It has been decided. Jeewon fic for no other reason than I was reminded of these pictures, and the plot came naturally.
Length 2.5K
Jeewon X Mreader
Jeewon’s head bobs slowly as she takes her time with her actions. She pants, already tired but still using what energy she has left. Her body is slick with sweat, uniform sticking to her skin. “Is this good, Master?” she asks, her chest heaving. “Am I doing a good job?”
You pat her head, “You’re doing well, but keep going.”
“B-but I’m so tired.”
“You’re not done yet.” You tell her plainly. “And here I thought you were a good maid.”
“I’m a good maid, I’m a good maid,” she repeats, her motions slowly to a crawl.
You stare at the young woman. “C’mon, Jeewon, you’ve barely been working for 10 minutes.”
“10 minutes!? It’s only been ten minutes?” You sigh as you look at your worn-out maid. She had only been cleaning the floor for ten minutes, and she was in such a state. You already knew Jeewon was kind of hopeless when it came to actual made work, but this was taking things to an extreme.
“Yes, it’s been ten minutes. I don’t even know how you’re sweating that much.” You place your hand on her forehead and realize that she wasn’t even sweating. While you weren’t looking, she must’ve sprayed herself with water to make it look like she was working up a sweat. “Is this water?”
Jeewon looks away, knowing she’s been caught. “N-no,”
You lightly smack the back of her head. “You idiot, this is totally water.” You look at the cart Jeewon had nearby and see the spray bottle, the tip leaking. You grab the bottle, “You just sprayed yourself with this!”
“Nuh uh!” Jeewon denied your claim; it was all she could do despite the evidence against her. It was circumstantial at best, but she had absolutely sprayed herself with water and made herself look tired for the sake of getting a break. “Ack!’ Jeewon recoils as you spritz her with the water.
“Bad, bad maid,” you tell her, spraying her again. Jeewon shuts her eyes, her entire face grimacing as you spray her two more times. “I swear, you can barely get any work done. You’re only good at one thing.”
“Does that mean-“
“No,” Jeewon frowns; her hands were already on the buttons of her uniform. You grab the other broom in her cart. “We’re going to finish this together.” The ends of her lips curl into a slight smile. The two of you work together to sweep the floor, the first step in cleaning it, as you move on to mopping after. Jeewon complains the entire time, saying things like her legs hurt, her hands hurt, and she couldn’t see. Her explanations for wanting breaks got wilder the longer this went on, but eventually, you were able to finish cleaning the floor. “Alright, that’s enough for now.”
Jeewon lets out a long sigh and throws herself onto your couch, covering her face with her arm and taking deep breaths as if she had just completed a marathon. You grab the spray bottle and walk over to the tired woman, pointing it right at her, “Jeewon.”
She moves her arm, shutting her eyes as she feels the water hitting her face. “Ah,” she yelps. She tries to cover herself, but you grab her hands and force them over her head.
“Bad, bad maid.” You repeat.
“But I did the work!”
“I had to help you, and even then, I did most of it!” You spray her twice more, then put the bottle down. You walk away from the scene, letting Jeewon rest. While you had planned to clean more of the house, it was quite obvious that even with Jeewon around, the task would still take up all day. You go to your room and lie down. From the couch, Jeewon hears your door shut. She sits up immediately and scurries over to the bathroom. She unbuttons the front of her uniform, unrestricting her heavy mounds. She reaches behind her, her fingers struggling to reach the zipper, brushing against the small piece of metal.
“C’mon, almost got it,” she mumbles, turning around so she could see how close she was in the mirror. Jeewon pinched it after struggling for minutes and pulled the zipper down. She sighed with relief as her maid uniform started to fall. She let it drop to the floor. Jeewon smiled to herself as she looked in the mirror. The intricate bra she wore pushed her bust up and together, making her already large rack look bigger. Her matching panties hugged her lower half well, digging in just that little bit to where her ass looked fuller as well. As good as Jeewon looked, she knew it would all come off quickly. She unsnapped her bra and held the cups against her chest. She carefully laid it on the vanity. Jeewon grabbed at her breasts, squeezing the large mounds and letting out a soft moan. She brought her fingertip around her nipple, the soft nub slowly growing hard as she ran her fingernail over the top of it. She flicked the now hard nub a few times, her moans continuing to flow. Jeewon stopped pulling her hands away from her pale flesh, knowing that if she didn’t stop now, she wouldn’t stop until she came.
Jeewon slipped her fingers under her panties, pulling them down until they naturally fell. She placed the thin piece of cloth beside her bra and looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting her hair before smiling again.
Now she was ready.
Jeewon made her way to your room. Her eyes were shining as she opened the door and saw you lying there, your cock hard as you slept. She climbed onto your bed, crawling until she was right next to you. She kisses your cheek before reaching into your pants and grabbing your cock. Jeewon licks her lips, her eyes glancing at your crotch. She lets go for a moment, pulling your pants down so she’d have easier access. Once your cock was free, she started jerking you off. Her hand moved slowly from base to tip, her thumb rubbing the slit as it leaked precum. You moaned softly, your eyes cracking open to see Jeewon lying next to you. “Jeewon? Is it that time again?”
“Yes, Master.” The time you were referring to was the only thing Jeewon seemed to enjoy and do well at. It was pretty much the reason you kept her around, considering her skills as a regular maid. Jeewon raised her chest, offering you one of her tits. You latch onto the pale mound, your tongue swirling around her pink nipple as you suck on her tit. Jeewon moans softly, smiling as her hand continues to move along your shaft. “You’re so good at this, Master.” You squeeze Jeewon’s other tit, making sure they both get the attention they deserve. Jeewon’s big tits were soft, like pillows; you couldn’t help but squeeze them. When your thumb found her hard nub, you toyed with it, resting your thumb on top of it and moving it around like it was some sort of joystick. Because Jeewon’s nipples were sensitive, she found pleasure in it. She rubbed her legs together, her body already craving more action.
She stayed still, however, letting her hand glide along your length until she felt it begin to throb. “It would be a waste if you came in my hand, Master. Why don’t you put it inside?” She asks kindly.
You nod along, letting go of her chest. Jeewon giggles as she gets on all fours, shaking her ass for you. You get behind your maid, watching her ass jiggle. You give her a sharp smack, making her yelp. “Mmm, Master.” She hisses. You press the tip of your cock against her entrance, teasing her by rubbing it against her slit instead of immediately going in. Jeewon whines, “Master! Please, I want it inside me!” You laugh and continue to tease her for a few moments longer, coating your length in her nectar to prepare. Once you’re ready, you press the tip against her entrance again. This time, you ram your length into her tight cunt.
You grabbed Jeewon’s pig tails, wrapping her hair around your hands and pulling her head back as you drove your cock into her again. “M-Master,” she mumbled. Jeewon’s eyes were rolling into the back of her head. Your deep, quick thrusts were making her a mess. You look to the side at the mirror and see the beautiful sight of Jeewon’s big tits swinging back and forth as you move inside her. Your thrusts become rougher, and the sounds of your bodies colliding fill the room as Jeewon cries out with pleasure. “M-Master’s cock—filling me,” she mumbles, half thoughts coming and going.
The sight of Jeewon’s swinging tits was too much for you. You let go of Jeewon’s pigtails and grab at the large mounds, squeezing the soft flesh as you pull her against you. You knead the heavy mounds, treating them like dough. Jeewon’s hard nipple rubs against your palms, you slide your hands down, just enough to where you’re able to pinch the hard nubs. Jeewon cries out again, her sensitive nipples are being toyed with. You pull them until they’re taut as you drive your cock into her womb with each thrust.
Your maid drools over herself as her mind goes blank. “I love you, Master. I love you; I love you, I love you!” She cries, her words slurring together. Jeewon’s walls clamp down on your length, her body twitches as she cums on your cock. Her sensitivity shoots up, bringing more pleasure crashing over her as your thrusts continue. She can feel your hands digging into her soft mounds as you knead them. The details of your cock are being etched into her walls as you fill her cunt. The moment you let go of Jeewon’s tits, she falls forward, drooling onto the bed. You hold her waist up, your cock beginning to throb.
“I’m going to cum inside, Jeewon.”
“Yes! Fill your naughty maid, Master!”
Your thrusts quicken. Jeewon grips the bedding tightly as she begs you for your cum. You bury yourself inside of Jeewon and unload inside her, filling her tight cunt with your semen, painting her walls white. Jeewon’s body shakes again as you force another climax on her. Jeewon feels the warmth from your cum spreading across her body. She struggles to keep her eyelids up, and a sense of bliss washes over her.
You let go of her waist, but keep yourself buried in her as they collapse flatly onto the bed. Jeewon moans softly as she feels your cock throbbing inside her. “I might have Master’s baby,” She mumbles.
“You’re on the pill,” you remind her, smacking her ass.
You slowly pull yourself away from your maid, leaving her warm cavern. Jeewon gives you a hum of mild disappointment as a feeling of emptiness hits her.
You lie beside Jeewon, resting on your back as she lies there, tired. You watch as Jeewon slowly raises her head, her eyes locking onto your softening cock. Her arms shake as she lifts herself off the bed and crawls between your legs. Her thin fingers wrap around your shaft, her warm breath hits the tip, before she presses her lips against the head. Your cock forces her lips apart as she takes you into her wet mouth. Her tongue gingerly swirls around the tip. You watch Jeewon’s cheeks hollow as she gently sucks your cock. Jeewon bobs her head slowly, taking more and more of you in with each pass. You groan her name, enjoying the way she works her skilled mouth. You place one hand on the back of her head, pushing her forward until you hit the back of her throat. Jeewon moans around your cock, saliva coating it as she gags on it.
When you let go of her head, Jeewon pulls back, her eyes watering as she takes deep breaths. While she does that, her hands wrap around your length, her wrists twisting in as she jerks you off. “Master’s cock tastes so good,” she says softly, remnants of your cum lingering on her tongue.
Jeewon pulls you out of her mouth with a pop. She lifts your waist, giving her a better position for what comes next. Your big-titted maid placed your cock between her soft mounds, pressing them together around your shaft. You grunt as Jeewon uses her tits to please you, the large mounds massaging your cock, “Do you like this, master?”
“Y-yeah.” It was hard not to like it when this was Jeewon’s specialty. She made sure every inch of your cock got the chance to enjoy being between her soft, warm mounds. When the tip wasn’t between them, coating the valley in precum, it was in her mouth. You felt your orgasm approaching as she continued to use her tits on you. Seeing you were getting close, Jeewon slowed herself down. She slips one of her hands under her heavy mound and raises it, letting the head of your cock rub against her hard nipple.
She moaned softly, her sensitive nipples making her feel just as good as you felt. “I really wish master would let me get off the pill.” She said with a slight frown. You already knew what she was getting at. It was a constant thing with her; at this point, you were certain she had a kink for that sort of thing. You listen along as she continues with her thoughts, “It would be a lot better. I could give you a lot of milk. Wouldn’t you like that, Master? These nice big tits, swollen with milk, that would be all for you?” After she talked about this so much, the idea didn’t sound so bad; it was growing on you. That being said, you also didn’t want a child, not yet, at least. You stay quiet as Jeewon lets you fuck her tits. Seeing that you wouldn’t give her an answer, she whines. “Please, Master?”
“I’ll think about it,” you tell her. “The bigger thing right now is I’m going to cum.”
Jeewon perks up and slips you back between her breasts. “Cum all over these big tits, Master. Cover them in your spunk.” She says, moving her heavy mounds quickly. You throw your head back and moan. Jeewon was pressing down near the tip of your cock, making the pleasure unbearable. You cum between her tits, coating the inside with your cum. As Jeewon moves her tits, it spurts out the top, landing on her neck and the tops of her tits. Your maid keeps stroking your cock with her heavy mounds, milking your cock until nothing comes out. “You came so much.” Jeewon leans back, your semen flowing down onto her stomach. Jeewon runs her hands along her breasts, rubbing your cum into her skin, making it glisten. She brings a finger to her lips, tasting your salty semen.
“I think we need to get you cleaned up, Master.” She says, a devious smirk on her face. A trip to the shower just meant she would get the chance to use her tits to clean you off, and you weren’t going to complain.
Words: 1,992
Tags: Mother x Son, Taboo, Incest, Vanilla
How long can you survive on the fading echo of love that hasn’t touched you in a lifetime?
Sana Minatozaki had once been the radiant center of Twice, her bubbly charm and sultry dance moves captivating millions. But life took an unexpected turn in her early twenties when she discovered she was pregnant. Choosing family over fame, she retired from the group, stepping away from the spotlight to raise her son alone after her husband tragically passed away in a car accident just two years later.
Now, at 42, Sana lived a quiet life in a cozy apartment in Seoul, her days filled with freelance design work and cherishing every moment with her 18-year-old son, Haru. She was a pillar of kindness, always quick with a warm hug or a homemade meal, her love for Haru boundless and fierce. Though years of widowhood had left her body aching with unmet desires—nights spent tossing in bed, her fingers occasionally wandering but never quite satisfying—she poured all her energy into being the perfect mother, her youthful beauty undimmed by time. Her lithe figure, still toned from occasional yoga, and her bright smile made her seem eternally young.
One humid summer evening, Haru finished his shower after soccer practice, the steam billowing out as he wrapped a towel loosely around his waist. Sana was in the living room, folding laundry, when he emerged from the bathroom down the hall. 'Mom, have you seen my phone charger?' he called, stepping into the open doorway without a second thought. As he bent to rummage through a drawer, the towel slipped free, falling to the floor. There, exposed in the soft light, was his cock—thick and semi-erect from the warm water, hanging heavily between his toned thighs, the circumcised head smooth and pink, balls dangling low beneath a trim patch of dark hair.
Sana's eyes widened, her hands freezing mid-fold. Heat flooded her cheeks, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. It had been so long since she'd seen a man's body up close, let alone one so vital and familiar. A forbidden thrill stirred in her core, her pussy clenching involuntarily, a rush of wetness soaking her panties. Haru's body was that of a young man now—broad shoulders, defined abs from sports, and that impressive length that made her throat dry. She snapped her eyes up just as he straightened, grabbing the towel to cover himself, his face flushing crimson.
'S-sorry, Mom! I didn't mean—' he stammered, backing away.
'It's okay, sweetie,' Sana managed, her voice breathy, forcing a smile as she turned back to the laundry. But inside, her mind raced with illicit images—how it would feel in her hand, against her skin. She scolded herself, but the ache between her legs persisted, a reminder of her loneliness.
Later that night, over dinner, Haru fidgeted with his chopsticks, his usual easy chatter subdued. Sana watched him, her heart swelling with maternal pride, though the earlier glimpse lingered like a secret spark. 'Mom,' he finally said, setting down his bowl, 'can I ask you something? About… girls?'
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise, then softened with delight. 'Of course, Haru. What's on your mind?'
He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks pink. 'There's this girl at school, Ji-eun. She's amazing—smart, funny, with the kindest eyes. I really like her, but I don't know how to… you know, show her. How to court her properly, like in those old movies you love.'
Sana's heart melted at his earnestness. Her son, so sweet and romantic, seeking her guidance. The caring mother in her surged forward, pushing aside the day's confusion. 'Oh, Haru, that's wonderful. Courting is about being genuine, showing her your heart. But actions speak loudest—gentle touches, shared moments that build trust.' She reached across the table, squeezing his hand. 'Let me help you practice. It'll be our little secret, okay? Just to build your confidence.'
Haru nodded eagerly, his eyes shining with trust. After dinner, they moved to the living room couch, the TV off, the room lit by a soft lamp. Sana sat close, her sundress hugging her curves, the fabric thin against her braless breasts. 'First things first,' she said with a cute tilt of her head, her voice playful yet tender, 'a kiss. It's the sweetest way to start. Watch how I do it—imagine she's Ji-eun.'
She leaned in slowly, her hand cupping his cheek, guiding his face to hers. Haru's breath hitched, but he followed, lips parting slightly. Their mouths met softly at first, a brush of warmth, but Sana deepened it, her lips pressing firmly against his, tongue slipping out to trace the seam of his mouth. He responded instinctively, opening to her, their tongues tangling in a slow, passionate dance. She sucked gently on his lower lip, then his upper, her free hand resting on his thigh, the kiss growing heated—wet sounds filling the air as she poured years of pent-up longing into it, yet keeping it pure, like a lesson in love. Haru moaned softly into her mouth, his hands hovering before settling on her waist.
