slots, he didn’t want anything overly specific.

Netflix and chill anyone? 😉

That was the caption you set for the video. It’s something enticing even with its simplicity, and come on, people would watch anything if it had Chaewon in it. 

The camera records everything. It starts out with Chaewon dressed in your shirt. It’s way too big on her, and if the fabric were any more see-through, it would be clear she only had a bra on. She’s lying next to you on your bed as a movie plays on your TV.

The volume is low, almost to complete silence. It’s only static background noise to what’s going to happen.

Chaewon snuggles against you. Her body is already warm. But she does a good job of acting like she’s interested in the movie. She called it boring a million times before, and you remain convinced it was an attention span issue. 

“I fucking hate when movies are slow,” she had said. She rolled her eyes. “What’s the point of making me wait thirty minutes for something exciting to happen?”

“Sounds a lot like you to hate taking things slow,” you replied easily, earning you a punch in the shoulder.

Maybe that’s why her hand slips under the blanket a little too early. You’re supposed to be a sweet domestic couple. It’s just a role you have to play for cash to come in. Chaewon’s the sweet girlfriend and you’re the boyfriend who still wants to hang out with her even when you’re exhausted. You watch a movie together, as requested, pretending you have no idea of what she’s about to do.

Her creamy thighs folded against each other hide her wetness. Chaewon’s become a master at angles. She knows to lift the blanket a little above your thighs so the camera captures her hand in your shorts. 

You look down at what she’s doing and laugh. “Thought you wanted to watch a movie,” you say. 

Her lazy strokes work you to full mast. You remind yourself that this was supposed to be unhurried, but there was no delaying gratification around Chaewon. 

Chaewon takes her eyes briefly off the screen to smile at you. “I do.” Her voice is soft and unfazed. She looks adorable in those puppy pajamas. It really sells the fantasy. “But I can do two things at once, can’t I?”

Her thumb circles your tip with maddening precision. Chaewon kisses you with the same gentleness she uses to jack you off. You can tell she’s struggling not to pounce on you. This isn’t the kind of sex she was used to. Sex for Chaewon was trading orgasms until one of you confessed you ran short. 

For this one, she has to keep herself sane. She has to be tender with it. She takes your hand, squeezes it in hers, and places it right where she needs you. The tiny pajama shorts allow easy access to her cunt. 

“Just keep watching,” she whispers.

The hair at the back of your neck stands up. Your lips find Chaewon’s again. You run your fingers up and down her slick folds while she jerks you off. Aside from a few heavy breaths and twitches of her tight body, she doesn’t take her eyes off the movie. She’s equal parts engrossed by it and focused on getting you off.

Chaewon’s voice runs into a whine as you go faster. Her thighs start to get messy with her own arousal. It’s taking everything in her not to strip off this shirt and ride you. She can do that later, something even the audience can’t pay to see. 

Even though you’re needy and throbbing in the soft grip of her fist, you smirk. “What’s the matter, baby? I thought you said we should focus on the movie.” 

Chaewon is still intent on keeping up the pretense. But it’s clear she wants this, too, the handjob no longer the unhurried routine she initiated.

You thrust your fingers against that sweet spot she’s been aching for you to reach. Chaewon’s body curls around you tightly. Her fingernails find purchase scratching on your forearm. 

She can’t do this any longer. You’re the only actor she can watch now. Her gaze seals onto yours as her movements grow more frantic, like she’s willing you to do the same. You have one common goal here, really. It’s evident from the precum leaking onto her wrist, her cunt pulsing around your digits. This could only end one way.

That’s one of the many requests you and Chaewon fulfill. Besides the need for real stamina, especially for longer videos, it’s actually not that taxing. It’s no construction job anyway, but fucking Chaewon comes easily to you. It takes no work at all when it’s as natural as improv.

Over the weeks, you get people tipping generously just for photos, and you remember what Minju said about them. People paid a lot to see a pretty girl naked and doing whatever they wanted.

“It’s up to you if you want to do them,” you remind Chaewon. It’s one of those lazy afternoons where you’d rather bask in the airconditioning than do anything productive. While you’re fully conscious, your body’s still in sleep mode, draped in the duvet and Chaewon’s form.

Chaewon rolls her eyes. You don’t really see it since she’s clicking away at her phone, but you know her so well that it’s like watching a movie you got a first look at unfold. “Look at you getting all mushy. I told you I don’t break easily.”

You know that, too. You’ve folded her in half and split her legs apart so many times, but you learned not to let her small stature fool you. In no makeup and just an oversized shirt and shorts, Chaewon’s the most antifragile person you know. 

You wave a hand in the air. “Of course you won’t break down. You’re the most dick-addicted girl in the world.” Chaewon snorts at that. “But we’re doing homemade porn for a reason. This isn’t a corporate or something. You don’t have to do every request there is.”

Chaewon sees where this is leading up to. She shuts her phone and shifts on the bed, the ocean blue sheets rustling above her. Her arms rest on your stomach. 

She tilts her head to the side like a puppy. There’s an amused smile on her face. 

“First of all, you should stop worrying so much,” she tells you. The faux sternness in her tone shouldn’t be this cute. “And second of all, nobody’s making me do anything I don’t want to do. I’m a big girl, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Right. It should be common sense already. Chaewon’s always done things of her own accord. She’s not the malleable type of girl who takes no trouble to convince. It’s honestly one of the traits you admire about her outside of the bedroom. Maybe, if you had Chaewon’s heart of steel or one-track mind, you wouldn’t have let her fuck you at that party. You wouldn’t be in this bed with her.

But god, were you glad you’re here.

You lose yourself in these thoughts for barely five seconds and she’s already suddenly too close. One wrong move and you’d end up kissing her. There’s that warmth again, radiating from her body in what you figured to identify as a sign. You get one too many good omens from Chaewon.

“And you know what I really, really want to do?” she asks breathily. Every word is a sultry huff against your lips.

Very few could stand a chance against her. You think it’s why she likes you so much and keeps you around, regardless if she’d admit it. You’re the only guy who could look her in the eye like you are right now and reply, “Do I even have to guess?”

It doesn’t take long for it to happen. These spontaneous sessions are becoming a bad habit. But how can you help yourself when Chaewon looks like that? You’ve no defense against those lithe legs and tight midriff, much less against that even tighter pussy. 

It just so happens all this looks great on camera.

You close the gap between you until it feels like your bodies are bonded together. They’re impossible to break apart. You have one hand closed around Chaewon’s wrists, the other on her hip. The pillow muffles her screams as you thrust into her mindlessly. Her ass is sore and red. 

“God, all that talk was for nothing, wasn’t it?” It’s always worth it in the end. You completely own her. Her pussy was just made for your cock, clinging wetly onto your girth and doing so even tighter when you back it out. “You just wanted to rile me up so I can show you you’re my good little slut, taking my dick like you were born to do.”

Chaewon’s crying out, messy little sounds tumbling out of her drooling lips. The pillowcase bears her weight and those tears of bliss. The truth is she wouldn’t trade this for anything else. She could spend all her life on the end of your length, whining her tiny waist into your palms and her ass perked and ready for you. She wouldn’t know what to do without hearing the sound of your skin snapping against hers.

“Feels so—fucking—good!” Chaewon sobs into the pillow. Senseless words are all you could fuck out of her. She can’t think much when you have your dizzying grip on her wrists like that or when you’re completely destroying her tight hole. “I’m just your personal cumdump, I’m all yours, you’re going so fucking fast—”

She’s absolutely dripping around you. Her body responds to you so well because this is exactly how she likes being fucked. She likes being fucked as if you’re trying to get her cunt to memorize the shape of your member. Not one spot on her body is left untouched. Her pussy tightens dangerously when you drive up into her cunt and those messy moans could be heard even with the fabric against her mouth. 

And it’s incredible without all the lighting and ignoring the camera blinking next to you. You’ve got a great view: Chaewon bent over and her ass up on the bed, the hourglass shape of her waist to her hips even more appealing from this angle, and her toned back shining with sweat. Her tits swing back and forth in response to the force you’re taking out on her. It could make any man go crazy.

You should’ve known to put towels on the bed, because the ending’s always the same when Chaewon feels the entirety of your control, when she’s being fed every thick inch of your cock, being handled like she’s nothing but a doll to release into—

“Oh my god!” Chaewon cries out, the lightning before the thunder, the thunder before the storm. Her scream is equal parts bliss and awe—she’s shaking all over, and the swift deep drills of your cock draw out her squirt. 

Neither of you expect it. The sharp sound of it makes you slow down. She hasn’t stopped pushing her ass into you. The puddle gets on your thighs and hers, splattering on the sheets. You feel suspended in mid-air staring at the mess she’s making. It feels even more surreal knowing you did it to her.

Chaewon collapses forward, her cheek against the softness of the pillow. It’s ridiculous how good she looks in spite of the messy hair and kiss-swollen lips. Always the temptress. The camera shines light on her exhausted, satisfied simper. 

And of course, there’s the evidence that will prove this happened. It will back you up even if Chaewon randomly decides not to post this video on the internet or worse, call everything off. The fresh mess she left on the blanket—the same one you had just been cuddling in a few hours earlier—is all the proof you’ll need.

Chaewon laughs breathlessly. She arches her back beautifully as she pulls away from your cock. It’s the perfect ending scene. 

-

All entertainment industries are parallel to each other in a way. You could work in film (legitimate films, by the way—not whatever you and Chaewon are making), music, or K-pop but what they don’t tell you is they all work the same. They manufacture and process things that appeal to the consumer. You could play the usual tropes, tunes, or concepts. Go down the loveteam road or make another generative pop song. If you’re brave enough, you can search for a niche and make it your brand.

You can do anything—release an Oscar-winning film or write a critically acclaimed album, pick your poison. It all boils down to one thing everyone is looking for anyway:

A big break. 

It will solidify your place in the industry and make sure you stay there, and if not, it makes sure you get a higher spot. A big break would earn you a loyal amount of followers and more money in your pocket. Very few get their big break. Some, although deserving, don’t get theirs at all.

In Chaewon’s situation, her big break was that video. Everyone’s talking about it and everyone’s absolutely obsessed with it. You see it posted in places you don’t expect seeing it: Instagram group chats, the NSFW side of Twitter, and the first Google result that pops up when you search Chaewon’s name. It’s gotten so much traction that you start putting a watermark of her username over the videos, along with a link to her social media profiles should they ever get crossposted again.

It’s an overnight success. You grin when you see Minju’s messages, supportive as always.

Early June, and summer is off to a head start. The sun is beating down on you relentlessly. Chaeryeong doesn’t seem to notice, skipping ahead like the earth isn’t turning fast enough for her.

“Can you slow down? It’s way too hot for you to be this energetic right now,” you call out in a failed attempt to keep her near you.

“Absolutely not. Can you speed up, instead?” she retorts, and you can’t blame her. Turning twenty-one and no longer having to sneak around to get drunk is a big milestone, after all. Nothing past your first sip the day you celebrated your birthday made it into the permanent memory bank.

Go figure she’s brimming with the same kind of anticipation, the kind that makes her shine. Blonde hair swaying in the wind like rays of the sun itself as she turns to look at you with mock anger. You. The one who promised to treat her to a drink of choice, after all.

“If I die of heatstroke, I can’t buy you anything,” you grunt. 

“I could just take your wallet off of your body if you die.”

She’s always been like this. Sharp, faster and more deadly with a comeback than you could ever be—when she’s paying attention. Relentless in her teasing, and most certainly one of those weirdos that has ragebaiting as their lovelanguage.

By the time you reach the liquor store, you’re drenched in sweat. But that’s just you. Chaeryeong—unlike you—looks pristine, like she’s made out of porcelain, like sweating is below her, but still chooses to wrap her arms around one of yours like she doesn’t care about any of those observations, she’s just happy to usher you inside.

“So, what are we looking for?” you ask as you browse the seemingly endless shelves. Chaeryeong is scanning each shelf, her pace significantly slower, like she’s in no rush to decide. A joke is begging to burst out of you, but you keep it locked up, lest you speed up her process and waste precious, air-controlled minutes inside.

She hums as her eyes scan up and down, thinking it over until she brings you up to speed. “Iunno,” is all she gives, though.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” you ask, kind of incredulously.

“I don’t know. What? Can’t a girl pick her first drink based on vibes?” she asks back.

“I don’t know. I guess? I knew what I wanted my first drink to be long before I got to it.”

She stops walking, holding you in place with her as she turns her gaze away from the endless bottles towards you. “Really? What did you get, again?”

“Whiskey,” you answer with a misguided sense of pride, like it’s supposed to be a cool answer. “You know, like, a real man’s drink.”

She just stares at you, one corner of her lip curling upwards into a smirk, and she doesn’t need to waste any words on mocking you. “I just figured I would find a nice bottle of something screaming at me,” she teases, poking you in the side with a finger, the rest of her hand still wrapped around your arm. “And if it’s expensive, that’s your problem.”

“Your plan is to let the bottle choose you?” you question, again.

“Worked out fine with you.”

That gets you. A chuckle escapes you, and she looks up at you, proud of herself. Worst part is that she’s completely right. She gave you shit for weeks for how long you waited to ask her out.

“Brat,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She adjusts the black bow tied into her hair like she’s checking to see if you didn’t boorishly ruin her pristine sense of style, shrugs her shoulders when she’s satisfied with its current fit and smiles up at you. The intent is all too clear. She gracefully accepts your admission of defeat.

Finding something that suits Chaeryeong's taste might prove impossible. She’s got high standards for her likes to clear. Nothing really seemed to strike a chord with her, that is, until you reached the wine department.

“Oh. My. God. That is the one,” Chaeryeong exclaims with glee, rushing towards a black and pink bottle of rosé champagne, adorned with pink, red and lilac ribbons etched into the glass. She grabs it off the shelf, carefully turns to you and holds it up for you to inspect. “Isn’t it so fucking cute?”

It’s just north of a hundred dollars, a lot more expensive than the cheap forty dollar whiskey you celebrated your coming of age ceremony with, but that thought gets shoved down the moment you see the joy on her face.

“It suits you,” you say as you take the bottle in your hands. 

“You think?” she questions back, and you just nod to answer.

Bottle in one hand, her hand in the other, you head towards the register, making good on your promise. A fine bottle of champagne for an even finer girl. She kisses you on the cheek the moment the cashier hands you back the bottle.

—

There’s an empty black and pink bottle of rosé champagne, adorned with pink, red and lilac ribbons etched into the glass. Inside, there’s a piece of paper, rolled up, and it would only make sense to have your name on it.

Chaeryeong must have left it for you to find.

Three years have you had it like this. Three years since she vanished from your life—and, as far as you can tell, hers as well. 

Three years since you’ve worked together on turning that bottle from full to empty. 

Looking at it makes the taste linger on your tongue.

—

"It's so fucking good," Chaeryeong practically moans. "It tastes like the world's most expensive cherry is making love to fizzy grapes on a bed of flowers, somehow?"

The shade of her favorite red lipstick paints the edge of her paper cup—courtesy of the room and wildly unfit for the quality of the drink—and she hands it to you. There’s still some champagne left at the bottom. You press your lips to the edge, already tasting a small hint of cherry from where Chaeryeong’s lips left a stain, and finally take a sip.

The fizz tickles your nose, teasing floral notes, a sharp contrast to your first drink, which could only be described as sandpaper fucking mudwater on a bed of burnt wood.

“Well?” she asks, tilting her head. She’s already claimed the center of the bed, lounging back on her elbows with a light grace that makes the room feel classier than it has any right to. “Did I pick the perfect drink or what?”

“It’s alright,” you lie, obviously, even though you’re already making a mental note to buy this exact bottle for every future celebration. You take another sip, finishing the paper cup, crinkle it in your fist and throw it in the trash can.

“Liar,” she chirps, kicking out a leg. Her foot, encased in a soft, ivory-colored wool thigh-high sock, pokes you right in the chest. “You can’t try to act nonchalant while also going for a second sip.”

You catch her ankle, the fabric soft and surprisingly warm against your palm. You don't let go. She doesn’t want you to, either. It’s obvious in the way her pupils are as big as they’re allowed to be, unwaveringly fixated on you. Every inch your hand slides up her leg causes another twitch in her calves.

She knows exactly what she’s doing. She's known ever since she wore this exact pair for the first time and you both lost your virginities. She wore these specifically because she fucking knows they turn your brain into mush, that seeing the little stretch of skin on her thigh between where the sock ends and her miniskirt begins makes you simply obsessed.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter without making eye contact, gaze fixed at her legs. Throw her a smirk, and pull her closer to the edge of the bed.

