A/N: You're essentially a girl and a whore here, consider this your only warning.
If we're talking about the former iterations of the male original character in the franchise, they've been submissive and rather passive in their actions. They just take two plastic cocks into their holes on both ends like an obedient slut (as seen in Pegging & Penetration, then its second part, then its third part, and Stuffed for the Christmas 2024 event). The plots are pretty all over the place as well, from the standard idol universe to college to the Olympics. So, for this fourth part, the original male character is going to be a little more active in his actions. The essence remains, of course — taking a silicone cock up your ass, and taking another silicone cock up your mouth. In simpler terms, it's spitroasting with two synthetic penises. Most of the time, the central figure is a woman, but we're twisting that a little this time.
To be honest, Lee Chaeyoung and Song Hayoung don't look like they'd fuck you under unrelenting dominance with their fake cocks, let alone ride you. Chaeyoung has that edge certainly, but a plastic phallus is out of the picture in your headcanon. Hayoung, as someone has said, is incredibly breedable. Perhaps she's the most breedable member in the current fromis_9 lineup.
(Hell, even with Saerom, Seoyeon, Jisun, and Gyuri, Hayoung remains awfully breedable. She's a perfect cumdump. She's a perfect baby bearer. She's a perfect slut.)
So, here's the deal, Chaeyoung and Hayoung are sitting side my side on their dorm's living room couch. They're naked, except for the different-colored harnesses so that you have some visual hint when your eyes become all teary and blurry with their cocks in your mouth. Jiheon, Jiwon, and Nagyung don't want to have anything to do with their cock-baiting intern sucking the straps of their bandmates.
(Yes — cock-baiting — you're a nasty little slut here.)
You keep switching between the two cocks standing tall in front of your face — Hayoung, Chaeyoung, back and forth. The pleasure doesn't go one way. It's not just you getting the joy of sucking fake dicks as a man. There are these small plastic edges on the other ends of their harnesses pressing against both Chaeyoung's and Hayoung's clits. Whenever you take one cock into your mouth, the one who's sucked gets the pleasure of having herself stimulated, while the other just jerks off her cock or slips her hand under the strap for a more traditional method. It runs on and on in a loop, fundamentally.
(You may notice that we're starting a tad differently by having the lead sucking both women off at the same time instead of being a set of useful holes for the women to fuck, akin to the previous stories. That's intentional. The series risks being stale, unoriginal, and predictable if we're starting with the guy being plowed mercilessly.)
Logistically and physically — some more — you're also naked. Your real cock is twitching so fucking hard and oozing so much precum down your shaft. That fact doesn't stop you from being such a cock-baiter, however. The air conditioner makes the room cold despite the heated blowjob going on in the area. The floor is made out of large white tiles. The television is sitting idly — nothing on the screen — yadda yadda. What's most important right now is you sucking their cocks enthusiastically, though. You're letting their lengths take turns molding your throat into the shape of them, and it'll take a gun to your head to stop sucking them off.
In the present, your mouth finally leaves Chaeyoung's cock — drooling all over and wetting your thighs with your own saliva — before you tease, "Am I a perfect cockslut for you, Daddy Chaeyoung? Ain't I such a flawless cocksucker?"
Chaeyoung isn't the type to berate or turn aggressive under the circumstance of not getting want she wants. For now, she just replies warmly, "You're my perfect cockslut, babygirl, but Daddy needs to cum as well, alright?"
You know she doesn't want to resort to pushing your head down violently, and you kinda feel some guilt for being just a disobedient, bratty slut for the women, especially the ever-loving Chaeyoung. Hayoung's reactions are subsiding that pain, though. She's jilling herself so hard you have this tinge of fear in your heart that your mouth will be useless for her impending, quickly arriving orgasm.
"Suck my cock, please, babygirl. Put that mouth on Daddy's cock, please, please, please," Hayoung whines desperately. You respond to her plea by licking the underside of her plastic dick, twirling your tongue at the tip a bit. The pressure's not enough to make her shake, of course. Hayoung still masturbates vigorously under the strap.
"Daddy Chaeyoung, can you help me a bit? I don't want her to cum too soon," you request.
Chaeyoung helps you in an instant. She uses her powerful hands to pin Hayoung's arms down onto the couch, and the frantic movement under Hayoung's harness comes to a halt. You're still teasing your bubbly and desperate Daddy relentlessly — licking the frenulum, kissing the plastic, swallowing just the head.
The actions are driving Hayoung into insanity, really. She's unable to satisfy herself with her fingers on the spot anymore. Her teeth keep tightening, and her mouth keeps moaning — lusted, mind-broken. The sounds are surely disturbing the rest of the women, but you couldn't give much fuck to the notion of that. Your mouth needs to be filled by a synthetic dick right now, and you're not letting anything stop you from sucking Daddy Chaeyoung and Daddy Hayoung off like this.
"Oh my God. Oh fuck. Don't do that, babygirl!" Hayoung rasps, sounding so awfully feral. The sound echoes off the walls of the living room before she stammers more, "I need my dick—"
Chaeyoung immediately silences her with an ardent kiss on the lips. Her right hand removes itself from the pin on Hayoung's limbs to jerk the plastic cock off languidly along with your teasing lips. You hear the lewd sound of the kiss clearly. Chaeyoung isn't playing with this move. She's that sensual and caring Daddy for Hayoung and you.
As you're playing Hayoung's cock, you see her expression melting into something disarmed with seconds that pass. Her body becomes less taut and more fluid as Chaeyoung invades her mouth punishingly while jerking her off as well. The plastic taste of Hayoung's cock isn't the most pleasing thing in the world. But to see her surrendering to the two of you like this, it's fucking everything.
(Also, there's a whiff of Chaeyoung's hand cream from the fingers that are rubbing one out for Hayoung. The smell becomes a tad more pleasing, at least.)
"Daddy Hayoung is such a slut," you utter, rubbing her meaty thighs playfully and overstimulating her in the process. "I thought you'd defy your status quo, to be honest — submissive and breedable."
Chaeyoung trails her lips down Hayoung's body — nape, collarbone, chest — and putting on a remark, "Hayoung is a nasty little slut, babygirl, and we just have to rail her and break her. It's sad — my poor Hayoung."
"Poor Daddy, I wish you'd impregnate me with this fake cock — pumping cum down my boypussy," you tease Hayoung some more with the filthy words. She can do nothing but whine at the lack of pleasure on her clit, really.
The act goes on and on. You keep tasting the plastic on Hayoung's shaft and the scent of Chaeyoung's hand cream. Chaeyoung is sucking on Hayoung's nipples now, switching sides whenever she's bored. It's so intense that Hayoung's nipples start to leak white, sweet fluid down her body, making you unlatch your lips from her cock to taste her divine milk as well. Chaeyoung's right hand is still pumping Hayoung's length as if it's real.
(You kind of wish that these girls' cocks were real — fleshy and ready to spill cum down into your gullet and your abused asshole. You want to taste somebody else's cum for the first time in your life. This is fine, though.)
You have that sturdy discipline in not jerking yourself off also, letting it leak beads and beads of precum onto the floor. The need is there — the need to cum — but your heart remains steeled and strong.
"You're such a good girl for us, baby," Chaeyoung praises, still playing with Hayoung's tits. "Maybe it's better to get a nasty little slut of an intern like you rather than some virgin boy — experience and all."
For a little backstory, this is your first internship, but this is not your first time sucking a fake dick. During the first three and a half years in college, you've been an internal slut for the entire campus — sucking cocks and getting fucked in the asshole by numerous women, wetting their beds with your precum and cum. You've gotten so many noise complaints for moaning raucously at nocturne, but you keep whoring yourself out to the girls. You keep getting yourself anally plowed. You keep getting your mouth full of cocks. You keep getting your prostate used and abused. Those are your credentials: the university's free harlot.
(Yes, you do this for free.
There's also the feminized edge as well, but that's pretty much up to the women's liking — an option to call you a girl in a maid or catgirl dress. Or if you wanted something simple, you'd just ask for their bras and tight panties.)
"Call me whenever you want, my Daddies. I want to have my holes filled and fucked," you say as you keep lavishing the side of Hayoung's strap, occasionally moving up to lap up her milk dripping from her nipples.
Hayoung just keeps whining under the chilly air from the air conditioner, with the thrashing body and pinned arms by Chaeyoung. It's fun to stretch that rubber band, really, but you also kind of want to deepthroat her as well.
You start the full package of your service on Hayoung's cock eventually, and she just screams in ecstasy as your mouth envelops the entirety of her. That little plastic nub is pressing against her swollen clit in the end, and Chaeyoung just giggles at the despair being released from her bandmate. You push and push yourself down Hayoung's fat cock, filling your entire mouth with her fake meat. Your orifice swallows until the mushroom tip you've been teasing starts to press against the back of your throat. You make these ugly gagging sounds from the inside as usual, but the perseverance remains intact to suck Song Hayoung's meaty plastic cock.
"Oh God, you're the fucking best, babygirl," Hayoung moans with a little stutter in the wake of her pleasure. Her milk is still leaking from her nipples slowly onto her tummy and thighs, and Chaeyoung does her best to clean Hayoung up, tasting her white essence hungrily.
"Hayoung," and Chaeyoung lets out a hum, "your milk tastes fucking yummy. We could drink it all day. Am I right, babygirl?" Chaeyoung turns to you a bit.
You release Hayoung's cock from your throat, eliciting a whine from her. "Yes, Daddy Chaeyoung. Great source of protein for us — big muscles!" and you flex your arm for the girls to see. Chaeyoung just laughs at your cuteness popping up against the almost endless promiscuity. Hayoung's head is still falling back in exhaustion, though.
"Keep sucking Daddy Hayoung's cock, babygirl, and we'll put you in a girliest fit when we fuck your ass, okay?" Chaeyoung teases, making your eyes widen at the prospect of being in a female-coded costume. There might be a bra. There might be a pair of panties. There might be a pair of thigh-highs. Your cock just twitches enthusiastically at the idea.
"Yes, Daddies," you say coyly before going back to sucking Hayoung's girthy shaft again.
It goes on in a loop, really. You suck Hayoung's cock. Her nipples leak milk. Chaeyoung licks Hayoung's body to quench her thirst instead of just drinking tap water. (To give Chaeyoung some justice, Hayoung's product tastes fucking delicious.) Hayoung moans as her body is being overstimulated — yadda yadda.
As a result, Hayoung's real cunt is about to cum from getting her fake cock sucked.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna fucking cum. Oh God," Hayoung shouts uncontrollably, mind probably utterly scattered all over. Her neurons are perhaps firing endlessly and violently with her nipples and her pussy as sources. "Babygirl, make Daddy—"
Chaeyoung silences her again with another kiss. For this occasion, Hayoung probably gets a taste of her own milk lingering on Chaeyoung's lips. You hear needy squeals from Hayoung as her bandmate kisses her, and you look up with her cock still filling your mouth up. Her expression melts into something disarmed once more. Her body is surrendering to the overwhelming sensation barraging her frame. On your side, you just let the tip of her strap press against the back of your esophagus repeatedly — again and again — and your hands grip her thighs firmly in place to intensify that upcoming orgasm on Hayoung's body.
(Not being able to move while you cum makes it a whole lot more intense, really.)
"You're not much better of a slut than our babygirl, Hayoung," Chaeyoung scolds into Hayoung's mouth, kneading her friend's breasts with her hand.
And maybe it's the power of Chaeyoung's dehumanizing words, Hayoung just cums.
Hayoung's legs just quiver frantically in your hold as Chaeyoung pulls away. The scream fills the living room, and it's going to keep the rest of the group from serenity. Still, you don't really give a fuck about the well-being of the other girls.
You just wanna drink Hayoung's squirt.
You tug at the strap to the side to give you a view of Hayoung's gushing cunt. She doesn't shave. To be clear, she barely takes care of her hair down here. With a minuscule time window for leakage, though, you just latch your lips onto her wet hole, and waves and waves of her clear liquid enter your mouth. You do your best to drink all of her essence, swallowing it down your throat needily. She's salty. She's musky. She's fucking umami. You love it.
Hayoung's entire body keeps trembling in frenzy as she cums with her arms pinned by Chaeyoung and her legs pinned by you. Squirt flows out of her pretty cunt in endless surges into your welcoming mouth. Her moans bounce off the walls of the living room, and perhaps pierce through the concrete into Jiheon's, Jiwon's, and Nagyung's bedrooms. Again, their disturbed peace is not your problem. You just want to drink Hayoung's cum.
After a while, Hayoung comes down from her nerve-wracking orgasm on the couch. Chaeyoung and you finally release her from your hold. Hayoung's body is still twitching helplessly and pathetically on the cushion. Her nipples finally stop leaking milk, though. That's probably some downtime for her.
You release the dick from your mouth before teasing again, "It's a pleasure to break Daddy Hayoung," and you just wipe your mouth clean, tongue running on your teeth to taste the remnants of your Daddy's squirt. "May I have my costume now, Daddy Chaeyoung?"
Chaeyoung reaches forward and ruffles your hair lovingly. "Yes, babygirl. I'm gonna go grab it."
—
Your ass looks good, despite never working out. Your asshole feels good, despite being an anal whore. Those are surely facts because Hayoung is moaning again.
So, physically, you're bouncing on Song Hayoung's fat silicone cock crazy style on fromis_9's shared living room couch. Your appearance is so similar to that of a femboy right now — girly, bratty, yet so breedable with Hayoung's non-existent sperm into your asshole. (You're even wearing a perfect-fit princess crown on top of your head.)
The couch is long enough to fit all three of you in this compromising position. To be a little more specific and convenient in wording, you're in a reverse cowgirl act with Hayoung. Her thick cock plows your ass repeatedly as you bounce on her lap. There are wet slaps of your ass against her meaty thighs in the movements, and they just fill the room along with the smell of sweat and sex. Hayoung doesn't bother to grab your ass, too lost in the oversensitivity of her previous orgasm to grope your lithe, whorish body. It's a shame, since you love to be groped and owned by women.
On your front, you're sucking Lee Chaeyoung's fat cock enthusiastically. The plastic end in her cunt stimulates her in cycles with your mouth taking her dick. Her hands are pressing your head down to slobber and lather her with your saliva. (The couch is leather, so there's no concern for the scent of debauchery.) Your hands are squeezing and grabbing her ass for dear life and physical balance. Again, it's a compromising position. You have to flex your abs to remain like this — bouncing on Hayoung crazy style, sucking Chaeyoung off with vigor.
To have a bit more description of your clothing just because, you're wearing a white crop top that does not leave your nipples to any imagination for Chaeyoung. Down below, there's a short black skirt that's going to make your dick visibly swinging like a fucking pendulum if worn outside. And down even further, a pair of white thigh-highs is clinging to your lean legs. In conclusion, you're a girl right now, being plowed in both holes by two women and their plastic cocks.
(With the colors, you look like a fucking yin-and-yang symbol.
Also, again, there's a crown decorated with fake jewelry on top of your head as well — a perfect princess for the people, Lee Chaeyoung and Song Hayoung in this case.
The last vestige of your masculinity is probably the moustache above your lips.)
"Yes, yes, keep sucking Daddy's cock like that, babygirl," Chaeyoung moans in pleasure as her gorgeous eyes gaze into yours. God, her eyes are so fucking pretty, and she's biting her lower lip a bit too. "We're gonna get you pregnant so good if you keep being a good girl for us."
You free Chaeyoung's shaft from your mouth before replying shortly, "Yes, Daddy," and you just go back to slobbering on her. Saliva falls from your lips onto her thighs. The smell of her pussy wafts into your nose — addictive. You try your best to keep bouncing on Hayoung's cock energetically, trying to coax the phantom cum out of her synthetic cock. Each hit on your prostate makes your entire body quiver on her cock, and it just goes on and on until—
"Daddy!"
Hayoung regains her energy a bit just to slap your ass harshly. There's going to be a red print on your skin after this session. You keep fucking her cock vigorously, though, and you start to feel Hayoung's hands on your cute little promiscuous ass. She's groping you with whatever is left inside her.
"Grope my slutty ass, Daddy Hayoung!" you whine into Chaeyoung's cock, and Hayoung complies immediately. She grabs onto the globes of your ass with one hand, and she grabs a side of your slutty little waist with another hand. The overstimulation begins to kick in on your pliant body, and your shakes become even worse — the prostate attack, the tired groping, the artificial blowjob. Your body is an entire playground for Lee Chaeyoung and Song Hayoung. God, you're going to be the best bitch they've ever fucked in their lives.
"Keep bouncing," Hayoung rasps with a hint of exhaustion in her voice, "babygirl, keep bouncing." Her hands squeeze and take ownership of your ass literally, and if we're being honest, you'd let her take a shared ownership of your ass figuratively with Chaeyoung. Hell, maybe even with the rest of fromis_9.
Your pathetic cock hasn't gotten the chance to cum yet. It just keeps leaking a copious amount of precum down your underside. To be fair, orgasm from prostate stimulation takes time, even if you've been plowed in the asshole awfully many times. The room remains cold from the air conditioner, and it smells so much of Chaeyoung and Hayoung and you. Your brain is getting fucked out, wandering towards the prospect of Jiheon, Jiwon, and Nagyung penetrating your holes savagely and making you the group's private toy. God, Jisun, Saerom, and Seoyeon wish they could be fucking your pretty holes like this. Maybe the girls will put a price on you to be the industry's whore, lending you to other girl groups to be used and abused. And the best part is: you can get your holes fucked as many times as you want — zero risks of pregnancy.
"You're such a perfect girl for us, baby," Chaeyoung praises with her hands on the back of your head. She puts up this loving expression to you — nurturing. "We're grateful for you. Remember that, okay?"
"Yes, Daddy!" you respond with Chaeyoung's cock stuffing your mouth, ass still getting penetrated by Hayoung from behind.
You still have control over your body, indeed, but you try to loosen your limbs and muscles just to be utterly ragdolled by these women like the toy you are. Hayoung keeps groping you from behind as her fake hardness splits your used asshole open. Chaeyoung starts to fuck your mouth properly, turning this into a face-fucking session, turning this into a proper spitroasting act.
You can feel the tightening of your coils inside your muscles, eventually, and Chaeyoung is probably feeling the impending doom of her toy — the moans, the tension.
"Do you wanna cum, babygirl?" Chaeyoung asks kindly, cupping your cheeks despite the thickness of her cock that's filling your mouth.
Muffled, you reply, "Yes, Daddy."
Hayoung chimes in from behind, "Cum on my, fuck, my girlcock, baby," and she gives your asscheeks another hit. You just yelp into Chaeyoung's strap. "Look at you, God, bouncing on," and she just trails off in exhaustion.
"She appreciates you bouncing on her cock, babygirl," Chaeyoung completes her friend's sentence. "I'm gonna cum with you, okay? Do you wanna taste Daddy's girlcum as well?"
You sheepishly nod at Chaeyoung's proposal, prompting her to push her strap to the side. A whine escapes you, of course. You want to suck a cock, though it's replaced by the sight of Chaeyoung's bush and folds in front of you. (Indeed, you drool from the view.) Chaeyoung begins rubbing on her clit hastily as you keep your bounces on Hayoung in a constant motion. Chaeyoung's moans climb the scale so quickly.
The first spurt of Chaeyoung's fluid hits your face, so you just stick your lips onto her cunt. It works. You get to drink the squirt flowing out of her, though the movement of your ass stops on Hayoung. Chaeyoung's taste is pretty similar to Hayoung's — salty, musky, umami — and you cherish her squirt so much. (You love their girlcum tastes equally, really.) Chaeyoung keeps writhing in front of you, one hand holding the back of your head in place to lock you and make you drink her yummy discharge. Her screeches bounce off the walls in a frenzy, disturbing the rest of the group, surely. The cum is perfect on your tongue, at least.
Squirts become drips, and Chaeyoung collapses onto the couch after the mind-blowing orgasm in your face. You watch her hairy pussy heave lewdly for a while, and eventually, you go back to fucking Hayoung's strap cock again.
"Rail my ass, Daddy Hayoung," you huff weakly, almost running out of stamina to bounce crazy style on your Daddy's cock. "Make me pregnant."
"Daddy's fucking tired, babygirl," Hayoung says. She tries to thrust up into your rectum, but it comes out so weakly that you can't feel a thing on your prostate. "Fuck."
So, you recollect the scattered energy from around you just to fuck yourself on Hayoung's limp body. You take a deep breath, and it kind of works. Your ass starts moving on her fat cock once more, and this time, she's finally hitting the mushiness inside you again.
Chaeyoung watches you two having fun — half-exhausted, half-amused. She flicks your pathetic, leaking cock for funsies, making you wince on top of Hayoung. You keep impaling yourself with the fat cock under you, still. You quicken the pace. You relax your muscles. You let Hayoung hilting the entirety of her fake hardness inside you, jabbing the prostate with neither mercy nor care.
(It's kind of contradicting each other, really — you being the one who bounces and Hayoung attacking your prostate.)
"You're doing well, babygirl," Chaeyoung praises tenderly, and she inserts her cunt-juice-soaked fingers into your mouth. You suck on it greedily, just like when you slobber on her fat cock. To say that you feel like a slut would be an understatement. We're way past that point already. You're the epitome of the word itself right now. Chaeyoung's fingers taste of the sweet salt of her cunt and the incredibly resistant hand cream, and you're lavishing them as the perfect slut for these women.
"Say you love Daddy's cunt," Chaeyoung coos almost authoritatively, though not without the caring cadence in her tone. "Say you love Daddy's juice."
"I love Daddy's cunt. I love Daddy's juice," you repeat obediently and instantly, feeling guilty to be a brat for any longer with this woman. You add more words just because as well. "I'm Daddy's little cockslut."
Chaeyoung just chuckles at your words, still toying with your mouth ardently.
The compliance remains just for Daddy Chaeyoung, however. Your brattiness persists on Daddy Hayoung despite her desperate groping and the lack of energy in her limbs. Her body is utterly exhausted from your feminine movements on her strap. Each bounce sucks the soul out of her frame into yours.
"Come on, Daddy Hayoung, fuck me like you mean it," you sneer with Chaeyoung's fingers still playing with your mouth. "Make this bussy sore. Make this pretty, slutty girl pregnant!"
(Bussy and girl — that's another conflict in your words. You're too horny to care, still.)
Hayoung just slaps your ass weakly, and you don't even let out a sound aside from the ongoing moans from her cock nudging at your cute prostate. You just felt next to nothing on your asscheeks, so the momentum of you fucking yourself with Hayoung's strap is sustained. Wet, obscene slaps echo through the living room. The space smells of this filthy sex you're having. It's as if a slut is being used here (it is). You keep welcoming Hayoung's harness cock into your body gleefully against her fatigue — determined to cum almost hands-free with that length.
"Love this cock so much, Daddy Hayoung. It's fucking my slutty ass so well," you tease some more. There's this sliver of hope for Hayoung to regain some semblance of energy to grab your slutty little waist and thrust up into your puckered hole.
It doesn't work, sadly, and you have to keep ramming yourself onto Hayoung's artificial hardness like that — an effort against the laziness, whatever. You continue barraging her with your whorish words, though.
"You're gaping my ass, Daddy. I'm getting loose for Daddy Saerom, ain't I?" you tease Hayoung, eliciting a laugh from Chaeyoung.
Chaeyoung pulls her fingers out of your mouth, eventually, before scooping a few drops of precum from the tip of your cock. At first, you whine with the lack of filling in your orifice, and there's an inkling of your saliva linking your lips and her digits. But there's this small shudder when her nails touch your slit. She's playing with the inside of your urethra just to give you a brief sensation of how it feels to be sounded.
"We do keep in touch, of course, and lucky for you, Saerom adores slutty girls," Chaeyoung coos before sucking on her fingers. She's getting a taste of your salty, premature essence, closing her eyes and biting her lips and all. The sight is lewd, surely, and it drives you a bit closer to the precipice.
Regarding Lee Saerom a bit, and this is definitely not the insertion of the writer's preference, she was your fromis_9 bias before the end of 2024 — before their contracts ended. She has this predatory look in her eyes — those sculpted, sharp features — despite the rather average height. In other words, she looks like she could get you pregnant despite your lack of a womb. You really need her girthy, fat, veiny cock inside your boypussy. Maybe you want to look at her while she rails you as well, and you're going to explode in just 30 seconds of the rough fucking in missionary.
"I'm sure Daddy Saerom could do better than whatever the hell Daddy Hayoung is doing," you taunt, triggering something inside Hayoung, finally. "Such a pathetic—"
"Bitch," and a slap to your reddened ass from Hayoung. "Fuck this."
"Daddy!" you scream raucously as her plastic dick is finally fucking your ass — proper. You're sure that Hayoung doesn't have any conflicts with Saerom. It's just the unfair comparison that gets her going, ruining the insides of your poor, stretched rectum. "Make this bussy yours, Daddy!"
Hayoung finally gets her pace up, attacking your mushiness inside your hole with renewed energy. "Gonna cum in this ass again."
"Yes, Daddy! Please put a baby in me!" you shout. Perhaps it's too loud, and Chaeyoung silences you with her fingers again. Your next words become muffled by her digits. "I'm fromis_9's fucktoy!"
(It has a nice ring — fromis_9's fucktoy — really.)
Hayoung's strap cock utterly ruins the sensation you've felt just a few minutes ago. Your body quivers and writhes on top of her pathetically with the feeling wracking through your nerve endings. The brain cannot think of a single thing aside from the words to describe your promiscuity for them. "I'm a nasty little slut! I wanna carry your baby in my tummy!" There's also this bulge in your stomach every time Hayoung bottoms herself out inside you. Perhaps it's a training for carrying a child for the next nine months.
To go on further, it becomes a loop of your words and Hayoung's thrusts and Chaeyoung's sweep inside your orifice. The rhythm sets in for the act of this debauchery — slaps, straps, claps — and the writer lacks the vocabulary to describe this session any longer, in all honesty. There's this cadence that the three of you are aware of, yet unable to express it in words. It keeps you in sync. It keeps the power dynamic intact. It keeps the connection strong. That cadence is made out of you bouncing on Hayoung, again, crazy style, while Chaeyoung plunges her fingers into your mouth.
The tension coils in your loins after a few more violent thrusts from Hayoung. You've been through this multiple times in the past, and you wouldn't say that this time is much different from the previous occasions — you being an utter whore for two women. Still, this is unique in its own way with the people involved and all — Lee Chaeyoung and Song Hayoung.
"I'm gonna cum, Daddy!" you declare with a lust-dazed mind. Your body tenses up atop Hayoung's now-sweaty lap. The short skirt helps with the absorption, of course, but you can still feel the moisture on her meaty, delectable thighs.
(Again, just because the image is hilarious, if you wear this short black skirt in public, your cock is going to swing like a pendulum without the boxers or panties or whatever. You'll have to tuck it properly somewhere to hide the bulge — perhaps between your legs.)
"I wonder how your sperm tastes, babygirl — your girlcum, your semen, your honey, whatever," Chaeyoung breezes. "Maybe we can share it together."
"Come on, just fucking cum already," Hayoung manages against the forceful ruttings into your hole of unknown tightness.
"Paint Daddy's pretty tits," and Chaeyoung squeezes her breasts into each other, creating this lewd view before your eyes. God, her fucking seductive eyes are just making it worse for you. "You two can clean me up after that, licking Daddy's body like needy little sluts."
The repeated attacks on your prostate remain relentless. Hayoung just keeps fucking your asshole to this precipice that you're desperately chasing. "Yes, yes, yes, Daddy Hayoung, I'm cumming on your giant cock!" you shout against Chaeyoung's fingers. "I'm a bitch boy slut!"
There's a moment when you see stars as your cock shoots out the first rope of cum onto Chaeyoung's pert tits. Then, the second spurt comes out of your head, and it just goes on and on and on. You notice that you're shooting out so much cum as a result of endless prostate stimulation throughout the session. Chaeyoung's body is painted white with your boycum or girlcum or whatever. You don't really know how to define yourself anymore. Some of your cum even lands on her tongue that's being stuck out as well, and she makes this receptive sound that entices you to lean in and taste your own sperm off her.
"Left some for Hayoung too, okay?" Chaeyoung says into your mouth, and you just nod sheepishly as you kiss her. "Sharing is caring."
Your bounces on Hayoung's fat cock slow down gradually with the subsiding spurts out of your cock. You're still shaking and leaking against Chaeyoung's mouth and on top of Hayoung uncontrollably. "I'm yours, Daddy. I'm your nasty little whore," you mumble.
Your heart leaps at the praise until your climax finally stops. You quiver softly before pulling yourself off Hayoung's strap. There's this obscene popping as your asshole gets removed from the cock, and you can feel yourself heaving and contracting around nothing. You're probably missing Hayoung's dick that badly.
"Fucking fuck," Hayoung mutters softly.
Hayoung gets up from the couch for her share of your cum on Chaeyoung's tits, eventually. You move down from the kiss as well, licking off your own essence from Chaeyoung's nipples along with her friend. It's awfully sweet somehow. Perhaps it's a byproduct of your pineapple consumption earlier. Your lips traverse all over Chaeyoung's abdomen, sometimes making contact with Hayoung's lips into a soft kiss as well.
"So fucking hot, God," Chaeyoung manages as you and Hayoung engage in a cum-soaked kiss on her tits. She's clean of your semen after a moment of cleaning by your tongues, though now she's damp with the saliva from your mouth and Hayoung's. Her body looks so awfully shiny right now.
"My little bitches are licking me clean," Chaeyoung adds.
(The dynamics are a little fucked now: Chaeyoung and Hayoung are your Daddies, while you and Hayoung are Chaeyoung's bitches or sluts or any other dehumanizing words, while Chaeyoung and you are utterly dominating Hayoung's fatigued state of mind.
The goal now is for your tongue to keep lavishing your Daddies' bodies regardless.)
"I wish your cocks were real, Daddies. I wanna have a tight little pussy. I wanna be bred so bad," you utter in between the licks on Chaeyoung's body and Hayoung's lips — so mindless and feminized. "I wanna carry a baby for you two."
The women just chuckle heartily at your statement as you and Hayoung are tasting your sperm off Chaeyoung's torso. You keep licking and savoring until there's no whitish liquid left. Your actions, again, leave Chaeyoung's abdomen shiny against the light after there are no remnants of your semen. She shudders softly with each of your licks, but none of the responses seem to match the intensity she felt earlier when you sucked her fake cock, really.
After a few more breaths, you and Hayoung leave Chaeyoung's body for good. Chaeyoung is now completely slick with your combined saliva and free from the leftover sperm. You remain in this submissive posture — hunched back, eyes down, whimpering akin to a canine. Chaeyoung and Hayoung give you squeezes on your ass at the same time — one for each side of your cheeks — effectively signifying the power they still have over you. You jump slightly at their touches.
They're still your Daddies, after all.
"Is your asshole all sore and loose now, babygirl?" Chaeyoung starts again, tilting your chin up to look at her. One more time, her eyes are so fucking pretty.
You gulp before replying, "Yes, Daddy Chaeyoung. I can't sit down tomorrow."
Visibly exhausted, Hayoung chimes in, "A buttplug will slip out, surely," and she chuckles softly. "Maybe we can have something bigger to fill this boypussy while you're working."
"One cock isn't gonna be enough, Daddies," you fire, biting your finger almost shyly against the brazen invitation. "Maybe two could work."
Chaeyoung and Hayoung just look at each other deviously. Hayoung grabs your chin with whatever power she has left, along with her friend. There's an application of force on your face from Hayoung a little, just enough to make you moan against their faces. Your breath probably smells like fresh cum. They don't seem to be disgusted by the scent, at least.
"Daddy, don't be harsh," you whine against their smug faces, feeling completely surrendered. "I might cum again."
Chaeyoung just chuckles, flicking your softened, pitiful cock with her other hand. You wince a bit. "You can start training to take all of us from today, babygirl — five, for starters."
"Or maybe eight!" Hayoung adds. "I know this slutty ass can take it."
A/N: I have been BFH'd by Karina's thighs. Thigh Fueled Haze, or something of that similarity. Because of this, I've accidentally made a Karina fic for her birthday, so uh.
Happy Karina Day in advance!
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
“You're gonna get the both of us in trouble.”
“Oh please, me, getting you in trouble?”
The thing about Yu Jimin is that—
One, she's a walking trouble magnet. To expand on that note, it’s in her job description to be.
Two, nobody knows that she is the trouble.
Three, she is positively enamored with you for reasons you yourself are not privy to. One can say that it simply happened, and everyone—and you mean everyone—believes that as if it was fact. Which, in your case, may or may not be true as to reiterate, you have zero clue on why she’s head over heels for you.
(Three point five, you might feel the same to a much lesser degree. This is to be discussed and possibly integrated with reason Three alongside a revision upon review.)
Four, as much as everyone is in complete love with her bubbly, cheery personality that pairs up too well with her perfect pretty face and her two very much trouble attracting forces in her chest, nobody—and you mean nobody—is talking about the pillows that you call her thighs. Nobody except for you.
(Four point five, her lap makes for a very nice place to rest your head on.)
Five, you toss both One and Two out of the window and look back at how Three happened. Mostly because of what the people around her say.
If Yu Jimin said to do it, then you do it.
And when you first heard that, you had to ask:
Why?
Because of Six—she's the President of the Student Council.
And that makes it the perfect cover for everything she wants to do with little old you.
That returns you to Four, where Jimin's back is pressed up against your chest, her hands are over yours—hands that are currently toying with the buttons of her shirt as Jimin oh so kindly asked—and her ass is most definitely not grinding against your painfully hard erection.
“Yes, you–” you hiss out, glancing to your side, eyes trying to focus on that small metallic doorknob that you can't tell is locked or not. “We shouldn't be doing this here, Jimin.”
“You said that the last time,” she pouts, and for a moment, you understand how One and Two have come to fruition. Years of psuedo-politics through the many responsibilities of being in the Student Council has honed her in the verse of bullshitting. Talking with so many people, students and professors alike have given her the uncanny ability of allowing reason Five to come into fruition.
And she's a natural at it. Seen it first hand. Knows how to talk her way into anything, strong arming certain people if she has to (Giselle coming to mind, the slut that she is), and has connections that you're afraid of who it's with and how deep it goes.
Yet, you have no choice in the matter. She's pulling you towards all of it—the talks, the people, the networking.
Simply because you are hers.
Her very own Vice President of the Student Council. Which, again, was technically not of your own true volition. Just because you brought up that you might try for the VP spot did not mean you were actually going to run for it, but she’s practically closed her ears and made you her running mate, leading you to win it all.
And normally, typically, in most cases, you would be ecstatic at the fact that you'll be directly working underneath Yu Jimin. Great leader, you’ll admit, even back when you were just some Council guy, and she was in your position. And yet, reason Three means that you get special privileges. Ones that you at your best, halfhearted push back on and at worst, wholeheartedly lean into.
It also means that your job ultimately gets a lot harder when you’re with Jimin for half the day, everyday that it is a weekday.
(You spend the whole day with her on weekends.)
Which brings you back here. Back against the wall, Jimin’s back against you, looking up with that sulking look.
“–didn’t even get to do it on the rooftop earlier.” And that is why you consider reason Two to be of note.
You lick your lips. “Jimin, please,” you sigh, trying horribly at ignoring the slow, teasing circles that her hips are doing, tingles going up and down your body. “We would’ve gotten caught.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” she replies, cockily. A teasing grin on her face as she scrunches her eyes at you. “I had Miggy clear out the top floor because I said we’d be using it for Council purposes.”
“Isn’t that a little abuse of power,” you say, repressing a groan at a particular thrust of her ass straight into your poor, poor cock. “And Miggy might even snitch.”
“He won’t,” she giggles, shaking her head at you. Her fingers dig into her chest, right over yours. Letting you get a nice, good handful of her tits, and even through clothing and lace, they feel fantastic. “I promised him a date with Chaeryeong. Stop worrying so much, honey–” She’s pulling your hand down, past her chest, through her waist, down to that skirt that is surely short enough to get an ordinary student in trouble. “Don’t you wanna play with me?”
God, the way she’s weaponized words even here is making you lose it. A constant tug of war between you two; every pull she makes accumulates until you fall down into her arms, surrendering yourself to her every whim.
“Seriously, we need to talk about this week’s reports–” She brings your hand underneath her skirt. “Are you not wearing any panties?”
“Oops.” She doesn’t sound, look, or act so apologetic when she’s leaning your fingers further into her legs, pressing them up against her wet folds. “Silly me, I must’ve left on the rooftop.”
“Oh my god.” On one hand, you’re dreading what would happen if someone found it. On the other, your dick is twitching at the sheer idea that she’s been listening in class, leading meetings, greeting everyone she comes across with a bright smile all while she’s bare underneath that skirt.
A skirt that in one gust of wind, would expose her dripping cunt to anyone in the vicinity.
This woman is fucking crazy, your mind thinks. Scratch that, this woman is starved. Ever since the school year started she’s been doing all these little rendezvous with you all over the campus. Started off with the quick make outs after the day ends, moving into hands getting grabby, every single day inching you both closer to the inevitable and now this?
Jimin’s calling out your name as you feel your fingers get wet, and god; the damnation that would come if you ever decide to push even a single digit inside her would cause repercussions that’ll shake your entire being. This is your first time ever coming close to her core, to pushing past the boundaries of foreplay, and you’re crumbling against the pressure that comes barreling forth, logical reasoning losing all meaning in favor of all the emotional damage you’re being dealt with.
And fuck, would you take it. Being blessed or cursed to feed this succubus, hidden underneath the angelic persona she’s known by everyone as. Committing sin upon Jimin, making her sing heaven on earth and you swear upon everything—
Not even God can stop you from turning it into reality.
“Now now, we can multitask,” she says, leaving your hands alone. Coming to fiddle the button of your pants, fumbling around it as you enjoy learning more of her tits, her pussy. “Tell me all about it while you–” She finally unbuttons it, and your fly quickly zips down, a palm cupping your cock over your underwear.
The moment makes your body lock up, the soft caress of her touch making you sigh out of sheer relief after the tightness of your pants have been removed. “God, you feel so big.” She’s mapping you out, teasing you with light strokes over the fabric blocking the both of you, wanting to feel as much as she can.
Memorializing the very first time she touches your cock, because once she’s pulled the last barrier between you down, neither of you will ever stop.
She’s gone quiet on you now, stuck in an internal debate with herself, before you get asked the most unhinged order you’ve ever heard come out her lips.
“Fuck my thighs while you tell me about those reports, honey.”
Reason Five comes to mind, and you’re too happy to oblige.
Jimin hooks her thumbs over your underwear while yours have come to pull her skirt up, those long legs of hers that pair up with the meaty flesh you call her thighs peeking out from underneath. She’s biting her bottom lip, pulling them down to free your cock and she gasps as it slaps against her skirt, hitting her skin. “Oh my god–”
You’ve pulled her closer, gripping her hips as she stumbles back, your length disappearing in between pillowy heaven, your dick literally getting wet at her juices that have started dripping down her thighs. “How are you this wet, Jimin, what–”
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she admits, her hips starting to move back and forth, cock slipping in and out between the soft flesh. “I told you, didn’t I? Since the rooftop.”
You’re gritting your teeth, a groan possessing your throat, letting itself loose straight into her ears. Her response is a sultry giggle, never once changing her pace, the slow rocking of her hips as her fingers start to remove the tie around her neck.
“Those reports, honey?” she sweetly reminds, as if nothing lewd is happening. Like it was another end of the week for her, your usual routine being bastardized with this affair. “Didn’t you want to let me know all about them?”
“Fuck–” Your mind is imploding, each neuron activating in that degenerate-warped frontal lobe of yours. Reports all in the back of the current machinations inside your smoothing brain, the sensation, the idealogy of Jimin’s God-blessed thighs fucking your cock consuming you entirely.
All you can do is breathe—deep, quick, through your nose, your mouth; you can’t tell anymore. Jimin is fucking you stupid, not with her pretty mouth, not with her more-than-a-handful pair of tits, not with that tight, dripping pussy that you have yet to feel or taste. No, she has you by the balls just with those juicy fucking thighs; of which she is taking full advantage of with a maddeningly slow rock of her hips.
“Oh, is my honey ok?” She’s caressing your cheek, her back arching, her legs tightening around your cock. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” It comes out rough, hoarse, your throat feeling like it hasn’t had the chance to have a drop of water in hours. Your hands give her body a squeeze, an attempt to stabilize yourself back to reality, back to remembering what life was like before this has even happened.
An impossible task, yet you manage to wring yourself back to a barely functional intellect. “There’s–” You take a deep breath, steadying your thoughts; another unfeasible idea, yet you power through it. “Which one do you want first?”
Jimin pauses, flinging the tie in her hand away to her desk. “Let’s start with that new guy we picked up.” She wiggles her ass at you, your cock slipping upwards and pressing up against her pussy lips. One simple push and you would be in that cunt that’s coating you in another sheen of her juices, yet that’s not what she’s after.
What she is after, is to find out what it would feel fucking her folds while you struggle to let eligible words out of your mouth. Yet it doesn’t matter, her goal ultimately to lube you up even more before she’s taking a hold of your cock, giving you a few pumps as she lets you back to her thighs.
Not a moment’s rest is given, not a reprieve lasting a millisecond bestowed; only the rising need in the both of you to keep this shameless vice on for longer, seeing how far this can be pushed until either of you crack under the pressure.
“He’s doing good,” you say, slowly, enunciating every syllable you can. Clinging on to them as a way to ground yourself onto something that wasn’t her pillows fucking your shaft. “Yeji pi-picked him up for that freshmen party–” you groan as she takes hold of your arms to bring them up to the top of her button up, your fingers shakily beginning to unbutton each stud. Thankful that it’s another thing to focus on aside from her insistent fucking. “But he might be attracting a problem.”
Jimin chuckles, swaying her hips at you, your cock following as her shirt slowly begins to loosen. “Let me guess,” she says, palms moving up and down your forearm as you reach the mid way point of her shirt. “Giselle?”
“Y-Yeah,” you answer, reaching the very last button. Exposing the white lace hiding underneath, her tits managing to look bigger than they already are in them. Given a top down view of that cleavage that’s mouthwatering, enough to send you back to a brain without wrinkles. “I can–fuck, Jimin–”
She’s brought you back to her chest, shirt all messy and open. Doesn’t even bother to untuck them from her skirt, only asking you–no, demanding that you play with her tits, feeling so soft and heavy under your palms as the lace digs into her chest as you squeeze.
You’ve felt her breasts before—on the few occasions that you get to cup a feel of them. The common occurrence of her chest brushing along your arm when you pass by each other. Yet this is the time that you get to see them so up close, outside of the prim and proper look she maintains. Get to cup them in your arms, see the flesh jiggle and bounce at each thrust of her hips she sends back.
Lots of firsts today, you realize.
“You can what?” And she’s still playing innocent facade, the guise slowly losing its composure as you grope her chest, your hips beginning to buck forward in rhythm with hers.
“Can–” you gasp, toying with the underband of her bra, resisting the urge to pull them up and free her breasts. “Can keep an eye on him.”
She moans, arm coming around the back of your neck as her head lolls back, resting in your chest. Only a single word gets uttered out of her lips, and there are so many interpretations to it that any single one you take would bring you to your end.
“Please.”
Allowing yourself the decency to go animalistic, you wrap an arm around her waist, plant your legs firmer on the ground, and start pounding her thighs. Finally letting yourself go, forgetting everything about your reports and work—fixating only on Jimin.
And she’s relinquished control to you, looking up at you with her mouth wide open, symphonies and concertos of beautiful, poetic, perverse sounds. Pleading eyes staring deep into yours as you fuck her thighs harder, knead her tits rougher, yes yes yes, honey please fuck–
Lips meet, and it was an addiction fueled, your need satiating itself with her soft lips that lock together with yours. Tongues melding together in a dance as her moans and your groans echo inside the chamber that were your mouths.
You never once stop your pounding, leaving her chest to reach under her skirt, finding Jimin’s neglected cunt. Leaving her lips in exchange for peppering kisses all over her neck, you rub her folds, fingers circling around them and she’s wailing.
That door better be locked or else this would not end up well for the both of you, and in spite of the danger you can’t find it in yourself to stop this. Already too far gone to even pause for a moment to rest, to have a clear mind. Opting instead to finish what Yu Jimin started, to dirty that pure image she’s built for everyone, because to you, she is anything but.
“Honey, hun–” Jimin’s babbling now, body trembling from the pleasure you’ve assaulted her with. Every bit of her body is being hit—a mark left on her neck, your wrapped arm around her waist coming upwards, holding onto a breast while your other is circling her clit, gushing even more juices down her legs, getting even more friction to fuck her thighs faster.
And you can’t last any longer. Rutting into her without a care in the world, driving into her harder and harder until you feel that stirring in your loins.
“I’m close,” you mutter into her neck, tongue lapping at the mark you’ve left. Her eyes find yours, and you can see the need that’s reflecting in her irises, your own desires matching it.
“Me too.” It only makes you slam into her harder, the slaps of your flesh consuming the room. Your fingers dare itself to go forward, a lone digit pushing into her folds, inching itself inside her cunt and she peaks.
Jimin keening, back arching as her legs begin to tremble, juices squirting out of her pussy as you pull out of her folds and keep her upright. Your hips still fucking her throughout it, all the more cum that’s substituted as lube slipping your cock in and out of her thighs so fucking easier that it sends you quickly to your own climax.
Your first spurt spills in between thrusts—coating the inside of Jimin’s thighs, and your second hits the inside of her skirt, staining it with a line of white. Her legs are a complete mess as you keep thrusting, your cum leaking all over her smooth skin, combining with her own juices.
It leaves you spiraling as the last remnants of your load have left you, slumping back against the wall, slowly sliding down until you're sitting down on the floor. Panting as you stare up the ceiling, muttering a curse at the daze this entire situation has left you. Jimin’s right there with you, collapsed against your chest as her own chest heaves, causing a rather precarious position for you when you decide to look back at her again.
You hope that she didn’t notice your cock twitching against her thighs, or else you’re never gonna leave this room alive.
“That was,” she gasps, catching her breath as she lets out a laugh. “Stopping us at the rooftop was the right call.”
You scoff, a smile playing your lips. “And doing this here was any better?”
“Don't see you complaining,” she says, and she was half-correct. She leans up to give you a kiss on the cheek, that smile of hers somehow managing to light up everything around her like she was an angel. Until she speaks, and you get reminded that she is sin incarnate.
“I can feel your cum in my legs.” Her fingers brush against your cock as she scoops up some of your seed, popping a fingerful of it into her mouth. She lets out a hum, and she pops the digit out. “Salty,” she comments, hand coming back down between her legs. “About earlier–”
She's gone on to remind about the rookie, making sure that Giselle doesn't cause the guy trouble. “She's gotten interested,” Jimin adds, after another tasting of your load. “And you know what that means.”
“Yeah, I know.” It was oddly hot, listening to her talk so serious about work while she's cleaning herself up off your load. “I'll be sure to stick around him when the party goes on full swing.”
“You don't have to,” she says, letting out a whine once she realizes the stain on her skirt. “This is your fault, by the way.”
“Sorry, boss, but you started it,” you shoot back, getting an eyeroll from her.
“Yeah, yeah.” She cuddles up to you, arms resting over yours. “Stick with me during the party, okay?”
“What about the new guy? Yeji won't be able to babysit him.”
“Someone else will.” She brings your hand up to her lips and gives it a kiss. “Ever heard of Asa?”
“Yeah, close friends with him.” She lets out a laugh. “What?”
“Think they're a lot more than that,” she answers, looking up at you. “Don't worry about him, alright? Worry about me.”
You get a bad feeling about where this is going. “And why's that?”
“Because now that we've done this–” A finger points up and down herself. “We are going to be doing so much more.”
“Jimin–”
“Please?” The puppy eyes get to you, and even without this statement of hers, you're expecting it to happen anyway.
Totally not eager about it yourself, no.
“I'm graduating this year, and you're going to take over my spot next year,” she says, and you're reminded of the fact that this—whatever it is you have with her—won't last forever (Three point five comes to mind, and this needs to be evaluated soon). “Let me have as much time as I can with you.”
“We can still meet once you graduate,” you tell her, and it seems to lift her spirits up by a bit.
“But it's not going to be the same, will it.” You can only nod at that.
“Okay.” You make an impulsive decision, but you know it's one you won't regret. “Anything you want, I'll do it.”
Jimin's gaze snaps to you, and an emotion flashes in her eyes. One that you could barely decipher before she turns and straddles you before coming in for a kiss and it all just clicks.
“Thank you,” she whispers into your lips, and it grows quiet for a while, her embrace the only thing in your mind before—
“I can feel you twitching.”
Jimin's slowly snaking down, getting on her hands and knees until she's eyeing your cock with a hunger returning in her eyes tenfold.
“You said you'd do anything for me?”
You just gave her free rein over you, superseding reason Five, you realize. Her hands wrap around the base of your cock, and all you can do is nod.
“Mind fucking my tits next then?”
When she's trapped your cock in between her bra, pushing her tits together as you begin thrusting into the tight pressure, you lose the reasoning about telling her of other less important reports and instead reach an addendum to reason Five.
Tags : Cum Inside, Anal, Sex Addiction, Creampie, Kissing, Double Penetration, Sex Toy, Dominance, Multiple Partners, Gag, Forced, Bondage
Words : 2836
That evening, the streets around the convenience store were as quiet as usual after nine o’clock. Karina, a 25-year-old female idol famous for her beautiful face and her sexy, supple figure, had just bought some snacks for her long evening of dance practice. Her long black hair swayed gently as she walked, a small shopping bag hanging from her right hand. Her large, alluring breasts swayed lightly beneath the thin T-shirt she was wearing, making her feel slightly uncomfortable in the chilly night air. She was unaware that two dark shadows were following her from behind, their steps slow but steady.
Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over her mouth from behind. Karina flinched, her innocent eyes widening in fear. The first man’s burly body pressed her against the wall of the narrow corridor, his hot breath and the pungent smell of alcohol stinging her nose. “Shut up, whore,” the man whispered in a vicious voice, his iron-like grip clamping downher shoulders. The second man, calmer but with eyes full of sadism, grabbed her legs and lifted Karina’s body into the black van that had suddenly appeared. She struggled, but her strength was no match for theirs. Karina’s heart was pounding, her mind racing: this must be a nightmare, but the pain in her arm was real. They drugged her with a wet cloth, and the world went dark.
When Karina came to, she found herself in a stuffy, unfamiliar room; the air was thick with the smell of damp and sweat. Her hands and feet were tightly bound with rough rope to an old wooden chair, her legs spread wide apart. Her supple body, which usually danced with grace, was now trapped; her breasts rose and fell rapidly as she gasped for breath. The first man, with a muscular, athletic build and a fierce face covered in small scars, stood before her, grinning. “Wake up. Tonight you are ours.” His voice was rough, full of dominance, making Karina shiver. The second man, slimmer but with a gaze as cold as a knife, nodded slowly, his hand already holding a coil of extra rope.
Karina tried to scream, but the first man immediately moved closer, his thick finger pressing against her lips. “Don’t you dare scream; tonight you’re just our sex doll.” He forced Karina’s mouth open, shoving in a hard, slippery red rubber ball, and tied it tightly behind her head. The ball pressed against her tongue, causing saliva to drip from the corner of her mouth. Karina felt sick; her eyes were glazed over, her face now full of resigned fear. She couldn’t speak, only snorting softly through her nose, her body trembling. Her mind was screaming: help, someone save me. But the room was isolated; only the sound of their three breaths echoed.
The second man switched on a bright spotlight, bathing Karina’s body in light. The two of them began setting up the recording equipment: a black camera tripod, a small microphone, and cables strewn across the concrete floor. The first man adjusted the camera angle to face Karina directly, the cold lens staring at her like a monster’s eye. “Record everything, so your fans can see this,” he said with a coarse laugh, his hand touching Karina’s chin and forcing her face towardsthe lens. Karina closed her eyes, but the second man gently pinched her cheek, forcing her to open them. “Look at the camera, whore. Show how scared you are.” The second man’s voice was calm, yet full of satisfaction, sending shivers down Karina’s spine.