Pulling back slightly, breathless, Sana smiled, her eyes sparkling. 'See? Passionate, but with care. It makes her feel cherished.' Haru's face was flushed, his cock stirring visibly in his shorts. 'Mom… that was… you're so beautiful when you kiss like that.'
Her heart fluttered at his words, a mix of pride and something deeper. 'Next, touching. To show affection, you hold her close, let her feel your desire without rushing.' With a shy but determined look, she took his hand, guiding it to the front of his shorts. 'Like this—let her touch you, feel how you respond to her.' Her fingers wrapped around his bulge through the fabric, squeezing gently, feeling him harden fully under her palm. Haru gasped, but didn't pull away, his eyes locked on hers with adoration.
Emboldened, she tugged down his waistband, freeing his cock. It sprang up, rigid and veined, the head glistening with a bead of precum. Sana's breath caught—it was even more striking up close, throbbing in her grip as she stroked slowly from base to tip, her thumb circling the sensitive underside. 'Mom… your hand feels like heaven,' Haru whispered, voice thick with emotion. 'You're the most caring person I know. I love how you teach me this—with so much love.'
Tears pricked her eyes at his sweetness, her own arousal building, pussy lips swelling and slick. 'And she touches you back,' Sana murmured, taking his hand and placing it on her breast. He hesitated, then cupped the soft mound through her dress, thumb brushing her hardening nipple. She arched into his touch, guiding him to squeeze, to roll the peak until she whimpered softly. 'Yes, like that. It shows her you adore her body.'
Haru's other hand joined, both kneading her breasts now, pushing the dress straps down to expose them—full and perky, nipples dark pink and erect. He leaned in, kissing her neck as he fondled, murmuring, 'Your skin is so soft, Mom. You're like a dream—kind, beautiful, everything perfect.' His words wrapped around her heart, making the moment feel sacred, not sinful.
The air grew thick with their shared breaths. Sana's hand pumped his cock steadily, slick with his precum, while his fingers pinched and tugged her nipples, sending jolts straight to her core. 'Haru… to really connect, you make love to her. Show her your heart through your body.' She stood, slipping off her dress, revealing her naked form—smooth skin, trimmed bush above her dripping pussy, ass round and inviting. Haru stared in awe, shedding his clothes quickly, his cock standing proud.
She pushed him gently onto the couch, but before straddling him, she paused, her eyes meeting his with tender invitation. 'Let me show you how to worship her first, my love. Kiss her body, make her feel adored.' Haru nodded, his gaze full of wonder, and pulled her down beside him. He shifted, positioning her to lean back against the cushions, her legs parting slightly as he hovered over her chest. Leaning down, he captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking firmly, his tongue flicking the hard bud while his hand massaged the other breast. Sana gasped, her fingers threading through his hair, arching her back to press closer. 'Oh, Haru… yes, just like that. It makes her melt for you.'
He switched sides, latching onto the other nipple, sucking harder now, teeth grazing lightly as he drew it deep into his warm mouth. Wet pops echoed as he released and latched again, his free hand trailing down her stomach to cup her mound, fingers dipping into her soaked folds. 'You taste so sweet, Mom,' he murmured against her skin, voice laced with awe. 'Your body is perfect—curvy and warm, like it's meant to be loved this way. I could do this forever, showing you how much you mean to me.' His words sent shivers through her, her pussy aching for more as he suckled eagerly, alternating between breasts, leaving them shiny with his saliva, nipples swollen and throbbing.
Sana's breath came in pants, her hand guiding his lower, but he lingered, lavishing attention on her chest until she trembled. Finally, she pulled him up for another kiss, tasting herself on his lips. 'Now, come inside me, sweetheart. Let her feel all of you.' She straddled his lap, her wet folds gliding along his length, coating him in her juices. Positioning the thick head at her entrance, she sank down slowly, her pussy stretching around his girth, walls hugging every vein as she took him inch by inch. They both groaned, the fullness overwhelming after her long drought—his cock buried to the hilt, balls pressed against her ass.
'Oh, Mom… you feel incredible. So tight and welcoming, like home,' Haru breathed, hands gripping her hips as she began to rock. Sana ground down first, circling her hips to rub her clit against his pubic bone, then lifted and dropped, her breasts jiggling with each bounce. He thrust up to meet her, cock plunging deep, the tip nudging her cervix with every upward stroke. The couch creaked under them, skin slapping rhythmically as sweat beaded on their bodies.
Haru's hands roamed, one sliding up to squeeze her breast again, thumb flicking the nipple he'd just sucked, while the other cupped her ass, fingers digging in to pull her harder onto him. 'I love you more than words, Mom. Your pussy grips me so perfectly—it's like we're one. You're my guiding light, so gentle and strong.' His praises flowed as he sat up slightly, mouth finding her neck, then her collarbone, before latching back onto a nipple mid-thrust. He sucked voraciously now, even as she rode him, teeth nipping the sensitive flesh while his cock pistoned inside her slick heat.
Sana moaned loudly, the dual sensations pushing her toward the edge—his mouth pulling at her breast, tongue swirling the areola, and his shaft dragging along her inner walls, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind her eyes. She clenched around him, riding faster, her juices dripping down his balls. 'Haru… my precious boy, you're doing so well. Fill me with your love.'
His balls tightened, cock swelling inside her as her orgasm crashed over her—pussy spasming wildly, milking him in rhythmic pulses, her cries muffled against his shoulder. 'Cum inside me, darling,' she urged, and he obeyed, hips bucking as ropes of hot cum erupted from his tip, painting her depths, overflowing to trickle down his shaft. They shuddered together, locked in ecstasy, his mouth still gently suckling her breast as waves subsided.
In the afterglow, Sana rested her head on his chest, his arms around her, cock softening inside her. 'That was beautiful, Haru. You'll be wonderful with Ji-eun—or anyone lucky enough to have you.' But deep down, she knew this bond had deepened in ways words couldn't capture, a pure, romantic secret between mother and son.
Author's Note: Trying something new with longer word counts! I'm pacing myself to make sure I don't hit a wall. Hope you've enjoyed the smut <3
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Lewd thoughts on SNSD.. Reader asked them to cosplay for them.. What would each of the member cosplay as to surprise and treat their boyfriends?
Taeyeon
Taeyeon waits in the bedroom, wearing a classic sexy nurse outfit with short white dress unbuttoned just enough to show her lace bra, thigh-high stockings, and a stethoscope dangling between her breasts. She picked it because she knows you love her caring yet dominant side. You being tied to the bed and the "healing" fantasy lets her tease you mercilessly.
She saunters over, taking her time, while her eyes roam your body.
"Doctor says you need treatment."
She purrs, her voice husky with lust. She straddles your lap, grinding slowly while "checking" your pulse with wandering hands. Her fingers trace down your chest, then lower, unzipping you teasingly.
"Such a bad patient… so hard already."
She leans in, kissing your neck, nipping lightly as she strokes your cock firm and slow. The outfit rides up, revealing no panties. She guides you inside her wet pussy, sinking down with a soft moan. She rides you steady, hands on your shoulders, breasts bouncing in the low-cut top.
"Feel better? Cum for nurse Taeyeon… fill your prescription."
She moans, her pace quickening, her pussy clenching tight until you explode deep inside her womb. She stays seated, kissing you sweetly after.
"Good boy."
Jessica
When you walk into your apartment, Jessica looks like a luxurious ice queen. Shimmering silver gown with a high slit on her thigh, crystal crown, fur-trimmed cape. She looks at you, her chin slightly raised, as if you are nothing and she's everything.
"Kneel before your queen."
Your second-long hesitation, makes her clench her jaw. You scramble to your knees, unsure what to expect next.
She gracefully lifts herself off the chair and struts toward you, her glittering silver heels klicking on the floor.
"Prove your loyalty."
She snarls as she grabs a fistful of your hair, making you look up at her. While holding eye contact, Jessica's free hand reaches for the slit in her dress and pushes it to the side, revealing her light blue silk panties. The delicate snowflake pattern completes her ice queen look.
She only needs to give you a quick tug, before you lean in and pull the fabric covering her pussy to the side with your teeth.
"Do what you're here for, peasant."
Sunny
Sunny surprises you in a playful bunny girl cosplay. Black leotard hugging her petite curves, fluffy tail, long ears, fishnet stockings, and a cheeky bowtie.
She hops onto the couch beside you, legs crossed teasingly.
"Your little bunny's here to play."
She smirks, then straddles you, grinding her ass against your growing bulge. Her hands roam under your shirt while she whispers dirty encouragements.
"I want you so bad. Ride you until you're all drained."
When she feels your cock being fully hard, she slides down, kneeling between your legs, unzipping you with eager fingers.
"Bunnies love carrots…"
She takes your cock in her mouth, tongue swirling expertly, eyes locked on yours through her lashes. She hums, vibrations making you groan. Her blowjob soon has you holding onto the cushions. Her head bobs with a practiced rhythm, the bunny ears going up and down.
Once you're throbbing, she climbs back up, pulling the leotard aside to sink herself onto your length. She starts bouncing energetically, tail wiggling, moaning cutely.
"Breed your bunny… make me full."
Tiffany
Roleplaying with Tiffany is always weird. Somehow she manages to put you into an inferior position, but still gives you all the control over her.
Today she emerges in a typical French maid outfit. Frilly black dress barely covering her thighs, white apron, garters, and a feather duster she twirls playfully.
Ignoring you at first while you watch TV, she pretends to clean the coffee table right in front of you, leaning down, giving you a nice view of her cleavage.
"Still living with his parents at this age. And still making such a mess."
She mumbles in fake anger. For reasons only known to herself, she laces her usually normal Korean with a thick American accent.
You know you just have to let her do her thing, until she actually adresses you. That's how it usually works.
She bends over dramatically to "dust" the TV next, which is completely unnecessary, ass presented.
"Messy boy… how are you ever gonna find a woman if you live like this."
You want to defend yourself, but you hold back, until Tiffany finally turns around to look straight at you.
"You know what? It's time for you to learn how to be a real man. I'm tired of cleaning up after you."
She walks over and drops to her knees. She throws the duster over her shoulder and unzips your pants. Her lips wrap around your cock a moment later, sucking deep with perfect eye contact, humming approval at your size. Her blowjob is quick and messy. Before you know it, it's over.
Tiffany stands, hiking up her skirt to reveal lace panties and pushes them aside. She pushes you back, mounting you so her pussy wraps around your cock and her tits are right in your face.
"Like the view, sir?"
She asks with so much poison in her voice, for a moment you think you actually did forget to clean something outside of this roleplay.
Tiffany grinds deep, her walls gripping your dick tight. Her moans mix English and Korean as she picks up the pace.
"From now on, the only messes you make are the ones you leave inside me. Understood, sir?"
Hyoyeon
Hyoyeon surprises you in a tight black-and-red racing suit zipped low to reveal her cleavage, embroidered patches, gloves, and a full-face helmet tucked under her arm.
She strides in confidently, helmet in hand, the suit hugging every curve of her toned body.
"Ready for a ride?"
She pushes you back onto the bed, straddling your hips while still fully suited up. The zipper rasps down slowly as she grinds against your growing bulge, the thick fabric creating delicious friction.
"Fast or slow, driver decides."
She peels the suit open just enough, freeing her breasts and sliding the lower half aside. No panties of course. Completely naked under the suit. She frees your cock, stroking it firm with gloved hands before guiding you to her pussy.
Hyoyeon sinks down in one swift motion, moaning as you fill her completely. The suit bunches around her thighs as she starts riding hard, hips snapping like she's cornering at full speed.
"Feel that grip? I'm in pole position."
Her nails dig into your chest through the gloves; she leans forward, helmet discarded beside you, hair falling wild. She picks up pace, bouncing relentlessly, walls clenching tight.
"I think I'm gonna need a pit stop...get me filled up..."
You thrust up to match her rhythm. It doesn't take long until you explode deep inside her pussy as she shudders and cum with a sharp, victorious moan.
Breathless, she collapses onto you, suit still half-on.
"Best lap ever."
She kisses you slow, her tight body still trapping your cock inside her.
Yuri
Yuri surprises you in a sexy police officer uniform. Tight navy skirt, cropped top unbuttoned, handcuffs dangling, cap tilted. Her athletic body has your eyes roaming her exposed skin.
She saunters in, twirling cuffs.
"Hands where I can see them… you're under arrest for being too hot."
She cuffs your wrists loosely to the headboard, straddling you. She grinds down on you, skirt riding up to show thigh-highs and no underwear.
"Resisting will make it worse."
Yuri reaches for your belt and undoes your pants. When your cock is free, she gasps in fake shock.
"Can't let you go into luck up with a weapon. I need to take care of that."
She starts to stroke you, until you're fully hard. Then she sinks herself down, taking your cock fully. She rides powerfully, hips rolling, thighs flexing. Her breasts bounce free from the top. You whish you could reach up to grab them, but your hands are still cuffed. Yuri's satisfied smirk shows that she knows what you're thinking. It only makes her ride you harder.
"Confess… you want to fill your officer."
She speeds up, clenching her pussy as tight as possible. Your hips buck up. You cum inside her cunt as she arches her back.
Once you've filled her pussy completely, Yuri uncuffs you.
"Good behavior earns parole. But next time..."
Sooyoung
You're making dinner when Sooyoung walks in, wearing a seductive vampire outfit. Deep red corset dress, cape, fangs, pale makeup accenting her tall, model-like frame. She looks hungry, her eyes wandering up and down your body as if she's searching for the perfect place to sink her teeth into.
"Thirsty tonight… your blood...or something else."
She pushes you against the counter. Wearing her tallest heels, makes her look down on you just slightly. Her fangs graze your neck as she reaches down to cup your cock through your pants. You harden under her touch, making her chuckle.
"Such a willing donor."
She squats down, a little shaky because of the size of her heels. Her eyes look up at you in cold hunger as she frees your cock. She hisses at you and then starts to claim your cock as hers.
You caught her taking out the fangs, which you're thankfull for, just a second before she put the tip in her mouth. Now her nails rake over your stomach as she devours your cock.
Her aggressive blowjob is something you've never seen from her before. It really feels like she's only sucking you off to make you cum, but it still feels amazing nonetheless. Her effectiveness soon has you stumbling toward the edge.
After a couple of minutes, your cock pulsates inside Sooyoung's mouth and she drains you of your cum, drop after drop. Once you're empty, she opens her mouth to show you how full it is. Then she gulps it down with a satisfied moan.
"I'm gonna need this every night from now on."
Yoona
Yoona walk into the living room, plaid miniskirt, white blouse tied high, pigtails, knee socks. She has her hands behind her back and does her best to look innocent and shy.
"Teacher… I need extra credit."
Before you can react, she climbs onto your lap, skirt flipping to reveal cute panties. She grinds innocently at first, then needy.
"Teach me…"
She frees your cock, stroking timidly before pushing her panties aside and guiding you into her pussy. She starts bouncing cutely, moaning "sir" softly. You reach up to undo her blouse letting her breasts spill out. She hands you her tie, enabling you to pull her closer whenever you want.
When you finally overcome your overwhelmed state, you lift Yoona off your lap, turn her around and position yourself behind her. You fuck her from behind, giving her cheeks soft spanks.
"Fill your student up with your cum, sir… make me pass."
Seohyun
Seohyun suddenly stands in front of you, wearing a makeshift, elegant angel costume. You raise an eyebrow, but she beams at you, swirling a white stick with a star on it around her fingers. The white sheer lingerie dress, the halo, the feathered wings...pure yet sinful. Her innocent image flips to seductive purity.
She floats toward you, her steps bouncing to make her wings flutter.
"Fallen for you… redeem me."
She kneels down, grinning up at you with a mix of lust and amusement at her own playfullness. She starts kissing down your body as she undoes your pants. Then she carefully takes your cock into her mouth.
"Your angel needs your cum."
Somehow she manages to make her blowjob look somewhat pure. Maybe that's just her costume. But Seohyun does her best to look innocent as she makes herself gag on your cock.
"I think you need to breed your angel."
She looks up at you with big puppy eyes, offering you to choose your position. You help nher onto her feet, then make her jump into your arms.
"Now I'm flying."
She laughs into your kiss.
You slowly lower her onto your cock, your lips still locked.
I’m sure most of you guys have seen Jeongyeon all over the internet lately from their recent performance on Jimmy Fallon. Yes! I had to come back from the dead and write again because of that!
~~~ Her Lucky Once!
Outside the thin door of Jeongyeon’s room, the dorm buzzed with the familiar, exhausted chaos of homecoming. Nayeon’s loud laugh peeled down the hallway, followed by Jihyo’s softer, scolding tone. The clatter of takeout containers, the thump of a dropped dance bag, the easy rhythm of a family of nine settling in after a long day.