She’s won, celebrating her birthday with all the right beats. She hooks one of those wool-clad legs over your shoulder, the texture dragging against your neck, pulling you closer into her, into the mattress she reigns over.

“You’re so pathetic when I’m wearing these,” she whispers. Her tongue pushes through her lips, wets them, and leaves her mouth just slightly agape long enough for you to nearly close the distance. Those cherry covered lips should be on you, but instead they continue to taunt. “I wore them in a heatwave just to—” she huffs, smiling when your grip tightens, “—see you look at me like this. Like a dog waiting for permission to eat.”

“You’re a brat, you know that?” you growl, but you’re already leaning in, your hands sliding up the back of those socks to the soft, squeezed skin of her upper thighs. “A horny, attention-seeking brat.”

“I’m your princess,” she corrects, her eyes beaming with contradictory hunger. She reaches down, her fingers brushing against your knuckles before she pushes your hands away so she can take over. “And princesses get what they want. Right now, I want to see how much of a mess I’ve made you.”

A sly smile plays on your lips as you slide her leg off of your shoulder, and steal the bottle of champagne out of her other hand, taking control of the pace.

“Not so fast, princess. I’ve paid for three hours off this room, we can take our time,” you retort in a competitive growl. She watches you with wide, surprised eyes as you take a long, deliberate swig, letting fruits dance on your tongue. Swallowing would be a waste now.

No. You reach out and snag the black bow in her hair alongside some of her silken strands, and grab a nice fistful.

With a firm tug on it, just enough to jerk her head back, you force her gaze off of your straining bulge and onto your face. Her mouth falls open in  a small gasp of shock, corners of her lips going up into a defiant smile. The distance between you two melts away with reverent intention until you press your lips against hers. You let the sparkling liquid seep into her mouth, sweet and fizzy flooding her mouth and catching her off-guard.

She scrambles for purchase on your shoulders, tongue mixing with yours as she takes all you can give, letting out a muffled and desperate sound as she swallows the mouthful you’ve gifted her.

“There,” you mutter as your lips part, your thumb swiping a stray drop of rosé from her chin. “Happy birthday. Now we can be a mess together.”

“I’m going to cry if you don’t take your pants off soon,” she moans as drops of champagne that you couldn’t quite get into her mouth spill down her chin. No time is wasted licking them up from collarbone to jaw. “I’m making you buy a new bottle and doing this every birthday I have from now on.”

That earns her a muffled laugh against her skin.

“Every birthday?”

“Every single one,” she answers without a drop of hesitation. “Even yours.”

—

There’s an empty bottle that still faintly smells of cherry, grapes and spring flowers.

It’s also the last bottle you bought her.

The note inside is still there. It’s impossible not to think about, and what it has to say, why it has your name on it.

If you open it, the memory of that June afternoon finally breaks. The memory of the wool against your skin and the cherry on your tongue will have to face whatever reality she wrote down.

For now, you just leave it where it is. Because as long as the bottle is sealed, she’s still in that love hotel room, smiling up at you, waiting for her next drink.

Despite all that, you still had to learn how to live without her.

You’re not good at it. 

Not when you’re losing her over and over again. See, the thing about a person vanishing from your life without an explanation—or, in your case, an explanation you don’t think you can deal with—is that it’s not a one time thing.

Sure, you lost Chaeryeong the morning she didn’t come back to your place. Then, you lost her again the first time you saw a funny video and wanted to share it with her. Again when you found a strand of her dyed blonde hair on your winter coat.

You’ve been constantly losing her in small increments. Three years of small losses, compounding interest, your mind begging you to keep her memory intact.

It’s not as oppressive during the day. It’s the nights that are the most silent. It makes sense, those were your favorite times as a couple. You still can’t bring yourself to sit in her spot on the couch.

So, nights require distractions now. Hobbies that don’t stick, endless scrolling of short-form content to beat your brain to death with, midnight snack and alcohol runs.

Tonight isn’t one of the worst nights. Tonight is just a Tuesday in late May, and you need milk for your coffee tomorrow morning, and the only convenience store still open is a 7-Eleven on a forty minute walk away. The distance doesn’t bother you, it fills time that way. Earbuds in, a nice long walk, and check out a undoubtedly similar store to all of their other locations, but it keeps you occupied all the same.

Meditation, you call it. Obsession is what your friends call it. The way you spend every moment you’re not occupied thinking about what you’d say to her. It’s all painted on the inside of your skull, flashing before you the moment you close your eyes.

The way you wouldn’t give an inch. Ask her to explain herself. The way you’d hold yourself when you asked it, having practiced the exact beats for “where did you go” and “did it ever occur to you how I felt.”

But most importantly, you practiced not letting her know that all she had to do was ask and you’d forgive her like nothing happened.

You’re so lost in it again you almost miss her entirely.

She’s crouched at the bottom shelf of the snack aisle, picking out different cans of pringles, examining them and putting them back one by one. Her hair is black now, shielding her line of sight from you. Her lips peek through, a similar shade of midnight, not something you’ve ever seen her entertain.

You have about ten seconds to walk away and she would never know. You stand there, three years of questions disappearing in the span of two seconds.

She shifts her weight, the hem of her coat rides up, and you see the nail in your coffin.

Black lace. Same strip of skin at the top of her thigh. A floral pattern engraved. Three years clearly not enough to erase a decade of habits.

“You trying to find a snack that’s just screaming at you?”

She freezes.

Her head turns slowly, eyes finally meeting yours, trembling in place like she’s seen a ghost.

“Oh,” she breathes. Her fingers clench and then unclench around the canned snack. “It’s—hi.”

“Hey,” you respond, arms now crossed. Just like that, three years of questions, righteous anger and rehearsed confrontations evaporate into stale air.

“I didn't—" she starts, then stops to fidget with the hem of her coat. It’s a nervous habit of hers, once she’s had since she was little. You instantly pick up on it like you’d stumbled over a tripwire you’d laid for yourself years ago.  “You shop here now?”

“No, I don’t,” you respond curtly. She can’t meet your eyes when you say it. “But the one we used to shop at is being renovated. And I needed some milk for my coffee tomorrow morning.”

She nods, gaze flickering between your face and the floor. “That makes sense.”

None of this makes sense if you think about it. Has she always been here? Just out of reach, less than an hour walking from your normal life? Just—what? Living her life without you?

It only raises more questions you never rehearsed. Also stretches a silence between you, filled only with the humming of refrigerators and flickering of fluorescent lights. All you manage to do is blurt out something mundane.

“You stopped dyeing your hair.”

Her hand reflexively touches the ends off her hair draped over her shoulder. “Yeah. Do you, ehm, you like it?”

Any color Chaeryeong has ever had has instantly become your favorite color, only occasionally dethroned by the shade of her lipstick. Telling her was never a problem when you were still intertwined, but what if this is just temporary? A stroke of misfortune for her, a blip on the radar, and all you’d accomplish was making her uncomfortable.

“Yeah,” is most you can start with. “I like it.”

The black color of her lips contrasting against her pale skin helps you spot the faintest of smiles, disappearing as fast as it came.

She shifts her weight around and looks down at the can in her hand like she’s forgotten why she’s even picked it up. It couldn’t be more clear, whatever brought her here tonight did not account for seeing you again.

You both go through the motions, asking how you’ve been, and you lie that you’ve been good. Maybe her “I’m doing okay,” the truth, maybe it's a lie, and both would sting just the same. Where you’re working now, if you still live in the same place, and how nothing has changed and you’re practically been frozen in time since she left.

It’s not the same for her, obviously. She looks like you could never have even begun to imagine her.

She shifts again, her coat follows the movement, and you just can’t help but catch another glimpse of those fucking black lace stockings. Some things never change. Stop yourself from wondering why that detail hasn’t. If you do, you might get a lump in your throat so big no more words could come out.

Thankfully, she breaks the mold. “Um,” she starts, then stops. Takes a breath, and her shoulders stiffen up. “Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Sure,” you answer, impossibly bracing yourself.

“Do you remember that champagne bottle we shared on my birthday?”

Of course you remember. The champagne bottle with a message in it. But she’s not asking about the message, the note. 

“The rosé one? Yeah, what about it?”

She takes a deep breath, meeting your eyes properly for the first time, brow knitted together. “I was just wondering if you still had it. I liked the way it tasted.”

“I’m not sure,” you lie. “Maybe? I could check when I’m home.”

There’s something you can’t quite make out playing across her face, not with everything new about it. Is it relief? Disappointment? It’s gone before she nods again.

“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to go through the trouble,” she assures you.

You nod. There isn't much else you know to do.

“Yeah,” you say, even though there’s nothing to agree with. “If you say so.”

The silence that follows is different this time. It’s about as obvious as the void in your chest when you look at her. There’s no awkwardness or sensitivity to it. It’s merely there to kill a story.

She swaps the can from one hand to the other, forcing her focus to change, to do anything to not drown. “I should probably, y’know,” she gestures the can towards the register. “Pay for this.”

“Right,” you answer. “Yeah.”

You stand there frozen, unmoving, freezing her with you.

For a second, it’s almost like one of you is supposed to say something else. Like you’re missing the pop-up for another dialogue option, like there’s a version of this reunion that ends with you and her in each other's arms but you just can’t see the bridge that connects the now to that.

And it fades, gone as soon as it arrives, draining through your fingers like water.

She nods to herself, more than to you, and steps around you. Not too close. Not too far either. Just, around you.

Her scent gets trapped in your nose.

It’s hard to snap out of the scene, and you linger longer than you can respect yourself for. Just staring at the spot she just was now isn’t, before reluctantly moving on to what you came for.

Milk.

Stupid fucking milk, that you just grab any carton of, whichever comes first, and just rush with towards the register in the most delusional hope of catching up to her.

By the time you reach the register, she’s already left the store.

It’s when you step outside she surprises you again.

Chaeryeong hasn’t left. 

She’s standing just past the automatic doors, under a particularly strong lamp, scanning the horizon. She looks at you the moment the doors hiss shut.

“Found your milk?” she asks, squeezing together her lips.

“Yep,” you blurt out without much thought spent on what to say next. She fills in the void pretty quickly.

“Which way are you headed?”

“Same as always.”

She nods slowly. Clicks her tongue, her eyes dart up and down, hoping you figure something out without having to spell it out for you. She speaks when you don’t.

“It’s really late,” she says, and the tone of her voice is the same one she used when she really wanted you to get up from the couch and go grab her a snack.

“Is your new place far from here?” you ask, and you pray you don’t come off as a creep.

“It’s not super far,” she answers in the same tone.

You sigh. “Will you make it home safe?”

“I’d feel safer if you walked me.”

You agree like you’ve always agreed to anything Chaeryeong asked of you. Old habits dying hard, or maybe it’s you forcing them alive despite the weathering of time. It’s all the same in the end, a simple excuse to talk some more to her.

“Which way are we headed?” you ask. 

She tilts her head left, and you fall in beside her.

For the first couple of hundred meters, nobody says anything that made it into your practiced conversations. It used to be so easy and comfortable to be in silence together, and now it feels like you’re both asking permission for just that. Some light conversation does happen. Chaeryeong asks if you’re still working the same job, which you are. You ask the same, which she obviously isn’t, you’d have found her. She works in childcare now, and you tell her it suits her.

It takes a while for the first thing you can latch on to surfaces. Chaeryeong asking if you still have the same phone number. She asks it carefully too, like she’s bracing herself for a lie from you. “Yeah,” is all you say.

She slows down half a step, grabbing her phone from her coat pocket. She fiddles with it, and you feel your phone buzz as she stashes her away again.

“Now you have mine,” she smiles, and skips once or twice to catch up to you.

You don’t grab your phone to read what she sent, trusting it’s not as important as just making sure you have her number. You’d rather be here, on this street, in this fragile thing, hoping she tells you she made a mistake and wants you back.

She notices. It’s obvious in the way she looks at the pocket you’ve kept your phone in since you were fifteen for a second longer than necessary, and then back at the road ahead. There’s no figuring out Chaeryeong when she has an idea or what that entailed, but it was never a secret from you whenever she had one.

That’s when the conversation starts to move. It almost tricks you, moving the way it used to, simple thoughts flowing from one into another.

But it’s not the same.

It flows the way a river flows when a natural catastrophe has changed the lay of the land, quietly rerouting, touching different banks.

You can feel yourself swim against the current, trying to close the distance with a reference only she would get—something about how she’d totally zone out any time you started talking about your day—and she smiles, she gets it, she even picks it up and runs with it for a sentence or two. But then it trails off. Lands somewhere just shy of where it would have, three years ago. Where she would have grabbed your arm, leaned into you, kept teasing you until you were so annoyed you’d stop her from talking by kissing her.

Instead, she just smiles, and looks ahead.

You do the same.

Her phone lights up in her hand. She glances at it briefly, types something without breaking stride, and pockets it again. You notice. You don’t say anything about it. It’s the second time since you left the store.

By the time you turn onto her street, you’ve both made peace with the gaps. Or you’ve both agreed, silently, to pretend you have.

The building she stops in front of is narrow and clean, a row of small potted plants lined up outside the entrance like she had a hand in that. It’s nice to believe she did.

She stops, turns to face you. Pulls her coat tighter. Her eyes shine , but it’s soft and careful, like she’s been working up to what she’s about to say a few times over.

“I’m glad I ran into you,” she says, and you believe her. That’s not the problem. “And I—“ a small pause, “—I hope we can talk again sometime. If you want.”

If you want.

The words land somewhere low in your chest and turn upside down.

Three years of losing her in pieces, of practicing what you’d say, of sitting on the side of the couch that was always yours because you couldn’t bring yourself to take hers, of carrying a bottle you can’t open because opening it means it’s real. She has the audacity to stand here, putting it in your hands. Like it was ever up to you. Like you were the one who needed convincing.

“If I want,” you repeat, and you hear the edge in your own voice before you’ve decided to put it there.

She blinks, takes a step back. “I didn’t—“

“No, I just—“ you interrupt. Stop to collect your thoughts, resurface the script you’ve practiced over and over. Start again. “I just don’t think that’s fair of you to say. Not after everything.”

She doesn’t move. Her expression has gone still in the way it does only when she doesn’t know what to say, and you know she’s not going to fight you on it, which somehow makes it worse.

Already stepping back, already putting distance between you and the bottom step and her face, which is doing something complicated that you can’t afford to look at for very long before your lungs are ready to work again. “I’m glad you’re okay. I am.” You shake your head. “I’m not.“

You don’t wait for her to respond. There’s a final “Goodnight” you throw out hastily after you turn, walking away, and the night air hits you cold and immediate and you don’t look back. Your hands find your pockets. Everything blurs, your feet keeping your pace even, controlled, the same way you’ve controlled everything since she left, and you keep walking.

You don’t stop. Not until you’re back in your building, up your stairs, through your door and in your bedroom.

She’s on your mind until exhaustion finally lets you drift away.

—

It’s the morning after seeing Chaeryeong for the first time in three years. You’ve got three messages on your phone. Chaeryeong sent them to you.

All from yesterday evening.

The first: “i hope you dont mind me having kept your number lol“

It’s unfair to open with that, as if her having kept your number isn’t cause for celebration, to open a fancy bottle of champagne. You save her to your contacts and leave the bottle closed for now.

The second, sent maybe ten minutes after the first: “thanks for walking me home btw, im not usually out this late and it makes me feel a lot more at ease to have you here“

You stare at the screen. The time gap between the second and final message proves the last one is from just after you stormed off yesterday. It reads as follows: “im not good at this. i understand if you dont reply to this“

Eventually, the screen dims. You put the phone down on your chest and look at the ceiling for a while. From where you're lying you can see the bottle on the shelf where you keep it. Black and pink, the ribbons etched into the glass catching the flat morning light. The note still inside it, rolled tight, a different kind of taunting aura now. It holds your gaze for a long time. Then you look back at your phone.

There's a version of you that opens the bottle today. That finally breaks the seal and reads whatever she couldn't say to your face and lets that be the thing that decides it. 

You pick up your phone instead. Stare at the messages she sent you. Sit with the blank text field for a moment, write a couple of words that don’t feel right, delete them, stare at that stupid fucking bottle again and almost put your phone away. There’s a million questions you want to ask her, but there’s no point in even pondering them if you can’t even ask the simplest question first.

“Can I see you?”