As the camera began to roll, the red light flashed, and the first man moved closer.
His rough hands grabbed Karina’s T-shirt, tearing it open roughly until her large breasts were exposed. Her smooth, white skin contrasted with the straps, her pink nipples already hard from the cold and fear. Karina hissed through the ball gag, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was resigned, her body motionless, only a slight tremor betraying her panic. The first man
grinned, his rough palm covering one of her breasts,squeezing it hard until the soft flesh spilled between his fingers. “Look at this,
breasts that drive men mad,” he muttered, his voice full of lust.
The second man joined in, his hands—smoother yet firm—pinching Karina’s left nipple. He twisted it gently at first, then harder, causing Karina to squirm in her chair. The pain was sharp, but there was a strange tingling sensation—one she hated—that made her grow increasingly submissive. “Your nipples are incredibly sensitive, aren’t they? Like a professional whore,” said the second man in a teasing tone, his eyes savouring the look of fear on Karina’s face. They took turns squeezing and pinching; Karina’s breasts turned red from the pressure, her nipples swollen and sore. Karina closed her eyes, her breath coming in gasps through her nose, saliva dripping from the ball gag onto her bare chest. Her mind was in turmoil: do I want to fight back? But the bonds were too tight, and the two men were too terrifying.
They didn’t stop there. The first man loosened the restraints on Karina’s legs for a moment, only to spread her legs wider and tie them back to the chair legs. Her shorts were roughly torn off, leaving her vagina and bottom exposed. Karina felt a cold draught touch her sensitive skin, sending a shiver through her body.The second man chuckled softly, his hand touching her inner thigh, moving slowly upwards until it touched her vaginal lips, already damp with fear. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?” he whispered, his finger rubbing gently yet mercilessly. Karina shook her head weakly, but her voice was muffled; only a soft moan escaped her lips.
The first man moved closer to Karina’s side, his nose pressing against hersoft and slightly sweaty. He licked it gently at first, his rough tongue sweeping over the sensitive skin;the salty taste made him snort with satisfaction. “Your armpit tastes lovely, like honey,” he said, then licked deeper, his teeth biting lightly. Karina squirmed slightly, a mixture of disgust and strangeness churning in her stomach, but she surrendered, her eyes gazingblankly at the ceiling. The second man joined in, licking her other armpit, his tongue slow and deliberate, leaving a trail of cool wetness. The two of them licked in turn, their hot breath stinging Karina’s skin, making her feel like an animal being toyed with.
Suddenly, the first man forced a kiss on her. He released the ball gag briefly, but his hand clamped down on Karina’s jaw, forcing her lips apart. His mouth, reeking of tobacco, pressed against Karina’s lips; his tongue forced its way in, roughly exploring her mouth. Karina choked, trying to pull away, but the second man held her head from behind. “Kiss me, or we’ll make it worse,” threatened the second man. Karina gave in, her lips moving weakly, tears streaming down her face. The kiss was long and sickening; the first man’s tongue sucked on hers, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. After that, the gag ball was put back in, silencing her completely.
They picked up a large black dildo from the bedside table; its surface was slick with lubricant. The second man held it, pressing it against Karina’s vagina. “Now, feel this,” he said, pushing gently but firmly. The tip of the dildo touched her vaginal lips, then slid in slowly, stretching the inner walls. Karina writhed violently; the sensation of fullness and pain drew a muffled groan from her mouth. The dildo was halfway in; the second man twisted it gently, rubbing a sensitive spot inside. Karina’s body was sweating, her breasts swaying with every small thrust. She was terrified, her mind praying for this to end, but the first man grinned, his hand squeezing her bottom.
Not satisfied yet, the first man picked up a second dildo, smaller but ribbed. He turned Karina’s body slightly, despite the restraints, and pressed it against her arsehole. “Your arse is tight, darling. It’ll feel good once it’s stretched,” he muttered, pushing the tip into her tight anus. Karina let out a muffled scream; a searing burn shot through her as the dildo entered slowly, inch by inch. They gripped her hips, thrusting in turn, the dildos in her vagina and anus moving in sync, making her supple body tremble violently. The sensation of being filled in two places made Karina dizzy; her fear was mixed with the forced sensation she hated. Tears kept streaming down her face, but she surrendered, no longer struggling, simply waiting to see what they would do next.
The camera kept rolling, the red light flashing tirelessly. The first and second men looked at each other, sinister smiles on their faces. “This is only the beginning, Karina,” said the first man, his hand still gripping the dildo in her anus, ready to push it in further. Karina closed her eyes, breathing heavily, her little heart hoping for a way out of this hell.
The first man roughly pulled the dildo from Karina’s anus, leaving the hole throbbing with pain and slightly gaping. Karina writhed feebly, her breath coming in gasps through the ball gag, tears streaming down her innocent cheeks. Her supple body was drenched in sweat, her large breasts rising and falling rapidly, her nipples red and swollen from earlier pinching. The second man pulled the dildo from her vagina; a mixture of lubricant and mucus dripped onto the concrete floor. “Enough with the dildo, now it’s time for the real thing,” muttered the first man in a vicious tone, his eyes brimming with lust. He grabbed the rope behind Karina’s head, releasing the rubber ball gag with a single strong tug. The ball gag fell to the floor with a wet thud, Karina’s saliva dripping heavily from her wide-open mouth
Karina immediately screamed, her voice breaking with fear and resignation. “Please… don’t! Let me go!” Her screams echoed through the stuffy room, but her tone was more of a weak whimper, her body trembling violently as the ropes bound her hands and feet to the chair. Her eyes widened, her innocent face pale, her thoughts spinning in chaos: this is the end, they’re going to kill me or worse. The second man chuckled softly, his hand touching Karina’s chin and forcing her face upwards. “Too late, whore. You’re ours now. Just Go on, scream—no one will hear you.” His voice was calm yet cruel, making Karina shiver even more violently.
The first man wasted no time. He unzipped his trousers, pulled out his already hard, thick cock, its veins bulging like a vicious snake. It was at least twenty centimetres long, the head red and glistening with pre-ejaculate. “Open your mouth wide,” he ordered roughly, his strong hands gripping Karina’s black hair and pulling her head forward. Karina shook her head weakly, her lips trembling. “No... please, don’t put it in my mouth! I... I don’t want to!” But the second man held her jaw from the side, forcing her mouth open. The first man’s cock was thrust straight in, slamming against Karina’s tongue and hitting the back of her throat deeply.
Karina choked violently, her eyes wide with shock, tears streaming down her face. The cock filled her mouth; it tasted salty and the smell of the man’s sweat made her feel sick. The first man began to move his hips, fucking Karina’s mouth with rough thrusts, the head of his cock slamming against her throat repeatedly. “Suck it, don’t just stand there!” he barked, his hand pressing Karina’s head deeper. Karina struggled slightly, but the ropes bound her, leaving her helpless. She gave in, her tongue forced to touch the shaft of the cock, her saliva mixing with the man’s fluid. A muffled groan escaped her mouth, “Mmmph... stop...” but that only made the first man more savage, his thrusts faster.
The second man didn’t stand idly by. He unzipped his trousers too; his cock was longer but slimmer, already fully erect. He took turns with the first man, pulling his partner’s cock out and shoving his own into Karina’s mouth. “My turn, feel this one,” he said calmly. Karina let out a soft scream as the second cock entered, going even deeper, making her choke and cough. They took turns fucking her mouth, their hands clenching her hair and jaw, forcing her to swallow their cocks. Karina’s mouth was full, her cheeks puffed out, saliva dripping onto her chin and her bare breasts. Her mind was shattered: I’m like a cheap whore.
After a few minutes of brutal thrusting, the first man took his turn again. “I’m coming! Swallow it all, you slut!” he groaned, his hips moving faster. Karina felt the cock throbbing in her mouth, then suddenly a hot burst gushed out. Thick, salty semen filled her mouth, flooding her throat until she choked and coughed. A few drops trickled from the corner of her lips, but the first man pressed her head down, forcing her to swallow. “Don’t waste it, it’s a gift for you.” Karina swallowed with difficulty; the bitter taste made her retch slightly, but she submitted, her eyes already vacant.
The second man took his place immediately, fucking Karina’s mouth with a slow but deep rhythm. “Now it’s my turn, open wide,” he whispered, his hand pinching Karina’s nipple to make her comply. Karina moaned, “Enough… please…” but her voice was muffled by the cock entering her again. Soon, the second man also reached climax; his ejaculation was more forceful, spurting into Karina’s mouth until it overflowed. Warm semen flowed down her chin, mixed with saliva and tears. She was forced to swallow again, her body shaking violently; the disgust and fear made her dizzy. They both laughed, wiping their cocks on Winter’s lips before tucking them back into their trousers.
Not satisfied, the first man cut the ropes binding Karina’s legs with a small knife, then the second man cut her hands. Karina’s body slumped limply to the floor, but they immediately lifted her up like a doll. The first man lay on the dirty floor, pulling Karina onto his hips. His cock was hard again; he positioned Karina’s vagina directly above it and thrust inside with a single forceful stroke. “Ahh, your pussy is so tight!” he groaned; the walls of Karina’s vagina stretched violently, the pain mixed with pleasure making her scream. “No! Get out… it hurts!” But the second man from behind held her hips, his cock thrusting into Karina’s anus, which was still slick from the dildo earlier.
The double penetration began; the first man’s cock fucked her vagina from below, his up-and-down thrusts making Karina’s breasts sway wildly. The second man entered her arse, his cock thrusting deep, stretching her tight arsehole. Karina screamed in resignation, “Oh, stop… both of you… I can’t take it!”Her supple body is pinned between them, the two cocks moving in unison, filling every orifice with a savage rhythm. The sensation of being filled in two places is torturous; the walls of her vagina and anus rub against each other through a thin membrane, creating a strange sensation she hates. The semen from her mouth still lingers in her throat; her breath comes in gasps amidst the forced thrusts.
The second man, whilst fucking her arse, began to lick Karina’s body greedily. His tongue swept across her sweaty back, down to her bum and back up to her armpits again. He bit gently at her soft skin, his fingers slipping forward to rub Karina’s clitoris whilst the first man continued to fuck her vagina. “Your body feels good, wet all over,” he murmured, his tongue tracing the curve of her waist and moving up to her breasts, sucking on her swollen nipples. His fingers entered her vagina alongside the first man’s cock, stretching her wider, making Karina writhe violently. He forced another kiss, his lips pressing against Karina’s neck, his bite leaving a red mark. Karina surrendered completely, her screams turning to sobs, “Enough… I… I’ve lost…”
They quickened their thrusts, their cocks pulsing in her vagina and anus simultaneously. The first man came first, a hot creampie gushing deep into Karina’s vagina, filling her womb with thick semen. “Take it all in your pussy!” he groaned.
The second man followed, his ejaculation flooding her anus; warm fluid dripped out as he pulled his cock out. Karina collapsed between them, her body limp, her holes throbbing with pain and full of semen flowing out. Tears dried on her cheeks, her eyes vacant, her mind shattered: I’m ruined now.
The first man got up, grabbed his mobile phone and connected it to the camera. “Perfect footage. Now, just upload it online, and your fans will see this," he said, grinning. The video was uploaded within minutes, titled 'Karina Double Raped'. Soon, notifications flooded in—the video went viral, racking up millions of views within the first hour. Karina lay on the floor, breathing weakly, unaware that the outside world already knew about the incident.
This is a request I had to do because this yeji fit was straight evil
You watched Yeji slack jawed as she performed. Her outfit being both modest and lewd all at the same time.
You watch her dominate the stage and can only think to yourself, “I’d do anything to have a night with her,”
As if hearing your thoughts Yeji turns to you and nods before continuing with her performance. You think nothing of it at the time and enjoy the rest of the concert.
After the concert and you arrive at home exhausted. You open the door take off your shoes out on your house slippersbthen begin walking to your bedroom.
You walk by your couch and see Yeji in that evil outfit from earlier. She's smiling and waves at you.
You do a double take to make sure you're not going crazy then say, “Nope, Nope, Nope,” when you notice she has horns and a tail that are both crimson.
Yeji pouts and says, “wait wait don't leave,” as you run to your bedroom.
“Nope nope, my friend Gold said not to mess with succubi ever.” you respond and Yeji follows you into your bedroom.
“You friend the witch?” Yeji questions
“Um kinda he's a wizard,”
“Huh?” yeji said squinting,
“Witch is a gendered term and he's male so he's a wizard,”
“Witch hasnt been gendered in years,”
You pull out your phone and google witch
“A witch is traditionally defined as a person, typically a woman, believed to possess malevolent supernatural powers, or in modern contexts, a practitioner of nature-based, neo-pagan religions like Wicca” you state.
Yeji rolls her eyes then says, “you know that's not what that means anymore linguistic drift has drastically changed the meaning colaquially especially as English itself moves away from gendered terms as a whole except in specific sub-communities,”
You pause for a moment and consider what's happening right now. You are having a conversation with a succubus Yeji about linguistic drift.
“Okay I must be dreaming,” you say.
Yeji shakes her head and says, “no mam. You made a pact with me and now I'm here to finish negotiations. Your soul for one night with me,”
You blink thrice after hearing that and say, “absolutely not!”
Yeji looks genuinely hurt by that as she responds, “what am I not pretty enough,”
“Yes! I'm not giving up my immortal soul for some demon coochie,” you almost yell.
Yeji pouts then says, “what about?”
“Nope nope nope. I want you to leave Mrs. Hwang,” you cut her off. She winces and you crash on your bed.
You sleep fantastically for the most part the high of the concert washing off any of the weird remnants you felt as you lay in bed. Dreams come plenty and are pleasant.
When you wake up you feel a warm wet sensation on your crotch. At first you jolt up but then you hear a whine and “ow”
You look down at your crotch to see Yeji rubbing her face and pouting.
“You kicked me,” she whined pathetically,
“Eh yo what the fuck?” you yell, “I told you to leave,” you add and Yeji pouts again.
“Well I did all this work to get here and make the contract with you and you didn't even sign it. I'm hungry so I figured Id eat you out a bit of your sexual energy and go,”
You roll your eyes and help her up before gently pushing the pouting succubus out of your room.
You close the door and notice your still wet, Yeji phases through your door and says, “can I stay now?”
You scowl then say, “no. I'm not giving my soul up for demon pussy,”
Yeji takes off her shorts and says, “but my pussy is so tight and wet. Don't you want to fuck my little cunt? Or maybe you want something else?”
Yeji waved her hand and a very angry hard and red cock manifested between her legs. You stared at her one eyed monster and for a minute considered her offer until an imaginary Gold bonked your head and said “no!”
You roll your eyes and say no again, yeji begins to cry at this before you say, “fine I'll fuck you but no soul stealing just a little bit of sexual energy,”
Yeji pouts and then summons her contract and says, “but but,”
You take the contract and then start reading it over. Your eyes narrow as you go over all of the stipulations and rigorous jargon via very old English and say, “this contract is terrible,”
Yeji looks at you shocked as you head to your computer. You begin to rewrite the basic of the contract so it better benifets the both of you whole also not having you lose your soul. After you finish the new contract you hand it to her and she goes over it, she then looks at you with a wicked glare, “Lawyer?”
“Lawyer,” you nod.
Yeji reads over the contract and says “okay this is fine,”
You nod after she signs and you sign. Then you finally say, “okay strip Darling,”
Yeji’s pussy flutters at that before stripping her outfit off. She makes a cruel slow show of it you watch salivating as she takes the shirt off and the skirt. But as she goes for the bra you tell her, “no keep it,”
Yeji smirks and purrs, “yes darling” she walks up to you before pulling you in with her tail to a sloppy kiss. You moan as she starts grinding her crotch against yours.
You find yourself getting wetter nd wetter as she kisses you deeper and deeper.
“Fuck me,” you groan.
Yeji smiles and says, “that's the plan sweetheart”
Yeji runs her hands over your body, “you're so soft!” she exclaims as her hands pull twist and squeeze before landing on your tits. You moan and Yeji smirks “yes release all that sexual energy!”
In effort to please her you buck your pussy into her desperate to get some friction but she pins you down, “no!” she growls.
“You are my plaything for tonight,” her deep voice resonates through you as her tail wraps around your throat gently.
You moan in ecstasy as she begins massaging your breasts. She grinds on you for about a minute before taking you into her mouth. You groan as your walls flutter around nothing. Yeji smiles as she bathes in your lust before going back to suck your nipple.
Eventually you cum from her touch. Yeji’s eyes narrowed as she says, “did you just cum without my permission?”
You whine blissed out and not resisting when shenflips you over and starts spanking you,
You moan delirious as the pleasure and pain mix to melt your brain. Yeji laughs and says, “one last thing.” as she spanks you again. Then you feel her.
Yeji’s cock rams into you and when it touches your cervix you cum again.
“Fuck you're so easy,” yeji groans as you feel her fill you. Unable to process anymore you pass out delirious.
This action will have consequences. More Somi may come later in the Idol Masterlist.
Word count: 15.5K | Tags: Smut, Blowjob, Facials, Reverse Glory Hole, Anal, Sex Toys, Deepthroat, Creampie, and a bit more.
A tributing session gets Somi closer to clearing her debt. In the heat of the moment, her lust and hunger for more push her to, unknowingly, cross the line between a not-so-hidden fantasy of hers and reality.
For all intents and purposes, remember this is a work of fiction.
"Have I told you how much I hate the fact that you changed companies?"
"Only every comeback since I did that," Somi laughed quietly at her PA manager. Every time she released a new song, they would review the various folders to ensure all the paperwork was in order. Every time they did that, he would sigh deeply when the debt folder appeared next on his laptop.
"You know? Yours is already one of the longest-running debts in the industry. At least for an idol who's still active and considered successful," he peeked at her silhouette as she lay on the large sofa with her bare legs in the air, stretching her arms. "We would have been done with this if the interest rate hadn't gone up, and if you did these servicing sessions a bit more often."
His voice showed his frustration and his concern for her. Debuting in the K-pop industry meant becoming deeply in debt from training alone. More often than not, that can be paid out of pocket or with actual money after debuting, with added interest. There was also the option of paying that debt in the same and only way debut debt can be cleared: sleeping with investors, also known simply as Servicing.
Second-generation groups helped standardize the process and began practices such as 'tributing,' in which one or a few members serve to protect younger members, usually underage, from such experiences. The noble act became so popular that most people referred to it by that name, but soloists had no choice but to do it themselves.
While hanging companies before the debut debt is cleared is possible, it adds annual interest to the original debt, which must be cleared through the same methods. This does not account for any new debut debt added by the new company. In the case of I.O.I, due to the short contract length, it was agreed before Produce 101 started that the debut debt would be split evenly among the selected members and carried after contract termination. Because of Somi's young age and lack of interest in servicing acts at the time, her debt grew much longer than she anticipated, causing an almost eternal headache for her Private Affairs (PA) Manager.
"Maybe if the investors would make it interesting instead of just shoving it in until they cum, I would do it more often! They could learn a thing or two from Prada," she smirked proudly, spreading her legs and running her finger over her covered pussy.
Some idols were approached by recognized brands, offering them global coverage in exchange for their bodies; more often than not, that involves some orgy or gangbang. Despite the income entering their pockets, that money is for themselves and can't be used to clear their debut debt. "How much is there left to pay anyway?" Somi turned to her side, widening her eyes with a playful smile.
"If you were to do it all this year, two or three servicing sessions." He shrugged, raising his eyebrows, knowing well she would be the one to decide the next step. Somi sighed in disappointment. "After Ice Cream, we received some decent offers," he added.
"Why can't I get some good deals like Twice or Aespa?" She whined, pouting and crossing her arms.
"You know how these guys move. They look at the safety of the company first, then at who they could fuck," he explained, shaking his head and pressing his index and middle fingers on his temple. The idols' debt must be repaid through an intricate network of trusted investors. Reputation is a valuable asset for both parties, as any accident or information leak could result in significant losses beyond the monetary. "As much as everybody would like to take a bite at you, they don't trust the label that much, you know?"
"Do you want to take a bite at me?" Somi grinned, grabbing her left tit tightly, making it squish through her fingers.
"Water is wet," he scoffed, enjoying the view. "But after this last comeback, you got new investors interested in the label."
"Any good review there?"
"Same as usual," he scoffed, quickly passing through the tabs of their profiles, which included anonymous reviews of idols who served them.
"Then what's the point? All of these old guys want me to be their escort, or their personal prostitute for a night." She sat on the couch, ogling him. "If I'm going to let some random people use my body," she purred, catwalking towards him as she took off her blouse. "At least I should enjoy it as well, shouldn't I?" She knelt with a straight back as she unhooked her bra, removing it to let her tits hang freely.
"Somi…" The manager sighed, admiring the shape of her breasts. They were like a perfect drop of dense liquid, refusing to lose their consistency despite the heavy weight they carried.
"What?" She smiled, crawling under the table. "You look like you need an incentive to get me out of this boring legal shithole, and you seem too stressed out to keep working," she added, unbuckling his belt and getting her hand in his trousers to get his semihard cock out, chuckling when it went rock hard in her hand.
"What do you want exactly?" He got comfortable, getting a good view of her big eyes as she licked the underside of his shaft and kissed its tip.
"Something fun! Something I can actually masturbate to just by remembering it. Something worth my time and my pussy," she sneered before taking his dick into her mouth, sucking it slowly while her tongue swirled around his frenulum.
"Need I remind you they are my bosses? You know there's always a catch with these guys," he grunted, letting the pleasure cloud his mind.
"Usually a fun catch," she replied, quickly licking his frenulum as her spit fell down his shaft. "Good thing you always look for my interests as much as theirs," she smirked, kissing his glans before pressing her boobs around his length.
"I'll see what I can do." He shook his head, chuckling while he let Somi blow him at her pace.
A week later, right after getting out of the shower, she got a video call from her manager.
"You got cameras here or something?" She joked, unapologetically displaying her full naked body on camera while she applied some products to her hair.
"You're so damn lucky I'm alone here, but if you want me to install cameras in every corner of your room, that's fine with me," he replied, taking a screenshot as she posed for him; a common ritual for them.
"It doesn't sound like a bad idea, you know? What's up?" She asked, getting back to her hair routine.
"Upper management has a proposal for you. Do you want to hear it now, or do you want me to go there?"
"Here's fine, I'm not feeling like getting visits today," she winked, turning around quickly to show her butt plug and wink.
"Sometimes I hate you."
"I know! But talk!"
"Are you familiar with reverse glory holes?"
"No, but it seems I'll get familiar with them," she smirked, already interested. "What makes them different than usual glory holes?"
"Well, basically, you'll be lying down on a sort of bed attached to a wall with holes. Instead of men getting their dicks in the hole, you get your ass in it, maybe all of your lower body. You won't be seeing who's using your pussy or your ass."
"Did they say how many men will get in line?" She bit her lower lip, imagining herself already there.
"That's part of the catch. They didn't say. They just mentioned it would be employees."
"What? Employees?"
"Their idea! Supposedly to 'increase their morale.' They insisted everyone would have to use the provided condoms in the room."
"The fuck? They know I like to go raw," she murmured to herself. "Any other catch?"
"The remaining amount in your debt is too little to make any future servicing session not worth the deal unless you wait two more years of interest."
"Aish… There's no way they'll agree to something else, right?"
"I wouldn't be calling if I hadn't tried it all already."
"That's the reason why you have special privileges with me!" She got close to the camera to blow a kiss, then posed again to display her heavy tits and her bald pussy, spreading it for him to see her inner lips.
"I fucking hate you."
"Then fuck me like that when it's your turn in the glory hole." She winked, taking her plug out to clean it with her mouth. "Any hole you want… Right?"
He sighed. "Yes, they requested both holes."
"Then I'm in!"
Unfortunately for Somi, the day of her session kept getting delayed. Just as she feared, the arranged date had clashed with her father's return to Korea. He was informed of the shady side of the K-pop industry when Somi first enrolled as a trainee at the tender age of thirteen. Despite trying to talk her out of it, she insisted, aware of what her future could entail. Years later, he had also benefited from that part of the industry after his small appearances in dramas and shows.
Neither he nor Somi was keen on the idea of seeing each other before or after she had to go through one of her sessions. For her, it was shameful to be seen in a weak physical state, a common consequence of whatever the investors had done to her. For him, the mental images of what they could have possibly done to his daughter went further than what had actually happened.
For both of them, ignorance was bliss. Even though their early conversations on the topic had created enough trust between them to talk about other random encounters to the point of asking for advice from each other, they had agreed not to talk about any work-related sexual services they experienced. The company's staff ensured Somi's dad would be kept occupied until the following morning, giving her time to recover a bit.
By the time she noticed, the day had finally arrived. Somi and her PA manager arrived early. Her outfit was something simple and comfortable for the occasion. A pair of sandals that showed off her black pedicure, some shorts that barely covered her ass, a cropped tee that hugged her udders tightly, accentuating the lack of bra, and a lightweight cardigan that did nothing to cover her silhouette.
It may not be the best fit to meet one of the men operating in the shadows, but she figured that if the actual Chairman and the company's most trusted lawyer wanted to see her, she better make a statement from the get-go. However, when they passed her on to the office to sign the deal, the environment, the talk, the mood, everything remained strictly professional.
The remaining amount of her debt was so stupidly small that it felt like a poor taste joke. Upon reading the contract, they realized there was no mention of how many people would have access to her body, only that employees and their guests could enter the area and use the facility, which, of course, included her.
Just as her manager had mentioned, it was explicitly stated that all of the men who attempted to have intercourse with her would need to make use of a condom. This, despite everyone having already been tested for any STDs, and her having a contraceptive implant. That specific clause kept confusing her, considering they knew, from the beginning, that she was more than fine with being a cumdump. It only added to the frustration of not clearing her debt that day.
After signing, they guided her to the building's basement, beneath the parking area. Unlike the old Big Three or Hybe, The Black Label often refused to book a large village, house, or even a penthouse for debut debt clearance, as that would reduce the amount of money going toward the debt itself.
Somi had already been there a couple of times, but she was surprised by the little cubicle they had added on the left side of the entrance, out of which a box-like chamber took up the very center of the place. The structure included a series of holes. One at the bottom, where her legs would come out and be tied to the wall with the pair of shackles. Each side had one small hole, where men could stick their dicks and balls, and a larger hole, where they could stick their arm to grab her body.
"That's better than I thought," she admitted, appreciating the bottles of lube, the strips of condoms, and a box with different sex toys, from which she focused on the whip. "You know I have a photoshoot in a few days."
"I also know how to put on a show without jeopardizing my assets, just as much as I know everything you like, little one," the Chairman said, relaxing his whole body and loosening his tie. Suddenly, the scary man became desirable to her, particularly the gray hairs on his sideburns. "Please follow us."
They went to the back of the room and entered a door that led to the cubicle, which only Somi, her manager, and the Chairman had access to. The bench looked surprisingly comfortable, shaped to help her support her body for longer, even though her legs would later be restricted. It was equipped with a leather belt that would secure at her waist and cupholders on the sides, already occupied by lube dispensers and water bottles with straws. Above it, a little light, for those who peek through the holes to see her body. Right where her head would rest, they also had a cushioned barrier with a two-way mirror, a pair of leather handcuffs on each side of the headrest, and a single leather belt for her head.
"The only ones who know who will be tonight's slut are in this basement right now," the Chairman explained, standing in the narrow corner that gave access to the chamber. "All other employees just know we're having an elite prostitute to celebrate the label's ninth anniversary since its founding."
"Elite prostitute?" She scoffed with a smirk, gawked at the man's eyes.
"Do you have any problem with the terminology?" He asked, challenging her.
"Not really," she replied, making her way to the bench, pressing her tight ass against his crotch. "I appreciate the status recognition, though," she added with a flirty smile, inspecting the holes through which hands and dicks will be entering.
"As you can see, if at some moment you want to take a break from stroking our staff, you can close them to take a rest." It was obvious that a lot of thought had gone into building the little chamber. However, Somi quickly realized there was no way to stop anything from happening to her lower half, so she turned back to him, raising one eyebrow. "That is by design. After all, that is the main attraction."
"And if I need to pee or something?" She joked, pressing her fingers on her pussy.
"I would recommend you to do it now instead," he smirked. "You still have forty minutes before we start. I suggest you get comfortable."
She tried the bench, resting her head right at the level of the Chairman's bulge. "Don't pretend you won't be using me." Her arrogant smile almost made him ignore her underboobs, looming from under her top.
"I will lead by example, Miss." He reached for the inner pocket of his jacket, taking two laced pieces of fabric. "Here's your outfit for the night, by the way."
"Thank you!" She smiled brightly, taking them and quickly sliding the leg garters over her long legs, making sure they tightened around her upper thighs. "Boss, since there is still plenty of time," Somi ogled at him, slowly reaching for his crotch. "How about I suck your cocks outside here until we begin?" Her left arm stretched towards his manager. "You two can consider it a 'thank you' for taking such good care of me."
"I've always liked the way you think," the Chairman smirked. "I also expect you'll be okay with one of us getting inside this place for another blowjob from time to time. I imagine for a whore like you, getting dick after dick can become boring," he added, getting close to her face.
"And I thought you wouldn't care about my own entertainment," she replied sarcastically. Happily, she walked out of the chamber, surprising the lawyer. "Hi!" She greeted him, signaling him to get closer. She stood proudly, swinging her covered tits side to side while the Chairman and her manager walked behind her. "Is it okay if he joins too?" She asked the men behind her, holding her fingers to make her arms squeeze her tits.
The Chairman turned to the company's lawyer. "As long as there's no vaginal or anal penetration of any kind from us, there is no breach of contract," he stated, making Somi grin at the absurdity of the situation, since they were the ones building that contract.
With a nod from the men, and confident in every centimeter of her skin, she did not hesitate to strip. A single shoulder movement let her cardigan fall, followed by her shorts, revealing a pair of black panties that did nothing to cover her cunt. Knowing their eyes were on her, she quickly took her crop off and slid her panties down her legs. "How do they look?" She modeled her long, slim legs, posing to show her best angles.
"Just as I expected," the Chairman smirked, getting close to her, holding her by her waist with his left hand, making her flinch. "Don't forget I own you for as long as your contract is valid."
"No one owns…" The loud slap on her face caused her heart to skip a beat. The following tight grip on her neck brought her back to reality in an instant.
"I. Do." The Chairman's voice felt ominous, and yet, it shook her core, wetting her folds.
"Fuck," she mouthed, scanning his lips and the growth of his graying facial hair. She bit her lower lip, pressing her legs together.
"Everything you like," he reminded her in a whisper, pulling her close to his face to kiss her. She resisted for a couple of seconds, too aware of the itching his skin produced on her. The grip on her pipe tightened until she melted and kissed him back, taking her breath directly from him. "Remember that."
She nodded with a lustful smile. His hand released her neck. He didn't talk. He simply eyed down, and Somi knelt, quickly unbuckling his belt and releasing his semi-hard dick. With a light nod from him, she sucked on it, pumping his blood to harden it.
"You were right," he expressed to the manager. "She truly knows how to suck a cock."
Somi quickly turned to see her manager. "Told you," he mouthed with a bit of regret in his eyes. She blew him a kiss and signaled him to get closer. Her manager was just a pawn for them, obliged to share any valuable information. She held no grudge against him. If anything, she was thankful that, thanks to him, a series of bitter experiences was, at the very least, bittersweet. Now it was up to her to enjoy it.
Without losing focus on the blowjob, she quickly spat on her hand and took the familiar shaft of her manager to stroke him just the way he liked it. His soft grunt raised her confidence enough to call the lawyer.
"Don't get shy now, old man," the Chairman scoffed. "We'll be the only ones using her mouth today," he declared, caressing her cheek while she smoothly took the layer's erect penis out.
Surrounded by their members, Somi showed off her multitasking skills. Starting from left to right, she stroked two of them at once while blowing the third. First, her manager. She did every maneuver he loved just enough to edge him, always flirting with her eyes. Then, the Chairman. She let herself be used, bobbing her head consistently at the pace he shoved his cock in her mouth, always suctioning his glans and keeping eye contact.
Lastly, the lawyer. He awakened something she had not rationalized. She knew her manager was in his late thirties and the Chairman was in his mid-forties, but the lawyer looked older, mainly because of his salt-and-pepper hair. His shaft, however, kept his young spirit.
"How old are you?" She asked him, getting in his groin to kiss and lick his sack.
"Turned fifty a month ago," he replied, quickly sharing a complicit half-smile with the Chairman. She laughed, suddenly capturing his manhood with her mouth and taking his length down her throat. "Is she always like this?" He asked the manager, controlling his groans.
"Only when she likes a response," he stated, moaning when she squeezed his girth and pulled him closer towards her.
Willingly exposed, hungry, and at a clear disadvantage, Somi saw no point in pretending. Her wrists moved expertly through their spit-covered cocks, going from one to the other, letting them slap her face with their meat, spread her droll through her cheeks, and grope her tits as they pleased.
She missed the arousal of multiple warm, slippery shafts poking her cheeks and the careless handling of her body. The occasional hair-tugging made her squirm, and the constant pinching of her clear nipples, pulling them towards them was fun. She loved to feel them fight for her attention just as much as the lack of control. That would be her drive for the rest of the day.
Soon, the lawyer held her head, grunting. Somi gladly swallowed his dick, sucking it with drunken eyes.
"Paint her face," the Chairman instructed, making her grin. She let go of his girth and sat obediently, placing her hands behind her back, pouting as the lawyer slapped her cheek with his shaft until his jizz landed right under her eye.
Somi smiled warmly, waiting for him to finish so she could suck his tip one more time to take any remaining drops of cum directly from the penis that, in her mind, was as old as the one that brought her to this world. The mere thought made her engulf his manhood until her manager pulled her head towards him. "How do I look?" She purred, massaging his balls with one hand and stroking the Chairman with the other.
"Exactly like what you are," he scoffed, subtly patting her head three times. "A pretty cum dump," he chuckled, watching her mouth those exact words at the same time. Then, he exploded, landing the first shot of semen directly on her left eye, spreading his load throughout her face, including her forehead.
Battling to open her sticky eye, she leered at the Chairman as she licked the tip of the manager, making a whole erotic performance out of it. "Can I?" She asked, using her best dumb slut face to get close to his glans.
"Finish the job," he ordered without touching her head.
Somi willingly took him back into her mouth and sucked him to the best of her ability, quickly pumping more and more blood to his tip while her tongue swirled around it. It didn't take long for him to groan, announcing his climax. Somi finished him, suctioning his cock while her tongue licked his slit until his load was enough for her to swish loudly. She opened her mouth for him to see her tongue disappearing in the forming pool of semen while her eyes crossed.
"I trust you, gentlemen, will also want a copy of this, right?" He growled, shooting the last ropes of his seed onto her upper lip.
Somi hummed, keeping her mouth open and tilting her head.
"Oh, didn't we tell you? We've got cameras in different places to capture every angle." The Chairman stroked his dick slowly as she scanned the place, finding more and more little cameras. "Don't worry, we'll give you a copy so you can see how much of a… What was it? Pretty cum dump you are."
She giggled, gargled his load, ensuring every millimeter of her teeth and gums was painted by his sperm before swallowing it loudly. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, moving her tongue to show there were no remains. "I know I look gorgeous covered in cum," she purred as she stood up, holding the manager's and the lawyer's shafts. "It's a shame this is the only bit of cum that I'll get today," she whispered, getting close to the Chairman's face.
He didn't flinch. He only grinned, admiring the plaster of semen on her whole face. "A shame, really," he agreed, holding her heavy tit and pinching her nipple. "Now get ready. People are waiting, and I want to fuck you."
Somi grinned and chuckled, tiptoeing and sticking her tongue to lick his lip. "I hope you like my elite pussy," she whispered before stepping back with her manager, who had already collected her clothes. Just as they made eye contact, he signaled her to follow him to the cubicle.
"I am dripping right now," she chuckled when he closed the door. "Did you see how he choked me?" She hummed, remembering the feeling, the lack of agency. She ran her fingers through her folds to collect a bit of her nectar, licking her digits. "Want some?"
"I think I'm good, thank you," he replied, folding her clothes and patting the bench for her to get on it.
"What is it? You never look so blue after you paint my face," she scoffed as she jumped to sit on what will be her habitat for the rest of the day. "Don't you like it when I drink other people's cum?" Somi pouted, stretching her leg to make him turn.
He sighed and rolled his eyes, quickly turning to her and pulling her from her nipples. She whined, but kept her aroused face. "I know the kind of slut you are. I don't fucking care whose load you swallow. I just can't tell you what's getting on my nerves right now, okay?" He twisted her nipples and released them.
"Gosh, I love it when you do that," Somi sighed. "Is it the catch in this whole thing?" She asked, pulling him closer with her leg.
He didn't say anything. "Just remember, they are the ones pulling the strings."
"I know," she chuckled. "I know that too damn well. Whatever happens, I won't blame you one bit!" Her hands ran up his torso. "I would kiss you right now, but I don't want to mess up my skin care routine," she joked to lighten the mood. "Whatever is causing that stress, that anger… Use it to fuck me later, alright?" She added, taking so he could hug her.
"Oh, you know I will," he replied, quickly pulling her hair, forcing her to lie down. "But I have to get you ready."
Somi got through the hole in the wall. As she grew comfortable, her manager explained that once she was secured, she wouldn't be able to get out until they were done with her. "It'll be your fault if I fall asleep here," she grimaced, stretching her arms as he secured her waist, adding a padlock after the belt was tight enough to keep her in place, but barely loose enough for her to breathe. After that, he pressed a button that inflated the circumference of the hole surrounding her lower belly, leaving no space for her to see beyond the chamber, or for anyone outside to peek inside. 'That's a bummer,' she thought. "Will you help me with my legs?" She asked cutely.
"I'll do more than that," he replied, running his fingers through her torso before lowering the barrier for her face. It stopped under her collarbone. The mechanism was simple. A two-way mirror with the lower end shaped to allow some movement, and secured with a padded edge to avoid any accidents. It looked sturdy and fairly lightweight, judging by how he moved it before getting out.
He had left her phone handy, knowing the possibility of her getting bored was genuine, not just a joke. She remembered the small holes on her sides and decided to close them, as an extra treat if she felt like doing more later. Wiggling her toes, she decided to make a video call to a friend. Luckily for her, the barrier allowed her to move her arms under it as she pleased. Even better for her, her friend answered quickly.
"You whore! Whose cum is that?" Chaeyoung asked, happily surprised by the plaster semen on her friend's face.
"My manager's, and one of the company's lawyers," Somi replied proudly, brushing her finger on it to taste it.
"A lawyer? Are you tributing right now?"
"About to start. I think I'm getting my legs and pussy oiled right now," she chuckled, releasing a soft moan when his fingers ran through her outer lips, firmly grabbing her flesh.
"It seems? Can't you see what they're doing to you?"
"Noup!" She changed to the back camera to show her point of view. Her plump tits took up most of the camera at the beginning, forcing her to raise her arm.
"Whoa! You truly can't see shit of what's happening outside. Do you know how many are in line waiting?"
"No clue," Somi shrugged, giggling to hold the tickling caused by her manager as he oiled her feet. She returned to selfie mode. "All I know is that they're company people and they could bring guests, so no idea."
"You have to show me how foamy your pussy gets with all that cum!"
"I'd love to, but they're wearing condoms today." She rolled her eyes, running her finger through her face. "This is all the cum I'm getting today, apparently."
"Boo! At least they can also play with your tits!"
"Wait!" Somi saw the Chairman's hand entering the chamber to grab her tit, pinching and pulling her nipple.
"We'll start in a minute," he announced, patting her flat stomach.
"Let me see your face when the first guy gets into your cunt," Chaeyoung requested, clearly starting a screen recording.
"You read my mind," Somi chuckled. She signaled for her to be quiet as she heard the Chairman welcome the guests, mentioning that, while some of them stated they were only there to watch and jerk off, if there were still condoms available and they felt like it, they could put one on and shove it in the 'magnificent cunt' in front of them. Her soles wrinkled unconsciously, provoking the awe of the to-be participants.
"You can grope her, lick what you can of her, fuck her cunt or her ass. Please be mindful of the next person and her well-being. We'd like her to accept another invitation in the future. Keep her lubed. Follow the rules, and you'll be allowed to stay until we're done with her. Break them, and not only will you be taken home, but you'll be thrown naked outside of your house and left without a job. Even if you're not working for me." His tone at the end was dead serious. It caused fear in the listeners, but calm for her.
"Now," he continued, running his hand through her thigh. "The lucky ones. Enjoy."
She shuddered suddenly at the touch of at least six hands grabbing her long legs and feet. Quickly, another pair spread her folds, and two more hands went into the chamber, testing the quality of her breasts. Murmurs between the men, talking about her fit body and firm tits, generated more enthusiasm between them, but a tongue running wide through her petals made her moan softly.
"What?" Chaeyoung asked, a bit confused.
Somi focused on the slight itchiness caused by his facial hair rubbing against her sensitive core. "I think the Chairman's eating my cunt," she whispered with a smile, gathering the semen on her skin to eat it.
"You look really hot sucking that cum."
"Oh, I know!" Somi replied. They laughed as his tongue explored her entrance, and the other men shoved her feet into their mouths. With no other option, she gladly enjoyed the experience, releasing moans and trying to flirt with the camera capturing her from the ceiling, thinking her friend would see her later.
The men massaging her tits seemed adorable to her. 'They have me at their disposal, and they are barely squeezing them,' she thought. Her left hand ventured to clasp one of their hands to firmly grab her own udder. The man understood quickly and repeated the action himself before she did the same with the other hand. Soon, both of them were playing harder with her nipples.
The fun, however, came to an end sooner than she expected. Her expression made Chaeyoung laugh.
"You gentlemen can keep going as you like," the Chairman voiced, stepping away from Somi's pussy. She became expectant, already imagining his veiny manhood getting into her body, but instead, a thunderous whipping sound caused her bald cunt to burn as she grunted. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and a second whiplash made her shiver.
"Now that sounds like my kind of fun," Chaeyoung murmured.
"Kind of understand why you like it so much," Somi panted, yelping at the fourth smack, harder than the rest. The impact left her hips shaking until a loud whimper came out from the depths of her lungs in response to the abrupt insertion of the Chariman's shaft.
"He shoved his cock in you, didn't he?" The short woman asked, getting the phone closer to her face.
"Mhmm!" Somi let out, rolling her eyes as she felt him going in and out. "Fuck yeah," she exclaimed at the precise and surprisingly gentle rub on her clit.
'Everything you like,' echoed in her mind. He was not kidding. Right there, she did not care how on earth he could know exactly how she liked to be pleasured; she just wanted more of that.
"Unnie," she moaned. "Sorry, I'm going to hang," she murmured before whining.
"They'll record everything, right?" her friend asked. Somi grinned, biting her lower lip and nodding. "We'll watch it later, then. Enjoy!" Noticing the blond woman was slowly getting drunk in lust, Chaeyoung ended the call.
With a glance, Somi confirmed it was over and set her phone aside, almost throwing it to ensure the men continued to handle her milkers roughly. They understood, sinking their fingers into her plump breasts, pinching and twisting her pale nipples as they wanted. She didn't love the lack of coordination among the people touching her body, but that added to the mental game of not being in control; that she loved, and a lot.
Knowing what was best for her, she let herself melt at the Chairman's ramming against her cunt. The way he stimulated her clit put her on the right path to her climax, although they would need to work her up a bit more. Earlier, she had purposefully avoided touching her vulva, and now, the realization that there was an unknown number of men outside, watching her being used like the whore she knew she was, increased her arousal even more. Before long, Somi felt her pussy tickling, announcing she was getting close to her orgasm.
'Oh, please no!' She thought, feeling the change of pace in the Chairman, and the hands groping her tits leave. At least the people massaging and licking her feet and toes were still fully on them, but her mental progress towards her climax was cut short.
She huffed, accepting her loss as the cock inside her began twitching and his thrusts became harder. 'How hard was it to just shove it raw?' She lamented to herself, faking an orgasm. She knew more than anything that there was no better way to boost a man's ego than making him believe his dick could send a woman to heaven and back to earth. She also knew businessmen's egos could be fragile, so it was better to play along, making a whole number for him and the cameras.
She rolled her eyes, sending her head back as she raised her voice so everyone could hear her high-pitched whimpers. Her cunt clenched around his girth, and her hips shook arrhythmically. She continued for a bit after he stopped, consciously trying to squeeze his load onto the condom.
"Now, isn't she lovely?" He said, proud of himself, withdrawing his girth from her pulsating walls.
Somi kept her fake post-orgasm expression. 'Maybe if I hadn't blown him, he would have lasted longer… Maybe he did it on purpose', she wondered, remembering his words from earlier and how good his hand felt around her neck.
"Please, let's add every trophy where it belongs," he voiced, tying the condom to her leg garter. "And now, enjoy yourselves."
Her train of thought was interrupted by a stinging whip that landed directly over her clit. She groaned, twisting in her place in a mixture of pain and pleasure. 'How the fuck did…' Another louder, equally precise hit landed on Somi's pussy, but still focused on her clitoris, making her squirm and contract her toes for their delight.
She heard a murmur, followed by yet another whip. This time, it landed slightly lower, spreading through her vulva, making her pink cunt look more vibrant. She learnt something new about her body, she could cum with that kind of abuse, and she liked it more than she'd like to admit. 'Chaeyoung unnie will have a feast with me later,' she chuckled, for a moment before gasping loudly.
A cock quickly stretched her asshole, forcing his way into her rectum until her buttcheeks clapped with the man's pelvis. Before any idea could form, a new set of people gathered around her body, holding her legs, licking her feet, and shoving their hands into the holes to grab her breasts. Every man touching a part of Somi was rougher than the previous batch, biting her thighs and calves, swirling their tongues through her toes, and aggressively torturing her nipples. Probably, if it weren't for the whipping from a few moments ago, the abrupt insertion into her puckerhole would have burned more than it did.
However, with all the hands running through her body, she had to focus on the shaft's girth and length. The way he held her upper thighs, the angle at which he fucked her could likely mean just one person. She clenched her rim three times, as quickly as her muscles allowed her. He replied, tapping three times on her thigh. Her manager.
Somi grinned, happy that he was releasing his tension and anger on her. He could have moved elsewhere ages ago, leaving her alone, to the mercy of whatever Private Affairs Manager was assigned to her. Instead, despite all the stress she caused him, he stayed.
Years ago, after a night of drinking, an idea of her, she had gotten him drunk and taken him to her bed. He woke up to her naked body next to her, still stinking of alcohol. His sudden escape from bed woke her up. She reassured him that she wanted to have sex with him, that she had started every move, and that she wanted to compensate him for all the hard work he had done for her. After that, and a clumpy round of hangovered sex, whenever she saw him pressing his fingers on his temples, she looked for an opportunity to blow him or have him unload his seed inside her holes. Right there, beyond the pleasure of his manhood reshaping her guts, she felt an even greater satisfaction that he had taken her offer.
He was, indeed, fucking her butthole as hard as he could. She could hear his grunts through the audience's murmurs. Without a warning, he stepped back, leaving her pucker hole gaping for a moment before he returned, impaling Somi's ass again as if he never left. He knew how to pound her ass in just the right way to bring her back to the plateau of her orgasm, and even better for her, he knew perfectly how to shut down her brain.
Her trust in him was rewarded sooner than she expected. One of his hands ran through her body, beginning from her bald cunt and slowly reaching to her folds. She giggled at his familiar touch, even more at the soft pinching his digits and his cock made as he explored her cunt.
"Mhmm!" She exclaimed loudly, causing the other men groping her body to also be rougher with her. That did wonders for her, but her body was focusing on her holes. The right curl, the right amount of pressure, the right speed to keep her on edge. Then, a hard foreign object slid into her pussy, guided by his fingers. 'No, he would not,' she rambled.
"Oh! Fuck me!" Somi grunted, quickly shaking her hips against his manhood. Her manager had shoved a lush vibrator. In a smooth movement, he turned it on and pressed it against her G-spot while he kept ramming her ass. For a moment, everything became overwhelming. The combined action of his feral thrusting on her butthole, his mercyless, precise fingering with the added vibration of the toy, the pull and pinch of her nipples, the bites on her legs, and the never-ending licking of her soles and toes. Everything hit her nervous system at once, causing her to feel her first real climax of the day.
She tried to hold it as much as she could. Her toes stretched and contracted erratically, wrinkling her soles as their mouths kept savoring them. Her legs bent as if trying to close, limited by the shackles on her ankles. Unable to arch her back as much as she wanted because of the belt on her waist, her body directed her tension to her hands, quickly grabbing her plump tits, diverting the men's focus to her nipples for a proper, painful twist of her udders as she squeezed them for them.
Then, a loud spank, so hard she could feel the shape of his hand burning throughout the orgasm that released. "Yes, yes, more!" She let out in a thunderous cry. "Fucking use me!" Somi whimpered, convulsing through a climax that seemed eternal.
The fingers tweaking her nipples pinched them so hard she did not understand how the pleasure running through her body eclipsed the pain completely. Somi loved having men praising her legs, worshiping her feet, causing the tickling tongues and mouths on her legs and soles felt twice as much. But what flooded her mind was the perfect sync of her manager's cock and his digits working her holes as angrily as he could. The vibrator on his fingers multiplied every sensation in and out of her body. Somi enjoyed every second of it, letting her vaginal and anal walls grip onto her manager without any restraint.
Confused, she noticed her orgasm decreasing. When she looked down, the hands handling her nipples were different. "When?" She panted with a smile, still drunk on the pounding she was getting on her puckered hole, clenching without control.
Right when she was regaining control of her holes, she felt his manhood throbbing inside her, followed by a set of rougher thrusts and curling of his fingers. "That's right! Give it to me! Shoot it all!" She moaned, trying to tighten her butthole for him until his pelvis slammed as deep inside her as he could. 'I need him to fuck me like that raw,' she laughed to herself.
Her manager, however, was not done. He quickly withdrew his shaft, leaving her asshole gaping and the vibrator buzzing in her cunt while he tied the used condom on her leg garter. Before she could react any further, and still under the mist of her orgasm, Somi felt his fingers re-entering her slit, firmly pressing on her G-spot, making her whine. Same hand, his dominant one, but different grip. More comfortable for him, easier for him to apply force on her insides.
"If anybody wants a drink, you'd better step forward," he announced to the men waiting in line.
"This motherfucker…" She sighed, hearing the men outside the chamber walk, curse, and even praise their deities as they knelt right in front of her pussy. The men groping her boobs left her rest for a moment to enjoy the show. 'Gosh, I'd love to see their faces,' she thought, considering how much people were scanning her folds and her pink, currently gaping, asshole. 'Nayeon unnie will love this,' she giggled, knowing perfectly well what was next for her sensitive core.
Her manager's left hand slid through her smooth pubis, reaching for her clit. Three gentle taps, and he rubbed Somi's sensitive bean as he frantically fingered her, putting all of his might onto her G-spot. Her reaction was immediate. Her body shook violently, contorting her locked legs and spreading her toes. Inside the chamber, she squirmed as much as the tight belt in her stomach allowed her. Feeling how sturdy the structure felt, she surrendered herself to the pleasure he was giving her.
Her insides relaxed fully, her hands ran freely through her massive rack, and her mouth let free a series of whimpers begging him to keep going. The crescendo was quick and violent. One moment, Somi felt her body screaming as her cunt dripped her nectar in a consistent flow; the other one, her mind went blank.
Her climax hit her like a train. Her eyes rolled back, and she tweaked her nipples harder than she had ever twisted them herself. When her manager removed his left hand and withdrew his fingers from her cunt to fiercely rub her clit, she exploded. Her core began a series of strong contractions that resulted in at least three rows of men getting sprayed with her squirt.