She pulled her phone from the pocket of her loose pajama pants. Her thumb hovered over the name Y/n. A whole week. A week of hotel rooms, schedules that synched only for performances, and beds that felt too big and too cold. A week of smiling until her cheeks ached while her body thrummed with a different, more stubborn ache.
She missed him like a physical sickness. Missed the weight of him, the solid reality of him in her arms when the world felt like smoke. Missed the way his hands, always so surprisingly gentle for their size, would map her spine as if memorizing her. Missed his voice, low and sure in her ear, telling her she was beautiful when the internet whispers or her own tired eyes in a mirror like this one across the room, tried to convince her otherwise. She missed the reckless, sweaty, forgetting-everything-else collision of them together. The need was a sharp, clawing thing under her skin.
Taking a shaky breath, she typed.
“Hey. You awake?”
The three dots appeared almost instantly. Her heart clenched.
“Always for you. How was the performance?”
“Loud,” she sent back. “I’m back at the dorm. Everyone’s eating.”
A pause. The three dots pulsed. She could feel the question hanging in the digital space between them.
“I have a plan,” she typed, her fingers moving fast now. “The side door by the garbage bins. The code is 0910. Wait ten minutes, then come up. My room is the last on the left down the hall from the kitchen. Just… walk fast. And quietly.”
The silence from his end stretched. It felt like an hour.
“Are you sure? Seems risky.” He finally replied.
“It is,” she answered truthfully. “But I don’t care. I need to see you.”
“Okay fine. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Jeongyeon shoved the phone back into her pocket before heading to the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face, washing away the last traces of her stage persona. In her tight white tank top and the soft, gray pajama pants that Tzuyu always said made her look cozy, she was just Yoo Jeongyeon again. Tired. Needy. Herself.
She opened the bathroom door. The hallway air was warmer, rich with the smell of fried chicken and spicy noodles. Chaos reigned in the common area. Momo and Sana were on the floor, dissecting a drumstick with surgical precision. Mina was curled in an armchair with a book, a plate balanced on her knee. Chaeyoung was sketching on a napkin, nodding along to something Jihyo was saying. Nayeon, spotting her, waved a wing in her direction.
“Jeongyeonie! Come eat before Momo finishes it all!”
“In a minute,” Jeongyeon said, forcing a smile. “Gonna change.”
She moved down the hall, her bare feet silent on the cool floor. Every sense felt heightened. The murmur of her members’ voices was a blanket of safety and a web of potential witnesses. She counted the seconds in her head.
At the doorway to her shared room, she paused. Dahyun was still in the bathroom down the hall. The coast was clear. She slipped inside, leaving the door open a precise, calculating crack.
Nine minutes.
She stood in the dim room, her arms wrapped around herself. The nervous energy was electric, buzzing in her teeth. She heard a burst of laughter from the kitchen—Tzuyu, probably. She checked her phone. Thirty seconds.
Then, a soft, almost imperceptible creak from the hallway. Not the usual dorm sound. Her breath hitched. She peered through the crack.
He moved like a shadow, a tall, familiar silhouette against the dim emergency lighting. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t look left or right. He just walked, with a quiet confidence that made her throat tighten, straight toward her door. He slipped through the gap, and she pushed it shut behind him, the soft click of the latch sounding like a thunderclap in the silence.
For a second, they just stood there in the dark room. The only light seeped under the door from the hall. She could see the outline of his shoulders, the cut of his jaw.
“Hey,” he breathed.
That one word broke the dam. She was on him in two steps, her hands coming up to frame his face, pulling him down into a kiss that was all desperation and relief. It was messy, hungry, a week of loneliness poured into the meeting of lips and tongue. He tasted like mint and the cold night air from outside. His arms came around her, big and solid, lifting her slightly so her toes barely brushed the floor, crushing her against the hard wall of his chest. It was safety. It was home.
When they finally broke apart, gasping, he didn’t let her go. He kept her close, his forehead resting against hers. His hands smoothed down her back, over the thin cotton of her tank top.
“You look,” he whispered, his voice rough, “so fucking sexy.”
She let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “I’m in pajamas.”
“I know.” One hand slid lower, cupping the curve of her backside through the soft gray fabric. He kissed her again, softer this time. “You have no idea. All day, all I could think about was you. Just you. Like this. You’re perfect.”
The insecurity that often gnawed at her, the words of the so called fans of being too big, dissolved under his touch and his words. He said it like it was a simple fact, like saying the sky was blue. She believed him.
From down the hall, Nayeon’s voice carried, loud and clear. “Jeongyeon-ah! The chicken is getting cold!”
They froze, locked together. His eyes, now adjusted to the dark, found hers. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. The risk, the sheer insanity of it, ignited something hot in her gut. The needy ache transformed into a sharp, specific demand.
She put a finger to his lips. “You have to be very, very quiet,” she murmured, her own voice a low promise.
The moment the words left her lips, his hands moved. One slid from her back, firm and sure, while the other stayed planted on her hip. In one smooth motion, he turned her around and pulled her back hard against him. The shock of it, the sudden shift in control, stole her breath.
His arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides for a second before his hands slid up, over the soft cotton of her tank top. His palms warm and possessive through the fabric. He squeezed, not gently, and a jolt of pure, bright pleasure shot through her. She arched back against him, her head falling against his shoulder.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a rough, playful whisper. “Me? You’re the one who’s gonna need to be quiet.”
Jeongyeon bit her lip, hard, to trap the gasp that wanted to escape. She could feel him, the hard length of him pressed against her lower back, and it sent a dizzying wave of heat through her. His thumbs circled over her through the fabric, a maddening, teasing pressure. The fluorescent light from under the door cut a stark line across their feet, a reminder of the world just outside.
“They’ll hear,” she breathed, the protest weak even to her own ears. She pushed her hips back against him, a contradiction in motion.
“Then don’t make a sound.” His voice was a low vibration against her spine. One hand slipped under the hem of her tank top, his fingers splaying across the bare skin of her stomach. It was cool against her feverish heat. He was tracing around, the curve of her waist, with a reverence that made her chest ache.
“See? Perfect.” His other hand moved, pushing the fabric aside, finding her bare breast. His palm was rough against her sensitive skin, his thumb swiping over her nipple. She shuddered, her own hands flying back to clutch at his thighs, needing an anchor.
From down the hall, the distinct sound of Jihyo’s voice cut through. “Has anyone seen my phone charger?”
They froze. Jeongyeon’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat she was sure was audible in the sudden, thick silence of the room. His hand stilled on her breast. His breathing, hot against her neck, was the only thing she could hear besides the blood rushing in her own ears.
The footsteps passed their door. Didn’t pause. Faded toward the kitchen.
The air left her lungs in a shaky, silent exhale. The danger of it, the razor’s edge they were on, twisted the desire into something sharper, more urgent.
He didn’t move his hand. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose buried in the hair at her temple. “I missed you,” he said, the teasing edge gone, replaced by a raw honesty that unraveled her completely. “Every damn day. Seeing you up there, shining… it killed me. I want to be the only one who sees you like this.”
She turned her head, finding his lips in the dark. This kiss was different—softer, deeper, a slow claiming. It was full of everything they couldn’t say out loud. The fear, the loneliness of the week apart, the secret they had to keep. When they parted, her lips felt swollen, sensitive.
“Talk to me,” he murmured against her mouth, his hand gently kneading her flesh. “Tell me what you need.” It wasn’t just a physical question. It was the one he always asked, the one that let her steer, that gave her back the control she had to relinquish everywhere else.
She leaned her full weight against him, letting his strength hold her up. The confession was a whisper into the dark. “I felt… big. On stage today. In the wrong way. The outfits…”
His hand left her breast, but only to slide around and cup her jaw, tilting her face toward his. Even in the near-darkness, she could see the intensity in his eyes. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re amazing. You’re powerful.” He kissed her again, slow and deliberate. “It’s… you. And I’m the luckiest guy alive that I get to touch you.”
He turned her again, slowly this time, to face him. “My Jeongyeon,” he said, as if it explained everything. And to her, in that silent, stolen room, it did.
And to her, in that silent, stolen room, it did.
She smiled then, a real one that felt unfamiliar on her face after a week of performing. “My Y/n,” she whispered, the words a secret just for them. She leaned up and kissed him, a slow, deep seal of the truth in his statement. Her hands, which had been clutching his shirt, slid beneath the fabric. Her palms found the warm, hard planes of his stomach, tracing the lines of muscle that tightened under her touch.
She let her fingers wander lower, over the waistband of his jeans, the buckle cold against her skin. She felt him stir against her, the proof of his want as tangible as her own. Her hand found the rigid length of him through the denim, and she pressed her palm there, claiming the effect she had. A sharp, hissed breath escaped his lips, and his forehead dropped to her shoulder.
“Jeongyeon,” he groaned, his voice strained.
From the hallway, a door slammed. Sana’s cheerful, carried voice called out, “Mina! Did you take my slippers?”
They were statues again, pressed together in the dark. Jeongyeon’s hand stilled. His heartbeat thudded against her chest, a wild counter-rhythm to her own. The mundane question from the other side of the door was a jarring, terrifying reminder of the line they were toeing.
He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. The playful danger had crystallized into something sharper, more urgent. The risk was no longer just theoretical; it was Sana’s voice, ten feet away.
“We can’t,” he breathed, but it sounded like a question. “But I really want this.”
Jeongyeon didn’t move her hand. She held his gaze, the electricity between them crackling in the charged silence. She saw the conflict in his face—the desire, the protectiveness, the very real fear of what would happen if they were discovered. For her.
“They can’t know,” she whispered back, her thumb moving in a slow, deliberate circle over the fabric. “But I need you to remind me who I am.”
That was all it took. The last thread of his resistance snapped.
The last thread of his resistance snapped. A low, resigned laugh escaped him, lost in the space between their lips. “You’ll be the death of me,” he murmured, but his hands were already moving, one tangling in her hair to pull her into another kiss, the other fumbling with the waistband of her pajama pants.
She met his kiss with equal fervor, her own hands busy at his belt. They moved in a frantic, silent ballet, a shared mission of quiet urgency. When her teeth caught his lower lip, a gentle, tugging bite, he let out a sound that was half groan, half chuckle. He nipped back at her jawline in playful retaliation, his hands sliding the loose cotton pants over the curve of her hips, letting them pool silently at her feet.
She stepped out of them, kicking them aside into the shadows. The cool air of the room kissed her skin, but his gaze was hotter. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark and intent, drinking her in as she stood there in just her thin tank top. He loved this part, the slow reveal. He loved seeing her, all of her.
His hands came up, fingertips tracing the line of her jaw, her throat, before slipping under the straps of her top. He pushed it slowly down her shoulders, his thumbs brushing over her collarbones. The fabric caught for a moment on the swell of her breasts before he eased it down further, exposing her to the dim light.
He just stared. From the proud, defiant set of her face, down to the full curves of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the dark triangle between her legs, and finally to the strong, powerful lines of her thighs. His breath hitched.
“God, Jeongyeon,” he whispered, the words full of awe. His palm cupped one breast, his thumb circling her nipple, and he watched, mesmerized, as it tightened under his touch. His other hand slid down, over the plane of her stomach, through the dark, soft hair, his fingers tracing her, making her shiver. He palmed the curve of her backside, squeezing the firm muscle there, and before he could stop himself, his hand came down in a light, teasing slap.
The sound was sharper than expected in the quiet room—a crisp, intimate pop.
Jeongyeon jumped, a shocked, breathless laugh bursting from her. Her hand flew to his shoulder, giving him a half-hearted slap in return. “Yah!” she hissed, but her eyes were sparkling with mischief, not anger.
“Couldn’t help it,” he grinned, unrepentant, leaning in to kiss her shoulder. “It’s just… right there. And so perfect.”
“You’re impossible,” she whispered, but her fingers were already on the hem of his shirt, tugging it up over his head. He helped her, pulling it off and tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes. Her hands spread over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under her palms.
“My turn,” she breathed, her own gaze appreciative. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the center of his chest before her lips trailed lower, over his abdomen. Her fingers worked at the button of his jeans, then the zipper, which slid down with a hushed, metallic sigh.
She pushed his jeans and boxers down in one motion, freeing him. Her hand wrapped around his length, giving him a slow, deliberate stroke. She looked up at him from under her lashes, a playful challenge in her eyes. “I’m not the only one who’s perfect,” she teased, her voice a low, intimate murmur.
He shuddered, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. “You’re a menace,” he managed to say, his voice tight.
From the hallway, the muffled sound of a closing refrigerator door echoed. They both froze, her hand stilling on him. Their eyes locked, wide with a fresh shot of adrenaline. The mundane sound was a bucket of ice water, a stark reminder of the thin door separating their world from the other.
The moment stretched, tense and silent. Then, a burst of distant laughter from the common area broke the spell. The danger, instead of extinguishing the fire, poured gasoline on it. The risk made the need more acute, the hiding more desperate.
Jeongyeon didn’t let go. Instead, she rose to her feet, pulling him with her toward the bed. They were both naked now, skin to skin in the dark. He followed, letting her guide him down onto the narrow mattress that smelled of her perfume. He loomed over her, bracing himself on his elbows, his body a welcome cage blocking out the rest of the world.
“Quiet,” he reminded her again, his voice a raw scrape against the quiet, just before he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was a furnace. It burned away the last of her hesitation, the ever-present fear of a creaking floorboard or a sudden knock. Here, in the dark, with his skin against hers, there was only the two of them and the urgent, physical truth of their connection.
She poured every ounce of her frustration from the week, every insecure whisper she’d silenced on stage, into the way her mouth moved against his. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, as if she could fuse them together.
When he finally broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, she took the opportunity to push against his shoulders, reversing their positions. He let her, a soft grunt of surprise leaving his lips as his back met the mattress.
She knelt over him, the dim light from under the door painting his body in shades of gray and blue. The contrast of his toned stomach, the dark trail of hair leading down, against the pale sheets was a sight that never failed to stir something primal in her.
She leaned down, silencing any question he might have had with another kiss. Then she began to move lower. Her lips brushed the hollow of his throat, the firm line of his collarbone. She took her time, tasting the salt on his skin, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse under her mouth. She kissed a slow, deliberate path down his sternum, over the defined planes of his abdomen. He was watching her, she could feel the heat of his gaze, his breathing already growing uneven.
Her journey downwards paused. She at his pelvis, inhaling the clean, intimate scent of him. She looked up, meeting his eyes in the near-darkness. A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips.
She lowered her head again, her mouth hovering just above the hard, hot length of him. She could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. With a deliberate, practiced motion, she gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it fall onto the head of his cock in a single, wet droplet. He jerked beneath her, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth.
He loved when she did that. The casual, almost crude ownership of the act drove him wild. It wasn't polished or performative; it was raw and real and utterly them.
Jeongyeon winked at him, a flash of white in the dark, before lowering her mouth onto him.
She gave him no chance to adjust, no slow build. She took him deep, her lips stretching wide, until she felt him hit the back of her throat. A muffled groan, strained and choked, rumbled from his chest. Her head began to bob, setting a relentless, wet rhythm.
She used her tongue lavishly, swirling it around the sensitive head on every upstroke, her spit making the glide obscenely slick and noisy in the silent room. The sloppy, hot sounds were a testament to her hunger for him, a sonic rebellion against the need for silence.
Her hand, which had been braced on his thigh, slid underneath him. Her fingers curled, fondling the tight, heavy sac beneath. She rolled his balls gently in her palm, applying just the right amount of pressure she knew he loved. He loved when his balls had some attention as well. A full-body shudder wracked him, his hips giving an involuntary little jerk.
“Fuck, Jeongyeon,” he gasped, the words strangled. His hands flew to her head, not to guide her, but to fist in her hair, holding on as if he were adrift in a storm. His thighs tensed under her, every muscle in his body coiled tight. “So good… you have no idea…”
She quickened her pace, her other hand joining to work the base of him in time with her mouth. She was lost in it, in the taste of him, the guttural sounds she was pulling from his throat, the complete power she held in that moment. Here, she wasn’t an idol. She was a woman who knew exactly how to wreck the man she loved.
With a final, deep suck that made his hips lift off the mattress, Jeongyeon pulled her mouth away with a wet pop. Her lips were slick and swollen, her breathing ragged. But her eyes, even in the dark, held a devilish glint he knew all too well.