You put the phone face-down on the mattress and go make coffee, because you need something to do with your hands, something to distract you from checking your phone every two seconds to see if she answered. 

You’ve barely picked out a cup when your phone rings.

“now?”

It’s conveniently inconvenient. The timing alone is enough to spike your heartbeat for the rest of the morning. A response that’s way too fast for someone that’s supposed to be a closed door, so fucking fast that you realize you won’t be able to put your phone down the moment you figure out how to respond.

Because there’s an even more annoying question being asked back to you now. What the fuck does she mean? Just that, no further context, infuriatingly drives you to consider two totally opposite possibilities, two divergent interpretations.

But that’s the trick of it. It doesn’t matter. It’s been three years. It is that urgent. A second without her or at least a resolution longer is one too many. So you just take a chance on it being the second choice, and fire back.

“Whenever you can”

You send another text almost instantly, correcting yourself.

“Now, actually, if thats not too weird” 

You hover over the send button, delete “if thats not too weird” and just send the first part.

She doesn’t take much longer to respond. Says she’ll be over in an hour, if that’s not too weird. You instantly respond to her, letting her know it isn’t.

What follows is not an hour of pacing, not an hour of relaxed waiting, casually preparing. No. It’s an hour of the worst kind of anticipation, with every minute making your heart beat faster like it still could accelerate, driving your anxiety to a point it makes you feel like you’re going to shit all your organs out on the floor and die there.

See, running into her unexpectedly is one thing, but doing the inverse—meeting with her at an agreed upon time—is far worse. 

It’s an hour of cleaning everything in your apartment—or at least the part you expect to host her and her apology. Any sign that could give away a hint that you are not in control has to be eliminated. All of the conversations you planned start flowing again, and you try to force them away knowing damn well none of them will matter the moment she shows up at your door.

You buzz her in almost exactly an hour after her last text.

Yesterday’s black was not an accident. She’s still all winged liner, smoky eyes and inky black lipstick. Your eyes zip down once and spot the same poison as yesterday. A single strip of skin, with a floral pattern slightly further down. You don’t ask. You can’t manage much more than a “hi” anyways.

You let her in.

She knows your place blind. Like a cat who just returned from her evening stroll, she walks straight to the couch and sits, knees together to the side and feet half tucked under her, hand clutching her phone. It’s far too familiar how she sinks in.

Before any of the conversational explosions that have their fuses lit in your chest come out, you make your way to the kitchen, pouring both of you coffee. You speak loudly, letting her know that you happen to have some milk, if she still takes her coffee the same way she used to, which she lets you know she does.

You pour your own and join her, but on the opposite end of the couch. You fit into the memory better there, after all. Now that she’s here, you don’t even know where to start, or how to even explain without sounding desperate why you invited her over.

She puts her cup down, turns to you and says, “I want to apologize again for last night. I was—I’m really bad at this. I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit.”

You don’t turn. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize to me before.” Take another sip of your coffee, then put it down. “The sound of it is just all wrong.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Yeah, no, please stop,“ you say, your whole face tightening with cringe. “It’s like hearing a cat bark or something.“

“Shut up?“ she responds just a bit too much like she used too.

“Chaeryeong.”

“Ew?” she responds in instant and total disgust.

“What do you mean, ‘ew’?“

“Don’t say my name like that.“

“Like what? Chaeryeong?“ You turn to face her properly for the first time since you sat down.

“Please fucking stop,” she says, recoiling and scrunching her nose as if you just mentioned hating puppies. “It’s horrible.“

“I’m literally just saying your name.“

“I know, and it’s horrible, and I hate it.“ She shifts on the couch, pulling her knees tighter to her body. “You never used to say my name. I literally think the last time I heard you say my name, we might have been like, I don’t know, eleven years old?“

“Chaeryeong,“ you say with a smirk.

“I’m going to punch you.“

“For saying your name?“

“Yes! You used to call me princess.” She physically winces at the sound replaying in her head. “Hearing you say my name just makes it sound like you’re so upset with me.“

You face her head on with a smile you can’t seem to stuff down. “I am upset with you!“

“I already tried to apologize!“

“I’m upset because of you apologizing, idiot.“

“You know what, actually? Call me an idiot. That’s much better. I prefer it over you saying my name.”

You stare at her for a long moment.

“You’re actually an idiot,” you say, flatly, because some things never change.

“Thank you.”

You shake your head, pivot back toward the conversation before it escapes you entirely. “My point is—you don’t apologize to me. That’s not a thing you do. You apologized to your dance instructor for being late when your subway literally broke down. You apologize to delivery guys when they’re late because—” you raise your fingers to form air quotes. “It’s not their fault we live so far away.“

She tries to stop you, but you raise your finger like you’re scolding her and continue: “You’ve apologized to your mom for weed Chaeyeon hid in a cookie jar. I’ve watched you do it. You’ve never smoked in your life.” You gesture vaguely in her direction. “You apologize to everyone. Everyone except me. Or—“ you catch yourself, measured, “—at least, never with words.”

A beat passes. Then she laughs. Not the polite kind, not the deflective kind she’s been deploying since yesterday like a smoke screen. The real one. The one that starts low and tips forward and makes her press a hand over her mouth when it gets too loud, the one that used to make you feel like you’d won something.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, riding out the coattail of her chuckle, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. “I won’t apologize for yesterday if you tell me why you really invited me over. Clearly, it wasn’t to hear me say sorry.”

You take a long sip of your coffee. “I wanted to talk.”

“You wanted to talk,” she repeats, flat.

“Catch up.”

“Catch up.”

She watches you, waiting, eyes taunting you to start ‘catching up’. You set your cup down on the coffee table, link your hands together, and decide to just walk straight into it.

“Yeah, catch up,” you start carefully. “Like, for example, ask you questions like—“ you pause, roll your eyes trying to think of an easy transition into the barrage you’ve prepare, “—ever since we broke up—“

“Wait,“ she interrupts you, holding up a hand and furrowing her brow with theatrical precision. “We broke up?“

All you can do is stare. Blankly. It’s so utterly tactless, shot straight from the hip and missing its mark by a mile.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, utterly oblivious to how unable you are to laugh this joke away, “I don’t remember a breakup conversation happening. Technically.”

“Chaeryeong.”

“There it is again,” she mutters, scrunching her nose.

“You disappeared,” you say, and the word lands heavier than you intend it to. “For three years. That’s the conversation.”

“I’m sorry,” she scrunches her mouth, and looks away. “And you said my name just now so we’re even for me apologizing.“

You exhale through your nose, letting out a single chuckle in hopes of preserving some of the earlier momentum. “Idiot.“ You look back at her, and she can feel it, turning to meet your gaze. “As I was saying, ever since we broke up, have you been seeing anyone?“

It’s not the first question you wanted to ask. It mostly just slipped out, some kind of honest response to her eyes connecting with yours. It’s the question you’re stuck with now, forced to to face whatever answer she gives.

She tilts her head, wiggles her toes. “Have you?“

You should have known she would never answer before you. “You’re unbelievable,“ you say as you tilt your head towards the ceiling, hands dragging down your face.

“It’s payback. I deserve an answer first,“ she says simply, and before you can even question it—because she knows you will—she already continues, “because you called me an idiot.“

A big sigh escapes your lungs. There’s no point in arguing with her. At this point, the only outcomes are nobody answering, or you answering first, so you do. “No,“ you say. “I haven’t been seeing anyone.“

Her gaze burns on the side of your face like it always has when she’s going to ask you a barrage of questions you can’t avoid. You resist turning towards it.

“No one?” she asks.

“No one.”

A short pause. “Not even like, a one night thing? Someone you met at a bar, charmed your way into her pants and then never have to talk to her again?”

“What? No.”

“Didn’t pay anyone?” She says it carefully, measuring it. “Like, even just for—“

“No.” You say it before she can finish. “No.”

“Not even a kiss? Holding hands?“

You finally turn back to her. “Not even that. Not once. Nothing.”

She sits with that for a moment. The apartment is very still around you. You fear to move, lest the couch makes a sound and ruins this fragile moment you don’t know what to do with.

“Don’t you miss it?” she asks, and her voice has lost the teasing edge. It’s just a question now, plain and without judgement.

And the thing is, the word ‘it‘ is doing a tremendous amount of heavy lifting. She might be asking about the abstract concept of physical intimacy or the general act of human contact.

But you can’t help but be hit by a flood of ‘its‘. It’s the wool against your palm. It’s the cherry on your tongue. It’s a black bow coming loose in your fist and sifting through your fingers like sand only for strands of blonde to remain. It’s legs hooked over your shoulder like an anchor you never got tired of keeping steady. It’s the wiggle of toes anytime anything exciting happened. It’s countless nights spent whispering that you still think she’s the prettiest girl in the world.

You miss it the way you’d miss breathing.

You don’t say any of that.

You don’t say anything for long enough that the silence becomes its own kind of answer.

She watches you. Then, softly, she offers you an exit: “You probably don’t miss having a girlfriend that never apologizes, right?”

It’s a joke. It’s meant to be a joke. She’s giving you the out, the laugh, the reset.

The bad ending.

“I miss all of it,” you say, and it comes out with so little air, quiet and meek. Like something you’ve been keeping in a locked room for three years that just walked out on its own while you were still figuring out if it could stand.

She goes very still in response.

Not the kind of stillness she’d couple with contorted faces to buy her more time to think of something clever. A kind you’d never seen before. One that starts in her eyes and slowly creeps all over her body.

You catch yourself staring at her, but it’s impossible to stop. She blinks once—no, twice—and then shifts, chuckles, breaks the silence.

“All of it,“ she repeats, hollow. Like she’s not allowing herself to taste the words. She shakes her head, looks down at her cup and smiles softly. “I’m sure you could go without a lot of it.“

That’s when you see it. Clear as day, eyes wide open. The next hour, the next week, the next three years. The whole thing passing you by like the trail of a bullet that barely missed.

It goes like this: You don’t say anything meaningful to respond. She doesn’t dare push. You try one more safe attempt to reach out, and it doesn’t connect, the conversation swerving to something safer, more mundane, decidedly not dangerous. You’ll finish your coffee first, and she’ll check the time on her phone and say something along the lines of her needing to get going. You’ll walk her to the door, and she’ll say it was really good to see you, and she’ll mean it, and you’ll mean it back, and she’ll leave, and you’ll close the door, and you’ll stand in your kitchen for a while staring at her cup before eventually deciding to wash it, and you’ll sit on the couch wondering what the message inside the bottle is and not opening it, and nothing will have changed. The weeks pass. Maybe she texts, maybe you do, and it won’t matter who does, because all it will be is something simple and dismissible, a meme she thinks you’d like or a check-in when a song on the radio reminds you of her.

But the door between then and now stays shut, and the time between texts grows, and you’re losing her again like you did over the past years except this time you watch it happen and choose it anyways because the bridge looked too burned to cross.

And that’s the current trajectory of the reality you’re allowing to come to pass.

So you reject reality.

You close the distance.

It’s not graceful. It’s fucking desperate, moving too fast, the cushion shifting under you, and she turns at the movement, shifts back slightly but doesn’t move further than that, holds her breath with her mouth open, clutches her hand into a fist and you blink and—

You stop.

A centimeter. Maybe less.

That’s the full distance left between your faces the second the bottle—engraved on the inside of your eyelids—freezes you in place. What if her answer was no, and still is no?

“Why did you stop?“

You look down. You can’t look her in the eyes, because frankly, there’s not an answer you can give her after boldly lunging at her only to stop right before impact. Your eyes land where they always do. The strip of skin left untouched, like a line stopped before completion to make sure you know she still can stop wherever she wants. The floral pattern woven with near equal artistry to the squish of her thigh where the hem of the sock bites into her skin.

“Why are you wearing those?“ you ask.

She’s quiet for a moment. Long enough for you to let your eyes find hers.

“Because you like them,“ she says.

You close the distance, and your lips find hers.

It lands a little off-center, your nose bumping hers, and she makes a small sound of surprise that dissolves almost immediately. It’s compounded interest all paid back at once, your hand finding the side of her face and her hand finding the front of your shirt, and the taste of her is coffee now instead of champagne but the mechanics of it are so familiar.

You pull back just far enough to look at her. Her eyes are still closed for half a second longer than yours, and when they open they’re darker than usual, a little undone, intently focused on you. The black lipstick has migrated, a small smear at the corner of her mouth, and you have the absurd, overwhelming urge to fix it and ruin it further at the same time.

Her other hand comes up and finds your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of it, the same way she used to when she was in a particular mood, a quietly possessive habit she’d never have admitted to.

“Are you sure about this?“ Her thumb has stopped moving. Her voice quieter, barely audible over your own heartbeat.

You look at her, and she doesn’t look at you.

“I was gone for so long,“ she continues, and she tucks some hair behind her ear, then fixes it immediately. “I don’t want you to regret—“

“You’re here now.”

It’s unbelievably trite, and the Chaeryeong you knew would have wasted no time at all giving you shit for it, but it’s also completely, undeniably true and that makes the instant lack of response that much scarier.

She blinks, her surprise barely masked before she bursts into a laugh that’s mostly exhale, then leans in so her forehead rests against yours. “That’s genuinely the corniest thing you have ever said to me, and I still remember the poem you wrote for me in high school.”

“Thank god,” you respond with an embarrassed smile, “I was worried that I might have had another Chaeryeong in my home if you didn’t make fun of me for that.”

“I had to, no matter how sweet it was,” she whispers, and before you can feel any more stupid about it she’s swinging a leg over you and settling into your lap in one fluid motion, and then her lips part and so do yours again. Her mouth is on yours, open and needy, tongue’s clashing unlike the first one and beneath the coffee there is—absurdly—the faintest taste of cherry coating her.

How dare she.

You level the playing field. Hands finding her hips, planting themselves there, keeping a firm grip on her, and you can feel the way she melts into it, her spine relaxing as she sinks slightly forward. She shifts again when your hands slide up. Her waist first, then onto her ribs, accompanied by the small jump of muscle she always has when you graze a particularly sensitive spot just beneath her ribcage, your thumb pressing into flesh.

There’s a fast rise and fall to it, and you let it linger, stopping there, causing her to look down at you after breaking the kiss, hair falling over her face.

“You stopped again.“

“Look,“ you say, and it starts deadly serious. “There’s a lot we haven’t talked about yet. I know that—like, it’s bad,“ you stop, and she pulls back ever so slightly, her hands drifting. “And, I want to talk. I do.“ You stop to breathe. She holds her breath.

“But right now, I just really—really want to fuck you.“ She exhales, and you don’t stop. “Like, desperately. That’s kind of where I’m at.“

She looks weirdly relieved at that. Then she smiles, her eyes narrowing but staying focused on you. “I don’t mind not talking right now,“ she says. “I’ve been thinking about not talking ever since you lunged at me the first time. So.“

"You sound pent up."

She doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, she turns, shifts her whole weight around in your lap like she's decided its time for you to drown in troubled waters—although they’re only thigh-high—and settles her back against your chest. Your arms close around her, and her head tilts back over your shoulder so she’s looking up at you from below, her eyes looking even more dark and enticing with the long line of her throat exposed.

She grinds her hips into you, your hands dig into her skin, and she exhales into your neck.

"You also feel pent up," you say.

"I haven’t fucked in three years," she says simply, finally answering your earlier question you’ve already long exposed yourself to. You tighten around her waist, slightly squeeze the air out of her, and pull her as close as she can possibly be. "Keep that in mind, because I am going to be—" she pauses, eyes hooded and looking up at you—"sensitive. Everywhere. I will probably cum embarrassingly quickly."

Her head tilts, and her mouth finds your neck. She speaks into your flesh. "That’s not a warning, by the way."

She lightly nibbles on your skin, teeth teasing but never with any pressure.

"No?" you ask.

She settles back against you. Completely at ease.

"I'm bragging."

You move your hands carefully around all the safe spots. It might be you savoring the moment, or maybe you’re just asking permission. Either way, she can tell, and after a moment slides her hands over yours.

“You can touch whatever you want,“ she says, and then her hands are moving yours, guiding them up and under the hem of her top. “I won’t stop you.“

She looks forward again. Shifts, making herself easier to reach, accommodating in a way that feels almost pointed. She’s exactly the same as you remember, which is to say, still a perfect handful, her hands resting atop yours, perfectly cooperative.

"You're being very good about this," you say.

"I know," she says with a smirk, like you haven’t yet figured out the price you’re going to pay for this. A soft moan escapes her as you find her nipples still fit perfectly in between your digits. "I'm very well behaved when I want to be."