He admired Somi's pussy turning into a fountain, pushing the lush vibrator as a projectile as her urethra expanded to release the translucent liquid over the desperate men in front of him. Three powerful blasts gushed out of her cunt, aimed by his fingers to reach as many heads as possible. The following jetstreams were weaker, allowing two of the men closest to her cunt to get closer and catch some with their mouths and have a proper taste of her juices.
Somi's body was as sensitive as an exposed nerve. The shackles on her ankles, the belt around her waist, the bench beneath her, her manager's fingertips brushing her smooth pubis; every new signal made her muscles contract, ejecting every bit of squirt out of her cunt until her body had nothing else to release.
"You heard the boss," her manager voiced, getting everyone's attention, including what little conscious Somi was regaining. "Enjoy yourselves," he reminded them, spanking her pink, glistening cunt as hard and as loud as he could, causing her to grunt, moan, and giggle as her body contorted in place. He admired her holes, pushing themselves out and contracting back. Before the swarm of mostly naked men surrounded him, he walked away.
Left alone, locked in place, and feeling like a bitch in heat, a new wave of men quickly took Somi's body. This time, two different guys were eating her cunt and her ass respectively, swirling their tongues as deep inside her holes as they could. She needed more. Shaking, she reached for the little holes on her sides to open them before taking some lube from the dispensers and sticking out her hands.
"Dude!" One of the men, grabbing her tits, barked. He squeezed her right boob harder and pinched her nipple, adding a little twist until it slipped from his fingers when he took his arm out. He peeked through the hole, admiring her clear nipples, noticing she was reaching out for more dicks willingly. "There's room for two more!" He announced, moving closer to get his handjob.
She guided his manhood inside the chamber as another cock appeared in her left hand. As soon as another pair of hands got in to take hold of her milkers, her lust took the best of her. In an attempt to make the best of her situation, Somi removed the two-way mirror from her clavicle, not caring about the possibility of someone peeping and discovering who she really was.
Right when a new shaft entered her cunt, she crunched towards the penis on her right, trying her hardest to reach it with her mouth. She grunted, clenching her fists and stroking their girths. 'It'd need to be twice as long for me to reach the tip,' she whined, lying flat on the bench for a second before trying something else. Risking being seen, she let go of one dick to reach underneath the bench, finding the buckle that kept her torso restricted.
"Damn it!" She grunted between her panting and moaning from the energetic thrusts in her sensitive cunt. 'A fucking lock?' She realized her manager had added it earlier while she got comfortable. She was so relaxed that she didn't even notice. Either way, that surely wasn't his idea. Throwing her head back, she quickly reached for the mirror, catching a glimpse of a masked man through the hole where a dick should have been.
Her heart sank as she secured the barrier. Murmurs got louder by the second. Hands got in and out of the holes so they could take a peek. No one else saw her face. His dick went back to the hole, and she immediately stroked it.
"I told you, man, she looked like Somi!"
"You must be crazy."
"She was identical!"
"They surely hired a similar whore just for us to get hornier with the idea."
"I know what I saw, man. And those tits are about the right size for her."
After that, every man getting a part of them through the holes would take a glance inside the chamber, not only to admire her rack and perfect skin, but also to try to confirm the theory. Everyone agreed that, even if the slut they were fucking was not Somi, she was the best next thing.
The scare reminded her of her place in that room. A toy to be used by them, with no agency or freedom to do anything that was not previously allowed by them. Even if she were not locked as she was, she would have given herself to the hoard of horny men, although if her body were free, she would surely enjoy it way more. Past that point, things became a bit monotone for her, except for a few highlights.
The ropes of cum that made it to her skin sometimes landed on the hands of whoever was groping her udders, making her laugh a bit. She tasted it, eating the first bits, passing it down with a bit of water until she grew bored of the taste. Somi collected the following loads in an empty water bottle.
Some men, eager to try as much of her body as they could, fucked her cunt and butt, shoving their cocks from one hole to the other until they came. There was also a point where four people ran a train fucking her puckerhole with no lube, which, on the positive side, became a rest for her pussy, but also resulted in her pink rim burning. Luckily, the following guy wanted both holes and added a generous amount of lubricant to both entrances from the start.
Few guys dared to use some of the toys at their disposal. Some, however, did so in some creative enough ways to bring her mind back to what was being done to her body. One guy duct-taped one of the lush vibrators to her clit and set it up at the lowest level. 'Not the best way to do that, but it will do if they leave it there,' Somi scoffed, enjoying the feeling.
Someone had finally decided to try the anal beads. This was not the usual set with beads that grow in thickness; it had five rubber beads, each a little less than four centimeters in diameter. Thankfully, he had lubed them well enough to shove the whole thing inside of her anus before he rammed her pussy. The sensation was equally arousing and surprising. She had shoved toys that large up her butt in the past, but it was on her own free time, terms, and control. Now, she had no say on when it would go out or when they would fuck her ass with that toy. Regardless, she enjoyed the feeling of having something buried so deep inside her guts alongside the constant rubbing of a dick against the hard rubber through her walls.
Then, trouble began. After a couple more guys used her cunt while the beads were still deeply shoved in her rectum, the following guy wanted to have a bit more fun with her. Even though he started with her pussy, his grip on her thigh let Somi know he had taken one of the dildos from the box. The man only fucked her for a minute before he took a step back from her slit. He took the handle from the anal beads and, in one strong, uncontained movement, pulled them all out of her guts.
She grunted as her eyes rolled back and her body shuddered. Somi felt as if her ass turned inside out. Her cunt dripped a weak trail of pee as proof of how that strong sensation messed her up. Unaware of how badly her ass looked, but sure she was gaping greatly, the man impaled his length into her butthole, followed by an abrupt insertion in her pussy.
Whoever he was, the man had a rhythmic talent to fuck. In just two thrusts, he had already perfected how to smoothly drill her ass and folds, fully shoving the dildo or his cock into her body while he pulled out the other, ensuring both phalluses pinched her thin walls throughout his turn with her.
"Keep going! Please, please keep going like that!" She whimpered. In response, he raised the vibrator's level to medium. "Yes!" Somi exclaimed, taking that moment to its fullest. Again, she quickly reached for the men groping her tits. This time, she held their hands for a firm breast massage, giving her nipples a rest before taking more lube from the dispensers and grabbing the throbbing shafts on her sides, rubbing their mushroom tips before stroking their full lengths just as passionately as she was getting pounded.
"No, no, no! Just a little longer!" She whined at the sensation of his thrusts getting harder and his dick pulsating inside her walls. To her demise, despite the good hand and hip coordination, he was still just a man, too selfish to care about her pleasure, or perhaps, too cruel to torture her, getting her close to the plateau of her climax only for him to suddenly stay still as he filled the rubber enveloping his manhood until he was done with her.
"Come on! Just a bit more of that! Please!" Somi begged, moving her hips to fuck herself with his now semi-erect cock, clenching her ass his length in an attempt to get him hard again.
"Pettyfull," the man chuckled, taking his meat out of Somi's pink butthole, leaving the toy buried in her pussy. "I'd say she sounds better if we don't let her cum, but that's just me," he joked in an arrogant tone as he tied up his condom on her leg garter.
By then, she had already lost count of how many condoms she had on each leg, or how many times someone had released his jizz on her hands. She knew, however, that the amount of semen weighing down her garters had surely stretched them beyond repair, and that only seven of them had managed to cum with enough force to reach her body on the bench.
The next man in line for her holes was just as memorable as the last one, but not for his skills. Amidst her whining for more, he shoved three fingers inside her rectum, moving them in circles until the dildo fell out of Somi's pussy. Then, he used the same three digits to finger her folds before shoving the toy up her ass and his dick in her cunt.
His thrusts were short. She was unsure if it was because of the disappointing length he possessed, or because he was trying to, in his own way, also fuck her with the dildo. Either way, she soon learnt that the toy, for whatever reason, had no flared base or rubber balls to stop it.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Somi begged as she tried to push the dildo out when she felt it getting dangerously narrower at its end. "Take it out! Please take it out!" She yelled, letting go of the cocks on her sides.
"Dude, what's the deal? This whore just pushed us away."
Somi's exhaustion and the reshaping of her rectum caused by the anal beads were enough for her attempts to be in vain. Her anus had swallowed the dildo completely, and her puckered hole had shut tight despite her constant pushing.
Afraid of what that could lead to, especially with the constant pounding she was receiving in her cunt, she begged them to stop as she felt the toy slowly getting deeper into her body.
"Fucking hell," she heard in the background. A familiar irritated tone. More murmurs. "What? Get the fuck out of my way!" He was angrier, getting closer. 'My danm hero,' she thought, panting with a tint of relief.
"Hey, what's your problem, man?" The lame, hardened cock left her pussy alone.
"Take this bastard out of here and add him to the black list… I can't believe I still have to ask for a little common sense," he sneered, tapping on Somi's pubis three times as the men grabbing her udders and waiting for her to stroke their cocks left their positions to see what the commotion was. He shoved his middle and ring fingers as deeply inside her anus as he could. She felt him move the dildo, but there was no way for him to grab it. "Fuck it," he growled.
Her manager patted her thigh again. Three times. Calmer, softer. Then, he shoved three fingers into her cunt, directly reaching for her G-spot. She knew what to do. He cranked the vibrator to its maximum and repeated the process as before.
Despite his familiarity with her folds, Somi's nervousness delayed her forced orgasm. She needed to make sure that her contractions would not get the toy lost deeper in her intestines, so she held on to her climax until she felt it was right.
"Come on, you dumb slut, come for me one more time," he grunted, loud enough for her to listen as his fingers hit the right spot with enough force for the audience to see her pubis move from within. "Just push it all out, damn it."
She exploded. He could feel through her pussy how she was avoiding contractions and putting extra energy into pushing out. He made an extra effort to push his fingers upward to avoid any contact with the dildo through her walls.
Somi was tweaking in place, feeling her squirt spill all over the place, running through her asscheeks until the toy was expelled from her puckerhole. She smirked as he kept on with his fingering, this time pressing on her bladder, intensifying the sensation through her body until she reached her peak.
Without a word, he left her trembling, panting. The holes of the chamber closed, and a new set of men took her legs, feet, and holes, licking every millimeter as she contorted in place.
"Stay away if you know what's good for you." Somi heard him as he opened the door. His tone was a threat. Two men agreed, murmuring, and he closed the room.
Somi turned to her left and giggled devilishly. "I owe you something for saving me from a really embarrassing visit… To the doctor," she grinned and moaned as she shuddered. "Sorry for the shirt," she scoffed, scanning the wet stains of her squirt throughout his clothes.
"At least you're fully alert now." He shook his head, placing a folder on his side as he caressed her hair.
"Give me that pretty cock of yours. Let me repay you," Somi said, almost purring as she reached for his buckle. He did not hesitate to help her and took his dick out, letting her latch onto it after taking the barrier off her shoulders. "You have no idea how cruel it is to have so many cocks and can't suck one single penis over here!"
"I can get the idea," he chuckled. "You're not going to ask what's in the folder?"
"No. You'll tell me either way," she affirmed, sucking his dick as she hollowed her cheeks to release it with a loud pop. "Am I wrong?"
"Don't make me hate you even more."
"I'd be… Incapable of doing that," she pouted amidst her moans. Somi let her face softly fall on his shaft, engulfing it completely until her lips touched the base of his cock.
"I'm not so sure about it," he joked, feeling her tongue sticking out to lick the underside of his manhood and his sack. "Somi, they're offering to clear your debt if you serve one more man tonight… Raw."
She took out his shaft from her throat very slowly, licking his tip as it got out. "Just one more guy? What's the catch? He's sick or something?" She asked with a confident smile, covering her lips with the drool hanging from his glans.
"He's clean, but I can't say any details about him. Everything's in the folder, though."
"Then fuck it. Or let him f-fuck me however he wants," she chuckled, whimpering halfway through as a new dick entered her pussy.
"Somi… Please read the damn contract," he sighed, holding a grunt caused by her tongue swirling through every crease of his tip as she stroked him.
She huffed. "I gave up on counting how many strangers have fucked me today, like thirty minutes after we started. Nevermind about the ones who've touched me. I don't know how long I'll still have to stay here, so I couldn't care less if there's one guy who gets to fill my womb today." She pouted. "I just wish that out of all of them it would have been you or the Chairman," Somi grimaced before capturing his tip again.
"Read. The damn. File."
She muffled, imitating his rhythm with his cock in her mouth. "Just give me the pen, or do I have to sign it with blood?" She chukled, stretching her hand.
"Don't say I didn't try to warn you." He passed her the document and a pen. She stopped the blowjob for a moment just to sign it and handed it back to him.
"Now relax, fuck my face and cum wherever you want," she grinned wickedly, opening her mouth for him.
As she requested, he used her throat, making her gurgle as she hummed and moaned happily, looking at his eyes until her tight pipe took him to his climax. "You're making it harder to hate you," he exclaimed, holding a little longer. She giggled, smiling proudly with teary eyes, keeping eye contact as his hands pressed her skull against his groin and he shot his load directly onto her throat. "One of these a week and you'd be worth all the trouble."
Somi wiggled her head side to side, as a tear shed down her cheek, right before she took him out of her mouth, sealing his girth with her lips to maintain all her drool in her mouth. She swallowed it all with a loud gulp and opened her mouth for him. "Either I'm very good at sucking your cock, or I'm not giving you enough trouble," she grinned. "Which one is it?"
He scoffed, shaking his head. "Better for me if you don't know."
"Either way, if I give you more trouble, I'd need to blow you more often, right?"
"Oh, fuck you, Somi," he laughed.
"I'm getting fucked right now, in case you forgot what's happening down there," she giggled, pursing her lips and pointing to her hips.
"Give them twenty more minutes."
He was right. He opened the chamber's holes and stepped out of the cubicle. Once he was outside, he kissed one of Somi's soles and confirmed the number of condoms left. He distributed the remaining rubbers as he told them that if they wanted to have a chance to touch her, they'd better jerk off to speed things up.
For the rest of the men, he made them sign a list so they could be contacted first when the next elite slut is available for an event like this. Upset, but knowing they had no chance or voice in the matter, they left.
By the twenty-minute mark, the last man put his condom on and had his fun with Somi, fucking her ass as he fingered her pussy, taking her juices to his mouth.
"Man, she tastes so fucking good," he told the manager, shoving his digits into her cunt again.
"Tell me about it," he laughed, crossing his arms, watching him finish.
For Somi, while the experience was entertaining and pleasurable, she had become numb to the motion. All things considered, the point was to make her feel used. Checked. And for them to have a treat. Checked.
She picked up her phone, realizing there had been at least three hours since her call with Chaeyoung had ended. Some quick math was enough to confirm that she had broken her personal record for the number of men using her holes in a single day, at least four times over.
Once the last man was done, he thanked the manager for the magnificent pussy he had gotten for the staff and their guests. The manager took the compliment and went into the cubicle.
"That guy also had a rubber," Somi pouted at him, frowning.
"Yeah, I need to get you ready before the man gets here."
She pretended to be shocked by his words, taking the bottle where she had collected the cum that landed on her body. "Am I not presentable enough?" She asked, letting a trail of semen fall on her lips and run down her neck.
"Matter of fact, you'll stay locked. Even more so than before, I'm afraid," he replied, using his finger to pick up the sperm from her neck and shoving the finger in her mouth for her to suck. "But trust me, if he could see you whole, he'd remember you for the rest of his life."
"That'll do, then. Get me ready!" Somi giggled, wiggling her tits.
He asked her to clean any trace of jizz from her skin and to rehydrate. After pushing the button to deflate the circumference, sealing her torso, he went back to her legs to clean them before sitting in front of her ass. "I know your holes are a bit desensitized. This will help you feel anything pretty much as if you were just starting again."
"Huh?" Somi crutched a bit, now being able to see past the chamber. She cooed as her manager shoved a couple of fingers covered in lube inside her cunt, reaching for her cervix. "Can we use that later?" She requested, clearly enjoying his touch.
"If you want. We can take this bottle with us." He was focused on getting the sleek liquid properly spread through her walls. He sighed. "Remember I'm just following orders, alright?" Without a response from her, even though he had her full attention, he repeated the process, this time with her asshole.
Somi let her moans free throughout the process, relaxing her pink rim so he could do his job. "Whoa, that again?" Her eyes widened at the sensation of the anal beads entering her rectum again.
"The Chairman wants you to show him your gape." His tone was serious.
"Do you think this guy would like it?" She bit her lips, fully cooperating to get the last ball inside of her.
"It will leave an impression on him. That's for sure." He sighed, cleaning the excess lube from Somi's groin, leaving her pussy glistening enough to show her arousal, and her puckeredhole hugging the toy's handle before getting back with her.
"Will he know he's fucking me? I can make my 'oh you're so big' face for him," she joked, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
"You'd know that already if you had read the contract, but no." He scanned her skinny body, large breasts, and pretty face. "Give me your hands," he requested, standing next to her head.
"I was beginning to wonder if these were for me or for someone else," Somi scoffed with a smirk.
"With risk of inflating your ego even more, this whole chamber was built with you in mind," he explained, securing her wrists at the level of her head with the handcuffs, ensuring these were tight.
"Will I be at his full mercy, then?" She wondered, barely letting her hesitation show.
"You'll be what you've always been: The perfect fuck-doll. But he'll be the one playing with you until he's satisfied." His voice was clear, factual. The same tone he uses when there's some bad news hidden. He ran a leather strap behind her neck.
"No talking either?" She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows as she admired the ball gag and the small orifices it had to allow breathing.
"Any last words?"
"Can we book this place for later? Just you and me?" Somi winked at him, blowing a kiss.
He sighed, almost laughing. "I won't be kind to you," he reassured her, putting the ball in her mouth and securing it. She tried to talk, but gave up quickly as she could not comprehend her own mumbling. Before her manager got out, he secured her head with the belt.
Her heart pounded loudly. Tens of men had just used her. She was sure each leg was carrying well over twenty used condoms, her trophy of the night, along with the bottle of cum she had by her side. It wasn't until he lowered the mirrored barrier and left the chamber that she felt anxious about letting this random man fill her womb.
Time felt eternal. The chill breeze from the AC had already hardened her nipples and given her goose bumps all over her body. She could barely feel her legs, but she could feel her juices slowly running from her pussy down her butthole, making her even more conscious about the twenty-five centimeters of rubber stuck on her guts, waiting to be removed by this stranger. Right when her mind began to fantasize about it, the door opened.
"Enjoy yourself," she heard the Chairman say before the door closed.
Somi tried to look up, kept in place by the belt holding her head. 'Nothing left to do but enjoy it, I guess,' she thought, listening to the man undress.
A small moan came out of her lungs at the touch of his lips on her right sole. His mouth ran through her long legs, taking his time to enjoy her smooth skin and to admire the set of condoms hanging from each leg. Slowly, he let himself touch more and more of her until his fingers sank into her thighs. His rough skin added to the mystery of him, and a firm spank on her ass turned her nervousness into desire.
She felt his breath right over her pussy, followed by a blow produced by his sigh. His hands ventured inside the chamber to get a proper hold of her midriff. The damn belt that locked her in place ruined the tight grip of his fingers compressing her waist until his fingers touched.
His hands went up to her udders. A soft massage, causing Somi to release sweet coos until his fingers played with her sensitive nipples. He tested them, chuckling at the sweet moans that came out at every hard pinch or twist. 'No need to hide it,' she chuckled, feeling more comfortable in her place.
Then, his lips pressed on her bald pubis, getting lower and lower until he kissed her clitoris, and his tongue cupped her juices to eat her cunt. There was no need to guide him. Every kiss, every lick, every little combination of him exploring her folds and her hooded clit felt charged with hunger and intent. The experience itself was not going to take her to her climax, but it seemed that was not his purpose. She didn't mind. In fact, she could stay like that for a while, and she'd be satisfied.
A light pull and she became aware of the anal beads again. His lips abandoned her pussy, but his fingers entered the scene as he played with the beads, pulling one of them out, then back in. The controlled movement reminded her of how deep they reached inside of her.
His digits curled inside her pussy, exploring her depth and texture, as well as the way her inner walls adapted to the toy as this moved inside of her. She was sure his eyes were extra focused on how her puckeredhole stretched so easily at every pull. This led to the obvious next step.
Very slowly, he pulled more of the beads out of her rectum until only two remained inside of her. Somi felt the fingers in her cunt outlining the last ball through her walls, almost pushing it out of her ass. He took his fingers out of her pussy and used that palm to press her lower abdomen while he shoved them all back inside, making sure she felt it reshape her guts. Her soft moans had turned into nervous whimpers.
Once it was all inside of her, he pushed a little further, making her breathing turn heavier as the handle disappeared in her anus, which shut around his finger. He forced a second digit inside of her and curled them as a hook to get the toy. 'Not again,' Somi panted, before the man quickly pulled the whole set of beads out of her guts, leaving her trembling, leaking a bit of squirt, and gaping.
He threw the toy over her abs while he licked the circumference of her asshole, shoving his tongue inside of her. She was equally ashamed and aroused, impressed by how good it felt and how little control she had of her muscles. Somi let herself get lost in pleasure, releasing her increasingly louder moans as he ate her ass and pussy, playing with her tits at will, this time, almost making her cum.
Already in her plateau, he suddenly stopped, causing her to whine, clearly begging for more despite the lack of clarity of her pleas.
The next thing Somi felt was his tip, gently touching her gaping butthole before he impaled her. Her body was more than ready to welcome him, even though he was slightly girthier than the beads. She immediately moved her hips to feel his might, but his fingers quickly took a firm hold of her cunt, curling inside to keep her in place while he thrusted into her rectum.
His intention was clear: Enjoy her body. He was in no rush, and neither was she; not that she had any say on the matter. Somi let her body talk for her, allowing her instincts to take over her, clenching around his girth and his digits as she whimpered and swayed her hips for him.
When he had had enough, he kept her hips slightly raised just with the hook of his fingers. He pulled out of her gaping ass and fingered it with his free hand. She chuckled, clenching happily, letting him know she was ready for him.
Without making her wait any further, he shoved his whole length into her pussy.
The previous experience with the beads had altered her depth perception, but the quick hit on her cervix made Somi realize his actual size. 'Talk about save the best for last,' she thought, grunting as he pushed her womb to fit into her tight core.
Somi cried in pleasure, clenching her cunt around him in an attempt to feel every detail of him. His girth, his length, his veins, the shape of her glans. He was the biggest cock she had experienced that day.
Both stayed still. The subtle throbs of his meat reassured her he was enjoying her as much as she was.
In sync, both began to sway their hips. The friction of his flesh inside her walls felt so much more rewarding. She tightened her core just to feel the direct touch of his manhood, making up for all the covered dicks that used her in the past hours.
Her whimpers were clear. She loved the way he fucked her, and she wanted more.
He worked her towards her climax, keeping her on edge when he felt her pussy squeezing his girth every time he pulled out.
Somi let her needy side show. Her clenching became more obvious, and her moans became pleas.
Keeping the same pace, he added more fuel to the fire that would turn into her last orgasm of the night.
Her cries became desperate, begging him to pull the trigger. She knew he had her where he wanted, and she feared he could prolong it forever. Luckily, that was not the case.
His right hand moved to her cunt, shoving three fingers in addition to his shaft. 'Oh, fuck yes, please!' She thought, expressing it in a pathetic cry for more. Without breaking the rhythm of his deep thrusts, he attacked her G-spot.
Somi tried to hold it, prolong the feeling of the imminent explosion as much as she could, but his digits were too much for her. His relentless ramming and merciless curling of his fingers released a powerful climax where she shuddered, contorting every muscle of her body as her pussy squirted against his lower abdomen, spraying her juices all over the place.
The cherry on top, at the highest point of her orgasm, he also came. His warm seed hit the deepest part of her cunt. Somi could feel him twitching inside of her, releasing spurt after spurt of semen, filling her to the brim, flooding her cervix.
Through her convulsions, her legs still made a lame attempt to hug his hips to ensure he'd stay inside her. But even if she had no shackles holding her ankles, she had no force left in her limbs.
Slowly, Somi came back to reality, becoming aware of the sweat across her torso, the droplets of squirt on her midriff, and the mutual shivering she and the man shared.
They stayed there for a full minute, breathing heavily, occasionally clenching their genitals to know both of them were still conscious.
Carefully, he pulled out, and Somi fought through her own sensitivity to keep her pussy shut. That was the only load she could get inside her cunt that day, and she would not let it go to waste.
The man pulled her body towards him, only to kiss her sweaty abdomen and drink the puddle of squirt that was resting on her navel. With a kiss on her pubis, he dressed up. Before leaving, he spanked her, grabbing her ass firmly, and knelt to lick her still gaping asshole, saying his goodbye with a kiss on her clit.
Alone, restricted, and gagged, Somi laughed at herself. Whomever that was, he had given her one of the best orgasms of the last months, maybe of her year. After the consistent groping of the last hours, she enjoyed the calm after all had ended. Her mind flew, thinking of ways to celebrate clearing her debt after years of debuting.
Half an hour passed before her manager opened the door and quietly entered the chamber.
"Tell me you have the recording for the last one, please!" Somi's eyes widened as her smile took over her face.
"Every bit of it." Serious tone again. He released her head and arms.
"I get a copy of that, right?"
"I'll deliver it to your door," he sighed, watching her quickly reach for her pussy, shoving her ring and middle fingers to cup the still warm jizz from her insides before taking it to her mouth.
"Oh fuck! Not only was he good, but he also tastes delicious!" Somi made sure to suck her fingers clean before reaching for another dose of semen. "I don't know where you found this guy, but if he asks for me, give him my number. I'd let him fuck me again for free." She chucked, not caring about his concerned frown.
She let him do his stuff while she used her nails to get every last drop of his load to her mouth, including the traces hidden in the circumference of her cervix. Somi felt a rush of satisfaction and thrill, thinking that after half an hour, a part of it would stay inside her womb, accompanying her for the next few days.
"You don't mind about the garters, right?"
"You can keep them if you want," she joked, feeling the cold pair of scissors sliding between the fabric and her skin to cut it.
Her manager pressed a few specific points along the bench's edge before releasing her ankles from the shackles. With the help of two more pairs of hands, he pulled the bench with her on it.
She was surprised by how smoothly the upper layer of her resting place rolled outside the chamber. Somi was relieved that the other men were the Chairman and the lawyer. One kept her still while the other fixed the new support points for her. Once secured, her manager lowered her weak legs, letting them rest over another table.
"Thirsty?" The Chairman smiled kindly.
"And hungry!" She replied, feeling her legs as two foreign objects because of the numbness.
"Seeing how much you liked the last gentleman's cum, and how much more semen we've collected from all the men who used this precious pair of holes, we thought it would be a shame to throw it all away." The Chairman spread her legs to rub her groin, making her coo and shiver.
Somi huffed in disbelief, but upon seeing her manager cut a bunch of condoms open to spill their contents in a glass, she turned back to the Chairman, raising her eyebrows.
"Do you think you can handle that?" He asked as the manager approached with an almost full glass. He kept walking to take the bottle where she had collected the semen that had made it to her skin. Without asking, he opened it and poured it into the glass.
"That's too much," Somi exhaled, barely audible.
"Maybe the term elite whore was a bit too much."
Her eyes went from the lawyer, sitting at the perfect angle to see her profile, to her manager, clearly tired by the whole day, and to the Chairman, smirking at her. Somi didn't say a word. She inhaled deeply and took the glass, careful not to drop a thing.
The stink of cum was stronger than she had anticipated, but she started drinking it. Small gulps at first, letting her mouth and throat prepare for it. She took a break, licking her glossy lips. "It would've been easier directly from the source, you know?"
"What's the fun in 'easier'?" The lawyer replied.
A challenge. Even if not clearly worded, it felt like a challenge. Greening, Somi tilted her head, raised the glass, and drank it without stopping. Her gulps were larger, louder, and visibly harder to pass down. She could feel the semen clogging her throat while her eyes cried until the glass was empty.
She kept the last shot of jizz in her mouth. It was the hardest to pass down, but she managed to do it, burping after that, forcing her to control her need to retch to keep it all in her stomach. "Satisfied?" She turned to the lawyer, feeling the taste of their sperm on her breath.
"Plenty. Every bit of today came exactly as I planned," he replied, surprising Somi with that fact.
"I know you'd rather have all that cum deposited directly into your womb or your guts instead of your stomach," said the Charman, tapping the entrance of her pussy before running his fingers to her belly. "But this should be sufficient until you have a big party," he smiled.
"Or until you have another event," Somi smirked, purposefully exhaling her breath to the man as she leaned towards him.
"Is that a proposal?" He cupped her face, pressing his fingers on her cheeks.
"Only if they go raw next time," she chuckled, biting her lips, secretly struggling not to throw up all the cum on his face.
"We got a deal," he replied, turning her face to kiss her cheek. "We'll leave you two alone in the building. You have thirty minutes to get out before any employee comes back to recognize those magnificent pair of tits they were playing with."
Her manager helped her get dressed. Still with no strength in her legs, he carried her in his arms to his car, begging her not to puke on him or his car if she cared a bit about him. Battling with her own bodily needs, Somi kept it all in despite the dizziness she felt on the road. She put on a black wig to hide from anyone watching her struggle to walk to her building, leaning most of her weight on her manager.
Despite his clearly upset demeanor, he maintained his supportive side for her, which she was really thankful for. She had been told her dad would not be in her apartment, but confirming it after arriving was the biggest relief of her day.
Her manager insisted on showering her, thinking her dad might check on her while she was asleep to confirm she was there. Somi agreed, thinking about the possibility of her father detecting the strong smell of semen emanating from her. Too tired to fight, she obeyed his every word.
"Is it so hard to behave like this?" He asked, washing her face.
"Get me this exhausted, and I'll be the most obedient slut you could ever think of," Somi grinned with sleepy eyes. He chuckled and continued until they were ready. Carefully, he carried her to her bed and let her sleep.
When she woke up, it was well past breakfast. She heard movement in her kitchen. Her legs were functioning, but there was no way she could walk normally. Stumbling and ashamed, she went outside her room. "What time did you get here?"
"Hey, kiddo! Like an hour ago," her father explained, washing the dishes. "Whoa!" He chuckled after watching her walk. "Rough night, huh? What did you do yesterday?"
Blood rushed through her face. "I'm never mixing leg day with a girl's night," she sighed, shaking her head.
He laughed, taking the plate with scrambled eggs to the table, spanking her on his way and making her whine.
"What did you do?" She asked, sitting at the table.
"Me? I hung out at an old friend's house. Drank a bit, bet a bit, drank some more… The usual."
With apparently no suspicion from him, their day went by as any other day together.
A week later, Somi heard a knock on her door shortly after her father had left. When she opened it, she could only see the back of her PA manager walking away. Confused, she skimmed the hallway until she found an SSD on the floor with a note on it: I promise you, he has no idea.
As soon as she inserted the drive into her computer, she saw the minuatures and called Chaeyoung to celebrate that she was finally debt-free, eight years after she first debuted with I.O.I. As customary, Chaeyoung arrived with a few bottles of beer and soju, causing Somi to laugh after pointing to a bottle of wine.
"You're not leaving until we're done with everything," the blonde warned her friend.
Happily, Chaeyoung stepped into the place. They toasted and began drinking. Somi played the video of her last tributing session on the TV.
Before long, they were sitting on the couch, mostly naked, softly rubbing their own clits after they had already finished the beers and half of the bottle of wine. It may have been the alcohol in her system, but Somi showed a special interest in Chaeyoung's piercings before they started making out with each other.
"Oh! This was my favorite part!" Somi announced when the door opened in the video after her manager had prepared her for the final round.
Somi crawled toward the screen and knelt, fingering herself while Chaeyoung did the same, lying on the couch with her legs comfortably spread.
"Is that…?" Chaeyoung froze, eyes going back and forth between her friend and the TV.
Somi went completely silent, watching her dad walk down the stairs to find her completely bare bottom, lying on a table with a plug buried in her ass. Her fingers stopped moving until he knelt to eat her slit. The whole thing was hypnotizing for her.
Chaeyoung was shocked. They had talked about hidden fantasies in the past, and after several drinks, Somi had brought up her dad, excusing herself with how hot he used to look, showing her the saved photos she had of his youth until she swiped to a more recent one. Somi was too drunk to notice, but Chaeyoung remembered that moment vividly. Even though her friend's father was not her type, she also found him hot, and seeing how well-equipped he was on screen was definitely a sight to behold.
"Oh, fuck," Somi exclaimed when he removed the beads from her rectum only to eat her gaping butthole. When he stood up to fuck her ass, she was already fingering herself vigorously with four digits, following his rhythm on screen.
She was already drunk, but the sober memories of how good it felt to have him impale her pussy pushed her to release her moans. Following her own tempo, she came at the same time she saw her dad filling her cunt.
Only then did she become aware of where she was. Shivering, she turned to see the short woman behind her.
"No judgement," Chaeoyung smirked softly. She was panting, with her trembling legs fully spread, and folds dripping her juices down the couch. Both giggled, too blushed and embarrassed to say something else, turning back to the screen to see him kiss Somi's clit.
Silently, they stood up after the video ended, got half-dressed, and poured themselves the rest of the wine bottle.
"Do you think your dad suspects something?" Chaeyoung wondered, lips resting on the edge of her cup.
"Nah, I saw him the following morning, and he was all normal… When the Chairman said, 'Everything I like…' I never imagined he'd know about it. I only really mentioned it to you," Somi scoffed, shaking her head with a light smile on her face.
"Maybe posting that story of your dad's younger years was not the best idea," the short girl replied, sipping her drink.
"I mean, yeah, but I never expected them to…" She sighed, defeated. "That's why my manager insisted so much on me reading the damn contract."
Chaeyoung's eyes widened, staring at Somi. "Would you have done it if you had known it was him?"
That question cleared her mind. She went silent for a moment. She dived into her memories and her feelings, and the only thing she felt some remorse about was having her manager go through all that for her. She had fulfilled a fantasy of hers that may have never happened if done differently. The actual act felt physically and mentally rewarding. Somi scoffed, surprised at her clarity of thought. "Yes," she admitted. If there was someone she could be fully honest with, that was the Twice members, especially Chaeyoung. "I may have asked them every detail to ensure he would never find out, but yes." A subtle smile appeared on her face.
"That's a new level of slutiness," Chaeyoung joked, grinning widely before drinking her wine.
"Like you don't want to see the video again!" Somi grimaced, looking shyly at her TV.
"I do! Your head didn't let me see half of it!"
Author's notes: This idea had been on the shelf since I opened this account, and what better way to celebrate Somi's birthday than, well, giving her a tributing session all for herself!
I hope you enjoyed this! There may be more Somi in the future (other than a quick appearance in a different draft I have). It will all depend on any idea I get for her.
Also, while writing a line for this, I wanted to check more Somi interactions, and I found something with the three idols mentioned here, so have at it!
Right so, because they are so hot, I wrote this piece that is a 2nd part to the last Natty fic, about her trying to get a promotion. Also, as I am not planning to make another part, these fics will be in the 2 Parter section of my masterlist.
Length 3k
Natty x Mreader x Julie
Climax Before Career
Since the day you had fucked Natty in the office, she had become almost an entirely different person there. At home, she had told her boyfriend that the plan had worked, refusing to give him more details on her new position. She couldn’t tell him about the promotion she had got; she wouldn’t dare do that. Natty might have some guilt when talking to her boyfriend, but the moment he was gone, she was absolutely guilt-free about her action, even now as she stood in your office. She loved what you did to her, what you made her feel when you fucked her over and over again until she could barely walk.
Now, Natty stood by your desk, completely naked. Her hands hovered over her wet slit as she waited, her legs rubbing against each other in anticipation. You had made it an explicit rule that she wasn’t allowed to touch herself without your permission, and she would follow it to a T. As the door opened, her heart began to beat out of her chest, and then she saw you walking in with another woman. Confusion hit her immediately, not shame that someone else was seeing her stand in your office naked, but confusion. “Natty, this is my wife Julie. Julie, my little sexcretary Natty.”
Natty blinked, wondering if she had heard you right, “Wife?” she thought to herself. The women stared at each other, Julie clinging to your arm as she took in the sight of Natty’s nude body, her heavy chest and thick legs. Natty remained frozen in place as Julie left your side and walked around her.
“Not bad, pretty good taste from you for once,” Julie said, her hand landing firmly on Natty’s backside, forcing her to stifle a moan. Julie looked at Natty for any reaction before smacking the Thai woman’s ass once more. “Looks like you’re training her pretty well, too. And I have to say, it's a good thing you chose a woman with a rack like this,” Julie stood behind Natty, grabbing handfuls of the Thai woman’s heavy mounds. Natty pursed her lips, trying to keep from moaning. Julie’s small hands were making it difficult, though. Your wife was squeezing her tits so roughly that Natty could feel her long nails digging into her skin. Natty tried keeping her eyes forward, but it was difficult. Moreso as you approached her and moved her hands to her sides. Natty finally broke as your fingers brushed against her clit. “There she goes,” Julie giggled.
“Yep, it’s like pushing a button when you know her well enough.”
“Does that feel good?” Julie asked.
You lightly pinch Natty’s clit between your fingers, making her cry out with pleasure. “Answer her,”
“Y-yes, Ma’am,”
“Not Ma’am, Mommy,” Julie corrects, digging her nails into Natty’s hard nipples.
“Yes, Mommy!” Natty moans. She had to admit that calling a woman who was about the same age as her Mommy was somewhat embarrassing. She could feel her cheeks becoming redder.
“Did you like my husband fucking you?”
“Yes, Mommy,”
“I bet you did, you dirty little slut.” Julie whispers into the Thai woman’s ear. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be in here buck naked.” Julie slowly releases Natty’s tits from her rough grip and runs her hands down Natty’s sides. “He told me all about you. You’re going to be a good little girl and be our fucktoy, alright?” Julie chirps, a devious smile on her lips. Natty nods quickly, small moans spilling from between her lips as you tease her clit.
“I’ll be a good girl for you, Mommy. I’ll be your perfect little fucktoy. P-please don’t take Daddy’s cock away from me,”
“Aww, baby, I wouldn’t dream of taking it away from you,” Julie replied in a sweet voice. That sweet voice turned serious as she continued, “As long as you do what you’re told, that is.” Julie’s hands rest on Natty’s stomach, “We’ll have a lot of fun together. My dear husband here will fuck you all you want, fill that slutty pussy until you're gushing with his baby batter. I may even let him breed you. Do you like the sound of that, baby? Does my little baby want her Daddy to breed her?”
Natty gulped. There was something about the way Julie said that that made it sound appetizing. She hadn’t even considered getting pregnant at your hands before, but now the idea was arousing. “I-I want Daddy to breed me,” she said softly. Natty's mind replayed every moment over the past few weeks when you had cum inside her. The image of her body changing with bigger milk-filled mounds and a bulging belly turned her on to no end.
“Do you hear that, sweetie? Our little girl wants you to breed her.” Julie says, placing her head on Natty’s shoulder. “I think we should get that started right now.”
“If you say so,” you reply, pulling your fingers away from Natty’s clit. You unbuckle your belt and let your pants down along with your underwear, revealing your cock to the pair.
“On your knees, baby.” Natty does as she’s told and kneels before you. Her mouth begins to water as she stares at your cock.
Julie grabs your shaft and brings your cock down on Natty’s face. “Such a dirty girl.” Natty sticks her tongue out, tasting your cock as it comes down on her face again. “Just look at you, sticking your tongue out like a cheap whore.” Julie’s giggle tone made the words sting less. In Natty’s mind, she kind of liked it. “Open wide!” Julie chirped, her orders being followed quickly. Julie placed the tip of your cock on Natty’s tongue, the young woman wrapped her lips around the tip and bobbed her head. “Oh, look at her go. You really must’ve trained her well.” Julie says. Natty swells with pride, feeling like she was a good girl for following her orders so well.
Natty looked up, seeking more praise. Julie could tell what the Thai woman was after. “Such a good girl sucking on Daddy’s cock like that,” the praise made Natty work harder, she took more of your cock into her mouth. Going from degradation to praise and back again was breaking Natty in a way. Either end gave her pleasure. It didn’t matter what Julie said; she would love it.
Your wife watched with loving eyes as Natty’s mouth moved along your cock. “I can’t wait,” she whispered to you. Julie placed her hand on the back of Natty’s head and pushed her forward, forcing the Thai woman to take your entire length. Natty audibly gagged and choked, her hands gripped your thighs. Julie pulled her back by her hair, letting Natty breathe. “Come on, baby. You need to be a good little fleshlight and take Daddy’s cock.”
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I’ll do better,” Natty said through heavy breaths.
“Alright, baby, let’s try again,” Julie said before pushing her back onto your cock. This time, Natty was prepared, her jaw and throat relaxed as she took you into her mouth. “Ooh, that’s so much better. I knew you could do it,” Julie said, as she began guiding Natty along your cock. You grunted and groaned, reveling in the feeling of Natty’s tongue running across your shaft. You had gotten used to the way her throat flexed and relaxed around your cock. You lean over and kiss your wife, your tongue invading her mouth as she continues to guide Natty along your cock. The Thai woman’s fingers dip into her slick cunt. Saliva coated your shaft. Whenever Julie gave Natty a chance to breathe, thick strands of the stuff kept the two of you connected. They dripped onto Natty’s chest. Seeing the busty woman gave Julie an idea. She placed her hand on your back and pushed you forward.
“That’s enough with your mouth, now it’s time for you to use those nice big tits.” Julie grabbed your shaft and used the tip to rub against Natty’s small brown nubs. Your wife made sure to rub your cock against more than just her nipples, tracing her areola. The act made Natty shiver. You groaned softly. It felt nice to prod Natty’s tits, but it wasn’t the most pleasurable. What felt good was having the large soft mounds wrap around your cock. Julie watched with glee as Natty pushed her tits together and made your cock disappear between the tan mounds. “Mmm, that’s nice,” she said softly, “She’s such a good girl, isn’t she?” You nod along, moaning as Natty’s tits become slick and glisten with a mixture of your precum and her saliva. As you slide between her soft mounds, Natty takes small licks at the head of your cock. Julie smiles at the young woman, enjoying the work she did.
While the two of you enjoyed the pleasures of each other’s bodies, Julie began to strip. Neither you nor Natty watched her, too distracted by your current act. When you did notice her next, she was kneeling behind Natty, her chest pressed against the Thai woman’s back. Julie reached around, placing her hands over Natty’s and squeezing the large mounds roughly. Natty moaned, the sounds she made soon turning into whines as Julie pinched her nipple. The endless nipple play Natty had been going through had been slowly keeping her on the edge of cumming. When one of Julie’s hands went to her slit, Natty’s whines grew louder. She could feel Julie’s slim fingers sliding between her wet lips. “You’re going to cum, aren’t you? Julie asked quietly. Her question was met with more whining from the Thai woman. “I want you to cum. Cum like the silly little whore you are.” Natty couldn’t hold on any longer. As Julie pushed her fingers into her core, she came. Julie felt nectar splash on her fingers as she pressed them against Natty’s G-spot. The young Thai woman filled the room with her moans.
You began to thrust your length between her soft mounds as she came. You chased your own climax. It came quickly; the softness of Natty's tits against your hard cock made sure of that. You spurt your semen between her heavy mounds. As your cock pokes out, the next spurts go to her face and neck. Julie giggles as she watches the Thai woman become coated in your cum. “Now you really look the part of a slut.”
“Come on, let’s get her up. I want to watch you rail her.” You help Natty to her feet and bring her over to your desk. She lies on her back, Julie spreading her legs apart. You bring your cock to Natty’s slit, slapping it against her cunt. You rub the head of your cock against her entrance, Julie watching closely as the thick head of your cock pushes Natty’s lower lips apart. Natty’s back arches as she feels your cock slide into her with ease. After so much sex together, she thought her body had truly been molded to your cock. You pushed in quickly, bottoming out.
“Fuck, Daddy,” Natty moaned. Julie placed her hand over Natty’s lower stomach; she could just barely feel your cock sliding in and out of the young woman.
“That’s it, fuck her silly. Go ahead and breed her if you want.”
Hearing that, Natty raised her head, yelling, “Please breed me, Daddy. I’ll be yours and only yours. I only want Daddy’s cock.” Each thrust drove Natty crazy. Over the weeks you had fucked her, she lost more and more of herself. With Julie’s little push earlier, she fully accepted what she wanted to be.
Natty’s walls squeeze down on your cock as you ram it into her womb. “Daddy… I want Daddy’s cock to fill my little pussy.” You grab onto Natty’s legs, lifting them onto your shoulders as you continue to pound away at her small body. Julie sits back in your chair, her fingers delving into her cunt as she watches the action go on. You watch her glistening tits bounce, the large mounds bouncing and shaking her body recoils from every thrust. You grit your teeth as you drive your cock into the Thai woman’s tight cunt. Her walls massage your cock well, gripping it tightly as you hit every weak point the young woman has. Natty cries out with pleasure, her knees knocking against each other, legs slipping off your shoulders as she nears her climax.
You let her legs fall off your shoulders and pull Natty close to you, gripping her waist tightly. The Thai woman wraps her legs around your waist, pushing you deeper with her feet. Julie stands up and moves to be beside Natty. “That’s it, baby. Take Daddy’s cock, he’s getting ready to cum. Do you want all that nice, thick baby batter in you?”
“Y-yes, Mommy. I want Daddy to cum inside me. I-I want to have Daddy’s baby.” Natty moans. Natty walls were clamped down around your cock. The Thai woman gripped the desk’s edge tightly as you filled her cunt. Her head was spinning; she was about to let you breed her, and she liked it. “I want it, I want it, I want it!” She cried out, her walls tightening around you further. Somewhere in her lost mind, Natty knew she had to end things with her boyfriend. She was your devoted sex toy now. She was going to be bred by you. There was no way she could ever go back to him, not when she was getting such a nice cock so often and getting paid for it.
Julie smiles and turns to you. “Do it, sweetie. Breed her,” You didn’t need any further instructions. You continued to drive your cock into the young woman, your cock throbbing as you got close to your climax. When it was time, you buried yourself inside Natty. Julie smiled with glee as Natty’s mouth opened wide, a long cry of pleasure leaving her as your cum flooded her womb.
“D-Daddy!” Natty shouted. She could’ve sworn at that moment she felt herself getting pregnant. A warmth spread across her body as you pumped her full of your cum, leaving enough that when you pulled out, it came spilling out of her. Natty gazed over her body, weakly using her arms to support herself to get a better view of the river that flowed between her legs.
As Natty stared at her body, Julie pressed her lips against the Thai woman’s, fingers pushing their way into her messy cunt. “Did you like Daddy breeding you?”
“Yes, Mommy,” Natty moaned, sticking her tongue out of her mouth.
“That’s great, baby. Daddy will make sure to do it over and over again because you’re going to be his perfect cocksleeve from now on, alright?”
“Yes, Mommy,” Natty replies, completely content with the situation.
Julie pulled her fingers from the Thai woman’s slit and brought them up to her lips, dragging her tongue along her digits. “Mm, that’s good. Have a taste, baby.” Julie pushed her fingers past Natty’s lips, letting the Thai woman lap at her fingers, tasting the mixture of your cum and her nectar. “That’s it, you’ll get to have this every day. Mommy is going to show you how to ride, though. Daddy can’t be having all the fun.” Julie pulls her fingers from Natty’s mouth and reaches for you, grabbing your tie and bringing you to your chair. You take a seat and let Julie straddle you. She rocks back and forth on your cock, coating her wet lips in the remnants of your last orgasm.
“It’s my turn, now, Sweetie. Let me do all the work. You deserve a rest.” Julie pressed her warm entrance against your cock, slowly sinking onto it. “Oh, you’re still so hard.” Julie sucks in a breath, moaning softly as she sits on your lap, your cock impaling her. She presses her hand against her toned stomach, “You’re so deep, baby.” She says, slowly rising. Julie looks over her shoulder and sees Natty staring at her. “Turn the chair, sweetie. I want our new toy to get a good look.” You turn your chair to the side and smile at Natty, the tired woman touching herself as she watches Julie begin to ride you.
Your wife rises and falls on your cock quickly, her hands on your shoulders to support herself. Her walls flex around your cock, massaging every inch. You place your hands on Julie’s ass, kneading the soft flesh as you help her bounce on your cock. “Spank me,” she grunts. You deliver a strong smack, making her ass recoil. “Ooh, yeah, give me another.” You smack Julie again, this time giving the other cheek some attention. You feel Julie’s walls grip you tightly with each smack. You feed into her needs, alternating cheeks with each hit. Julie sinks lower as she bounces on your cock, reveling in the pleasure she feels.
From the sidelines, Natty watched your cock disappear into Julie’s tiny cunt. The erotic sight of her “Mommy” bouncing on your cock fueled her neediness. Natty got off the desk, your cum running down her legs. “Mommy looks so good on your cock, Daddy,” she says softly, her hand moving down Julie’s back. Natty pressed her lips against Julie’s, her hand cupping the modest mounds. The kiss muffles Julie’s moans, but she continues to bounce on your cock quickly. You hold her tightly, your hands digging into the bright red flesh. “I’ll be a good fucktoy for you and Daddy.” She tells Julie, “I’ll be whatever you want, Mommy.” Natty says, before turning to you and giving you a soft kiss. Julie pushes her way in, making the kiss messy as she slams herself down, burying your cock in her cunt. Her muscles constrict your cock, milking you as you cum inside her. Julie swivels her hips, putting in extra effort to drain your balls.
“I hope you’re ready for a whole new world, baby. Mommy and Daddy will take good care of you.” Julie says with a smile.
Arrangements were made once the work day ended. Natty things were packed and moved to your residence at Julie’s behest. She wouldn’t let her toy be anywhere else. Julie wanted to make sure Natty would always be available to use. Natty had no complaints; she could be herself now. A fucktoy, a cum dump, a perfect little cocksleeve for her Mommy and Daddy. She was in paradise.
tags: free use, bukkake, cum swallowing, creampie, facial, blowjob
The venue lights are dimmed low now, the last echoes of LE SSERAFIM’s encore still ringing in the rafters of the small Tokyo dome. It’s past 11 p.m. on a humid July night in 2025. The official fan-sign event ended twenty minutes ago—three hours of smiles, aegyo, signed albums, gentle hand-holding, the usual idol-to-fan ritual—but the energy in the room never really left.
You’re one of the last fifty fans still inside. Not because you’re slow. Because the staff quietly asked certain people to stay behind.
A rumor had been circulating on private Discord servers and closed KakaoTalk groups for weeks: “Yunjin said something during a VLIVE… she sounded tired… almost like she was testing the waters.” Clips were dissected frame by frame. A particular fancam from their last Japanese showcase showed her lingering a second too long on a fan’s hand, eyes glassy, lips parted just enough to spark theories. Then came the cryptic Bubble message two days ago:
“Sometimes I wonder what it would feel like if I didn’t have to stop… if I could just give everything. No limits. Would you still love me then?”
The company never addressed it. They never do when it’s subtle enough.
Tonight, though, subtlety is over.
A senior staff member—one of the quiet, black-clad women who never smile—walks the remaining fans into a smaller holding room behind the stage. There are no cameras here. No phones allowed (they were collected at the door). Just folding chairs, a long table, bottled water, and the low hum of air conditioning.
Yunjin is already waiting.
She’s still in her stage outfit: cropped black tank top, leather skirt, thigh-high boots. Her long auburn hair is slightly damp from exertion, bangs sticking to her forehead. Makeup is mostly intact except for the faint shine of sweat on her collarbones. She’s sitting on the edge of the table, legs crossed, one boot tapping slowly like she’s counting heartbeats.
The door closes. The staff member speaks once, voice flat.
“Miss Huh has something she wants to say. Listen carefully. No recording. No phones. No leaving until she says you can. Understood?”
Fifty heads nod. Some look nervous. Some look excited. A few look like they already know exactly what’s coming.
Yunjin uncrosses her legs and stands. Her voice is softer than on stage—almost fragile—but the words are clear.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” she begins. “About what being an idol really means. About giving… everything. Not just performances. Not just smiles. Everything.”