Before he could protest the loss of heat, before he could even form a thought, she was moving. Looking down at him with that playful, commanding smirk. Then, her hands came up, cupping the full, heavy weight of her own breasts. She pushed them together, creating a deep, inviting valley of soft, warm flesh.
His brain short-circuited. “What are you—” he started, his voice a rasp.
She didn’t answer with words. Leaning forward, she guided him, his aching, slick cock, into her hot, soft tits. The sensation was utterly new, a breathtaking contrast to the tight, wet heat of her mouth. This was all yielding softness, a dizzying, luxurious friction. She squeezed, enveloping him completely in the smooth, perfect warmth of her skin.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, the exclamation ripped from him. He’d never seen anything so blatantly, powerfully erotic. The visual alone—her focused expression, the way her breasts swallowed him, the faint glisten of her saliva and his own pre-cum making everything shine in the sliver of light—was enough to undo him. But the feel of it… God, the feel.
She began to move, a slow, rolling undulation of her shoulders and upper body, sliding her breasts up and down his length. A low, guttural groan tore from his chest, long and ragged.
“Jeongyeon… fuck… they feel… perfect.” His hands, which had been gripping the sheets, flew to her, one tangling in her hair, the other splaying over her back, urging her on. “So fucking perfect.”
The sounds were different now—softer, wetter, intimate slaps of skin on skin that seemed deafening in their little world. They were both panting, lost in the illicit thrill of it.
A door squeaked open somewhere down the hall. Footsteps passed their door, paused for a heart-stopping second, then continued.
They froze, her movement stopping, his breath catching. Their eyes locked in the dark, wide and wary.
The footsteps receded.
A slow, reckless smile spread across Jeongyeon’s face. The fear was still there, a cold thread in her gut, but it was drowned out by a hotter, more potent tide. The need, the validation of his awe, the sheer rightness of his skin against hers. She leaned down, her breasts still holding him captive, and kissed his tip.
“I don’t care,” she whispered against his the tip of his cock, the words a vow.
“I don’t either,” he breathed back, and he meant it.
Emboldened, she resumed her pace, faster now, more urgent. He was groaning constantly, a stream of broken praise and profanity. “You’re incredible… look at you… I can’t last… please…”
He was close. She could feel it in the tensing of his body, the way his cock twitched between her breasts. With a final, desperate surge, she squeezed tighter, rocking harder, watching his face contort in pleasure.
His release was sudden, a hot stripe painting her skin, her cleavage. He bit down on his own fist to stifle the shout, his whole body bowing off the bed, tremors wracking him. She kept moving, gentler now, milking him through it until he collapsed back onto the mattress, boneless and spent.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the muffled soundtrack of the dorm living its life. The reality of what they’d just done, the risk they’d embraced, settled over them like a blanket.
Gently, she released him, leaning back. She looked down at the mess glistening on her chest, then back at his dazed, blissful face. A soft, almost disbelieving laugh escaped her.
A soft, almost disbelieving laugh escaped her.
She looked down at the mess glistening on her skin, the physical proof of his release, and felt a possessive thrill. Her finger traced through it, collecting a pearl-white streak, and she brought it to her lips without breaking eye contact. She tasted him, a familiar salt-bitter warmth that was intimately his, and a genuine smile softened her features.
“I missed the taste of you,” she said, her voice husky and low.
He watched, propped on his elbows, his chest still heaving. A slow, awed smile spread across his face as she meticulously licked her finger clean, then leaned down to run her tongue over her own skin, cleaning every last drop from her chest. The sight was so visceral, so raw, that it stirred something deep in him all over again.
“You’re insane,” he whispered, his voice full of affection.
“Only for you,” she murmured, crawling up his body to kiss him, letting him taste himself on her tongue. She pulled back just an inch, her nose brushing his. “But you’d better have more for me. That was just the welcome party.” Her hand slid down between them, fingers lightly tracing the sensitive skin at the base of his softening cock. “My pussy’s been lonely.”
He groaned, his head falling back against the pillow. “You just sucked me dry and fucked me with your tits. You might have to wait a minute, you greedy woman.”
She nipped at his jaw. “I didn’t hear a no.”
“That’s because there isn’t one,” he said, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. “But right now, you’ve left me with nothing to fight back with.” His smile turned wicked. “Which means it’s my turn to do whatever I want.”
Before she could retort, his hands tightened and he flipped her onto the mattress with a smooth, powerful motion. The world spun for a second, and then she was on her stomach. He hooked his hands under her hips, lifting her effortlessly onto her knees, her face pressed into the pillow, her ass in the air.
A shocked gasp was smothered by the fabric. “Y/n—!”
His response was to spread her open with his thumbs and lower his mouth to her in one devouring motion. The first hot, flat stroke of his tongue from her entrance to her clit stole the breath from her lungs. Her fingers clenched in the sheets, a ragged moan tearing from her throat as he began to eat her out with a focused, relentless hunger, his hands gripping the full curves of her ass to hold her steady.
It was too much, too good, after the week of absence and the frantic intimacy they’d just shared. The tension broke in a wave, her back arching, eyes rolling back as a low, continuous whine escaped her. He moaned against her, the vibration pushing her higher, his tongue circling and fucking her with a pace that felt like a claim.
A sharp, firm knock rattled the door.
They froze.
“Unnie?” It was Sana’s voice, bright and concerned. “Are you okay? I thought I heard a weird noise.”
Jeongyeon’s entire body went rigid. His mouth, however, did not stop. He lapped at her slowly, deliberately, as she trembled, fighting to control her breathing.
“I’m—ah—fine!” she called out, forcing her voice into a higher, lighter register. It sounded strangely normal, if a bit breathless. “Just… stubbed my toe! On the… suitcase.”
“Ouch! Okay, well, we saved you some chicken!”
“Thanks!” Jeongyeon squeaked, her body jolting as he deliberately sunk his tongue deep inside her.
The footsteps retreated. The moment the sound faded, she twisted her head, glaring back at him over her shoulder.
“Are you out of your mind?” she scolded in a furious whisper, her face flushed with panic and lingering pleasure.
He lifted his head, his chin glistening. He laughed, a low, unrepentant sound, and brought his hand down in a stinging, possessive slap on her ass.
“I am!” he said, and dove back between her legs before the echo of the slap had even faded.
The second slap was sharper, a bright punctuation mark on her flesh that made her gasp into the pillow. He didn’t let her recover. His tongue was a ruthless, devoted thing, tracing patterns she couldn’t think to decode. It speared into her, then flattened against her clit with a pressure that made her see sparks behind her eyelids.
“You… and your… slapping,” she managed to pant, each word fragmented by the rhythm he set. Her voice was a strained whisper, muffled by the fabric. “You’re so… lucky I like it.”
A low chuckle vibrated against her core. He lifted his head just enough to speak, his breath hot on her wet skin.
“I know I’m lucky,” he murmured. His thumb found her clit, replacing his tongue with a circular, insistent pressure, while his other hand stayed anchored on the curve of her ass, a firm, possessive weight. “Lucky every damn day.”
Then his mouth was on her again, his tongue driving into her with a deep, slow pulse as his thumb worked relentless circles. The dual sensation short-circuited her nerves. The world didn’t just go crazy, it dissolved into a white-hot singularity of feeling. The distant hum of Seoul, the ghost of Sana’s voice, her own stage-name, her insecurities—all of it burned away in the furnace of his mouth.
Her hips stuttered against his face, seeking more, seeking everything. A high, thin sound escaped her, trapped by the pillow. Her fingers tore at the sheets. The coil in her belly wound impossibly tight, a spring compressed to its breaking point.
He felt it, her trembling ascent. His grip on her ass tightened, holding her in place as he feasted. His rhythm became more intense, more focused, a silent command to let go.
It shattered her. The orgasm ripped through her with a violence that stole her breath, her vision whiting out. A raw, guttural cry was half-swallowed by the bed. Her body convulsed, waves of pleasure radiating out from her core, leaving her limbs weak and shaking. He rode it out with her, his movements gentling, prolonging the shocks until she collapsed forward, a boneless heap against the mattress.
He kissed the inside of her thigh, a soft benediction. She felt him move, the mattress shifting, and then his body was curling around hers, pulling her back against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, his skin damp with sweat. They lay there in the silence, breathing in ragged sync.
From the hallway, the distinct, cheerful melody of a TWICE ringtone played—Jihyo’s, probably. It faded as she answered it, her voice moving away down the hall.
The normalcy of it was almost absurd. Jeongyeon stared at the faint light under the door, her heart still hammering against her ribs. His lips found the sweat-damp skin of her shoulder.
“You okay?” he whispered, his voice rough.
She turned in his arms, facing him. In the deep shadows, she could just make out the satisfied curve of his mouth, the dark intensity of his eyes. She traced his lower lip with her finger.
She traced his lower lip with her finger. "I'm more than okay," she murmured. "I'm...perfect." The word felt foreign, but in his arms, after that, it felt true.
He caught her finger gently between his teeth, a playful glint in his eyes. "My perfect, noisy girlfriend," he whispered, the words vibrating against her skin. "I thought you were supposed to be the quiet one."
"Quiet is overrated," she breathed, shifting against him. Her body was still humming, sensitive and alive. She felt him stirring again, pressed against her thigh. A slow, satisfied smile touched her lips. "Someone's recovered fast."
He chuckled, a low, warm sound in the dark. "You have a very motivating effect." His hand slid down her side, over the dip of her waist, coming to rest on her hip. His thumb stroked the skin there, a simple, possessive touch. "But you're tired. We should probably stop."
He was teasing her. She could hear it in his voice, see it in the way his eyes didn't leave hers. He was giving her an out, a gracious retreat, and they both knew she wouldn't take it.
Jeongyeon’s smile widened. She knew this game. She pushed against his shoulder, rolling him onto his back, and swung a leg over to straddle him again. The lavender scent from her sheets mixed with the spicy, intimate smell of their bodies. "You don't get to decide when we stop," she said, leaning down so her hair curtained their faces. "I decide."
"But your members—"
"Are eating chicken and watching dramas," she finished, silencing him with a quick, biting kiss. "And I'm not done with you."
In one fluid motion, his hands hooked under her knees and he flipped her onto her back. The breath left her lungs in a soft oof. Before she could react, he had her legs up, her calves resting on his shoulders, her body open and utterly vulnerable to him. The position was intimate, exposing, a little demanding. Her heart slammed against her ribs.
He leaned over her, bracing himself on his arms, his face inches from hers. The distant skyline glow painted the sweat on his temple. "You're right," he said, his voice dropping to a serious, gravelly tone that belied the playful set-up. "We shouldn't stop now."
Jeongyeon looked up at him, at the focused intensity in his gaze, and a thrill shot through her. She knew what was coming next. Her body already tightened in anticipation. She reached up, her hand curling behind his neck, pulling him down closer.
"Then stop talking," she whispered, her voice husky and direct. "And give me your big cock."
He didn't need to be told twice. He adjusted his hips, the head of him nudging against her, slick and hot from her earlier release. He pushed in, not with a slow tease, but with a single, deep, claiming stroke that filled her completely.
A sharp, punched-out moan escaped her lips, raw and unfiltered. Her back arched off the mattress, her nails digging into his shoulders. He set a punishing rhythm immediately, each thrust a deep, deliberate piston stroke that jolted her whole body. The force made her breasts bounce, a steady, rhythmic dance in the shadowy light.
"Y/n—ah! God—!" The sounds were ripped from her, uncontrolled, a desperate litany.
He lowered his face, his breath hot against her ear. "Shhh," he teased, though his own voice was strained with effort. "You're gonna bring the whole dorm in here. Everyone will want to know why you're singing a new song."
She gasped, laughter and pleasure mixing into a choked sound. She grabbed his wrist where his hand was planted beside her head. Her grip was tight, insistent. Her eyes found his, blazing in the dark.
"Just fuck me harder," she demanded, the words a strained whisper.
A grin touched his lips. He obeyed. His hips snapped forward with renewed force, a deeper, more urgent pace that drove the air from her lungs. The bedframe gave a soft, rhythmic creak in protest against the wall. Each impact sent a shockwave through her, a blinding, perfect fullness that stretched and burned and soothed all at once.
Her moans became continuous, a low, keening sound she buried against his shoulder. "It feels... so amazing," she panted, the confession ragged and honest. "Your cock... it feels so big inside of me."
He groaned, the sound torn from deep within his chest. His rhythm faltered for a second, overcome by her words, before he drove into her again, even deeper, as if trying to weld them together. The world outside the door, the career, the cameras, the weight of expectation—it all dissolved into the sweat-slicked heat between them, into the raw, physical truth of his body moving inside hers.
The world outside the door, the career, the cameras, the weight of expectation—it all dissolved into the sweat-slicked heat between them, into the raw, physical truth of his body moving inside hers. His thrusts were a perfect, punishing rhythm, a deep piston stroke that connected with something fundamental in her core. She was making sounds she didn’t recognize, high and breathy, her heels digging into the small of his back to pull him even deeper.
“You feel—” he gasped, his forehead slick against hers, “—you feel like heaven, Jeongyeon. Every damn time.”
“Then don’t stop,” she pleaded, her voice fractured. Her hands clutched at his back, feeling the muscles flex and roll under his skin. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He drove into her harder, faster, the force of it sliding her up the mattress until her head nearly bumped the headboard. The scent of them, of sex and lavender sheets, filled the air, thick and heady. His control was slipping; she could see it in the clenched set of his jaw, the wildness creeping into his eyes. She loved this part—the moment he came utterly undone because of her.
His rhythm grew frantic, each snap of his hips more urgent than the last. A shudder ran through him, a precursor. He was trying to hold on, to make it last, but she tightened around him deliberately, milking him, and he broke.
“Oh, fuck—Mommy—”
The word hung in the air, sharp and sudden as a slap.
He froze. Deep inside her, his body went utterly still. For a beat, there was only the hum of the air conditioner and the distant, tinny laugh track from a variety show playing in the common area.
Jeongyeon’s eyes, glazed with pleasure, snapped into focus. They widened. A slow, incredulous smile began to stretch across her swollen lips.
Beneath her, Y/n’s face underwent a rapid, horrifying transformation. The pleasure shattered into wide-eyed panic, then flushed into a deep, crimson blush that spread from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears. He tried to pull back, to stammer an exit from the word that had just escaped.
“I—Jeongyeon—I didn’t—that’s not what I—” The sentences were crumbling in his mouth. “I meant—you’re just—fuck, I’m sorry.”
Jeongyeon’s smile transformed into a full, wicked grin. She relaxed her body beneath him, her grip on his back softening from a clutch to a gentle stroke.
“Sorry?” she echoed, her voice a low, playful purr. “What exactly are you sorry for, baby?”
He groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder to hide his face. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. Her hips gave a slow, deliberate roll beneath him, reminding him he was still buried inside her. “Don’t tease you about it? But it just slipped out so naturally.” She dragged a fingernail lightly up his spine. “Y/n. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, he lifted his head. His expression was one of pure, flustered agony. “It was a stupid brain glitch.”
“A glitch,” she repeated, nodding slowly, her eyes dancing with amusement. She cupped his burning cheek. “Your brain just shorts out and calls me ‘Mommy’ in the middle of sex. That’s a pretty specific glitch.”
“It’s not a thing,” he insisted, his voice tight with embarrassment. He tried to shift, to withdraw, but she locked her ankles behind his back, holding him in place.
“Isn’t it?” Her tone was light, conversational, even as her internal muscles gave him a slow, possessive squeeze. “You seemed pretty into it a second ago. Before you… malfunctioned.”
He let out a strangled sound, part laugh, part groan. “You’re the worst. I can’t believe you.”
“I can’t believe you,” she shot back, her grin unrepentant. “My big, strong boyfriend. Who wants to call me Mommy.” She said the word deliberately, watching his eyelids flutter. “Admit it. You liked it.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“Jeongyeon, stop.” His protest was weaker now, his hips giving an involuntary, shallow thrust.
“Make me,” she challenged, her voice dropping to a husky whisper. She brought her mouth right to his ear. “Or just tell me the truth. You thought it was hot.”
He was silent for a long moment, his breath coming in ragged pulls. The blush hadn’t faded. He finally nodded, the movement tiny, almost imperceptible against her cheek.
“Yeah,” he breathed, the word a raw scrape of sound. “It was. A little. Shut up.”
Jeongyeon’s laughter was a soft, triumphant puff of air. She slid her hands into his hair, pulling his face back so she could see his eyes. The embarrassment was still there, but underneath it swam a dark, admitted hunger. “My good boy,” she murmured, testing the words.
