Banana Nut Smuthie

Masterlist [NSFW] K-Pop GG Smut Writer Cum for the smut, stay for the stories

[banananutsmuthie]

Latest Fic: The Naughty List II (ft. STAYC Isa)

Hello! I'm Banana Nut Smuthie (BNS or Banana for short), but you can also call me CJ. I'm in the business of misery: I write smut, not tragedies. I also write code. I was inspired to write by all the kpop gg smut writers before me. I had a couple story ideas and wanted to write about idols that are underrepresented, so here I am. But don't worry, I'll also write about your favorites.

Masterlist here / Mobile Masterlist here. Highly recommend to use desktop/mobile browser since the masterlist has more features than the mobile app version, like real time search, previews, and tags.

Wanna see what I'm working on? Check out my Draft List!

Recommended Reading: Tempur-Pedic (ft. Yeji), Idol Club (ft. Yiren), and Fairytale (ft. Yeri). Idol Club is especially important since it’s referenced in a lot of my stories.

Thanks for reading! Enjoy!

[yieldtotemptation]

VESSEL ft. Ningning

ningning x male reader femdom smut

4k words

i am also now on fanprose

You can't keep coming home to this—close to midnight, front door left swinging open and every light from the entrance to the kitchen switched on. It's fucked up how you're hoping you've been robbed, or that a serial killer is waiting around the corner to put you in the dirt, but instead it's much, much worse.

Ningning, leaning against your fridge, helping herself to a glass of milk.

"You're late," you hear, followed by, "Date went well then?"

Yeah, the best possible thing you could do is ignore her, open your apartment window, and throw yourself out. Or, better yet, pick her up, and toss her instead, or fuck, get your hands around her throat and squeeze—if only you weren't certain that she'd be so happy when you did, that she’d lift an eyebrow, flash that smug grin, all delighted that you've added a new dimension to whatever doomed tangle the two of you are in, and say:

"Didn't know you had it in you."

So you just slump.

Drop your bags, your jacket on the floor—whatever, you'll get to them later. Walk past her, like if you don't acknowledge her existence you can delay the inevitable for a touch longer, stop her from digging any deeper into your brain. But if there's anything you know about Ningning—she has all the patience in the world.

Happy to keep raiding your kitchen, letting the milk sit on her lips, timing it to the exact second you slip up and look her way—then licking it clean with one swipe of her tongue.

You ache more than you'd ever willingly admit.

Not that she'd have any trouble making you.

It’s who she is: Queen of dark corners and thick fucking air that suffocates your lungs. A tiny little nightmare half your size, always one careless glance away from splitting you open like it’s nothing.

She doesn’t even need to try.

Hair a messy shawl down to her shoulders, lips a light pink hue. Traces of eyeshadow, curled lashes, chipped nail polish. She clearly had something far more important to deal with earlier—you're just another box to check off today’s to-do list.

She pushes off your fridge. It’s inhuman. She knows exactly where your eyes will go.

You can’t stop it, you’re staring straight at her tits the moment her body shifts—the tiny crop top clinging snug, doing obscene fucking things to all the soft weight underneath. And below all that, just a scrap of panties. Nothing else. Makes you complicit the second you look.

"Had fun playing hero?" The glass makes a hollow ring when she sets it aside. "Yuha's been blowing up the group chat since you left her—oh, forty minutes ago?"

You freeze when you reach your kitchen island. Lean back, and wait for her to come to you. It’s the only scrap of resistance you can still muster at this point.

"Sounded fun—going to the movies, holding hands in the dark, hugging her close when she got scared. Did you like the outfit she was wearing?"

It only takes one step.

She crowds you against the counter, hands planted on either side of your waist, caging you in. Even her smile is pissing you off. Her top’s cut low, and it hits you like a vision—this exact angle that's been burned behind your eyelids.

One thin strap still clings to that dainty shoulder. The collarbone you’ve licked and sucked and worshipped more times than you can count staring back at you.

And it’s slipping lower still, a small shift and the whole top will give—tits spilling free, nipples begging for your mouth.

She leans in, a whisper sticking against your skin that she stamps in with a kiss. "I helped pick it out for her, you know."

Your breath catches. You groan. You need to move, shove her away, tell her that this needs to end tonight; the guilt, the depravity is a mountain looming over any blackmail she hangs over your head.

But you can't do anything. Not until you have her permission.

Instead your hips twitch towards her, and your cock strains underneath your pants, hitting her belly like a trained dog.

She pushes forward, a shoulder into your sternum, backing you up as far as you can go into the countertop, and reaches down.

Her fingers skate up the inside of your thigh, and the strap of her top drifts down until she's exposed and she doesn't seem to mind at all.

No, she's flawless. Devastating. Pushes her body against yours and her tits are so full and plush and squash against your chest and you need her to fucking stop before—

She squeezes you tight, and you inhale sharp, choking on her scent.

And it fucks you up, because she smells exactly like Yuha.

"Yeah," she says, twisting her wrist, her grip, careless with how she fists your cock, your balls through your slacks. "She let me borrow her perfume as a thank you.”

Ningning leans, grinding the fragrance deeper down your throat.

“Isn't she so nice? Isn't this so nice? You get to think about her while you're with me."

She doesn't expect an answer.

But it drives you mad—she tilts her head so you can see how it clings to her; her throat, her collarbone, her tits. It’s sweet, it’s soft. It’s wrong. It makes your cock throb.

And you'd touch her, reach for her, run your hands over that smooth skin, the soft curves; take a handful of her in your palms and squeeze her right back, twist that nipple and tell her you can dole out the same amount of punishment—but Ningning drives her shoulder into you again, fists clenching around you, and pulls, and it's with deft hands and practiced fingers that your belt clinks open, the button and the zipper fall apart with it.

"Turn around."

For the first time, you manage some small protest. "Yizhuo."

She smiles at that, tricks you into thinking it’s fond. Glances low and yanks down your briefs. Frees your cock and lets it slap against her palm. Hard, throbbing, undeniable evidence of everything she does to you.

And she is—what the fuck is she to you? Your girlfriend's friend. Her senior, her pseudo-older sister.

Your client. Or, your boss.

Or just—she's the person that caught you sneaking around backstage—bored, horny, stupid.

You're the help, security—company’s hired muscle. Already neck-deep in the shit by dating Yuha; and you dug your grave and carved your own tombstone the second Ningning caught you in their dressing room—panties smothered over your face, cock in your fist, chasing a peak you couldn’t quite summit.

That was the first time you gave her everything she wanted.

She was smiling then too. Like she'd been waiting for the excuse.

She looks back up at you, fixated on your lips.

"Yizhuo?" She mocks you, and reaches up with her other hand, pressing it to your lips. You let her in, as easy as you let her into your home, let her force two fingers in until you gag, until she has you choking on her digits when they tickle the back of your throat.

She twists her fingers in your mouth, has you drooling down them, leaving them slick with your own spit.

And then she drags them out, pulls the strings of your saliva down to your cock, and runs her hand over it in one, decisive, torturous pump.

"Yizhuo is what my friends call me," she says, taking you from head to base, and slathering the underside, underneath your balls. "Are we friends now?"

You choke down another breath when she starts to stroke, achingly slow, always patient. You buckle under her gaze and it has you confessing, "No."

"I didn't think so," she tuts. "Don't make me repeat myself again. Turn around."

Ningning steps away, gives you just enough room to move. To show her your back, make yourself vulnerable to her.

Let her know she could do anything at all and you'd just take it.

And it's fucking embarrassing when she reaches around and finds you so humiliatingly hard. You know the look on your face must be even worse, because Ningning's laughing.

"My, my, my," she says, clicking her tongue against her teeth as she gets the full measure of you. Taking her time—she needs it to navigate the length of you—revelling in every second. "So hard already? You look so ridiculous in my hand."

And then:

"This would snap tiny, pretty Yuha in half," and it does its job, provokes you, but every chance of resistance is drained from you when she wrenches her hand tight and takes your cock rough from base to tip. "How nice of me, doing both of you a favour."

Your knuckles go white against the counter, there's plenty you could do, but with Ningning all you can ever manage is brace yourself—ride it out, let her have her way.

She keeps herself busy, crafting slow, deliberate strokes. Getting off on this, her skin so deliriously hot against you, burning, like she knows—knows if she twists her grip like this she can rip out something raw from your throat; knows if she rushes her palm down it'll make you hiss through your teeth.

And she knows if she squeezes and pumps you fast—filling your kitchen with these slick, messy noises, this rhythmic schlick-schlick-schlick—you'll call her name again and she'll have to bite into your shoulder and warn you: "What did I say about calling me Yizhuo?"

You close your eyes. It's just a hand—it could be any other girl, you spend your days in proximity of so many of them.

"I'm the only one for you," she tells you, finishing a thought you didn't realise she could hear. "No other girl would know how to use you right."

She pulls a moan out of you when she palms your tip, smearing the beads there, before gliding her hand down—and you hate that it sounds like an affirmation.

"They wouldn’t even know where to start,” she continues on, steady torment. “They’d need you to teach them, guide their small hands, be their first big strong man.”

You open your eyes, catching her other hand tugging your pants down and under your ass; your shirt’s already unbuttoned, dropping down your shoulders and leaving your chest bare, free for her nails to mark up and dig into.

"Yuha sure as hell expects that." She laughs again and it's evil and she's on her toes now, sucking something hard into the line of your throat—and it's going to leave a mark, something you won't be able to hide, will need to explain away to your girlfriend, to the other girls, to the company in the morning, but that's the last thing in your mind when Ningning adds her teeth and makes it hurt.

"Fuck," spills out, and you're seething, seeing red, gripping into the counter so hard you could make a dent.

"You love it." She kisses into your new scar, soothes you, the sick kind of tenderness only she can grant, and it makes you bend into her, lets her fold her body over yours, and her words hit you like a healing balm, the feeling of her body slotting over yours, enveloping warmth, tits slick with sweat squashed against your back, leg hooking around your knee like she's trying to crawl inside you, lips so close to yours and reflex has you turning to meet them.

"Please."

"Just this once," she tells you, and you’re so thankful when the pace of her hand builds, and her nails start to draw a circle around your nipple, and you twist your head far enough that she can breathe in every sigh and pained gasp she drags out of you before swallowing it all in a kiss.

She leads it with her tongue, and you're falling into her, into her grip, into her mouth, into the soft wet of her lips against yours, and there's so much she's doing, forcing on you—pumping, squeezing hard, pinching, twisting your nipple, and there's something in this that you want to deny so much: her control, her promise of where she can take you, it feels so good now, she can make it feel even better later.

Until she bites into your bottom lip, and you’re tasting copper, and she pulls away.

"Baby," she says, with a last, messy peck on your chin, the strands of saliva hanging there, another binding she has on you. "You're so pathetic."