She pauses, eyes scanning the room. They land on you for a second—long enough that your stomach flips—then move on.
“I’m tired of pretending there’s a line I can’t cross. So tonight… there is no line.”
She slips the thin strap of her tank top off one shoulder. The fabric sags, exposing the swell of her breast and the edge of a black lace bra.
“I want to be free-use. For all of you. Right here. Right now. You can touch me, use my mouth, my body—whatever you want. As many times as you want. Until I can’t anymore… or until the staff says stop.”
A stunned silence.
Then a low murmur. Someone in the back lets out a shaky breath.
Yunjin smiles—small, tired, almost relieved.
“Who’s first?”
The room is a pressure cooker now. The first guy—the tall one with the lanyard—lasts maybe two minutes. His hands tighten on Yunjin’s shoulders as his hips stutter. “Fuck— I’m gonna— shit— your mouth feels so fucking good, Yunjin-noona,” he groans, voice cracking like a teenager. Yunjin doesn’t pull back. She just hums around him, eyes half-lidded, throat working as he spills down her throat. She swallows every drop, the wet gulp audible in the silent room. When he pulls out, a thin string of cum and spit connects her lower lip to his softening cock. She licks it away slowly, then looks up at him with a tired, almost gentle smile.
“Good boy,” she whispers, voice hoarse already. “Thank you for using my mouth first.”
The guy stumbles back to his chair, legs shaky, face flushed with disbelief.
That’s the signal.
Three more guys stand at once.
The second one—a stocky guy in a black hoodie—steps behind her. He yanks her bralette down without asking, her full, perky tits spilling out. They’re pale and soft, nipples already stiff from the cold air and the adrenaline. He grabs them roughly, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp. “These tits are fucking perfect, noona,” he mutters, thrusting his cock between them. Yunjin arches her back obediently, pushing her chest together for him, her tongue flicking out to lick the head every time it emerges from her cleavage.
He doesn’t last long. “Fuck— gonna paint your pretty tits— ah— shit— take it!” He cums in thick ropes across her chest, the white streaks landing on her collarbones and dripping down over her nipples. Yunjin moans softly, looking down at the mess. “Mmm… so warm… thank you for marking me,” she says quietly, voice trembling a little. She swipes a finger through the cum and brings it to her mouth, sucking it clean while looking at the rest of the room.
The third fan is already on his knees in front of her. He’s younger, nervous, hands shaking as he pulls her thong aside. “Can I… eat you, noona?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. Yunjin nods, spreading her legs wider on the table. “Yes… taste me. Use your tongue however you want.” He dives in, lapping at her shaved, glistening pussy like a man starved. Yunjin’s head falls back, a soft, broken moan escaping her. “Ah— good boy… right there… your tongue feels so nice on my clit…”
He eats her out for less than a minute before he’s jerking himself furiously. “I’m cumming— fuck— your pussy tastes so good— I’m—!” He shoots his load onto the floor between her boots, groaning into her cunt. Yunjin pets his hair gently. “It’s okay… you did well. Thank you for licking me.”
The fourth guy is bolder. He stands behind her, bends her forward over the table, and slides into her pussy in one smooth thrust. Yunjin gasps— a real, surprised sound— her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Oh god— so deep already… fuck me, please… use my tight little hole.” He pounds her hard, the wet slap of skin echoing. Her tits swing beneath her, nipples brushing the table. “Your pussy is gripping me so fucking tight, noona— shit— I’m gonna fill you up—!” He cums inside her with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he pumps rope after rope deep into her womb. When he pulls out, a thick glob of cum drips from her stretched pussy onto the floor.
Yunjin stays bent over, breathing hard, cum leaking down her thigh. She looks back at him with glassy eyes. “Thank you… for breeding me… it feels so full now.”
By now the room is chaos. Five more guys are around her— one in her mouth, one fucking her tits, another fingering her cum-filled pussy while she strokes two cocks at once. Her body is glistening with sweat and cum. Her makeup is ruined— mascara running, lips swollen. But she never stops. She keeps moaning, keeps saying “thank you,” keeps encouraging them.
“Harder… use me like a toy… I’m just a free-use slut for you tonight…”
You’re still sitting. The last untouched fan in the room.
Your cock is aching, pants tented obscenely. Yunjin’s eyes find yours again through the crowd— tired, hazy, but locked on you.
She smiles, small and knowing, even as another guy cums on her face.
The chaos unfolds in slow, agonizing waves. You stay rooted in your chair, hands clenched on your knees, cock straining painfully against your jeans as the room devolves into a private, consensual free-for-all.
Yunjin is everywhere at once.
The guy who was tit-fucking her cums first—groaning like he's dying, thick ropes painting her chest again, adding fresh layers over the drying streaks from earlier. “Fuck—noona—your tits are perfect—take it all!” He pulls back, cock twitching, and Yunjin just looks down at the mess, breathing hard. “Thank you… for covering me again… it feels so warm on my skin.” Her voice is softer now, almost dreamy, like she's floating somewhere between exhaustion and subspace.
Next, the one in her mouth finishes—grabbing her hair, holding her down as he unloads straight down her throat. She swallows reflexively, throat working visibly, a small trickle escaping the corner of her mouth. When he pulls out, she coughs once—softly—then smiles up at him with cum-glazed lips. “Good boy… you tasted so good. Thank you for feeding me.”
The guy behind her—the one who came inside her pussy—pulls out slowly, a thick glob of his seed following, dripping down her thigh onto her boot. He slaps her ass once—hard—leaving a red handprint on her pale cheek. Yunjin yelps, then moans. “Mmm… thank you for filling me up… I can feel it leaking out. So full…”
More fans circle in.
One takes her mouth next—thrusting shallowly while another kneels and sucks on her tits, biting her nipples until she whimpers around the cock in her throat. Another slides into her pussy from behind, fucking her with long, slow strokes while she’s bent over the table. The wet slap of skin on skin fills the room, mixed with low groans and Yunjin’s muffled, needy sounds.
She never stops thanking them.
Even when a fan cums on her face—thick streaks across her cheeks and nose—she just licks her lips and whispers, “Thank you for marking my face… I look like such a slut now, don’t I?”
When another finishes on her back—ropes landing in her hair and dripping down her spine—she reaches back, scoops some up, and sucks it off her fingers. “Mmm… thank you… I love feeling covered in all of you.”
One by one they finish.
Some cum in her mouth—she swallows every drop, thanking them with a hoarse “Thank you for feeding me more.”
Some cum on her tits—she rubs it in like lotion, moaning softly. “Thank you for painting my big tits… they look so pretty like this.”
Some cum inside her—pussy or ass (a few brave ones take her back hole after lubing with spit and her own juices)—and each time she gasps, “Thank you for breeding me… I can feel it so deep… thank you.”
By the time the crowd thins—maybe thirty minutes later—she’s a wreck.
Cum drips from her chin, streaks her tits, leaks from both holes, mats her hair. Her makeup is gone—mascara tracks down her cheeks like black tears, lipstick smeared around her swollen mouth. Her body trembles, thighs shaking, but she still smiles—small, dazed, almost serene.
The staff member reappears at the door. “Last call. Five minutes.”
Only a handful of fans remain.
You’re still seated—the very last untouched one.
Yunjin’s eyes find yours through the haze. She’s on her knees now, cum dripping from her chin onto her heaving chest. She crawls—slowly, deliberately—across the floor toward you, leaving a trail of mixed fluids behind her.
She stops between your legs, looking up with those glassy, exhausted eyes.
“Last one,” she whispers, voice raw. “You waited so long… what do you want to do with me?”
You wait until the very end.
The room has emptied almost completely now. The last few fans have finished—some cumming on her face one final time, others pulling out of her mouth or pussy with low groans of satisfaction. Yunjin is on the floor, kneeling in a small pool of mixed fluids, body trembling, covered from head to thigh in layers of drying cum. Her long auburn hair is matted and sticky, strands glued to her cheeks and neck. Her bralette is long gone; her tits are flushed red from rough hands and mouths, nipples swollen and raw, glistening with spit and semen. Her thong is pulled to the side, pussy gaping slightly, thick white rivulets leaking steadily from her abused hole down her inner thighs. Her makeup is completely ruined—black tear tracks, smeared lipstick framing a swollen, cum-smeared mouth.
The staff member stands at the door, arms crossed.
“Last call. One minute.”
The remaining fans hesitate, then one by one they leave—some thanking her softly, others just zipping up and walking out in stunned silence.
Until it's only you.
Yunjin lifts her head slowly. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused at first, but they find you. She smiles—small, exhausted, almost tender.
“You waited the longest,” she rasps, voice cracked from overuse. “Come here.”
You stand. Legs feel like lead. The room is quiet except for the low hum of the AC and the wet drip of cum hitting the floor.
She doesn't move to stand. She just crawls—slowly, painfully—across the sticky tiles toward you, leaving a smeared trail behind her. When she reaches your feet, she looks up, cum dripping from her chin onto her heaving tits.
“What do you want?” she whispers. “Anything. I'm yours.”
You reach down, cup her cum-streaked cheek. She leans into the touch like it's the first gentle thing she's felt all night.
You help her up—gently—guiding her to sit on the edge of the table again. She winces as her sore pussy presses against the cold surface, but she doesn't complain. You step between her parted thighs, hands sliding up her sides, feeling the sticky warmth of her skin.
“I want you to ride me,” you say quietly. “Slow. Face to face. Let me look at you while I finish inside.”
Her eyes soften—just a fraction.
“Okay.”
She reaches down with shaking hands, undoes your belt, pulls your jeans and boxers down just enough. Your cock springs free—hard, aching, precum beading at the tip after watching everything.
She guides you to her entrance—her pussy still dripping with the loads of dozens of men, hot and slick and ruined. She sinks down slowly, inch by inch, a long, broken moan escaping her as you fill her already-stuffed cunt.
“Ah… so full already… but you feel… different,” she breathes, forehead resting against yours.
You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her close. Her cum-covered tits press against your chest, sticky and warm. She starts to move—slow rolls of her hips, not bouncing, just grinding in deep, lazy circles. Every motion makes a wet, obscene squelch as your cock stirs the mess inside her.
Her breath hitches against your lips. “Look at me,” she whispers. “Please… look at me while you cum in me.”
You do.
You hold her gaze—those tired, beautiful eyes—as you thrust up gently, meeting her rhythm. One hand cups her face, thumb brushing away a streak of drying cum from her cheek. The other slides down to grip her ass—soft, bruised from slaps and grips—helping her ride you.
She clenches around you—weakly, exhaustedly—but enough to make you groan.
“I'm close,” you murmur.
“Inside,” she breathes. “Please… fill me more. I want to feel it from you too.”
You bury your face in her neck—smelling sweat, cum, and her fading perfume—and thrust up one last time, deep and slow.
You cum with a low groan, pumping thick ropes into her already overflowing pussy. She shudders, a small, quiet orgasm rippling through her spent body, her walls fluttering around you as she milks the last drops.
For a long moment, neither of you moves.
She rests her forehead against yours, breathing ragged.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “For waiting. For… seeing me.”
The staff member clears her throat from the door.
“Time.”
Yunjin slowly lifts herself off you—cum gushing out of her in a thick stream, splattering the floor. She doesn't bother covering up. She just stands there—ruined, beautiful, empty.
She looks at you one last time.
“Come back anytime,” she says softly. “I'll be here.”
It's fucking cold and your blazer does exactly nothing to stop it. The wind just cuts right through like the fabric doesn't exist. You should've grabbed an actual coat before leaving, but hindsight and all that. At least you remembered the hat. Small victories.
Your dress shoes click against the pavement. That's the only sound besides the wind. The whole park is basically empty, which makes sense: it's past midnight. Way past. This is the hour when normal people are home in bed, not walking along the Han River with a bag of honey butter chips in one hand and fresh bandages on the other.
The bandages are from earlier. You punched a mirror in your office. Stupid move. The mirror won that fight. Your knuckles are still throbbing to prove it.
The bench comes into view. Your bench. The one you've been visiting since you were seventeen. Back then it was college entrance exams and a father who looked at you like a disappointment. Now it's a hemorrhaging portfolio and a boardroom full of middle-aged men who look at you like you're a child playing dress-up with daddy's money.
Different problems. Same bench. Same river. Same pathetic ritual of sitting alone in the dark until your head stops screaming.
Except tonight, someone's already there.
You slow your pace. A figure hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands pressed against their head, their shoulders shaking. Not from the cold, but from crying. You can hear the faint whimpering. It's a woman. You can tell from the frame, small and slight, wearing this oversized hoodie. Her face is completely hidden, buried in her hands, and she's just... falling apart. Right there. On your bench.
Great. Just what you needed.
You glance around. The pathway stretches empty in both directions. No friends hovering nearby, no security guards, no one at all. Just you and this stranger having a breakdown on your bench at one in the morning. You could leave. Turn around, find another spot, let her have her moment of private misery without some asshole in a wrinkled blazer standing ten feet away like a creep.
But your feet don't move. Eventually, though, she becomes aware of you, because her head snaps up. That’s when the streetlight catches her face. Your own face is obscured by shadows, so she doesn't see your expression of astonishment when you see her.
It's Karina.
Yu Jimin. From aespa. The Yu Jimin whose face you've seen on billboards, variety shows and big stages. She's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks and an expression that's rapidly shifting from devastation to alarm. "Who are you?" She scrambles to her feet, putting distance between you. "What are you doing here?"
You don't answer immediately. Your brain is still buffering, still trying to reconcile the idol on the billboards with the crying girl in front of you, but your mouth operates on autopilot. "Well." You gesture at the trees, the river, the general ambiance of public outdoor space. "This is a park. People walk here. I just came to sit on the bench where I usually come to cry… But it seems someone beat me to it."
Jimin's expression flickers. She can't tell if you're joking or genuinely pathetic, and honestly, neither can you. "I'm sorry." She wipes hastily at her face, smearing tears across her cheek. "I'll go. I shouldn't be here anyway."
"No, no." You wave your unbandaged hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'm kidding. Stay. Bench is all yours. I'm leaving."
Who cares about the problems of Korea’s it girl when your own life is falling apart? So you turn. Start walking. Your shoes click against the pavement again, and you're already thinking about the convenience store two blocks over, whether they'll have more chips, whether you can find another bench somewhere that doesn't have a sobbing celebrity on it.
Three steps. Four. Five.
You stop.
Because the thing is: that's Yu Jimin back there. Karina. And you watched the news last week like everyone else. You saw the footage of her walking off stage mid-performance, the confused backup dancers, the fan cams cutting to black. The internet exploded with theories. Mental breakdown. Contract dispute. Secret illness. Nobody knew anything concrete, and SM Entertainment released some bullshit statement about "scheduling adjustments" that convinced exactly no one.
And now she's here. Alone. Crying by the river at one in the morning with no one around. You don’t want to go home, fall asleep, and wake up in the morning to turn on the news and hear the final, tragic headline about Yu Jimin. Knowing you could have done something.
You turn back. Jimin hasn't moved. She's watching you with wary eyes, arms wrapped around herself.
"On second thought," you say, walking toward her again, "I'd like to leave. I really would. But all that social ethics and empathy that one person is supposed to have for another is making it difficult."
"I'm fine. Really. You can go."
You stop a few feet away from the bench. Study her face in the dim light. The swollen eyes, the blotchy skin, the way her lower lip trembles even as she tries to set her jaw.
"You don't look fine."
You sit down on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a solid three feet of space between you. The wood is cold through your slacks. You settle back, stretch your legs out, and stare at the river instead of her.
"If you want to talk about it," you say, "you can. I'll listen." You give her your name. She doesn’t give you hers. Whatever. You already know it.
"I'm not going to open up to a stranger."
"That's fair." You nod. "I wouldn't either. Strangers are terrible. Half of them are serial killers or… you know." Silence. The river laps against the concrete embankment. "I'll just sit here for a while," you continue. "Until you're feeling better. And, you know." You pause. "Stop you from jumping in the river."
"What? I’d never do that.”
"Great." You shrug. "Saves me the trouble. I can't swim."
Another pause. You're not looking at her, but you can feel her gaze on the side of your face, trying to figure you out. Trying to decide if you're making fun of her or genuinely this weird. You open the bag of chips. You pop one in your mouth, chew slowly, then tilt the bag in her direction.
"Want some?"
Jimin stares at the offering like it might be poisoned. Her eyes flick to your face, then back to the chips. She reaches out. Takes one. Eats it.
"These are my favorite," she says quietly.
"I know."
"How... How do you know that?"
You chew another chip. Swallow. "I know who you are. Everyone does. You're kind of famous."
She exhales, then murmurs: "Fuck."
"Yeah."
"You're a fan."
"I own an album or two. Doesn't mean anything. I'm not going to ask for a photo or an autograph or whatever. I'm not going to tell anyone I saw you here." You pause. "Crying alone at one in the morning isn't exactly the image SM wants to project, I'm guessing."
Jimin doesn't respond. She's staring at the river now, the same way you were a moment ago. The water is black and glittering under the scattered lights of the city. "Why are you being nice to me?" she asks finally.
You consider the question. Think about the boardroom meeting from hell, the investors pulling out, the whispered conversations that stop when you enter a room. Think about your throbbing knuckles and your empty apartment and the fact that you came here tonight because you didn't know where else to go.
"I'm not being nice," you say. "I'm being a basic human being." You hold out the bag again. She takes another chip.
"What happened to your hand?" Jimin's question catches you off guard. You'd almost forgotten about it. The throbbing has faded to a dull ache. You glance down at the bandages wrapped around your knuckles, the gauze is already slightly grimy from the evening's adventures.
"This?" You hold it up. "Got into a fight. Some guys. You know how it is." She raises an eyebrow. "Happens all the time," you continue, keeping your face perfectly straight. "You should've seen the other guys. Absolutely wrecked. One of them's probably still in the hospital."
"You don't seem like the type to get into a fight."
"Excuse me?"
"Or to win one."
You press your unbandaged hand to your chest and say, incredibly offended: "That's so rude. I'm very intimidating. You clearly don't know my reputation; I've beaten up half the guys in this city. "
"Uh huh."
"I do."
"Sure."
You hold the pose for another beat, then let it drop. Shrug. "Okay, you've got good eyes. I punched a mirror."
"A mirror?"
"In my office. Full-length. Extremely expensive. Had this whole elegant frame, imported from somewhere in Europe." You flex your fingers experimentally, wince slightly. "It won."
"Why would you punch a mirror?"
"Because the wall was too far away."
Before you can react, Jimin reaches over and takes your hand. Her fingers are cold against your skin as she turns your wrist, examining the bandages with a frown. The touch is clinical, careful, but it still sends something strange through your body.
"Don't do that again," she says. "You could have been seriously hurt. This needs to be rewrapped. Did you even clean it properly?"
"A doctor looked at it."
"A real doctor?"
"The emergency room kind. With a degree and everything."
She lets go of your hand. "I'm serious. That was stupid."
You tuck your hand back in your lap. "Sorry, If I'd known Yu Jimin would be upset about it, I wouldn't have done it."
Jimin's nose scrunches. It's subtle, but you catch it. "That's a weird thing to say to someone you just met."
"I'm a weird person. Ask anyone."
She doesn't respond to that. Instead, she reaches for the chip bag still sitting between you, pulls out another handful, and chews slowly. The crunch is the only sound for a long moment. "Why did you do it?" she asks. "The mirror thing. Were you drunk?"
"Stone cold sober." You lean back against the bench, tilt your head toward the sky. The stars are invisible here. Too much light pollution. Just a flat expanse of urban grey. At the lake house, there are probably stars in the sky. "I was angry."
"At what?"
"Everything. My life is crumbling right in front of me and there's nothing I can do about it. I just have to sit there and watch it fall apart, piece by piece, while everyone stands around waiting for me to fix it." You pause. "The worst part is that it's my fault. All of it. Every single thing that's going wrong right now is because of decisions I made."
Jimin is quiet. Listening.
"Now everyone hates me," you continue. "My investors. My board. My employees, probably. They all look at me like I'm some kind of idiot child who got lucky once and has been failing upward ever since." You give a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe they're right."
"What happened?" Jimin asks. "With your company?"
You think about how much to tell her, how much you even want to say out loud. But between the darkness, the late hour, and how ridiculous this whole situation is, this bench and Jimin seem very much like a safe space.
"I made a bet," you say. "A big one. Moved a lot of money into a position that I was sure would pay off. Everyone told me it was risky. Everyone told me to hedge, to be careful, to think about the downside. And I told them they were being cowards." You close your eyes. "I was wrong. The position collapsed. We lost... a lot. More than I want to think about. And now the investors are pulling out, the board wants my head, and the company I built is probably going to be sold off to some private equity firm that'll gut it for parts."
"That sounds..."
"Pathetic? Yeah."
"I was going to say overwhelming."
You open your eyes. Look at her. "Same thing, in my experience."
Jimin pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Do you feel powerless?"
"Every second of every day lately."
She nods slowly. "Me too," she says quietly.
You turn to face her more fully. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then I guess we have a lot in common. Karina and I, united by a shared feeling. Who would have thought, huh?”
A breeze picks up, carrying the smell of water and city and approaching rain. You watch Jimin shiver, then you shrug out of your blazer. It's rumpled, probably smells like stress sweat, but it's wool and it's warm.
"Here."
She looks at the offered jacket, then at you. "No, I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"It's not that cold."
"Your lips are turning blue."
"They are not."
"Just take it." You hold it out further. "I'm not being polite. I'm being practical. If you get hypothermia out here, I'm the one who has to deal with it, and I really don't want to explain to the paramedics why I was hanging out with an idol at one in the morning."
Jimin hesitates. Then, slowly, she takes the blazer. Drapes it over her shoulders. It swallows her, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem nearly reaching her thighs.
"It fits you perfectly," you say.
She looks down at herself. A ghost of something that might be amusement crosses her face. She pulls the blazer tighter around herself and asks: "Are you scared?"
You take a moment before answering. "Yes."
"Of what?"
"Losing everything. Proving everyone right about me. Finding out that I really am just a lucky idiot who got in over his head." You pick at the edge of your bandage. "Waking up one day and realizing I wasted my entire life chasing something that was never going to work out." Jimin nods. Like she understands. Like she knows exactly what that fear tastes like. "What about you?" you ask. "What are you afraid of?"
"Getting lost," she replies. "Not knowing who I am anymore." She presses her forehead to her knees. "I've been doing this for so long. Being Karina. Being what everyone wants me to be. And somewhere along the way, I think I forgot who I was before all of it. Who I am underneath. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and can’t see myself. A body with no face.” You don't say anything. You just listen. "I don't know who I really am," she continues. "And I don’t know how to figure it out."
"I had a girlfriend in college," you say after a moment. "She was really into esoteric stuff. Crystals, tarot cards, meditation retreats. The whole thing. She used to say that when you think too much, your mind separates from your body. Like it just... drifts away. Floats off somewhere and leaves the rest of you behind." You wave your uninjured hand. "She said the key was recalibration. Bringing your mind back to your body. Grounding yourself in the physical."
"How do you do that?"
You shrug. "No idea. We broke up before I figured that part out." Jimin lets out a breath. It's almost a laugh. "But you'll figure it out," you add. "Eventually. You seem smart."
"You don't know me."
"I know you have good taste in chips. That's something."
You stand up. Your body protests, joints stiff from the cold, but you ignore it. You grab the bag of chips (still half full) and hold it out to her. "Here. Take the rest."
She looks up at you. "I can't take your chips."
"Consider it a gift. From one pathetic person crying in a park to another."
Jimin takes the bag, holds it in her lap.
"My company," you say, "is in the Yeouido financial district. The building with the copper spire that's shaped like a twisted flame. You can't miss it. Only building in Seoul that looks like it's actively on fire." You pause. "My office is on the top floor. If you ever want to talk. Or just sit somewhere warm and eat snacks in silence. Whatever. Just show up."
She stares at you. "You're inviting me to your office?"
"Yeah. Is that weird? I feel like I lost my social instincts a while back."
"Why?"
"Because I have a lot of snacks up there, and no one to share them with." You start backing away, keeping your eyes on her. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jimin-ssi. Genuinely. Even under the circumstances."
She doesn't respond. Just watches you, the blazer still wrapped around her shoulders, your chips still clutched in her hands.
"And maybe stop going out alone in the middle of the night," you add. "It's not safe. There are weirdos everywhere. Present company included." You take a few more steps backward. Almost trip on a crack in the pavement. Recover with what you hope is dignity. "One more thing."
Jimin tilts her head.
"You're my favorite in aespa," you say. "Always have been. Total diva."
And there it is. Finally. The corner of her mouth twitches, then lifts, and she smiles. It’s small, tired, still a little broken, but it’s there. Real.
“Thank you,” she says.
You turn and walk away before you can say another stupid thing. At least tonight, you’ll go to sleep knowing you made Karina from aespa crack a small smile.
—
It's a hallway big enough for everyone, but they insist on staying close to you. Your chief financial officer walks on your left, rattling off numbers that stopped meaning anything to you three days ago. Your head of operations flanks your right as he lists every reason why this trip is a terrible idea. Behind you, your assistant struggles to keep up while she reminds you about the seventeen emails you haven't answered.
You? Well, you’re starting to get pissed about the lack of personal space.
"You can't just leave," the CFO says. "There's too much happening here. The quarterly reports need your signature by Friday, and the auditors are asking questions about the Singapore accounts."
"I'm taking my MacBook." You don't slow down. "I can do everything remotely. That's the whole point of technology."
"With respect, sir, you said that last time and then you disappeared for three days without answering a single call."
"It won't happen again. You have my word."
Your operations head cuts in. "The meeting will also be on Friday. The board meeting. You need to be there. Everything is at stake. They're going to vote on whether to accept the acquisition offer, and if you're not present to argue against it, they'll sell us off without a second thought."
"I'll be there." You reach the elevator bay and press the button. "I'll be back on Friday morning. I'll sit in that room and I'll argue until I'm blue in the face. But right now, today, I'm getting on a plane."
"Sir, please, we need to discuss the restructuring proposal. The legal team has concerns about the liability clauses, and the PR department wants to schedule a press conference to address the investor concerns, and there's the matter of the pension fund adjustments that require your direct approval, and honestly we're all very worried about your mental state given recent events and we think perhaps you should speak to someone, a professional, someone who can help you process what's happening because this level of avoidance behavior is concerning and we care about you as a person not just as our employer and—"
The elevator doors open and there she is: Seol Yoon-a. Standing dead center like she's posing for a photoshoot. Her hair's down, these perfect brown waves past her shoulders, so glossy that makes you wonder if it's even real. Angular face, delicate features, coral pink lipstick. She's tall. Taller than you right now, but it's because of the high heels. The short blue dress is definitely designer, you can tell just by looking at it. And she's holding her dog. A tiny white Pomeranian with a rhinestone collar, cradled in her arms like it's a purse.
She looks absolutely furious.
"I have been trying to reach you all morning," she says. "All. Morning. I called seven times. Seven. I texted you fourteen messages. I even tried emailing."
You step into the elevator. The doors close behind you, sealing you in with her and the world's most judgmental Pomeranian.
"I was in meetings."
"You were avoiding me."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"You've been so irresponsible lately," she continues. "Missing dinners. Canceling plans. Last week you forgot we were supposed to go to that gallery opening, and I had to show up alone like some kind of abandoned housewife."
"My company is on the verge of collapse." You watch the floor numbers tick upward. "I think I've earned the right to be a little irresponsible."
"That's not an excuse."
"It's literally the definition of an excuse. A reason for not doing something. My reason is corporate bankruptcy."
She huffs. The Pomeranian huffs with her. You wonder if she trained it to do that or if it just absorbed her personality through proximity.
"What about dinner tonight?" she demands. "With my parents? They've been wanting to meet you for months now, and I finally convinced them to fly in from Busan, and the reservation at that restaurant took three weeks to get, and my father is very particular about punctuality, and my mother is going to ask me why you're not there, and what am I supposed to tell her? That my boyfriend is too busy having a crisis to show basic courtesy?"
"We've already talked about this: I'm not your boyfriend,” you remind Yoon-a and see her face deflate right before your eyes. You exhale and add: “Yet. I’m not your boyfriend… yet. And I can't do that right now. I have too much going on. Your parents will have to wait."
"You always say that. You always have some excuse. I'm starting to think you don't even like me anymore."
You exhale slowly. Count to three. Try to find the diplomatic answer, the gentle deflection, the words that will smooth this over without actually addressing the underlying issue.
"I like you," you say. "But sometimes you can be a little... clingy."
Yoon-a's eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open. The Pomeranian actually stops yapping, like even it knows you've crossed a line.
"Clingy?" She repeats, completely horrified, like it’s the most offensive thing a guy could ever say to a girl. "You think I'm clingy?"
"I said a little."
"How could you say that?" She clutches the dog closer, and her outrage reaches a fever pitch. "How could you say that in front of our son?"
Your eyes sweep over the tiny fluffball, unimpressed, before flicking to her. "Pretty sure our son doesn’t shed this much.”
"Excuse me?"
"That dog isn't our son. You've had him for four years. We've been together for eight months. The math doesn't work."
Yoon-a literally gasps. Like you've said something unforgivable. She claps one hand over the Pomeranian's ear, pressing his fluffy head against her chest.
"Don't listen to him, baby," she coos. "He doesn't mean it. He's just having one of his moods."
"I'm not having a mood. I'm stating a fact."
The elevator dings. The doors open onto the ground floor lobby. Yoon-a steps out. Turns to face you. Her eyes are glistening (whether from genuine hurt or theatrical effect, you can't tell.)
“If you’re gonna be petty and take your frustration out on our innocent kid, then we’re done," she announces. "It's over. Don't look for me again. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't even think about me." She spins on her heel and strides away.
"Yoon-a." You step out of the elevator, follow her a few paces. "Yoon-a, wait. We should talk about this."
She doesn't turn around. Doesn't slow down. Just keeps walking. You stand there for a moment. Processing. Then you shake your head and keep walking.
You're maybe twenty steps from the main exit when someone intercepts you. A young woman from the front desk. "Sir? I'm sorry to bother you, but there's someone here who wants to speak with you."
"I cancelled all my appointments today."
"I know, sir, but she was very insistent, and she's been waiting for almost an hour, and she said you'd want to see her."
You frown. "Who is it?"
The receptionist hesitates. Glances over her shoulder toward the lobby seating area. "She says her name is Yu Jimin. Karina. From… aespa.” You stop walking.
It's been two weeks since that night by the river. Two weeks since you sat on a bench with Yu Jimin and shared chips and talked about falling apart. Two weeks since you gave her your blazer and told her where to find you and walked away thinking that was probably the last time you'd ever see her. You'd convinced yourself she wouldn't come. Why would she? You're a stranger. A random guy she met while crying in a park. The invitation was impulsive, probably inappropriate, definitely weird. Any sensible person would have thrown your blazer in the trash and forgotten the whole thing.
And yet.
"Where?" you ask. The receptionist points toward the seating area near the windows. And there she is: Jimin sits on one of the low leather couches, her posture slightly hunched, her hands folded in her lap. She's wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a face mask that covers half her features, the standard idol disguise that fools absolutely no one. On the couch beside her sits Yoon-a.
Oh no.
You move closer, and fragments of conversation reach you: "Are you Karina?" Yoon-a is asking, leaning in with that curiosity she gets when she thinks she's discovered something interesting. "From aespa? You look exactly like her."
"No." Jimin's reply is quiet, muffled by the mask. "I get that a lot, though."
"The resemblance is insane. Like, identical. Are you sure you're not her?"
"I'm sure."
Yoon-a tilts her head, studies Jimin for another moment, then seems to accept the answer. "Well, whoever you are, your hair is gorgeous. What products do you use?"
"Um. Thank you. I don't really—"
"Anyway, I have to go. My ex-boyfriend is being dramatic and I need to go post something on Instagram that will make him jealous." Yoon-a stands, adjusts the Pomeranian in her arms, and sweeps away without a backward glance.
Jimin watches her go with visible relief. Then she sees you. She stands quickly, pulling down her mask. Her face is bare of makeup, her hair tucked under the cap. "Hi," she says.
"Hi." A beat of silence. The lobby hums around you, people coming and going, phones ringing, the distant chime of elevators. "I thought I’d never see you again," you say. "Honestly. I thought you'd written me off as some weirdo who talks to crying strangers."
"You are a weirdo who talks to crying strangers."
"Fair point."
She shifts her weight, uncertain. "Is this a bad time? I should have called first. I didn't have your number, so I just showed up, which is probably weird, I know, I can leave if you're busy—"
"Any time is a bad time right now." You shrug. "My entire life is a bad time. So it doesn't really matter."
That seems to relax her slightly. She reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out something familiar. Your blazer, folded neatly. "I came to return this," she says. "And also... I don't know. I've been thinking about that conversation we had. About you. About everything you said." She pauses, searching for words. "I thought it might be nice to see you again. If that's okay."
You take the blazer from her hands. The fabric still smells faintly of her perfume. "It's okay," you say.
Her gaze drops to the overnight bag slung over your shoulder, the coat draped over your arm. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah. I'm..." You hesitate. "I'm taking a trip. Getting out of the city for a few days. Clear my head."
"Oh.” Her eyes flick down for a moment. “Then I should let you go. I didn't mean to interrupt your plans."
You should probably just let her go. Say goodbye, wish her well, catch your flight solo like you'd originally planned. Be a normal, sensible person about this. That's what you're supposed to do here. That's the appropriate move.
But you're looking at her standing there, and you're thinking about two weeks of radio silence. You're thinking about how she smiled at you that night. Just once. Just barely. But she did. "Come with me," you say.
"What?"
"Come with me. On the trip."
"I—what? I can't just—you're not serious."
"I'm going to my family's lake house. A few hours outside the city. I'll be the only one there. Totally empty. Totally quiet." You pause. "Company would be nice. If you want."
She stares at you like you've lost your mind. Which, to be fair, you might have. "Don't you have a girlfriend or something?" she asks.
"The girl who was talking to you a minute ago, she was almost my girlfriend. Emphasis on was and almost." You sigh. "Pretty sure I ruined that. Again. It's becoming a pattern."
"She was beautiful."
"Yeah. In another universe, she's probably an idol. Could give you a run for your money." You tilt your head, considering. "In this universe, she's just a kind of ditzy rich girl. Good heart, though. Deep down." Jimin doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. "The offer stands," you continue. "Private jet. Lake house. Fresh air. It might be my last trip on that plane, actually. I'll probably have to sell it soon to cover some debts. Might as well enjoy it while I can."
"I'm not ready," she says. "I don't have a suitcase. I don't have clothes. I didn't plan for this."
You check your watch. "You have an hour and a half. Go home, pack a bag, get your documents and meet me at Gimpo airfield. I'll text you the details."
"This is insane. I shouldn't be traveling alone with someone I barely know."
"Definitely not. Objectively, this is one of the stupidest things anyone could do."
She crosses her arms. Narrows her eyes at you. "How do I know you're not going to murder me or something?"
"I don't like blood." You hold up your hand, showing her the healing scars across your knuckles. "When I punched that mirror and saw it bleeding, I almost passed out. Had to sit down for ten minutes. My secretary had to bring me juice."
Her expression softens slightly. "How is it? Your hand?"
"Better. See? All healed up. No lasting damage."
"Good."
"So no murders," you say. "I'd honestly prefer to keep all your blood and organs exactly where they are. Inside your body. Where they belong."
Jimin just looks at you. For a while. Long enough that you're starting to wonder if she heard you correctly. She's clearly thinking it over. You can see it on her face. The mental math she's doing: how bad could this go versus how bad is everything already? Scary unknown versus scary known. Taking a chance versus playing it safe. "Okay," she says finally. "I'll come."
You grin. "It's going to be great," you tell her. "Sun. Water. Peace and quiet. You should bring a bikini.”
"A bikini."
"For swimming. In the lake. It's very refreshing."
"Uh huh... You realize you sound completely deranged right now, right? 'Come to my isolated lake house, strange woman I met while she was crying. Bring a bikini.'"
"When you say it like that—"
"How else should I say it?"
"More... optimistically?"
She laughs. "You're crazy. Like, genuinely crazy. I should probably run."
"But you're not going to."
"No," she admits. "I'm apparently just as crazy as you are."
—
By the time you and Jimin make it from the car to the front door, you're both soaked from the knees down despite your best efforts. The wind keeps changing direction, driving sheets of water sideways, and the umbrella is basically decorative at this point. You fumble with the keys. Drop them once. Curse under your breath. Finally get the door open and practically shove Jimin inside before following her, slamming the door shut against the storm.
The house is dark. Quiet. You find the light switch and the entryway floods with warm yellow glow, illuminating hardwood floors and cream-colored walls and the faint layer of dust on the decorative table by the door. Jimin sets two small suitcases in the corner. You drop your bag beside it. Water drips from both of you, pooling on the floor.
"So," you say, before she can say anything. "Yeah. I know. I said there would be sun. I specifically mentioned sun. And a lake. And bikinis." She looks at you. Doesn't say anything. Just looks. "This is climate change," you continue, gesturing at the windows where rain lashes against the glass. "The weather's completely unpredictable now. Changes overnight. There's literally no way I could have known this was going to happen. It was sunny when we left Seoul." Still nothing. Just that steady gaze. "But hey." You move further into the house, hitting more light switches as you go. "At least the power works. See? Fully functional. Lights, electricity, the whole deal. Modern amenities."
To prove your point, you grab the remote from the coffee table and turn on the television mounted above the fireplace. The screen flickers to life, and a news anchor's face fills the frame. "—unprecedented storm system that meteorologists have been tracking for weeks now," the anchor is saying. "Residents in the affected areas have been advised to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel. The storm is expected to continue through the weekend, with rainfall totals potentially reaching—"
You become very aware of Jimin standing behind you. "Okay." You clear your throat. "So apparently they have been talking about this. For weeks. Allegedly."
"Allegedly."
"I don't watch the news. Who watches the news anymore? It's all doom and gloom. Very bad for mental health." You turn to face her, attempting something like an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry. You must be upset."
Jimin shrugs. Pulls off her damp jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. I promised you sun and delivered a monsoon."
"I wasn't really in the mood for sun anyway." She looks around the living room, taking in the leather couches, the stone fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling windows that currently showcase nothing but grey sheets of rain. "This is better, actually."
"See?" You point at her triumphantly. "I manage to get things right even when I completely screw up. It's a gift."
"—still no word on the whereabouts of Yu Jimin, known professionally as Karina of the K-pop group aespa. The idol, who mysteriously disappeared earlier this week, has not been seen publicly since—" You watch Jimin's expression freeze. "—sources close to the group suggest she may be traveling alone, though her exact location remains unknown. Fans and media alike have expressed growing concern following her abrupt departure from the group's final tour concert last month. SM Entertainment has declined to comment on the situation, releasing only a brief statement asking for privacy during this difficult time—"
You turn off the TV. "Did you tell anyone where you were going?" you ask.
Jimin moves to the window. Stares out at the storm. "I told them I was traveling. That I was fine. That I needed some time."
"But not where."
"No. Not where."
"People are going to be worried. Your members. Your family."
"I know." Her breath fogs the glass. "But it's better this way. If they knew where I was, they'd come. They'd try to help. And I can't... I don't want that right now.” You don't push. Don't ask why. "So." Jimin turns away from the window. "What are we going to do here?"
You scratch the back of your neck. "Honestly? I have no idea."
"You didn't plan anything?"
"The whole trip was impulsive. I wasn't thinking past 'get out of Seoul before I lose my mind.' And now..." You gesture at the rain. "There's not much we can do in this weather anyway."
Another silence. You both avoid looking directly at each other, which is ridiculous, because you're adults and this is just a house and there's nothing weird about any of this except for the part where everything about this is incredibly weird. You're a businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. She's a global pop star who just disappeared from the public eye. You're standing in your family's lake house in the middle of nowhere while a storm rages outside, and neither of you has any idea what you're doing here.
"Do you want to see the lake?" you ask suddenly.
"In this?"
"There should be raincoats somewhere. My family used to keep outdoor stuff in the mudroom." You pause. "But first, let me show you the house. So you know where everything is." She nods. Follows you as you move through the ground floor.
The lake house is two stories of weathered wood and large windows. The ground floor is mostly open plan, the living area flowing into a kitchen that hasn't been updated since the early 2000s but still works fine. A dining table that seats eight people who no longer gather here. A fireplace that you should probably light later, assuming you remember how. Sliding glass doors that lead to a deck overlooking the water, currently being pelted by rain so hard you can barely see the lake beyond. You flip on lights as you go, chasing away the gloom. "This is all very nice," Jimin observes, running her fingers along the edge of the kitchen island. "Your family has money." She opens the refrigerator. Stares at the contents. "There's food in here."
"Yeah, I called ahead. There's a company that does this, stocks up vacation homes before people arrive. Groceries, supplies, fresh linens. Very convenient when you're rich." You lean against the counter. "Or when you used to be rich..."
"That's very... prepared of you."
"I have my moments."
She closes the refrigerator and you continue the tour, showing her the small bathroom off the hallway, the laundry room with its industrial-sized washer and dryer, the study lined with bookshelves that your father never actually read.
The stairs creak as you climb to the second floor. The sound is familiar. Kind of comforting, in a strange way. "Master bedroom is at the end of the hall," you say, pointing. "That one's mine when I'm here. There are two guest rooms. This one—" You open a door on the left. "Has the better view."
Jimin steps inside. The room is simple but comfortable. Queen-sized bed with a white duvet, wooden dresser, soft carpet underfoot. But the window takes up most of the far wall, and even through the rain, you can see the lake stretching out beyond the property line, grey water merging with grey sky. "It's beautiful," she says softly. "Even with the storm."
"Yeah." You lean against the doorframe, watching her watch the view. "It's a peaceful place. Was, anyway."
"Was?"
"My family's been thinking about selling it. The whole area used to be full of families who came for the summers. Kids running around, barbecues on the weekends, boats on the lake. But over the last few years..." You shrug. "People started leaving. Selling their houses. The economy changed, people's priorities changed. Now half the homes around here are empty. The ones that aren't belong to people who only show up once or twice a year."
Jimin turns from the window. "That's sad."
"It is what it is." You examine a scratch on the doorframe, remembering when you put it there. You were twelve. A hockey stick. Your mother had been furious. "I told my father I'd buy the place myself if he tried to sell. He laughed at me. Said I was being sentimental."
"Were you?"
"Probably. But I don't care." You look around the room, at the walls that have witnessed more of your life than most people. "My family stopped coming here years ago. Now it's just... a graveyard of memories, I guess. A place where ghosts of who we used to be hang out."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is. But it's also one of the few places where I can pretend my problems can't reach me." You meet her eyes. "It's not true, obviously. They're still there. Waiting. But here, I can ignore them for a while. Act like they don't exist."
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Processing. "Then we'll pretend together," she says. "Both of us. For however long we're here. No problems. No expectations. No outside world."
You smile. Actually smile, not the sarcastic smirk you usually default to, but something genuine.
"Yeah," you say. "That sounds like a good plan. Come on, let's grab our raincoats.”
The raincoat is bright yellow and two sizes too big, clearly designed for someone with broader shoulders and longer arms than you possess. The sleeves hang past your wrists and the hood keeps slipping forward into your eyes. Jimin's raincoat is green, equally oversized, and she looks like she's being slowly consumed by a plastic tarp. Neither of you comments on how ridiculous you both look.
The wind hits you the moment you step off the porch, sharp and wet and insistent, pushing against your chest. You shove your hands into the raincoat's pockets and start walking, and Jimin falls into step beside you without a word. The path to the lake is overgrown. Weeds push through the gravel, and the bushes on either side have grown wild. Your family used to keep this place immaculate. Hired groundskeepers, regular maintenance, the whole thing. Now it's slowly returning to nature, one missed appointment at a time.
Rain drums against your hood in a constant, rhythmic patter. Your sneakers (you'd changed out of the dress shoes, thankfully) squelch in the mud. The air smells like wet earth and pine. You don't talk. Neither does Jimin. The trees thin out and suddenly the lake is in front of you, stretching gray and vast and choppy under the assault of the storm. Waves roll across the surface, small but persistent, breaking against the rocky shore with soft, repetitive sounds. The far side of the lake is barely visible through the rain, just a smudge of green that might be forest.Jimin stops at the edge of the water. Stands there. Watches.
You watch her watch the lake for a moment, then your attention drifts downward. Stones. The shoreline is littered with them. You bend down, pick one up, test its weight in your palm. Your arm snaps forward. The stone hits the surface at an angle and skips once, twice, three times before sinking.
"Not bad," you mutter to yourself. You find another stone. Skip it. This one gets four jumps before disappearing. Jimin still hasn't moved.
"What's your favorite memory of this place?" You pause mid-throw, stone in hand, and actually think about it.
"Fishing," you say finally. "With my grandfather."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You let the stone fly. Three skips. "He used to take me out on this little rowboat he kept tied up by the dock. Every summer, without fail. We'd go out early in the morning, before anyone else was awake, and just sit there on the water with our lines in."
Jimin turns to look at you. The rain runs down her face, dripping off her chin, but she doesn't to care. "Did you catch anything?"
"Never." You laugh. "Not once. My grandfather said the fish in this lake were too smart for us. I think he just didn't know what he was doing, honestly. But it didn't matter. We'd sit there for hours anyway, talking about nothing, watching the sun come up. He'd tell me stories about when he was young. I'd complain about school. It was nice."
"That sounds nice."
"It was." You find another stone. Don't throw it. Just turn it over in your fingers, feeling the smooth surface. "I've never fished since he died. Haven't been on that boat either. I don't even know if it's still there."
"You should check."
"Maybe."
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Then: "I've never been fishing."
"No?"
"No. I grew up in the city. The closest I ever got to nature was the park near my apartment, and that was just grass and pigeons."
"You should try it sometime. Fishing, I mean. It's boring as hell, but in a good way."
"Would you teach me?"
You laugh again. "I would, but I don't actually know how. My grandfather died before he finished teaching me everything." You pause. Shrug. "At least I know how to bait a hook. That's something."
"I'm sorry," Jimin says softly. "About your grandfather."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago." You throw the stone. It skips five times. Your best one yet. "He was old. Sick. It was expected. Doesn't mean it didn't suck, but... you know. Life." Jimin nods. Doesn't offer any platitudes, any empty comforts. Just accepts the statement for what it is. You throw a few more stones. The rain keeps falling. The lake keeps churning. "How are you feeling?" you ask eventually. "Inside, I mean. Not just the wet and cold part."
Jimin doesn't answer immediately. She wraps her arms around herself and stares out at the water. "Tired," she says. "Really tired. Which doesn't make sense, because I'm not doing anything. I haven't been doing anything for weeks. But I wake up exhausted and I go to bed exhausted and the sleep in between doesn't help."
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not well. A few hours here and there. My brain won't shut up." She kicks at a stone near her foot, sending it tumbling into the water with a plop. "It's like there's this constant noise in my head. Thoughts that won't stop. Worries that won't go away. And the more I try to quiet them, the louder they get."
"Yeah," you say. "I know what that's like."
"At the same time..." She trails off. Takes a breath. "At the same time, I feel like I want to scream. Just open my mouth and let everything out. All the frustration and the fear and the anger and whatever else is stuck inside me. I want to scream until my throat is raw and my lungs are empty and there's nothing left."
You pick up another stone. Hold it. Don't throw. "So scream," you say.
Jimin looks at you. “What do you mean?"
"Scream. If you want to scream, scream."
"I can't just... scream. In the middle of nowhere. That's crazy."
"Why not? There's no one here to hear you. Just me, and I don't care." You gesture at the lake, at the rain, at the empty expanse of wilderness surrounding you. "This is literally the perfect place to scream. No neighbors. No fans. No cameras. Just water and trees and a storm that's loud enough to drown out anything." She's looking at you like she's trying to figure out if you're serious. You get that look a lot. "I want to scream too," you admit. "I've wanted to scream for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years, honestly. There's a lot of stuff in here—" you tap your chest "—that needs to come out. And I figure if I'm going to do it, might as well do it now. Might as well do it here." Jimin still looks uncertain. Skeptical.
So you turn toward the lake. Plant your feet. Fill your lungs with wet, cold air. And you scream. It's not a word. Not a name. Not anything coherent. Just sound, raw and loud, ripping out of your throat and hurling itself across the water. You scream until your lungs are empty, until your voice cracks, until the sound dissolves into the rain and the wind and the endless grey. Then you stop. Breathe. Your throat burns slightly.
Jimin is staring at you with wide eyes. "Your turn," you say.
She hesitates. Looks at the lake. Looks back at you. Then she screams.
It starts small, tentative, like she's testing the waters. But then something breaks loose inside her, something that's been building for god knows how long, and the scream grows. It gets louder, longer, more desperate. Her whole body tenses with the effort of it, hands clenched into fists at her sides, face tilted toward the sky. She screams like she's trying to empty herself out. Like she's trying to purge every bad thought, every fear, every moment of doubt and pain and exhaustion that's been weighing her down.
When she finally stops, she's breathing hard. Her eyes are wet, and you can't tell if it's rain or tears. "That was great," you say. "Really solid scream. Eight out of ten."
She lets out a shaky laugh. "Only eight?"
"Room for improvement. Here, let's do it together. On three."
"This is ridiculous."
"One."
"I'm not doing this."
"Two."
"You're insane."
"Three." You both scream. Together. Two voices rising over the lake, tangling with the wind and the rain, filling the empty space with something loud and alive. You scream until you can't anymore, until you're both bent over with your hands on your knees, gasping for air, throats raw. Jimin starts laughing. It's a small sound at first, barely audible over the storm, but it grows. She laughs until she's clutching her stomach, until she has to sit down on a wet rock because her legs won't hold her anymore.
You sit down next to her. Don't say anything. Just let her laugh. Eventually, she calms down. Wipes her face with the back of her hand, which doesn't help because her hand is just as wet as her face.
"How do you feel?" you ask.
"A little better," she admits. "Not fixed. But... lighter, maybe.”
"That's the magic of screaming into the void," you say. "I should start charging for this."
Jimin snorts. "Please don't."
"Fine. Free screaming sessions for you. Special discount." You stand up. Offer her your hand. "Come on," you say. "Let's walk around the lake. The path goes all the way around if you follow it. Takes about an hour." She takes your hand. Lets you pull her to her feet. Doesn't let go immediately, and neither do you.
"An hour in this rain?" she asks.
"We're already soaked. Can't get any wetter."
"That's not technically true."
"Are you always this pedantic?"
"Are you always this impulsive?"
"Yes," you say. "You better get used to it.” You start walking. She falls into step beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. The rain keeps falling. The wind keeps blowing. Neither of you talks much. Just walks. Breathes. Exists in the same space.
The path curves around the eastern edge of the lake, narrowing where the trees press closer, their branches heavy with rain. Your sneakers make obscene squelching sounds with every step, and you've given up trying to keep your socks dry. That battle was lost about twenty minutes ago. "Have you thought about what you'll do?" Jimin asks suddenly. "If things don't work out?"
You glance at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She hesitates. Kicks at a pebble on the path. "I know it's going to work out. Everything will be fine. But hypothetically. If it doesn't. Have you thought about it?" She pauses again. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
You consider deflecting. Making a joke. Changing the subject. That's what you usually do when conversations get too close to the things you don't want to look at. But you don’t.
"There's a very good chance I'm going to end up completely screwed," you say. "Like, financially devastated. Career over. Reputation destroyed. The whole thing. I still have my family, technically. My father would probably let me crawl back. He'd love that, actually. His disappointing son finally admitting defeat. Finally proving that he was right all along, that I was too young, too arrogant, too stupid to run a company… That's the worst part, honestly. Not the money. Not the failure. The thought of looking him in the eye and seeing that smug expression. That 'I told you so' face he's been waiting years to make."
"Would you go back? To your family?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." You shrug. "Or maybe I'd just do what rich guys who lose everything always do in this situation." Jimin's head snaps toward you. Her eyes narrow. "I'm kidding," you say quickly. "That was a joke. Dark humor. Bad timing." She keeps staring at you. "Mostly kidding," you murmur under your breath.