"And when you want to be is—"

"Right now," she says. "Obviously." Her fingers press down lightly over yours, guiding without urgency. "You should take advantage of that."

“You’re just making excuses. I think you’re just being needy for my fingers to curl inside of you.“

She doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response just yet. Instead, her fingers interlace with yours, dragging the combination downwards. Off her ribs, past the soft give of her stomach, lower still, until the hem of her skirt glides under your fingertips, not stopping until she lets your palms rest on that strip of skin right between the hem of her socks and the—if the sensation of lace against your thumb is correct—same material panties.

She presses your hands down, makes sure you feel how much they still mold to your grip.

“Okay,“ she says with a smile, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “So what if I am needy?“

She spreads her legs a little, her hands letting go off yours. Her right arm wraps around and her hand finds an anchor point on the back of your neck, keeping her steady as she slides ever so slightly down. Her left hand bunches up the damp fabric of her underwear to the side.

“So what?“ you chuckle once with disbelief. “I told you I wanted to properly fuck you, not just give you princess treatment in my lap,“ you correct her, and push your hips forward once, letting her feel what her provocations have done to you. There’s no way she can miss it, the way your cock is straining against her ass, pressing up into her.

She grinds back, riding the pressure, exposing your own sensitivity. “You think I couldn’t tell how hard you already are?“ She rolls her hips again, slower, more precise, like she’s making a promise for later.

“I know what you want,“ she says. “I want that too, especially if you keep calling me princess.“

“I didn’t call you—“

“But I’ve imagined your hands on me again and again and again,“ she continues. “Every time I closed my eyes.“ Her hips shift. “Yesterday, too. You crossed your arms and I just—“ She moans. She fucking moans, right in your ear. “I came so fucking hard, thinking of them on everywhere. My waist. My throat.“ Her left hand finds yours again, slides it up until you can feel her pussy press against your palm. “Here.“

She’s absolutely soaked.

“Chaeryeong.“

“Don’t say my name like that,“ she protests, whiny, and bites your neck in retribution.

“Okay, princess,“ you smirk and she’s already shaking. Two of your fingers push in, slow, your palm pressed against her clit and her precious little spine curves, her lower back getting pushed away. Her hands hang on tight, like they need the stability.

“Fuck I missed—“ she pushes through an inhale, a small moan follows out, and after an exhale she manages to say the rest. “All of that.“

"You can have this one," you say, unhurried. "You're going to remind me how much after I’m done with you."

She’s writhing in your lap now, hands clutching your flesh and you’re sure she’s going to leave a mark, pulling your head to hers so she can bite your lip between words. “I told you—” she pants, and you want to tell her to go ahead, but she beats you to it—shudders, legs kicking out, and clamps around your fingers so tight you think you’ll never get them back.

“Embarrassingly fast.“

You keep going. Not nice, not considerate, not gentle. You want every ounce of her, want her to lose herself, and the more you work her, the more she gives.

Her spine curves further, impossibly. She’s so small against you like this, tucked in and shaking, and you push both fingers fully in her and she jolts, her breathing going shallow, bitemarks being made in your neck, your thighs getting battered by her heels.

“Tell me when,” you say quietly.

“When,” she says immediately, and you waste no time using the base of your palm to press down on her above her cunt, fingers trying to curl back into your hand inside of her, holding her through her tremors. You can feel it in your own chest, your ribs quaking like a second heartbeat overlapping yours. She looks beautiful. She always did, but it’s easy to miss this; the way she falls apart fully, the way she whimpers your name, the way she smiles after like a radiant goddess.

Her orgasm mellows out eventually, and she’s breathing hard, lifeless limbs hanging against you, and you keep her steady. Let her come down at her pace. You let fingers glide out slowly, slipping free, and she mewls involuntarily, whimpers something pathetic about the loss of your touch.

She lays there, slumped into you, and you’re staring at her lips.

Not just because she’s smiling, or they’re black, or that their hue is clearly infinite with how perfectly coated the still are despite the many traces she’s left on your body. No, you’re just staring because she’s got you so worked up that you’re lost in the memory of her lips wrapped around your cock, back when her lipstick was a shade of red or nude, and those never left any marks.

“You’re staring,“ she says, hopelessly out of breath.

“Just thinking that I like the color.”

“I doubt that’s the full extent of it.” There is no chance Chaeryeong lets you off the hook. “You’re staring at my mouth like you want to fuck it.“

Nobody could ever come close to knowing you like she does. Call it a side-effect of growing up together. There’s no point in denying it. It’s harder to find a way to confirm her observation without feeling like you’d waste the chance, but apparently staring at her does the trick. “You want your dick in my mouth so bad you’re not even pretending to listen to me.“ Her hand draws tiny circles on your wrist, limp fingers brushing skin lightly.

“I’m listening, I’m just visualizing all the ways I can appreciate your lipstick. It’s a beautiful shade,“ you say, eyes drifting towards the ceiling in mock consideration.

she lifts your hand by the wrist to kiss your knuckles, the slightest stain of black remaining on you. “You want to see what it looks like on your cock?“ she asks and you look down at the disgusting sincerity she brings it with.

“Can I?“

“Sure,“ she muses. “You can mark your territory, or whatever. I don’t mind.”

She doesn’t let you consider it. That’s the thing with Chaeryeong. There’s no pleasing her if she’s not teasing you. She needs you to know that it’s her choice when she slides down out of your lap, onto the floor, splitting your legs and staying there, head tipping back at the edge of the couch to look at you as she delivers the sucker punch.

“Seems like you need it.“

You chuckle wryly, bend over forwards and plant a kiss on her forehead. "I hope you know I'm not stopping until there's a black ring around the base of my cock."

“Good.“ She smirks. You stand up, walking around the coffee table, savoring the moment. “I’d prefer you doing all the work right now.“

“You’re really going to just sit there and let me fuck your mouth?“ you tease back, stopping to loom over her.

“Are you complaining?“ she pouts, flutters her eyelashes. “It’s not my fault you fingered the fine motor controls right out of me.“

You put your hands on your hips, cock your head and bend slightly forwards, over her. “Still a brat, huh?“

“Yep!“ she responds, gleefully, proud with a smile, tilting her head. “Which means that this offer expires soon. Whip out your cock you’ve been harassing my ass with, or I’m keeping my mouth shut until I’ve cummed on your face.“

It can’t be overstated how fast you switch up and wrestle with your belt, trying to maintain a facade of composure. “I thought you were supposed to be a princess?“

She opens her eyes, shrugs, and drifts her eyes towards your belt. “Princesses have to eat.“ She lets her head hang back, opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue. It’s like she’s asking you to lose control.

Your cock is out before either of you even process it, stiff and aching, veins bulging like never before, as if ready to explode.

“Jesus,“ she says with reverence bordering on worship, no intent of hiding her awe, “I forgot how hot your dick is.“ She stays perfectly still, leaning back against the couch, hands slack next to her on the carpet, the very picture of defiance and submission contradicting herself with minimal effort. “I might actually cum just from choking on it.“

“I forgot how much you talk,” you reply, and admittedly, its a bit snarky. But you know Chaeryeong, and that gambling with a line like this always has a payout.

“Then make me shut up.“

You answer by pressing your cock to her lips, pale pink to her beckoning black. She opens, wide and compliant, her tongue flat and eager, and you glide in. It’s impossible to play this cool, not with her on the floor and your pulse ticking in your ears, not when the black of her lipstick makes her mouth look like a void designed to swallow you whole.

The first pass into her is slow. Her lips slip easily over your cockhead, soft and cold on her lips and then suddenly impossible warm inside. You steady yourself with a hand on the couch cushion behind her, fully leaning over her and she—despite years of proving to you she couldn’t let a single opportunity to take control over you go unchallenged—just lays there, letting you push at your pace. She’s making sure her lips are pressed to the full circumference of your cock, every inch of skin covered, spare the sides she just can’t help but skip—courtesy of the smile pulling the corners of her mouth up.

“You look so fucking good with my dick in your mouth,“ you groan, making sure to put extra emphasis on how possessive you sound. Her eyes do a slow half-blink, satisfied.

You hold her there, cock halfway buried in her, hips already shaking, and pull out slowly. You want to watch the lipstick smear, the drag of her color a tangible scar tracing your shaft. Her eyes squint as she figures out what you’re doing, lips sucking tighter around you, and she hollows out her cheeks.

The black sticks, two perfect half-moons adorning your cock’s top- and underside, stretching in different intensities across your shaft.

“Good fucking girl,“ you hiss, twitch in her mouth, and her eyes close, her eyebrows getting that little wrinkle in pleasure. It’s hard to know whether that’s from the praise, the sight of you losing it or both. And normally, you’d find pleasure in the current state of affairs. It’d be enough, feeling your cock halfway down her throat and seeing her enjoying herself.

But right now, there’s a combination of something you can’t deny and a reckless streak that allows you to explore it. She doesn’t gag. Not yet, at least, but you want to see if you can make her; you want to see how much she’ll let you take, how far you’re allowed to conquer.

So, deeper you push; past the first point of resistance, past the point where she looks up at you with eyes that are looking for something carrying tears in the corner, past her limp hands choosing to grip the fibers of the carpet instead. It’s all too much, she’s right there with you, neither of you able to think straight each time you slide back into her mouth, fucking her face like you need it to survive, Chaeryeong totally passive and not resisting.

Not helping, just letting you help yourself.

“You can take it, right, babygirl?“ you ask, but you don’t care to let her answer. She tries to, though, bobbing her head ever so slightly, letting out a throaty, gurgling sound about as close to a yes as she can manage.

You bottom out, cock fully enveloped by her tight throat, tears running black down her cheeks, and she takes it with a focus that’s almost meditative, eyes drooped and drunk on your pleasure, drowning together with you in desperation.

And that’s when you feel it, the heat in your core, the jolt up your spine, the embarrassing and traitorous tingle of only managing one pump deep down her mouth before you too succumb to your sensitivity. You try to slow, try to savor just a couple seconds more, and she looks up at you like she’s asking if she’s doing something wrong and her throat contracts as if to push you out despite her head staying perfectly still, consciously fighting the subconscious to hold herself open for you.

How could you not comfort her, give in to what you both want by rutting into her face? It’s inevitable at this point, and when the first shock of it hits you, you try to pull away, try to get ready to paint her face white and see how it mixes, but she holds you, moves for the first time since hitting the floor and dives deeper, nose pressed against your stomach, hands flying up to grip the back of your thighs, swallowing the first spurt like she’s starving.

“You fucking—“ you grunt, hands finding the back of her head and tangling her hair into a fist, “slut!“

You yank her off forcibly, she gasps and you hold her there. She’s got this look in her eyes like she’s won a prize off of you, easily wiped out when the second rope of cum hits her in the cheek, across her lips, then down her collarbone and finally a weak spurt dripping out of your cock onto the squish of her thighs, perfect white streaks against her tear-shed mascara, smudged lipstick and porcelain skin.

“Good to know you still cum like a firehose,“ she says, accompanied with a smirk, unbothered by the mess.

“You always knew how to bring out the worst in me.“

She pushes you down into the couch. Turns around with her stomach against the couch cushion and drapes her arms over your legs, cheek resting against your thigh. “The worst of you tastes pretty good,“ she muses, licks her lips, and brings a hand to your cock. “You want me to clean you up?“

You can barely breathe, so a nod must suffice.

She leans in, laps at the slit of your cockhead, down the shaft for any stray drops, then her own wrist, her thumb, and finally the gooey mess she scooped onto her hands from her thighs. The rest of her face stays as is, wearing your cum like jewelry.

“Mmmh, like, so fucking good,“ she moans, excessively.

“There’s something wrong with you,“ you shoot back, and it lands in her chest, a laugh joining her. “Did you miss that too?“ she teases. She climbs up, into your lap again and burrows her nose into the crevice between your neck and your shoulder.

“All of it,“ you reaffirm with a long exhale, reality dawning back on you now that the heat of the fuck-fever subsides.

She stays that way for a while, snuggling closer to you, silently just making herself small on top of you.

“Hey,“ you whisper, fingers twirling with strands of her hair, soft strokes matching her breathing. “You’re getting cum all over my shirt.“

“Don’t care.“

It’s kind of cruel. Not what she says, no, that’s just Chaeryeong like you know her. It’s how it reminds you of the Chaeryeong you don’t know. And it shouldn’t bother you, not with the world outside collapsed into a void and her wrecked against you and the warmth you both share. It should be enough.

But there’s a message in a bottle, and it undeniably has your name on it. Or she wouldn’t have asked yesterday. And you could try to ignore it, and just throw it away when she’s not looking and act like you know no better and you never find out why she left and let it eat at you every single day and let it ruin your fucking—

“Are you going to tell me why you left?“ you ask, stopping the idle patterns you were tracing on her thigh, going dead still.

She freezes too.

“Did you read the message I left?“ she asks, voice thin.

“The one in the bottle?“

“I knew you were lying,” she answers, with only half a smile. She gets up from your lap, turns your back towards you and starts walking towards your bathroom. “Give me a minute. I’m not having this conversation with cum on my face.“

You don’t try to stop her. You just wait for her, find your pants and get somewhat dressed again, settling back into the couch when you hear the faucet stop running and the door open again.

She emerges eventually, her skin wiped clean, any trace of the revelation you just shot onto her face removed. She sits down, next to you instead of on top of you, a little further tucked into the corner than before.

“So? Did you read it?“ she asks again, staring blankly ahead, undecipherable.

You stop looking at her. Sigh, rub your eyes. “No.“

“Why not?“ she follows up, her voice breaking a little. It’s hard to stop yourself from derailing the conversation.

You think about lying, and then about the consequences of instantly being caught lying, because Chaeryeong could always tell and the truth comes out easier than you expected it to anyways. “I wasn’t sure if I could still believe you’d ever return if I read it,“ you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I could handle that.“

You turn slightly towards her.

She nods. Pulls her knees up to her torso, and rests her cheek on them, turning towards you. “Can it stay that way?“

It’s the kind of question that needs time to think about. What exactly is the question asking, what is the full context, what happens if “it“ does not stay “that“ way?

When the silence stretches past a point she can bear, she starts to retreat.

“You know what, never mind,“ she crumbles. “That’s an insane thing to ask, obviously it can’t,“ she rambles, unfolding like she’s about to give up, obvious in the fake smile you’ve managed to see through ever since first learning about it. She unfolds slightly like she’s about to bolt for the door—the nuclear option. “You can read it, obviously you’d want to—“

“Can you just chill the fuck out for a moment?“ you intervene. You grab her wrist. It’s cliche, but you’d rather be cliche and hold her here now then let her walk out.

She stops.

“What happens if I read it?“ You look at her, grip unwavering.

She can’t meet your gaze. She tries, but she can’t. She just mumbles a couple of words. “I’ll probably cry again.“

It’s a simple reason, one that doesn’t really let you know anything specific, but when it comes to Chaeryeong, do you really need more to listen to her?

“Why?“

Her eyes manage to reach yours. “I don’t want you to see that version of me,“ she answers. “Because once you do, that’s all I’m afraid you’ll see.“

The room is very still around you. You swallow the questions coming up in your throat, the parts of you that want to pry anyway, and allow the truth to stay in her chest for now.

She trembles in your wrist, you sigh and release your grip. She doesn’t move away.

“I’m not asking you to just—let it go forever,” she says, hands clutched to her chest. “I just need it to come from me. Not who I was. When I’m ready, if you can wait for me.“

A single laugh—breathy and pushed through your nose—escapes you, and it’s almost a cosmic joke. If you can wait for her. You look at her, this idiot of a woman you've been losing in small increments for three years, who showed up in a convenience store at midnight and walked back into your life like she'd only stepped out for a moment, who is sitting here trembling with her hands clutched to her chest asking if you can wait for her like she genuinely doesn't know the answer.

“Idiot.”

She looks genuinely staggered by this. “What?“

“I have kept the one thing that could give me closure on you locked away for three years—maybe would have been locked away until the day I fucking died if you hadn’t shown up—only to be able to hope that I could see you again one day,“ you ramble, voice growing as you stand up and face her.

She blinks, searching across your face, something fragile inside of her breaking.

This could be temporary. A mistake, a pattern that might repeat itself, a karmic miscalculation that will cause you to be locked in an endless repeating chase of losing and finding and losing and finding her again. There’s a real chance hurt is waiting on the other side of the door, and there’s no way of knowing until you figure out why she even left in the first place.