You groan when she gets close, thigh brushing the back of yours, knee splitting between your legs to keep you spread open. Grinding herself into you, forcing you still with a single hand wrapped around you, and you can hear how hot both of you are—the squelch of your spit, your slick making your cock all glossy.

Her fingers tighten—just enough to make your knees buckle. And she builds, this aching pace, she knows the rhythm, knows how to make your skin crawl.

"You're a pervert, a filthy degenerate," she lists off, breath scalding the shell of your ear. "Bet you were sweet and gentle with Yuha on your little date. Calling her baby, telling her how pretty she looks in that dress. Kissed her like a good boyfriend would."

You wouldn’t dare, it’d be fucking audacious, to read anything into it—believe there’s a twinge of jealousy there, envy at her own junior. Pure disaster. Your brain’s already too fried to untangle the implications of that anyway.

"Tell me, tell me how good you were to her," she says, and she twists on your nipple again, pierces you with her nails. "Or were you too distracted counting down the minutes until you could come crawling home to me."

"I was good," you rasp; you're barely keeping it together. There's no hiding anything now—your body, your moans, it all betrays you any time you try to do anything other than what she wants—and if that wasn't enough it's the sound of her stroking you, so goddamn loud it rings in your ears and laughs at your whines. "I am good to her."

She punishes you with these fast, brutal strokes, and snaps, "Liar. How can you say that when you love this so much?"

"I—"

But you can't finish, Ningning gives your nipple one last tug and slides her hand around your body, dragging a nail down your lower back, engraving a path that ends right at your ass, between your cheeks.

"Yizh—"

"That's the third time," she grunts, and pushes her finger against the tight ring of your asshole. "The third time you've tried to call me by my name. But that's not what you get to call me, is it?"

Something raw, something that doesn't belong to you surges from your throat when she pushes, finger tight against your rim, and it's just a fingertip inside but it has your knees banging against the marble in front of you and you're not sure what hurts worse but you're absolutely sure of what feels best.

"Don't say another fucking word, unless it's the one I want to hear," she says, and she's grinding herself harder against your leg, fucking herself on your thigh, soaked panties dragging hot and slippery over your skin. She's so warm, like a sick, twisted embrace and through the corner of your eye you can see her—the delirious grin on her face, the violent delight she's taking from you and you can't help but think it:

She's so gorgeous.

Ningning pushes until she's knuckle-deep inside you, your whole world narrowing to this single point. It’s sharp, burning, before melting into something disgustingly good as she curls it, squeezing that spot that rips the word out of you like it was always waiting underneath your tongue:

"Mommy."

And she chuckles, twists her finger, driving it all the way in, forcing you to fuck yourself deeper into her hand.

"Mommy, it's—"

"I know," she kisses it into your neck, licks it across your cheek, tastes the tears that you can't stop leaking from the corner of your eyes. "Mommy's got you."

She fucks you like this—like there's no time left, like either of you might drop dead any second now so there's only this—fucking your ass like it's the light at the end of the tunnel, having you fuck her hand just the same.

“This is all you’re good for, isn’t it?” Her breath hitches, she pants against you, wet, parted lips sliding across your cheek. “Being a good slut, a fucktoy for your Mommy, isn’t that right?”

And you’re already so far gone, air’s going thin, it’s getting worse with every press, and she just keeps pushing deeper, punishing you into this merciless pace.

“All of this—all of you. Your cock, your tight little asshole—mine, mine, mine—say it.”

“Yes—fuck—it’s yours—it’s yours—” You’re whining, exhaling hard with every stroke, there’s nowhere else to go, just do your best to tell her whatever she wants to hear. “Always been yours.”

And it's pressure building, cooking inside of you, the marks she left on you, the pain you'll remember—blood in your mouth, your shoulder, red on your chest, blooming around your asshole, she's fucking banging you into the counter now, and whatever squeeze your ass has on her finger she's matching around your cock.

"Come on, baby, just for me," she coos, and you try to close your eyes but her voice stops you in place—"Don't look away—look me in the eyes, so I can see you. See who you really are—a filthy boy who gets off on getting broken by his Mommy."

So you look, stare, see that glassy wash of pure joy, the hunger there, how she's living for this, dominating, being in control of you, punishing you with this ruthless, this rough, this brutal kind of fucking.

“Nothing will ever make you feel as good as me. You want me to make you feel so good, don’t you? Suck your worthless cock. Fuck every drop of cum out of you—take every single inch,” Ningning tells you so easily, sincerely, like it’s already planned, destined, it’s all in the cards, and—“I can do it for you, baby, I can do it all.”

She shoves her whole body into your back, fucking her finger deeper; it’s insane, all of it—her digit curling inside your ass, stretching you out, finding all sorts of angles to exploit.

“I’ve got a surprise. Mommy’s got a gift for you. A nice, big toy. A brand new cock. I’ll show my cute little slut how to really fuck.”

That makes you cry out something guttural, makes your cock throb painfully in her grip, another thick bead of you sliding over her knuckles.

“You'd love that, wouldn’t you? Love to have Mommy ruin your tight, tiny asshole. Stretch it out wide.” Ningning bites it into your ear, “Greedy.”

“Yes—please—Mommy—fuck—please—” You’re sputtering, it’s all too much, a miracle you’re still somehow coherent, just repeating the same begs, the same pleas, the same prayers because you're feeling it—feeling her everywhere. “Please—my ass—I can’t take it—”

And that's your excuse—your out, this is all just a bodily reaction, inbuilt instinct, natural chemistry, biology, whatever the fuck.

She's stroking every sensitive nerve of your cock; fucking you deep, reaching mind-numbing points you could never dream to find yourself each time she invades your asshole and god, Jesus, fuck, Mommy, she's forcing a second finger inside you, splitting you open raw and—

"Cum for me, cum on my finger, cum all over Mommy’s hand, do it for me—now."

Maybe it's not so bad that it feels so fucking good to not be ashamed, not try to hide, you can embrace who you really are around her.

Maybe it’s right to listen to her—do what she says, tell her you’ll be good and obedient for her; your body’s already ahead of you, so, so close, every nerve of yours in a chorus of agreement with how she’s fucking you.

It's for the best—it's what you need—let her have her way, let her call you her bitch, her slut, her tight, perfect hole, let her get deep in your guts, let her pull every shameful drop of cum from your cock—it's protection, it's your job, that's what it is.

You're protecting Yuha, protecting your relationship, so it's fine, it's okay, it’s okay, she can fuck you like this, make you cum, and later when she swallows your cock whole and rides you until you’re screaming, and rails your ass with her strap until you’re in tears and cumming all over her cock, you’ll be good, it’ll be over, because it's not like you need her, not like you need your—

"Mommy, I’m going to cum!"

“So cum then.”

It's a split second, like a gunshot—hot searing pain firing through your body and tearing a hole right through you—and it must look the same, it's written all over Ningning's face, hanging off the tilt of her plush lips.

All of a sudden: you're gushing, spewing cum all over her hand, shooting past her grip and her fingers go deep inside you and you're hitting the marble, splashing all over, across the bench, serving dessert for Ningning on the same counter you've prepared so many dinners for Yuha on so many nights before.

Ningning’s all over you, her full weight on you, she's been moaning in your ear this whole time, chewing up your lobe, tonguing inside, she's in your ass, she's in your fucking head, flooding your mind, telling you:

"That's it,” she coos, the praise dripping straight into the mess she’s made of you, “Keep going, keep going for Mommy, my good boy—"

And you’re gone.

It's splatter after splatter of cum across the counter, and she's pushing you into it and you would be face-first in your own release but you're somehow able to keep yourself propped up.

You cry for your Mommy one last broken, wrecked time—and everything blurs into a flash of white—painting the counter, your stomach, your open shirt, Ningning's hand.

She doesn't stop. Milks you through every pulse until your thighs shake and you're not sure you can stand on your own anymore—and you're leaning on her for support, whimpering into her shoulder, oversensitive, over-fucking-whelmed, spent dry.

Only then does she ease up.

You sob when her fingers leave your ass. Groan when her hand pulls back from your cock.

She looks at the mess, the art she's made.

Leaves you to collapse in your own heap over the counter next to it. Catch your breath.

And then she takes a small step to the right, leans forward over the counter, bending low—and drags her tongue up the island in one, long scoop. Taking care to collect every single drop, every spurt you had, getting it all on her tongue, slow and thorough, and you just lie there, heaving, cock still twitching, ass still flexing open and close, staring, hooked on her.

She takes her time, tongue dragging slow, savouring it, leaving not a single inch of the counter unclean. Reclaiming every drop you wasted on anything that isn’t her.

Then, she drops to her knees, licks a long stripe up your cock, runs a finger under your balls, over the twitching shaft, wringing out the last pathetic beads that never reached the marble.

Ningning rises, presses her cum-slick lips to your chest, slurps the rest off your skin, and hums the entire time, like it's Sunday cleaning, like you're her furniture she's putting back in order.

And when she finally gets to her feet, towering over you, eyes on yours, lips sealed shut, you realise she’s kept it all, every single drop—hasn’t swallowed once, holding it all just for this. For you.

For a second, you wait.

You open your mouth.

She drools your cum inside.

Globs of it, sticking to the inside of your mouth, salty-sweet, making you cough, gag, filling up your head with the scent of you, but you can't do anything about it because she's taking you by the chin and kissing you before you can breathe.

It's hard, it's full of her tongue, full of your cum, it's—it’s so fucking hot. It’s dirty. Almost loving. She makes you feel it, fastens her body to yours, has you collapsing to the ground and she straddles you so easily, so naturally, and it feels so right and good that it has you swelling angrily against her and you’re finding new ways to hate her all over again.

She takes your hand, fills it with her pretty tits and squeezes your palm against her, mewling into your mouth when you find a nipple and twist.

Rolling her hips against your cock, she's fucking drenched, cunt drooling all over you, and you’re bucking up to meet her, struggling against the lace she's left on but you think if you try hard enough you can rip straight through.

Her hands are in the back of your hair, and she's pulling, tugging, wrenching you closer, breathing all of you in and sucking every drop of cum back into her mouth before pushing it down your throat with her tongue and making you swallow it all.

You know what she's declaring, loud and clear.

She could have you anytime, anywhere, any way she wants.

And when she's done, she slides her lips off yours, down your cheek, to your ear and tells you what you already know.

"You're disgusting."

She breaks away, stands tall. Peels her top off her body, tosses it onto the counter. It never mattered. Steps out of her panties without breaking her stride, rounding the island, hips swaying down the hallway towards your bedroom.

You hear her when she’s out of sight, "Do you need me to say it?"

You’re scrambling to your knees. You’re not sure if you'll make it to your feet.

You'll crawl if you have to.

"I'm coming, Mommy—"

"Crawl faster, baby. Mommy’s cunt isn’t going to fuck itself."