He shuddered, a full-body tremor that rippled through him and into her. A low moan escaped him.
Encouraged, she leaned up and kissed him, slow and deep. When she pulled back, her expression was all playful command.
“Then stop being shy about it,” she whispered. “And fuck your mommy properly.”
The was it. With a growl that was equal parts surrender and desire, he captured her mouth, his earlier rhythm returning with a new, unleashed fervor. It was deeper, more possessive, each thrust punctuated by his ragged breath against her skin.
“Is this what you want?” he gritted out, his voice thick.
“Yes,” she gasped, arching to meet him. “Just like that. Don’t hold back.”
He didn’t. The creak of the bedframe became a persistent, rhythmic complaint against the wall. He was everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his body claiming her with a focused intensity that left no room for anything else. The earlier tease had melted away, replaced by a consuming, honest heat.
“My good boy,” she moaned again, the title now a provocation and a reward.
He drove into her, his composure shattered, his release building not with gentle waves but with the force of a dam giving way. She clung to him, her own climax coiling tight, triggered by the sheer, unabashed hunger in his movements and the power of the role she’d stepped into. It was a different kind of control, dizzying and sweet.
His rhythm shattered into frantic, shallow thrusts. “Jeongyeon—Mommy—I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” she commanded, her voice breaking. “Come for me.”
He did, with a choked, gasping cry he muffled desperately against her neck, his body convulsing as he emptied himself deep inside her. The intensity of his finish tipped her over the edge a moment later, a sharp, clenching wave that pulled a silent scream from her throat, her body bowing against his.
They collapsed together, a tangled, breathless heap of spent limbs. The only sound was their ragged breathing slowly synching, then slowing. The variety show laugh track blared again from the other room, a bizarre soundtrack to their exhaustion.
After a long while, he shifted his weight off her, pulling her into his side. His fingers traced idle, shaky patterns on her damp shoulder. The blush had faded, leaving a soft, sated expression in its wake.
“You,” he said quietly, “are never going to let me live that down, are you?”
Jeongyeon turned her head, nuzzling into the hollow of his throat. She could feel the steady, slowing beat of his heart under her lips. A smile touched her mouth.
“Not a chance,” she whispered. “My good boy.”
The stillness after was a tangible thing, a warm, heavy blanket of its own. Jeongyeon lay sprawled across Y/n’s chest, listening to the frantic gallop of his heart gradually slow into a steady, comforting rhythm. Her own skin was slick with sweat, cooling now in the dorm’s air-conditioned chill. The scent of sex and lavender was overwhelming, a private signature in the air.
His fingers trailed lazy, mindless patterns from her shoulder blade to the base of her spine.
“My good boy,” she murmured into his skin, the words a sleepy, satisfied taunt.
A low groan vibrated through his chest. “You’re never going to stop, are you?”
“Not as long as it makes you blush like that,” she said, propping her chin on his sternum to look at him. His face was still faintly pink. She grinned. “It’s cute. My big, strong, blushing boy.”
“I regret calling you that,” he muttered, but his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer. He reached down, fumbling beside the bed without looking, and snagged the rumpled duvet.
With a grunt, he hauled it up and over them both, creating a warm, dark cave. The world narrowed to the space under the blanket, to the feeling of his skin against hers, the cotton soft and familiar against her back.
She giggled, snuggling into his side. The teasing was a comfort, a way to metabolize the startling vulnerability of what had just happened. “Don’t regret it. It was hot. And you liked it.” She drew a circle on his chest. “Admit you liked it.”
“I liked the part where you came twice,” he deflected, his voice a sleepy rumble.
“Cheeky.” She pinched his side, making him jump. “That’s because my good boy knows exactly what I—”
The door clicked.
Not a knock. Not a rattle. The distinct, metallic sound of the handle turning, followed by the soft sigh of the door swinging inward on its hinges.
Time didn’t slow down. It snapped.
They jerked apart under the covers as if electrocuted. Jeongyeon’s heart, so calm a second before, launched itself into her throat. In a single, panicked motion, they both scrambled to yank the duvet up to their chins, their fingers tangling in the fabric, gripping it like a lifeline. The blanket tented over their heads, a flimsy shield.
Golden afternoon light from the hall spilled into the dim room, silhouetting the figure in the doorway.
It was Sana.
She stood frozen, one hand still on the doorknob, her head tilted in curious confusion that rapidly morphed into wide-eyed, dawning comprehension. Her gaze swept from the two panic-stricken shapes under the blanket, to the trail of discarded clothes leading from the door to the bed, to the general state of chaotic intimacy that hung in the air.
Jeongyeon’s brain emptied of everything except pure, ice-cold terror. She twisted under the covers, her voice a seething, venomous whisper aimed at Y/n.
“You didn’t lock the door?!”
He recoiled as if slapped, his own whisper frayed with panic. “I thought you locked it! After she knocked earlier!”
“Well i thought you did while we were making out!”
“That was hours ago! You were the last one by the door!”
Their hissed argument lasted only three seconds, a frantic back-and-forth under their cotton fortress. When Jeongyeon whipped her head back towards the doorway, Sana’s expression had settled into something else entirely. The shock was gone, replaced by a slowly spreading, utterly delighted smirk. Her eyes sparkled with mischievous glee.
“Sana-yah,” Jeongyeon breathed, her voice switching to a desperate, placating tone. She tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “It’s not… listen, you can’t—don’t tell anyone, okay? Please. Just… close the door. We can talk later.”
Sana’s smirk widened. She took a single, deliberate step into the room, her eyes scanning the scene once more, cataloging every damning detail. She opened her mouth.
“Sana, I’m serious,” Jeongyeon pleaded, her knuckles white on the blanket. “Not a word.”
For a heartbeat, Sana just looked at them, her face a masterpiece of performative thoughtfulness. She tapped her chin. Then, the mischief won. The smirk exploded into a radiant, uncontainable grin.
“Okay!” Sana chirped, her voice suddenly, horrifyingly loud. “My lips are sealed!”
Then she spun on her heel.
She didn’t close the door.
She sprinted into the hallway, her footsteps a rapid-fire percussion on the wooden floor. Her voice, bright as a trumpet and echoing off the walls, rang out through the entire dorm.
“EVERYONE! COME QUICK! JEONGYEON-UNNIE SNUCK A HOT GUY INTO HER ROOM AND THEY’RE IN BED TOGETHER AND THEY’RE NAKED!”
The shout hung in the air, a tangible, devastating bomb blast.
Under the blanket, Jeongyeon and Y/n stared at each other in utter, paralyzed horror. The distant, cozy sounds of the dorm—the laugh track from the TV, the clatter of plates—died instantly.
Then came the thunder.
A stampede of footsteps, from every direction, converging on the hallway. Dahyun’s high-pitched,
“WHAT?!” Mina’s soft, shocked, “Sana, are you sure?” The rapid, approaching thud of someone running.
From under their thin blanket shield, they saw shadows crowd the now-open doorway.
Jeongyeon closed her eyes, a low, mortified groan escaping her lips. The warm, secret world of five minutes ago was gone, shattered by Sana’s triumphant yell. All that was left was the cold exposure, the gathering storm of eight incredibly curious, unstoppable women just outside, and the frantic, hammering of two hearts trapped in a bed.
The stampede hit the doorway all at once.
First came Dahyun and Tzuyu, their eyes wide as satellite dishes, followed by Mina whose hands flew to her mouth. Chaeyoung shoved her way between them, eyebrows skyrocketing. Nayeon materialized behind them, arms crossed, looking equal parts scandalized and deeply invested. Momo and Jihyo filled the remaining space, their expressions shifting from confusion to slack-jawed comprehension as they took in the rumpled bed, the discarded clothes, and the two human-shaped lumps under the duvet.
A deafening silence descended, thick enough to choke on.
Jeongyeon slowly, painfully, pulled the duvet down just enough to reveal her face. Her hair was a wild mess, her cheeks flushed a deep, mortified crimson. She stared at the semicircle of her members—her family, her coworkers, her judges—and felt the last shred of her privacy evaporate.
She lifted a hand and rubbed her temple, a slow, circular motion of pure, aching defeat.
Beside her, Y/n made a small, trapped sound. He inched the duvet down next, revealing just his eyes and forehead before pulling down more and just covering his lower half. He took in the eight staring women, the unblinking wall of shock and curiosity.
With a visible gulp, he raised a hand from under the covers and offered a tiny, terribly shy, and embarrassed wave.
The spell broke.
Chaeyoung let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Damn, unnie,” she said, her voice flat with genuine surprise. “He is hot.”
A burst of laughter, nervous and incredulous, erupted from the group. Nayeon’s stern facade cracked into a grin. Dahyun started giggling uncontrollably.
Dahyun’s giggling cut through the tension like a knife, sharp and uncontrollable. It sparked a chain reaction, snickers escaping from Tzuyu and Chaeyoung, who immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. The initial shock in the doorway melted into a chaotic blend of disbelief and buzzing curiosity.
Y/n, his face burning a shade of red Jeongyeon had never seen, finally found his voice.
“I—I should really head home,” he stammered, his words tumbling out in a rushed, flustered heap. He made a aborted move to get up, remembered the state of undress, and clutched the duvet tighter to his chest. “It’s getting late, and this is… you all need to talk, and I’m just—”
“Sit down.”
Jihyo’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was a clear, calm command that sliced through the room. She stepped fully inside, her managerial poise locking into place despite the pink tinge on her own cheeks. Her gaze was firm but not unkind, flicking between Jeongyeon’s terrified eyes and Y/n’s panicked ones.
“You’re not going anywhere until we figure this out,” she stated, crossing her arms. “This involves you too. So stay.”
He sank back onto the mattress, the fight draining out of him. Jeongyeon felt his leg brush hers under the covers, a tiny point of contact that felt both grounding and terribly exposed.
Jihyo turned her focus to Jeongyeon, her expression softening by a fraction. “Okay. Explain.”
Jeongyeon let out a long, shuddering sigh that seemed to come from the very bottom of her soul. She closed her eyes for a second, gathering the scattered pieces of her courage. When she opened them, she looked not at Jihyo, but at her hands, clenched in the fabric on her lap.
“His name is Y/n,” she began, her voice surprisingly steady, though quiet. “We’ve been together for almost a year.” She swallowed, glancing at him. “I met him after a fansign. He wasn’t a fan. Just… a person. Who saw me.”
She told them everything, the words coming easier now, spilling out in a quiet, relentless stream. The secret meetings, the hidden phone calls, the way he made her forget the cameras and the choreography and the constant, gnawing worry about her body.
“He looks at me,” she whispered, “and I don’t feel like Jeongyeon of TWICE. I just feel like me. And he loves that me.” She finally looked up, her eyes glistening. “We really love each other.”
Silence followed, thick and heavy. Nayeon’s playful smirk had vanished. Mina was nodding slightly, her expression gentle. Dahyun had stopped giggling.
A warm, genuine smile spread across Jihyo’s face. She stepped forward and sat on the very edge of the bed, reaching out to squeeze Jeongyeon’s hand where it gripped the duvet.
“We’re not mad at you for keeping a secret,” she said, her voice soft but clear for everyone to hear. “We’re glad. We’re just… surprised. But we’re glad you found someone.”
The collective release of breath in the room was audible. Tzuyu smiled shyly. Momo nodded, offering a small thumbs-up.
Y/n’s shoulders slumped in visible relief, a blush of gratitude coloring his cheeks. He dared a small, tentative smile back at Jihyo.
That’s when Sana, who had been vibrating with suppressed energy in the corner, could hold it in no longer. A triumphant, gleeful spark lit her eyes.
“Also,” she announced, sing-song, her finger pointing between the two on the bed. “Just before I opened the door, I heard something very interesting through the wall.”
Jeongyeon’s blood ran cold. “Sana, don’t you dare—”
“Jeongyeon-unnie was teasing him,” Sana barreled on, her voice dripping with delight, “for calling her ‘mommy’!” She paused for maximum effect, watching the room’s eyes widen. “And she called him her ‘good boy’!”
The dam broke completely.The room erupted. Dahyun shrieked with laughter, doubling over. Chaeyoung howled, slapping her thigh. Nayeon let out a cackle so loud it echoed. Even Mina covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking silently. Jihyo bit her lip, trying and failing to hold back a smile.
Y/n made a sound like a deflating balloon. The grateful blush on his face transformed into a furnace of pure, unadulterated humiliation. He stared at the ceiling as if praying for it to swallow him whole.
“Okay, that’s—I need—bathroom,” he mumbled, his voice strangled. In one frantic motion, he located his shirt, yanked it from the floor, and held it up as a shield as he scrambled out of the bed. He kept his back to the room, hastily pulling it on, the fabric inside-out and backwards. “Excuse me. I just. Need a minute.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. He just fled, nearly tripping over a discarded pillow in his haste to escape into the connected bathroom. The soft click of the lock echoed in the laughter-filled room.
“Yah!” Jeongyeon shrieked, throwing a pillow at Sana, who dodged it with a giggle. “Are you insane? You can’t just say things like that! You’re going to murder him with embarrassment!” She glared at all of them, though the heat was diminished by her own flaming cheeks. “Stop it! All of you, stop teasing him right now!”
The laughter slowly subsided into amused chuckles and shared looks. They all knew the line, and for now, they’d crossed it enough.
As the room settled, Nayeon leaned against the doorframe, a new, different kind of curiosity in her eyes. Her gaze was sharp, appraising, and utterly without mercy. She waited until the bathroom sink could be heard running, muffling any sound.
She tilted her head, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, blunt whisper. “Okay. But seriously, Jeongyeon-ah.”
Jeongyeon, still scowling at Sana, turned to her. “What?”
Nayeon’s eyes glinted. “How good was he, though?” she asked, her tone flat and deeply interested. “Like, details. We need details.”
A fresh wave of scandalized giggles rippled through the members. Jeongyeon opened her mouth to deliver another scolding, her manager-mode face snapping into place. But then she stopped. Her eyes flicked toward the closed bathroom door, listening to the steady run of the water.
A slow, secret smile touched her lips. She bit the lower one, trying and failing to suppress it. She looked back at the circle of her friends, their faces eager and full of a love that, even now, felt overwhelmingly safe.
She leaned forward, beckoning them closer with a curl of her finger. The group huddled in, a tight knot of conspiracy at the foot of the bed.
“Okay fine,” Jeongyeon whispered, her voice a low, thrilled confession. “So, first of all…”
~~~
Not much people show Jeongyeon love! Like really?! This has been on replay for days😍
(Taking requests again! Sorry for the sudden MIA😭)
A/N: Yeah, this woman is insane and way too gorgeous that my tiny brain proceeds to write a sudden fic out of the blue, OBVIOSULY because of this fic lmaooo. anyways, enjoy reading y'all and i got yedged.
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The class she exudes is phenomenal, making this small meeting between the both of you an exceptional tête-à-tête in her hotel room.
You never knew how famous she was, because looking back, she looks like a normal devil in disguise in a bar a year ago.
It has been complicated with her and even Chaewon—the situationship doesn’t help, or you don’t even know where to label the three of you in (a polyamorous description can be close, but all hell is loose whenever you say that with Chaewon’s possessive ass).
But right now, she doesn’t matter, not at the very least when five words pop up at the top of your phone as you’re doomscrolling.
yejisnothere - 13:44 — come here right now, please
There’s still this nervousness in you and you don’t know why. Maybe for the fact that you’ve actually fucked a celebrity or the fact that you’re meeting her in a place that’s possibly out of your league—perhaps, perchance.
But you dismiss that, knowing as soon as the door opens, a majestic Yeji is there to greet you. The photos she sent you got yourself swooning all over her, wondering how you could pull such a woman whose beauty is unimaginable, from head to toe and then reflect more and say I couldn’t ask for more.
You’re near her hotel, you can see the fans waiting around the corner that can’t wait for the Hwang Yeji to show up and be blessed by her presence—you feel them, you’d be on your knees for Yeji too (it would be the other way around but you get the gist of this). You step foot on the hotel as the concierge directs you to where she’s at—thank god the guards know who you are or you’d not be stepping room to her kingdom.
You go up, counting the floors as you knock on the door and where she’s at, and there she is, beauty crafted carefully and examined to perfection, by the gods themselves.
God, she’s gorgeous—you whisper on yourself, and her selcas feel unreal until you lay eyes onto her right now. She chuckles as she’s confused on why you’re acting like you’re spacing out.
She misses you, you can tell, and the feelings are mutual.