"That's not funny."
"I know. Sorry." You clear your throat. "Okay, real answer. Plan B. If everything falls apart and I can't face my father and I don't want to do anything... dramatic. I move into this house permanently. Live off the land. Become one with nature."
Jimin's expression shifts from concern to skepticism. "You?"
"Me."
"Living off nature?"
"Why not?"
"You don't seem like the type who could survive out here for more than a week. You probably don't even know how to start a fire without a lighter."
"I absolutely do. I watched a YouTube video once. Have you seen that movie? Into the Wild? About a guy who gives up everything and goes to live in the wilderness. That could be me. I'm basically the same. Trust fund baby, disillusioned with society, seeking meaning in the natural world."
"Didn't he die at the end?"
"Yeah, but that's not the point."
Jimin snorts. "I think that's exactly the point."
"The point is that I would adapt. I'm very adaptable. Give me a few months out here and I'd be hunting my own food, building my own shelter, communing with the wildlife." You gesture grandly at the surrounding forest. "In a few years, I'd be able to take on a bear. Hand-to-hand combat. Mano a mano."
"You'd be mincemeat," Jimin says flatly. "A bear would destroy you in about three seconds."
"Three seconds is a bit of an exaggeration."
"It's realistic. You'd see a bear up close and you'd wet your pants before it even touched you."
"Excuse me?” Resting your palm over your heart, you arch an offended brow. “You clearly don't know who you're talking to. I'm incredibly brave. Fearless, even. Ask anyone."
"I'm asking you, and you're lying."
"I am not lying. I have faced many dangerous situations in my life and emerged victorious every single time."
Jimin rolls her eyes. "Name one."
"I once killed a spider in my apartment that was the size of my hand."
"That doesn't count."
"It absolutely counts. That spider was a monster. It looked at me with malice in its eyes. I had to use a shoe and everything."
"You're proving my point."
"I am not. The point is that when properly prepared, mentally and physically, there is no animal on this earth that could scare me. I am a fortress of courage. An unshakeable pillar of—"
Something leaps out of the underbrush. It happens fast. A blur of movement, a flash of wet green, something small and quick launching itself toward your legs. You scream. It's high-pitched and utterly devoid of the courage you were just bragging about. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, jerking backward, feet scrambling for purchase on the muddy path. Your left foot slides. Your right foot tries to compensate. Neither succeeds. You go down hard, ass-first into the mud with a wet, squelching thud.
The frog that caused this catastrophe hops away into the grass, completely unbothered. For a moment, you just sit there. Stunned. Covered in mud from the waist down, rain pouring onto your face, trying to process what just happened. Then Jimin starts laughing.
Not a polite chuckle. Not a restrained giggle. Full-body, doubled-over, tears-streaming laughter that shakes her entire frame. She's pointing at you, like a child who just witnessed the funniest thing in the history of comedy. "I was caught off guard, by the way," you say, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "That's not fair. That doesn't count." She laughs harder, completely at your expense. “It could have been anything. A snake. A raccoon. A small bear." Jimin is wheezing now, bent over with her hands on her knees, struggling to breathe through the laughter. "This is a serious situation. I could have been badly hurt. I could have broken a leg. An arm. My spine.”
"Your face," she gasps out between laughs. "You should have seen your face."
"What about my face?"
"The fear." She straightens up slightly, mimics an exaggerated expression of horror. "Like you'd seen death itself."
"It was a large frog."
"It was a tiny frog."
"Size is relative." She dissolves into laughter again. You sit there in the mud, rain soaking through the seat of your pants, watching Yu Jimin, Karina of aespa, international superstar, laugh at you like you're the funniest thing she's ever seen. You should be annoyed. But you're smiling. You can't help it. Because she looks alive right now, alive in a way she hasn't since you met her."This is incredibly rude," you say. "I'm injured and traumatized and you're mocking me in Dolby Atmos. You're creating psychological damage in real time. Karina, my favorite idol, the woman I have supported since debut, is actively ridiculing me in my moment of weakness."
"I'm sorry," she says, still laughing. "I'm so sorry, it's just—it was so funny—you screamed like—"
"I did not scream."
"You absolutely screamed."
"I'm filing a complaint with your company."
She wipes tears from her eyes, still grinning. "I really am sorry. But I can't stop picturing it. The frog jumping and you just—" She mimes falling backward, makes a ridiculous sound effect.
"Are you done?" you ask. "Are you finished mocking me? Because I'm sitting in a puddle of mud and my dignity is hanging by a thread."
"I'm done." She takes a breath, tries to compose herself. "I'm done. I promise."
"Good." You extend your hand toward her. "Help me up." Jimin steps closer, reaching down. Her fingers wrap around yours.
You pull.
She yelps as her feet slide out from under her, balance completely gone, and then she's falling, landing in the mud beside you with a splat that sends brown water splattering across both of you. For a moment, she just stares at you. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Absolutely covered in mud.
You grin. “Guess the fun’s over, huh?”
"You did not just do that."
"I absolutely did."
"I was trying to help you!"
"Never trust strangers, that’s what they say.”
A slow narrowing of her eyes pins you in place; Okay, maybe you made a big mistake. "You shouldn't have done that," she says quietly.
"What are you going to—"
A handful of mud hits you square in the face. You sputter. Spit out grit. Wipe your eyes.
Jimin is already scooping up another handful, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "Oh no," you say. "No no no. You should not have done that. You have no idea what you've just started." You grab your own handful of mud. Cold and wet and absolutely disgusting. "This is war," you declare.
"Bring it on." She throws. You dodge (mostly). You throw back. She shrieks and retaliates.
And suddenly you're both scrambling in the mud, slipping and sliding and hurling handfuls of wet earth at each other like children. Jimin gets you in the chest. You get her in the shoulder. She tries to run and falls again, and you try to capitalize on her weakness but slip and go down beside her. You're laughing. She's laughing. The rain keeps falling and the mud keeps flying and somewhere in the chaos you lose track of who's winning because it doesn't matter anymore.
Jimin smears mud across your cheek with her palm. You retaliate by dumping a handful directly on top of her head. She gasps in outrage and tackles you, both of you rolling in the mud until you're completely unrecognizable, two brown figures wrestling on the shore of a grey lake while the storm rages overhead.
—
The towel is damp and your hair is still dripping slightly when you emerge from your bedroom, but you've given up on achieving actual dryness. Some battles aren't worth fighting. You're wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Jimin is in the living room. She's standing by the couch with her own towel draped around her shoulders, running her fingers through wet hair that hangs in dark strands past her collarbone. She's changed into leggings and an oversized sweater. "That was a terrible idea," you say.
She looks up. Nods emphatically. "The worst idea. I spent thirty minutes in the shower trying to get mud out of places mud should never be."
"I found some in my ear. My ear. How does that even happen?"
"You fell face-first into a puddle at one point."
"I was pushed."
"You tripped over your own feet."
"Semantics." You toss your towel over the back of a chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling your spine pop. "At least we've upgraded our immune systems. All that bacteria exposure has to be good for something."
"That's not how immune systems work."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then how would you know?" Jimin rolls her eyes. She finishes squeezing water from her hair and drapes her own towel beside yours. "Are you hungry?" you ask.
"Starving."
"Great. Let's cook something." You head toward the kitchen with purpose, like a man who knows what he's doing. You do not, in fact, know what you're doing. The kitchen is a foreign country and you are an undocumented immigrant with no language skills. Jimin follows you, watching as you open the refrigerator and stare at its contents like they might spontaneously arrange themselves into a meal.
"What are you thinking?" she asks. "Pasta? Stir fry? There's chicken in there, we could do something with that."
"Yes," you say. "One of those. Whichever one requires the least... cooking."
She tilts her head. "Have you ever cooked before?"
"Define 'cooked.'"
"Prepared food using heat and ingredients."
"Then no."
Jimin stares at you. "You've never cooked anything? Ever? In your entire life?"
"I've made toast. Does that count?"
"Toast is not cooking."
"It involves heat. And bread. That's basically the same thing."
"It's really not." She moves past you, gently but firmly shouldering you aside to access the refrigerator. "Okay. I'll cook. You just... stay out of the way."
"I can help."
"No."
"I'm very capable. I run a company. I manage hundreds of employees."
"Can any of those skills fry an egg?"
"I could learn."
"Not tonight." She pulls out chicken, vegetables, a carton of eggs, various bottles and containers whose purposes you can only guess at. "Tonight you sit over there and let me handle this."
You retreat to the kitchen island, hoisting yourself onto one of the stools. "This feels emasculating."
"Good."
"What if I just hand you things? I can be your sous chef. I saw that on a cooking show once."
"You don't know what anything is called."
"I know some things. That's a pan." You point. "That's a spatula. That's..." You squint at a utensil she's holding. "Some kind of... stabbing implement?"
"It's a whisk."
"I was close."
Jimin sets the whisk down and begins organizing ingredients on the counter with efficiency. You watch her work, the way her hands move with confidence, the way she seems to know instinctively where everything should go. "Where did you learn to cook?" you ask.
"My mom. And necessity." She cracks eggs into a bowl, one-handed, smooth. "When I was a trainee, we didn't have money for delivery every night. If you wanted to eat something that wasn't instant ramen, you had to make it yourself."
"That sounds rough."
"It was fine. I like cooking, actually. It's relaxing." She glances at you. "When I'm not being watched by someone who doesn't know what a whisk is."
"I know what a whisk is now. You just told me."
"Do you want to try?"
"Try what?"
She holds out the whisk. "Beating the eggs. It's simple. Even you can't mess it up." You slide off the stool and take the whisk from her hand. The bowl of cracked eggs sits on the counter, yellow yolks floating in clear viscous liquid. You stick the whisk in and start moving it around. "Not like that," Jimin says immediately.
"What's wrong with this?"
"You're stirring. You need to beat. Like this." She steps closer, her hand closing over yours on the whisk handle. Her fingers are warm. "Faster. In a circular motion. You're incorporating air, not just mixing." You try to follow her guidance. The eggs slosh around in the bowl, looking more or less the same as before. "You're hopeless," she says, but she's smiling.
"I told you. I'm a businessman, not a chef."
"Most businessmen can still feed themselves."
"You’re so cruel sometimes."
She takes the whisk back, bumping you out of the way with her hip. "Go sit down. You're a hazard."
You return to your stool, watching as she takes over the egg-beating with movements that are quick and sure. Within seconds, the eggs are transformed into a uniform yellow mixture. "Show-off," you mutter.
"Competence isn't showing off."
"It is when you do it that fast."
The cooking continues. Jimin moves around the kitchen like she owns it, heating pans, chopping vegetables, seasoning things with pinches of this and dashes of that. You try to help twice more. The first time, you're assigned to wash vegetables and somehow manage to spray water all over the counter and yourself. The second time, you're asked to stir something on the stove and immediately turn the heat up too high, nearly burning the contents. "Out," Jimin says after the second incident. "Get out of my kitchen."
"Hey, it's technically my kitchen."
"Not anymore. I'm annexing it. This is my territory now."
You raise your hands in surrender and retreat to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. The rain continues outside while the house feels warm and enclosed. Forty minutes later, Jimin emerges with two plates. Some kind of rice dish with vegetables and chicken, topped with a fried egg. It smells incredible.
"This looks amazing," you say, accepting your plate.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed." You eat on the couch, plates balanced on your laps, the rain providing ambient soundtrack. The food is good. Really good. Possibly the best thing you've eaten in weeks, though that might be the hunger talking. "This is incredible," you say around a mouthful.
"Chew first. Compliment later."
"I can do both."
Jimin snorts and focuses on her own plate. After dinner (you handle dishes, since it's the one task you can manage without supervision), the evening stretches out ahead with nothing particular to fill it. The storm shows no signs of stopping. Your MacBook sits on the coffee table where you left it earlier, the screen dark, full of emails you don't want to read and spreadsheets you don't want to look at.
"Movie?" you suggest.
"Sure."
You scroll through the streaming options, arguing amiably about genres (she wants something light; you suggest a psychological thriller just to see her reaction) before settling on a comedy neither of you has seen. It's mediocre. You spend half of it making sarcastic commentary and the other half distracted by work, pulling the MacBook onto your lap to respond to emails that can't wait while Jimin curls up on the other end of the couch with a blanket she found in the closet. At some point, you look up from a particularly frustrating spreadsheet and realize two hours have passed. The movie is over. The credits are rolling. Jimin is fighting to keep her eyes open, head tilting dangerously toward the armrest.
"Hey." You close the laptop. "Bedtime."
She blinks. Straightens. "I wasn't sleeping."
"You were about to."
"I was resting my eyes."
"Sure." You both stand. Stretch. The house has grown quiet around you, just the rain and the occasional creak of old wood settling. The hallway to the bedrooms is dim, lit only by the light spilling from the living room behind you. You stop at your door. She stops at hers. Directly across the hall, maybe six feet apart. "I should warn you," you say, keeping your expression completely neutral. "There was a murder in this house."
Jimin's hand freezes on her door handle. "What?"
"Years ago. A whole family. They say the killer was never caught."
Her eyes narrow. "You're lying."
"I'm completely serious. So if you hear footsteps in the night, or see shadows moving, or feel something cold touch your shoulder while you're sleeping..."
"Stop."
"Just stay in your room. Don't investigate. That's how people die in horror movies. They hear a noise and they go toward it instead of away from it."
Jimin points at you. "If I can't sleep tonight because of this, I'm blaming you."
"Blame me all you want. I'll be in my room. Behind a locked door. Safe from the vengeful spirits that roam these halls."
"There are no vengeful spirits."
"That's what they want you to think."
She opens her door, shaking her head. "You're the worst."
"I know." You lean against your own doorframe. "Hey. Jimin." She pauses. Looks back at you. "I'm happy you're here," you say. "Today was strange. And wet. And I'm probably going to find mud in weird places for the next week. But it was also... nice. Really nice."
"Yeah," she says quietly. "It was."
"So. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
You both just stand there for a second. Across the hall from each other, maybe six feet of space that feels like more. Neither of you moves. Then you step inside. Close the door. Lean back against it and just... breathe. The room's dark. Quiet. Empty. And you're thinking about today. About laughter and mud flying everywhere and screaming at a fucking lake until your throat hurt. About all of it.
You fall asleep easier than you have in months. No nightmares about board meetings or bankruptcy or watching everything crumble. Just sleep. Real sleep.
—
Morning takes its sweet time arriving, dragging itself through that grey half-light that seeps past the curtains. The rain's still going. Actually, scratch that, it's gotten worse overnight, upgraded from steady downpour to something that sounds like the lake house is under siege. The idea of leaving this bed, of exposing yourself to the cold air outside these blankets? That's asking a lot. That's asking for genuine courage. You stay put for a while. Just lying there with eyes tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling, letting the sound of the storm fill the space where thoughts should be.
Eventually, hunger wins out over laziness.
The kitchen smells like coffee when you shuffle in, still wearing the sweatpants and hoodie you slept in. Jimin is already there, perched on one of the stools at the island, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She's cocooned in blankets, layers of them draped over her shoulders and pooling around her on the stool, so only her face and fingers are visible. She looks ridiculous. She looks cozy. She looks unfairly cute for someone who's essentially transformed herself into a human burrito.
You grab a mug from the cabinet, pour yourself coffee from the pot she's already made, and lean against the counter. "Good morning."
"Morning." Her response is muffled, half-swallowed by a yawn.
"How'd you sleep?"
She takes a sip of coffee. Doesn't meet your eyes. "Not great."
Guilt flickers through you. "Look, I'm sorry about the murderer thing. I was just messing around. I didn't think it would actually keep you up."
"It wasn't that."
"No?"
"No."
You wait for her to elaborate. She doesn't. "Okay," you say, letting it go. Pushing won't help. You've learned that much about her in the short time you've known each other. "So what do you want to do today? I was thinking we could walk through the woods when the rain lets up. There are some trails behind the house that go pretty deep."
Jimin nods slowly. "That sounds good."
"Cool." You take a long drink of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. "What do you want for breakfast?"
She looks up at you. "You're not cooking."
"I could try."
"You'd burn the house down."
"That's a slight exaggeration."
"Is it? You almost set fire to the stove last night stirring vegetables."
"That was a learning experience."
"For everyone involved." She slides off the stool, blankets still wrapped around her like a cape, and starts moving toward the refrigerator. "I'll cook. Just tell me what you want."
"You don't have to. I can figure something out. There's probably cereal or something."
Jimin fixes you with a look. "If I don't cook for you, you'll starve. You literally cannot feed yourself. I've seen the evidence."
There's no arguing with that. You sigh. "Fine. Eggs? And toast. Whatever's easiest."
"Eggs and toast it is." She cooks. You stay out of her way, nursing your coffee and watching from a safe distance. The kitchen fills with the smell of butter and browning bread, domestic and warm, and you think about how strange this is. How comfortable. How much it feels like something that's been happening for years instead of hours. After breakfast, you head to the bathroom to clean up. You're standing at the sink, face covered in shaving foam, razor in hand, when Jimin appears in the doorway.
"I found new raincoats," she says, holding up two plastic-wrapped packages. "These ones actually look like they might fit. They were in the hall closet, buried under a bunch of—" She stops. Stares at your face. "You look like Santa Claus."
You glance at yourself in the mirror. The white foam does cover most of your lower face, spreading from cheek to cheek and down your neck. "Ho ho ho."
"That's disturbing. Never do that again."
"What, shave? I'll just grow a beard. Become a mountain man. Really commit to the living-off-the-land thing."
"Please don't." She steps into the bathroom, setting the raincoats on the counter. "Do you want help?"
You pause mid-stroke. "With shaving?"
"There are spots you can't see. The angle's weird." She holds out her hand. "Give me the razor."
"Have you ever done this before?"
"No."
"That's incredibly reassuring. Thank you. I feel very safe."
"Shut up and give me the razor." You hand it over. She moves closer, positioning herself in front of you, one hand coming up to tilt your chin toward the light. "Stay still," she instructs.
"If you cut my throat, I'm going to haunt you forever."
"Then don't move and you'll be fine." She brings the razor to your cheek. Draws it down in a slow, careful stroke, leaving smooth skin in its wake. Rinses the blade. Repeats. You hold very still.
It's strange, having someone this close to your face. Strange having someone else's hands on you like this, performing such an ordinary task with such focused attention. Jimin's brow is furrowed in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she navigates the curve of your jaw. "Tilt your head back," she says softly. You comply. She works on your neck, the blade gliding over your Adam's apple, and you're acutely aware of how much trust this requires. How vulnerable you are right now. One wrong move and she could open your jugular.
She doesn't make any wrong moves. "Turn this way." She guides your chin to the left. "I'm getting the sideburns."
"I didn't ask for sideburn maintenance."
"You're getting it anyway. They were uneven."
"They were not."
"They absolutely were. The left one was at least a centimeter longer than the right. It was bothering me."
"You were analyzing my sideburns?"
"I was trying not to stare at the Santa Claus foam beard. The sideburns were the only safe place to look." She finishes the left side, moves to the right. Her face is very close to yours now, close enough that you can see the faint freckle near her left eyebrow. "There." She steps back, surveying her work. "Done."
You turn to the mirror. Your face is smooth, cleanly shaved, better than you usually manage on your own. She got the spots you always miss, the tricky angles under your jaw, the patch near your ear that always gives you trouble. "Not bad," you admit.
"Not bad? That's perfect. I should quit being an idol and become a barber."
"The pay's probably worse."
"But the hours are better."
You splash water on your face, rinse away the last traces of foam. When you straighten up, Jimin is still there, watching you in the mirror. It's the most intimate thing you've experienced in a long time. A girl shaving your face. It shouldn't feel like much. But it does. "Thanks," you say.
She smiles. Just a little. "You're welcome."
The rain tapers off around noon, fading from downpour to drizzle to a fine mist. Good enough. You grab a small backpack from the hall closet, throw in a flashlight (the woods get dark even on bright days, and today is anything but), some bottles of water and some food (snacks). Jimin wears one of the new raincoats, forest green this time, properly fitted. You take the other one, navy blue.
The trail starts behind the house, a narrow dirt path that winds into the trees. Your footsteps are muffled by fallen leaves, soft sounds that disappear into the vastness of the forest. For a while, neither of you speaks. Just walks. The silence is comfortable, companionable, broken only by birdsong and the drip of water from branches overhead. "This is absurd," you say eventually.
Jimin glances at you. "What is?"
"This. Us. Two strangers walking through a forest in the middle of nowhere. Alone. And it feels... normal. Like we've been doing this for years."
She's quiet for a moment. Considering. "I feel really comfortable," she admits. "Being here. With you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She steps over a fallen branch, her raincoat rustling. "You don't ask questions."
"I ask plenty of questions."
"Not the ones I don't want to answer." She looks at you sideways. "I like that about you. You let me have my silence. You don't push."
"I push sometimes."
"Not really. Not about the important things." She pulls her hood up against the mist. "Most people, when they find out someone's struggling, they want to fix it. They want to give advice, offer solutions, tell you it's going to be okay. They mean well, but it's exhausting. It makes you feel like your pain is a problem to be solved instead of just... experienced."
You nod slowly. "I get that."
"Do you?"
"Yeah." You kick a pinecone off the trail, watch it roll into the underbrush. "I understand you completely. We're alike, you and me."
Jimin raises an eyebrow. "We're nothing alike."
"We're very alike. I don't have hair as beautiful as yours, obviously. That's unfair. Genetics failed me there. But inside..." You tap your chest. "In here. We're similar. Same kind of broken. Same kind of lost."
She doesn't respond immediately. The trail curves ahead, winding between two massive oaks whose branches interlock overhead like fingers. "You say you know what I'm going through," she says finally. "How? How could you know?"
"Because I've seen it before."
"Seen what?"
"Someone losing themselves. Forgetting who they are underneath everything else. Getting so caught up in what everyone expects them to be that they can't remember what they actually want."
Jimin stops walking. Turns to face you fully. "Who? Who did you see that with?"
You study her face. The curiosity there, the hunger for understanding. She wants to know. Needs to know, maybe, because she's hoping your answer will tell her something about herself.
You smile. "I'll answer that."
"Okay."
"If you can catch me."
Her expression shifts. Confusion first, then realization. "What do you mean?"
You point ahead, where the trail opens into a small clearing and, beyond it, the dark mouth of a cave carved into a rocky hillside. "There's a cave over there. If you get there before me, I'll tell you everything."
"That's not fair. You have longer legs."
"Then you'd better start running." You take off down the trail.
"Wait!" Jimin shouts. "That's cheating! You didn't even count down!"
You don't wait. You just bolt.
Behind you, Jimin curses, and then you hear her footsteps pounding after you. She's fast. Way faster than you expected for someone having an existential crisis. The forest blurs into streaks of green, brown and grey, mist hitting your face, and you're laughing. Actually fucking laughing, breathless and stupid, running through the woods like you're ten years old again.
She's gaining on you. You can hear her breathing, hear her laughing too. "I'm catching you!" she yells. "And then you're telling me everything!"
"Gotta earn it first!"
The cave's getting closer. Trees thinning out. Your legs are burning but you push harder.
You run. Then a duck happens. A goddamn duck.
It explodes out of the bushes with this aggressive-ass quack, wings flapping everywhere, and you stumble sideways. Your foot catches a root. Your momentum dies instantly. By the time you catch yourself, Jimin's already blown past you at a speed that would make Olympic sprinters jealous.
She touches the rock face with her palm, spins around, and throws her arms up in victory. "I won!"
You stagger up behind her, hands on your knees, gasping for air. "That doesn't count. There was a duck."
"A duck?"
"It attacked me."
"It quacked at you. From ten feet away."
"Aggressively. It quacked aggressively." You straighten up, pressing a hand to your side where a stitch is forming. “You’d be surprised how many people get killed by ducks every year. Absolute menaces. Anyway, I demand a rematch."
"No way. I won fair and square." She's breathing hard too, cheeks flushed from the run. "You owe me answers now."
"Fine." You gesture toward the cave mouth: a dark opening in the hillside about eight feet wide and maybe six feet tall. "But let's go inside first. I want to show you something." You click on the flashlight and lead the way in. The cave isn't deep, maybe thirty feet before it narrows to nothing, but the ceiling is high enough to stand comfortably, and the walls are dry despite the rain outside. "I used to play here with my cousins," you say, sweeping the flashlight beam across the walls. "When we were kids. We'd pretend it was a fortress. A pirate hideout. A secret base for our spy operations."
The light catches something on the far wall. Scribbles. Crude drawings scratched into the rock with sharp stones. Stick figures with oversized heads. A wobbly boat on wavy lines that might be water. Names and initials surrounded by hearts, the kind of thing kids carve when they're young enough to think love is simple.
"Cave paintings," Jimin says softly.
"Our contribution to human artistic history." You trace the flashlight over a terrible rendition of what might be a dog or possibly a horse. "I made that one. I was seven. I thought it was a masterpiece."
"What is it supposed to be?"
"A dragon."
She squints at it. "I don't see it."
"Yeah, nobody ever did."
You set the backpack down near the wall and lower yourself to the ground, your back against the stone. The floor is cold through your pants, but not unbearably so. You unzip the bag and start pulling out its contents. Snacks. Lots of them. Chips in various flavors, chocolate bars, gummy candies, dried fruit, the honey butter cookies she mentioned loving during some variety show you watched. You spread them out between you like a picnic.
Jimin settles down across from you, cross-legged, eyes widening as she takes in the selection. "You packed all of this?"
"I figured we might get hungry."
"These are all my favorites."
"Are they? Weird coincidence."
She gives you a look that says she knows exactly what you did, but she doesn't call you out on it. Just reaches for the honey butter cookies and tears open the package. "Okay," she says, chewing. "I won. Tell me everything."
You pick up a chocolate bar. Unwrap it slowly. Take a bite, letting the silence stretch.
"You've been an idol since you were young," you say. "Trainee years, debut, all of it. You were, what, sixteen when you started? Seventeen?"
"Around there."
"No one that young is prepared for what you went through. What you're still going through." You break off another piece of chocolate. "I'm not saying this to be mean. I'm saying it because it's true. If I had been in your position at that age, I would have cracked a lot sooner than you did. The routine. The pressure. The cameras, the fans, the expectations. And on top of all that, there's this persona you have to maintain. Karina. This perfect, polished version of yourself that exists for public consumption. But that's not really you, is it? That's a character. A role you play." She's very still now. The cookie in her hand forgotten. "And then there's Jimin. The real you. The person underneath the makeup and the choreography and the carefully managed public image. The girl who likes honey butter cookies and doesn't know how to fish and laughs until she cries when someone falls in mud."
A tiny smile flickers at the corner of her mouth. Gone almost immediately.
"The problem is, you have to switch between them constantly. Jimin at home, Karina on stage, Jimin with friends, Karina in interviews. Back and forth, over and over, every single day. And I can imagine..." You pause, choosing your words carefully. "I can imagine there comes a point where the switching gets exhausting. Where it starts to feel pointless. Why bother going back to being Jimin if tomorrow you'll just have to be Karina again? Why not just stay Karina all the time? It's easier. It's simpler. It's what everyone wants anyway." Jimin's hands have tightened around the cookie package. The plastic crinkles. "So you do that. You stay Karina. For days, weeks, months. You let Jimin fade into the background because it's just too hard to keep pulling her back. And then one day, you need her. Something happens and you need to be yourself, really yourself, and you reach for Jimin and she's not there." You meet her eyes. "You can't find your way back. You look in the mirror and you don't recognize the person staring at you. You don't know who you are anymore. What you want. What you're supposed to be."
"How do you know all that?" Jimin whispers.
"Because I've been there. I've watched it happen." You take another bite of chocolate, chew slowly. "To myself."
"You?"
"Me. Different circumstances, same result." You lean your head back against the stone. "My job requires me to be someone I'm not. All the time. I deal with people I can't stand, people who are shallow and greedy and only care about money. And I smile at them. I shake their hands, I laugh at their jokes, I pretend to be one of them because that's what the job demands. That's how you survive in my world."
"That sounds awful."
"It is. But I got good at it. Too good. I wore the mask so often that I forgot what my real face looked like underneath." You pause. "There was a period, maybe two years ago, where I genuinely couldn't tell the difference anymore. Between the person I was pretending to be and the person I actually was. I'd lost myself completely. But that's what I am… Underneath all the pretending. I'm just a guy who likes going into caves to eat snacks with strangers." You gesture at the space around you, at her. "A stranger who happens to be the it girl of Korea. Which is kind of surreal, honestly. But here we are."
You reach over and tap her shoulder gently with your knuckles.
"You'll find your way back to who you are. I know you will. But here's the thing." You hold her gaze. "You're the one who creates it. You're the one who decides who Jimin is. Not SM, not the fans, not the media. You. And if you don't know who that is right now, that's okay. You get to figure it out. You get to make it up as you go."
"How?" She asks with evident desperation. "I'm so lost. Every day I feel less and less like a real person. Like I'm fading away and no one notices because Karina is still there, performing, smiling, doing all the things she's supposed to do. But inside there's just... nothing."
"Then start with nothing." You open a bag of jelly beans and offer it to her. "What do you want right now? In this exact moment?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to be on stage?"
"No."
"Do you want to be in Seoul?"
"No."
"Do you want to be anywhere other than this cave, eating snacks with a guy you barely know?"
She hesitates. Thinks about it. "No."
"Then you already have what you want. Right now, in this moment, you want nothing. You want to just... exist. Without expectations. Without pressure. And look." You spread your arms. "You're in a cave in the middle of nowhere. That's pretty close to nothing. That's about as far from Karina as you can get." She takes a jelly bean. Red one. Pops it in her mouth. "Tomorrow you might want something different," you continue. "The day after that, something else. And that's fine. That's how it's supposed to work. You don't have to figure out your entire identity in one afternoon. You just have to find the will to keep looking. To keep hoping that the pieces will eventually fit together." You shrug. "That's how we survive. One day at a time. One want at a time."
Jimin chews slowly. Swallows. Reaches for another jelly bean.
"But here's the important part," you say, and your tone shifts, becomes more serious. "Don't go alone. You have people who love you. Family, friends, the other members. People who care about Jimin, not just Karina. Let them help you."
"They wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not perfectly. But they'd try." You pause. "And if you really can't bring yourself to turn to them, then turn to me. I'm just a stranger. A shadow that passed through your life at some random point. Sometimes that's all we need. Someone with no expectations, no history, no stake in who you're supposed to be."
She looks at you. "A shadow?"
"Yeah." You pick at the wrapper of your chocolate bar. "That's what I am. Empty. No form of my own. I just darken the people around me. Cast gloom wherever I go."
"That's not true."
"It's a little true. Ask anyone who works for me." You smile, but it's thin. "But with you... I want to be different. I want to be the kind of shadow you can hide behind. A place where nothing can reach you. Where no one can touch you or demand anything from you." You meet her eyes. "For as long as you want. However long you need. You can stay hidden behind me, and I'll keep everything else out."
Jimin doesn't say anything for a long time. Processing. You let her have that moment. Until finally she asks: "What am I to you? If you're a shadow, what does that make me?"
You think about it. The question deserves a real answer.
"The moon," you say.
"The moon?"
"Right now, you feel distant. Untouchable. Like you're a million miles away from everyone, even from yourself. And maybe you feel like your light has gone out. Like whatever used to make you shine has faded. But you're still shining. Even if you don't realize it. It's softer now, yeah. Quieter. But it's there. I can see it." You gesture at her. "And I like it. I like this glow better, honestly. It's not blinding. It's not overwhelming. It's the kind of light that enhances things. That makes the darkness easier to bear... The night we met, you were like a girl sitting on the moon. So far away. So alone. But even then, you were beautiful. Even crying on that bench, you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." You laugh quietly. "And after that, I went back to that same bench every night for a week. Just sat there by myself, hoping you'd appear again. Like a complete idiot."
When you look at Jimin, there are tears in her eyes. "Hey." You lean forward, concerned. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I talk too much when I'm nervous, I didn't mean to—"
"How can you be so stupid and so intelligent at the same time?" she interrupts.
You pause. "I... don't know if I should be flattered or offended by that."
"Both." A tear spills over, tracking down her cheek. She wipes it away impatiently with the back of her hand. "Be both."
"Okay. I'll work on that."
She laughs, wet and shaky, and takes another handful of jelly beans. "Thank you. For saying all of that. I liked it. Even if it made me cry like an idiot."
"Crying doesn't make you an idiot. Punching mirrors makes you an idiot. You're fine." She laughs. A real one this time, not that sad half-laugh from before, and reaches for the honey butter cookies. So here's the thing about dumping all your feelings in a cave: afterward, it just gets quiet. Not weird quiet. Just regular quiet. You're sitting there with the flashlight between you, surrounded by empty chip bags and candy wrappers, staring at the dumb drawings you scratched into the rock as a kid. Neither of you says anything. Neither of you needs to.
But you can't sit here forever. At some point, you start cleaning up. Grabbing wrappers, shoving empty bags into the backpack. You're kind of obsessive about it, actually - checking every corner, making sure you get every piece of trash, every crumb.
"You're very thorough," Jimin observes, watching you hunt down a stray chocolate wrapper that's trying to escape into a crevice.
"Mother Nature and I have an understanding. I don't pollute her forests, she doesn't send bears to maul me in my sleep."
"I don't think that's how ecology works."
"I prefer not to test the theory."
The backpack zipped, you stand and stretch, feeling your spine crack in several places that probably shouldn't crack. The cave has gotten colder, or maybe you've just noticed it now that you're not distracted by existential conversations about identity and moonlight. "We should head back," you say. "I fancy some hot chocolate."
Jimin rises to her feet, brushing dirt from her raincoat. "By that, you mean you want me to make you hot chocolate."
"What? No. I can make hot chocolate myself. I'm not completely helpless."
She tilts her head and studies you… Yeah, she's definitely reviewing the evidence of the past thirty-six hours. "I find myself unfortunately skeptical," she says.
The honest truth is that she's probably right. Hot chocolate involves heating milk, which involves using the stove, which involves not setting things on fire. Your track record in that department is not encouraging. "Well," you say, with as much dignity as you can muster, "perhaps I'll supervise while you demonstrate the proper technique."
"Supervise."
"Offer moral support. Quality control. That sort of thing."
The corner of her mouth twitches. She doesn't argue further. You're about to head toward the cave entrance when Jimin goes still. Her eyes fix on something just past your shoulder. Then she steps toward you. Close. Very close.
Your heart immediately races. Your brain, helpful as ever, immediately begins cataloguing the distance between your mouth and hers (approximately four inches), the angle of her face (tilted slightly upward), and the probable softness of her lips (considerable, based on visual evidence). She's going to kiss you, you think. Or possibly you're going to kiss her. Someone is going to kiss someone, that much seems certain, and you should probably—
Her hand reaches past your shoulder and taps you lightly on the back.
"Spider," she says.
You nearly leave your skin.
What emerges from your mouth is not a word, exactly. More of a strangled yelp. You jerk away from her, spinning around, your hands doing that frantic brushing motion that accomplishes nothing except making you look like you're having some sort of episode. "Where?! Where is it?! Is it on me?! Is it still on me?!"
"It's gone," she says, giggling. "I flicked it off. Relax, it was just a small one."
"Small spiders are the most dangerous ones. Everyone knows that. The smaller the spider, the more concentrated the venom."
"That's not scientifically accurate."
"I don't care about accuracy, I care about not dying."
She's properly laughing now, the same bright unrestrained sound you heard during the mud fight. It's a good sound. You'd be enjoying it more if you weren't still vibrating with residual panic. "You're like a frightened kitten," she says. "So tough about bears, but one tiny spider and you completely fall apart."
"I am not a frightened kitten. A spider the size of a frisbee would scare anyone."
"It was the size of my fingernail."
"Size is irrelevant. Deadliness is what matters."
She eyes you with amusement, smiling. "Why are you so red?"
Ah. Yes. That would be the blood that rushed to your face approximately thirty seconds ago when you thought you were about to be kissed. The blood that's still there, betraying you, making your cheeks feel like they're radiating heat. "Allergic reaction," you say immediately. "To the spider. My skin is extremely sensitive. Delicate, really. Like a Victorian-era duchess. I've always had this condition."
Jimin's eyebrow rises slowly. She doesn't look even slightly convinced. "A Victorian-era duchess, huh?"
"Yes. It's genetic." You rub your hands together, partly because they actually are cold and partly because you need something to do that isn't looking directly at her face while lying badly about the source of your blush. "It's colder than I expected," you say, desperate to change the subject. "I'm genuinely surprised neither of us got hypothermia yesterday. All that rolling around in the mud. Very irresponsible, in retrospect."
Jimin watches you fumble for another moment. Then, without ceremony, she reaches out and takes your hand. Her fingers interlock with yours. Palm to palm. A simple gesture, completely natural. At least, that’s how Jimin makes it look. "Come on," she says. "Let's go back. I'll warm your hand on the way." A pause. "No running this time."
What needs to be understood about this moment is that you are, fundamentally, not a person who holds hands. You're not a person who does casual physical intimacy. In your experience, touch is either transactional (handshakes, back-pats) or romantic (which requires intention and buildup and usually alcohol). This middle ground, this easy, uncomplicated contact, is foreign territory.
And yet… "Okay," you murmur.
Her hand is small in yours. Delicate in a way that makes you hyperaware of your own roughness, the calluses on your palm from gym equipment you barely use anymore, the healing scars across your knuckles from your ill-advised confrontation with interior glass. Her fingers are cool at first, but they warm quickly, or maybe your hand warms them, or maybe the warmth is coming from somewhere else entirely. You walk out of the cave together. The rain has stopped completely now, leaving the forest dripping and fresh, every surface gleaming with moisture. The path back to the house stretches through the trees, dappled with grey light, and you follow it slowly. No running. No racing. Just walking, side by side, hands clasped between you.
Neither of you says much. There's nothing that needs saying.
—
Later that night, the house has settled into that particular brand of quiet that only exists in remote places. No traffic noise, no neighbours, no ambient hum of civilization. Just the creak of old wood, the whisper of wind against windows, and the distant rumble of thunder from a storm that's circling somewhere beyond the mountains. Jimin is yawning in the hallway, dressed in pajamas that are somehow both sensible and unfairly attractive. Soft cotton, pale blue, slightly too long in the sleeves. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, still slightly damp from whatever evening routine she's completed, and she looks like someone who's ready to surrender to unconsciousness.
"Goodnight," she says, her hand on her bedroom door.
"Goodnight," you reply.
She opens the door. Steps inside. You follow her. She turns, eyebrow rising in that way you're beginning to recognize as her default expression of mild incredulity. "What are you doing?"
"Coming in."
"I can see that. Why?"
You move past her into the room, which is tidier than you expected. Her suitcase sits in the corner, mostly unpacked. A sweater draped over the chair. The bed turned down, waiting.
"I thought I'd keep you company," you say. "Until you fall asleep."
"I'm not a child."
"I never said you were."
"Then why do you think I need someone to tuck me in?"
You're not looking at her. You're scanning the bookshelf built into the wall near the window, running your fingers along spines that haven't been touched in years. Children's books, mostly. Relics from a time when this room hosted cousins and nieces and nephews, when the house was full of noise and laughter instead of dust and silence. "You said you didn't sleep well last night," you say, still searching. "And you wouldn't tell me why." Jimin is silent. "I'm not asking you to tell me now, either. But I thought..." You find what you're looking for and pull it from the shelf. "I thought this might help."
She stares at the book in your hands. It's thin, the cover worn soft with age, illustrated with a girl in a blue dress and three bears of varying sizes. "Goldilocks," she says flatly.
"A classic of Western literature."
"You want to read me Goldilocks."
"My grandmother used to read it to me when I was small. When I couldn't sleep. When things felt too big and too scary." You turn the book over in your hands, tracing the faded illustration on the back. "I'm not saying it'll work for you. But it can't hurt to try."
Thunder rumbles outside. The windows rattle faintly in their frames. "This is absurd," she says.
"Probably."
"You're going to sit there and read me a children's story."
"That's the plan."
"Like I'm five years old."
"I won't judge your age. I'm barely functional myself."
She hesitates for another moment. Then, with a sigh that suggests she's humoring you against her better judgment, she climbs into bed. The covers come up to her chin, white duvet swallowing her small frame. You settle onto the edge of the mattress, back against the headboard, book in hand. The lamp on the nightstand casts a warm circle of light, leaving the rest of the room in comfortable shadow.
"Once upon a time," you begin, "there was a little girl named Goldilocks."
"Original name."
"Hush. I'm reading." You clear your throat. "She went for a walk in the forest. Pretty soon, she came upon a house. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in."
"Breaking and entering."
"It was a different time. Less security-conscious." You turn the page. "At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks was hungry. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl. 'This porridge is too hot!' she exclaimed." Jimin's eyes are on your face now, watching you read with an expression you can't quite decode. "So she tasted the porridge from the second bowl. 'This porridge is too cold,' she said. So she tasted the last bowl of porridge. 'Ahhh, this porridge is just right,' she said happily, and she ate it all up."
You pause. Lower the book slightly.
"Now, here's what I don't understand."
Jimin groans. "Oh no."
"Three bowls of porridge. Same batch, presumably. Made at the same time, served at the same table. How is it possible that one is too hot, one is too cold, and one is just right? They should all be the same temperature."
"It's a children's story."
"I understand that. But the physics don't make sense. Unless—" You hold up a finger. "Unless the bowls are made of different materials with different heat retention properties. Papa Bear's bowl is ceramic, holds heat longer. Mama Bear's bowl is metal, conducts heat away faster. Baby Bear's bowl is wood, perfect insulation."
"You're overthinking this."
You grin and continue reading. The three chairs, the three beds, Goldilocks's continued disregard for personal property. But you can't help yourself. Every few paragraphs, another observation emerges. "Why is Baby Bear's chair so small that it breaks under a child's weight? That's a safety hazard. Someone should report the manufacturer." Jimin pulls the covers over her face. "And another thing. The bears come home and immediately notice the porridge has been disturbed. But they don't smell a human intruder in their house? Bears have exceptional olfactory senses. They should have detected Goldilocks from the moment they walked through the door."
"Please stop."
"I'm just saying, the internal logic—"
"The internal logic is that it's a story for children who don't care about porridge thermodynamics or bear olfaction." Jimin pulls the covers down just enough to glare at you. "Just finish the story. Without commentary. I'm begging you."
"Fine," you say. "No more interruptions."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart." As promised, you finish the story without any more interruptions. Then you flip to a different book. Little Red Riding Hood. Another classic. "Once upon a time," you begin again, "there lived in a certain village a little country girl..."
This time, you don't interrupt. You read the story the way it's meant to be read, letting the words flow without commentary, without analysis. The girl in the red hood. The path through the woods. The wolf with his clever tongue and hungry eyes. The grandmother's cottage with its strange occupant in the bed.
What big eyes you have. What big ears you have. What big teeth you have.
Jimin's breathing slows. Her body relaxes into the mattress, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. Her eyes grow heavy, then heavier, then finally close. You finish the story anyway. The huntsman, the rescue, the happily ever after. You're not sure if she hears the ending or if she's already drifted too far into sleep to catch it.
You finish the story and close the book. Gentle, so you don't wake her. Set it on the nightstand.
You look at her face in the lamplight. She's out. Her face is completely relaxed. Peaceful. You haven't seen her look like this since you met her.
The rain keeps going outside, but she's dead to the world.
You reach over and turn off the lamp.
—
Morning arrives with the same grey light as yesterday. The same rain. The same cold. Not that you're complaining, really. You’re starting to get used to the place’s melancholic, desolate atmosphere. There’s a bleak, nihilistic charm to it that’s hard to ignore.
Jimin is in the living room when you emerge, curled into the corner of the sofa with a mug clasped between her palms. She's wrapped in that same blanket from yesterday.
You pour yourself coffee from the pot she's made. Take a sip. Let the warmth spread through your chest. "Good morning."
"Morning." She shifts slightly, making room on the sofa, though there's plenty of space already.
"How'd you sleep?" And here's where you expect the usual deflection. The vague answer, the change of subject, the careful maintenance of boundaries. But instead, Jimin tilts her head and actually considers the question.
"Well, actually," she says. "Really well. I didn't wake up exhausted for once."
You settle onto the opposite end of the sofa, mirroring her position. Feet tucked up, body angled toward the centre, a careful distance maintained between.
"The Goldilocks technique," you say. "Scientifically proven to induce restful sleep."
"Or the fact that you read it so slowly I passed out from boredom."
"My pacing was deliberate. It's called dramatic tension."
"It's called you don't know how to read without stopping to argue with the text." You concede the point with a shrug and drink more coffee. The rain continues its assault on the windows. Inside, the house feels warm and enclosed, a bubble of safety floating in an ocean of grey. The fire you lit last night has burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow that doesn't quite reach the corners of the room.
"What's the situation with work?" Jimin asks, nodding toward the MacBook sitting closed on the coffee table.
You follow her gaze. The laptop looks deceptively innocent sitting there, like it isn't a portal to your slowly imploding professional life. "Still a mess," you say. "The numbers haven't magically improved overnight. The investors are still pulling out, you know, the usual." You take another sip of coffee. "But I've decided not to look at it until after the meeting. Whatever's going to happen is going to happen whether I obsess over spreadsheets or not."
"That's very zen of you."
"I'm trying something new. It's called 'strategic denial.'"
Jimin smiles into her mug. "What about today?" she asks. "Any plans?"
You consider the question. Outside, the rain shows no sign of letting up. The lake will be churning, the paths muddy, the woods unwelcoming. Not exactly ideal conditions for outdoor activities. "I wanted to make a campfire," you admit. "Roast some marshmallows. But in this weather… Not really feasible."
"Can you even make a campfire?"
"Theoretically. I understand the basic principles. Wood, fire, not dying."
"That's not very specific."
"I contain multitudes of vague competencies."
You shift position, tucking your feet further under you, and find yourself talking without quite meaning to. "Did you know I fell into a bonfire when I was a child?"
"My God. Where did this happen?"
"At a family gathering. I was maybe six or seven. Someone had built this big fire on the beach, and I was running around not paying attention, and I just..." You mime tripping. "Went right in. Second-degree burns on my hands and knees. My mother nearly had a heart attack."
"That's horrifying."
"It was mostly embarrassing, honestly. Everyone made a huge fuss, and I had to wear bandages for weeks, and my cousins called me 'fireball' for the rest of the summer.” You pause. “I also almost drowned once. At a pool party when I was twelve. Jumped into the deep end without knowing how to swim properly. Had to be rescued by a lifeguard in front of everyone." Jimin stares at you. "Sometimes I'm genuinely surprised I survived to adulthood. The odds were not in my favour."
She's looking at you weird. Or not weird, exactly, but you can't quite figure out what the expression is. Her eyes are bright, almost shiny, and there's this thing happening with her mouth. The corners are turning up.
She's smiling. And it's a smile you've never seen on her before.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask.
"Like what?"
"Like... that." You gesture at her face. "With the smiling."
"Am I not allowed to smile anymore?" She raises an eyebrow. "Does it bother you?"
"Yes, actually. A bit."
"My smile bothers you."
"I can't look at you when you're doing that." You find yourself staring at your coffee mug instead. "It's distracting. You're easier to deal with when you're crying. All pathetic, with snot coming out of your nose."
The pillow hits you square in the face. "I did not have snot coming out of my nose."
"You absolutely did." You catch the pillow before it can fall, hold it against your chest. "That first night, on the bench. There was definitely nasal discharge. Very attractive.”
"I'm going to kill you."
"See, this is what I mean. Murderous anger is much easier to handle than whatever that smile was."
She's moving before you realize what's happening. One moment she's at her end of the sofa, the next she's crossing the distance between you, blanket abandoned, and you don't know what she's going to do. Hit you, maybe. Smother you with another pillow, who knows.
But what Jimin does is completely different from what you might expect: her knees settle on either side of your hips, her hands bracing against your shoulders, and suddenly you're lying back against the sofa cushions with Yu Jimin straddling your body, looking down at you with an expression that's no longer angry at all.
"We don't have to do anything today," she says quietly. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your hands hover uselessly in the air, unsure where to land, unsure what's allowed. "I just want to be with you," she continues. "Like this. Is that okay?"
And then she kisses you. The barest press of her lips against yours, tentative and questioning and achingly sweet. She tastes like coffee, and your hands finally find their place on her waist, settling against the curve of her body. The kiss ends. She pulls back just far enough to look at you with her hair falling around both your faces.
"You just kissed a stranger," you murmur.
"I know." She's smiling again, that same smile that you couldn't look at before, except now it's inches from your face and impossible to avoid. "It was very good."
She settles against you, her head finds the curve of your shoulder. Your arms wrap around her automatically, pulling her closer, and she makes a small sound of contentment. "You said I could hide behind you," she murmurs against your neck. "But I think I prefer this. Hiding in your arms."
"That works too."
You lie there together, tangled on the sofa, rain drumming against the windows, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. There's nothing that needs saying. Just the warmth of her body, the rhythm of her breathing, the impossible fact of this moment existing at all. But the thought surfaces anyway. The one you've been pushing down since the cave, since the forest, since the moment she took your hand and started walking.
"You know none of this is real," you say quietly, and Jimin goes still against you. "You're an idol. One of the most famous women in the country. And I'm… I'm a businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. This can't exist. Outside of here. In the real world."
She lifts her head. Looks at you. "I know," she says. "Nothing this good could be real."
"Then why—"
"Because we're here to pretend." She kisses you again and your hands tighten on her waist involuntarily. "Remember? That's what you said. We'd pretend together. That our problems can't reach us. That the outside world doesn't exist."
"I remember."
"So let's pretend this is real too." Her forehead rests against yours. "Just for now. Just while we're here. Let me have this."
You don’t resist. You know better, but you still don’t argue "Okay," you say. "We'll pretend." She smiles. Settles back against your chest. Your arms tighten around her, and she sighs, and the sound is the closest thing to peace you've heard in months.
Here's something you've never told anyone: you don't actually know what love feels like. You've had relationships. Girlfriends who lasted months or years, who shared your bed and your time and eventually your boredom. But love? That consuming, transformative thing that poets write about? You've always assumed it was exaggeration. Metaphor. A beautiful lie people tell themselves to make the mundane feel meaningful.
But lying here with Jimin's heartbeat pressed against your ribs and her breath warm on your neck, something changes. It's not dramatic. No fireworks, no movie moment. It's just... you can't tell where your body ends and hers starts anymore. Her breathing matches yours. Her heartbeat syncs up with the rhythm in your chest. You're this close, this tangled up together, and for the first time in your life you understand what people mean when they talk about feeling complete.
This is probably what love feels like
—
Yes, what you're thinking eventually happened.
You and Jimin spent the day together. All of it. The cooking lessons she insisted on giving you, standing at the stove with her arms around you from behind, guiding your hands through the motions of chopping and stirring and not setting things on fire. You made a spectacular mess. Flour on the counters, sauce splattered across the backsplash, something that might have been an egg but ended up more on the floor than in the bowl. But you also made progress. Actual, measurable progress. By evening, you'd produced something edible. Not good, exactly. But edible. Jimin ate it anyway, and the look on her face when she swallowed was only slightly pained.
And then there was the rest of it. The parts that don't need narrating. The parts you can probably imagine if you've been paying attention to the story. The parts that happened after dinner, and then again after midnight, and then once more in the grey hours before dawn.
Which brings us here. The next morning.
You're in bed together, sheets tangled around your legs. The storm hasn't stopped. You're beginning to think it never will. That you've been transported to some alternate dimension where the sun is a myth and the only weather that exists is this endless, drumming wet.
Jimin is lying beside you, wearing nothing but white cotton panties and a thin tank top. Her nipples press against the fabric, visible outlines that draw your eye every time you try to look elsewhere. Her hair is spread across the pillow in dark waves, messy from sleep and from everything that came before sleep, and there's a mark on her collarbone that you don't remember making but are reasonably certain is your fault.