But that doesn’t matter. It’s worth it, for the moments where Chaeryeong fits into your arms, however fleeting or forever.

“What makes you think I can’t wait for you to be ready to tell me, you idiot?“

She looks at you like she’s experiencing every possible emotion all at once with just a slight tinge of disbelief heavier in the mix, eyebrows pinching together upwards.

A laugh gets stifled by her, then resurfaces louder, and she lovingly calls you an asshole. Then, as if genuinely blindsided by it, her eyes fill and stray tears slowly fall down her face, blinking like she can’t quite account for where they came from, hands scurrying to her cheeks to wipe them away with yet another laugh and even more shocked “What the fuck?“

You let it all happen. The laughing, the crying, the attempts to get it under control. She succeeds, eventually. Mostly succeeds. There’s still evidence of it in both the corners of her eyes as well as the corners of her lips, and when she finally looks back up at you, she looks slightly mortified and slightly luminous, entirely a wreck.

“Don’t you dare,“ she says, her eyebrows furrowed at you and her head tilting downwards mockingly.

“Excuse me?“ “You did this.“

“I did?“

She drops her hands. Looks at you with wet eyes and the most unguarded expression you've ever seen on her face in twenty something years of knowing her.

One of your hands wraps around her waist, the other grabs her hand. You close the distance. Not urgent, not desperate, nothing like when three years came crashing down at once. Just your hands finding her, and you kissing her slowly. Like you have the time for it now. She doesn’t let you pull back the first time you try, just pushing further into your space.

When you eventually do end up separate, the first couple of minutes is just spent staring into each other's eyes, even as you move back to sitting on the couch, her making her comfortable in your lap for a third time.

She bites back a laugh and speaks first: “Okay, so, since we’re already just saying embarrassing shit,“ she says, stops, bites her bottom lip with a full smile and her eyes filled with the same joy. “I have a confession to make.“

“Okay?“ you say, hesitantly. This could go anywhere.

“I actually could have arrived here like half an hour earlier.“ She stops to twist her mouth, eyes flickering everywhere and back at you rapidly. “But when you asked to see me, I went home first. I literally changed outfits because I thought it'd be smart to wear these.“ She flexes her thighs, places her hands on them, drawing your full focus to the fabric taut on her pale thighs. “I didn’t think jeans would be of much assistance.“

You choke out a laugh. “You were already out and went back home just to change for me?“

“I saw the way you looked at me yesterday,” she retorts, but her fingers find your chin and pull you back to her mouth before you can comment.

She nips your lower lip, laugh muffled. “You’d be less assertive if I wore jeans, is what I’m saying. Probably wouldn’t find the courage to fuck my face like you did.”

You consider the counterfactual. There’s no universe where you don’t want her, but the comparison of both images in your head, side by side, has you inclined to agree.

“You might be on to something,“ you agree with a slight smirk.

“Thank god I still have what it takes to make you pathetic,“ she preens, twisting her shoulders to show off. “In fact—“ she tugs at your shirt, pulling you in until you are close enough to count her lashes, “I think we should see exactly how much these new socks help you lose composure.“

You try to kiss her, but she stops you with one finger. Instead, she stands up, not bothering to fix her skirt that’s been riding up. “I’m going to your bedroom,“ she says, walking around the coffee table swaying her hips, knowing damn well where you’d look. “I’m going to take off everything except these socks. You can join me after you’ve cleaned up here.“ She stops right before stepping into the hallway, looks over at you and speaks a final time: ”Don’t make me start by myself, because I will.”

There’s no point to bothering with the facade of taking your time or doing this of your own volition. You sweep the half-empty coffee cups, pick up your phone, trash some scattered napkins and try your best to remove any already dried up cum that made it onto your furniture.

You realize it, then. This is just part of her play. The game. You are never, ever more adored by her than when she’s dangling a reward in front of you and watching to see how fast you shower her in attention for it.

It’s intoxicating.

You make your way to your bedroom door as fast as you possibly can, leaving a trail of stripped off clothing behind, your underwear last to fall. Everything must go, because you’re not the main character in her script unless you’re showing up naked and a little bit desperate.

You swing open the door, and the room is painted in the diffused sunlight of early afternoon, a lazy brightness you’ve never really been around for, not until it snuck in here to illuminate her.

She’s sat against the headrest of your bed, propped up by a pillow, naked except for what she promised to keep on. Reapplied black lipstick and a black choker thrown in as a bonus. One hand between her legs, you can see it barely through the gap in her shins, idly teasing herself, the other hand cupping her tits and rolling them slowly. She’s playing with herself, her pride and your arousal all at the same time.

“Wow,“ she says, in that deadpan, smug way of hers, “not even going to let me undress you, huh? That eager to rail me?“

It’s not long before you are on top of her, wrists in one hand and cunt cupped in the other. “You’re going to help me get what I want,“ you say, and she looks smug, way too smug for someone with slick running down her thighs staining your bed.

She curves her spine at your touch. You drift your hands down to the hollow of her knees, soft mesh squeezing under your grip, and you press up until she’s almost folded in half, thigh’s pressed to her chest.

You’ve got her in checkmate, a press to match it and properly breed her, and you slide in so frictionless that you almost forget you’ve both spent years molding yourselves to each other.

With a single measure thrust, you bury yourself fully in her, pushing her further up the bed, and her head rocks back into the pillow with a thunk. She curses, which turns immediately into a moan.

You can feel her thighs-socked and shaking–the rough texture digging into the sides of your chest.

There’s nothing gentle about your rhythm. It’s desperate, same as her sounds. The bed creaks to complete the symphony. Her tits bounce with every thrust, black-painted nails holding and digging into them, doing the job you can’t as you hold your steady above and next to her head.

She tries to say something, but it comes out as a punched-out “fuck—!“ that loses coherence as soon as you bottom out again. You don’t bother pretending like your sounds are any better.

She breaks first—still embarrassingly sensitive—hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in and pressing half moons into your skin, her voice cracking as she begs for more, for harder, for anything you can still give her. “Please,“ she whimpers pathetically, “Inside—“ and you realize she’s asking for something she never has before.

“Yeah? Inside?“ you taunt back through your own nearing doom.

“Mmmhm,“ she nods, giving up on words entirely.

“Want me to fill you up, princess?“ you continue, smacking into her harder, surely bruising something. All she can do is throw her head back and look at you like she’s hoping you’ve somehow learned how to read minds. “I’m going to make you walk around full of me for the rest of the day.“

She almost sobs as she cums, a sudden and sharp gasp accompanies her whole body shaking; the vibrations and the begging for you to finish with her causing you to chase her through it, losing your own composure, your strength, your vision.

You collapse on top of her, she lets her legs wrap across your waist, holding onto you as you ride out the aftershocks. Sweat sticks together, and once you think you’ve found the strength to roll off and pull out, she tightens her legs around you, keeping you in place.

“Don’t move,“ she whispers against the shell of your ear, a hand playing with the hair on your head. “Stay inside me until you’re hard again so you can fuck another load into me.“

You don’t talk about much except the feeling of your cock going soft inside her, the smell of her perfume, the lack of proper interior decoration you’ve done in the time she was gone, and then the feeling of your cock slowly stiffening up inside her again.

She rolls her hips when she feels it, speeding the process along. “I want lots of kissing this time,“ she clarifies. It’s a simple order. It’s so soft, and normal, and mundane you don’t realize nobody has even said it until after you’d let it slip.

“I love you, princess.“

Her head falls back into the pillow, she bites her fingertip, and smiles like she was waiting for that.

“I love you, too,“ she hums, kisses you with lots of tongue, and rocks her hips into you to make sure you’re as connected as physics would allow.

It’s hard not to oblige, taking her breath away as you restart with a softer pace.

—

There’s a message in a bottle, and it has your name on it. It’s gone largely ignored for a week now. You’ve made plans with Chaeryeong to throw it out—or at least, just the message inside—today.

She’s been with you every day for the past week, effortlessly slotting back into your life, and you into her new one. The make-up stays dark most days of the week, but some days she lets you see her in red.

A lot of time has been spent on making up for any of it you’ve lost, though. It’s impossible to keep your hands off of each other.

One day, she wakes you up with your cock in her mouth, hoping to have a slow morning, only to find out you can’t skip work and ends up being so frustrated for the rest of the day that she can’t stop herself from spending her entire lunch break in a disgusting bathroom sending you videos of herself dripping, making sure you know you’re expected to get even.

On another day, she texts you that she’s got her nails done, and asks if you want to see only to send a video of her playing with her pussy from the back. You showed her you still have the handcuffs she bought you that evening.

All she cares about is making sure you still are infatuated with her.

Hard to deny, considering the events. So, today, you text her the moment you leave work to let her know you’re on your way. If all is well, she’ll have taken care of things.

She’s already waiting for you when you get home to your little lover's nest. She’s got her hands behind her back, holding something.

As soon as you step inside, she plants a kiss on your cheek, and reveals her little secret.

There’s a present in her hands, with your name on it.

“I wrapped it in a way I thought you’d like,“ she says. Green, with blue ribbons on it, shaped like a bottle.

You take it from her hands and start unwrapping it–revealing a bottle of whiskey you told her about.

Before Haerin came into your life, it felt like you were living in a simulation. You had a normal, boring routine—you stocked up the books at the library, directed the kindergarten teachers where to lead their students, and went home. 

That’s what you did because you were a fresh grad with a journalism major and no backups and also, nobody wanted to fucking hire you. They said something about mental ability, which was insulting, to say the least. Why should they let some stupid doctor define how you could prove yourself? You had batchmates with less amazing CVs than you and one of them is an author now. New York Times bestseller. Signed copies going for thousands of dollars.

And you? You’re stuck in your local public library, getting sick quite literally because of the dust (endless dust), and pretending that you still want to live. You had no parents or siblings to be of service to. All you had in this world was you, and you weren’t an ideal person to love. You can be honest with yourself.

But then Haerin walked in. The moment the door of the library clinked open, so did her entrance to your life. You knew you loved her immediately. It had to be fate, because this girl—this impossibly beautiful girl—walked up to you and asked:

“Where can I find a book about dreams?”

You stared at her dumbly, your Adam’s apple bobbing. She had curly hair and serious almond eyes that stared into your soul. 

“Hello?” she said. “My name is Haerin. I need a book about dreams.”

“A-Are you looking for anything in particular?”

If Haerin was weirded out, she didn’t show it. Her face didn’t move an inch in spite of its soft lines. “No,” she replied. Always so straightforward, even… now? 

“No authors? Because—um, I have a manuscript right now about a dreamer.”

“Really,” said Haerin, and you couldn’t tell if she was fascinated or sarcastic. 

“He had a dream about a girl with catlike eyes. She kept appearing in his dreams until one day, she walked in as if she was real.”

Haerin stared blankly at you. You really fumbled big-time. You looked around at the dusty shelves and the dozing librarian and the dim lights. Here was a girl who had a classic beauty straight out of paintings with the composed clarity of a musical sheet. She didn’t belong here. She deserved to be somewhere she could be recognized and lauded for how beautiful she is.

And instead, she had a nosy librarian’s assistant using a cheesy pickup line on her.

Haerin started to laugh. Her serious eyes looked soft for a moment there, and all you could see in the caramel brown was you. You wanted to tell her about the silence rule but you couldn’t. You were laughing, too. Both of you could get in trouble.

“I’m sorry. That was really corny,” you admitted, scratching the back of your neck.

Haerin stifled the last of her giggles. “That’s fine. We can always start again. Watch.”

She snapped her fingers before turning on her heel. Her Mary Janes brought her back where you started, and back to the desk where you would start again. She was smiling this time as she held out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Kang Haerin,” she said. You shook hands firmly. “I dreamed about a guy who used a corny line to hit on me. But it’s fine, because he was really cute and I could tell he’s nice. Do you think I can find a story like that anywhere?”

Above you, the lamp flickered once. It never did that before. Must be a sign.

You smiled back at her. “I have just the thing.”

-

It didn’t take much dating for you to know she was the one. You knew from the second you saw her. But Haerin was shyer than she had let herself come across, and that didn’t matter anyway because you were willing to wait. You would wait forever if you needed to.

Forever lasted four months. On the first date, she wore a chic black dress with her hair now straightened in dark locks. You had coffee together. She talked about how, like you, she was also a fresh grad. She took theater, which surprised you because she didn’t look the type to show expression. One time, you made a funny joke and Haerin laughed without smiling. You apologized for your lack of humor and she had to clarify that she loved the joke.

But Haerin had many faces. One she often used was the expressionless look that made her a blank canvas.

“People are going to take me the wrong way whatever I do,” she explained over a sip of her black coffee. “So I just don’t respond at all and let them think about what I meant.”

“Do you ever show them what you actually feel?” 

Haerin shrugged. “Only to the people I know could take me the wrong way but still love me anyway.”

Another face Haerin had was one that showed her wide, toothy smile. It took a lot to get it out of her, until it didn’t. It made you realize that Haerin wasn’t as hard to make happy as people thought. She said she was often told she was a strange girl; her exes never knew what she wanted and broke things off when they gave up. 

But when you moved in together, she laughed when she heard you speak through a mouthful of toothpaste. She smiled when you kissed her under the moonlight at the balcony. Her eyes lit up whenever you told her you got her a new book. 

“How do you always know what I want?” she asked in disbelief, flipping the hardbound on her lap. She looked even prettier without the makeup or distressed perm, when she lounged on your sofa with her natural straight hair wearing your shirt.

“You said you wanted a classic mystery, and you could never go wrong with Sherlock Holmes.” You waved it off. You turned the television off for the night. Haerin hated the drill of the multiple-of-five volume dialogue when she’s trying to get herself sleepy.

“But how did you know? It’s so perfect.”

Doesn’t she get it? “It’s easy to tell what you want, Haerin. Ridiculously easy, I don’t even have to try.”

Haerin rolled her eyes, but she got an idea. She crawled over to you and made herself comfortable on your lap. Her bare thighs were smooth against yours. You held her waist as she stared deeply into your eyes. 

Not only was Haerin attentive and sweet. It was like God took her qualities and made her physical form just as beautiful. She had a tiny, blemishless face with a nose you loved to nuzzle against. Her body was small and her waist fit into your hands perfectly, like you were made to hold her.

Haerin was smirking. “Alright then,” she said. “If you always know what I want, tell me what I want now.”

Her voice was soft. You looked down at her pink mouth and back up into those dreamy eyes. Like you said, way too easy.

“Me.”

“Don’t get smart,” said Haerin, but she proved you right with a deep, literally breathtaking kiss.

When Haerin kissed, it was like she was trying to pull the soul out of your mortal form and join it with her own. She closed her eyes and shoved her tongue deep in your mouth, her hips working in circles on your lap. The tiny pair of lace panties quickly got wet, and she moaned when your tip bumped against that patch of arousal.

This face was one she only showed to you. You slipped your hands under that big shirt and felt her toned abdomen and perky breasts, feeling her up and down. Every little touch made Haerin’s breath catch. It made her grind her clit more urgently against your erection, looking for something only you can give her. Most of all, it made her face twist and contort into one of pure pleasure, eyes widening and lips parting.

Haerin couldn’t take it anymore. She slipped her panties to the side, showing how wet you made her. She’s soaked as she took you inside her. Her body tightened up and curled into your arms. Your T-shirt long gone, Haerin started to ride you like she needed it. Like you’d disappear if she didn’t get what she wanted while you were here.

“Oh, oh fuck, right there…” Haerin shivered when you started thrusting up to meet her halfway. She had coated your length from base to head with her juices. There’s an endless stream of it.

You pulled her down with you. The sofa springs bore the intensity of your strokes. You held her hand as you kissed and bit her neck, groaning into her vanilla-sweet flesh. She was so easy to take when she was always so wet for you. Her legs locked behind your back in order to keep you there.

“Don’t stop, please,” whimpered Haerin, eyes filled with stars. “I love you. Don’t leave me.”

The lamp sitting on your center table went out. You couldn’t see Haerin’s face bathed in reds and oranges anymore. But you loved her, and so you kept your promise.

-

You were finally sure after years of not having things figured out. You were unsure about what you wanted to be. You were even more unsure when the time came for you to choose a course. When you graduated in that stadium with flowers surrounding you and cheers deafening you, you didn’t know what to do with your degree. You had no idea where to go.

But Haerin made you so certain of yourself. You didn’t want to paint her as someone who was the solution to all your problems and illustrate her to be a savior she never chose to be. But it wasn’t a coincidence that she came right when you were lost and suddenly you were on track for the first time in your life.