[banananutsmuthie]

Season 3 when🙈🙈

I'm going to have a lot more time real soon to dedicate to my hobbies

[banananutsmuthie]

The Naughty List II

Idol(s): Isa [STAYC]

Word Count: 3.4k+ words

Previous Story in Series: The Naughty List

A/N: Happy Isa Day! A "collab" with @ggidolsmuts who approached me with this piece a year ago and hard carried.

Isa belongs on the naughty list, and she knows it.

“Hey, Isa!”

“Happy holidays, babe!” She sinks into your embrace. Isa’s lips are cool against yours—brief, sweet, with a hint of gingerbread lip balm she’s testing for the holidays—before she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. Work commitments meant the two of you had to spend the holidays apart, and only now do you finally get to hold her again.

“I missed you,” she says, and you can tell how much she means it the way her hug nearly suffocates you.

“Me too.” You tighten your arms around her waist, bringing her closer, feeling every little crevice of Isa’s warm, sensual body. You definitely miss all of this.

“Did Santa get me anything this year?” And without missing a beat, there’s that playful Isa, the kind of playfulness that gets you kicked out of places you have no business being.

“Hmm, let me think.” You pretend to consider it seriously, reeling her in, watching that smirk on her face deepen when you ask, “Are you still on the naughty list?”

“I swear I’ve been a good girl,” Isa whispers, her hand sliding from your neck down to your chest, fingertips pressing gently. “And I think I deserve a big present this year for being so good.”

The suggestion hangs between you for a moment, tempting. You grin. “A good girl? Pretty sure getting banned from that church puts you firmly on the naughty list.” You brush a strand of hair from her face. “But I suppose I could take you shopping. Give you a chance at redemption.”

“Perfect.” She laughs, bright and knowing. “You can buy the present you forgot to get me.”

“I didn’t forget,” you whisper against her ear. “In fact, the mall would be the perfect place to test drive it.”

She goes still for a just a moment, and you watch those wheels turn, trying to figure out what kind of car you bought her. When she finally figures it out, her smile turns wicked.

“You’re so bad.” She pushes you away, but there’s no real force behind it.

“You love it.”

Half an hour later, the two of you are at your local mall. Isa’s arm loops through yours as you step onto the escalator, her grip tighter than usual. Your gift is exactly where she put it, and the app controlling it is pulled up on your phone in your pocket. From the flush still on her cheeks, the reality of what you’re doing is setting in.

“Don’t start off too strong,” she warns cautiously, glancing around. “Wouldn’t want to get banned from your mall too.”

“That’s on you, babe.” You thumb the control up one setting in the app.

Her fingers dig into your arm immediately, nails pressing through your sleeve as a soft sound catches in her throat. You can feel her trying to keep her expression neutral, failing just slightly. After a moment, you ease it back down to a low hum, just enough to keep her aware, wanting.

You walk with her through a few floors of window shopping, though neither of you is looking at the post-holiday sales. You’re watching her: the way her step stutters when you shift the pattern, the way she has to pause every few steps to gather herself, the way her thighs press together ever so slightly. From behind, you even catch her thighs jiggle from the most intense setting.

When you switch to pulsing, she goes tense and jittery, her steps cautious, bracing for each wave. “You’re—” she starts, then bites her lip as another pulse rolls through. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“So are you.”

Isa doesn’t respond, just bites her lip and keeps walking, though you notice she’s leaning more heavily against you now. You let her have a few minutes of peace as you drift through the second floor, past shoppers carrying bags and couples browsing sales racks.

Then you turn it up without warning, not pulsing this time, but steady and insistent.

Her knees nearly buckle. She grips your arm hard enough to bruise, a strangled sound dying in her throat as she tries to keep walking. You can see the exact moment her resolve breaks.

“We should take a look here!” She practically yanks you toward the nearest boutique, voice too bright, too urgent. Inside, she grabs the first dress she sees, doesn’t even glance at the size or style, and makes a beeline for the dressing rooms, pulling you along behind her.

The door barely clicks shut before she’s on you.

“Please.” She’s kissing you with desperate intensity, hands already fumbling for your pockets, for the phone controlling the vibrator. “Fuck me now or make me cum. I can’t take this anymore!”

You catch her wrists, holding them gently but firmly, grinning against her mouth. “Can’t take what?”

“You.” Her voice breaks on the word. “Stop playing with me.”

“But you look so good when you’re like this.” You brush a strand of hair from her flushed face, watching her eyes darken with frustration and need.

“I swear to god—”

“What? You’ll add me to your naughty list?” You’re enjoying this too much, the way she’s trembling, the way she’s looking at you like she might actually combust if you don’t touch her soon.

She makes a sound between a laugh and a whimper. “Please. I’m begging you. I’ve been a good girl all day.”

And there it is—the thing you’ve been waiting for. That complete surrender.

“Well,” you say softly, spinning her around to face the mirror, pressing yourself against her back. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Your hips press flush against her soft and juicy cheeks, and she gasps, her hands bracing against the mirror. You slide your hand up her thigh, under her skirt, fingers hooking into her panties. When you finally touch her, she’s absolutely drenched.

“Fuck,” you breathe against her ear. “You really couldn’t take it anymore, could you? Naughty girl.”

The sound of your zipper is sharp in the small space—loud, but not out of place in a dressing room.

“Stay quiet.” Isa covers her own mouth, nodding desperately. You watch her hand curl into a fist against the mirror as you push inside her, and nothing but a shaky exhale escapes as she takes you deep.

She’s tight, wet, perfectly desperate—and you hold there for just a moment, watching her reflection, the way her eyes flutter closed in relief, her warm breath fogging up the mirror.

Then you pull out completely.

“What—” She whirls around, eyes wide with betrayal and confusion, but you catch her hips before she can say anything else.

“I just wanted to get the vibrator deeper into you,” you whisper into her ear as you reach between her legs. You shift the vibrator slightly, angling it more deliberately, and her breath hitches as it settles right against her g-spot. “There we go.”

Her knees buckle immediately. She grabs the door handle for support, a desperate whimper trapped behind her teeth as she fights not to cum on the spot. You watch her for a few seconds, trembling, flushed, right there, and at the moment just before she’s about to cum, you turn it off.

“No,” she breathes, looking at you with something close to hatred. “You didn’t—”

“Come on.” You zip up and help steady her, grinning at her glare. She glances down at the dress still crumpled on the floor, then back at you.

“Should we...”

“Leave it.” You’re already guiding her toward the door. “Unless you want to explain why it needs dry cleaning.”

Her face flushes deeper, but she doesn’t argue.

Outside the dressing room, she clings to your arm, legs still unsteady. “It’s so deep now,” she complains. Like it’s an inconvenience. Like she doesn’t secretly enjoy it. But she’s not fooling anyone:

Isa belongs on the naughty list, and you know it.

“I thought you liked it deep.” You turn the vibrator on again and her reaction is immediate, eyelids fluttering—she can’t help but savor the feeling, she’s so close! But no, you turn it off right away, and her eyes are glazed over, still seeing the paradise that’s just out of reach. “Come on, let’s go to the cafe.”

The cafe is busy enough that no one notices how carefully Isa lowers herself into her chair, or the way she shifts her weight, trying to find a position that doesn’t press the vibrator deeper. Your coffee is half-finished. Hers sits untouched, ice slowly melting. The cake between you might as well not exist.

You scroll through your phone casually, but you can feel her staring—tracking every movement of your thumb across the screen, wondering which swipe is going to be the next to turn her present back on.

Her foot slides up your calf under the table. Slow. Deliberate. Pleading.

You don’t look up.

“You should drink your coffee,” you say mildly, still scrolling. “Ice is melting.”

She makes a small frustrated sound but reaches for the cup. The moment she brings it to her lips, you turn the vibrator on.

Her hand jerks. Coffee sloshes over the rim, splashing onto her white blouse as she barely swallows back a moan. She grabs a napkin, pressing it to her mouth with one hand while frantically dabbing at the stain with the other. Under the table, her leg shoots out—whether intentionally or not—and catches you square in the shin.

You turn it off.

She glares at you over the napkin, chest rising and falling too quickly, eyes glassy with desperation. There’s a flush high on her cheeks that has nothing to do with embarrassment. The coffee stain spreads across her blouse, dark against white.

She looks absolutely wrecked. And you’re not done yet. Maybe you can push her just a little more.

“Tch, look at that stain.” You signal for a to-go box, keeping your expression sympathetic. “Guess we should head home so you can change.”

Isa doesn’t say a word as she follows you to the car. She slides into the passenger seat stiffly, carefully, and you catch the way her breath hitches as she settles.

You start the car, pulling out your phone as if to set the navigation. Instead, you open the app.

The moment you turn the vibrator on, her whole body tenses. Her head falls back against the headrest, lips parting on a silent gasp.

“Buckle up,” you say casually, pulling out of the parking spot.

“Ah! O-oppa!” Her hand shoots to the grab handle, white-knuckled.

“You can deal with it a little longer, right? It’s on the lowest setting.”

The drive back should take fifteen minutes. You’re not sure she’ll last five.

“Can’t we just—” Her voice breaks. “Can’t we pull over? Take a break?”

“And do what?” You glance at her, catching the flush on her cheeks, the way her thighs press together. “You want me to pull into some parking lot and fuck you in the backseat? Make the whole car bounce?”

“Yes,” she breathes, no hesitation.

“Or maybe bend you over the console right here? Let anyone walking by see how desperate you are?” You’re not unaffected yourself: the bulge in your jeans proves that, but watching her fall apart is too good to rush.

“Please.” She’s barely holding it together, squirming in her seat, eyes unfocused. Her expression says she’s only thinking about the hum of the vibrator in her, sending pleasure crawling up her spine. She just needs to wait a little longer, and you’ll give her what she wants. Get her off the naughty list and then get her off.

“We’re almost there. You can wait.”

“I can’t—I’m so close—”

You signal and turn into her apartment complex, but instead of heading straight to her building, you pull sharply into a parking spot and cut the engine.

The sudden stop jostles her forward against the seatbelt, and that’s all it takes.

“Wait—no—ah!” Her concentration shatters. She curls against the door, thighs trembling, hands scrabbling uselessly at the seatbelt as the orgasm crashes through her. She’s trapped there, forced to ride it out, and you watch every second of it.

Just as her breathing starts to even out, you pull out your phone and turn the vibrator to its highest setting.

“No!” Her hand flies to your thigh, squeezing hard enough to bruise as a second orgasm tears through her. Her head slams back against the headrest, and the sound she makes drags out of her like the grinding of wheel rims over a road, sparks flying and frying her brain as she cums again.

You let her shake through it before finally turning it off.

She slumps in her seat, head hanging forward, chest heaving. Completely wrecked in the best way possible.