Your finger traces a slow line along her bare thigh. From knee to hip and back again. Her skin so soft, warm from the cocoon of blankets, and she shivers slightly when your touch skirts too close to the edge of her underwear. "I wish I knew how to draw," you say.
Jimin turns her head on the pillow, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. "Why?"
"So I could draw you. Right now. Like this." Your finger continues its lazy path, up and down, up and down. "That would be romantic, wouldn't it? The tortured artist capturing his muse in charcoal and shadow."
"You'd probably draw me with three arms and a head shaped like a potato."
She's not wrong. You've never had any talent for visual arts. Your handwriting looks like a seismograph reading during an earthquake, and the one time you tried to sketch something in college, your girlfriend at the time asked if it was supposed to be a horse or a pile of laundry. “Babe, you’ve gotta trust me a little more,” you say. “Still… you’re not wrong.”
"Is there anything you actually know how to do with your hands?" Jimin asks, light, teasing. "Cooking, no. Drawing, apparently not. What skills do you possess?"
You shift closer to her, your hand sliding higher on her thigh, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her tank top to trace along her hip bone. "I don't want to brag," you say, "but you seemed to enjoy what I did with my hands yesterday. And last night. And this morning, around three a.m."
Her breath catches slightly. Just a small hitch, barely noticeable, but you're paying attention. "Conceited," she murmurs.
"Confident."
She rolls toward you, her body pressing against yours, and then she's climbing on top of you, knees settling on either side of your hips, hands bracing against your chest. The tank top rides up, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, the delicate curve of her waist. And when she leans down to kiss you, you taste sleep and warmth. "Conceited," Jimin repeats against your lips. She tilts her head, searching your face. "What do you think of me?" she asks quietly. "After everything I told you last night?"
And there it is. The things she said in the dark, when the barriers were down and the words came easier. Things you won't repeat, not here, not now. They belong to her, those truths. You're just the vessel she chose to pour them into. "I think..." You reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting your hand linger against her cheek. "I think there are more questions in the answers. I think you're more complicated than you let anyone see. I think you've been carrying weight that no one person should have to carry alone."
Your hand slides down, tracing the line of her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Down her arm and back up again, mapping the geography of her body. "I wish I could do more for you," you say. "Fix things. Make it better. Be more than just..." She knows what you mean. The room, the rain, the strange, unlikely bubble you ended up creating together. "This."
"What is this?"
"One last day,” and it tastes bitter saying it. True, but still bitter. "That's all I can give you. Tomorrow I have to go back. The meeting. The board. The slow-motion car crash of my professional life."
"That's all I want," she says, tracing random patterns on your chest, a hint of heat moving across your skin. "One more day. With you. Here. Where nothing outside can reach us."
She shifts on top of you, adjusting her position, and the movement drags her hips across yours in a way that makes your breath catch. You're hard already. Have been since she climbed on top of you, probably. Her body pressing against yours through thin layers of cotton, the heat of her seeping through the fabric. Jimin feels it. Her lips curve into something knowing.
"Someone wants another round," she observes.
“That honestly wasn’t even on my mind, I swear.”
She smiles and leans down to kiss you. You feel her tongue sliding against yours as her hips begin to move. A lazy grind that drags the thin cotton of her panties across your length, creating friction that makes you grip her waist involuntarily. Her hand slides between your bodies. Fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, tugging downward, working the fabric past your hips. Your cock springs free, hard and aching, and she wraps her fingers around it immediately. A light grip at first, her thumb sweeping across the head in a teasing circle.
"Better?" she asks against your mouth.
Your hips jerk involuntarily. "Getting there.”
She continues stroking you, her grip finding a rhythm that's maddeningly unhurried, and her mouth never leaves yours. Kissing you slow and deep while her hand works your cock with the same patience. Then she shifts, adjusting her position, and suddenly the head of your cock is pressed against the thin cotton barrier of her panties. Right there. Right against her cunt, where the fabric is already damp, where you can feel the heat of her radiating through the material like she's burning from the inside out.
Your hand finds her ass. Squeezes. And god, the way it fills your palm, the perfect yield of soft flesh under your fingers, the way she gasps quietly into your mouth when you grip harder. She has the kind of ass that makes you want to spend hours just touching it, mapping every curve, learning exactly how much pressure makes her breath catch. Jimin lifts her hips slightly. Her free hand reaches down between her legs, fingers hooking into the cotton of her panties and pulling them aside, and then she's lowering herself back down and you feel it. The wet heat of her pressing against your bare cock, no barrier anymore, nothing between you but skin and slick warmth.
She takes you in slowly. Her body opens around you, her walls gripping you tight as she sinks down. Your hands tighten on her hips involuntarily, fingers digging into soft flesh. "Fuck," you breathe. She bottoms out. Takes all of you, her hips flush against yours, and for a moment she just stays there. Adjusting. Letting her body accommodate the stretch. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and you can see the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
Then she starts to move. Slow at first. A gentle roll of her hips, circular and smooth, grinding down against you in a way that creates friction without urgency. Her pussy is perfect. Tight and wet and hot, clinging to your cock with every movement, and you have to remind yourself to breathe because the sensation is overwhelming in the best possible way.
Her breasts sway gently inside her tank top with each roll of her hips. The thin fabric does nothing to conceal their shape, the way they move, the outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton. You want to push the shirt up, expose her completely, take those breasts in your hands and feel their weight. But there's something almost more erotic about this. The hint of concealment. The suggestion of skin without the full reveal.
And speaking of which: Jimin's pale skin glows in the grey morning light. She looks ethereal, otherworldly, something you dreamed up in a fever. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, brushing against her collarbones, and when she opens her eyes to look down at you, it knocks the breath out of you.
"You feel good," she murmurs, low, breathy, slightly unsteady.
"You feel incredible."
She smiles at that. Leans down to kiss you again, her breasts pressing against your chest through the thin fabric, and her hips never stop moving. That slow, sinuous rhythm that's driving you slowly insane. Your hands slide from her hips to her ass, palming both cheeks, guiding her movements even as she sets the pace. She feels unbelievably good. Every roll of her hips drags your cock through her slick heat, you can feel how wet she is, the evidence of her arousal coating your length, making every movement smooth and easy.
"I like watching you," you say. "Like this. On top of me."
Jimin's rhythm falters slightly. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her tank top. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Your hands squeeze her ass, pulling her down harder on the next stroke. "You're beautiful."
She kisses you instead of responding, and her pace increases. Still not fast, not urgent, but more intentional now. Rising up until you're almost slipping out of her, then sinking back down in one smooth motion that makes both of you gasp. Her breasts bounce more noticeably with the increased movement, and you can't help but slide one hand up from her ass, up the curve of her waist, until your palm cups her breast through the tank top.
Her nipple is hard against your palm. You roll it between your fingers, and Jimin moans. A real sound, unguarded, and her hips stutter in their rhythm. "Don't stop," you tell her.
Her pace settles back into something steady, a little faster than before, her thighs flexing with each rise and fall. Your cock slides in and out of her perfect pussy, slick and hot and so fucking tight around you. The sound of it fills the room. Wet and rhythmic, obscene in the quiet morning, and somehow that makes it better. Knowing what you sound like together. Knowing you're making those sounds.
Jimin braces her hands on your chest, using the leverage to ride you deeper. Her head tips back, exposing the long column of her throat, and you watch her move on top of you with something approaching reverence. The way her body undulates. The way her breasts sway beneath the cotton. The way her lips part around soft sounds of pleasure. "God," she breathes. "You feel so good inside me."
You thrust up to meet her on the next stroke, and she cries out. A sharp, surprised sound that dissolves into a moan as you do it again. And again. You're timing it now, driving up when she comes down, and the rhythm locks in. You're both moving together, perfectly synced, like you've been doing this for years instead of minutes.
The pace builds gradually. Her eyes are closed. Head tipped back. Lost somewhere inside herself, inside the sensation, inside the place where pleasure builds and builds until it becomes impossible to contain. You can feel it in her body. The way her pussy grips you tighter with each stroke. The way her rhythm becomes less controlled, more instinctive. The way her whole frame trembles with the effort of chasing something that's just out of reach.
"Oh god," she breathes, shaky and desperate. "Oh god, oh god—" Her pace becomes erratic. Faster, harder, grinding down against you. Her breasts bounce beneath the rumpled tank top, nipples dragging against the fabric, and the sounds she makes are the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Soft, broken moans that spill from her lips without permission. Little gasps and whimpers that she can't seem to control. "I'm close," she manages. "I'm so close, I'm going to—"
"Cum on my cock,” you say, guiding her hips. “I want to feel you cum, Jimin. Let go."
She cries out. Her rhythm shatters completely, hips jerking in uncoordinated movements as she chases the edge. You thrust up into her, faster, giving her what she needs, and you watch her face as she breaks apart. The orgasm finally hits her. Her whole body goes taut, spine arching, mouth falling open in a silent cry that finally releases as a long, trembling moan. Her pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, squeezing your cock so tight it almost hurts, and you can feel the rush of wetness as she comes undone.
She's beautiful when she cums. The way her face transforms, all the tension and control stripped away, nothing left but pure, unfiltered pleasure. The way her body moves through it, riding the aftershocks, her hips still twitching against yours even as the peak begins to fade. Her moans taper off into soft, breathless sounds. Little whimpers of oversensitivity as her body comes down from the high. She's trembling, her thighs shaking on either side of your hips, and when she finally opens her eyes, they're glazed. Unfocused. Lost in the aftermath.
She collapses against you. Her full weight settles onto your chest, warm and boneless, and you catch her automatically. Wrap your arms around her. Hold her close while she breathes against your neck with her heart hammering so hard you can feel it through her ribs. "That was..." she starts, but doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. You turn your head and she lifts hers and then you're kissing, deep and tender, lips soft against yours, her tongue sliding lazily against your own, and you could stay like this forever. Wrapped up in her, surrounded by her, still buried inside her.
But your cock is still hard. Still aching. Still desperate for release. Slowly you roll her over. She makes a small sound of surprise as her back hits the mattress, as your weight settles over her. Her dark hair fans across the pillow, and she looks up at you with eyes that are still hazy with pleasure but beginning to sharpen with interest. You pull out of her.
First things first. Your underwear is still tangled around your legs, shoved down but not removed. You kick free of them impatiently, finally bare, finally unrestricted. Then her panties. The white cotton that she'd only pushed aside, that's still clinging to her hips, damp with her arousal. You hook your fingers into the waistband and draw them down slowly. Over her hips. Down her thighs. Past her knees, her calves, her ankles, until they're gone and she's completely naked beneath you except for that thin tank top.
You settle between her legs. Spread her thighs wider with your hands, making room for yourself, and she lets you. Opens for you willingly, eagerly, her breath quickening again as you position yourself.
Your cock brushes against her entrance and you both shudder. She's soaked. Absolutely drenched, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs, and when you look down at where your bodies almost meet, you can see it. The cream forming at her opening, thick and white, evidence of how thoroughly she came on your cock just moments ago.
"Look at you," you murmur, dragging the head of your cock through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. "So fucking wet for me."
Jimin's hips twitch, trying to chase the contact. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me again. I want to feel you inside me."
You rub your cock against her entrance one more time, teasing, watching the way her cream clings to your shaft. Then you push forward. She takes you easily this time, her pussy still loose and slick from her orgasm, and you slide into her in one smooth stroke that makes both of you groan. She's even wetter inside than before, hot and welcoming, and you can feel her walls flutter around you as her body adjusts to being filled again. You start slow. Long, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before pushing back in. Taking your time now that the first desperate edge has been taken off, savoring the sensation of her body wrapped around yours. The bed creaks softly beneath you, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet sounds of your cock moving inside her.
Jimin's hands find your shoulders, her nails digging in lightly, and her legs wrap around your waist to pull you deeper. Her eyes are locked on yours, and there's an intimacy to this position that wasn't there when she was on top. Face to face. Breath mingling. Nowhere to hide.
"You feel so good," she whispers. "So fucking good inside me."
You lean down and kiss her, swallowing her next moan as you sink deep and hold there, grinding against her, feeling every inch of her pussy clenching around your cock. You fuck her slowly at first, savoring every sensation, committing every detail to memory because you know this can't last. The wet heat of her pussy wrapped around your cock. The way her body yields beneath yours, soft and welcoming. The small sounds she makes with each thrust, breathy little gasps that escape her parted lips.
But your hips find a rhythm eventually. Pulling back until just the head of your cock remains inside her, then sliding forward in one long stroke that buries you to the hilt.
"Harder," she whispers. You comply. The pace increases incrementally, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving deeper into her slick heat.
Then Jimin's hands leave your shoulders. They travel down her own body, fingers trailing over her collarbones, her chest, until they reach the hem of her tank top. She grips the fabric and pulls it up in one fluid motion, bunching it above her breasts, exposing herself completely. And god. Her tits.
They're perfect. Large and full, pale as cream against the grey sheets, capped with nipples that are flushed pink and hard. They bounce with each thrust, a rhythm that matches the movement of your hips. Soft flesh rippling with every impact, swaying gently when you pull back, jiggling when you slam forward. "You like watching them?" Jimin asks.
"I fucking love watching them."
She smiles. Her hands come up to cup her own breasts, fingers spreading to contain the soft weight. She squeezes them together, lifts them slightly, presents them to you, then her fingers find her nipples, pinching lightly, rolling the hard peaks between thumb and forefinger.
The sound she makes is devastating. A low, throaty moan that vibrates through her chest as she touches herself while you fuck her. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting, and she plays with her nipples like she's putting on a show just for you. Tugging at them, circling them, pressing down and releasing to watch them spring back.
Your pace increases again. The sight of her touching herself, combined with the tight grip of her pussy around your cock, is driving you toward an edge you're not ready to reach. You need to make her cum again first. Need to feel her fall apart beneath you one more time.
Your hand leaves its position beside her head, travels down her body, over the soft curve of her stomach, until your fingers find the place where your bodies meet. You can feel your own cock sliding in and out of her, can feel the stretch of her pussy around your shaft. And just above that junction, her clit waits. Swollen and sensitive, peeking out from its hood, begging to be touched.
You press your thumb against it. Jimin's reaction is immediate and violent. Her back arches off the bed and her pussy clamps down on your cock so hard you see stars. Her hands abandon her nipples to grip the sheets instead.
"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, right there, keep going, don't stop—"
Your thumb circles her clit in tight movements, matching the rhythm of your thrusts. Pressure and friction and the relentless slide of your cock inside her, all working together to push her toward the edge. Her breasts bounce freely now, no longer contained by her hands.
"That's it," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure. "That's it, let me feel you cum again."
Her moans become more urgent. Higher pitched, more desperate. Her hips buck against yours, meeting your thrusts with movements of her own, fucking herself on your cock while your thumb works her clit without mercy. The wet sounds grow louder, wetter, her arousal practically flooding out of her with each stroke.
"I'm gonna—" she starts, but can't finish. Her whole body is trembling, muscles tensing, pussy fluttering around your cock in a way that tells you she's right on the edge.
You press harder on her clit. Fuck her deeper. Give her everything you have. She shatters.
The orgasm rips through her with enough force to make her scream. Her spine curves impossibly, her head thrown back against the pillow, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in rhythmic pulses that threaten to drag you over with her. But that's not all.
A sudden rush of wetness, a pressure releasing, and then she's squirting. A clear stream of fluid spurts from where your bodies meet, soaking your stomach, coating your cock, splashing against your thighs. Not a lot, but unmistakable. Evidence of just how thoroughly you've wrecked her.
"Holy shit," you breathe, but you don't stop. You keep fucking her through it, keep rubbing her clit, and her orgasm seems to go on forever. Waves and waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy spasming around you, her whole body shaking with the force of it. And every time you thrust back in, another small squirt accompanies it. Like her body can't contain everything you're making her feel. Like she's overflowing with pleasure and it has nowhere to go but out.
"Oh my god," she's babbling, "oh my god, oh my god—"
You're relentless now. Fucking her through the aftershocks, feeling her squirt around your cock with each stroke, watching the mess spread beneath you both. The sheets are soaked. Your thighs are dripping. And still you don't stop.
You can feel your orgasm gathering, inevitable, and you know you need to make a decision about where you're going to finish.
One last long thrust. You bury yourself inside her as deep as you can go, hold there for a moment, feeling her pussy pulse around you, feeling the last tremors of her orgasm ripple through her walls. Then you pull out.
Your cock emerges glistening wet, coated in her cum and her squirt and your own precum. You shift position, moving up her body until you're kneeling over her chest, your cock positioned directly above her breasts. She knows what you want without being told.
Her hands come up immediately, cupping those perfect pale tits and pressing them together, creating a valley of soft flesh for you. She looks up at you with dark eyes, lips curved in invitation. "Cum on me," she says, seductive and utterly filthy. "I want to feel it. I want to see it."
You wrap your hand around your cock and start stroking. It only takes seconds. You're too wound up, too desperate, too overwhelmed by everything that's happened. The first spurt hits her chest with enough force to reach her collarbone, a thick rope of white against her pale skin. "Yes," Jimin breathes, squeezing her tits tighter together. "Keep going. Cum on me. Give me everything."
The second spurt lands between her breasts, pooling in the valley she's created. The third stripes across her left nipple. You groan, hand working your shaft, and you can't stop cumming. It just keeps coming, wave after wave of release, painting her chest white.
"That's it," she encourages. "Cum for me. Every last drop. I want it all." Her words drag another spurt out of you, splashing across her right breast. Your hand keeps moving, milking your cock, drawing out every last bit of cum until you're finally, completely empty.
You look down at the mess you've made. Her perfect pale tits, covered in streaks and pools of your cum. Some of it sliding down toward her stomach. Some of it caught around her hard nipples. Some of it still sitting in the valley between her breasts, warm and thick.
Jimin smiles up at you. Pleased. Satisfied. Looking at the cum on her chest like it's a gift she's been waiting for. "Come here," she says.
You shift forward, and she guides your softening cock toward her mouth. Her lips part and she takes just the tip inside. Her eyes close as she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently, her tongue swirling to clean away the remaining traces of cum. The sensation is too much on your sensitive flesh, but you don't pull away. You watch her. The way her cheeks hollow slightly with each gentle suck. The way her lashes rest against her cheeks. The way she hums contentedly around your cock like she's savoring something delicious.
When she finally releases you, there's a single drop of cum clinging to the corner of her lip. You reach down, brush it away with your thumb. Before you can pull back, her mouth opens and she takes your thumb inside, sucking it clean with the same attention she gave your cock.
Her eyes open, finding yours. "I love your taste," she says quietly, releasing your thumb.
You lean down and kiss her, tasting yourself on her tongue, and you think that this might be the closest thing to perfect you've ever experienced.
—
The morning unfolds in this weird, borrowed way. Like you've stepped into someone else's life for a bit. Domestic and quiet and strangely... normal? Jimin makes breakfast. You're planted at the kitchen island just watching her move around. You're memorizing this. The angle of her shoulders, the way she reaches for things, how natural it all looks. Filing it away in that part of your brain where you keep shit you know you'll want to remember later.
She notices you watching. The look she gives you is knowing, maybe a little amused.
You accept the plate she offers and make some comment about your inevitable starvation back in Seoul. She points out you could learn to cook. You counter that this has been definitively proven impossible. She mentions yesterday's attempt. You clarify that successfully cracking a single egg without shell contamination doesn't qualify as progress; it's barely basic human function. That gets a smile out of her. She grabs her own plate and settles in next to you. You eat together without talking. Outside, the rain keeps doing its thing.
Later, you bundle yourselves in raincoats and venture outside.
The storm's died down to a drizzle. You grab two umbrellas before heading out, even though you're both already wearing raincoats. It feels like the right thing to do. Jimin takes your hand without asking. Just reaches over and laces her fingers through yours, natural as breathing, and you start walking down the overgrown path that connects all the lake properties.
"These were all occupied when I was a kid," you say, pointing at the first house. Two-story cabin, wood siding, completely empty now. The garden's a mess: bushes everywhere, grass up to your knees. "The Choi family lived there. Three kids my age. We played together every summer."
"What happened to them?"
"Moved to Busan, I think. Dad got a job there. They sold it to some development company that bought it and then... nothing. Just left it to rot." You keep walking. More houses, all the same story. Families moved away, companies bought them, promised they'd fix them up and never did. The whole neighborhood's just sitting here empty and falling apart.
"It's sad," Jimin says, looking at one house where the roof's caved in on one side. "All these empty places."
"Everything ends eventually." You squeeze her hand. "Not always a bad thing. Sometimes it just is what it is." She doesn't say anything, but her grip gets tighter. Makes you wonder if she's thinking about endings too.
Then the lightning hits. One second you're fine, pointing out the old dock where you used to fish with your grandfather. The next second there's this massive crack of thunder and a flash so bright you can't see anything. The bolt strikes somewhere across the lake, close enough that you both freeze.
Jimin gasps and presses into you. "That was close," she says.
"Not that close. Maybe a kilometer."
"It felt close."
You pull her under a big oak tree. Yeah, you know you're not supposed to stand under trees during lightning storms. You know that's literally the worst place to be. But her hand's shaking in yours and you need to hold her for a second.
"We should go back," you say. She nods against your chest.
You walk back way faster than you came out. The umbrellas are basically useless now anyway - the wind's picked up and you're getting soaked from every direction. By the time you get to the house, you're both completely drenched and laughing about it.
—
Night hits different out here. No city lights means when the sun goes down, it really goes down. Total darkness.
You're in your bedroom changing clothes when your phone lights up on the nightstand. Honestly, you'd kind of forgotten you had a phone. Since getting here, you've basically only used the laptop for work stuff. The phone's just been sitting there, ignored. But now the screen's going crazy. One notification. Two. Three. They keep coming. Missed calls, texts, voicemails. All from the same person: Yoon-a.
Over a hundred missed calls. A hundred. Who the fuck calls someone a hundred times? Like, what level of panic or obsession even drives that? You pick up the phone anyway. Stare at the screen. From the living room, you can hear Jimin doing something. Cabinet doors opening and closing. She's looking for something.
You call her back. She answers on the first ring.
"Oh my god!” she exclaims. "Oh my god, you're alive. Where have you been? Why haven't you answered? I've been calling for days. Days. I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead. I thought—"
"I'm fine," you say. "Yoon-a. I'm fine. Calm down."
"Calm down? Calm down?! You disappear without telling anyone, you don't answer your phone, you don't respond to texts, and you want me to calm down?"
"I just needed some time. To clear my head. Get away from everything."
"Get away from—" She stops. You can hear her breathing hard on the other end. "I watched this movie last night. This stupid movie, I don't even know why I watched it. About this businessman who loses everything. All his money, his company, his reputation. And at the end he… He shoots himself in the head."
"That's dark."
"I thought of you. Immediately. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Alone somewhere. Going through everything you're going through. And I kept calling and calling and you never answered."
"I'm flattered you think I'm that dramatic."
"This isn't funny." She's crying now, you can hear it. Small, hiccuping sobs that she's trying to suppress. "This isn't a joke. I was terrified. I am terrified. You're out there alone, not talking to anyone, dealing with all of this by yourself—"
"I'm at the lake house. My family's place. I'm fine. Completely fine."
"The lake house?"
"Yeah. I just needed to get away. I should have told you. I should have answered. I'm sorry."
There's a pause. A long, shaky exhale. "I'm sorry too," she says. "About the fight. In the elevator. I was being ridiculous. Clingy, like you said. I shouldn't have pushed you about dinner with my parents when you had so much going on. I shouldn't have made everything about me. I was an idiot."
"No." You sit down on the edge of the bed. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who should apologize. I've been distant. Distracted. I've been treating you badly for weeks, and you didn't deserve any of it."
"You've been stressed. I should have understood that. I should have given you space instead of demanding things."
"You shouldn't have had to. I should have talked to you. Explained what I was going through instead of just... disappearing."
"I love you," she confesses. "I love you, okay? And I know things are hard right now. I know the company is falling apart and everyone's giving you shit and you feel like the whole world is against you. But I'm not against you. I'm with you. No matter what happens." You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. "Come back to me," she continues. "Please. Come home. I'll take care of you. We'll figure this out together. I don't care if you lose the company. I don't care if you lose all your money. I mean—" A wet laugh. "I'd prefer if you stayed super rich, obviously. The lifestyle is very comfortable. But if you become poor, that's fine. I'll adapt. I'll support you. I'll love you anyway."
"Yoon-a—"
"Our son misses you. He's been moping around the apartment, looking for you. He keeps sleeping on your side of the bed." The dog isn't yours in any way... but you don't feel the need to correct her this time. "Are you lonely?" she asks. "There by yourself?"
You think about Jimin. In the living room right now, probably curled up on the sofa, surrounded by blankets, waiting for you to come watch a movie with her. Jimin, who kissed you this morning. Who rode you until she came. Who walked through the rain holding your hand. "No," you say. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because I could come. I could catch a flight tonight—"
"I'm coming back tomorrow. The board meeting. I have to be there." You rub your forehead with your free hand. "We can talk properly then. Figure things out."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Okay." She sniffles. Takes a breath. "Okay. Tomorrow. I'll be waiting."
"Don't cry," you say. "Not for me. I don't deserve it."
"That's not how emotions work, dummy. You don't get to decide what other people feel about you."
"Goodnight, Yoon-a."
"Goodnight." A pause. "I love you." The words hang there, waiting for a response. Three simple syllables that should be easy to say. That would be easy, probably, if you hadn't spent the last three days falling into something with someone else.
"Goodnight," you say again. "Sleep well." You end the call. The phone sits in your hand, screen dimming, then going dark. You stare at it for a long time.
Look, being a shitty person isn't like the movies. You don't sit there twirling a villain mustache or cackling while you kick puppies. You're not Darth Vader. You're not even a recognizable bad guy. You're just... you. A regular person making regular choices that happen to hurt people. You took a trip without telling your almost-girlfriend. You invited a stranger along. Held her hand. Kissed her. Fucked her until she came so hard she squirted all over you.
None of it felt villainous while it was happening. All of it was, in its own way, beautiful.
But beautiful things can leave ugly messes behind. And the people you hurt don't give a shit about your good intentions. Damage is damage, regardless of whether you meant it. So you sit there on the edge of the bed and just... feel it. The guilt. The self-loathing. That growing certainty that you've fucked up in ways you won't even understand until later.
Then you breathe. Stand up. Run your fingers through your hair and Just say "fuck it.”
You're not dealing with this now. There'll be plenty of time for beating yourself up later, back in Seoul, when everything comes crashing down. Right now? You've still got a few hours left. A few more hours in this bubble. A few more hours with Jimin.
You walk back to the living room. She's on the sofa, exactly where you pictured her, except there's a massive bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. She looks up when you enter, and her face breaks into a smile. "I made popcorn," she announces proudly. "And before you say anything, yes, I used the stove. No, I didn't burn down the kitchen. Some of us have basic survival skills." You force a smile back. It feels stiff on your face, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Impressive," you say. She shifts to make room for you on the sofa, and that's when you notice what she's wearing.
Your shirt. The Oxford button-down, light blue, slightly too big on her. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and the hem falls to mid-thigh, and she looks impossibly good in it. Cozy and rumpled and unreasonably attractive. Your brain helpfully reminds you that Yoon-a loves this shirt. Used to steal it constantly, wear it on lazy Sunday mornings, always threatening to keep it for good.
The timing of that memory is really fucking inconvenient.
"You okay?" Jimin's watching your face now. "You seem kinda weird."
You shake it off. Plaster on a better smile. "I'm fine," you say. "Just tired." You drop onto the sofa next to her, close enough that your legs touch, and pull her into your side. Your arm settles around her shoulders naturally and she leans into you without hesitation. The popcorn bowl balances between you both.
For now, you're fine. You can deal with everything else later.
—
The last morning arrives with an unexpected guest: the sun. Jimin finds you in the kitchen, already dressed, already packed, already holding a cup of coffee that you made yourself. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight. "You're awake."
"I'm awake."
"You made coffee."
"I did."
She approaches the counter slowly. "How?"
"YouTube tutorial. How to Use a Coffee Maker: Tutorial for Beginners. Fourteen minutes long. Very thorough. I now understand the concept of water reservoirs and filter placement."
"You've never used a coffee maker before?"
"I've never had to. That's what staff are for." You pour her a cup, slide it across the counter. "Apparently regular people just make their own coffee every morning. Wild concept."
She takes a sip. Her eyebrows rise. "It's good."
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm a quick learner when properly motivated."
The last few hours unspool in a series of small, practical tasks. Packing bags, making calls to confirm arrangements, to coordinate schedules, to begin the process of reintegrating into a world that's been waiting impatiently for your return. Your pilot answers on the second ring. Yes, the jet is ready. Yes, everything is prepared. Yes, he'll be waiting at the scheduled time. His voice is professionally neutral, giving no indication of what he thinks about his employer disappearing for days without explanation.
Through the windows, you watch the sun climb higher, burning off the last traces of mist that cling to the lake. The water is blue now, no longer the churning grey it's been since you arrived. It looks like a postcard.
Jimin makes her own calls. You try not to listen, but the house isn't big enough for real privacy, and fragments drift toward you anyway. Words like "schedule" and "statement" and "the members are worried." She responds in tones you haven't heard from her before. More certain.
There's still food in the kitchen. More than you could possibly eat, more than made sense to order in the first place. You make a mental note to call someone, have them come clear it out, donate it somewhere useful. It seems wasteful to just leave it here to rot in an empty house.
The drive to the airfield is quiet. The jet trip is quieter still. You sit across from each other in leather seats, Seoul approaches through oval windows, and neither of you says much of anything. There's nothing left to say, really. Everything important has already been communicated in other ways. In touches and silences and the space between words. Jimin wears her disguise again. Baseball cap pulled low, face mask covering everything below her eyes.
Your car's waiting at the private terminal. You toss her suitcases in the back, hold the door open for her, then get behind the wheel. Seoul hits you immediately. Traffic everywhere. Buildings stacked on top of buildings. Twelve million people all doing their thing at once. After the quiet of the lake house, it's a lot. Too much, actually. Too loud. Too crowded. Your brain doesn't know what to do with all the stimulus.
She tells you the address and you start driving. Neither of you talks. You just navigate the same streets you've been driving for years, except everything feels off now. Like you left for a weekend trip and came back to find the city rearranged. Or maybe it's the same and you're what changed. Hard to tell.
Her building's in Gangnam. Naturally. Big glass tower with lobby security and doormen and cameras everywhere that'll definitely catch her getting out of your car. You pull up to the entrance. Put the car in park. Sit there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. "I don't know what to say," you admit. "I've never been through anything like this before. There's no template. No script."
Jimin pulls her mask down to her chin, and you can see her face properly for the first time since you left the lake house. "You don't need to say anything," she tells you.
"That feels wrong somehow. Like we should mark the moment. Acknowledge it."
"We are acknowledging it. This is what acknowledgment looks like when there's nothing left to add."
You drum your fingers on the steering wheel. Outside, a man walks past with a dog. A taxi honks in the distance. The city continues, indifferent. "Will we keep talking?" you ask. "After this?"
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Considering. "I don't know," she says finally. "Let's see what happens over time."
"That's very noncommittal."
"It's honest. I don't know what I want yet. I don't know what's possible." She shrugs, a small movement. "Right now, all I know is that I need to go back to my life and figure out what that looks like. Everything else is... uncertain."
"Fair enough."
You stare out the windshield, watching a delivery truck navigate the narrow street. "It's a shame," you say. "That things can't work out. Between us."
"I'm an idol. You know how it works. Dating scandals, public scrutiny, sasaeng fans digging through every aspect of my personal life. Even if we wanted to try, the logistics would be impossible."
"I know."
"And you have a girl who likes you."
You turn to look at her. "She was never my girlfriend."
"I know. But she cares about you. That call... she was really worried."
"Did you hear—"
"Yes." She cuts you off gently. "I heard it. The walls aren't that thick."
A beat of silence. The engine hums. "I'm going to talk to her," you say. "When I get back. I'm going to be honest about what happened. About everything." You pause, meeting her eyes. "I won't mention you. I won't say who I was with. That's not my secret to tell. But I can't lie to her about the fact that something happened."
Jimin nods slowly. "That's fair."
"I don't know how she'll take it. She might hate me. She probably should."
"Maybe." Jimin's gaze drifts to the window, to the building waiting to reclaim her, to the life she's about to step back into. "But you should do what you think is right. Whatever that looks like for you."
"What I think is right," you repeat. "That's a terrifying amount of freedom."
"Welcome to being an adult. It's mostly just making decisions and hoping you don't fuck everything up."
"You're very wise for someone who was crying on a park bench two weeks ago."
"Growth happens fast when you're forced into it." Her lips curve slightly. "Besides, I learned from the best. Some random guy who talks too much and can't operate a coffee maker."
You both laugh, and it feels good. Easy. Like maybe this doesn't have to be the end of everything, even if it's the end of this particular chapter. She reaches between the seats and retrieves her suitcases from the back. Two small bags, barely enough for a weekend, containing everything she brought to a trip she never planned to take. She opens the door, but she doesn't get out. "Sometime," she says, "we should get coffee. You and me."
"Coffee."
"We're still strangers, technically. Two people who met once in a park and then spent a few days in a bubble that doesn't count as real life. But I'd like to be your friend. If that's something you'd want."
"That would be cool," you say. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good." She pauses, glances at the door. Then back at you. "You're a good person," she says. "I know you don't believe that. But I do."
Before you can respond, she leans across and presses her lips to your cheek. A soft, brief contact, there and gone. Then she pulls her mask back up, hiding the lower half of her face, becoming Karina again before your eyes. "Good luck," she says. "With the meeting. With everything. It'll work out for you. I know it will." And then she's gone. Out of the car, through the building entrance, swallowed by the elevator and the security guards and the life that's been waiting to reclaim her.
You sit there for a while. Engine idling. Watching the space where she used to be. Good person.
You don't know how true that is. The evidence suggests otherwise, honestly. The choices you've made. The way you've hurt people without meaning to, without even fully understanding the damage until it was already done. Nothing is fixed. Not your company. Not your relationships. Not who you are or who you could become. Everything is still in motion, still being decided, still waiting for you to make the next choice.
Your phone buzzes. A text from your assistant. Thirty minutes until the meeting starts. You look at the message. Look at the building where Jimin disappeared. Look at the road ahead.
If you can save your company (and you're going to try, you're going to fight like hell), then maybe other impossible things aren't so impossible either. Maybe the logistics that seem insurmountable right now will look different in six months. A year. Maybe being an idol and being with someone doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. Maybe you just need to prove to yourself that you can actually fix something before you try to build something new.
One problem at a time. That's how you survive.
You put the car in drive. Pull away from the curb. Merge into traffic, becoming just another vehicle in the endless flow of the city. The meeting is in thirty minutes. The board wants your head. The investors have lost faith. Everyone is waiting for you to fail.
But you're not going to fail. Not today. Not if you have anything to say about it. And when you've saved the company - when, not if - you're going to call Jimin. You're going to take her up on that coffee. And you're going to see what's possible when two people stop pretending and start trying for real.
You’ve been shelving books for about seven thousand years.
Or at least that’s how it feels, wedged between the holiday table and the front window while people keep coming in with snow on their shoulders like they’re bringing the storm in as a guest. The bell above the door jingles every time, high and bright and weirdly smug about it.
The bookshop is warm, heavy with smells that are all slightly too much at once: cinnamon oil from the diffuser near the door, paper that’s been turned and thumbed and loved, the wet-wool edge of everyone’s coats slowly trying to defrost. There are paper snowflakes taped to the glass. A tiny artificial tree leans a bit to the left in the display, ornaments shaped like miniature book covers weighing down one side.
You’re halfway through putting a stack of romances back in alphabetical order when the bell rings again and a gust of cold sneaks in under the door, curling around your ankles.
“Shoes,” Chaewon says from the front without looking up.
You glance at her over the edge of the display. “What?”
She’s behind the register in her navy apron, the knot at her back perfectly centered like she tied it in front of a mirror. Her hair is clipped back, black and shiny, not a strand out of place. There’s a clipboard beside the register with the sign-in sheet on it. A pen is attached with a piece of string, because of course it is.
Chaewon flicks her eyes to the entry mat, then back to your face. “You’re tracking slush. Wipe.”
You look down. There’s a faint gray trail from the door to where you’re standing. Your boots are damp around the edges. You drag them across the mat a couple of times, more out of stubbornness than effort. The fox printed on the mat looks disappointed in you.
“There,” you say.
Chaewon’s expression doesn’t change. “You forgot to clock in.”
You force your shoulders to stay loose as you head up to the counter. The clipboard is waiting. You grab the pen and the string tugs, like it’s on a leash.
“Does Ms. Lim think I’m going to steal a pen?” you ask.
Chaewon’s gaze dips briefly to the front pocket of your hoodie, then back up. “You would,” she says.
You don’t even have anything in that pocket except an old dining hall receipt and some mystery lint. Still, your face warms.
“I wouldn’t,” you say. “Some of us have morals.”
“You were twenty minutes late,” she answers, not bothering to look impressed. “Sign.”
You sign. Your hand is cold, and your name ends up crooked, like it’s trying to slide off the page. Chaewon watches the paper, not you. Her nails are short and neat. You hate that you notice.
She slides a folded apron toward you without looking. “Here.”
“Wow,” you say. “There’s the reason I don’t clock in.”
“Customers don’t need to see your hoodie,” she replies. “It has holes in it.”
You look down. It does have holes. Two near the cuff from a nervous habit, one at the hem that’s older than college.
“It’s called vintage,” you say.
“It’s called tragic,” she says.
You pull the apron over your head anyway and tie it behind your back. You don’t aim. The knot lands too far to the side.
Chaewon’s eyes flick down and stay there for a moment too long. Her jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Fix that,” she says.
“It’s tied,” you say. “It’s doing its job.”
“It’s crooked,” she says. “And you’re in front of customers.”
“I didn’t realize my back was part of the customer service,” you mutter.
“It is when I have to look at it,” she says.
You feel your spine stiffen. “Newsflash, Chaewon: you don’t have to look at me at all.”
Her eyes rise to meet yours. They’re sharp, dark, annoyingly steady. “Trust me,” she says. “I know.”
Before you can say something mean enough to feel satisfied now and regret later, Ms. Lim pops up from the far end of the counter, Santa hat sliding sideways like it’s trying to escape.
“There you are,” she says, cheerful. “Good, both of you. It’s starting to come down out there. We’re going to get slammed for another hour and then I’m kicking everyone out.”
She pats Chaewon’s arm as if she expects her to hold the line against an invading army. “Chaewon, gift wrap the books. You—” She points at you. “Holiday table, then float. Smile like finals aren’t happening.”
“I don’t smile on principle,” you say.
“You smile at me,” Ms. Lim says with the sharp part of her tongue.
“That’s because you pay me,” you say under the breath.
She laughs and waves you toward the middle of the store. “Shoo. Make the shelves look pretty. If anything falls on a customer, I’m blaming you and I’ll cry.”
“That’s new…” Chaewon mutters.
“What was that?” Ms. Lim asks merrily.
Chaewon’s eyes flicker. “Nothing,” she says.
You head back to the big holiday table. From the front, the building looks like a normal small bookstore—cozy, slightly chaotic, full of too many things in not enough space. When you walk it with your brain turned on, you can see the structure underneath.
Children’s corner in back with a circular rug that never lies flat, always has one piece sticking up waiting to trip someone. The reading nook opposite it, with the sagging gray couch and the lamp that only works if you tap it twice.
Classics line the left wall with the locked glass cabinet embedded in the middle. The rare books are inside, spines aged and serious. The brass key that opens it hangs on a chain around Ms. Lim’s neck. Chaewon looks at that cabinet like it owes her money.
You look at it like a bunch of books you’ll never be able to afford.
The holiday table is a disaster in three dimensions. Someone has stacked thrillers on top of romances. A cookbook about pies sits on a pile of poetry. A display mug is one elbow away from suicide.
You start sorting just to make the chaos stop. Paperbacks in one stack, hardbacks in another. Romances to the right, everything else center and left. You pull a snowy-cover romcom out from under something with a skeleton on it and feel vaguely offended on the romcom’s behalf.
“Excuse me,” a woman says to your shoulder. “Hi. Sorry. Do you have something… romantic?” She winces on the last word like it tastes weird.
You straighten. “Romantic we can do,” you say. “Any no-go zones? Like, no heartbreak, no cheating, no—”
“Oh, no, she loves heartbreak,” the woman says quickly. “It’s for my niece, she’s in high school. But my sister will kill me if there’s anything… explicit.” She mimes a vague gesture that could mean sex or could mean drugs; you decide to assume sex. “So, like… kissing, feelings, snow. But not too much… you know.”
You do know.
You look at the table. “Okay,” you say. You pick up a soft YA-ish paperback with a cartoon couple in puffy coats. “This one’s more cute-angsty than spicy. Lots of longing, barely any trauma.”
The woman’s face brightens. “Longing is good.”
You grab another—“CUM2A” by Okay—read the back quickly. Too steamy. You put it down.
“Definitely this one,” you say, handing her the first book. “Safe for nieces, but she won’t be bored.”
She clutches the book in both hands like you’ve given her something fragile. “Thank you. You just saved Christmas.”
“Wow,” you say. “All in a day’s work.”
She laughs and heads toward the register.
You glance up and catch Chaewon watching.
She’s not looking at you head-on. She’s pretending to organize the impulse-buy bookmarks near the register, but her eyes track the woman, then the book in her hands, then you.
When she feels you looking back, her gaze slides away like it never stopped.
You go back to stacking.
The hour until closing moves in knots. You wrap a stack of books in gold paper that tears every time you try to fold a corner. You show three people where the essay collections are. You straighten the children’s rug and watch it go crooked again in under five minutes because a toddler decides to run in a circle on it.
At one point you pass by the register to grab more tape and Chaewon says, without looking up, “You put the wrong edition of Little Women on the display.”
You stop. “What?”
She slides a bag across the counter to a customer, murmurs “Happy holidays,” and only when they leave does she flick her eyes to yours.
“There are three editions in stock,” she says. “Ms. Lim wants the clothbound one with the red cover on the table. You put the cheap movie tie-in one. With the faces.” Her nose wrinkles like the idea offends her.
“People like covers with faces,” you say.
“People don’t know what they want,” she shoots back.
“I thought the point was to sell books,” you say. “Movie tie-in is familiar. Familiar equals safe. Safe equals—”
“Cowardly,” she interrupts.
You blink. “That’s not where I was going.”
“It’s the only place you’re going,” she says.
You stare at her. “You think I’m a coward.”
“You won’t put your own work up for open mic,” she says. “You keep reading half-finished first drafts in workshop and then saying ‘it’s nothing’ if anyone likes it. So, yes.”
You feel something hot crawl up the back of your neck. “At least I don’t slaughter people’s stories in the Q&A portion,” you say.
Chaewon’s jaw tightens. “I give useful notes. I’m not a sycophant.”
“You could try not making people feel like idiots,” you say.
“You could try not writing like you have a brick up your ass,” she answers.
A customer steps up to the register with a stack of true crime and coughs politely.
Chaewon turns away from you so cleanly it’s like someone flipped a switch. “Hi,” she says, voice smooth. “Did you find everything okay?”
Conversation over.
Your chest still feels like she knocked something out of place, though.
You escape back into the middle of the store, where it’s just you and paper.
Outside, the wind has been doing its own thing. You’ve noticed it in the corner of your eye, the way the snowflakes stopped looking delicate and started flying sideways. Now, when you glance at the front window, you see white smeared against the glass, streetlights smudged into halos.
Someone near the holiday cards lets out a nervous gasp when a gust thumps against the door.
Ms. Lim looks up from the bookmarks display, pulls her phone from her apron, and sucks in a breath.
“Okay, update,” she says loudly, tapping the screen. “Blizzard warning just got bumped. They’re closing the main road in twenty minutes.”
The air in the store shifts. People stand up straighter. A guy in a puffer coat looks at his watch as if trying to slow down time.
“We’re closing,” Ms. Lim says, already moving toward the door. “Everybody check out now.”
You and Chaewon move automatically. She speeds up her scanning; you take armfuls of books and carry them for the people who can’t hold everything. The bell rings too much. Coats brush against you. Papercuts sting at the base of your fingers.
Your phone vibrates in your pocket with the campus alert:
SEVERE WEATHER WARNING. AVOID TRAVEL. SEEK SHELTER.
You glance at it. You glance at the window. Snow claws at the glass now, white and dense, no longer pretty.
The last customer finally staggers out with two bags and a stray ribbon stuck to their sleeve.
The bell jingles, and then there’s silence.
Ms. Lim turns the lock, flips the sign to CLOSED, and exhales like she’s been holding her breath for an hour.
“Okay,” she says. “We survived the rush.”
“I mean, the roof is about to blow away,” you say.
Ms. Lim points a gloved finger at you. “Do not jinx my roof.”
Chaewon is already scanning the store, gaze moving over displays, windows, the rare books cabinet, like she’s taking note of liabilities.
“The front romance table’s a mess,” she says.
“It’s fine,” you say. “No one’s coming in now.”
“It’s crooked,” she says.
“It’s romance,” you say. “And what’s more romantic than a crooked table?”
Chaewon aims a look at you that could cut paper.
Ms. Lim shrugs. “I’m pulling the shutter down,” she says. “You two start closing the store. Candles are near the register. If the power goes out, don’t panic, we’re not haunted. The pipes just make… noises.”
“It’s okay, Ms. Lim. I’m not scared of the dark,” you say.
“I know,” Ms. Lim says. “You’re scared of commitment and job interviews. But I didn’t ask.”
She opens the door and the wind punches in, cold and wet and loud. Her Santa hat almost flies off; she catches it with one hand and laughs.
“Back in five if the alley door isn’t frozen shut,” she calls, and then she’s outside, pulling the heavy metal shutter down over the front windows.
Chaewon stands by the glass, watching. You end up next to her without deciding to, shoulder almost brushing hers, eyes tracking the same movement.
The shutter rattles as Ms. Lim hauls it down. Snow swirls in around her feet. Her coat whips.
The lights flicker once.
You glance up at the ceiling.
They flicker again.
“Don’t,” you say under your breath, as if the building can hear you.
The lights go out.
Everything snaps to black so fast your stomach drops. The humming of the heaters stops. The buzzing from the old fluorescent tube in the back disappears. Even the little mechanical whir of the receipt printer dies.
For half a heartbeat, it’s just the storm and breathing.
The emergency lights blink on. They’re low and yellow, barely illuminating the aisles. The store looks different in them, older somehow, shadows stretched long between shelves.
Outside, something slams into the shutter with a metallic boom.
You and Chaewon both flinch.
“Ms. Lim?” Chaewon calls, too loud in the sudden quiet.
The boom comes again. The shutter rattles. Then Ms. Lim’s voice filters in from behind the metal, muffled and thin.
“I’m okay!” she shouts. “The lock’s jammed from the outside! I’m going around to try the alley door—don’t open anything unless you’re sure it’s me! And don’t—”
A gust of wind shrieks around the corner, steals the end of her sentence.
“—freeze!” barely makes it through.
The sound of her boots fades.
Chaewon’s phone vibrates. She takes it out of her pocket, reads something, frowns, and clenches her jaw. As your eyes meet hers, she returns to that impassive, serious expression she always wears.
She puts the phone back in her pocket, but whatever she saw, it had already done its damage—her shoulders now square and the skin around her mouth tight.
“Candles,” she says, already walking for the counter.
You follow. Your legs feel a little floaty, like they forgot how to walk.
Behind the register, Chaewon yanks open the bottom drawer. There’s a jumble of things inside: rolls of receipt paper, three stubby white candles, a pack of matches, a black flashlight wrapped in silver duct tape.
She grabs the matches.
Her hand shakes.
Not a lot. Just a tremor that shivers down to the knuckles.
She sucks in a breath and tightens her grip. An attempt to bully her body into cooperating.
Before you think about it too hard, you reach out and cover her fingers with yours.
“I got it,” you say.
Her head snaps up.
Her eyes flash, startled and defensive. Your hand is warm over hers. You can feel the fine bones there, the way her tendons pull taut.
“I don’t need—” she starts.
You gently slide the box of matches out of her grip. “You have all your fingers,” you say. “Let’s keep it that way.”
You strike a match. The flare of orange is small but shocking. You light the first candle, then a second. The wax catches, flames steadying into two thin petals of light.
You set them on the counter. The glow spreads, softening the hard edges of everything.
Chaewon stares at the candles for a second in disbelief. Then she snatches the matchbox back and lights the third candle herself.
The flame… wobbles.
Something slams into the shutter again. The sound ripples through the metal, through the glass, through your chest.
You and Chaewon both look toward the front.
“She’ll be fine,” you say.
You’re not sure if you’re trying to convince her or yourself.
“Don’t say that,” Chaewon answers. “You can’t know for sure.”
You study her profile in the candlelight. She looks composed from far away. Up close, you can see the giveaway details—how her throat moves when she swallows, how her shoulders are a little too square.
The storm howls. The pipes in the back gurgle once, loudly.
Chaewon closes the drawer with more force than necessary. “Back door,” she says. “If she can’t get in from outside, we should at least know if it opens from in here.”
She scoops up one candle, grabs the duct-tape flashlight, and heads for the back hallway.
“Have you never watched a horror movie? Why would you try to open the back door?” you ask.
She doesn’t look back. “Someone has to.”
You follow, because apparently that someone is not going to be her by herself.
The hallway to the stockroom is narrower in the emergency light, walls yellowed, floor scuffed. The candle flame throws shadows up and down like moving fingers. The metal door to the alley sits at the end, painted the same beige as the walls, long handle vertical, bolt at the top.
Chaewon sets the candle on a nearby crate, puts both hands on the bar, and pulls.
Nothing.
She puts her weight into it. The handle doesn’t move, the bolt doesn’t budge. The door rattles, frame vibrating.
“Come on,” she says through her teeth. “Move.”
She braces one foot against the bottom edge and hauls backward. The muscles in her arms tense under her sweater. Her hair shifts against the clip.
The handle gives a millimeter with a metallic creak and then catches.
“That’s not good,” you say.
“I know,” she says. Her voice has a frayed edge now.
“Chaewon—”
“I said I know,” she snaps.
She tries again. The door stays stubborn.
You reach past her and jiggle the handle, just to feel it yourself. You feel ice in the mechanism, solid and unbothered by her pulls.
“Pretty sure it’s frozen,” you say.
“I can see that,” she says.
“You’re going to dislocate your shoulder,” you say.
“I’m fine.”
She sucks in a breath and goes for it again. The bar barely twitches. The sound it makes is worse than the earlier rattle, like a warning.
“Okay,” you say, and catch her wrist.
Your hand closes around her. Her pulse is fast under your fingers. Her skin is cold enough that you feel the contrast.
She goes still.
“Let go,” she says quietly.
“If I let go, you’re just going to pull at the door again,” you say. “And then we’ll have a stuck door and a dislocated shoulder.”
“That’s my decision to make,” she says.
“Ms. Lim will murder me if I let you hurt yourself in her store,” you say. “On the list of ways to lose a job, that’s probably top three.”
Chaewon stares at you, eyes dark and furious and bright all at once.
“Let go,” she says again.
You do.
Not because she tells you to, but because you feel the way your grip tightens without meaning to, and suddenly you’re very aware of where your hand is and how small her wrist feels in it.
She pulls away like your touch burned. Her shoulders go back up, armor snapping into place.
“Fine,” she says. “Then we wait.”
You both stand there listening to the storm slam itself against the alley side of the building. Somewhere above you a piece of metal groans. The heaters are still dead. You can feel the air cooling with every minute.
“Great,” you say. “Perfect night.”
“We have an emergency kit,” she says briskly, turning toward the stockroom. “Ms. Lim is paranoid.”
You follow her through the door.