She made you want to become something. Just looking at her caused you to think of all the beautiful things a beautiful girl like her deserved—a good boyfriend, a nice car, a relationship that nurtured her. So you worked hard to give her all of that.

She held a hand to her mouth when she saw the gorgeous car parked in the garage. She was half-sobbing, half-laughing. “This is so sweet. What did I do to deserve you? Thank you, but—”

“What?”

She burst out laughing like never before. “I don’t know how to drive…” she replied. She looked a little sullen now. You took money out of your own pocket to get her a beautiful car only for her to be unable to drive. She couldn’t even parallel park. You probably thought it was a waste.

But you placed an arm around her and kissed her on top of her head. “It’s alright, baby,” you said. “I’ll do it for you. We can go wherever you like.” 

All she had to do was say the words. You took her everywhere: malls, forests, airports. Funny; you only got a driver’s license the year before. You commuted back and forth but with Haerin, you revved the car up and picked her up from the salon. 

All she had to do was ask. So now, you were at a beach where the shores were nearly white and the skies seemed to fall down on your shoulders. The clouds bore the weight of it all. It was nearly winter, so there was but a faint bit of sunlight. It refracted in the bubbles Haerin blew into the wind. 

She was smiling so brightly. That was the only sunshine you needed.

Later that night, she said she didn’t want to leave yet. So you started a campfire while she bought soft marshmallows from the nearby grocery. A woollen quilt kept her warm. You let the fire toast your marshmallows into a rich brown.

“What if we get lost doing this?” Haerin asked. She looked at the stars in the sky, the sand around her. “Doing…” She gestured vaguely with her hands. “All of this. These wild adventures without a map or even a GPS.”

“We won’t,” you replied. You sounded so sure of yourself. It didn’t once occur to you that you could live a life without Kang Haerin. She belonged in your passenger seat, your lap, the deep brooks of your heart.

She bit off a piece of marshmallow from her stick. “We still have to be careful though. We won’t know every street forever.”

Right. Because one day, when you two got older and hopefully wiser, these roads would change. You wouldn’t know everybody in the neighborhood as soon as the newer, younger ones filed in. Everything would be nothing like you knew it was.

You hated to say it, but in spite of the darkness that dressed Haerin’s words, she was right. It wouldn’t be like this forever.

“Okay,” you said finally, thinking for a moment. “If I lost you, what would you do to lead me back?”

Haerin sat back into the sand. So many thoughts ran into her head at all hours of the day, and if you didn’t love her to death, you wouldn’t know. She often looked too mature, too composed to ever be bothered by anything. The Kang Haerin everybody knew was resilient. And when she was too resilient, she could risk being malleable to people. They could lie to themselves by saying they could mold her into whoever they wanted her to be. 

But that wasn’t Haerin. So she turned up her chin and said, “I’d open a light.”

“What kind of light?” 

“I dunno, anything.” She shrugged. “A fire, lamplight, or campfire. It doesn’t matter. If I shine it, I know you’ll get me out of the dark.”

The flames danced in golden flickers in her eyes. Haerin stared at it until her marshmallow burned and joined the ashes at the bottom of the log pile. You gave her your share.

“How about you?” Haerin asked. She scooted closer until the contact of your bodies seemed to spark hotter than the campfire itself. “How would I know if you’re lost?”

“Don’t worry about that. Leave the saving to me.”

-

Haerin didn’t like fighting with you. It made her cry real tears that could fill a pool if either of you were rich enough to afford one. She didn’t like all the yelling. She didn’t like how small it made her feel and not in the good way you managed to make it out to be when you’re in the chambers of your bedroom.

You tried not to yell at her. Whenever your voice got too intense, you turned away from her so she couldn’t see that you were angry. It helped you too because you couldn’t bear to see her sad. It felt like you were one with her emotions and tore you into pieces as it did to her.

“I just don’t know why you’re doing this,” she said. “You said you loved me. Why don’t you fucking show it?”

Unbelievable. You curled your hands through your hair and stopped yourself from pulling it out of the scalp. 

“What else do you want me to do? I give you everything, Haerin. My car, my clothes, my time.” 

The calendar pages ripped faster than the seams on your jacket. It’s been months since you graduated and she’s nearly twenty years old. You’re happy with each other. You’re the best company both of you could ever ask for. No one can understand you quite like Haerin does.

But oftentimes, that isn’t enough.

It’s what she’s trying to get across. Haerin’s dress tatters were crushed in her fists. She’s crying her heart out because she didn’t like being reminded of that. Ever. Youth was so comfortable it tricked you into believing it was something eternal. 

You finally had the courage to turn around and look her in the eyes. To look her in those big, beautiful eyes and force yourself to recognize the truth. There were real problems in the world that trips and outings and sex couldn’t solve. 

“Time, baby,” you said softly, in a broken voice you couldn’t claim as your own. It had been a while since you sounded so unsure. “Do you know how little time we have left?”

Neither of you should be blinded by the quick bliss you had now. You shouldn’t be fools. The lamp’s starting to look weird again. You needed to wake up—

Wake up.

-

Wake up. 

The air that hits you is cold. You open your eyes groggily and quickly find out why. A blue hospital gown doesn’t really help warm your legs. The blanket is thin and cheap. The only warmth you can find is from the dull sting of pain from the needles shoved in the veins of your arms. 

What an odd dream that was. You lift yourself up on the bed the best you can. Your body still feels tired. Part of you wants to go back to sleep again, but you stop yourself. If you close your eyes, you’re not sure if you’re going to wake up again.

You trail your fingers on the thick bandage taped to your skull. Around you, colorful balloons dance in the steady AC wind. You squint. One reads, in cursive: Happy 20th! 

Before you is a wide television screen. Right now, it presents a photo of a girl with catlike eyes and hair curled for what looks to be a music show event. She’s smiling, but the headline gives her no reason to. It tells you of the lawsuit that follows her and her band at their heels, how it won’t leave them alone.

She gets rid of the quilt and turns to you, her eyes sparkle with need. You bend her over the railing and spread her legs a little further. Her lower body sticks itself further back, pussy already glistening in anticipation. You can’t wait any longer, desperately wanting to be back in her body just as you’ve been for most of the day, so you position your cock by her pussy and gently thrust it in.

She lets out a satisfied sigh when you’re inside her once again, her body tight but gradually opening up to you. A perfect match for you, you’re glad you didn’t let this gem slip away. Thankfully , she needs you as much as you need her, forming this wicked, dark relationship.

You work your hips harder, your cock hitting the depths of her body. An instant reaction, a loud cry for all still lingering by the pool to hear, and you continuously draw her moans out with deeper harder thrusts. You hold her ass instead of her waist and take a few squeezes, enjoying the feel of her flesh. 

Tzuyu is so engrossed in the dirty fucking, barely able to remember that you’re in a very public position. Her eyes blurry, scanning the poolside and hoping no one looks up. Even with her unobstructed cries, you both go unnoticed, that is until you begin to slap her ass.

Not hard enough to inflict too much pain or leave a handprint, but just nice that the spank adds to your noise. It catches Tzuyu off guard and you feel her get wetter and tighter after such an unusually loud moan. You sense her fear soon after, her arm held across her chest and her mouth trying to seal shut and not make any noise. 

“What’s the matter, princess? Don’t you want to show off how sinful you are?”

You peel her arm away and tug her body so that it’s upright and flushed with yours. Gently cupping her tits, she’s now leaning back against you, hips rocking back to meet yours, eyes shut as she quietly moans and enjoys the fuck. 

“I think there are people watching.”

“Oh?” You’re not fazed, still continuing to fuck her, even planting more kisses on her cheek before you look down. “Let’s go princess.”

In an instant, you pull out of her and pull her back into the room and onto the messy bed. She falls next to you and you both look at each other before bursting into giggles. A lovely different symphony, an anomaly from the usual sounds of pleasure from Tzuyu. She’s staring into your eyes and you’re sweeping stray strands of hair off her face. You lean over her and kiss her forehead, then her cheeks. A warmth washes over both of you, you sense her melting deeper into the bed while your strength begins to fade.

Her eyes, they’re so pretty. You’ve tainted this princess already, ruined her for an entire afternoon, but you see her, for the stunning woman she is at her core, and you lose more control. You’re falling, moving lower, and you’re kissing her, softly. She’s soft too, jelly, and you feel her lips press back against yours. 

Mere seconds later, what felt like eternity, you’re right back to watching her, watching her eyes sparkle, her pretty face shine as she smiles oh so beautifully.  

You fall even further, this time with her aid. Her palm rests on your cheeks, her chin tilts up just a little to close the gap, and she guides you back onto her lips. A gentle kiss, her mouth parts so slightly to sigh into yours. You smile when your forehead touches hers and you hold her head and kiss her again. 

“I want you,” her eyes pleading, her voice almost cracking, so vulnerable, “make love to me.”

“Anything for you princess.”

You’re kneeling between her legs but you nudge it a little wider. The hand on her cheek shifts onto her chest, briefly going over her breast, the slight pressure causes a gasp, until you’re holding her waist. Your tip presses against her wet entrance and you glance back at her. She is an utter mess as you insert yourself inside her body, her walls tightening around you. Perfect, you’re like the missing piece of a puzzle in her life, as wrong as it all is, but she doesn’t care, not in this moment, maybe not ever from here on out. 

You take slow and deep thrusts, filling her completely, ensuring she feels every bit of you. She’s melting into the bed, surrendering, giving herself up to you, all thoughts gone except how much she needs you. A whole afternoon later and she still can’t get enough of you. She’s so wet and tight, her legs wrap your waist, as if she doesn’t ever want to let you go. 

But it only drives you to go faster. You’re losing control of yourself too, having never seen her this pleasure stricken before. It’s all you. Her face in pure ecstasy is all thanks to you.

“You’re so pretty for me, princess. I love it when you’re like this.”

A blush, a shy smile that’s immediately covered by a hand. 

“No no. No hiding from me.”

No, you can’t have that, so you pull it off, hold her hand by her waist. You squeeze her hand, Look deeply into her eyes, you’re met with hers, half lidded from the pleasure, but the glint of affection is still there.

“I’m going to cum.”

“Not yet, just a little longer princess.” 

Her back arches, her heels hook around your waist. She pulls you close by the back of your head. Every little  sound she makes goes straight into your ears. 

“I can't, I can't, I’m cumming.”

Her pussy is so tight and wet around you, making a small mess at your lower body. She’s melting, and even though you’re whispering soothing calming words to her, you’re not exactly helping with your cock still drilling her at full speed. She feels so good, a near perfect fit for you, and a few more rapid pumps into her body later, you’re cumming too.

“I’m going to breed you princess.”

Your words barely reach her ears, a soft moan in return before you shut her up with a deep passionate kiss. You’re shooting hot white cum in her, pumping and burying your load in the depths of her womb. 

Your lower body works on autopilot and lazily thrusts a few more times while you’re focused on Tzuyu. Your hand is on her cheek and your lips still on hers, just so gently tasting her sweet lips for the hundredth time but you know deep down it’ll never be enough. 

Your body finally cools down from the feral fervour and you slip out of Tzuyu’s body with some of your cum following suit. Tzuyu musters her strength and turns you onto your back while she straddles you. She collects the cum staining her thighs and licks them clean while you’re appreciating her body again and gently caressing her curves. 

“It’s time I really should go back home.”

“Clean yourself up before you leave. Don’t want you smelling like sex when you’re with your  boyfriend.”