“Come on,” you say, pocketing your phone. “We’re here.”

“Where...” She blinks slowly, looking around like she’s just waking up. When she realizes you’re in her apartment parking lot—that you orchestrated this exact moment—her eyes narrow. “You did that on purpose.”

“Maybe.” You’re already out of the car, coming around to open her door. “Come on.”

She tries to stand and immediately has to grab the car door for support. “Can you—” Her voice is hoarse. “Can you turn it off? Please?”

You’re already walking toward the building entrance.

“Just a little longer. You can make it, can’t you?”

She stares at you, legs shaking, then shakes her head firmly and leans back against the car, refusing to move.

You stop, turning back with a grin. She looks absolutely mutinous, and absolutely destroyed.

“Fine,” you say, and there’s just a flicker of relief in her expression even though her thighs are still pressed tightly together, trembling. You walk back toward her slowly, pulling out your phone like you’re about to give her mercy.

“Walk slower, why don’t you?” Isa’s voice drips with sarcasm, but it’s undercut by the way she’s gripping the car door for support.

You stop right in front of her, close enough that she can see your screen. Her eyes track your thumb as it hovers over the app.

Then you drop to your knees.

“What are you—”

Your hand slides between her legs, and before she can finish the thought, two fingers push inside her. Isa’s still so wet, pussy still humming along to the pulsating vibrator deep in her.

“Oppa!” Her voice pitches up in shock.

“I’m just going to take it out,” you say, perfectly casual.

“T-Turn it off first, mmh!” But you’re already reaching deep, fingers searching for the vibrator. When you find it, instead of pulling it out immediately, you pinch it between two fingers and shift it around, rubbing it deliberately against her walls.

“Oh my god!” She gasps, one hand flying to your shoulder for balance. With you manipulating the toy directly like this, it’s even more intense. The warmth of embarrassment and pleasure floods her system as the reality hits: she’s getting fingerfucked in a parking lot, and she’s about to cum.

“Mmh!” She bends forward over you, both hands gripping your shoulders now as you finally extract the vibrator, but not before dragging it directly over her clit on the way out.

The sensation destroys her. All the air leaves her lungs in a silent gasp, and she collapses against you, legs giving out completely. She trembles and twitches over your shoulder, the evidence of her climax already trickling down her thighs.

With your free hand, you switch the toy off and slip it into your pocket. Then, in one smooth motion, you hoist Isa over your shoulder like Santa carrying his sack of toys—except this time, your only delivery is to yourself.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” you say, heading toward the building entrance with your thoroughly wrecked girlfriend draped over your shoulder.

“P-put me down,” Isa mumbles as you open the door to her apartment.

“Oh, now you’re embarrassed? Not any time before that?” You lay her down on her bed, straddling her and starting to take your clothes off.

“God I can’t believe you made me cum in my own carpark!”

“It’s fine, it’s not like they can ban you from the premises.”

“Fine, if I get kicked out I’m living with you!” Isa’s taken off her own top, and she’s teasing you as she reaches behind her back to undo her bra. It’s easy for her, like she does this everywhere and anywhere with you. In a church. In a photo booth. And on rare occasions, her bedroom. “Now can you please give it to me, I’ve been such a good girl haven’t I?” She dangles the bra in front of you before dropping it, revealing herself to you.

“Yes you have, and yes I will.” Your lips meet her breasts, enveloping her tits, one at a time, flicking your tongue up and down.

“God, you’re so good,” she says, and you feel her tits hardening at your playful tongue. Isa takes the opportunity to kick her panties off before pulling you up for a kiss, hands working on your pants.

“I can’t wait to see what Santa has in store for me.” As soon as you’re naked, Isa lifts her skirt playfully, thighs splayed open for you in invitation, pussy dripping from all her juices. You can’t wait another second. Isa’s spread out beneath you, still trembling from the carpark, and when she curls her beckoning finger at you, you’re done holding back. You push into her in one smooth thrust until there’s nothing left between you.

“Oh fuck!” She arches into you. “That’s so much better than your stupid vibrator!”

“You don’t like my present?” you growl, mock-offended, and slam into her hard. You can’t help yourself—she feels too good, her body still slick and sensitive from multiple orgasms, taking you so easily.

“No! I just—fuck—I like this more, it’s so good.”

You start to move, quickening the pace, and the sounds she makes drive you wild. As your own groans mix with hers, Isa begins to babble incoherently, her thoughts dissolving with each thrust. Her thighs shake, her breasts bounce with every impact, and watching her come apart beneath you, everything you love about Isa’s juiciness on full display for you, makes you fuck her even harder.

“I love your cock babe, it’s so—hnngh—big!” Isa squeals as you reach deeper than the vibrator did, your throbbing serving to “vibrate” parts of her that weren’t stimulated earlier, driving her into lunatic ecstasy.

“G-get me a dildo that size, I want it in me when we go out, ah!”

“What happened to being embarrassed?”

Isa’s whining now. “I don’t care, it’ll make me want the real thing, please please please! You can fuck me in public, maybe another church even, and then you can shove it back in me to keep me stuffed!”

“So fucking naughty!”

“I like being on your naughty list, feels so good to be on your naughty list!” You leave a hickey on her breast as you kiss her harshly, and Isa pushes you into her chest, whining as she asks for more. As you savor the softness of her chest you’re getting even harder inside her, unable to hold back much like Isa couldn’t earlier.

“Fuck I’m so close!”

“Fill me up, please! I’m going to cum!”

You come hard, buried deep, and lose count of the pulses—one gift for every day apart, filling her completely. She clenches around you greedily, her body milking you for even more presents to fill her personal stocking. The two of you are wrapped together when you finally finish, arms and legs tangled in a heated kiss.

“So,” she breathes, “did I earn my way off the naughty list?”

You grin. “Not even close.”

“Good.” She pulls you into a lazy kiss, already smiling against your mouth.

“Happy holidays, babe.”

“It finally feels like the holidays now.” Isa sighs, settling against your chest.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhm. You, me, in bed...” Her hand slides down your stomach. “Lots of celebrating to do.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“That was celebrating me staying on the naughty list.” She’s already stroking you, and you can feel yourself hardening again in her grip. “Now we should celebrate making sure I never leave it.”

She swings a leg over you, and you can feel your cum still leaking down her thighs as she straddles you.

“Look at the mess you made,” you murmur, fingers tracing the wet trails on her skin. “You really do belong there.”

When she sinks down onto you, you both moan into the kiss. You tug at her bottom lip, making her a promise:

“We’ll make up a few more holidays to celebrate tonight.”

Isa belongs on the naughty list, and she’s never leaving it.

[banananutsmuthie]

I just discovered that Elite 4 short smut and I just gotta say, Bravo

what can I say; sometimes you get an idea for a dumb, pun-ny smut and you gotta experiment. Thanks for checking it out. I definitely would've also passed out on Mina :)

[banananutsmuthie]

Good to see you back

Can't say how many times I've gone back to read your yena fic

Thank you kind sir

I swear, there's just something about Yena that can make any man go feral

[banananutsmuthie]

Welcome back! Hoping you can write more RV in the future. Your Wendy fic is still my all time fave. Can’t wait to read your future fics as time passes by.

Thank you, kind reader! The Beginner's Guide to Great-Looking Abs in Just 10 Minutes was one of my favorites to write just because of how differently you have to approach writing a fic in the imperative mood. I'm glad you enjoyed reading it! Now hopefully if Red Velvet could just come back soon so I can be inspired to write another RV fic :)

[banananutsmuthie]

omg new fic!

im one of the readers that you sent your stickers back then, still here!

Day one BNS readers know. Good to know there's still some readers from that era! Thanks for waiting for my return <3

[banananutsmuthie]

Do my eyes deceive me?👀 And what do you mean 3 years?! 😩

I am also hungry for hanwoo

Dubu has been 🍞. Timeline is now complete.

The Lollapallooza fit went hard, but then you tell me she has a kiss scene AND a bed scene in her acting roles? This is definitely not 2021 dubu that I remember.

Then there’s that ass. God, that ass. I swear that thing should only exist in fairytales. It’s a magic carpet ride kind of ass. A tell me, princess, now when did you last let a cock inside kind of ass. Whole new world ass! And ain’t a more fantastic point of view.

[banananutsmuthie]

Haven't read your new fic yet (the tab is open), but this is probably more important anyway: welcome back to fic writing :)

-🥦

Hi Broc,

Thanks for the welcome!

(using your ask to reintroduce myself)

A Reintroduction

For those who don't know me, hello! I'm banananutsmuthie (aka BNS or Nana). I was a writer during the COVID era but had stopped writing for the last 3 years. More recently, I am known as the creator of BNS Draft, a fun little game I made for one of the writer discord servers where you draft idols and claim them as your bias over other users. Many of your favorite Tumblr writers at one point have played!

Anyway, I'm back. Who knows for how long but I definitely have more fics in the works. It's been a long time though, so if you've debuted in the last three years, forgive me if I am not yet following you; I'm hoping we'll meet soon. And to anyone who sent me an ask over the weekend, I'll be getting to them eventually.

See you all again soon!

[banananutsmuthie]

Must Be This Big to Ride

Idol(s): Dahyun [TWICE]

Word Count: 8.9k words

A/N: 3 years to the day since my last fic. Hello again!

Dahyun is a dream girl.

The kind of dream where she doesn’t need to say a single word for you to follow her. She’s Kim freakin’ Dahyun. Of course you’d follow her anywhere.

The kind of dream you tell your friends. They’d say, Bullshit, how are you with her? And to be fair, you’re not sure either. A girl like her shouldn’t even exist in the same plane as a guy like you. They’d have to rewrite the laws of physics.

And yet, here she is with you.

It’s a warm summer evening. Too warm. You’d prefer the date continue somewhere with AC—like her bedroom—but after dinner, Dahyun begs to go to the pier instead. Sure, why not, you tell her. Because you like sex and making Dahyun happy gets you sex, but also because being out in public makes whatever-this-is look less like a secret and more like something you’re allowed to have.

Something real.

She hasn’t referred to you as the “b-word” yet. You know the one. But being out in public like this pretty much makes it official.

“You’d think my boyfriend would learn to keep up, not like my legs are that long,” she mutters.

And there it is. Boyfriend. She says it like it’s no big deal, like she’s been saying it for months, but you’re absolutely checking that off your Dating Dahyun bingo card.

Oh, so I’m your boyfriend now?

One word. That’s all it takes. Now she’s got you adding a bounce to your step with the stupidest, silliest smile that hurts your cheeks. Like a kid on a trampoline. Like an idiot.

Dahyun doesn’t acknowledge your stupid grin. Just keeps walking toward the end of the pier like she’s bound by Newton’s First Law.

Are you coming or not?

It’s not like she even needs to ask, but in case you need a reminder: that woman right there is Kim freakin’ Dahyun. Of course you’d follow her anywhere.