“Come on in!” You come in, and your eyes are just blessed with the fascinating design of every furniture, that expensive floral scent, and an angel like her—yes, you wouldn’t shut up on how pretty she is.
She pulls you in, towards her a little as you’re getting as red as a tomato right, and maybe her too. Normally, she would kiss you when the both of you are depraved from each other’s touch for more than a week, even taking things further than just peppering each other’s necks, but right now, she can’t be besmirched.
At least, that’s what should happen, but knowing her, she has other plans.
“Are you sure you really wanna do this, Yeji?” It is normal, you’re cautious and apprehensive considering a wrong move could spark onto something bad for the both of you, wouldn’t risk ruining the way she looks just to be in the headline of the news.
But she reassures you and she’s certain, after all, she owes you a lot, starting from the fact that you kept cheering her up if she’s going to do well in this incoming event and that alone is something worth appreciating.
As wholesome as this can be, she wants you so bad, now.
“They’ll probably know this, Yeji—you know you have something to preserve.”
“I know, baby.” She turns around so gracefully, catching that sweet-smelling perfume of hers and bends herself a little over the table, inviting you. “See it for yourself.”
You ask her again, and she consents. Red panties, as scarlet as her outfit and oh, a metallic toy inserted inside her rim.
“See? I know what’s at stake here, but there’s no way you won’t cum inside me so…”
So—you mirror her, hearing her filthy thoughts out.
“You’re going to dump it in my ass.”
This woman is insane—fucked up in the head, for sure, but still in a good way where she orchestrates how this ends as her confidence is a weapon, and you’re willing to be the one to be testing that. You grew confident with the way she sways her hips, and that sultry voice inviting you—damn, you really just wanna rip those panties off and be rough with her (she’d like that to happen, too) but there’s this caveat.
Keep in mind on what’s listed: one, don’t ruin her outfit at all costs; two, don’t ruin her makeup, her makeup artist will fucking kill you; three, don’t mark her skin; and lastly, cum in her ass, at all costs.
You’re goddamn ready, and you know that she’s in the same boat. Before proceeding, she whispers to you, “We could hang out later, but right now, I really need you to fuck me.”
That invitation is a green light, so now, being careful on hiking that designer dress up, and putting those panties just below of the pivot where her ass and her pussy meets, you tease her to get the both of you accustomed to each other’s heat, and for yourself to riled up. It was quick, and not even ten seconds you’re rock-hard thanks to the warmth her buttcheeks provide and the way her cunt invites you, and you give in and there’s no second to waste.
“God—Yeji, I forgot to even ask.”
“Oh lord—w-what, baby?” She’s visibly curious and ultimately, feeling that euphoric sense in her as you insert a third of your length in her.
“How much time do we need before they call you in, or if—god, anybody comes here?”
That’s a great question, and gladly, she knows. “About half an hour.”
You insert more, it’s now half of your shaft in her tightness, and you ask another. “Aren’t there cameras here? Do you wanna do this somewhere else more private?”
Fuck, that’s a hindsight, something that’s an anomaly on her perfect plan. “Fuck—let’s do it in the bathroom.”
You look around, and thank god, the cameras are nowhere catching the both of you fucking each other—even worse when your balls deep in her as you can’t get yourself to pull out of that pleasurable pussy of hers.
Unfortunately, you need to be presentable, dressing yourself up as Yeji whines with your cock leaving her cunt, but to fulfill what the both of you want, a pinch of sacrifice is needed.
---
Expectedly, there’s nothing to record you fucking Yeji in such a glamorous outfit inside the bathroom.
It is as expensive-looking as hers—marbled floor, gradient playing between black, white and gold, and everything nice. You couldn’t describe how it looks apart from it blessing your eyes, but averting your focus towards inserting your length in her again, and pounding her tight cunt.
“God, you’re big—so fucking good inside me.” Yeji compliments, and you smile, mischievously.
The feelings are mutual—god, your cunt is tighter and feels way better than before—and you can’t wait to give her what she deserves. You thrust in, filling her up to the hilt then withdrawing with just the tip inside, then repeat. Those actions elicit dulcet moans out of her mouth, urging you to pick up the pace and knowing how she could take you well and the limited area of besmirchment, you’ll take on the challenge.
Normally, you would undress everything that’s on her, no matter how simple or expensive it is, roam your hands all over that perfect body of hers, mark her, kiss her lips and more, yet your refrain from that—discipline is a virtue, and she appreciates and understands that. You grab onto her hips though, at least knowing that you have a leverage to handle as you fuck her hard. Thank god the dress isn’t as tedious and distracting thanks to how well it hugs her body, and that’s a plus towards her stylist.
“God, Yeji—” You continue your thrusts in her, teasing onto the metallic plug, pushing in a little as you pound her and that alone elevates her wanton sounds of delight. “—you really are a freak.”
“Your freak, baby—god, I really wish I could do more on that cock.” That would be at least a wish for hours and hours, because you wish to do more about her holes.
That hint of frustration seeps in you, but all of that translates with how hard you’re fucking her. She grabs onto the edge of the sink harder, still careful not to damage those well-manicured nails of hers as she watched your face as you thrust in her in the mirror—you laid eye contact towards her, sweat forming on your forehead as you smirk in the reflection, and she just begs for more as you deliver new sets of thrusts.
She’s creaming on your cock and she can’t help it, and thank god, not even a drop of her nectar ruins her outfit and only your thighs and hers—that’s easy to get rid off, and that’s a sigh of relief. She’s moaning too much and urging for more that it concerns you that the other people outside may hear her, so you spank her harshly, warning her on what she's spilling. “You’re fucking loud, Yeji—control yourself.”
As if she can do that, but she notices it and obliges, gritting her teeth with the pain you delivered and the pleasure you bestow her. She closes her eyes, head hanging down as you keep your harsh pace on her cunt, even continuing to circle that metallic plug lodged in her asshole to test how much she can suppress her moans.
Those heels of hers is probably a victim at this point—repeated clacking, possibly smashing just the tip of it as her feet can’t control the pleasure your deliver onto her—and that sight alone is so fucking sexy, truly a sight to behold. Your eyes scan the entirety of hers, maintaining the class on her outfit, the elegance on that countenance as you ruin her cunt and fuck up the way she thinks.
Your hands roam around her thighs, tease the lips of her cunt a little as you don’t hold back and she’s the one to blame. She’s getting cockdrunken at this point, chanting the words about ruining her and fucking her up, and you know that could be genuine or words just to enable your further. The heart-shaped tip of her buttplug actually lures you into the abyss, but you refuse to, as she still has her image to protect and her sluttiness to be masked.
Oh boy, Chaewon is gonna kill you if she finds this out, so you operate in this clandestine session.
“I’m going to—” She gulps, gritting her teeth as her heels clack in tandem with your thrusts, and her words bait your curiosity.
“Going to what, Yeji?” You leaned down and whispered that. She chokes on her own spit, crying a little as the pleasure is too much for her, your cock molding the walls of her pussy that makes feel complete, the one that fulfilled her needs.
She replies, and with that vixen look towards the mirror, she mouths. “Your cock is gonna make me cum!”
You don’t edge her or anything as you fuck her through and through, her nectar spilling towards the marbled floor, and onto your ramping length ramming against her heat. Some stains her manicured feet and her heels as the smell of sex permeates the air stronger, rivalling the floral scent the air purifier provides in the bathroom.
Isn’t it ironic that you’re defining what this room really means? After all, the contradiction is great and a blessing for her—it doesn’t get any better to do such the filthiest actions in a room where people clean themselves.
You’re proud of what you’re doing, and Yeji appreciates that.
Her thighs quiver, a little weak from her orgasm as the way her walls hug you urges you closer to the promised land, and you’re about to break your promise. Thanks to your discipline and self-control, you slow down the pace and give her more thrusts before knowing yourself is playing with the devil—if you’re not careful, you would have deposited it inside her cunt.
“I know y-you’re close, baby—ah, god, give it to me.” Yeji is practically begging for your load, and you’re here to fulfill it. Knowing your soaked cock, you let Yeji relax her anal walls and then teased that buttplug that had been there for god knows how long then pulling it out, letting your shaft be the one lodging it.
“You’re fucking tight, Yeji—goddammit—”
“What the fuck—it feels good, ugh—” Those cacophonous sounds of pain, relief, and pleasure mixes up as you fuck her ass. Her shapely butt isn’t safe from you, as you show no mercy, smacking onto it as the pain lingers within it, Yeji hissing because of it as it doesn’t become the reason on why you’re gonna stop dumping her load inside her tight ass.
And all hell breaks loose and you cum inside her.
She wantonly expresses how great your cock feels inside her, as you bury yourself and deposit it all inside her tightest hole. The orgasm goes on for like ten seconds as every spurt paints her ass white, even thrusting leisurely just to fuck that load deeper and prolong your high but not everything lasts forever, your euphoria coming down as your his gradually slows down.
You pull out of her tight ass, marvelling over the ruined holes of hers, leaking with your own cum and her cunt? Oh, it has never looked so good glistening under the dim lights the lamp provides.
The both of you exchanged ragged breaths as you make Yeji relax her asshole again, insert that plug of hers inside and let her cum stay there for as long as she wants.
Well, let’s just say her anal virginity is now gone.
“God, that feels so warm inside me, baby.” She looks onto the mirror, exhausted as the both of you exchange laughs. “We should really try anal someday.”
“Such a freak, Yeji.”
You compose yourself and hers, as she’s grateful for the reward you gave her. Well, if you really tried to break her anal virginity, she wouldn’t be attending the event due to reasons unknown to the others, and your reasons for making her legs sore.
You should be thankful of this blessing: “I can still feel my legs, baby—I really thought I was gonna be fucked up.”
That earns a chuckle in you and that sigh of relief, but seriously, she needs to look modest than this.
“So, how many minutes left?”
“Probably twenty minutes more.” Yeji replies, as you help her fix herself. “Maybe enough time to get ready and spend so little time with you.”
Those words make you flustered, but there’s this thought that seems to cloud your mind: Such a freak, she is.
---
You hear and see the headlines on your phone, so sudden: Hwang Yeji storms the Paris Fashion Week with her striking visuals and anything similar with those complimentary phrases.
You’re still blown away by how beautiful she looks, gracefully walking like nothing ever happened (only you know what happens, at least on your knowledge, it’s only you) and waving her hand towards those people that are screaming their lungs out around the streets of Paris, like the top-model that she is.
It still makes you lightheaded with a simple thought: she’s walking like that with your cum stored inside her ass, a plug preventing it from spilling out and causing a buzz in the Internet.
As you scroll down on your phone further and eat that richly-flavored cinnamon roll in front of you, you reminisce on those words she said earlier—we should really try anal someday.
And that hit you, maybe an experiment wouldn’t hurt so bad, right?
You text her, and you’re just hoping she’s free after this because you have way better plans with her, considering this one a force of habit.
I like each position RV member prefers when they want to be bred, can you also make one for twice ?
Nayeon
Nayeon pushes you onto your back, straddling your hips with that bright, teasing grin. She prefers cowgirl when she wants to be bred. She controls the pace, grinds down on you slowly at first to feel every inch stretch her pussy.
You grip her waist as she sinks onto you, her tight heat swallowing your cock whole.
"Fill me up."
She rocks her hips in circles, breasts bouncing with each drop. Her nails rake your chest, urging you deeper. She leans forward, long hair curtaining your faces, kissing you messy while she rides harder.
"I want your cum so bad. Breed me right here."
You thrust up to meet her, hitting that spot that makes her gasp. Her pace quickens, thighs trembling as she chases her high.
"Don't pull out."
She demands, her pussy clenching around you. You feel her pulse, her body begging. One final grind and she has you spilling deep inside her cunt, flooding her. She stays seated, rocking gently to keep every drop in, smirking down at you.
"Good boy."
Jeongyeon
Jeongyeon pulls you close on the couch with her legs, until you're on top in classic missionary. She loves the weight of you pinning her, legs hooked over your shoulders for that deep angle when breeding is all she craves. You slide in slow, watching her eyes flutter shut.
"Harder."
She murmurs, hands on your back urging you on. Her walls grip tight as you thrust deep, pelvis grinding against her clit with every stroke.
"Breed me...give it all to me."
Her voice cracks with need. You pound steadily, feeling her pussy soak your cock more with each thrust. Her fingers dig into your shoulders.
"Deeper… I want to feel you cum inside."
You angle just right, hitting her cervix, and she arches, moaning low. Her cunt rhythmically tries to milk you for all you have. You burry yourself deep and shoot pulsing hot ropes into her. She holds you there, legs trembling.
"Stay… don't let a drop leak out."
Momo
Momo gets on all fours and arches her back perfectly. Doggy is her favourite for breeding because it lets you pin her down completely. Your hips flush against hers as you drive in from behind. You press over her, chest to her back, sliding your cock deep into her in one smooth thrust. She moans into the pillow, pushing back to meet you.
"Breed me like this… fill me up."
Her ass jiggles with each hard snap of your hips. You grip her waist, pounding relentlessly. The angle lets you go impossibly deep. She reaches back, spreading her cheeks wider.
"Right there...cum inside me."
Her body shakes as you grind against her spot. Her tight pussy pulls you over the edge. You groan, spilling thick and hot seed into her, flooding her cunt. She collapses forward, keeping you buried, rocking back lazily. Momo feels too full to say a word.
Sana
Sana loves spooning turned breeding. Just lying on her side, you behind her, one leg hooked over yours for easy access. She craves the closeness when she wants to be filled. You slide in from behind, arm around her waist, hand cupping her breast. She sighs happily, pushing back.
"Breed me slow… make it last."
You thrust lazy but deep, grinding circles inside her. She turns her head for messy kisses.
"I want your baby..."
Her hand guides yours between her legs, rubbing her clit as you pump steadily.
The build is torturous. Her moans are soft and cute. She makes her pussy clench around your cock, teasing you.
"Now… breed me now."
You speed up, burying yourself to the hilt inside her, and explode, pumping her full of cum, pulse after pulse.
Jihyo
Jihyo always demands you fuck her in a mating press whenever she's ovulating. Her legs folded back, pressing her tits together, knees by her ears, her pussy so close to her mouth, you could switch between both holes whenever you wanted.
Now, you pin her wrists above her head, your body weight folding her in half, thrusting deep and hard into her wet pussy.
"Take it all."
You groan, eyes locked on hers. Her body rocks with each powerful stroke, breasts bouncing.
"Fill me up. I need your cum so bad..."
She clenches tight, urging you on. You grind against her cervix, making her cry out.
Jihyo orgasms first. Her walls spasm around your cock, pulling your own release out of you. You flood her pussy with your cum, groaning as she milks every drop. Your cock paints her inner walls white, until she's almost overflowing. But with her hips raised like this, gravity helps you with keeping her full. Even after you pull out, she keeps her legs up, smirking at you.
"Not wasting any."
Mina
Mina prefers something slow, just like Sana. You sit cross-legged, her in your lap facing you, legs wrapped around your waist. It's intimate, eye-contact heavy when she wants to be bred softly but deeply.
She sinks down slowly, arms around your neck.
"Breed me… please."
You rock together, grinding deep, her forehead against yours. Her breaths hitch with each roll. Your entire cock is inside her snug pussy, barely moving. Just enough for both of you to feel a new level of pleasure.
"Inside… all of it."
You thrust up gently, hands on her ass guiding her.
She trembles in your lap, clenching to draw out your cum as she feels your cock pulsating inside her. You spill thick ropes of cum into her tight pussy, filling her completely, until tiny streaks of your semen start to leak out around your cock.
She stays seated, kissing you tenderly.
"It feels so warm…"
Dahyun
Dahyun moans as she continues to ride you in reverse. Her back is facing you. Her ass bounces as she rides your cock. She loves the control she has over you and the feeling of you enjoying the view.
She grinds eagerly, hands on your thighs.
"Cum in me...breed me good."
You grip her hips, thrusting up hard. Her moans turn needy, but the sound of her ass hitting your lap drowns them out.
"Deeper… fill me up."
She grinds down, circling her hips to feel you throb. Your hands wander to her ass, squeezing her cheeks. Dahyun's walls pulse around your shaft, and you can't hold it in a second longer. You let yourself spill your cum into her pussy. She doesn't stop moving, coaxing every single drop out of your body, until someone knocks on the door of her bedroom.
"Be there in a minute."
She calls out, before turning her head to look over her shoulder at you.
"What are you gonna do these next couple of hours, knowing your cum is filling my pussy while I'm at dinner with the girls?"