Her lower body stumbles off the bed. Tzuyu pauses, then turns to smiles before entering. She doesn’t need to say anything, you get the message.

~~~~~~

You’re back in that natural, comfortable position, with arms wrapped around Tzuyu’s waist and head resting on her shoulder, this time in the shower. You can’t get enough of her. Her body, her warmth, her relieved smile as you wash off the last bits of soap left on her body. 

She hurriedly dries herself off and begins to dress up. She frantically looks around the crumpled dress and presses on any wrinkles, while you lean against a wall, wrapped in a towel and watch in amusement and adoration. 

Dressed and about to leave, her hands hesitate at the door. She turns to you, words choked in her throat. But she doesn’t need to say anything.

“Just one more, princess.” You hold her hand and lean into her. “Please.”

Tzuyu nods, closes her eyes and kisses you. 

You wish you had more time. You just want to get dirty with her again. You know that she has to go, but you also know that she is yours as much as you are hers and that you’ll see her very soon.

When she pulls away, when your foreheads touch, when she sighs, you fall even deeper. 

“My place, this Saturday?”

“I’d love that.”

Her hand slips away from yours and you watch her leave the hotel room. 

A regret for you both, but you know this isn’t the end, not by a long shot.

******

Moka was a good student. She paid attention in class, shared her notes, and studied diligently. Her impressive consistency was admired by all her peers, and they wondered how she achieved this type of discipline. It seemed like nothing bothered her: not the five tests set in a week, not her insufferable courters, not her friends’ dramas.

Indeed, Moka had a secret: fanfictions. That’s how she took her stress away. The study material is too difficult? Read a one-shot, and it will all click right away. A short break from the clubs? That’s time for some headcannons. Having a bad day? Some smuts will fix it right up. What about a good day? Well, read away.

It was when she went to college that she started writing, and when she discovered her natural talent, she never stopped. Reading was fun. People had amazing stories to tell, but after absorbing all those tropes and characters, her brain was starting to bubble with stories of her own. Suddenly, she could create whatever she wanted and didn’t need to send requests, hoping the writers liked them.

Moka seemed like an innocent girl. She wore cute sweaters and girly shirts, often paired with a pleated skirt; she wore a lot of gadgets, and always had rounded sneakers. She had a bright personality and always smiled.

People looked at her and saw an adorable ray of sunshine. Never would they have guessed what she wrote.

And, truly, she did write cute stories at first. Short fluffs about the shows she was watching. Ships and self-inserts. 

But a girl has her needs. 

When that character showed up on screen, shirtless and sweaty, oh it burnt like a fire. Immediately, she had to look up something, something strong.

She started following boy groups and entered their fanfiction fandoms, and that was the decisive moment.

Fluffs weren’t enough. She needed more. The heat inside her chest couldn’t be tamed by simple cuddles and kisses. She was well past that, that was for kids, not her.

It started with spicy scenarios, a little teasing, some touching here and there, and it quickly spiraled into something wilder.

Moka wanted to try them all. All kinks, plays, tropes, and characters. She let the tingles take her away, following that feeling that clouded her brain.

She started dipping her feet on the other side as well and realized just simply how hot girls were. But other than that, she got curious about the other perspectives and started reading male reader stories.

Seeing the perspective of the man made her go insane. It was exhilarating. 

By that time, she had already built up a decent following. It was only natural, given how prolific a writer she was.

That’s when she met you, her fellow writer friend.

She stumbled upon your blog after scrolling endlessly through mediocre clanker-ridden Y/N slop. It was like finding a diamond in the rubbish. 

After reading the first paragraphs, she was hooked. After eight more, her breath was hot. 10 seconds later, her right hand crawls down her legs. 20 more seconds and she has to stifle the lewd moans rushing out of her mouth. 

And 10 minutes later, she was left with a mess to clean up.

It was love.

She had to meet whoever wrote this story. It was like their brain completely in sick with hers. It knew everything she liked, from the cute interactions, to the sexual tension, the sex and even the pace.

Moka took some time to re-collect herself and get some tissues to get herself back into her clean demure image. Then she went to your blog, clicked the small speech bubble under your post and started typing.

[OMG THIS WAS SO GOOOD. Honestly my favorite fic right now. PLEASE GIVE US A PART 2] 

Hearted.

Her job was done, her nerves were soothed, now back to studying. 

Moka went back to her microeconomy book and started reading the chapter the professor had taught this morning. It wasn’t exactly an interesting topic but she still had to catch up otherwise it would pile up endlessly. So everyday, when she went back home, she would re read her notes and check what it said on the textbook. Read… Read…

She needed to read another one. Another smut.

Moka threw her book aside and jumped on the bed again. She opened her phone and rushed to your blog, that she had followed already. She checked your masterlist. There were so many choices, so many fics she hadn’t read yet. 

So her personal ritual started again.

On the other side of town, you were scrolling through the countless memes on IG reels when you received that notification. It surprised you. Nobody had ever written a comment with that much excitement and certainly not with those many capital letters. You thought for a moment. It was either a very zesty man or it was a girl.

You’ve heard of them before, girls that read male reader fics, though they were very rare. You wondered why they’d be attract to this, especially since the perspective was so different. As long, as they liked it, you didn’t complain.

“How should I reply to this?” you thought to yourself. It was always good practice to reply to comments. They took the time to write it, after all.

[Thank you for the comment! Wait for part—

“No,” you thought. “It will probably not happen. Delete.”

[Thank you for the comment! We’ll see what happens]

There. That’s perfect. Give them hope but don’t promise anything. Done, enter.

You were about to put your phone away when another notification hit your phone. 

[IM GONNA WORSHIP THE GROUND YOU'LL WALK IN🙏🏻💛😭]

Okay, what the fuck?

Well, you were flattered, that’s for sure. But was this really necessary. You kinda remember what you wrote and not a single sentence deserved this much… excitement. Not to mention, it wasn’t towards the character either, it was towards you. You. 

You had to sit back and really think what to reply this time. 

Maybe you should match her energy. No, that’s not really what you do.

[You’re too kind!]

Yeah, that will be okay. And… send.

[IM SCREAMING THAT WAS INSANE OMGGG I- I’ll NEVER recover from this, I’m not the same person anymore]

What?

Is this person okay?

You rubbed your forehead. You had to go and quickly read what you wrote to try to understand the reasoning of this reaction. No matter how many times you went back to it, you still couldn’t understand. 

You stared at the blinking cursor. Should you reply again? What if she continued? What would you do then?

Before you could decide, someone messaged you. It was her. Or him, you still weren’t completely sure.

> Sorry if that was too much 😭 your writing hits different > Like it’s written exactly for me > Sorry sorry sorry

You blinked. She seemed nice enough. Without really thinking about it, you started typing again.

> Don’t apologize, it’s actually really flattering

On the other side, Moka’s heart dropped when she saw your reply. She’d been debating inside her head whether she just gave you a reason to quit writing or permanently tainted your stories with her excessive comments. She was embarrassed. She was the only comment under them. There were some others but it was mostly “Nice” or “Great fic!”. 

Relief washed over her when Moka read what you wrote.

She picked up her phone again and started thinking of how to reply to you. With a pillow clutched between her chest and the the phone screen, she started typing, slower this time.

> Really? > I love your plots and characters! > It’s really unique

> Thank you! > Have you read my stuff before?

Moka bit her lip.

> No not really > I just found out and started reading > Just a few days

More like just a few hours. But she didn’t want to seem crazier than she already did.

You smiled at your screen, she must have binged all your fics.

> Wow you must have a lot of free time

> Not at all I should be studying right now 😭😭

> Well it does help to relax a little bit

Moka thought for a moment. She wanted to keep talking but didn’t really know what to say. She could have continued to talk about writing and fics but she wasn’t sure whether you really liked them like that. 

> Do you take requests?

You leaned back in your chair. Not really. Rarely. Actually, never tried. You told yourself you would but only if the idea felt right and usually you didn’t really feel inspired. But you didn’t really want to let her down, she looked so happy to read your stuff.

> Sometimes > You have something in mind?

Moka jumped up from her seat. “Calm down,” she told herself. This is the chance. Do not scare that man. Or woman. She had a lot of ideas she thought about writing but never did, it was time she could give them to you. 

But were they good enough?

Think, Moka, think. 

Moka typed, deleted, she looked through her documents, her phone notes. Nothing. You would have surely rejected them. Okay, she had an idea. It would be a good idea to actually ask you to write with her. Yeah, why not? That way she can learn from you and create a good story that you would both like.

> Not a request really, more like a collab > I write too

She got your interest.

> That could be interesting > Could you send me a link to your work

Moka’s breath started to quicken and her heart started to beat faster and faster. All her stories, her secrets, her filthy works. You were going to see all of them. Well, you wrote that stuff too so it was fine but it was still a bit embarrassing. What if you hated them?

But it was too late to pull back.

Moka took a deep breath, copied her blog’s link and pasted the link.

You watched the blue link appear in your chat and clicked it. The screen blinked and loaded up her blog. You were sure it was a female now. The blog was very well customized. It was all pink with plenty of moodboards, colored titles, sparkles and hearts everywhere. 

Your blog, in comparison, was a boring default setup.

You went right into her masterlist and clicked the first fic.

The opening lines were cute. It was a show character x female reader, that made sense. A classic sweet student type of story: some banter, some very cute interactions, some embarrassed touches. You quickly scrolled through it, catching the essence of the story though quick sentences: two characters who clearly wanted each other but didn’t admit it.

Her writing style wasn’t that bad. You’re sure she was the one who wrote it.

You scrolled down further, skipping a few of the other fluffs to see how she progressed.

The story was a bit more complex this time. The plot was clear, and it developed into a longer time frame. Her words weren’t fumbling. The sentences were longer, tighter, and well thought. You were interested. It was the type of story you’d read, except you weren’t really familiar with these ships.

Your eyebrows rose when you went to her most recent fics.

“Oh,” you muttered to yourself. “So she does smut.”

The stories still started with the cute scenarios that she used in her earlier fics but it went from fluff to explicit in the space of just a few paragraphs. By the time you reached the middle of the fic you were very surprised. It was filthier than you expected.

You went back up to check the tags. “Fluff, slow burn, kissing,” so yeah, very tame normal stuff. Then: “dirty talk, overstimulation, bondage, knife play, domination, cock worship.”

Well, that was quite quick.

You blinked, scrolled again, and there it was: “Consent play, praise kink, degradation kink, pissing, blood play.”

Wait, how do those two tags even coexist?

Her works were actually very well written. It’s normal for writers to be into interesting stuff so you didn’t really see anything wrong with it. You accepted the collab, discussed some of the characters you liked, and let it go from there.

You didn’t think much about it, it was a very natural process. She’d start thinking about the plot first and then you’d review it.

Moka was extremely happy. She was doing all kind of research to make sure she knew everything single thing about every single person they could have written. She double-read every single story you had ever written to understand fully your style and preferences.

She had found another thing to look forward to when she was the university and could go to class with the same bright smile she always had.

The lecture hall was the same as every Wednesday, the professor was halfway through explaining a graph on prices when Moka saw something way too familiar in the corner of her eye. She tried to tell herself not to think about it and focus on the class but it was too strong. 

There was something on that phone screen that she had already seen. It was that familiar pink layout of her blog, the sweet Y2K aesthetic that she spent 2 whole months creating on HTML and CSS. It was hers. There was no other possible person.

It was her own blog on the phone of someone in the same room as her, and they’re reading it right now. In public.

She watched you scroll through the story, completely focused on every single word. Moka felt her face getting warm. She had never thought about the type of people who would read her stuff and seeing a real person read her most private and perverted thoughts in a room full of people was making her succumb to embarrassment.

Then you opened a new tab to check your own dashboard and reply to a message. Moka fumbled out her phone and saw the message appear in front of her. Her eyes widened and she could feel the air leaving her lungs.

It was you.

The person that wrote all the stuff that she had consumed in her most private moments, the person that she’s obsessing over, the person that she’s supposed to write with… sitting right there in front of her.

When the bell rang and everyone packed their bags to leave the room, Moka moved on autopilot and teleported next to you. You were just putting your backpack on your shoulder when you felt the presence of another person next to you.

You turned your head and saw a familiar face. Yes, you had noticed her before. She was in your class after all. From what you remember, she was one of the best students in the course. She must have been one of the best ranked during the entrance exam. She was dressed very well too, with a cute sweater and a pleated skirt.

“You’re…” she started, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat and pronounced your exact username in the clearest tone possible.

Your eyes darted open. Who was this? Who sent her? Were they here to blackmail you? You stepped back. This could get dangerous real quick.

Moka kept looking around to make sure no one was listening and stepped closer to lower her tone. “I mean, I’m cocomin43, but my name is Moka,” she blurted out. “The one who… commented on your stories…”

What? Her? You didn’t really say much. You couldn’t believe this was happening right now. You stood there with your mouth slightly open.

“Uhm, okay?” you mumbled. 

“I saw you reading my story,” she said. "The one with the... you know. The knife stuff." She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, mortified. "This is so awkward. I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." 

The moment the words knife stuff left her lips, Moka knew she had messed up. She saw your judgmental expression and couldn’t handle it.

"I—I mean! Not that I do that! I mean, I write it, but I don't—oh god," she stammered. “I have to go. Bye!”

Before you could even say anything else, she had spun around and quickly walked outside, nearly hitting a passing student. 

After that episode, Moka spent 48 hours in a state of paralysis. She sat on her bed, staring at her laptop, wondering if she should open the private messages to clear up the situation. She didn’t sleep that day. She didn’t dare open the site. 

For the first time in her life, she had revealed her secret to someone. You weren’t just a user; you sat in her class, just a couple of rows in front of her.

She didn’t know why she even talked to you. It was an excitement she had never felt before. 

She couldn’t let it end like that. You were the only one who could actually accept her for who she was. 

Still, she felt an incredible amount of shame and embarrassment that was hard to shake off. When she went back to university, she took the long way to every class to avoid the economics building.

But fate was that she’d meet you again at the vending machines. She was just buying a soda can when she saw your reflection in the glass. She couldn’t run. She had to confront you.

Moka froze. The can she chose thudded into the tray, and she slowly turned around to see your face staring back at her.

“Uhm,” she started. “Hi, again.”

“Hi,” you said, quietly. 

“From the… internet.”

“I remember.”

She laughed nervously. 

“Listen, about the other day,” she said. “Sorry. I’m not normally like that… I don’t really say that stuff.”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” you said, rubbing the back of your head. “I figured.”

She took a deep breath.

“I actually wanted to… talk? Like, for real?” she looked at you. “And not about… that. The collab would be cool, but I’d like to get to know you.”

She bit her lips.

“I’m at [road], you know? Near the other student apartments. It's quiet there. No one will hear us... talking. About normal things! Like hobbies! " She winced at her own outburst. "Anyway. If you want, you should come over. Tonight? Around seven?" 

She couldn’t stand the pressure and left with the coffee.

You thought about it. She was really pretty, and you were curious about her. She seemed really shy; maybe she just really wanted to make some friends. Well, she already had some friends at the university, you could see that. Maybe she wanted to share her hobby?

Well, what could go wrong? You made up your mind and looked up the address.

And that’s how you found yourself in this situation, in front of the door of a fanfiction writer.

You take a deep breath and ring the bell.

Moka opens the door and lets you inside. It looked like a normal apartment. It was clean, as spacious as a small studio could be but mostly neat. She didn’t have a lot of decorations outside the living room, apart from some plants and some small things here and there. 

“So… here we are,” she says, playing with the keys in her hand. Her eyes go to the ground, fixated on her shoes.

“It’s nice,” you tell her, with a smile.

“You think so?” Moka says softly, looking at you with a small grin. “Wanna see my room?”

“Uhhh… sure.”

Moka opens another door and leads you down the small hallway. You can already see the warm light escaping the opening of the entrance. When you step inside, you open your mouth: it was so girly and pink, what you’d expect from the girl who sat in the front row. 

There are neat stacks of textbooks lined up on her shelves, each one with pastel sticky notes sticking out from the sides. On her desk, highlighters and pens are organized by color—pink, yellow, blue, purple. A couple of books and notebooks lie open, as if she left them there mid-study session.

The walls are covered with posters of boy groups, their corners fixed with strips of washi tape. Next to a row of binders, a few lightsticks lean against the shelf, ready for the next concert.

Her bed is made, though not perfectly; the blanket is pulled up but slightly uneven. Plushies take up a good portion of the space, some new, some a little worn. The covers are of a pinkish hue as well.

The air smells faintly sweet, maybe from a candle she burned earlier or a lotion she uses.

“This is… it,” Moka comments. 

“It’s nice,” you say again. Realizing it’s the same exact thing you said before, you try to think of something else. “It’s… cute.”

“Really?” she asks. “I—I cleaned my room, not that it was dirty, but like, not because you’re here,” she spits out and immediately regrets it, “oh my god—”

You laugh, brushing the back of your neck. “I like the boys—the posters you got on the walls.”

“You do? Are you into boy groups?”

“I like BIGBANG,” you say, pointing at the poster of Taeyang’s face. “His song is nice. Eyes, nose, and lips, was it?”

“Oh yeah, it was one of my favorite videos. It’s not often they go shirtless. He has very nice muscles. They are so… big,” Moka says with great enthusiasm. 

“Mmh, yeah…” you say, a bit startled by her sudden outburst. “I meant the song. The song is nice.”

“Oh,” Moka laughs awkwardly. “It’s a great song! Yes, I like the song—too.”

You nod and continue to observe her room. You’re left with an awkward silence that Moka absolutely can’t stand. She’s thinking about what she said. God, you had just stepped into her place and she had already revealed how much of a pervert she is. Sure, you already knew. After all, that’s how you two know each other, but she was kind of starting over.

Moka shakes the thoughts out of her head and clears her throat. “Ehem. Would you like some tea?”

“That sounds nice, yeah,” you say.

“You can sit on the bed if you’d like,” Moka says. She turns around and guides you to the edge of the mattress. She takes just two steps and she’s already tripping on air. Her body comes way too close to you, her face inches from yours.

She immediately jumps away and apologizes profusely. You quickly brush it away.