Here’s the thing: you tell her you’ll stay a couple steps behind so the would-be paparazzi won’t ruin an otherwise fine date—which is partially true—but you’re sure as hell not passing up the view. Her hips. Her ass. The whole package.

See, the thing about Dahyun is that when the weather is hot, Dahyun is hotter. Likes to wear these little nothing tops and barely-there bottoms now that it’s summer. It’s comfortable, she says. And she won’t admit it, but she loves having all these eyes on her. She does it for you almost as much as she does it for herself, which makes her even sexier.

She’s wearing this white crop top with a zipper in the front—practically a sports bra—that leaves nothing to the imagination. Completely wrong for Mingles in Gangnam, where the hanwoo costs more than your rent, but she’s Kim Dahyun and no one’s going to tell her shit. You call them titty covers when she’s not around, because that’s all they do: cover her tits and barely even manage that.

Not that you’re complaining.

Beyond that, Dahyun is braless. You didn’t know this until dinner. Mingles had the AC on full blast, arctic cold, and biology did what biology does. You tried to play it cool. Focus on your hanwoo. On what she was saying about her comeback schedule. You really tried.

But then you got an idea.

Have a bite of my steak, you kept telling her. Just an excuse to watch her lean across the table, to get that full view down her top. No bra, gravity doing its work, and you’re trying to see everything without being obvious about it. You’re certain if you stared long enough you could’ve mapped every centimeter.

Then there’s that ass. God, that ass. You swear that thing should only exist in fairytales. It’s a magic carpet ride kind of ass. A tell me, princess, now when did you last let a cock inside kind of ass. Whole new world ass! And ain’t a more fantastic point of view.

But looking wasn’t enough. All through dinner you were thinking: how do I get her alone? How do I get that top off her? When can we leave?

So here you are now, following her down the pier, and the weather’s doing you favors. It’s hot enough that her white pants are going translucent from the sweat, and you can see everything: pink panties, the outline of her ass, how little those panties actually cover. Someone should’ve told her never to wear colored underwear under white, but you’re sure as hell not going to be the one to say it.

You’re watching those hips move, the way everything shifts when she walks, her high ponytail swinging with each step. When she turns to check if you’re still following, it falls over her shoulder.

She catches you staring.

You look up, try to play if off with a smile. The damage is done.

But Dahyun just smirks. Doesn’t say anything, just gives you that look—the one that says she knows exactly what she’s doing to you—and keeps walking. She loves this. Loves having the effect. And she knows you’ll keep watching.

Then your stomach does something weird. Tightens up, won’t unknot. You tell yourself it’s the cotton candy after hanwoo (what were you thinking?) but you know that’s bullshit. You’ve eaten worse combinations at 3 in the morning and been fine.

This is something else.

And when you realize what it is, you actually stop walking.

Fuck.

This is the story of how you fall in love.

You’ve been into Dahyun since before she knew you existed, but all love stories have to start somewhere.

It starts with the third date.

Third date because Dahyun has rules. Says she doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Doesn’t even kiss until the second date. And—most importantly—refuses to have sex with a guy until at least the third date. You’ve been counting. Literally counting down like it’s Christmas.

I need to feel a connection first, she told you. Sex shouldn’t be meaningless. It should be with someone you could see yourself with for the rest of your life.

Heavy words. Scary words. Words that make you wonder what the fuck you’re doing here.

So yes, this is where it starts. The fact that she even agreed to a third date means something. Means she didn’t realize what a mess you are yet, means you managed not to fuck up the first two dates, means maybe, somehow, you’re doing something right.

She’s out here with you in public. Letting fans take photos. Knowing damn well your face will be on Dispatch tomorrow. She knows what that means, what it costs her, and she’s doing it anyway. Look at her, waving at fans like this is just another fan meeting while you hang back, trying not to look terrified. Trying not to think about how many people are going to see these photos. How many of them are going to wonder what the hell she’s doing with you.

“You sure it’s okay to be out in public like this? We don’t have to do this, y’know.”

“Wouldn’t have brought you otherwise. Now come on or we’re gonna miss it.”

There’s a reason Dahyun begged to come here after dinner. At the end of the pier: a ferris wheel. Her favorite place. She mentioned it on the first date—how she loved watching fireworks from up high, how she’s only ever taken a handful of very special people up there.

Very special. That’s what you are now, apparently. You’re trying not to think too hard about what that means. Trying not to wonder if you’re actually special or if you just happened to be available when she wanted someone to take on the third date.

When she climbs the stairs to the front of the line and flashes her celebrity card for an immediate ride, you’re thinking about how to show her she’s special to you too. You’re thinking you need to get this right.

It starts with holding her hand.

At first, Dahyun’s back jolts in surprise. Her first instinct is to pull back—it’s what she’s trained to do as an idol in a public place. But then she realizes. Oh. She reaches out again, back into your grasp.

Her fingers lock with yours. Tight but soft. Her palm is sweaty (so is yours, honestly—your hands are fucking drenched) and she smiles apologetically. You squeeze tighter, hoping that’s the right move, hoping you’re not squeezing too hard. You can feel her pulse racing against yours, matching rhythm.

Or maybe that’s just your own pulse. Hard to tell when your heart’s doing this.

By now, there isn’t a single person in the crowd without some kind of reaction. If they hadn’t noticed Dahyun before, they’re definitely noticing now. A few gasps. A few awws. Even a couple boos, but fuck them. The crowd becomes a sea of flashing cameras, all of them capturing this. Capturing you holding Kim Dahyun’s hand like you have any right to.

“Don’t worry about them,” she says, squeezing your hand. “They’re just jealous.”

She’s not wrong. They are jealous. Of this, of you, of what comes after. And you get it. You’d be jealous of you too.

She discreetly slides cash into the ride operator’s hand. A longer view from the top would be great, she tells him. He nods and opens the door to an empty gondola.

“Ready?” she asks, grinning.

You’re not. You’re absolutely not ready. But you nod anyway.

Normally, you hate ferris wheels. They’re slow, claustrophobic, and oh my god, why the fuck would anyone want to ride those death traps? But for Dahyun, you’d do anything.

It starts with getting into the gondola with her.

“Enjoy the ride,” the operator says, closing the door once you’ve both taken your seats. The button clicks, the wheel starts turning, and the screaming crowd fades to muffled noise below.

Finally. Alone with your girlfriend.

Except now you’re alone with your girlfriend and you have no idea what you’re supposed to do next.

“I’m a little cold,” Dahyun says, rubbing her arm.

She’s a terrible liar. It’s the middle of summer and her skin is still glistening from the heat. Sweat, not cold. But that’s not what she means anyway.

It takes you a second—because you’re an idiot, because you’re nervous, because you’re trying not to assume—but then: the way she’s looking at you, not quite making eye contact but definitely making eye contact, the slight tilt of her head.

Oh.

Oh.

She doesn’t want a jacket.

She wants you.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. Then you remember you’re supposed to do something about this.

It starts with wrapping your arm around her.

Dahyun leans her head on your shoulder, and you can feel her smiling against you. Her hair brushes your cheek. Smells like citrus, like lemon, like something distinctly Dahyun. Like yours—except she’s not actually yours, not really, even though she called you her boyfriend, even though you’re here with her right now.

“Thanks for sharing your favorite spot with me, Dahyun.” Your voice sounds weird. Too formal maybe. “Can’t think of a better way to end the night.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

Nothing beats this: Dahyun in your arms, the sun dropping into the ocean, finally alone. Just the two of you. This is perfect. This is everything. Don’t fuck it up.

But then she looks up at you.

“I can think of one way.”

Your stomach drops. Or flips. Or does something.

You’ve seen this look before. Second date, outside her apartment. She’d fumbled with her keys, then just stopped trying. Leaned against the door, waiting for you to get it, to make the move. Those same eyes. And you’d frozen then too, just for a second, before your brain caught up to what was happening.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” She’s goading you now, teasing you with that smile. Then she licks her lips.

And you’re thinking: Is this really happening? Am I reading this right?

You lean in. She leans in, eyes closing, and you know what’s about to happen except you don’t actually know because what if you’re wrong, what if—

It starts with a kiss.

It’s heaven. Not actual heaven, but god damn, those lips. Who needs fireworks when you’ve got this—her mouth on yours, urgent and soft at the same time. She tastes like cotton candy and hanwoo, sweet and savory, and you don’t care. You’d kiss her if she tasted like garbage. Any kiss with Dahyun is a good kiss.

She leans back into her corner, pulling you with her. Her arms wrap around your neck, surprisingly strong for someone so small, and she’s kissing you harder now. Deeper. Her tongue finds yours, and you’re trying to remember how tongues work, how kissing works, trying not to fuck this up.

Yeah, you’re getting into it now. One hand on her hip, right where her pants meet bare skin. The other tangles in her hair—her ponytail—and you’re hoping you’re not pulling too hard, hoping this is good, hoping she’s into this as much as you are.

Then Dahyun shifts. Moves. Before you can process what’s happening, she’s climbing onto your lap, straddling you, and the gondola rocks with the movement. Her hands on your shoulders for balance. And now she’s right there. On top of you. You can feel the heat of her through your jeans.

She makes this small sound against your mouth, and it does something to you.

Like, actually does something. Your cock twitches and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re getting hard in a ferris wheel with Kim Dahyun and she can probably feel it because she’s right in your lap.

The gondola rocks slightly. You’re maybe halfway up the wheel now, climbing higher, and all you can think about is how warm she is, how she fits against you, how this is real, this is actually real, and you really hope you don’t screw up.

Dahyun breaks the kiss just long enough to catch her breath. Her lips are red. Puffy from kissing. Eyes half-closed. She’s looking at you like she’s deciding something, and you’re trying not to think about what that something might be.

It starts with three words.

Not those ones. Way too soon for that.

“We have time,” she says. Not a question. Statement.

Your hand slides from her hip to her lower back, pulling her closer. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She’s already pulling you back in, and this time when she kisses you, her hands start wandering. Down your chest. Over your stomach. Lower. And you’re trying to stay cool. Trying to act like you do this all the time. Like you’re not internally freaking out that Kim Dahyun’s hand is heading toward your dick in a ferris wheel gondola.

The gondola jerks as it reaches the top. You’re at the highest point now, the whole city spread out below you, but neither of you is looking at the view. You’re too busy trying not to embarrass yourself.

She pulls back again. Just a hair. Her breath hot against your mouth. “I’m really glad I brought you here,” she whispers.

“Me too.” Understatement of the fucking century.

It starts with her saying: “I’m really glad it’s our third date.”

And there it is. The implication hanging between you, heavier than the summer air. Her rules. Third date. You’ve both been thinking about it all night, dancing around it, and now she’s saying it out loud.