Chaeyoung
Chaeyoung loves to get carried around while you fuck her. Probably because of your size difference. She's so small in your arms, you can just pin her against a wall and breed her pussy. Her legs are locked around your waist, you holding her up for raw, urgent breeding. You thrust up hard into her, her back against the cool surface of the wall of Twice's dance practice room.
"Breed me rough."
She pants, nails in your shoulders. You are able to let go with one hand and move it up her body. Chaeyeong's eyes are wide open. The fact that you can carry her with one arm has her pussy dripping wet. Your free hand now slowly wraps itself around her throat. Each slam of your cock into her pussy makes her gasp.
"Cum inside your little fleshlight."
She whimpers, her entire body begging you to use her as a cum dump. You pound into her relentlessly, her body bouncing.
You unload deep insider her small body, groaning into her ear. She clings around you, her legs locked as she's helplessly pinned between you and the wall, unable to do much but take your load.
"Don't drop me."
She sighs and you're unsure if she's afraid you'll let her fall, or if she just wants to keep your cum locked inside her.
Tzuyu
Tzuyu loves how big your cock feels when she is lying on her back, both her legs over one of your shoulders. Her pussy squeezes you just a little tighter like that. And it enables you to use only one hand to hold her legs together, while the other reaches down to admire her smooth thighs, or play with her tits.
Right now, you even take it a step further by making her cross her legs in the air as you slide in slow. She bites her lip, eyes softly looking up at you with pure love.
"Breed me… please."
You thrust deeper, as a steady rhythm starts to build. Her hands clutch your arm.
"I'm already so full. I need it. Please..."
You angle for her g-spot, making her arch odff the mattress.
Tzuyu orgasms silently, trembling, milking your cock. Unable to hold back, you spill your cum deep inside her pussy. You stay buried there, both of you holding eye contact as Tzuyu feels your cum filling her womb.
You've heard about Hirai Momo before you ever meet her. Everybody has. She's the girl who allegedly crashed the campus WiFi because too many guys were looking her up at the same time. The girl who got asked out fourteen times during freshman orientation. The girl whose communications professor once stopped mid-lecture because she walked in late and he lost his train of thought.
She's also the girl who's failing three out of five classes and needs a tutor.
That's you. Wednesday afternoons, fifty bucks an hour, private study room in the library basement. You need the money. She needs a miracle.
You're about to need one too.
• • •
The clock on the wall reads 4:22 PM. Twenty-two minutes past the agreed time. You've reorganized the flashcards twice, reread the chapter summaries you typed up last night at one in the morning, and now you're just sitting here, staring at the study room, waiting for her.
You need this gig. Fifty bucks an hour to teach rich kids things they'll immediately forget. It pays for your half of rent, your ramen budget, and occasionally a beer that you drink alone while rereading Freud. You're living the dream.
The door swings open at 4:23. Hirai Momo walks in like she's arriving at a party instead of an academic intervention. She's got her hair down today, long and dark and shiny. Her skin has this warm golden glow to it, probably because she’s out in the open more than she is stuck in air-conditioned study rooms. Large brown eyes spaced just enough to give her that harmless, slightly airheaded innocence. Full lips glossed in something pink and slightly sticky-looking.
And then there's... the rest of her. Momo is built like every heterosexual man's fever dream compressed into five-foot-four of absolute structural devastation. She's wearing a cropped white top that sits tight across her chest - and her chest is, to use a clinical term, ridiculous. The fabric stretches across her breasts, and printed right there, right across the fullest part where your eyes absolutely should not be lingering, is the word THICC in sparkly pink letters. Like a label. Like a declaration. Like a challenge from God to test your professionalism.
Below that, a pleated miniskirt that looks more like a belt. Her thighs are thick and toned (she dances. You’ve definitely come across some of her TikToks, and don’t worry, it’s not your fault. Blame the algorithm), and she's wearing white sneakers with little platform soles that make her legs look even longer than they already do.
She drops her bag on the table with a thud and collapses into the chair across from you.
"Sorry I'm late," she chirps. "I was getting boba and the line was so long. Oh my God, you should've seen it."
"Fascinating." You slide the stack of flashcards toward her. "Chapter seven. Behavioral conditioning. We talked about this last week."
"Right. Yeah. Totally." She picks one up, squints at it, then puts it back down. "I remember. It's the thing with the dogs."
"Pavlov. Yes."
"Love that for him."
This is your life. You went through three years of a psychology program to sit in a windowless study room explaining Pavlov to a girl who once asked you if Sigmund Freud was "that guy from the Avengers."
(He is not. You checked, just to be sure, because Momo has a way of making you doubt your own reality.)
"Okay," you push on, pointing to the first section in the textbook. "So classical conditioning. The basic framework is stimulus, response, reinforcement. You need to understand the difference between positive and negative reinforcement for the exam."
Momo nods along. Her eyes are pointed at the book. Her pen is in her hand. For about forty-five seconds, you almost believe she's paying attention.
Then you notice she's drawing little hearts in the margin of her notebook. Pink ink. Tiny, loopy hearts with even tinier smiley faces inside them.
"Momo."
"Hm?"
"The book is here." You tap the page. "The hearts can wait."
"Sorry! I'm listening, I swear." She straightens up, tucks her hair behind one ear. Her earring catches the fluorescent light and you notice it's shaped like a peach. You're not surprised. "Okay, so. Positive reinforcement is like... when you give someone a treat for being good?"
"Broadly, yes."
"And negative is when you punish them?"
"No. That's punishment. Negative reinforcement is the removal of an aversive stimulus to increase behavior."
She stares at you blankly for a solid four seconds. "Say that again but in human."
You take a slow breath. "If you have a headache and you take an aspirin and the headache goes away, you're more likely to take aspirin next time. The removal of the pain reinforces the behavior."
"Oh! That makes sense." She beams like you've just unlocked the secrets of the universe for her. Then she looks down at her notebook, writes something, and turns it toward you. She's written: asprin = no more ouchie = do it again.
It's misspelled. The i in aspirin is missing. But the concept is correct, and despite everything, you feel a flicker of something that might be professional satisfaction.
"Good enough," you concede.
"Yay!" She claps her hands together. Her chest bounces with the motion and you look at the ceiling like there's something extremely important up there.
You keep going, working through the chapter section by section. Momo's attention span lasts about three to four minutes at a stretch before she starts fidgeting, playing with her hair, checking her phone under the table (she thinks you can't tell, but you can), or asking questions that have nothing to do with the material.
"Do you think pigeons have feelings?"
"Momo, we're talking about operant conditioning."
"Yeah, but Skinner used pigeons, right? That's sad. What if the pigeons didn't want to be in the experiment?"
"The pigeons didn't file a complaint."
"Maybe they couldn't. Maybe that's the real tragedy."
You are so tired.
After another ten minutes of this, Momo lets out a long, dramatic sigh. She pushes the textbook away from her and drops her pen. Leans back in her chair and stares at you with those big, ridiculous eyes.
"I'm not doing this," she declares, gesturing at the carefully organized spread of materials in front of her. The flashcards, the chapter summaries, the color-coded study guide you spent two hours on. "Can't you just, like, write my paper for me?"
"That's not what tutoring is, Momo."
"But it could be."
"It literally cannot."
"You're really smart, though. You could write it in like an hour, probably. And it would be good. I've seen your notes. They're, like, annoyingly organized."
You set your pen down with the slow, measured patience of a man who has considered several career changes in the last hour alone. "Momo. The whole point of me being here is to help you learn the material yourself. That's what your parents are paying for. I'm supposed to guide you through the concepts so that you can—"
"What if I let you fuck me?"
"What?"
"Like, I'll have sex with you if you do my homework." She leans forward, chin in her hands, elbows on the table. The motion pushes her breasts together and the word THICC warps slightly across the compressed fabric. "That's fair, right?"
You choke. Literally choke. There is no liquid in your mouth and you still manage to choke on nothing but oxygen and sheer disbelief. Your face goes hot, a full-body flush that starts at your neck and crawls up to your ears.
"That's— you can't just— Momo, that is not—" You're gesturing with both hands. You don't know what the gestures mean. Neither does she.
"What?" She blinks, tilting her head to one side. Her hair falls over her shoulder and she looks at you with total, unbothered confusion. "Is that a no?"
"It's a— I'm your tutor. There's a professional— there are boundaries, and ethical considerations, and—"
"Are you gay?"
"WHAT?"
"It's totally cool if you are!" She holds her hands up, palms out. "My friend Sana is gay. Well, she says she's 'exploring,' but she literally only talks about this girl Mina, so I think she's figured it out. Anyway, no judgment."
"I'm not gay, Momo!"
"Then what's the problem?" She's not teasing. She's not playing coy. She genuinely, truly, fundamentally does not understand why you're sitting here looking like you've been electrocuted. "This is how I've gotten through school. Guys do stuff for me and I do stuff for them. It's, like, an exchange. I need passing grades. You probably need... I don't know, what do you need?"
"Therapy, apparently."
"Is that expensive? Because I could also pay you, but I already spent my allowance on boba and these earrings." She flicks the peach-shaped earring. "They were on sale, though."
You sit there for a long, long moment. Somewhere in the library, someone is printing something. The world continues to function normally while yours tilts on its axis.
She watches you, patient and curious. Her lips are slightly parted, the gloss catching the light. Her legs are crossed under the table and one sneaker bobs up and down rhythmically. She doesn't look seductive on purpose. That's the worst part. She's just sitting there, being Momo, and it's devastating in a way that intentional seduction could never be.
"This is..." You rub your hands over your face. "This is really how you've been passing your classes?"
"I mean, some guys just wanted nudes. Which is way easier, honestly. But yeah." She shrugs, one shoulder lifting and dropping. "Everybody wins."
Nobody wins, you think. That's not what winning looks like. But you don't say that because you're too busy losing an argument with your own conscience.
"I can't."
"You keep saying that but you also keep looking at my boobs, so."
(Yeah. She's not wrong.)
"Momo, if anyone found out—"
"Who's gonna find out? I'm not gonna tell anyone." She rolls her eyes. "I'm not stupid."
(Debatable, but you keep that thought internal.)
She leans forward again, and the smell of her hits you. Sweet, peach and warmth. Her eyes are steady on yours and for the first time today, she looks completely focused.
"Look. You write my papers. I come over, we hook up, everyone's happy. I get to stay enrolled, you get to..." She gestures at you, all of you, with one hand. "Have fun. You look like you haven't had fun in, like, years. No offense."
"Some taken."
"I'm just being honest." She taps her pen against her lower lip. "So? Deal?"
The smart thing to do is say no. The right thing to do is say no. The professional, ethical, morally responsible thing to do is to stand up, pack your bag, and report this conversation to the tutoring center coordinator.
You look at Momo. She tilts her head, that little confused-puppy tilt that she does. The light catches her cheekbone. The word THICC glitters on her chest.
"Not in the library," you murmur.
She blinks. Then her face breaks into a grin so wide and bright it actually hurts to look at. "Wait, really? Oh my God, yay!"
"Do not 'yay' this. This is not a 'yay' situation."
"It's totally a yay situation." She's already pulling out her phone, typing something. "Okay so when do you want to— oh wait, should I shave first? Some guys are weird about that."
"Momo. Please stop talking."
"Right. Okay. So mysterious." She mimes zipping her lips, then immediately unzips them. "But seriously, when? Because I have a paper due Thursday."
You start packing up the textbooks. The flashcards you spent an hour making. The color-coded study guide that no one will ever use. "I'll text you," you mutter.
"Cool." She stands up, slings her bag over one shoulder. Pauses at the door, looks back at you with those enormous brown eyes, and hits you with a smile that has probably ended lesser men. "Thanks. You're, like, really nice. Most tutors are super boring."
She leaves. The door clicks shut behind her. The room keeps the scent of peach and bad decisions. You sit there for a full minute, staring at the wall. Then you pull out your phone and open the campus job board, just to see what else is available. Data entry. Cafeteria dishwasher. Overnight security at the rec center.
None of them pay fifty an hour. None of them come with a Hirai Momo attached.
You close the app, grab your bag, and walk out into the sad afternoon light, already hating yourself a little. Your phone buzzes before you reach the parking lot:
hiii its momo!! 🍑 ur place thursday?? ill bring snackssss
You stare at the screen. Three S's. A peach emoji. This is your life now.
You type back: Thursday works. And it's "you're," not "ur."
lol ok nerd 😘
You pocket your phone, adjust your bag on your shoulder, and keep walking.
• • •
You finish writing the last line of Momo's media ethics essay. Two thousand words on the moral responsibilities of mass communication in the digital age. You reread the thesis statement, check the citations, adjust a comma. It's solid B+ work - good enough to pass, not so good that anyone would suspect she didn't write it.
Media ethics. You just wrote a paper about media ethics so you could get laid. The irony doesn't just burn. It cremates.
You save the file, close your laptop, and look around your apartment.
It's bad. Not dirty, exactly, but aggressively neglected. The couch has a dent in the shape of your body. There's a coffee mug on the counter from two days ago with a brown ring at the bottom. Your bookshelf is the only thing that looks maintained - alphabetized, organized by subject - and you realize that says something about you that you'd rather not examine.
You spend the next forty minutes doing a speed-clean that borders on psychotic. Dishes in the dishwasher. Counters wiped. Bathroom scrubbed with a focus on the toilet and sink because you have priorities, if questionable ones. You change your sheets - when did you last change your sheets? (don't answer that), shove the pile of laundry into the closet, and light a candle that you bought six months ago and never used. It smells like "coastal breeze," which smells like nothing found in nature.
The knock comes at 6:14. You open the door and there she is: hair pulled into a high ponytail, hoop earrings, a tight pink top that and denim shorts that could double as underwear. She's holding a paper bag.
"Hi! I brought snacks." She lifts the bag. "Gummy bears, Hot Cheetos, and those chocolate things that look like mushrooms? I forget what they're called."
"Chocorooms."
"Yes! Those." She walks in past you and looks around your apartment the way someone looks at a museum exhibit they don't understand. Her eyes move from the bare walls to the second-hand couch to the single lamp on the floor that you never bought a table for. "This is where you live?"
"Last time I checked."
"It's so..." She searches for the word. "Empty. Do you not have, like, stuff?"
"I have stuff. I have books."
"Books aren't stuff. Books are the worst invention of mankind." She sets the snack bag on the counter, then turns to you with her hands on her hips. "Where are your posters? Your plants? A rug, at least?"
“I don't need a rug.”
She shakes her head with the genuine pity of someone whose parents probably furnished her apartment with a decorator. "We need to get you things. This is sad."
"I appreciate your concern for my interior design."
"You're welcome!"
(She missed the sarcasm. She always misses the sarcasm.)
There's a beat of silence where the reality of why she's here settles between you. Momo, apparently operating on a script she's run before, reaches down and grabs the hem of her top and starts pulling it up over her stomach, over her ribs, the fabric catching on the swell of her chest before she tugs it higher - and you see her bra, pale pink with a tiny bow between the cups, her breasts pushed up and pressed together, full and round and straining against the lace.
"Whoa, wait." You step forward and catch her hands, stopping the shirt halfway over her head. She's standing in your living room with her arms up and her stomach bare, looking at you through a gap in the bunched fabric.
"What? Isn't this what you wanted?"
"Yes, but—" You pull her shirt back down for her, smoothing it over her waist and feeling like a complete idiot for stopping the hottest girl on campus from undressing in your apartment. "Can we at least pretend this isn't a business transaction?"
She blinks. Drops her arms. Tilts her head with that look she gets when you use words with more than three syllables. "Okay? How do we do that?"
"I don't know. Normal things. I'll get you a drink. We'll talk. Like humans."
"We are humans."
"I'm aware. Thank you."
You open the fridge. The options are water, orange juice that might be expired, and a six-pack of cheap beer. She picks the orange juice. You pour it into the one clean glass you have and hand it to her. She takes a sip and doesn't comment on the taste, which either means it's fine or her palate is as undiscriminating as her academic standards.
You grab a beer for yourself. Take a long pull. Momo leans against the counter, ankles crossed, sipping juice and watching you.
"So," she starts. "Do we, like, talk about our feelings now? Is that the pretending part?"
"It's not pretending if it's real conversation, Momo."
"Okay." She nods seriously. "Um. I feel like gummy bears. Can I open the gummy bears?"
Close enough.
She eats gummy bears on your couch while telling you about her dance practice and a girl in her class who keeps copying her outfits. You sit next to her, nursing your beer, half-listening and half-watching the way she talks with her hands, the way she tucks her feet under herself, the way she licks sugar off her fingers without any awareness of what that looks like.