Chaewon walks straight to a cabinet and opens the bottom doors like she’s done this before. Inside: a red first-aid kit, a camping stove, a small kettle, two instant ramen cups, a big bag of pretzels, three chocolate bars, and a box of tea bags.
You blink. “We keep a whole apocalypse kit back here?”
“Emergency box,” she says. “And clearly a useful one.” She pulls the stove out, then hands you one of the ramen cups without looking. “Did you eat already?”
“Totally,” you say automatically.
Your stomach chooses that second to make a noise that sounds like a dying animal.
Chaewon’s head turns slowly.
“Oh my god,” she says. “A granola bar is not dinner.”
You make a face. “You don’t know my life.”
Her eyebrows go up. “You literally told everyone last week that your oven is ‘for storage.’”
“That was a joke,” you say.
“It sure doesn’t look like it,” she says.
“It was… half a joke,” you admit.
Chaewon just stares at you for a second, candlelight catching in her eyes. Something in her expression shifts, like something clicks into place that she doesn’t like.
She fills the kettle from a big water jug, sets it on the camping stove, and lights the burner with the matches. The little blue flame catches with a soft whoosh.
You watch her hands. They’re steadier with a task. Her shoulders drop a fraction.
“You’re really prepared for armageddon,” you say.
“We have the kit thanks to Ms. Lim. But yes, I’m always prepared,” she answers.
You sit down on an unopened box and peel back the lid on the ramen cup. Your fingers feel clumsy.
“You’re always like this,” you say.
She doesn’t look up. “Like what?”
“Like… I don’t know,” you say. “Always with a plan. Always on high alert.” You wave vaguely at the organized chaos.
“That’s called being responsible,” she says.
“That’s called being uptight,” you say.
The corner of her mouth twitches, just a little.
Steam starts to gather at the spout of the kettle. The stockroom grows warmer by a few degrees. The shelves throw softer shadows now, the candlelight and blue flame working together.
Chaewon pours the water into your ramen, then into her own cup. She chooses tea instead of a second ramen.
You eat sitting on the box, blowing on noodles that are too hot, salty broth soaking the cardboard smell. It tastes better you thought it would.
Chaewon leans against a stack of shipping boxes, ankles crossed, hands around her mug. Her cheeks are pinker now, probably from the heat.
You take a breath, steadying yourself before you speak.
“Why do you hate me?” you ask.
Chaewon chokes on her tea.
“I don’t,” she says quickly.
You raise your eyebrows.
She glares at you. “I don’t hate you,” she says. “I hate the way you… are.”
“Gee thanks,” you say. “That’s a lot better.”
“You’re just so…” She waves her hand in a circle, searching for the right word. “Careless.”
“I’ll have you know, I shelve the books diligently,” you say.
“Only when someone’s watching,” she shoots back.
“You’re watching all the time,” you say.
Chaewon’s lips press into a line. She looks down into her mug. “Not… all the time.”
“Enough to hear about my oven,” you say.
“You weren’t exactly quiet,” she mutters.
You slurp ramen to buy yourself a second.
When you talk again, your voice comes out quieter. “You killed me in the workshop last month.”
She blinks. “What?”
You poke at the noodles. “The story I turned in. About the kid working at the movie theater. You tore it apart.”
“It needed work,” she says, but her tone is less sharp, like she’s not as sure as she wants to sound.
“You said the third person felt like a dodge,” you remind her. “That it sounded like I couldn’t say ‘I’ and mean it.”
“That was… accurate,” she says. Then she inhales, like she’s about to launch into the full critique. “You write like you’re apologizing for taking up space. It’s frustrating.”
“It’s my story,” you say.
“And that makes it even more depressing,” she says.
You look up at her. “You could have just said ‘I didn’t like it,’ you know.”
“I did like it,” she says quietly.
You stare.
She swallows. “That’s the problem,” she says. “I liked it, and you were still… holding back. And it made me irritated. With you. Not the story.”
You sit there with the cheap ramen smell and the cheap emergency candle and the expensive feeling of having your insides laid out in the stockroom.
“So you shredded me,” you say.
“That’s how I show respect,” she says.
“That’s insane,” you say.
Her mouth twitches. “Do you want me to lie?”
“Then why do you always look like you’d rather eat a hardback than talk to me?” you ask.
Chaewon watches the candle flame for a full three seconds before answering.
“You’re not easy to talk to. You’re… popular,” she says.
You actually laugh at that, a rough sound that surprises both of you. “No, I’m not.”
“You are,” she insists. “In class. People talk to you.”
“They talk to me because they want my help with their work,” you say.
“They laugh at your jokes,” she says.
“I wonder why,” you say, snorting.
Her fingers tighten around the mug. “Because they’re funny,” she says. “Because you’re funny. They like you, even when you don’t try.”
You stare at her.
“You think I don’t try,” you say.
“I think,” she says carefully, “you’re at least pretending not to.”
You set the ramen cup down on the floor before your hands can crush it.
“You have no idea how much I’m trying,” you say.
She looks up. Candlelight catches the worry in her eyes before she can smooth it out.
“Then say it,” she says. “Instead of joking.”
You inhale too fast. The air down here feels heavier.
“My dad called yesterday,” you say. “During your shift. I was in the back.”
Her posture changes, just a little. “Okay,” she says. It’s almost gentle.
“He wanted to know if I could send home money this month,” you say. “From my ‘little campus job.’” You add air quotes with one hand. “Financial aid covers tuition, not… family problems. So I said I’d try. Which means I need all my shifts and maybe more, and I need Ms. Lim not to think I’m useless, and I need you not to think I’m useless either, because you’re…” You trail off, realizing how much you’ve said.
“I don’t think you’re useless,” she says.
You give a short, disbelieving laugh. “You call me lazy twice a week.”
“Lazy doesn’t mean useless,” she says, frowning. “Lazy means… misdirected potential.”
You blink. “That is the worst compliment I’ve ever received.”
“It’s still a compliment,” she counters.
Silence hangs between you for a moment. The kettle has stopped hissing. The storm hums outside like white noise with teeth.
You watch her fingers around the mug. They’re slender, knuckles showing faintly. There’s a nick on her thumb, a thin line of healed skin.
“Then…” you started. “Do you hate yourself?”
Chaewon stiffens. “What?”
You hear the word come out of your mouth again in your head and wince. “I mean,” you say, scrambling, “you talk about people holding back and being pathetic and all that. I was just wondering if you’re…” You circle your hand in the air. “Equally mean to yourself.”
“That’s not what you asked,” she says.
“I panicked,” you say. “Consider it a rough draft.”
She exhales through her nose, a tiny, annoyed sound. “I don’t hate myself,” she says finally.
You arch an eyebrow.
“I don’t.” Her fingers tighten around the mug. “I hate that I have to… stay ahead of everything all the time. I hate that if I stop, everything feels like it’ll collapse.”
“You mean the bookstore?” you ask.
“The bookstore, my GPA, my mother’s blood pressure… take your pick,” she says.
You watch the way her mouth twists on “mother.” It’s quick, but it’s there.
“Was that who that notification was?” you ask.
Chaewon blinks. “What notification?”
“Earlier,” you say. “You checked your phone. You went all—” You imitate her tight shoulders. “—like you’d been plunged into a cold shower.”
She hesitates, then pulls her phone out of her apron pocket. The screen lights her face from below, makes the dark circles under her eyes look darker.
She holds it where you can’t see the screen. Her thumb moves. Her jaw clenches once.
“‘Don’t be stupid about the storm. This job is not worth getting hurt. You have more important things to think about than this part-time nonsense.’” She says it flat, but you can hear the invisible italics.
You feel your own jaw tighten in sympathy. “Wow,” you say. “Merry Christmas to you.”
“She worries,” Chaewon says quickly, like she has to defend it. “She just… thinks this is temporary.”
“This,” you repeat. “You mean the job?”
“She doesn’t just mean the job,” she says dryly. “She means everything. Workshops, open mics, having fun.” Her eyes flick to your apron, then her own. “This is… beneath what she thinks I can do.”
“What do you think?” you ask.
She stares at the steam curling out of her mug. “Some days I agree with her,” she says. “But some days this is the only place that makes sense.”
The kettle ticks as it cools. The storm drums on the far wall, insistent.
You look down at your empty cup. “We’re a mess,” you say.
“We’re college students trapped in a blizzard,” she says. “Mess is implied.”
You watch her for a moment. The tiny emergency candle has burned down a little, wax spilling over the side. The air smells like cheap vanilla and ramen.
Your phone buzzes on the crate next to you, vibrating against the wood.
You both jolt.
You snatch it up. There’s a new text in the group chat Ms. Lim insists on having. The message explains how the roads are closed and how she will come back tomorrow.
You show the screen to Chaewon.
She reads, exhales slowly, and leans her head back against the boxes. For a second, a real, honest second, she lets everything drop. Her shoulders, her jaw, her face.
“We’re stuck here all night,” she says.
“Sleepover,” you say weakly.
She gives you a look. “We are not eight.”
“Speak for yourself,” you say. “I fully plan on building a pillow fort.”
“The pillows are decorative,” she says.
“So we’ll die pretty,” you say.
She almost smiles, then catches herself. “We should get the heater,” she says instead. “And the blankets.”
You stand, joints popping after sitting on the box for too long. “Yes, captain.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it.
You help her carry the space heater from Ms. Lim’s office—a squat, beige thing that looks like it’s seen at least three decades of undergrad winters. Chaewon plugs it into the outlet behind the counter and flips the switch. It hums hopefully, then warms with a faint metallic smell. Somehow there was still some electricity.
You dig out the blankets from under the counter. One is a navy fleece branded with the bookstore logo. The other is a red-and-green plaid that looks like it’s been through a few family living rooms.
You shake them out. Dust floats in the candlelight.
“You take the fleece,” you say. “I’ll take the… holiday picnic.”
“Don’t be stupid,” she says. “We’ll share both.”
“You hate sharing,” you remind her.
“I do,” she says. “But this is an emergency.”
You snort and let her take over blanket logistics. She does it like she does everything else—efficient, precise. The navy fleece goes over the couch in the reading nook. The plaid gets folded on the arm of the armchair nearby. She takes one of the candles and the flashlight over, setting the candle on the low table, the flashlight beside it.
The store looks smaller in the half-light. The kids’ corner rug, the crooked tree, the tables—everything’s part of the same dim room now, not separate sections.
Your breath fogs faintly in front of your lips if you exhale hard enough.
You wrap your scarf tighter around your neck. It’s a dark knit you snagged on clearance last year. You forget you’re still wearing it until the wool scratches your chin.
Chaewon glances over, eyes catching on the scarf. You can see her calculating.
Without warning, she steps up close—closer than she’s been all evening outside the narrow back hallway. Close enough that you can see the tiny mole near her left ear.
“What are you—” you start, but she’s already reaching.
She loops her fingers under the scarf and tugs.
“Hey—”
“Relax,” she says. “You’re terrible at knots.”
You stand there stupidly while she unwraps it, the sudden rush of cold at your throat making you swallow. She smells like cheap tea, candle smoke, and whatever perfume she always wears that you’ve never been able to name.
She shakes the scarf out once and then, instead of putting it on you, throws it back around both your necks, looping it so one end falls on your chest, the other on hers.
You blink down at the wool where it stretches between you.
“This seems counterproductive,” you say. “Now we’re both half cold.”
“We’re sharing body heat,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Basic physics.”
Her face is inches from yours now, the scarf setting a fixed distance that suddenly feels very small. You can’t back up without dragging her with you. You’re not sure you’d want to.
You’re both quiet for a beat.
“You’re weird,” you say.
“You’re wearing a hoodie with holes in it,” she counters.
You want to say something sharp back, but your brain has decided to focus all its energy into not looking at her mouth.
She clears her throat. “We should stay in here,” she says, nodding at the reading nook. “Closer to the heater.”
“And the books,” you say.
“And the books,” she concedes.
You sink onto the couch. The cushion dips under your weight, springs protesting softly. Chaewon hesitates for half a second, then sits too, the scarf pulling her down next to you.
You could have sat with space between you. The couch is big enough for that. She doesn’t. She sits close enough that your thighs brush, just barely, denim on denim.
The fleece blanket is right there, so you grab one end and toss it over both your laps. It settles warm and heavy. Your legs stop shivering.
You can feel her through three layers of fabric and it still feels like too much.
For a while, you just sit there.
The heater hums. The storm beats its fists against the walls. The emergency lights cast their sickly yellow, but the little candle on the table adds soft orange where it can. The store smells like wax and dust and paper and the kind of quiet you only get when the whole world is stuck.
“You know,” you say eventually, staring at the opposite shelf, “this is the part in a romcom where they’d find the old record player and dance in the dark.”
“We don’t own a record player,” Chaewon says.
“Metaphorically,” you say.
“We don’t own a metaphorical record player either,” she says. “We own a Bluetooth speaker that dies every two hours.”
“Wow,” you say. “Ruining all my quips.”
“You’re welcome,” she says.
You shift under the blanket, trying to discreetly move your leg so your knee doesn’t bump hers every time you breathe. You fail.
Her phone buzzes again. She glances down.
Your eyes catch the screen before she can tilt it away.
MOM: Send me your CV again. I want to show it to a friend. You can’t waste your time there forever. The storm is not an excuse. Think about me.
Chaewon flips the phone face-down so fast she almost hits her own mug.
You pretend you didn’t see, but your hands clench under the blanket.
“I hate her,” you say before you can stop yourself.
Chaewon looks over sharply.
“She doesn’t even ask if you’re okay,” you say. “What kind of mother is that?”
“She’s like that with everything,” Chaewon says stiffly. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” you say.
Her mouth sets. “If I wanted therapy, I’d pay someone.”
“Yeah, except we’re two overcaffeinated lit majors in a blackout,” you say. “This is the free trial.”
She snorts despite herself. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I’m funny,” you say. “Less sure about functional.”
She hums at that, low in her throat.
The scarf scratches your jaw every time you talk. Every time she shifts, it tugs at you.
“Why do you keep doing that?” you ask.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like I’m committing a crime every time I breathe,” you say.
Her lips straighten. “I told you,” she says. “You’re… frustrating.”
“Because I won’t read at open mic,” you say.
“Because you won’t do anything at open mic,” she says. “You hide behind… half-finished drafts and self-effacing jokes.”
“You hide behind being mean,” you counter.
“I’m not mean,” she says, offended.
“You told Jenny her protagonist had ‘the emotional range of a potato,’” you add.
“She thanked me for that comment,” Chaewon says. “She even added a scene because of it.”
You throw your head back against the couch, staring up at the dim ceiling. “You know there are ways to help others that don’t involve psychological warfare, right?”
“Not in my family,” she mutters.
You let the words hang for a beat.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “Then consider this… outside your family.”
She glances over.
“I don’t think you’re… temporary,” you say, stumbling a little over the word. “Not here. Not at the bookstore. Not… for me.” You swallow. “I work harder when you’re around. Like, at everything. Because you’ll notice if I half-ass it. And I don’t want you to think I’m—”
“A coward?” she supplies.
“Yeah,” you say. “That.”
She stares at you for a moment, really looks, like she’s trying to see through whatever you’re hiding behind.
Her eyes soften at the edges. “I don’t actually think you’re a coward. And I… I don’t want to be mean. I just didn’t know how to… stop,” she says. “So I just kept doing it. It’s easier than…” Her gaze drops to your mouth for a fraction of a second, then darts away. “Other things.”
Your skin goes hot under your hoodie. “Like… what?” you ask, your voice a little rough.
She takes a slow breath. Sets her mug down carefully on the table. Her hand stays there, fingers splayed near the candle, like she needs something to anchor her.
“Like admitting I like you,” she says.
The words felt like stepping into the ocean. Cold at first, then all warmth.
You blink. Your heart does a weird, useless leap. Your brain offers nothing.
“That’s not… funny,” you say, because nothing else came to mind.
“I’m not joking,” she says, and she’s looking you straight in the eyes now. No flinch. No smirk. Just the raw, awful honesty she usually reserves for other people’s work.
You swallow. “You have a terrible way of showing it.”
“I know,” she says. “Believe me, I know.”
You stare at her for a moment, feeling like the floor’s moved an inch to the left and you’re trying to adjust.
“Today. You yelled at me about the book covers,” you say.
She huffs a small almost-laugh. “That was foreplay,” she says.
Your brain short-circuits. “Okay, wow,” you say. “We’re just—leaping there.”
Her cheeks flare red. “I didn’t mean— I just—” She groans, burying her face briefly in her hands. “I knew this would sound better in my head.”
“It actually sounded perfect,” you say, before you can stop yourself.
She peeks at you through her fingers. “You’re making fun of me.”
“I’m really not,” you say.
You shift, and the scarf pulls at both your necks, drawing you closer. You can feel the heat of her breath now.
“Say you don’t like me back,” she says quietly. “And we can forget this. Blame it on the cold.”
You let out a shaky breath that fogs in the thin cold between you.
“I would,” you say. “But I’m not that good a liar.”
Something like relief and terror flashes across her face at once.
“You’re not going to make me say it again,” she mutters.
“I think you’ve said plenty,” you say. “It’s my turn.”
Her eyes snap back to yours.
“I like you,” you say. The words feel weird and big in your mouth, like you’re twelve again and confessing in some hallway. “Obviously. I wouldn’t spend this much time arguing about shelving with you if I didn’t.”
Her lips tremble at the corner, like she’s fighting a smile and a panic attack at the same time.
“Just… so we’re clear,” she says, because of course she wants clarity even now. “You don’t mean ‘like’ as in ‘we’re friends.’”
“Do friends argue about book covers?” you ask.
“I think so,” she says, puzzled.
You huff out a breath that’s closer to a laugh. “Then no,” you say. “Not like that.”
Silence stretches out between you, but it’s different now. Thicker. Charged.
You can hear your own heartbeat in your ears. The storm outside, the heater, the little candle—all of it fades to a dull hum.
“Okay,” she says faintly.
“Okay,” you echo.
The scarf between you feels suddenly less like an accident and more like a decision.
“Chaewon,” you say, and her name feels different now too.
“Yeah,” she says. Her voice is a little breathless.
“Can I…?” You lift your hand halfway, toward her cheek, then stop yourself. Old habits, always leaving the out.
She watches your hand, then your face.
“Don’t be a coward,” she says.
You let yourself touch her, then. Your fingers skim along her jaw, cool skin under your thumb. She sucks in a breath, eyes fluttering for a second.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” you say, because you need to.
She huffs out a shaky laugh. “You’re seriously giving yourself an out?” she asks.
“Wouldn’t you?” you ask.
She leans in that last inch, closing the space, the wool of the scarf scratching your chin as it tightens.
“Not when I’m sure,” she says.
Her mouth finds yours.
It’s soft at first, almost clumsy. Her lips are colder than you expected, warmed quickly by the press of yours. For a second, you forget how to breathe entirely.
Then your body catches up.
You kiss her back.
Her hand comes up to your chest, fingers curling in the fabric of your hoodie like she needs something to hold onto. You can feel her heart racing under the layers between you. Yours is doing something equally stupid, hammering against your ribs like it wants to make sure she hears it.
When she pulls back after a few seconds, her eyes are wide, pupils blown, breath coming a little too fast.
“Okay,” she says again, dazed now.
“That was—” you start.
“Don’t make a joke,” she warns, still breathless.
“—very efficient use of shared body heat,” you finish, because you can’t help yourself.
She smacks your chest lightly with the back of her hand. “Dumbass.”
“You like me,” you remind her.
“Unfortunately,” she mutters.
Her hand is still on your chest. You can feel the press of her palm through fabric.
You look at her, really look. At the slightly crooked clip in her hair. At the flush on her cheeks that has nothing to do with the heater. At the way her eyes keep darting back to your mouth, like she’s memorizing it.
“Is this okay?” you ask, nodding to where your fingers are still against her jaw.
She nods once, small and sharp.
You let your thumb move, stroking down along the line of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. Her lips part on a small inhale.
“Good,” you murmur, and lean in again.
This time, the kiss clicks.
It’s deeper, surer, all the sharp edges between you melting into something hot and final. She tilts her head, mouth opening under yours, and you follow her lead like it’s the easiest thing you’ve done. Your hand slides from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers dipping into the hair at her nape. She shivers.
Her fingers bunch harder in your hoodie, pulling you closer. The scarf tightens, dragging you together until your noses bump. You both laugh into each other’s mouths, brief and breathless, and then she’s kissing you again, like she’s making up for all the time she spent pretending she couldn’t stand you.
The blanket slips, sliding off one of your knees. The cold air nips at your shin. You don’t care.
Her hand leaves your chest, hesitates in the space between you for a second, then lands at your hip, fingers curling into the denim. Your pulse jumps so hard you can feel it in your ears.
You break the kiss long enough to press your forehead to hers. Your breaths mix in the narrow gap.
“We should—” you start.
“Not stop,” she says quickly, and then flushes. “Unless you want to. Do you—?” The confidence she had a second ago frays at the edges.
This time it’s her giving herself the out. You could tease her. You don’t.
“No,” you say, chest tight. “I don’t want to stop.”
Something in her shoulders unclenches so visibly you almost see it.
“Okay,” she whispers.
Chaewon smiles, eyes scanning yours, just to see if anything changes. It does. Her fingers move—slow, deliberate—into your pants, over your pelvis, toward your cock. She stops at the base of your shaft, giving it a couple tight squeezes like the way you harden at her touch turns her on.
Your pulse snaps awake like it had somewhere to be.
She tilts her head, smiles, and gives you the hungriest look a woman can give. She licks her lips. Hungry. Anticipatory.
It’s obvious she is having fun playing this game, a game that feels like hell for you. Your cock grows harder and harder, straining against the tight fabric of your pants, begging to be let out. Your hips jerk forward as your mouth strains.
She notices you wincing and leans in, lowering her face until it hovers an inch above your jeans. Her breath fogs into the denim.
“I’ll take them off.”
Not a question.
With slow, deliberate tugs, she slides your pants down until you’re exposed. Her head is dangerously close to your cock. As you spring free from under the pants, your cock slaps Chaewon over the nose.
“Ow…” she grunts, but wraps her small hands around your hard cock, smiling.
Fuck. Cold.
“Chae—”
“Shh,” she whispers, fingers tightening on your cock. “I’ll warm you up.”
And then she kisses you. Not gently. Not hesitantly. Like she is hungry and you are the only thing on the menu.
Her mouth claims yours, fierce and all-consuming, her fingers tangling into your head before you can think straight. You kiss her back, your hands grip her hips, drawing her into your lap, trying not to sink into the water too fast. But you are already drowning.
She pulls back just enough to break the kiss, lips brushing yours as she gasps. “God… that should’ve happened ages ago, don’t you think?”
But you can barely think, let alone speak.
“Your mouth tastes pretty good,” she whispers, rolling her hips over yours. An electric jolt surges through both your heads. “I don’t think I’ll be able to go a day without it now.”
“You won’t have to.”
She bites her lip, only just. Almost like she doesn’t want you to see it. “Well, well. Aren’t I a lucky girl?”
Then her mouth finds your neck—soft at first, then teeth. A promise. She giggles and hums into your skin as her hand trails back to your cock, stroking from base to tip with deliberate care. She knows exactly how much pressure to apply to make your toes curl.
You pull her tighter, lips at her jaw, tasting that smile she wears ever since the confession. Her nails dig deep into your shoulder. Her hips roll again, a sound you don’t recognize escaping your mouth.
Her teeth bare deeper into your neck, sucking and licking along the hollow just below your ear.
“Hey,” she whispers into your ear, hand pumping your cock like she has all the time in the world, “Want me to suck your dick?”
As soon as the word leave her mouth, a flush creeps up her neck and settles into her cheeks.
But she doesn’t backpedal. She just holds your gaze, lips parted slightly, hand still wrapped around your cock like it’s hers to offer something to.
Your body answers before your mouth does. Cock twitching in her grip, hips tilting upward like they’re desperate for her to mean it. Her fingers squeeze reflexively, and she feels it. Sees it. That twitch. That involuntary need.
That’s all the confirmation she needs.
She lets out a soft breath—half nerves, half relief—and then starts to move. Not fast. Not showy. Just a quiet, careful shift down between your legs. She kneels like she’s sliding into something sacred, her hands never leaving your skin.
Her eyes stay on you, watching every micro-expression flicker across your face as she leans in closer, lowering her head until you feel her breath again; warm, shallow, hovering just above the head of your cock.
You’re shaking.
Not visibly, probably, but underneath. In your breath. In the way your stomach tightens, in the way your hand curls into the cushion beside you like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
She watches that too.
Then—still watching—she presses her lips to you. Just the tip.
Soft. Warm. Closed-mouth. A kiss.
You groan, quiet, like the sound snuck out before you could decide if it was safe to let it out.
Her lashes flutter.
Another kiss, lower this time. Then she parts her lips, and her tongue flicks out—one slow, purposeful lick along the underside of your shaft. Her fingers tighten at the base, holding you still like she’s tasting you on her terms.
You choke on a breath. Your hips jump just a little, and she hums in response, the sound vibrating into your skin like a promise.
She’s enjoying this.
Not just the effect she has on you, but this. The feel of you. The taste. The power of it.
Her lips part wider, and then her mouth starts to take you in—inch by inch, slow and wet and unbearably controlled. Her tongue cradles you underneath while her lips slide down, fitting tight and perfect around your cock like she wants to feel every reaction drag out of you one movement at a time.
You drop your head back against the couch, jaw clenching, trying not to move too much, trying not to fuck up the rhythm she’s building—because it’s insane, how good she is at this. Not porn-star flashy. Not trying to impress. Just methodical. Measured. Maddening.
Her hand strokes the rest of your shaft in sync with her mouth, slow and twisting, and the whole thing is so hot and so focused that it makes your vision go blurry at the edges.
When she pulls back, it’s not to stop.
It’s just to breathe. To look up at you, spit-slick and flushed.
Her voice is husky. “You okay?”
You let out a breath that might be a laugh or a cry. “No,” you say. “Keep going.”
She leans in again, and this time she takes more. Her jaw loosens. Her throat opens. Your cock slides deeper into her mouth and your whole body tenses like she’s touching a live wire. Her nails dig lightly into your thigh as she finds a rhythm—slow, tight, relentless—and holy fuck, she doesn’t even blink when your hand tangles in her hair, not pulling, just holding on.
She likes it.
You can tell by the little moan she lets slip when you groan her name.
“Chaewon…”
Her pace stays controlled, but you can feel it building now. The tension. The heat. The sheer weight of the moment pressing down on both of you like you’re past the point of pretending this is anything casual. This is happening, and she’s savoring it.
She pulls off with a slick gasp, stroking you lazily while she catches her breath. Her lips are swollen, flushed, parted like she wants to say something but isn’t sure if she should.
You look down at her—ruined—and she smiles like she’s not even close to finished.
“I want you inside me,” she says quietly, thumb dragging up the length of your cock in one slow glide.
Then she leans in again, tongue flicking over the head like punctuation.
“But not until I’ve had my fill.”
She takes you back into her mouth.
Not rushing. Not trying to finish you off. Just settling into it. Lips warm and firm, tongue slow and intentional, like she’s learning the exact shape of you and committing it to memory. Her hand keeps a steady rhythm at your base, grip confident, thumb brushing the sensitive skin there every time she comes back up.
You’re already on edge. Every nerve feels tuned too high.
She hums softly again, pleased with the way your thighs tense, the way your breath breaks. The sound vibrates through you and you swear you feel it in your chest. Your fingers tighten in her hair—not pulling, never pulling—but she still tilts her head slightly, accommodating you, letting you sink a little deeper into the heat of her mouth.
“Fuck,” you whisper, helpless. “Chae…”
She pulls back just enough to breathe, lips dragging slowly along your length as she does. A thin string of saliva stretches, then breaks. Her eyes meet yours immediately.
“You’re shaking,” she murmurs, almost fond. “You want me to slow down… or make it worse?”
Your answer is a wrecked sound that barely qualifies as a word.
She smiles and does both.
Her pace slows, but the pressure increases. Mouth tighter, tongue more deliberate, her hand twisting just enough to make you gasp. She takes her time, edging you without mercy, letting you hover there until there is no more air in your lungs.
You feel it building. Too fast.
“Chaewon,” you warn, breath hitching. “I’m—”
She pulls off immediately, palm firm at your base, stopping you right there. You whine—actually whine—and she looks a little stunned by it, like she didn’t expect that sound to come out of you.
Her cheeks color again, deeper this time.
“Not yet,” she says softly. “I told you. I want you inside me.”
She rises smoothly to her feet, hands still on you, still stroking just enough to keep you aching. She kisses you again—slow, open-mouthed, tasting herself on your lips like she’s claiming something. You groan into her mouth, hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer, desperate for friction.
She shifts, straddling you again, and you feel it immediately; the heat between her thighs, the way she rolls her hips once, experimentally, grinding down against you. You both inhale sharply.
“Oh,” she breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “This could be… dangerous.”
You laugh weakly. “You’re the one doing it.”
“I know. And I’m not going to stop,” she says, and kisses you again, harder this time.
Her hands move with purpose now, tugging at your hoodie, then her own sweater. Fabric piles up around your wrists, your shoulders, the couch. Skin meets skin. She’s warm everywhere. Perfect. She gasps when your hands slide under her shirt, when your thumbs brush under her bra, when you finally cup her breasts like you’ve been imagining all night.
“Is this okay?” you ask again, because you always will.
“Yes,” she breathes immediately. “God, yes.”
She kisses you like she’s done waiting. Like all that tension—the arguing, the watching, the almosts—has finally snapped. Her hips rock again, more insistent, and you can feel how wet she is through the layers between you.
You groan into her neck. “If you keep doing that, I’m not going to last.”
“Fuck—” she says, breathless. “Then we’ll fix that.”
She reaches between you, fumbling just a little this time—nerves finally catching up. She lines you up, pauses for half a second with her eyes squeezed shut like she’s bracing herself.
You grip her hips. “Chaewon—”
She exhales and sinks down onto you.
Slow. Careful. Full.
Both of you freeze the second you’re fully together, the sensation stealing the air from your lungs. She gasps, hands clutching your shoulders, nails biting in as she adjusts, as the stretch gives way to something hot and overwhelming.
“Oh,” she breathes again, wrecked now. “Oh my god.”
You swallow hard, trying not to move until she nods, until she’s ready. Her forehead rests against yours, breaths shallow, eyes fluttering closed.
Then she rolls her hips.
You groan—low, helpless—as she starts to move, slow and deep, like she’s savoring every inch of you. Her rhythm is unhurried, controlled, and it’s somehow even more devastating than before. You hold her like you’re afraid she’ll disappear, thumbs digging into her waist as she rides you, breath hitching with every movement.
Chaewon starts slow, but it doesn’t last.
Not because she loses control. She never does. But because once she adjusts to the feel of you, once the sharp edge of stretch softens into something deeper, something hotter, she moves with intention.
Not rhythm for rhythm’s sake. Not showy. Strategic.
She rides you like she’s trying to memorize how you fit together, like she’s spent months imagining this and now she’s reaping her reward—grinding her hips down in slow, devastating rolls that make your vision white out at the edges. Her palms press into your shoulders for leverage, her thighs tense around yours. Her breath stutters every time your cock hits deep, and still—still—she doesn’t break rhythm.
You’re the one unraveling.
“Jesus,” you gasp, hands digging into her waist. “You’re…”
“Say it,” she pants, lips hovering a breath above yours. Her voice is wrecked, low, demanding.
You try to form a thought. Can’t.
“Fucking perfect,” you groan.
Her laugh is broken and delighted, swallowed by a kiss; sloppy now, open-mouthed and teeth-clicking. Your tongues tangle. She swallows the sound you make when she sinks down hard enough to make your cock throb against her walls.
The wet slick of her, the tight grip, the warmth—you’re dying. You’ve never wanted anything this badly. Never felt someone want you back with this much heat.
She buries her face in your neck, teeth grazing the skin beneath your ear again. “You feel so fucking good,” she whispers. “So big. So perfect. Like you were made to be inside me.”
You groan. Loud, desperate, hips jerking up into her before you can stop yourself.
Chaewon moans.
You feel it in your chest. In your cock. In your spine.
She clenches around you, just once, involuntary. Her rhythm breaks for a second.
You realize—she’s close too.
You grip her tighter, planting your feet, thrusting up to meet her with sharp, hungry precision now. She gasps, rocks back, eyes wide and stunned. The change hits her hard.
“Yes—” she chokes out. “Right there, fuck, there—”
You give her everything. Harder. Deeper. Your cock driving up into her just the way she wants it, your fingers gripping her hips to control the rhythm as her legs begin to tremble around you.
“Chae,” you gasp, breath ragged. “You’re gonna—”
“I know,” she moans, hands sliding to your chest, bracing herself. Her pace turns erratic. She’s chasing it now, so close she can taste it. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”
“I’m not,” you grit out, thrusting up again, hitting the spot that makes her collapse forward into your shoulder with a strangled, broken cry.
That’s the moment she falls apart.
Her body tenses—tight, tighter—then shudders in your arms as her orgasm rips through her. She’s gasping, hips jerking, moaning something you don’t understand against your skin like a confession she can’t hold back anymore.
She clenches around you, pulsing wet heat dragging you to the edge right with her.
You hold her through it, hips still rolling, cock still buried deep until you can’t take it anymore.
“Chaewon—” you warn.
She pulls back, meets your eyes, and nods. Wild-eyed, sweaty, flushed, and beautiful.
“Come,” she says. “I want to feel you.”
That’s it.
You snap.
Your whole body locks up—hands gripping her waist, cock pulsing deep inside her as you bury yourself one last time and come hard. The heat of it floods both of you. You groan through gritted teeth, breath gone, every nerve lit up, every thought reduced to her and the way she feels and the way she takes it, riding you through it until you’re gasping and empty and wrecked.
You don’t even realize how hard you’re holding her until she falls on your chest.
Breathing hard. Shaking a little. Still twitching every time your hips shift.
You both stay there, tangled in each other, wrapped in shared heat and sweat and whatever the hell just passed between you.
You kiss her shoulder. She hums. Her fingers curl around your arms like she’s afraid you’ll float away if she lets go.
“You okay?” you whisper, throat rough.
She lifts her head slowly. Hair a mess. Eyes glassy. She nods.
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Just… can’t feel my legs.”
You snort. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”
Her lips twitch. She smacks your chest lightly, but doesn’t move away. “You’re lucky I like you.”
“Didn’t sound like luck a minute ago,” you murmur.
She groans into your neck, then laughs.
You let the silence settle. Outside, the storm howls, distant again. Somewhere behind the counter, the emergency candle’s burned low.
You’re warm now.
Warm, full, utterly spent, and holding Chaewon in your lap like you never want to be anywhere else.
“I still hate how you shelve books,” she says sleepily.
“Yeah?” you murmur. “I hate how you compliment others like you’re insulting them.”
Option A chosen by readers:
Wonbin and Yujin trauma bond through sex.
My bare knees pressed onto the cold, hard floor, and my hands were somehow bound together by a leather cuff. The room was red. Overwhelmingly red. I couldn’t tell where I was or how I got there, but it felt eerily familiar, like somewhere I’d been—or at least, seen before.
“What’s your fantasy?” a soft, familiar voice asked.
But before I could even process the question, it was already answered.
“You’re my fantasy, ma’am,” a guy said next to me, eyes fluttering as he stroked himself with a carnal desperation. “This is a dream come true.”
A Jack. He was young, thin, and relatively short compared to everyone else. There was a brown leather collar around his neck, and he too, was on his knees, right in front of a pair of legs that stretched for miles. I recognized them instantly—Wonyoung’s legs. There was no doubt in my mind. I knew them like they were my own hands.
Her hair was perfectly curled and her makeup was bold and seductive. She wore a black, almost see-through qipao that hugged her figure so perfectly it could make someone cry, and around her neck was the glorious black collar that had become her signature accessory. The mark of the Black Ace.
“Stand up,” she commanded, in the same authoritative tone she’d always used on me. “Stop touching yourself.”
He scrambled to his feet almost immediately, hands dropping to his sides like a soldier.
“Uh-uh, eyes on me,” another voice said, and my gaze snapped forward without asking me for consent.
Kep1er’s Xiaoting sat before me in a pink dress of similar design—her hardened nipples visible through the see-through fabric, while a pink collar of a slightly different variation wrapped around her neck. Her scent was uniquely intoxicating, a mixture of light perfume and just her skin itself. She spread her legs open, revealing her glimmering folds underneath the flaps of the dress, signaling me to come closer with her fingers.
I obeyed instinctively, but my eyes couldn’t stay focused.
My attention moved back to Wonyoung as she slid off the red velvet chair and dropped to her knees in front of the Jack, eyes locked in like a predator on a hunt. He trembled before her, swallowing hard as if he was salivating from just breathing the same air.
“I want you to count to ten,” she said gently, planting soft kisses on his throbbing cock that was leaking with pre-cum. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes ma’am,” he said, shaking from pleasure as she continued pecking his cock. “God, you’re so beautiful—I’ve been a fan for—”
“Shh…” She held him still and ran her tongue around his balls. “I’m just an Ace, and you’re just a Jack. Nothing more and nothing less. Do you understand?”
He nodded obediently and bit his lip as her tongue swirled all over his skin, all the way up to his nipples, causing him to moan loudly.
Xiaoting’s pretty fingers traced sloppy circles over her small clit, but all I could focus on was Wonyoung.
“Are you ready?” Wonyoung puckered her lips and wrapped it around the head gently. “Count for me.”
“One—”
The moment he started, she dove into his cock, letting it slide deep into her mouth. His knees buckled, and she held onto his thighs to hold him in place.
“Two…”
She continued, slurping loudly as her mouth worked him thoroughly and carefully while her eyes were completely fixed on his like they were having a staring contest.
“Three—aah—”
The number fractured into a loud moan while her cheeks hollowed with every pull. Saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth, coating his shaft with shiny little trails.
“F-four…”
She hummed around his length and then took him deeper, throat relaxing to swallow more of his cock, her nose brushing against his pubic hair. Her head moved in a blur, taking him to the base each time, and her qipao rode up to expose the curve of her ass as she arched forward.
“Stop looking over there,” Xiaoting scolded, pulling my face between her thighs. Her warm wetness moistened my face immediately. “I’m your Ace. Your job is to please me.”
“Five…” I heard him through Xiaoting’s soft thighs as her juices engulfed my mouth, trying to keep balance with my hands cuffed below.
“Come for me,” she demanded, but I couldn’t tell who said it.
Without even knowing why, my hands moved on their own as I began stroking myself mindlessly while my mouth sucked fervently on her smooth flesh.
“Six…oh g-god…”
My tongue darted out on instinct, lapping at her folds while she leaked onto my lips. “Pay attention,” Xiaoting said, pushing my face harder into her pussy. “Stop looking over there.”
“Se…ven…I-I can’t…I can’t hold it…”
Xiaoting’s fingers tightened in my hair, rocking her hips to fuck my face roughly, painting my lips completely with her lust.
“Eight—I’m coming—I’m com—” His words dissolved into a guttural moan as his body pulsed hard.
Wonyoung held for a moment, letting his orgasm travel through her mouth while her tongue continued massaging his shaft. He screamed in ecstasy, nearly crumbling to pieces.
“You’re amazing…you’re so amazing…oh my god…” he cried, falling to his knees, chest heaving while his face was painted with pure bliss.
“Open,” Wonyoung ordered, her voice muffled with cum.
He obeyed instantly, mouth gaping with his tongue out. She leaned in, tilting his head back with her free hand, and let the load drip from her lips into his mouth.
“Taste it. Swallow your desire for me.”
Then she pushed it deeper with her fingers, smearing it across his mouth, forcing him to swallow his own cum while she watched, eyes gleaming with a terrifying dominance.
“Good boy,” she purred, wiping the remnants from her chin and shoving her fingers into his mouth for him to clean until he gagged. “Savor it for the rest of your life.”
“I love you…I love you so much…” he whimpered, crawling like a zombie as she shooed him away.
“Damn, your High Ace is incredible,” a voice murmured from across the room. “Her mouth is really no joke. Eight seconds? No wonder you went through hell to win her bid.”
The King of Spades’ familiar chuckle filled the room as he swirled the ice around his glass. “I gave up a very valuable asset for her without even knowing about her talent. It worked out quite well in the end.”
“Clubs still thinks he got the better end of that deal, but I beg to differ after seeing this.”
“Just wait, you’ll see that she’s got more to offer than just a killer tongue.” He paused, taking a sip out of the dark liquor. “But hell, I’d like to see the High Ace of Diamonds in action too. It’s been a while.”
“My Red definitely has some tricks of her own. She’s a weapon on her knees.”
“Where are your other two? Your deck’s half empty.”
“Black and White are in punishment right now with their Queen, so they couldn’t make it.”
He chuckled again. “The merciless Queen of Diamonds…I haven’t seen her in ages, how is she doing?”
“She’s great. Maybe she’ll join us next time and you can see for yourself. Bring yours, too. It’ll be a nice reunion.”
“Mine stopped listening the moment she got crowned. But we’ll see—don’t expect a show from her though.”
“Today’s show is good enough for me.”
Their glasses clanked. “When in Macau,” one of them said.
The other laughed. “When in Macau indeed,” he repeated.
“On your knees,” a voice said to the right of me.
I pulled my face out of Xiaoting’s thighs and looked over, her wetness still clinging to my chin. Twice’s Tzuyu was wrapped in a bright red qipao that barely covered her long legs, and a deep crimson collar wrapped her neck like a ribbon on an expensive present.
The two Jacks in front of her climbed over a low padded bench, spreading themselves in front of her as their cocks dangled downwards, swaying with their every move.
“Ugh, just fucking go away if you’re so preoccupied!” Xiaoting snarled, shoving my face away. “You—get over here!” She curled her finger at one of Tzuyu’s two Jacks. He hesitated for a moment just before crawling over to her, leaving her senior with just one.
“Are you stealing my toys now?” Tzuyu asked with a shy smirk as she watched him scurry over like a puppy.
“Sorry sunbae,” Xiaoting said, holding onto his head as she casually guided it between her slender thighs. “That one’s just so useless.”
“You’re just so bold for a Pink, it really throws me off.” Tzuyu smiled before turning back to her other Jack, her tone changing instantly. “And you—aren’t you embarrassed?” she said, slapping his ass loudly. “What kind of position is this for a man to be in?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he cried, but his voice cracked with excitement. “I’m so ashamed right now.”
“Tell me your fantasy again,” she said, spreading his cheeks apart like she was opening a gift.
“For you to—aaah!” His voice cut off as she buried her tongue between his crack and slurped loudly, twirling it around his hole just before running it across his balls and down to his length below.
“Say it properly or else I’ll stop,” she said, stroking his cock slowly as she kissed his twitching hole.
“Lick…” he whimpered, a thin line of pre-cum dripping down like a spider web.
“Lick what?” She continued, repeatedly running her tongue up from his shaft all the way to his ass, flicking in circles each time.
“Lick my ass until I come…please ma’am…” he begged, his face almost as red as her collar.
Tzuyu’s lips curved in satisfaction. “That’s better.”
Without another word, she continued milking him with her face buried between his cheeks. He squirmed on the seat, hands bound on the ridges as Tzuyu devoured him from behind.
“Your tongue feels so good…it’s so deep…” he cried as she spread his cheeks wider, twirling her finger against his hole as saliva dripped down his flesh. “I’ll come buckets for you, ma’am…”
“Come for me,” Xiaoting said, holding a finger to her stolen Jack’s forehead. “Keep jerking yourself while you look at me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, nodding. His eyes were stuck to her crotch like glue, drool falling over the sides of his mouth as he gripped his cock hard in his palms. “I’m gonna come just from the sight of your beautiful pussy.”
“Good boy,” she said, moaning lightly as she played with herself for him. “Look carefully while you come, don’t even blink.”
“You have the most beautiful pussy in the world, ma’am…”
The room pulsed with their combined symphony— Tzuyu’s slurping, the Jacks’ broken pleas, Xiaoting’s breathy commands, and the distant clink of glasses from the watching Kings.
To my left, Wonyoung had already mounted another Jack, spreading his legs open with a strap-on buckled around her waist, the length slick with shiny lube.
“Tell me your fantasy,” Wonyoung said, stroking his cock with her right hand while guiding her dildo around his entrance, teasing it in circles.
“I want Jang Wonyoung to peg me,” he whimpered, eyes teary with both anticipation and fear.
“Tsk tsk tsk…” Wonyoung shook her head, slowly entering his hole. “You can never address an Ace by her name. Is this your first day or are the rules different for you?”
“They’re the same, Wonnie,” Xiaoting said, moaning softly from the side. “Our Jacks are just dumb as rocks.”
“I’m so sorry—” Before he could finish, she had already completely slipped herself inside. “Ungh—”
“I’m the Black Ace of Spades to you,” she growled, thrusting into him while gripping his cock in her hand. “Remember that. Etch it into your soul.”
“Yes, ma’am—ahhh—”
“Come for me,” Wonyoung commanded, jerking him roughly while she continued fucking him without any mercy. “Shoot your disgusting cum all over yourself.”
“Yes—please—please—”
To my right, Tzuyu’s Jack let out a ragged groan, his hips twitching as her tongue assaulted his hole with fierce laps, plunging in and out, slurping up the saliva that coated his balls. She held his cheeks pried open, nails digging into the flesh, her mouth devouring him like she owned every inch.
“Come,” Tzuyu demanded, not touching his length even once.
As if her words were magic, strings of cum bursted out of his cock in waves as she kissed his hole roughly, flicking her tongue in between each peck while his cries filled the room.
“I’m c-coming so much…thank you…thank you…”
Tzuyu rose slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before delivering one final, stinging smack to his ass, the red handprint blooming instantly. “Clean it up with your tongue. Every last drop—or else I’ll never do it again.”
“I’m coming—fuck, I’m coming!” Wonyoung’s Jack wailed to my left, his legs shoved up higher toward his chest as she folded him in half while hammering into his ass with wild, punishing thrusts.
“Look at you, crying tears of joy while Jang Wonyoung wrecks your hole,” she said, chuckling condescendingly. “Do you see the difference between you and me? I can say my name, but you can’t. You’re just a pathetic little cumslave.”
“Yes, ma’am—I’m your slave—I’m—”
He exploded upward, cum racing in hot jets across his stomach, chest, and even splashing on his chin and lips. Wonyoung’s devilish smile widened as she watched, slowing her thrusts to grind deep inside him, letting him ride out the spasms around the buried dildo.
“Get out of my sight now.” She tore the strap-on off herself as she stood up, hovering over his trembling body that was covered in sweat and cum.
Tzuyu suddenly turned to me and tugged Wonyoung’s hand. “Wonnie…what are we gonna do about this one? Isn’t he one of yours?”
“Oh yeah,” Wonyoung murmured, stalking toward me on all fours like a feral animal. “I’m gonna have fun with this one.”
“Wonyoung—wait—it’s me—” I stammered, inching away, but it was almost impossible without access to my hands.
She tilted her head like a cat. “Wonyoung? Did you just call me by my name? A Jack of Spades should know better than this…you’re dead meat.”
“I’m not a Jack—it’s me, Wonbin—”
Before I could finish, Xiaoting lunged onto me, straddling my waist and pinning my shoulders to the cold floor with her knees. “You really piss me off,” she said, grinding her soaked folds over my length. “I’m going to fuck you senseless until you apologize for being a useless scumbag.”
“Come to my private room now,” I heard the King of Diamonds say to Wonyoung from afar. “Show me what you spades are really all about. Karina was rather disappointing last time, such a shame she’ll never switch with Ningning.”
“I did warn you that Rina was a serial folder.” Master chuckled from the distance. “My Wonnie’s different though. She can last all night. I’m sure you’ll have tons of fun.”
“Wonyoung—” I yelled, but Tzuyu had already climbed onto my face, smothering my mouth with her pussy.
“She can’t hear you, much less save you. You’re deep in diamond territory now,” she said, gripping the sides of my head with her thighs. “Besides…His Majesty has plans for her tonight. This is her show after all.”
“Wonyoung! Don’t go!” I tried to shout, but Tzuyu pressed her weight onto me, flooding my mouth with her wetness.
“Don’t worry about Wonnie,” Xiaoting said, sinking right into me, her walls clenching around me like a fist. “I’m going to fucking eat you alive tonight.”
Tzuyu yanked my hair and rocked her wetness across my mouth and nose, flooding my breath with her scent. “Oh, and for the record…our Jacks aren’t allowed to fold.”
“Wonyoung! Wonyoung!”
My whole body snapped upright like I’d been yanked by a wire.
“Hey—hey—are you okay?” Yujin’s hand found my forearm and held me steadily. “Relax, it was just a dream.”
“Y-Yujin,” I panted, catching my breath. My back was soaked with sweat, hair stuck to my forehead. “It’s you—you’re here.”
Yujin nodded tenderly and rubbed slow circles around my chest to calm my heart down. “Did you have a nightmare?”
I looked at the dull, gray ceiling as the red room slowly faded from my mind. “Y-yeah. Nightmare. Right. Just a nightmare.”
“What happened?”
I took in a deep breath, trying to recall the dream. “Just that ‘show’ video we watched with Tzuyu and Xiaoting,” I said, my mouth tasting like metal. “Except…I was one of the Jacks, I think.”
She sighed. “I told you not to keep watching that one…”
“You watched it, too.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one having nightmares,” she said, fanning my face. As usual, her tone wasn’t mean—just honest.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand.
“It’s okay, you didn’t wake me,” she said, gently rubbing her thumb on my wrist. “I was having trouble falling asleep anyways.”
Weeks had gone by without any word from Wonyoung. She ignored all 24 of my texts and 8 of my calls. I did my best to keep busy with school and my part-time job, but life in Seoul felt so hollow and meaningless without her. Food didn’t taste like anything but paper, and sleep wasn’t even an escape anymore; it was an express trip to hell with these endless nightmares of those god-forsaken videos. For the most part, they just replayed in my dreams, but on some nights like these, I’d be pulled right into them.
Yujin was nice enough to let me stay at her apartment after Wonyoung kicked me out, which worked out fine for the both of us since she spent most of her days at the girls’ dorm anyways. I was mostly alone, aside from the occasional nights she’d come back to give me some company, just to check if I was okay.
And sometimes, for other purposes. We never really discussed it, but we didn’t need to. It was a secret that needed no explanation; one that was exclusively ours.
“How come you can’t sleep?” I asked, feeling my heart rate finally slow down.
She shrugged beside me, shifting her body like she was trying to find a comfortable spot on the bed for the 100th time. “Stress, I guess.”
I could still recall all the chaos that I had been a part not too long ago when I was their assistant manager. “Your schedules must be crazy now that you’re promoting again.”
“Kind of, yeah. We also have to resume our world tour in a couple weeks.”
“Oh yeah. Paris, right?”
“Yep.” She turned over to face me, resting her cheek on her hands. “I guess you can’t join us this time because of school, huh?”
I paused, letting reality hit me in the face for just a second. “School’s not the only reason.”
She sighed and held onto my arm. “Things were so different just a month ago.”
“I should’ve never come here,” I said, staring at the blank ceiling until my vision blurred. “Should’ve just stayed in New York.”
She was quiet for a moment, as if finding the right words to say.
“But then we’d never meet each other,” she finally murmured, her other hand coming up to brush a stray piece of hair off my forehead. Her touch was gentle, almost absentminded.
“Right, and your life would be infinitely less stressful as a result of that.”
She chuckled. “Okay, true.”
“You weren’t supposed to agree with that,” I said, finding myself smiling back.
“Why not? I’m not your girlfriend or your best friend, don’t expect me to coddle you with kind words.”
My fingers found hers under the covers, and I held her hand tightly. “I have no idea what you are, Yujin.”
“How about…a ridiculously pretty noona who’s actually an angel sent from above to keep you from losing your mind?”
I turned to see her holding back laughter. “I’m not your boyfriend or your best friend, don’t expect me to agree with your crazy delusions.”
She faked a gasp. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”
“That wasn’t the delusional part.”