Your heart is doing something weird. Racing. Or maybe stopping. Hard to tell.

You pull back just enough to look at her. “Here? Now?”

It’s a stupid question. You know it’s a stupid question. But your brain is shorting out because this is actually happening and you’re not sure you’re ready and what if you’re terrible at this and—

“Why not?” She’s grinning, panting. “We have time. We have privacy.” Her hand slides down your chest. “We have a third date.”

She kisses you before you can respond—which is good because you’re not sure what you’d say anyway—and this time it’s different. Urgent. Her hands are tugging at your shirt, and you’re thinking about logistics—how this even works, where you are, what if someone sees, what if you come too fast, what if—but then she’s in your lap and you stop thinking entirely.

It starts with a question.

“Did you bring a condom?”

You blink. “What?”

Fuck. No. You didn’t. You absolutely did not.

“Tzuyu has the apartment tonight for her date, and you know how distracting she can be.”

Distracting. That’s one word for it. Cockblock is another.

Tzuyu. Fucking Tzuyu. The girl’s a certified nympho who loves putting on shows for any dick that gets her pussy wet. Ever since her sexual awakening with her latest boy toy, she won’t stop fucking. Like, at all. Every night. Sometimes during the day. You know more about Tzuyu’s sex life than you ever wanted to know.

You know this because of your second date with Dahyun. Had her pinned against her apartment door, mid-makeout, finally making progress, when Tzuyu’s voice cut through from inside: Please, daddy, fuck me harder, I’ve been such a good girl.

Then the spanking. Loud. Like she was trying to win an award.

Thank you, daddy. Thank you, daddy.

You’re fairly certain if not for Tzuyu’s porn audition, Dahyun would’ve broken her no-sex-until-third-date rule right there. Instead, here you are, trying to figure out the logistics of fucking your girlfriend in a ferris wheel and realizing you forgot the one thing that would actually make it possible.

“Aren’t you worried about people seeing us?” you ask. Stalling. Because you need to figure out how to tell her you fucked up.

“Why do you think I paid the guy for a longer ride? Besides, it’s dark enough now. No one will see.”

For a supposedly “conservative” girl, Dahyun really does like to get freaky. Your first time having sex with her and she picks a ferris wheel. A ferris wheel. You’re already thinking about what comes after this—all the places you’ll fuck her once she’s comfortable, all the things she’ll let you do—except you’re not going to get to any of that because you forgot the goddamn condom.

You reach for your wallet anyway. Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe past-you was smarter than you remember.

You check.

Fuck.

It starts with breaking the bad news to her.

“Uh, no?” You try to say it like it’s not a big deal. Like maybe she was joking. Like maybe this isn’t the worst possible answer. “I don’t—I mean, I didn’t think—”

Her face falls. Lips pressed together. Chin wrinkling. That universal look of disappointment that makes you want to die.

You know that look. That’s the you’re-not-getting-laid-tonight-buddy look. That’s the you-had-one-job look. And you’re mad. Mad at yourself, mad at the world, mad that somehow you forgot the one thing that would’ve made this happen. Despite knowing this was the third date. Despite counting down to this exact moment. Despite literally thinking about nothing else for the past week.

She stares out at the ocean. Contemplative. And you’re sitting here thinking about how you’re going to explain this to your friends, how you blew your shot with Kim Dahyun because you couldn’t remember to buy condoms.

She turns back to you.

“You’re lucky I’m on the pill.”

Wait. What?

This can’t be real. This kind of thing only happens in smuts. This doesn’t happen to guys like you, and certainly not with a woman like Dahyun. You’re frozen. Actually can’t move. Can’t process what she just said.

Lucky for you, Dahyun doesn’t like to wait. She’s leaning in close, hand already sliding down your stomach, and you’re still trying to catch up to the fact that this is actually going to happen.

“Well?” she says. “Are you gonna fuck me or not?”

That snaps you back.

Oh. Okay. Yes. Definitely yes.

It starts with slipping your hand down her pants.

She’s already fucking soaked. You can feel it the second your fingers brush against her, and she gasps. Sharp. Sudden. Her whole body tenses in your lap. Her hand shoots to your wrist—not stopping you, just holding on like she needs something to grip—and you’re thinking: Holy shit, this is real, you’re actually touching her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and hearing her swear does something to you.

Like, actually does something. Your cock jumps in your pants and you’re suddenly very aware of how hard you are, how close her body is to yours, how you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing right now.

You’re trying to process this—that you’re touching Kim Dahyun, that she’s this wet for you, that this is actually happening—when her hand finds your belt. She’s not tentative about it. Doesn’t ask. Just starts unbuckling while you’re still trying to figure out how to move your fingers in a way that doesn’t make you seem like a complete amateur.

Because you kind of are. Not a virgin, but close enough that the difference doesn’t really matter.

The gondola rocks. You’re half-worried it’s going to tip over from how much you’re both shifting, trying to find angles that work in a space barely big enough for two people sitting, let alone whatever this is about to be. Her pants are tight—those white see-through things—and you’re trying to work around them, trying to reach where you need to reach, while she’s practically wrestling with your zipper.

This is awkward. This is really fucking awkward. But also hot. Mostly hot. You think.

“Hold on,” she says.

You freeze. Your hand is still down her pants. “Something wrong?”

Fuck. You fucked up. You did something wrong. You—

“Just so we’re clear, I don’t do this with every guy I date. And definitely not in public. I’m not a slut.” She’s taking your hand out of her pants. Guides it to her chest. Lets you cup her over those titty covers.

“I wasn’t thinking that,” you tell her, even though you secretly hope she is. Even though part of you is thinking: Would it be so bad if she was?

“Good, because I like you. And I don’t want you thinking this is gonna happen on every date. Because it’s not.”

She likes you. She just said she likes you. You’re trying to hold onto that, trying to not read too much into it, trying to—

“Okay,” you manage, because you’re not sure how else to respond to that. Because your brain is basically offline right now. You’ll worry about the frequency of sex later. Right now, you’ll take whatever sex she’s willing to give you and try really, really hard not to fuck it up.

It starts with unclothing Dahyun.

It’s dragged out like a telenovela as your fingers find the zipper at the front of her crop top. You tug it down slowly. Surgical. Methodical. Painstakingly slow. She lets you do it, watching you the whole time, and your hands are shaking despite the summer heat.

Not because you don’t want this. You want this. But you only get to see Dahyun’s tits for the first time once, so you’re taking your goddamn time. You’re also stalling because once this happens, once you see her naked, there’s no going back and you’re terrified you’re going to mess this up somehow.

You pull the zipper down just enough to reveal the tiniest hint of cleavage. Then lower, savoring that view that teased you all through dinner. This is what you were trying to see when you made her lean over for bites of hanwoo. And now you’re actually seeing it. What few men have ever seen.

Lower still. The fabric parts and there they are. Small. Perfect. Nipples already hard. A bead of sweat rolls down her neck and disappears between her breasts. You want to lick it off. You want to put your mouth on her. But you’re frozen, just staring, because this is actually happening and your brain is trying to catch up.

It starts with Dahyun unzipping your pants.

She’s not shy about it either. Tugs them down along with your boxers in one motion, and your cock springs free. She pauses. Looking at it. And you’re holding your breath, waiting for her reaction, praying she’s not disappointed because you’re definitely not in porn star territory.

But she just smiles. Bites her lip. “Not bad.”

Not bad. You’ll take not bad. Not bad is great. Not bad means she’s not laughing, not walking away, not realizing she’s made a terrible mistake.

“Your turn,” you manage.

She stands as much as she can in the gondola (it’s cramped, awkward, and you’re trying not to think about how ridiculous you both must look right now) and shimmies out of those white pants. Peels them down over her hips, her thighs, kicks them aside. The pink panties you’ve been seeing the outline of all night come off with them.

And there she is. Actually naked. Kim Dahyun, completely bare in front of you.

Holy shit.

This is always the most awkward part: the first time being naked together. She’s perfect. Tight body, smooth skin, everything you’ve been imagining and more. And you’re suddenly very aware of that massive steak you had for dinner because you swear you’re usually more toned than this. Also aware that you’re just sitting here with your pants on the floor of a ferris wheel gondola and this is insane, this whole thing is insane.

But at least your cock is doing its job. Hard as hell and very clearly ready for her.

You’ve been staring. Can’t help it. Staring at her tits, at her hips, at that pussy you’ve been dying to see all night. Trying to memorize everything because what if this never happens again? What if you fuck this up and this is the only time?

She catches you looking and raises an eyebrow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you lie. You’re not good. You’re panicking. But you’re not about to tell her that. “Get over here.”

She moves onto your lap, straddling you, and the gondola rocks with the shift in weight. Her hands rest on your shoulders for balance, and you can feel the heat of her right above your cock. Not touching yet. Close. So fucking close.

“You sure about this?” you ask, because apparently your brain picks now to have second thoughts. Now, when she’s naked on your lap and ready to go, now you’re wondering if this is a good idea.

She answers by reaching between you and guiding you to her entrance. “Does this answer your question?”

Yeah. Yeah, that answers it.

It starts with being inside her.

The first push in and she’s tight. So tight you have to go slow even though every part of you wants to just bury yourself completely. She gasps, nails digging into your shoulders, and you freeze.

Fuck. Did you hurt her? Are you doing this wrong?

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Keep going.”

You push deeper. Little by little. Trying to be gentle, trying not to fuck this up. Until you’re fully inside her. She’s hot and wet and gripping you like a vice, and you have to think about literally anything else or you’re going to come in thirty seconds like a teenager.

Baseball. Math. That weird stain on your ceiling at home. Anything.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and starts moving.

Oh no.

It starts with Dahyun bouncing up and down on you.

The angle is awkward at first. Her on top, trying to find leverage in a gondola that won’t stop swaying. Her knees are on the seat on either side of you, hands braced on your shoulders, and she’s lifting herself up and down on your cock with this focused determination that’s somehow even hotter than if she knew what she was doing.

You’re trying to help. Trying to figure out where to put your hands, whether you should be thrusting up to meet her, whether you’re supposed to be doing something other than just sitting here. You have no idea what you’re doing.

But then she figures it out. Finds the rhythm. And it’s perfect. Fuck, it’s perfect.

You’re watching her tits bounce with every movement, watching her face as she bites her lip concentrating, and you can’t believe this is real. Can’t believe you’re actually fucking Kim Dahyun in a ferris wheel gondola while the whole city lights up below you. Can’t believe you haven’t come yet.

“Oh god,” she moans, louder than she should, and you’re about to tell her to be quiet (or maybe you’re about to come, hard to tell) when you realize the gondola is starting to descend. You’re passing through the middle section now, close enough that people on the ground could probably see in if they looked hard enough.

Shit. Fuck. Are people watching? Can they see?

“Dahyun,” you start, but she’s already noticed.