In the kitchen, Moka’s mind races like crazy. She uses the electric kettle to boil some water. The bubbling of the water helps her calm down. She takes deep breaths and puts the mugs on the tray. When Moka comes back to her room, you’ll still be sitting there with your hands on your lap.

She puts the tray on the desk and grabs a mug. Her fingers are shaking and you can tell she’s overthinking everything. Moka holds it out to you, but in her nervousness, she misjudges the distance. The mug tilts, and a splash lands right onto you.

“Ah! Wait—oh no!” she cries. She freezes in horror, eyes wide.

“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—uh…” she grabs a napkin and tries to clean it off you. She doesn’t stop to think and fails to realize that the tea fell right between your legs. She even presses her hands against your pants, trying to pat them dry.

You freeze as you feel her whole weight coming down on you. “M-Moka! Wait—!” you start, but she’s so panicked she doesn’t hear you. Her eyes flick up and her panicked expression meets your shocked eyes.

“I’ll clean it! I swear! I’m trying, I’m—” her hands keep moving but it’s only making it worse. 

You try to pull her hands away gently but she only panics more. She rubs hurder and stutters, “Ugh, why is this happening to me?!”

“Moka! Seriously, stop it!” you finally yell.

Moka glances down and realizes where she’s been rubbing. Her eyes go wide and her face flushes a deep red. She immediately backs away, waving her hands around in the air. 

“Oh no no no no no!” she squeals, dropping the napkin. “I didn’t mean to—oh my god, I’m the worst!”

She covers her face with her hands from the embarrassment, continuing to mutter incoherent noises. Moka peeks between her fingers, deeply mortified. 

You shake your head and laugh nervously, “It’s okay. It’s fine, really.”

Her shoulders slump, but she’s still red from head to toe. She’s a complete mess. She’s rouched awkwardly on the floor, hands still trembling, blinking rapidly. She’s trying her hardest to erase what just happened from your memory.

“Don’t worry about it, just… come sit,” you say and pet the space next to you.

“Can I?”

“Well, it’s your bed, right?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she stutters and sits next to you, at a reasonable distance. “I—I’m so sorry about… you know… your—um…” She gestures vaguely toward your lap. “I didn’t mean to… touch that. I swear, I wasn’t thinking!”

“You apologized enough. It’s okay, really. Please don’t think about it,” you try to reassure her. “Anyways, what was the tea supposed to be? Black?”

“No, I… yes, it’s black but not just black. It’s like a black vanilla.”

“Oh, I see. It smells nice.”

“Yeah, it does, it does,” she says. “You also smell… uhm… good,” she murmurs. Maybe a good compliment will make her apology more believable. “Like… like a boy, but… in a nice way! Not in a weird way! I mean… you always smell nice. I noticed it the first time, but… okay, that sounded creepy, I’m sorry!”

It seems like she doesn’t think before she talks.

“You smell nice too…” you comment. “The shampoo aroma.”

She squeezes her hands together. “Thank you,” she smiles. You complimented her. You really did. You liked her. Maybe you wanted to sniff her hair. She’d gladly let you. And then she’d sniff you. Yeah, that’s how it should go.

“I mean, uh… thank you for… coming over. And, um… your hair looks really… nice? Today. It always does. And your… your jacket… it smells good too. Not in a weird way”

“What’s up with this smell thing?” you say, laughing.

Moka’s eyes go wide and she stammers. “Sorry, it’s gross right? I know it sounds dumb! I’m… I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“No, it’s okay, it’s… kind of cute.”

“Cute? Really?” she squeaks, bouncing on the ball of her feet. “I—I’m not cute! That’s… that’s impossible! You’re lying! You can’t actually mean that!”

“Really, you’re kinda adorable when you’re panicking. A bit.”

“A-adorable?! I—I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Moka… relax. You’re fine. Just breathe.”

“Alright, alright,” she brushes off and stays still for a moment. 

You use this silence to wonder about your life decisions. What kind of situation have you put yourself in? This is not the Moka you knew. She was so normal in class: she had friends, talked to people, and was attentive. Now, it seems like she has never talked to a person in her whole life.

Surely, there must be some reason. Maybe the problem was yourself? But you didn’t do anything.

Moka seems to have calmed down a bit. She’s still fidgeting with her fingers but her face is of a softer red. 

She turns her head towards you, lips pressed together, she takes a deep breath before talking again. “So, uhm,  do you like reading books?”

You look at her briefly and turn your head to think about the answer. Moka clearly did not understand what you were doing because she interpreted it as you judging her harshly. 

Panic. Again.

“I mean—of course you read books—stupid, forget I said that.”

“No, no, it’s a fair question,” you comfort her. “I actually don’t read a lot of books.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s mostly series and movies I watch. I use my previous knowledge about literature from books to write.”

“I see, well, what shows do you watch?”

“Korean and Japanese dramas? They have nice stories, it’s a good form of inspiration.”

“Yeah, I watch those too,” Moka says happily. Finally, she found a topic they had in common. Now all she had to do was come up with more questions to keep the conversation going. 

Quickly, she had to remember what the video said. What was it again? First one was… maintain eye contact! Right. Thinking about it she already failed that first point. She must have looked your eyes probably two times in the twenty minutes you have been here. 

Moka stared at you. Yeah, that was too awkward. Fuck that.

Just keep the questions going.

“What’s your favorite drama?” Moka asks, straightening her back to show how relaxed she was.

You look up at the ceiling to think about it. “Uhm,” you hummed. “I don’t know, really. I really liked When life gives you tangerines, you know that one?”

“Oh! I do!” Moka exclaims and smiles brightly. “The one with IU, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s pretty funny and quite romantic.”

“I really like the male character; he loves her a lot.”

“I thought he was kinda dumb at first. She was clearly not into him.”

“But then she did love him after all right?”

“Yeah at the end but he didn’t know that.”

“Yeah I remember that scene where they got drunk it was so funny and then when they went to the hotel they couldn’t resist and had sex. Imagine, it must have been their first time and it was so fun. I would do the same if a boy loved me so much. How couldn’t I? It was so cute and that’s how they got their kid too! They must have had so much sex haha.”

“...”

“...”

“Yeaaaahhh,” you started. “Definitely.”

There you go Moka, you ruined it.

“Well it did show that they were young and inexperienced,” you start. You could feel the awkwardness in the air and tried your best not to embarrass her, although she had every reason to be.

“They loved each other and didn’t have a proper way to show it before,” you continue. “It just happened.”

“Right, right,” Moka says.

“IU is a really good actress, isn’t she?”

“She really is, I admire a lot.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, she worked very hard and earned everything,” Moka says. “And she’s good at everything she does.”

“That’s true,” you laugh. “All the dramas she did were very successful.”

“What was the other one… uhh… Hotel Del Luna!” Moka says. “Did you see it?”

“I did, I did.”

“You liked it?”

“Very much. It was really fun, especially the thing between the protagonist and Man-wol.”

“The protagonist? You can’t remember his name, do you?”

“Yeah, I can’t,” you laugh.

“Wait,” Moka says suddenly. “Did it inspire one of your stories?”

Although it was the reason you guys knew each other, you didn’t really want to talk about it. “I don’t remember.”

“The story you wrote with Sana.”

“I think so.”

“I loved it!”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply.

“I really like how you wrote their conflict and banter.”

You keep nodding, looking away, hoping she changes the topic.

“Especially the tension between them that keeps softening.”

“Talking about that, what did you think about Man-wol’s—”

She starts oversharing without realizing it: “I actually… uh… read your fic three times. In one night. I mean, not because I’m obsessed or anything—okay I am, but not in a weird way! Wait, that is weird—uh, forget I said that.”

She tries to change the subject but it backfires: “So, uh… what’s the wildest thing you’ve ever written? …Oh my god, why did I say that? Ignore me.”

“It’s okay…” you barely say. It is not okay.

Moka what are you doing??? Fix it. Fix it. Fix it. Say something normal.

“Fuck,” she mutters. “Uhm, writers ask each other that, right? Like, professionally.”

You don’t reply and keep quiet. You glance toward the door, it’s time to leave. This girl is weird.

Her stomach drops. 

You shift slightly on the bed. “Maybe I should…”

“No!” Moka says, quick and sharp.

“I—I mean,” she scrambles. “W—wanna watch a movie?” 

You hesitate, you’re almost standing up. Moka panics and grabs your sleeve. You react instinctively and get up from the bed.

“No, you can’t go yet! I mean… stay! Please stay. We haven’t even… um… finished our tea… I mean what’s left of it… I’ll make more! No, don’t get up, sit!”

Moka is awkwardly clinging into you. “Wait! Don’t go, I can… show you something! Not like… weird something. Unless… you want weird. Do you want weird?!”

You take another step back but she’s still holding onto your sleeve.

“I’m sorry, I’m so bad at this. I just… I like you. And I… I want to… do stuff with you. Like… not just studying. Freaky stuff.”

Moka goes fully red. “Ugh, I sound insane, don’t I?”

“No, you…”

“You hate me, right?”

“What?! No, I don’t hate you,” you say. “It was just really sudden. I think you’re nervous? I’m a bit nervous as well.”

“Is it something I did?”

“Maybe it’s just us, we’re a bit different and maybe we don’t vibe…”

“No please don’t say that,” Moka half yells at you. “I’ll do anything. Please stay. Let me apologize to you, I’ll… I’ll suck your cock!”

“What?”

“I’ll do it for real!” Moka says. “Just don’t go.”

Just as she says that Moka gets on her knees. You didn’t expect it, but she looks really sexy. You can peek at the shape of her ass and how small her waist is. Not to mention the crazy arch on her back right now and the look in her eyes.

You can feel yourself get hard in your pants. You can’t refuse her.

Moka doesn’t need an answer and puts her face right in your groin. Her hands come up to sloppily get your pants off and free your cock. She stops at your underwear. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are fixed on the bulge in front of her.

You can feel her nose touch you, and you slightly pull back. Moka is sniffing your bulge. Her nose is buried in your boxers, inhaling deeply your scent. She begins to nuzzle into you, her nose rubbing clumsily against your shape. 

To think she was such a proper and nice student. Right now, she was acting more like a hungry animal, huffing and puffing hot breath into your boxers. Moka is already moaning and she still hasn’t seen your cock yet.

“Boy smell,” she whimpers. “It’s making me crazy.” 

Moka looks up at you, pressing her cheek against your cock while maintaining eye contact. You can clearly see your penis getting harder and growing against her face, and there’s nothing you can do. She’s giggling and chuckling, pleased with your reaction.

“I love your smell,” she says. “It’s so manly. It’s so strong, it’s like… pheromones.” Moka giggles and sniffs you again. When she decides that she wants to do more, she takes a deep breath and pulls your underwear down.

Your cock springs open and nudges her nose. Moka pulls back with surprise and starts smiling widely at the sight.

“Your cock, finally…” she starts. “It looks so pretty up close.”

Her thin, delicate fingers wrap your cock from both sides, and she starts stroking you. Her eyes don’t leave your cockhead for even one second. They’re wide and glistening with wonder.

“It’s the first time I've seen a penis for real,” she says. She pronounces the word in a certain manner, giving a certain stress on the ‘p’. 

Moka pulls out her tongue and drags it across the underside of your cock. She stops at the head where she takes it tentatively in her lips with a small kiss, just to feel your shape, and pulls back. Her mouth is watering uncontrollably and a drop of saliva leaves the corner of her lips, drooling down to her chin.

Moka opened her mouth wide and took you completely inside her mouth. Her tongue swirls around your head while her cheeks hollow out to suck you inside of her. Her eyes are closed as she focuses on slowly bobbing her head to properly service your cock.

Her blowjob is sloppy but it’s not amateurish. “Have you done this before?” you ask her.

Moka hums and steps back, letting her hands take the place of her mouth and stroke your wet cock. She smiles and giggles.

“You know,” she murmurs, “I’ve practiced it before. I have plenty of toys…”

Just as she said that, she went back to your cock. This time, she gripped the base of your cock with just one hand and took you in deeper, moving her head forward and back. Her suction was constant. She used her tongue to stroke your frenulum, get in the grooves under the head.

“It feels so good, Moka,” you say and adrenaline shoots through her. Your validation gives her the confidence she needs to give you everything she has.

“Please,” she huffs, “please put your hands on my head.”

You oblige and hold her head in place while stroking her hair with your thumbs. Moka gripped your thighs and lowered her jaw, sliding your penis violently to the back of her throat.

The impact made her choke, and she had to take a moment to calm down her gag reflex. Some tears rolled down her cheeks, and her nose wrinkled at the pain. 

“Are you okay, Moka?” you said worryingly.

“I’m okay!” she replies. “Let me try again.”

Moka brushed her hair back and relaxed her throat. She pulled her tongue out and let you slide back inside her mouth. Your cock easily reached the back, and she held you there. You could feel the muscles of her throat constricting around you, squeezing and massaging your penis.

She was whimpering and tried as hard as possible to deepthroat you for longer, but she hadn’t practiced long enough.

Moka pulls out, and a large amount of thick spit flows down her mouth. 

She’s laughing. “It’s harder than I thought.”

“Moka, that was… crazy,” you tell her. “Don’t need to do it again tho.”

“Okay,” she hums and starts sucking the head of your cock. 

Her hand is pumping your cock while she sucks you. 

It doesn’t take much longer until you have to tap her head. “I’m going to cum, Moka.”

“Please, cum in my mouth,” she begs, while her hand strokes you faster and faster. “I want to taste it.”

Moka pulls her tongue out and opens her mouth wide. She guides the tip right on it and you came. She could feel the warm load shooting to the roof of her mouth, splashing against her tongue and teeth. Some of it missed her target, splattering across her cheek, but it amused her more than anything.

When you were done, she flicked her tongue to collect the last bead of semen from your cock and swirled around the white liquid in her mouth. She played with it for a second before closing her eyes and gulping it down. Moka opened her mouth again, showing you how she swallowed it all.

“Shit, you didn’t have to do that, Moka,” you tell her

“Why? I like it,” she says. “You also wrote about it a lot, haven’t you?”

“I guess I did…”

“Don’t worry, you taste really really good.”

“That’s good to know…”

“Will you stay now?” Moka asks with her puppy eyes. “Please don’t leave.”

“No, no, I will stay,” you say. Of course, you would. Who else would leave after a pretty girl devoured their cock?

“Really?! Thank you!” Moka screams and jumps up. 

She runs to her desk and opens her drawer to find something. You shouldn’t be surprised by know, you knew already what she was like but you were still shocked when she turned around. In her hands, she was holding some handcuffs.

At this point, you’re regretting what you had just told her. You have to leave. You really should but you can’t. Your pants are at your ankles and it would take too long to pull them back up. If you did try to run out with your cock out, you would stumble with your lowered pants and fall.

There was nothing you could do and as you were thinking about it one cuff was already locked on your wrist. Moka jumped on the bed and pulled you to the mattress. Everything happens too quickly. She locks your right wrist on the bedpost and before you know it, she pulls out a second pair of handcuffs and locks your other wrist as well.

You’re now lying on the bed with your arms spread out and locked onto the bed.

Moka is breathing like a wild animal. Her chest rapidly moves up and down and she’s literally drooling.

“I just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t leave,” she says. “I’ve, um… read a lot. Like… a lot a lot. And I… kind of… want to try it all. With you. Is that too much? That’s too much, isn’t it?!”

Moka laughs and takes her shirt off. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”

You do. Your eyes are darting up and down between her small waist and her petite breats. Moka’s body is incredible. It’s slim and yet has incredibly erotic curves. 

Next she removes her pants, revealing her drenched panties. There’s a visibly dark wet spot between her legs, glistening under the room light. Moka quickly takes them off as well, letting a string of her juices follow them down. She was literally dripping wet.

“I want you inside of me,” Moka mumbles. “I can’t think of anything else.” She climbs on the bed and moves towards you on her knees.

She stopped on top of your cock, with her shins pressing down on your thighs. There were drops of her juice falling down to your crotch. 

“Wait, Moka, protection,” you say. You instinctively move but the handcuffs are holding you back.

“There’s no time for that,” she says.

Moka stretches her pussy open, letting you see the wetness that was inside of her. Then she lowers herself. Your penis stretches her open, and she starts moaning. You grit your teeth. Moka is incredibly tight, and you could already feel yourself almost cumming.

Her spin arches as she pushes you deeper into her. She stays there for a moment, letting her pussy clench and spasm around you. 

Moka doesn’t take it slow. As soon as her body accommodates you, she starts riding you fast and hard.  You’re watching her small breasts bounce, seeing her face as she bites her lip in concentration, and you can’t believe this is actually happening. 

The pleasure was intense. Her tightness was excruciating; if it wasn’t for how wet she was, you wouldn’t be able to move inside of her at all. 

Moka can see you struggle with your handcuffs. You had nothing to hold on to. The only way for you to handle the pleasure was to grit your teeth, which was becoming painful at this point. You wanted to grab her. You wanted to feel her body.

“You want me to free you?” Moka says between her moans.

“Yes!” you say.

“Okay, wait,” she mumbles and reluctantly stops riding you. She moves and grabs the key from the table and frees your hands.

As soon as you are free, you grab and push her down to the bed. Moka yelps but she loves it. With her ass up and her back arched, you get a firm grip of her waist and push your penis deep inside her.

Moka screams at the sudden force and moans nonstop as you fuck her roughly. You hammer into her, your balls slapping against her soaked pussy with every thrust. 

From behind you can see her unbelievable grip. Her lips were clenching on your cock, stretching out as you left her pussy, not wanting to let you go. 

“Please please please please,” Moka sobs. She’s lost in the pleasure. “Slap my ass, please!”

You don’t need her to repeat it. Your palm meets the flesh of her ass hard. The sting is sudden, and Moka screams with joy. You slap her again and again until her cheeks become red.

“You like that, slut?”

“Yes, yes, I love it!” Moka screams. “Oh god, yes right there!”

Moka is creaming all over your cock. The mix of your precum and her juice, thanks to the movement of your sex, was frothing a thick white cream, slowly creeping out of her pussy. 

Her body was so delicate and feminine. Her whole body shook with every thrust, her legs trembling as you pounded into her. You want to break her, but her slender body took every blow and made her pussy squeeze you tight. If anything, she was breaking you. Your glutes are burning, but you can’t give up.

Not much longer, you’re both incredibly close. You’re pistoning into her harder and harder. 

“I’m going to cum!” she yells. 

You’re going to cum as well. You want to bury your dick inside of her and pump her uterus full of cum but a second before you blow, something flashes in your mind. The responsibility of a kid, having to drop college, working at a supermarket… you pull out.

You groan as you cum all over her back. Moka rolls her eyes back into her skull and screams as her pussy violently sprays a stream of squirt on the bed. Her body shakes violently as more streams of liquid leave her pussy, drenching everything. 

After her orgasm is over, Moka collapses on the bed. She can’t of anything anymore, her mind is completely blank. You pass out next to her.

It takes her a couple of minutes to come back into the real world when she notices the warmth of her back.

“You came on my back?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you answer weakly.

“What a waste.”

“I didn’t want to get you pregnant.”

“I’ll start taking the pill,” Moka says. “So you can cum inside of me all you want.”

You listen quietly to her words, astonished at how erotic they sound, but more than that, you think about the implication—that there will be a next time. If that’s how amazing she is, you might consider it. It was Moka after all.

“Sorry, I’m kinda awkward, and I’m not used to this stuff…” Moka starts, crouching next to you. There’s a tenderness in her words that you had almost forgotten during the previous session. “I hope you’ll take care of me,” she says sheepishly, “and there’s a lot more stuff we have to try.”

You gulp. What have you gotten yourself into?

-

“Hey, what do you think about this?”