We cracked into laughter and held each other closer, watching the city lights paint the ceiling in strange patterns as our breaths filled the room. My relationship with Yujin had turned into this—something both simple and complicated at the same time. We didn’t have any romantic feelings towards each other, but we were strangely intimate and overly comfortable whenever we were alone. Kissing became super natural, sex was a very regular occurrence, and we almost always cuddled each other to sleep afterwards. But when morning came, or whenever anyone else was around, we were as platonic as can be. It wasn’t even awkward to switch it off. If anything, it felt perfectly right.
“Hey…” Yujin’s hand started moving underneath the covers. “You’re still hard from your nightmare…”
“S-sorry…” I said, shutting my eyes in shame. “Is it distracting you?”
But I already knew the answer.
“A little bit,” she whispered, inching closer to me. Her breath smelled like toothpaste and something peachy from her night-time lip mask. “Can I help at all?”
“Don’t you have to get up early tomorrow?” I asked, but we both knew it didn’t matter.
“Mhmm,” she said, climbing over me like it was already decided. “But I can’t sleep…so maybe we can both help each other.”
She pulled off her shirt in one smooth motion, revealing her gorgeous body above me, right before her lips found mine like they could see in the dark. Her chest brushed against me as she leaned over for a deep kiss, slowly and carefully, in a familiar rhythm that was entirely hers.
Everything was so soft. Her skin, her hair, her breasts, and especially her lips. Somehow, Yujin’s touch had become my salvation. It was the only thing that made sense anymore.
“Do you think we can roleplay again?” she whispered against me, her lips still brushing mine like they were playing tug-o-war. “Like the other night? I really liked it.”
Her sexual appetite grew wilder by the day, and for whatever reason, she became obsessed with roleplaying as master and slave—with herself as the latter. It started as a suggestion, a playful joke, but quickly escalated into a need. She even went as far as buying herself a black collar for some of our steamier nights.
It admittedly helped me cope with the loss that I couldn’t properly mourn for, and if it weren’t for Yujin, most of my nights spent alone would’ve led me to completely spiral out of control from the hole that Wonyoung left in me. We were each other’s anchors—two hearts riddled with guilt and pain that nobody else could’ve understood.
“Does it feel good like this?” she murmured, pulling back just enough to gasp the words, her breath hot against my wet tip before she dove back in, sucking harder.
“It feels good,” I breathed, feeling her warm saliva drip down my thighs. “It always feels really good. God, you’re so good…”
She released me with a wet pop, looking up with pleading eyes, tears already glistening at the corners. “Can you fuck my throat until you come again?” she begged, stroking me to the same rhythm of her ragged breaths. “Use me and then toss me like a toy.”
“Yujin…what’s gotten into you lately?” I asked, but I knew the question was useless.
“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking as she stroked me faster, tightening her grip. “I deserve it. Treat me like your worthless fuckdoll. Choke me with your cock until I can’t breathe.”
I pulled her up for a deep, slow kiss. Our lips tangled as I held her tightly in my arms, trying my best to pour all the comfort I had in me into her. “But you’re not a fuckdoll, Yujin*.* And you’re not worthless.”
“No, no, I am,” she insisted, nearly tearing. “It should’ve been me—I should’ve been the one to—”
Her words were cut short as I spun her around and climbed over her, sinking myself right into her warmth as I gripped onto her wide hips to hold her steady. “Please stop saying things like that. It shouldn’t have been anyone.”
She shook her head frantically, her hands flying to her own throat, fingers digging in as she squeezed. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t good enough back then.”
“Stop it,” I said, reaching her wrist to pry her hand away. “Stop treating yourself like that.”
But she ignored me, pulling her arm free and slapping her own cheek with a sharp crack that made me flinch. Her skin immediately turned red under her fingers. “I’m a stupid whore, Wonbin. Treat me like one, please. Punish me. It’s my fault that you guys aren’t together. Fuck me like you hate me—”
“Yujin, that’s not true at all. Stop saying that,” I pleaded.
But my body didn’t seem to agree at all. The more she begged for punishment, the faster my hips moved, slamming into her with a desperate, brutal force that wasn’t mine.
“Choke me,” she said, grabbing my wrist and pulling it to her throat, forcing my hand into place. “Please.”
“Isn’t this too hard?” I asked, trying to loosen my grip, but she pressed my fingers down harder.
Her lips parted, and her eyes fluttered shut as I thrusted into her. “No—please—just a little harder. Make me yours. Use me. Please.”
“Yujin, I’m already—”
Without even realizing it, she’d already slapped me across the face. “Stop being a pussy and just fucking choke me!” she screamed, but a horrified look formed on her own face the moment the words left her lips. “Oh my god—I’m so sorry, I—”
“It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” I gave in and tightened my grip on her neck, feeling her pulse race under my palm. “This is what you want, right?”
“Y-yes. God, yes. I want to be your slave so bad, Wonbin. Claim me as yours, please.” Her sobs mixed with moans, but her walls clenched tighter, pulling me deeper as her arousal flooded down my shaft.
“You’re mine, An Yujin,” I said awkwardly. The words didn’t feel right at all.
Instead, my body spoke for me. I picked up the pace and fucked her relentlessly while the bed creaked beneath our sweaty bodies.
“Use me however you want, okay?” She moaned loudly, locking her legs around my waist. “Fuck me all night until I can’t think anymore, please please please…”
Just like every other night, I knew that I couldn’t convince her otherwise. All I could do was give her what she wanted until her guilt—or whatever it was—subsided. Until all that was left of her was a trembling, gasping mess.
I didn’t know if it was even therapeutic or dangerously toxic, but I was in no position to question it. It somehow became a ritual for us; a way for her to punish herself for a crime she never committed, and a way for me to channel the grief and rage that should’ve never existed.
We were just two broken souls trapped in these battered bodies. And maybe somewhere inside me—as much as I hated to admit it—something was being satisfied, too.
***
“Make a wish!” Liz shouted over the chorus of cheers and clapping.
I closed my eyes. The wish came to me instantly without any thought—it always did. The same one I’d made every year since the day I met her.
I wish for us to both be happy, Jang Wonyoung. Whether it’s together or apart.
I took a deep breath. Twenty tiny flames vanished in a single exhale.
Yujin set the cake down, and the girls broke into another round of applause. “Happy birthday, Park Wonbin!”
“What’d you wish for oppa?” Leeseo asked, cautiously picking a strawberry off the frosting, as if anticipating to be scolded.
“He can’t tell you, otherwise it won’t come true!” Rei said, playfully wagging her fork.
I smiled. Everyone always says that, but if that rule were actually true, then I was doomed from the start—because I’d never told anyone, and still, after all these years, it hadn’t come true. Not for me, at least.
“Thanks for taking the time out to celebrate my birthday with me,” I said, my heart warm for the first time in a while. “You guys really didn’t have to.”
“Of course we had to,” Liz said, hands on her hips. “It’s your birthday! You can’t spend it alone.”
Rei passed out paper plates to everyone. “Yeah, you’re part of our family now. Even if Wonyoung breaks up with you, you’re still our Wonbin.”
“She didn’t break up with him,” Gaeul scolded quietly. “Don’t say it like that.”
“How can I say it then? They haven’t seen each other in nearly a month.”
“They’re just fighting. It’s normal.”
“For this long?” Rei muttered under her breath.
“Alright guys, come on,” Yujin interrupted. “Let’s cut the cake already!”
“Finally,” Leeseo groaned. “I’ve been dreaming about cake ever since our promotions ended. Speaking of which, we never got a cake for that, did we?”
I glanced at the empty chair beside Yujin, the one that should’ve been Wonyoung’s. It wasn’t until then that I’d realized how long it had been since I’d last seen her. Not the countless HEYA performances that I’d watched just to catch a glimpse of her face, but *her—*standing close enough to hear her hum under her breath or watch her eyes light up when she laughed.
For a second, I could almost picture her there, a fork in her hand, pretending to scold Leeseo for eating the strawberries too early. The image felt so real that when I blinked, the emptiness hit harder.
“How’s she been anyways?” I asked mindlessly through their chatter.
“Huh? Who? Oh—Wonyoung?” Rei looked around, as if hoping someone else would answer.
But no one said a word.
Silence stretched on for ages until Liz finally sighed.
“Honestly…”
Everyone’s attention snapped toward her at once, eyes wide, silent warnings in their gazes, like they were begging her not to continue.
My chest tightened, and a strange, uneasy chill crept up my neck. “What?” I asked.
Liz glanced at the girls, mouthing, Should I tell him? Some shook their heads; others stared at the table.
“What is it?” I asked again.
“Welp, it’s too late to turn back now…” Rei sank to her seat.
“Don’t,” Gaeul whispered. “You’ll ruin his birthday.”
“No, tell me.” I pressed.
There was more silence as everyone looked at each other nervously.
“…We haven’t seen Wonyoung in almost a week now…ever since our last Inkigayo stage…she’s just been…gone.”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean, gone?”
“It’s fine!” Gaeul jumped in quickly. “She takes breaks here and there, and we’re done with promotions, so it’s—”
“She hasn’t been answering any messages in our group chat either,” Rei added quietly.
“She’s probably just on another trip or shooting commercials.” Yujin sneaked in a nervous chuckle. “We have to go to Europe next week, so I’m sure she’ll show up again soon.”
But the words sounded forced—like everyone was trying to convince even themselves, not just me.
For whatever reason, the room started spinning, and my heart pounded so heavily I thought I was going to pass out.
“I need some fresh air,” I said, heading towards the balcony.
“Why’d you tell him?” Gaeul hissed as I walked away.
“He deserves to know, doesn’t he? We’re all worried.”
“There’s nothing to worry about, it’s not like this is the first time.”
“But she usually still texts us…”
The warm air filled my lungs as I stepped onto the balcony. The city stretched before me, loud and alive—everything I wasn’t. Cars raced below, a thousand tiny lives moving forward while mine felt like it had stopped.
I gripped the balcony rail, trying to steady my breathing. I told myself she was fine. She had to be fine. This wasn’t the first time she’d disappeared for a few days. She always came back. Always.
The city wind brushed past my face, and for a moment I thought I could smell her perfume again—soft, floral, sweet. I looked at my phone, hoping to see a text from her, teasing me for overthinking like always.
But there was only the reflection of my own face in the glass—just before the screen woke up, taunting me with a photo of us together. Our smiles felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.
“Wonbin-ah,” Yujin’s voice came from behind me—gentle, but hesitant. The sliding door clicked softly as she stepped out, the sound barely carrying over the noise of the city below. “Are you okay?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, eyes still fixed on the skyline that felt so far away, just like her.
“I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Aren’t you worried?”
She hesitated. “A little.”
“Wonbin-ah,” Liz stepped out next, guilt heavy in her voice. “I’m sorry for bringing it up, I really didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”
“No one knows where she is?” I asked quietly as the other girls followed behind her. “Not even Manager Kim?”
They shook their heads. “He just says that she’s taking a break.” Gaeul murmured. “But no one’s seen her since.”
A break.
There was no bigger lie than that. Wherever she was, it definitely had something to do with the King of Spades, but I couldn’t expose her secret in front of everyone. Not like this. Not ever.
I looked at Yujin, wishing I could ask her more questions in private, but the panic in my chest grew faster than I could contain it, and before I could think twice, the words slipped out.
“Are any of you friends with Karina or Yuna?” I said, turning to them.
The girls exchanged puzzled looks, but Yujin froze. Her expression didn’t change much—just a quick, subtle flicker. She understood.
“Unnie…you know both of them, don’t you?” Leeseo asked, trying to break the silence.
Yujin nodded subtly. “We never exchanged numbers, though.”
“But why does it matter?” Liz asked, looking between all of us. “What’s Karina or Yuna got to do with anything?”
I hesitated, glancing at Yujin before answering. “I just…have a strange feeling they might know where Wonyoung is. That’s all.”
“Huh?”
“I’m so confused…”
“Yeah, what are you talking about?”
“Wonyoung’s never spoken to either of them outside of special stages...”
“I think I know how to find them,” Rei said, suddenly raising her hand like a student volunteering in class.
“What? How?”
The girls circled her, as if she was anointed the leader of some devised rescue mission.
“But…the thing is…” Rei suddenly grinned mischievously. “We might have to go clubbing tonight.”
Leeseo shrieked. “Clubbing?”
“Rei…this isn’t the time for jokes,” Liz said with a sigh.
But Rei was unfazed. “I’m serious! There’s a private lounge that everyone goes to called Gachi. Today’s Friday, right? We can probably find them there.”
Liz crossed her arms. “You just want to go clubbing!”
“No, she’s right,” Gaeul said, nodding slowly. “That’s usually the easiest way to find anyone.”
Liz frowned. “How come I’ve never heard of this place?”
“Because you don’t go clubbing,” Rei sang, smiling in triumph.
“Neither do any of you!”
I stayed quiet. Their voices started to fade again, not from distance this time, but from the noise inside my own head.
Whether or not Rei’s idea was going to work, if there was even a sliver of chance at finding the other Aces—or even a small hint, it would’ve been worth it. No matter what, it was still better than sitting around waiting for answers.
“Let’s go,” I finally said. “To this club.”
Rei’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“I’ll go with you,” Yujin said immediately.
“Me too,” Gaeul added.
“But I’m not old enough to go clubbing!” Leeseo whined, tugging on Liz’s arm as if she could magically make her age a few years.
“I’ll stay home with you,” Liz said, patting her back. “We can bake cookies and watch romcoms together while these hooligan delinquents go hunting.”
“Don’t get too cozy just yet,” Rei said, putting her arms around both of them. “There’s something we all need to do first.”
“What?”
Rei’s grin widened, her eyes glinting with excitement. “Go shopping.”
The girls had collectively decided to pool in money to buy me a really expensive outfit for my birthday, which I had turned down multiple times, but Rei insisted that we weren’t going to blend in if I didn’t look the part—whatever that meant.
The six of us ended up spending almost four hours at a giant department store. Rei and Gaeul took turns arguing over which designer brands looked best on me, while Yujin kept fixing my collar like a stylist on set. After about thirty minutes of fussing, they all split off to hunt for their own outfits. Rei immediately zeroed in on Yujin, determined to make her look ‘as dangerously hot as humanly possible’, for reasons no one could quite understand. Even Leeseo and Liz went on a shopping spree, pretending to ‘supervise’, but somehow leaving with more shopping bags than anyone else.
While waiting for them, I’d sent Choi Mingyu a few texts out of desperation to ask if he knew anything of Wonyoung’s whereabouts. As expected, he didn’t reply, and that alone made me more anxious than anything else.
As promised, Liz stayed home to keep Leeseo company while Rei, Gaeul, Yujin, and I took a private company cab to an address that Rei had dug up from the Notes app on her phone, since the nightclub apparently did not exist on Naver maps. That alone should’ve told me everything I needed to know about what we were about to get ourselves into.
When the driver stopped, we were in front of a giant glass building that gleamed under the city lights. It looked more like an ultra luxury hotel than a club, and was connected to a smaller building with a sign that read GACHI NIGHTCLUB in white sans-serif letters.
“What is this, the next Burning Sun?” I muttered, stepping out of the car.
“Of course not,” Rei said, adjusting her earring in the reflection of the tinted window. “That was where all the shady rejects went. This here is for all the real industry people.”
I looked at the short line forming near the entrance—everyone dressed in black, sleek and effortless, like they’d stepped straight out of a magazine. The men wore tailored suits that probably cost more than my rent in New York, and the women looked impossibly elegant, every detail—from their jewelry to their perfume—was radiating wealth. Some had the kind of faces you only ever see on billboards; others carried themselves with the calm assurance of people who were used to being noticed. Even from where I stood, I could feel it—the quiet, intimidating glamour of people who’d never once worried about the price of anything.
“How am I supposed to get in?” I asked, tugging lightly at the cuff of my jacket. “There’s gotta be a crazy strict guest list for places like this.”
“Oh, come on,” Gaeul said with a smirk. “Look at who you’re with.”
“Three girls who’ve never went clubbing before?”
But for the first time that night, I did look at them.
Yujin wore a sleek black bodycon dress that hugged her figure in ways I’d never seen before, and admittedly, my eyes lingered way longer than I wanted them to.
Rei was bolder—a deep wine-red mini dress with an open back and a high slit that revealed just enough when she walked.
Gaeul, on the other hand, looked ethereal. Her dress was silver, fluid like liquid mercury under the streetlights, catching hints of every color around it.
The three of them stood in front of me, confident and composed, as if they belonged here more than anyone in that line. I’d spent so much time with them in sweatpants, hoodies, and bare faces that I’d almost forgotten—they were IVE, after all.
Meanwhile, I straightened my tie and tried my best to convince myself I belonged here too.
“Damn, is that IVE?”
“Are they old enough to be here?”
“Jesus, An Yujin looks insanely pretty in person.”
Their voices floated from the line beside us—sharp and deliberate, almost meant to be overheard. I felt the weight of a dozen curious eyes trace over us—glances that lingered on Yujin a second too long, then moved to me.
“Who’s that kid next to them?”
“Must be some Starship trainee.”
“Trainees can’t go partying, though.”
“One of their boyfriends, maybe?”
“He’s too young to be a sponsor, right?”
“Could be a chaebol heir.”
“Give me a break, he looks so tacky.”
The closer we got to the entrance, the quieter everything seemed to get. The thud of the bass slipped behind the glass doors, replaced by the low murmur of security radios and the soft scrape of designer heels on marble.
“Name?” the bouncer asked, not bothering to look up from his tablet.
“An Yujin,” she said, confidently.
His head lifted immediately. Curiosity flickered in his eyes—first at her, then at the others, and finally at me.
“IDs, please,” he said, voice neutral but polite. “Sorry, company policy.”
Rei fished hers out first, followed by Gaeul and Yujin. The bouncer gave them each a quick glance, then returned them with a small nod.
He paused, scanning me last. “And you?”
“He’s with us,” Rei said, giving him a small, confident smile.
I handed him my card, trying not to fidget under his stare.
After a moment, he pressed a finger to his earpiece, muttered something I couldn’t catch, then unclipped the velvet rope. “Welcome to Gachi,” he said finally.
It was like we stepped into a completely different world.
The bass hit first—deep, steady, like a heartbeat you could feel in your chest. The club wasn’t loud the way I expected. It was controlled—every sound, every beat, every laugh seemed to fall exactly where it was supposed to, as if the room itself demanded order.
“Holy…” I muttered, taking it in. The place looked less like a nightclub and more like an underground gala. Gold railings, velvet booths, walls lined with mirrors that made everything look endless.
Rei turned to me, grinning. “Still think it’s another Burning Sun?”
“No one seems to even care that you guys are here,” I said, looking around. “They glance at you for like two seconds and then just look away as if you’re not even that important.”
“That’s the beauty of it. No paparazzi, no stress, no managers, just vibes.”
“That’s great and all, but how we find Karina or Yuna like this?”
“We don’t,” Gaeul said, smiling. “We just let the night play out and sooner or later, they’ll find us.”
The club stretched before us like a maze of gold and smoke—mirrored walls, bodies moving to a slow, hypnotic bassline. Laughter melted into the rhythm, glasses clinked like windchimes, and every face in sight looked impossibly perfect—the kind of beauty that came with money, power, or both.
We stood there for a second, unsure what to do next. Rei looked perfectly at home, already moving to the music, but the rest of us hovered like tourists in a place we weren’t supposed to be.
“Come on, guys, at least pretend we’ve been here before,” Rei said, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing tray with a confident, “Why, thank you!”
“Um…I don’t think that was free champagne,” I said, leaning closer. “He was bringing those glasses to that table over there.”
Rei froze, glass halfway to her lips. “Eh? You sure?”
“An Yujin! No way, is that you?” A bright, familiar voice cut through the music.
We turned to see Kwon Eunbi waving behind us, her black halter dress sparkling with every small movement. The fabric plunged low, putting her cleavage on full display, but she wore it with unapologetic confidence.
“Unnie! Oh my god, it’s been so long!” Yujin exclaimed, startled but smiling brightly as Eunbi pulled her into a quick hug while the other two girls bowed a full 90 degrees.
“What are you all doing here?” Eunbi asked, laughing. “Wait—don’t tell me. First time?”
Rei made a small sound of protest under her breath. “Is it really that obvious?”
Eunbi grinned. “You’re all standing like it’s a red-carpet photoshoot. Relax—it’s just a lounge.” She glanced at the glass in Rei’s hand. “Also, that’s probably a VIP’s drink.”
Rei cleared her throat and quickly set it down on a nearby ledge. “Noted.”
“Our resident clubbing expert…” Gaeul tried to hide a laugh behind her hand, while Yujin jokingly turned away as if pretending not to know us.
“Unnie! Unnie!” More voices shouted from every direction.
Eunbi turned around and waved excitedly. “Oh my god, hi! Wait, everyone’s here tonight!”
The crowd seemed to part as a small entourage of familiar faces made their way through. aespa’s Giselle in a cropped blazer and glittered tank, ITZY’s Lia and Yeji shimmering like twin spotlights, Le Sserafim’s Yunjin and Chaewon laughing arm-in-arm, (G)I-DLE’s Minnie radiant in silver satin, and Julie from Kiss of Life trailing just behind—all weaving effortlessly through the haze like they’d done this a hundred times before.
“Yujin-ah!” Chaewon yelled with her arms wide open.
“Oh my god—wait!” Giselle shouted when she spotted Rei. “Look who it is! You guys never come out!”
The next few seconds blurred into a flurry of hugs, squeals, and 90-degree bows—perfume, laughter, and camera flashes of light all colliding in a perfect mess of greetings.
Rei got pulled into a side-hug by Chaewon, nearly spilling her stolen drink. “You look amazing! Red is so your color.”
“And you…” Minnie purred, eyeing Yujin with a knowing smirk. “Oof, that dress should be illegal.”
Lia gasped dramatically with a hand over her heart. “No, seriously. My god, mommy.”
Yujin flushed, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “I—I didn’t even want to wear this! Rei made me!”
Rei smirked proudly, flicking her hair. “You’re welcome.”
“I’m gonna be completely honest,” Minnie chimed in with a playful grin. “If I looked like that, I’d never wear anything else.”
Yujin covered her face with one hand. “Oh my gosh, stop—”
Julie laughed, then leaned toward me with a curious tilt of her head. “Wait, so is this your boyfriend?”
“Oh no, we’re just friends!” I said quickly, stepping away from Yujin.
“Hmm…” Giselle teased, squinting her eyes. “Be careful, Yujin-ah—your friend can’t seem to take his eyes off you.” Everyone burst into laughter.
Someone handed me a shot—I wasn’t sure who—and within minutes, more glasses appeared. It became impossible to tell where they came from.
Rei was the first to loosen up, throwing her hands in the air like she’d been waiting for this night all her life. Julie joined her immediately, and within seconds Gaeul was laughing too hard not to follow. Lia dragged Yeji toward the center of the dance floor, while Chaewon and Yunjin disappeared together into the crowd.
“Come on!” Rei shouted, waving for Yujin and me to follow.
“Sorry—I don’t dance,” I said, raising my glass in defense.
“Then you better drink. A lot.” Eunbi grinned, clinking hers against mine before pulling Yujin into the crowd.
The lights shifted from gold to violet, the music heavier now, the air warm and sweet with perfume and cocktails. Rei and Julie were now in the center of the crowd, pulling strangers into their circle. Gaeul was dancing with Lia and Yeji near the bar, silver and white dresses catching the light like mirrors of each other.
And then there was Yujin, laughing at me like I was some lost child in a mall.
“Still not dancing?” she teased, voice barely audible over the bass.
“Nope, still not gonna—”
She didn’t wait for me to finish. Her fingers hooked around my wrist, pulling me closer. The scent of her perfume—something peachy and floral—hit me all at once.
The bass hit harder now, fast and steady, every beat pulsing through my ribs. She didn’t slow down. Instead, she moved with it, pulling me in until the space between us barely existed.
Yujin didn’t ask me to dance; she just made me. At first, I was stiff, awkward—some guy trying not to look out of place—but she kept pulling me in, and soon I wasn’t thinking at all. Her hands found my shoulders, then my arm, guiding me closer, laughter spilling out of her like I was her entertainment for the night.
Then she turned, her back brushing against my chest, and caught one of my hands mid-motion. Without saying a word, she slid it around her waist, pressing it gently against her hip until both of my hands rested there. The movement was so effortless that by the time I realized what she’d done, I was already moving with her, our bodies practically fused together.
The sound of the club fell away—the laughter, the chatter, even the song—and all I could focus on was the way she moved and the warmth of her curves pressing against me.
I’d never realized how easy it was to forget the world when she was this close.
“What’s wrong?” Yujin teased, as our noses touched. “Do I take your breath away?”
I laughed for the first time all night. “You look really good tonight,” I confessed, loosening my collar.
“Just tonight?” she asked with a flirty smirk.
“I’m not your boyfriend, don’t expect me to shower you with compliments.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Give me one more, it’s a special occasion.”
Her smile was almost contagious. She was glowing—cheeks flushed, eyes gleaming, lips parted in a grin that I hadn’t seen in so long.
“This dress suits you perfectly,” I said, running my hands down the fabric.
“Does it?” She leaned in just enough for her breath to graze my ear. “Help me take it off when we get back home later,” she whispered, grinning before spinning away, her laughter vanishing into the crowd.
The night blurred after that—music, lights, laughter. For a brief, reckless stretch of time, it didn’t feel like we were searching for anyone or anything at all.
Yujin and I eventually drifted back to the edge of the floor to catch our breath.
“This isn’t so bad, right?” she said, taking a sip of water.
Before I could respond, Giselle came stumbling over, still laughing, dragging Lia behind her. “Okay, okay, that’s it,” she said, fanning herself. “I’m done. I need water.”
“Same,” Lia said, grabbing a glass from the table and taking a sip. “I can’t believe you dragged me back out here.”
Yunjin and Chaewon slid into the booth next to them, both flushed from dancing. Minnie followed right after, still clutching her drink.
Rei leaned in, still moving to the music. “This is so fun! Do your other members ever come out to play? I feel like I can dance all night long.”
Giselle thought for a moment, swirling the last bit of wine in her glass. “Well, Minjeong’s a total homebody. She and Ning are usually holed up at the dorm playing on their Switch or watching dramas. Jimin comes out sometimes, but she’s been kinda MIA lately. I think she’s taking some personal time or something.”
Rei turned toward Lia, still flushed from the dance floor. “What about you guys?”
“Yeji and I do sometimes,” Lia said, nodding toward Yeji, who was scrolling through her phone beside her. “Chaeryeong only comes out if there’s food involved, Ryujin’s hit or miss, but Yuna usually shows up. Except lately she’s been kind of off the grid too, actually.”
Yeji looked up briefly. “Yeah, she said she was taking a break.”
“Wait—really?” Yunjin chimed in. “Sakura unnie’s been on break too. She said she needed time off but didn’t really say why.”
Minnie perked up. “Whoa—Miyeon, too. She canceled a bunch of shoots last week and hasn’t replied to anyone since.”
Julie giggled. “That’s so weird. Natty’s been doing the same. She told us she was taking a break, but we haven’t seen her since then either.”
Yujin glanced at me, then at Rei and Gaeul. The look in her eyes said what none of us could*.*
“Everyone’s on break,” Giselle laughed. “Maybe we’re the ones missing the memo. What about you guys? What made you come out tonight? And where’s everyone else?”
“We just decided to go out for the first time tonight, but Jiwon stayed home to keep Hyunseo company since she’s not old enough.”
They laughed. “Ah, she’s on babysitting duty. What about Wonyoung?”
Rei looked at us for a brief moment before faking a smile. “You’ll never catch Wonyoung in a club—she’d leave the moment she sees the lights.”
They all laughed again, and the moment stretched further than I could reach. Giselle’s voice said something about schedules, Lia added a joke about hangovers, but the words blurred together, turning into background noise—faint, muffled, meaningless.
Wonyoung, Karina, Yuna.
All three of them.
All Aces of Spades.
All gone quiet.
All on a so-called break.
What about the other girls?
Are they perhaps also Aces from different suits?
My heart started to pound. Too fast. Too hard. I forced a breath through my nose, but it caught halfway. My chest felt tight, the kind of tight that made you want to run, even if you didn’t know where.
The lights suddenly felt too bright. The laughter too sharp. The bass too heavy, vibrating through my ribs until I couldn’t tell if it was the music or my heartbeat.
Yujin’s voice broke through the static. “Wonbin?”
I didn’t look up.
The crowd swallowed me whole before anyone could say another word. I moved through the bodies, trying to find space to breathe, but the air felt heavier with every step. The lights blurred into streaks of color. The laughter, the chatter, the bass—all of it bled together into one low hum that wouldn’t stop.
Air. I just need air.
But the moment I turned, I collided with someone hard, and a drink splashed straight across his chest from his hand.
“Ah—shit, I’m so sorry!” I stammered, staring at the mess spreading down his shirt. “I’m really sorry—”
“Hey, it’s fine,” he said, his tone low and smooth. “You’re good.”
The guy stepped back, and whiskey dripped off the collar of his white button-up, catching the gold lights above. He looked up at me—not even remotely upset, for some reason.
I couldn’t tell if he just had a very classic Korean celebrity face, or if I’d seen him somewhere before, but he appeared in his mid-thirties, had really kind eyes, a razor-sharp jaw, and was just effortlessly handsome, like an actor or model.
But what surprised me the most was that there was a really calm and gentle aura to him that was the complete opposite of what I’d expect from someone in a place like this.
“No, I—seriously, I wasn’t looking, I—” I stumbled, trying to do something with my hands to help, but ended up doing nothing.
He chuckled softly. “It’s just a shirt.” The way he said it made it sound like he actually meant it.
“Damn, I told you guys we should’ve stayed on the third floor,” another guy behind him said in English, passing over a napkin.
“Screw that, if I have to listen to one more investor talk, I’ll kill myself,” a third one with glasses shot back. “Besides, the party’s always down here, dude.”
“So are all the drunk weirdos.”
“Oh come on, it’s just a kid who got too wasted. That was us at one point.”
“It’s still you every other weekend.”
The two of them kept bickering back and forth, while the guy I’d bumped into only smiled and shook his head, dabbing at his shirt with the black tissue. The light caught on the silver band around his finger—a wedding ring that gleamed for just a second before he lowered his hand again.
“You guys speak English?” I asked out of instinct.
“Oh—shit, yeah—hey, dude,” one of them said, grinning.
“Yeah, we’re from the States,” another added. “What about you?”
“Me? I’m from…all over the place, really.”
“James,” one of them said, offering his hand.
“O-oh—I’m Wonbi—” I took it nervously, unsure if there was a specific way rich people greeted each other. “Adam.”
“Jake,” the one with glasses said, raising his glass. “And this is John.” He swung his other arm around him like they were best friends.
“Hey, John—I’m really sorry about your shirt,” I said in English. “I hope it doesn’t stain.”
“Don’t worry about it, really. Maybe now I’ll have an excuse to go home early.” John studied me for a moment—steady, polite, almost too calm. “Rough night?”
I hesitated. “Something like that.”
“You seem kinda young to be here,” Jake said, leaning closer. “Or maybe you just have a baby face like me.”
“Maybe he’s just New Money—you know how they are,” James muttered, too loud to be a whisper but too casual to be taken as an insult.
“We’re also New Money, idiot,” Jake shot back. “You say it like we’re Old Money or something.”
“Shut the hell up, if it weren’t for me we’d all be No Money.”
“Do you come here often?” John asked, still wiping his shirt.
“Oh, no, it’s my first time here,” I said, slightly panicking, as if I was somehow in trouble. “I just came here with some friends who are in the industry. We’re, um, looking for my…uh…g-girlfriend...”
He raised an eyebrow, faintly amused. “Oh yeah? Did you find her?”
“No,” I said, instantly reminded of what had just happened.
He smiled and put a hand on my shoulder to stop me from shaking. “You know, funny enough, I came here for the first time when I was around your age with my industry friends, also looking for my then-girlfriend.”
“Really? Did you find her?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, thankfully not.”
“Thankfully?”
“It’s a long story,” he said, then tilted his chin toward something behind me. “Is that your girlfriend there?”
“Wonbin-ah!” Yujin’s voice cut through the chaos, grabbing my hand. “Are you okay?”
“Damn, is that An Yujin from IVE?” Jake said. “Never seen them here before.”
James took a sip of his drink. “Another random kid dating an A-list idol, eh? That was us at one point, too.”
“Bruh.”
“What?”
“Us?”
“Yeah. Us.”
“As in, all three of us?”
“Yes. That’s what us means.”
Jake stepped back. “To clarify, you mean, us—including you and me? And not just John?”
“Look, you know what I mean, dipshit.”
“Wonbin-ah, are you okay?” Yujin asked again, lacing her fingers through mine. Her body swayed back and forth as if she was trying to keep balance.
“Yeah,” I said, steadying her by the waist. “I’m okay.”
“Well, maybe I’ll see you around, Adam.” John smiled, raising his glass to me. “Have fun and get home safe. Oh, and—try not to get in a fight on your way out like I did.”
“Who’d you fight?”
He paused for a moment, as if recalling a nostalgic memory before walking away. “Just some crazy ex-manager.”
“Huh? Whose ex-manager—”
Just then, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
A call from Choi Mingyu.
My throat tightened. It felt like the entire room pulled away, the sound flattening into a dull, distant hum. Yujin’s grip on my hand tightened so hard it hurt.
I pressed the phone to my ear, not even bothering to find a quiet spot. “Hello?”
Static. Then a faint voice, drowned under the bass.
“Park Wonbin. Where are you?”
“Mingyu?” I pressed a finger into my other ear, trying to block out the noise. “Can you hear me?”
“I hear you.” His voice was barely there, cut apart by the music.
“Where’s Wonyoung? Do you know where she is?”
“I do,” he said, the word warping through distortion.
“Please—tell me.”
“She’s getting ready for Blackjack.”
My stomach dropped. “What? Blackjack? What the hell is that?”
The connection crackled. A burst of static. Then his voice again, urgent, lower. “It’s an auction. An auction of Aces.”
“What—what do you mean an auction?!”
The noise of the club seemed to vanish all at once.
“Choi Mingyu!” I yelled, my voice shaking. “Are you still there?”
There was another pause.
“We can save her,” he said finally. “Together.”
“What do you mean save? Is she in danger?” I shouted, cupping the phone tighter against my ear. “Hey, Choi Mingyu! What are you talking about?!”
No answer. Just a hiss of feedback. Then—
“I’ll send you the address tomorrow,” he said, the words so faint I almost missed them. “Bring An Yujin with you.”
“W-what? Why?”
“Act like you’re a married couple. And make sure to dress like billionaires.”
The call cut.
The music came back in a crash of sound and light. For a second, I just stood there, frozen, the phone still pressed to my ear.
The words repeated in my head, warped and meaningless.
Blackjack. Auction. Aces. Save her.
“Wonbin-ah!” Yujin’s voice broke through the chaotic mess as she pulled at my sleeve, still wobbling. “Let’s find the others and go home. We got what we came for.”
And then, before I could even say anything back, another vibration.
Subject: Dear Knight in Shining Armor
How far will you go for love?
love.mp4 (302mb)
End of Chapter 11.
Choose your favorite Ace (1st round)
Eunha VIVIZ (disqualifies SinB)
SinB VIVIZ (disqualifies Eunha)
Sullyoon NMIXX
Yoohyeon Dreamcatcher
ARTMS Heejin (disqualifies Yeojin)
Loosemble Yeojin (disqualifies Heejin)
Natty Kiss of Life
Yiren Everglow (disqualifies Sihyeon)
Sihyeon Everglow (disqualifies Yiren)
Arin Oh My Girl!
Sieun STAYC
Jiheon fromis9
Voting ended onNov 16, 2025
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Author's Notes: Hi everyone! Sorry for the late update, I went on vacation so I couldn't get any writing done, but I'm glad I did, because I'm a lot more recharged now, especially after that last chapter XD
I definitely had a great time writing the end of this chapter since it took me 11 chapters to reveal to you guys that this story exists in the same universe as My Sone Secret XD Hopefully that brought a nice wave of nostalgia back to you all the way it did for me!
Anyways! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Hope to hear all your thoughts as usual! Do you think Wonbin and Yujin should go to the address? Should Mingyu be trusted? What was your favorite scene in this chapter? :)
Summary: Being Joo Yeri’s friend was great… until she realized she had pretty privilege. You don’t know why you feel so irritated whenever she dates a guy. Maybe it's the fact that you still have no experience. Yeri is willing to help her best friend out.
You remember the day you made a promise to Joo Yeri. How her small pinky wrapped around yours, pledging “best friends forever”. But all the lovely memories come crashing down when present Joo Yeri struts down the hall. You didn’t have to look over to know it’s her. No one else’s shoes click against the floor beside her high heels.
Yeri’s hips swing back and forth. Her long black hair flows gracefully with each step. Eyelashes are long and curled. Pink plump lips glistening. A boy stumbles along, trying to catch up to her speed. She darts over to you as you’re shoving textbooks into your backpack. She aggressively slams your locker shut, making you roll your eyes in annoyance. You decide to ignore her by sliding past, but she quickly blocks your path. Slightly bumping her chest into you. She crosses her arms and tilts her head.
“Hey, bestie!” She beams. She bats her eyelashes and leans into your personal space.
“Hi,” You mumble, taking a step back. You quickly nudge your glasses back up your nose bridge. Your eyes flicker towards the desperate boy standing next to Yeri. His forehead is sweaty from trying to keep up with her. He clenches his backpack strap and gives you a small smile. You have a couple of classes with him, but you have never talked. You blankly stare at him before returning your attention to Yeri. You didn't care about him; you felt more pitiful. He’s going to be replaced in two weeks anyway.
“You’re going to help me with the test coming up?” She asks, yet her tone is demanding. She doesn’t even bother asking because she knows you’re going to help her anyway. She always “crashes” your study sessions unannounced.
“Whatever,” You grumble under your breath. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. She has your location on her phone at all times. You shared your locations because she suggested it. She said that best friends should always know each other's whereabouts in case of an emergency. You thought it was ethically a good idea, until she checks it every minute if you’re not around. Your phone would buzz nonstop if you turned your location off or if you were somewhere unusual.
A soft chuckle leaves her lips as she brings her hands to your green tie. Her fingertips wrap around the material near your neck. She gently tugs it, bringing your face closer to hers. Her eyes slowly lower down to your lips, then back up. She smiles with her eyes twinkling. You grip your hands beside your body. She had always been so flirty. It’s second nature to her… and you hate it. You hate how it makes your heart race, knowing she does it to other guys. She leans her face down to your neck. Your heart rate increases, and you dryly gulp. She inhales and hums out softly.
“You’re wearing the perfume I got you,” She whispers, eyes dilating. A few days ago, she made you go shopping with her (in reality, it’s just you carrying her bags). She bought you perfume as a gift of thanks. You decided to wear it today, nervously smiling at yourself.
Your cheeks turn red as you tilt your head to the side. You feel embarrassed. You also couldn’t handle another second of her staring deep into your eyes. She straightens her back and loosens her grip on your tie. She slides her hands to your hip. Her fingers play around with the loop of your jacket pocket.
“I’ll see you soon,” She whispers before slightly shoving you back like you’re nothing. Your back hits the locker walls. She waves your wallet in the air. You widen your eyes in shock. She must have snuck her hands while you were distracted. You reach your hands up to snatch it back, but she is quick to pull away.
“Snacks on me,” She teases. She starts strutting away without warning her boy. He widens his eyes and nervously waves goodbye before rushing to catch up with her. You breathe out a shaky sigh.
Several hours later, it’s lunchtime. You sit next to Yeri, who is happily nibbling on snacks that she bought with your money. Her boyfriend sits in front, awkwardly picking at his cafeteria food. His eyes flicker to examine the close distance between you and Yeri. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He obviously wanted to sit next to his “girlfriend”. Yeri suddenly wraps her arms around your shoulders and tugs you closer. She lays her head onto your shoulders.
“Did you finish the homework I gave you? I need it for my next class,” She sighs. You grip your fist, digging your nails into your skin.
“…Yes,” You shortly reply. She tilts her head up happily. She slides her hands up to pinch your cheeks. You wince at the pressure of her fingers on your skin.
“Good girl,” She beams. You narrow your eyes at her, trying to hide the blush forming on your cheeks. She shoots you a sly smile before returning her head onto your shoulders. Her boyfriend fakes a cough, trying to get her attention. She rolls her eyes and straightens herself to face him.
“What?” She snaps. He rubs the back of his neck with a shy smile.
“Wanna do something after school?” He asks. She lets out a deep sigh.
“Gosh, do you ever listen? I have dinner plans with my family tonight,” She grumbles. Yeri always had problems with her boyfriends. They never listen. All they do is drool and ogle at her visuals.
He widens his eyes before awkwardly laughing. He mumbles a lame apology under his breath. She gives him a short glare of annoyance before turning her body fully to you. You look at her curiously, not knowing her next move. She lifts her hands to brush your hair behind your ears. Her eyes examine your features closely. She has always thought how beautiful your eyes are hidden behind those glasses. You feel your breathing shake. You dart your eyes to the side to avoid her again. She slowly blinks.
“You know my parents invited you, right?”
“T-they did?” You ask in surprise. You didn’t receive a text from her parents. You also don’t remember Yeri ever mentioning it til now. Your thoughts get cut when you feel her cup your cheeks with her hands.
“Yes. Wear something pretty later,” She smiles. You nervously nod your head. The movement causes your glasses to move down. She giggles at the action. She presses her pointer finger and pushes the glasses up for you. Your cheeks burn bright red. You turn your head to the side, shoving her hands away.
“Are you shy?” She teases. You shake your head no, but your body tells a different story. She digs her fingers into your waist, causing you to let out a soft yelp. She finds amusement in your reactions. She continues to poke and tease you. Her boyfriend is completely forgotten.
-
You watch Yeri’s parents place a dish in front of you. You give them a respectful thank you. You sit quietly next to Yeri, who has her hair perfectly volumized and curled. She has a soft pink dress on. Looking extremely innocent and kind. You begin eating the food they have kindly prepared for you,
“I’m glad you decided to join us for dinner. How is school going?” Yeri’s parents ask you a question. You tilt your head up to look at them respectfully. You place your utensils down and quickly wipe your lips.
“School is good. I’ve been very focused on my studies,” You reply. They nod their head proudly.
“We’d like to thank you for helping Yeri with her studies. We’ve noticed a significant increase in her grade,” They compliment. You squeeze your fist underneath the table, your skirt slightly hiking up. They don’t know that you do all her homework and help her cheat on tests. Before you could respond, Yeri jumped in. She wraps her arms around you, pulling you closer.
“I know, right? She’s so good at teaching me,” She gushes. You lower your head, accepting the fact that she’s good at acting.
“Since you’re already so good at your studies, have you looked for a boyfriend?” They ask with a soft smile. It wasn’t unusual for them to ask since they’ve known you since you were a baby. They basically helped raise you.
Yeri turns her head to the side to look at your reaction. Your face slightly scrunches. You feel something stir in your stomach unpleasantly. As you’re distracted in your thoughts, Yeri lifts her hands to squeeze your cheeks. You widen your eyes, and you feel yourself starting to blush again.
“Because no guy in our school deserves her,” She beams. You tilt your head to the side to give her a small glare. She responds by batting her eyes and leaning even closer. Her parents let out a soft chuckle. They think the interaction is so cute and friendly.
“How about that one guy… I forgot his name…” They continue. Yeri narrows her eyes and drops her shoulders. She makes eye contact with you and secretly rolls her eyes. She hovers a finger on top of her tongue and fakes a gag. She truly thought no guy was good enough for you. She has experienced most of them! They couldn’t even keep up with her… only you could. If those guys were not able to handle her, how could they be good for you?
“I'm sure Yeri can give you some tips. Help her experience,” They suggest to Yeri. They've heard about her success with getting boyfriends. You furrow your eyebrows in frustration. Yeri slightly buckles against the seat. Her mind floods with thoughts.
“I don't need help,” You mumble. You feel yourself growing more insecure. It's already hard to see Yeri pull different boys each month. You return your focus to the food, nibbling on it. Yeri continues to stay quiet. The words “help her experiment” kept repeating in her head. A lightbulb forms in her mind.
“Hey, so… we’re still full from school food earlier. Is it okay if we head to my room?” Yeri breaks the silence. You widen your eyes in confusion. Your meal is barely touched, and you planned on finishing it.
“Oh, okay. That is fine with us,” Yeri’s parents smile. You were about to argue with Yeri, but she quickly grabs your wrist and tugs you along.
She drags you into her room, shutting the door behind and locking it.
“I was still eating,” You grumble. She playfully rolls her eyes and continues to pull you towards the bed. She takes a seat on the bed and pats the mattress.
“Come sit,” She chirps. You nervously hold the edge of your sleeves while playing with the tip of your toes. You didn’t know why you were so nervous. You’ve been in this room plenty of times.
“Come on,” Yeri commands, feeling impatient. You quietly begin walking over. You slide your knees onto the bed and sit in front of her. She smiles brightly and places her hands on top of your thighs.
“My parents said to help you experience, right?”
“Y-yes,”
“So… what if we start now?” She suggests. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. She inches her fingers higher on your thighs.
“What?”
“I want to help you get your firsts,” She explains, her cheeks turning pink. You widen your eyes in shock. You nervously shake your head no.
“But we’re friends… this is wrong,” You blush. You always thought these types of things should be done with a lover. Yeri gently squeezes the soft plush of your thighs.
“Friends do this all the time,” Yeri breathes. Your shoulders lower, as your guard begins to drop.
“Really?” You reply. Yeri chuckles and leans her body closer to you.
“Yes. How else will you know how to kiss? Wouldn’t you want to kiss your crush correctly?” She smirks. You dryly gulp as her words sink into your mind. It’s true. You’ve never done anything like this before. Yeri is here to teach you.
“Okay…” You agree. You shyly tilt your head down. The air feels dense and hot. You feel a finger touch your chin. She tilts your head up to look at her. Her eyes are blown out. Dilated. Your shaky hands go to grip the edge of her dress.
“When you kiss someone, allow them to hold onto your cheeks,” She hums, placing her hand onto your cheeks. She uses her other hand to guide your hands to hold onto her hip.
“Start slowly leaning in… and once your lip touches theirs, close your eyes and feel,” She blushes, leaning towards your face. You quickly blink as your heart hammers against your chest. Once her soft pink lips touch yours, you squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart skips a beat when you feel her plump lips move against yours. She moves slowly and gently. She slowly pulls away and waits for you to open your eyes. You nervously widen your eyes.
“Did I lose my first kiss?” You whisper.
“We’re just friends. It doesn’t count,” Yeri smiles. She begins to lean in again, kissing you deeper. Her hands begin to lower and run against your bare thighs. You gasp and muffle in the kiss. You quickly pull away, cheeks red.
“Too fast?” Yeri worries.
“N-no, it’s okay. I am just nervous,” You explain. You wanted this. You wanted to see what you’ve been missing out on. You’ve heard Yeri talk about her experiences all the time. The jealousy had built up over time. You wanted to experience this. You wanted her. You’ve always been secretly envious of the random boys she gets with. Finally, you get to experience her. Of course… as friends.
“Please continue,” You whimper, gripping onto her hand. Yeri feels her heart skip a beat. She just realizes how much neediness turns her on. She presses her lips back onto yours. She begins to push you back onto her bed. Your thighs split apart, letting her slide between. Your clothed core rubs against her thighs. You whimper.
“Fuck… you’re so cute,” She moans in between the kisses. You wrap your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She continues to move her lips against yours til she hears you moaning. She then pulls away from the kiss to examine your face. Her smudged pink lipstick was all over your lips. Your ears are red, and your glasses are uneven on your nose bridge. She gently takes your glasses off and places them on her bedside table.
“Just in case we break it,” She explains. She looks at your face, soaking in the sight of your disarranged state. She peeks down at your panties. She widens her eyes in delight. Your underwear is pink and filled with hearts. She feels her heart explode at how cute you are. You try to close your thighs in embarrassment.
“Stop staring,” You complain. She softly chuckles and leans down to kiss your cheeks. She lowers her mouth to your ear. She gently kisses and blows against it, making you squeal.
“At this time… the person will try to get you wet,” She mumbles into your ear as she slides her hands up your skirt. She grinds her hand onto your clothed core. You gasp at the touch. Your stomach tenses and flutters in excitement.
“Relax yourself and focus on how good it feels,” She whispers as she continues to rub. You shut your eyes to focus. Your hips begin to move along with her hand.
“There you go,” She praises. She slides your panties to the side and sneaks her fingers in. She drags the tip of her fingers along your slit. She can feel your juice leaking out of your core. She plays with it, making a wet noise. You feel embarrassed at how fast you’ve become wet.
“You’re already kind of wet… so cute,” She hums into your ear.
“Next, the person will touch your clit,” She explains before dragging her finger up your clit. The touch makes your hip twitch. You bite your bottom lip. She slowly rubs circles against the small nub.
“Y-Yeri… that makes me feel funny,” You pant out, gripping the bedsheets. Yeri feels her cheeks turn bright red. Just from this small movement, you’re already so close. You’re so pure… so new to this. It turns her more on. She quickens her pace, but not enough to make you come.
“Shhh, I got you,” She licks the shell of your ears. You let out a soft moan. She slides her fingers down to collect the silky juices that have leaked out. You’re now extremely wet.
“Now is the perfect time for that person to go into you,” She pushes one finger into your pussy. Your mouth opens as you gasp. Yeri watches your expression closely. She continues to thrust her single finger in and out of you. She doesn’t shove another finger in, just in case it’s too much for you. She listens to the sweet and cute moans that escape your lips.
“Good girl. You’re doing so well,” She praises. Her words make your stomach clench. She feels it on her fingers.
“Can you take more for me?” She asks. You quickly nod your head yes. She licks her lips as she begins to shove another finger into your tight pussy. The stretch makes you moan loudly, causing her to pause her movement. You’ve never felt anything like this before. Her fingers feel painful but so pleasurable.
“My parents downstairs,” She warns. You slap a hand over your mouth. Your mind was filled with lust, and you completely forgot.
“Be a good girl and keep quiet,” She says before moving her fingers again. She flicks the tip of her fingers against your walls, making you roll your eyes back. She chuckles and kisses your temple. She continues to thrust, the wet noises becoming louder. She feels your juice coating all the way to her knuckles.
“I feel something in my lower stomach,” You moan.
“This is where you’re going to come for them… come for me,” She purrs. She continues to whisper words of praise into your ears. Her fingers never stop snapping into your core. All of it was too much, and then you finally feel it. Your stomach snaps, and you cry out into your palm. Your body twitches. Your juice leaks down and onto the bedsheet. Yeri keeps her finger in you as she watches you come out of your high. She lets out a breath of awe. You tilt your head to the side. You feel hot everywhere.
“This doesn’t count as your first since we’re friends…. Let’s do it again,” Yeri blushes, moving her fingers again.
TAGS: Cheating, creampie, ntr, sneaky, risky, big cock
The party was in full swing by midnight. Karina's spacious apartment—usually quiet and carefully curated for her privacy—had transformed into a buzzing celebration hub. aespa's latest comeback had been a massive success: their second full album had shattered records again.
"Whiplash" extensions, viral choreo challenges, and the new title track climbing MelOn and global charts had everyone screaming about "the era of aespa." Tonight was for the members, close staff, a few trusted friends, and—of course—select people from their inner circle.
Hyeok—her boyfriend of nearly two years now—was there too, as expected. Tall, sweet-faced, always polite and a little shy around her members and team. He'd arrived with a proud smile, congratulating her every chance he got. But the soju and beer had hit him hard. By 1 a.m., he was slurring compliments, leaning heavily on Karina's shoulder, and insisting he could "dance better than half the idols here." Eventually, the members gently guided him to the guest bedroom down the hall. He collapsed face-first onto the bed, mumbling something about "my girlfriend is the best leader ever," and passed out within minutes, snoring softly.