It starts with getting out of view from the windows.

“Shit.” She’s pushing you down, your back flat on the seat. She’s got the full weight of her body on top of you, her soft tits pressing against your chest. You’re still inside her. Still hard. Somehow still hard. But now you’re trying to stay completely still as the gondola passes the lower section where the lights are brighter, where people are waiting in line.

Where people might see you. Might see her. Might realize what you’re doing up here.

The gondola keeps rotating. Down, then back up on the other side. The moment you’re high enough again, she sits back up.

“That was so fucking hot,” you manage. Your voice sounds weird. Like puberty all over again.

“That was close,” she replies, grinning.

Then she’s riding you again like nothing happened. Like you didn’t almost just get caught fucking in public. Like this is normal.

There’s this look in her eyes now. A fire. This time she’s more aggressive. Determined. Faster. Her hands on your chest for leverage, head thrown back, and you can hear how wet she is with every movement. The gondola is rocking—definitely noticeable if anyone’s paying attention—but she doesn’t care anymore.

You’re trying to hold on. Trying not to come. You don’t know how much longer you can last.

“Touch me,” she says, and you don’t need to be told twice.

Your hand slides between her legs, finding her clit, and the sound she makes goes straight to your cock. She’s close. You can tell by how she’s clenching around you, by how her movements are getting erratic, more desperate.

“Right there,” she gasps. “Don’t stop—fuck, don’t—”

You don’t. You keep your fingers on her clit, circling, pressing, and she’s riding you harder now, chasing it. You’re watching her face—the way her mouth falls open, the way she can’t keep her eyes focused—and you think: I’m making her feel like this. Me.

It starts with Dahyun coming.

She comes hard. Her whole body tensing, pussy squeezing you so tight you nearly lose it. But what you don’t expect is the wetness that suddenly covers your hand, your thighs, soaking into the gondola seat beneath you.

Holy shit. She squirted. Kim Dahyun just squirted all over you.

They really might have to decommission this ride when you’re done with her.

She freezes, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

“Did you just—”

“That’s never happened before.” She’s staring down at the mess, face flushed with embarrassment now instead of arousal. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I—”

“Are you kidding?” You’re still inside her, still hard, and you pull her back down against you. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

And you mean it. You’re not just saying it. That was objectively the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you.

“But the mess—” She’s looking at your cock, at her thighs, at the evidence of what just happened.

Then she gets this look. Determined. A little mischievous. You know that look.

“Let me clean you up,” she says, and slides off your lap.

You’re about to ask what she means when she drops down between your legs, as much as she can in the cramped space, and wraps her hand around your cock.

Oh. Oh.

“Dahyun, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she says, and takes you in her mouth.

Fuck.

It starts with a lick.

She’s tentative at first. Just the tip, her tongue swirling around the head. But then she goes deeper, takes more of you, and you have to grip the edge of the seat to keep from thrusting up into her throat. She’s on her knees, head bobbing, and the gondola is starting to descend again but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause.

You’re passing through the middle section now, getting lower, and anyone looking up would just see you in the gondola alone. They wouldn’t know. Couldn’t tell. But you know. You can feel her tongue working, her hand stroking what doesn’t fit in her mouth, and it’s taking everything you have not to come right now.

“Dahyun—” you warn, but she just hums around you and takes you deeper.

The gondola keeps dropping. You’re at eye level with the crowd now. Lights bright. People waiting in line. And she’s still going. Her other hand cups your balls and you nearly lose it right there.

“We’re—fuck—we’re at the bottom,” you manage, but she doesn’t care.

She pulls off just long enough to look up at you. Lips swollen. A string of saliva connecting her mouth to your cock. “Then you better stay quiet.”

She takes you back in, even deeper this time, and you have to bite your fist to keep from making noise. This is insane. Kim Dahyun is sucking your cock with people three meters away and you’re supposed to stay quiet. Right. Sure. The operator is right there, less than three meters away, loading new passengers into another gondola. People are walking past. And Dahyun is sucking your cock like she has all the time in the world.

The gondola starts ascending again and she speeds up. Faster, sloppier, her hand twisting as she strokes you. You can hear the wet sounds she’s making and it’s obscene and perfect and you’re so close—

“Dahyun, I’m gonna—”

She doesn’t pull off. Just takes you deeper—Jesus, how is she taking you that deep—and looks up at you with those eyes.

Those fucking eyes.

It starts with those eyes looking up at you.

And that’s all it takes. You’re coming. Can’t stop it. Can’t hold back. You’re coming in her mouth and you’re still trying so hard not to make noise, trying to keep it together, but you’re failing, you’re absolutely failing.

She swallows. You feel it. Feel her throat working. And she doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t stop. Just keeps her eyes on yours while she swallows everything you give her and you’re thinking: Kim Dahyun just swallowed my cum. That actually just happened.

Dahyun keeps going. Keeps sucking until you’re empty, until you’re so sensitive you can’t take it anymore, until you have to actually pull her off because it’s too much.

She sits back up. Wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Grinning like she knows exactly what she just did to you. “There. All clean.”

You can’t even form words. Can’t think. Just pull her back onto your lap, wiping away the last bit of cum on the corner of her mouth and letting her suck it off your finger.

The gondola is halfway up again now. Stops. Starts. Stops and the operator unloads more people onto gondolas. You’ve got time. More time than you thought. And you’re going to use every second of it.

“Lie back,” you tell her.

She blinks. “What?”

“Lie back on the seat. Trust me.”

She does, stretching out as much as she can in the cramped space, and you’re already moving, positioning yourself between her legs. Your heart’s doing something. Racing maybe. Or stopping.

It starts with folding Dahyun in half.

You hook your hands under her knees and push. Slowly. Testing. She lets you.

Further. Her knees almost to her shoulders now.

“Wait—” But she doesn’t actually want you to wait. You can tell.

You push a little more and her eyes go wide. “Oh my god.”

Her legs are pinned back now. Held in place by your hands. She’s completely open. Exposed. You can see everything—her pussy still wet, glistening, her thighs trembling, the way her stomach tenses trying to adjust.

And you’re thinking: This is real. This is actually happening.

“You okay?”

She nods. Can’t quite speak yet. Just nods.

“You sure? Because we can—”

“Yeah,” she manages. “Just—fuck—I’ve never done this before.”

You slide back in and she gasps. Sharp. This angle is different. Deeper than anything before. You can see her face perfectly now—every expression, every little reaction—and she’s looking up at you with these wide eyes like she still can’t believe this is actually happening. Like you’re both still surprised you’re here.

“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’re so deep.”

You start moving. Slow. Watching her. Her mouth falls open. Her eyebrows knit together every time you thrust in. Her tits bounce and you can’t look away. Can’t stop watching her face, her body, the way she’s completely at your mercy like this and trusting you not to fuck it up.

Except you’re not fucking it up. You’re doing this. You’re actually doing this right.

“Look at me,” you say. You need to see her eyes.

She does. Locks onto yours. And it’s too much. She’s looking at you like you’re everything, like this moment is everything, and you thrust harder just to see her face change. To see her bite her lip. To see her eyes flutter closed and then force themselves back open because you told her to look at you.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers. “Don’t—”

You’re watching where you disappear inside her. Watching your cock slide in and out of her pussy. It’s obscene how deep you’re going like this. She’s so tight, her legs pinned back opening her up completely, and every thrust makes her whimper. Fuck. You could do this forever.

Her hands grip your forearms. Nails digging in. You can feel her starting to tense again. She’s close. You can see it—the way her breathing’s getting faster, the way she can’t keep her eyes open anymore even though she’s trying.

“Look at me,” you say again.

She does. Forces her eyes open even though you can tell she wants to close them, wants to just feel it. But she looks at you because you asked. And you watch her come apart.

Her face as she comes. Mouth open. Eyes on yours. She’s saying your name like it’s the only word she remembers. Her whole body shaking, clenching around you—

And then she’s squirting again. Harder this time. It sprays up between you—hits her stomach, her chest, her face. You watch it happen. Watch her eyes go wide as she feels it hit her chin, her cheek, mixing with the sweat already there.

“Fuck,” you manage. “Dahyun—”

But she’s still coming. Still clenching around you. Her makeup is smudged now—mascara running slightly, that perfect idol face completely undone—and she’s looking at you like you just broke her in the best way possible.

You have to slow down. Have to. Or you’re going to come again and you’re not ready. Not yet.

You ease her legs down slowly. She’s shaking. Can barely hold herself up. Panting.

She stares at you. Can’t quite focus. Wipes her face with the back of her hand. Looks at the wetness there. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

“I—” She looks down at herself. At the mess. At you. “That’s twice now. What the fuck are you doing to me?”

You don’t have an answer for that. Don’t even know how to put it into words.

The gondola starts descending again. This time you’re ready.

Dahyun’s catching her breath. Hair a mess. Makeup smudged. Looking at you like she’s trying to figure out what just happened. Like she’s trying to figure you out.

“You good?” you ask.

Dahyun laughs. Still shaky. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah, I’m good.”

“Good.” You shift position. “Because we’re not done yet.”

It starts with a command.

“Turn around.”

Dahyun doesn’t question it. Just repositions: hands on the floor of the gondola, feet planted, ass up in the air facing you. Away from the window. You’re sitting back on the seat taking her in, and from this angle, she’s perfect. Completely exposed.

You slide back inside her from behind and push her shoulders down lower. Getting her face to the floor. Out of sight.

“Stay down,” you whisper, and she nods, cheek pressed against the gondola floor.

It starts with fucking Dahyun from behind.

This position is different. Deeper. You’re watching your cock disappear inside her, between those perfect pink lips, watching her ass as you thrust. The angle is insane. You can see everything.

Fuck. This might actually kill you.

You reach forward. Wrap her ponytail around your fist. Tug. Not rough, just enough to lift her head slightly, and the sound she makes—half gasp, half moan—shoots straight through you.

“Yes,” she hisses. “Pull it.”

You tighten your grip. Pull harder. Use it for leverage as you thrust deeper. Her back arches. She’s pushing back against you now, meeting every stroke. The ponytail wrapped around your knuckles. Her ass bouncing. The wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her.

This is going to end you.

The gondola passes through the lit section again. You slow down. Trying to keep her hidden. Trying to be subtle.

But Dahyun has other ideas.

She pushes back hard against you. Takes you deep. Lets out a moan that’s definitely not quiet. You freeze, but she doesn’t stop. Starts grinding her hips in slow circles, and you can feel every centimeter of her wrapped around you.

“Dahyun—” A warning. You glance out the window. There are people down there. They could look up. They could see.

“Let them look,” she says, and pushes back again.

She’s still mostly hidden—face down on the floor, body low—but she’s moving now. Fucking herself back onto your cock while you’re trying not to make the gondola rock too obviously. Her ponytail is still wrapped around your hand and you pull it. Harder this time. She moans again.

“You like that?” Your voice sounds rough. Raw. “Like knowing they might see?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “Fuck, yes.”

You give her what she wants. Thrust harder. Pull her hair tighter. She’s practically whimpering now. The gondola is still in the lit section. Still visible. She’s getting louder with every thrust.

You’re pretty sure if anyone looked up right now, they’d know exactly what was happening in this gondola.

And part of you doesn’t give a fuck anymore.

The moment you start ascending again, you don’t hold back.

You grip her hips and fuck her the way you’ve been wanting to all night. Deep. Fast. Desperate. She’s moaning into the floor, trying to muffle it, and you can feel her getting close again. You’re close too. Been holding back, trying to make this last, trying to—

Fuck it.

“Harder,” she gasps, and you give her harder.

The gondola climbs higher. Your hands are on her ass. Spreading her. Watching yourself slide in and out of her pussy. Soaked. Dripping. She’s saying your name between moans and you’re pretty sure the whole pier can hear her at this point but you don’t care. You’re going to come. Soon.

Can’t hold it much longer.

It starts with the beginning of the end.

The gondola reaches the top and stops. Just stops. Hanging there at the highest point.

And that’s when the fireworks start.

The first one explodes in a shower of gold and red, lighting up the night sky, and Dahyun looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes wide.

“Come inside me,” she says.

It starts with her saying that.

It starts with the fireworks exploding above you.

It starts with burying yourself as deep as you can go.

It starts with her clenching around you, coming again.

It starts with—

You come harder than you ever have in your life, and the fireworks keep exploding—gold, blue, green, white—painting the inside of the gondola in bursts of color while you’re still pulsing inside her.

For a moment, you can’t move. Can’t think. Just feel.

You’re still inside her. Still holding her hips. The fireworks are still going—pop, pop, pop—and you’re both just... there. Breathing.

You ease out slowly and she makes this small sound. Collapses forward onto her hands. You can see your cum starting to drip out of her and it’s obscene and perfect and you did that. You just did that.

“Holy shit,” you manage.

Dahyun pushes herself up. Turns around. Still on the floor of the gondola, looking up at you with this expression you can’t quite read. Her hair’s a mess. Her makeup is smudged. She’s got this post-sex glow that makes her even more beautiful and you’re thinking: I just fucked Kim Dahyun. That actually just happened.

“Yeah,” she says, like she knows exactly what you’re thinking. “Holy shit.”

She’s smiling. Not her idol smile. Something real. Something just for you.

You reach down. Help her up onto the seat next to you. She leans against you, head on your shoulder, and you can feel her heart still racing. Or maybe that’s yours. Could be both.

“That was...” she starts, then stops. Laughs. “I don’t even know.”

“Yeah.” You don’t either. There aren’t words for what that was.

The fireworks keep exploding above you. Gold. Silver. Red. You’re watching them together now, her hand finding yours, fingers lacing together. Sticky. Sweaty. Neither of you caring.

It starts with this moment right here.

This is it. The two of you at the top of the ferris wheel, watching fireworks after the best sex of your life. With Kim Dahyun. Your girlfriend. Who just let you come inside her.

This is what falling in love feels like.

“We should probably...” Dahyun glances down at herself. At you. At the mess you’ve both made. “Get dressed. Before we—”

That’s when the gondola lurches. Starts moving again. Descending.

“Shit,” she says, already scrambling. “We need to get dressed. Now.”

You’re scrambling for clothes. She finds her pants—pauses when she sees the wet spots on the seat, on the floor, evidence everywhere—then just shakes her head and pull them on anyway. You find your boxers. Her top is inside out and she’s trying to fix it while you’re pulling your jeans back up.

“Shit, I can feel it,” she mutters, adjusting her pants. Your cum. Dripping out of her. But there’s no time to do anything about it.

The gondola keeps dropping. Getting closer to the bottom. To the lights. To the operator who’s about to open the door.

Your hands are shaking. Can’t tell if it’s from what just happened or panic about getting caught.

“Your hair,” you say, and she tries to smooth it down.

“Your shirt’s buttoned wrong,” she says back, then pulls out her phone. Uses the black screen as a mirror. “Fuck. My makeup.” She tries to wipe under her eyes with her fingers. The smudged mascara. But it’s not really working.

You’re both laughing now. Rushed. Trying to look presentable. The seat is still damp. There’s no hiding that. Her pants probably have a wet spot from what’s leaking out of her. Her makeup is a mess. But maybe in the dark, no one will notice.

Maybe you’ll get away with this.

The gondola comes to a stop at the bottom. The operator opens the door.

Dahyun steps out first, still fixing her hair, and grabs your hand. Pulls you out quickly. Too quickly. Like she’s trying to get away from the gondola before anyone looks inside. Before anyone sees the mess you both made.

But then she turns to you. And she’s smiling. Not her idol smile. Something real. Something a little wild. Her makeup is still smudged. Her hair is still a mess. And she doesn’t seem to care.

She squeezes your hand. “Best third date ever,” she whispers.

And you’re thinking—despite the panic, despite everything—this is it. This is the beginning of everything.

Except—

The lights hit differently. Brighter. Harsher.

You blink.

You’re not holding her hand. You’re standing in a crowd of fans, phone out, pushed up against the barrier at the pier. The ferris wheel is still running, but you’re not on it. You’re watching it turn. Empty gondolas cycling past. And your heart is still racing from a conversation that never happened.

From sex that never happened.

From coming inside Kim Dahyun while fireworks exploded overhead except none of that was fucking real.

Someone next to you screams. You look up.

That’s when you see her. Dahyun. Walking up the stairs to the front of the line. Real. Here. Six meters away.

The crowd erupts. Cameras flash. Everyone’s pushing forward and you’re frozen. Still shaking off the daydream. The hand-holding. The kiss. Her pussy wrapped around your cock. The third date that played out so vividly in your head you can still feel her clenching around you. Still hear her moaning your name. Still taste the cotton candy on her lips.

But that wasn’t real.

None of that was real.

You just spent fifteen minutes standing in a crowd imagining you fucked Kim Dahyun in a ferris wheel. Jesus Christ.

Dahyun is a dream girl, and only just that.

The kind of dream where the ferris wheel operator calls for a single rider to accompany Dahyun and you don’t hesitate. Not for one second. You step right up. She’s Kim freakin’ Dahyun. Of course you’d share a ferris wheel ride with her.

The kind of dream you’ll tell your friends later. They’ll say, Bullshit, how did you manage that? And to be fair, you’re not sure either. A girl like her shouldn’t even exist in the same plane as a guy like you. They’d have to rewrite the laws of physics.

And yet, here you are with her.

“Enjoy the ride,” the operator says, closing the door once you’ve both taken your seats. The button clicks. The wheel starts turning. The screaming crowd fades to muffled noise below.

Finally. Alone.

Not with your girlfriend. Just alone. With her.

She glances at you as the gondola rises. Small smile. Polite. The smile she gives every fan. Then she pulls out her phone. Settles into her corner.

And you’re back to square one. Terrified. Hands sweating. No idea what the fuck to do.

The gondola rocks slightly as it climbs higher. You wait for her to say something. Anything. Maybe she’s cold. Maybe she’ll lean on your shoulder like she did in your head five minutes ago when you were imagining her coming on your cock.

She doesn’t.

Dahyun hasn’t said a word. Not that she needs to—she’s Kim freakin’ Dahyun. But sitting here in silence with her is different than you thought it’d be.

Worse, actually.

Because now all you can think about is what you were just imagining. Her bent over in front of you. Her riding you. Her coming on your cock. Her looking back at you during the fireworks and telling you to come inside her.

None of which happened.

None of which will ever happen.

You’re sitting less than a meter away from someone you’ve only ever seen from crowd barriers and phone screens. Someone you just spent fifteen minutes imagining in graphic detail. Every position. Every sound she’d make. What her pussy would feel like. How she’d taste.

And she has absolutely no idea.

She’s just scrolling through her phone. Bored, probably. Waiting for this ride to be over so she can get back to her actual life. Her actual boyfriend. Whoever the fuck that is.

And you’re sitting next to her trying not to think about the fantasy you just had. Absolutely pathetic.

You’re staring at her. You know you’re staring. The way the lights from the city below play across her face. The way she tucks her hair behind her ear. The way her ponytail falls over her shoulder. The same ponytail you just had wrapped around your fist in your head. Pulling it while you fucked her from behind. Except you didn’t. That never happened. That was all in your head.

She doesn’t notice. Or if she does, she doesn’t look back.

You could say something. You should say something. If you could just get one word out, maybe—

But what would you even say? Hi, nice to meet you, I just spent the entire ride up here imagining I was your boyfriend and we had sex and you squirted all over me and told me you loved me?

Yeah. That’ll work great. She’ll definitely want to fuck you after that.

Fuck. You’re an idiot. A complete fucking idiot.

You’ve been into Dahyun since before she knew you existed, but all love stories have to start somewhere.

Even the pathetic ones.

Even the ones that start with a guy who spent fifteen minutes imagining a whole relationship in his head.

Then your stomach does something weird. Tightens up. Won’t unknot.

And when you realize what it is, everything clicks into place.

Fuck.

You’re falling in love with her. Right now. Sitting here in silence while she scrolls through her phone.

But maybe—maybe that’s how her story starts too.

This is the story of how Dahyun falls in love.

It starts with a hello.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts since 2022(!), with the main character being constantly switched out between Dahyun, Chaewon, Mina, and Yoojung before I finally settled on Dahyun and decided to finish it. Anyway, hope you enjoyed!

[banananutsmuthie]

Simple yet crazy looking dress on Isa 👗

Even just the back view is 😵

Using this old ask sitting in my inbox to say I'm still alive, but then I finally saw Isa in person and OMG now I'm dead AASKDLSKAJDJSL

[banananutsmuthie]

THIS WEEKEND.

Celebrate the 2-year anniversary. One weekend only.

If you know, tell your friends.

And if you don't, find a writer who knows what the heck this is and ask them for an invite.

Hope to see you there.

P.S. No fics currently in the works. Sorry.

[banananutsmuthie]

[banananutsmuthie]

Would you ever consider continuing your mommy Gaeul series? Her newer looks bring out a bit more of her mommy vibes.

Honestly, probably not; it was meant more as a one-shot. I appreciate sending me an ask even though its been *checks notes* almost 26(!) months since I last released a fic. 🫰

[banananutsmuthie]

Even if it's a push-up bra i cannot stop draining my balls for Sieun

Mother of all that is holy, please someone write a STAYC series; I really don't wanna have to pull a Thanos and do it myself

[banananutsmuthie]

would you ever consider writing smut for other stayc members especially J?

I'm just gonna leave this here to say STAYC is in their SexC era and there needs to be an entire series with all six of them.