This entire situation is a textbook case of operant conditioning (there it is, the irony again) combined with what any psych professor would call instrumentalized intimacy. Momo has been taught, through years of reinforcement, that her body is currency. That sex is a transaction. That her value to other people is directly proportional to what she's willing to do with her clothes off. It's a conditioned behavioral pattern rooted in objectification, and she doesn't even see it because it's been normalized for her entire adult life.
She's eating gummy bears and talking about dance practice and she has no idea that she's a case study.
"You're staring at me," she observes.
"Sorry."
"Don't be. I'm hot." She grins. "Are you ready, or do we need more pretending?"
"It's not—" You exhale. "Yeah. Okay."
You stand up. She stands up. You lead her down the short hallway to your bedroom and push the door open. Momo walks in and does a slow rotation, taking in the full-size bed with its freshly changed sheets, the desk buried in textbooks, the single framed photo of a mountain you bought at a thrift store because the wall felt too bare.
"You literally live like a monk," she announces.
"Monks take vows of celibacy, so not for long."
"What's celibacy?"
"Not having sex."
"Oh." A pause. "That sounds terrible."
She sits on the edge of your bed, bouncing once to test the mattress, and looks up at you. The light from the window catches her face, the slope of her nose, the fullness of her lips, those wide dark eyes. She's waiting for you. Patient. Practiced. Ready to go through the motions she's gone through with however many guys came before you.
And it makes you irrationally angry.
You sit next to her. Cup her face with one hand, thumb resting against her cheekbone. She blinks, not used to this part. You can tell.
"What are you doing?" she murmurs.
"Being a human."
You kiss her. Slow. Not the let's-get-this-over-with kind she's probably expecting. You take your time with it, learning the shape of her mouth, the softness of her lower lip. She tenses for a second, then melts into it, her hand coming up to rest on your chest. She tastes like orange juice and gummy bears.
When you pull back, her eyes are a little glazed. "Oh," she breathes. "You're, like, a good kisser."
"Thanks."
"Most guys just shove their tongue in. Like a washing machine."
"That's the least sexy comparison anyone has ever made."
"I'm just saying!" She laughs.
You kiss her again. Your hand slides to the back of her neck, fingers threading into the base of her ponytail. She hums against your mouth and shifts, and then she's climbing into your lap, her thighs bracketing your hips, her weight settling onto you. The denim of her shorts is rough against your legs. Her arms loop around your neck.
She's so warm. Her body is pressed against yours and you can feel every curve, every inch of her. Your hands find her waist, grip the swell of her hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin just above the waistband of her shorts.
"Can I take this off now?" She tugs at her own shirt, grinning. "Or do you want to do more pretending first?"
"Go ahead."
She pulls the top over her head in one motion and drops it on the floor. The pink bra again, pale lace barely containing her. Her breasts are full and heavy, pushed up by the cups, skin golden-warm in the late afternoon light. Her stomach is toned (the dancing, you remind yourself), defined lines of muscle running beneath smooth skin, and there, right at her navel, a small silver barbell glints. A belly button piercing. Of course.
"Your turn," she says, plucking at the front of your t-shirt.
You pull it off. She looks at your chest with an appraising tilt of her head.
"Not bad. You should work out more, though."
"Thank you for the unsolicited feedback."
"You're welcome!" (Again. Sarcasm-proof.)
You unclip her bra. She shrugs it off her shoulders and lets it fall, and the full weight of her breasts settles free, round and heavy, dark nipples already stiff from the friction of the fabric. They're perfect. Not the word you'd normally use, because nothing's perfect and you're a realist, but - they're perfect. Big and soft and real and right there.
She catches you staring. "You can touch them. That's, like, allowed."
"I know it's allowed. I'm appreciating the view."
"Weirdo."
You lay her down on the bed. She goes easily, hair fanning across your pillow, ponytail loose and coming undone. You unbutton her shorts, peel them down over the thick curve of her hips, her thighs - God, her thighs, full and firm, the kind that press together even when she's lying flat. Her ass lifts off the mattress to help you slide the denim free. Pink underwear underneath (she has a theme, apparently), stretched tight across the wide round swell of her butt.
You pull those down too. She kicks them off one ankle without ceremony.
And there she is. Hirai Momo. Fully naked on your bed, in your sad monk apartment, looking at you with those beautiful, deceptively innocent brown eyes. Her body laid out in front of you is almost absurd: the heavy breasts, the toned stomach with its silver piercing catching light, the flare of her hips into those thick thighs, the neat strip of dark hair between her legs.
(Any qualified psychologist would diagnose you with acute cognitive dissonance right now. Your brain is simultaneously screaming that this is ethically catastrophic and that she's the most beautiful girl you've ever seen. Both are true.)
You take off your jeans, leaving just your boxers. She tracks your movement with lazy, half-lidded eyes.
"Aren't you going to take those off too?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I'm doing something else first."
You settle onto the bed, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. Then lower. The slope of her breast. The flat plane of her stomach. The warm skin beside her navel, the cool metal of the piercing against your lip. Her muscles twitch under your mouth.
"What are you—" She props up on her elbows, watching you move down her body. "Wait. Are you going to...?"
"Yeah."
"Oh." She sounds genuinely surprised. "Most guys don't do that."
"Most guys are selfish."
"I thought that was just, like, a thing. That guys don't."
"It's not a thing." You settle between her thighs, hands on her knees, gently pressing them apart. Her legs fall open, and the sight of her, all of her, laid out beneath you, bare and exposed and looking at you with those big confused eyes - it makes your body respond before you can think. "It's just laziness."
"Huh," she manages, right before your mouth finds her.
Your lips press against her and the first thing you register is warmth. Wet, slick warmth, her body already responding before you've done anything intentional. You start slow because there's no reason not to, because she's not going anywhere, because you want to learn her before you take her apart.
Your tongue drags flat and wide from the bottom of her slit all the way up, one long exploratory stroke that makes her thighs twitch against the sides of your head. She tastes clean, faintly sweet, the salt of skin underneath. You do it again, just as slow, just as calculated. Getting the lay of the land.
You settle in, hands curled around the tops of her thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft creases where her legs meet her hips. The skin there is impossibly smooth. You keep your pace unhurried - long, flat strokes with the full width of your tongue, covering everything, mapping the terrain without zeroing in on anything specific yet. Her outer lips are swollen and slick, parting easily under the pressure of your mouth. You trace along the edges, slow and methodical, learning the shape of her.
Her breathing picks up. One of her hands finds the top of your head, fingers resting lightly in your hair. You drag your tongue along the left side of her slit, then the right, calculated strokes that go everywhere except where she probably wants you. Teasing, but not cruelly. Building something. Her clit is swollen and visible, peeking out from its hood, and you can feel the tension in her thighs every time your tongue passes close without making contact.
"You're really taking your time," she observes, impressed and impatient.
You pull back just enough to answer, lips brushing against her when you talk. "Is that a complaint?"
"No! No, it's just... different."
Different from what, you don't ask. You already know the answer and it would make you angry, so you let it go and press your mouth back to her. This time you use the tip of your tongue. Pointed, precise, tracing the delicate folds of her inner lips. She's pink and glistening, every ridge and contour distinct against your tongue. You follow the natural lines of her body, dragging upward along the left side, circling wide around her clit without touching it, then trailing back down the right. A loop. Patient. Thorough.
Momo's abs flex. You can feel the muscles tighten under the hand you've rested on her lower stomach, the little silver barbell of her piercing cool against your wrist. Her hips roll once, a small involuntary grind, and you press them back down gently with both hands.
"Stay still."
"I'm trying." Her fingers tighten in your hair. "It's hard when you're doing... that."
You reward her with the first direct contact. Your tongue finds her clit with a soft, barely-there flick. Just the tip. Just once. Her whole body jolts and a sharp breath punches out of her.
"Oh. Okay. That."
You do it again. Another light flick, this time with a little more pressure, and her thigh presses against the side of your head. You flatten your tongue and cover her clit completely, holding there for a beat, letting her feel the warm, wet pressure without movement. Then you pulse - a gentle rocking of your tongue that pushes against her in slow, rhythmic waves.
"How are you so good at this?" Momo props herself up on one elbow, looking down at you with bewilderment on her face. Her cheeks are flushed, ponytail completely wrecked, dark hair sticking to the side of her neck. "I literally thought you were a virgin."
You stop. Look up at her from between her thighs. "You thought I was a virgin."
"Yeah! You're all, like, books and flashcards and boring apartment. I figured you hadn't... you know. Done stuff."
"I've had a girlfriend, Momo."
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Wait, really? What happened?"
"We broke up."
"Well yeah, obviously, but like—" She seems to catch herself, registering the context of this conversation. She's naked on your bed. Your face is between her legs. And she's asking about your ex. "Sorry, that's probably not the right time."
"Probably not."
"But whoever she was?" Momo drops back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. "Lucky girl. If you ate her pussy like this every time? God."
"Can you stop talking about my ex while I'm going down on you?"
"Right. Yeah. Sorry. Continue."
She waves her hand in a little "carry on" gesture, and despite the absurdity of this arrangement, this girl, this entire situation, something at the corner of your mouth twitches. You lower your head and seal your lips around her clit, sucking gently. Momo's hand slams flat against the mattress.
"Fuck."
The reaction tells you everything you need to know. You increase the suction slightly, pulling her clit into your mouth with a soft, steady pressure, your tongue working against the underside in slow circles. Her hips try to buck upward but your hands are firm on her thighs, holding her in place, keeping her pinned while you work.
She's wet. Obscenely so. You can feel it on your chin, on your lips, the slickness spreading every time you adjust your angle. Her inner thighs are damp against your cheeks. Every time you pull your mouth away to breathe, you can see the shine on her pussy, swollen and flushed dark pink, her clit exposed and throbbing.
You alternate. Suck her clit for a ten count, then release, then trace around it with your tongue in wide lazy circles. Suck again, a little harder, hold it longer. Release, press flat, pulse. She's starting to figure out the pattern (or rather, her body is) and you can feel her tensing in anticipation each time you close your lips around her.
"That— right there." Both hands are in your hair now, not pushing, but holding on. "Don't stop doing that."
You keep the suction steady, tongue curling against her clit in a rhythm you've settled into - slow, conscious, consistent. Her thighs are trembling. Not the full-body shaking of an imminent orgasm, but the low-frequency tremor of sustained stimulation. She's building, and you can read it in every twitch and flex of her body.
(This is the operant conditioning she never paid attention to in class. Stimulus, response, reinforcement. You're reinforcing every sound she makes, every shift of her hips, by repeating whatever just caused it. Pavlov would be proud. Or horrified. Who knows.)
You pull off her clit and drag your tongue down, pushing into her opening. She clenches around you immediately, hot and tight, her inner walls pulsing against the intrusion. You fuck her with your tongue, slow shallow thrusts, and she whines, high and thin, and grinds down against your mouth.
"Nobody does this," she pants. "I'm— this is— nobody takes this long."
"Their loss," you murmur against her, and the vibration of your speech makes her gasp.
You push deeper, as far as your tongue will reach, and curl upward. Her hips jerk hard enough that you have to brace your forearm across her lower belly to keep her down. You can taste her fully now, that salt-sweet tang, and the way she's gripping your hair tells you she's not thinking about assignments or transactions or any of the bullshit that brought her to your bed. She's just here. Just feeling.
You return to her clit. She's so swollen now that you barely have to search. The bud is prominent and hard, a tight knot of nerve endings begging for contact. You cover it with your mouth, suck firmly, and flick the tip of your tongue across it in quick, rhythmic strokes. Fast enough to build, slow enough to sustain.
"Oh God." Her back arches off the mattress. "Oh my God, that feels so good."
Her thighs clamp against your ears. You can barely hear anything except the rush of your own blood and the muffled, distant sound of her breathing going ragged. You don't slow down. Don't change technique. You've found what works and you commit to it. Momo is unraveling above you. Her stomach is heaving. Her hands alternate between gripping your hair and fisting the sheets. Her head is thrown back, throat exposed, tendons standing out in her neck. Every few seconds her hips stutter against your mouth, trying to grind, trying to get more friction, and every time you hold her down and give her exactly what you're already giving her. Consistent. Relentless. Patient.
"I'm..." She swallows hard. "I'm getting close. I think. I don't—" A ragged exhale. "I don't usually finish from this."
She doesn't usually finish from this.
Because the guys she's been with didn't care enough to learn what she needed. Because they treated her mouth, her body, her willingness as a service rendered and never thought to return the favor properly.
You press your tongue flat against her clit, applying firm, steady pressure, and suck. Her body goes rigid.
"Don't stop." Her grip in your hair tightens to the point of pain. "Please. Don't stop. Please, please—"
You double down, working her clit with focused, unwavering attention. Tongue circling, lips sealed around her, suction steady. Her thighs are shaking violently now, the thick muscles quivering against your temples. Her abs are clenched so tight you can see every defined line, the piercing catching light with each heaving breath. Her pussy is soaked, dripping onto the sheets beneath her.
You feel the sudden clench of her whole body, every muscle locking at once, her thighs squeezing your head, her fingers yanking your hair. Then her hips buck upward against your mouth, hard, and she comes with a long, shattered moan that fills your sad little bedroom. Her clit pulses against your tongue. You can feel the contractions, rhythmic and strong, her pussy clenching around nothing, her body riding out the peak. You soften your mouth, easing up the pressure but keeping contact, giving her something to grind against as the orgasm rolls through her. Her hips rock in small, helpless circles, abs spasming with each aftershock.
"Oh my God." Her grip loosens in your hair. Her legs fall open, thighs twitching. "Oh my God."
You ease off slowly, pulling back from her oversensitive clit with careful, gentle movements. A few last soft kisses pressed against the crease of her thigh. She's gasping, chest heaving, her eyes are closed and her lips are parted and her entire body has gone boneless against your sheets.
You press one more kiss to the inside of her thigh. Right there, where the skin is softest, where you can feel her pulse hammering against your lips. You let your mouth linger, then lift your head to look at her.
She's a mess. The most gorgeous mess you've ever seen. Flushed from her chest to her cheeks, hair everywhere, a thin sheen of sweat on her stomach making the piercing glitter. Her eyes flutter open, dazed, pupils blown wide.
"You're beautiful when you come," you tell her. Quiet. Simple. Factual.
A change ripples through her gaze. Shock flashes, then hesitation, then a softness she immediately tries to bury. Her lower lip wobbles for a split second. "You're weird," she whispers.
“I thought you’d have something better to say after I made you cum with my mouth.”
Your thumb traces a slow circle on the inside of her thigh, and she shivers beneath your touch. Suddenly she extends her arm and her hand reaches your face. Her fingers trail along your jaw, thumb dragging through the slickness on your chin.
"That was insane," she murmurs. "Like, genuinely insane. No guy has ever made me finish from just... that."
"From oral?"
"Yeah." She says it plainly, without embarrassment. Just a fact. "Usually they go down for like thirty seconds and then give up. Or they're so bad at it I just fake it so they'll stop."
"That's depressing, Momo."
"Is it? I thought it was normal." She shrugs one bare shoulder, then pushes herself up to sitting. Her breasts sway with the movement. "Okay. Your turn."
"My turn?"
"Yeah. Fair's fair." She reaches for the waistband of your boxers, fingertips hooking under the elastic. "Lie down."
There's a part of you (the analytical, overthinking, perpetually exhausted part) that wants to protest, to tell her this doesn't have to be transactional, that she doesn't owe you reciprocity just because you went down on her. But Momo's already tugging at your waistband with a determined little furrow between her brows, and the part of you that's been hard since approximately the moment she walked through your front door tells the analytical part to shut up and lie back.
You lie back.
Momo kneels beside you, ponytail completely destroyed, dark hair falling around her face in messy strands. She pulls your boxers down with both hands, lifting the elastic over you carefully, and slides them down your thighs, your knees, off your ankles. Tosses them somewhere behind her without looking.
Her eyes drop to your cock. Hard, flushed, curving slightly upward against your stomach. She looks at it the way she looks at most things: with open, uncomplicated appraisal. No shyness.
"Nice," she declares.
"Thanks. I grew it myself."
She snorts. "You're so weird." Then she wraps her hand around the base, and the laugh dies in your throat.
Her grip is firm. Confident. She gives you one slow stroke, base to tip, her fingers snug around your shaft, and you feel the calluses on her palm (from dancing, you realize, from gripping bars and catching herself on hardwood floors) and the heat of her skin.
"Okay, get comfy." She's adjusting her position, settling between your legs on her stomach, and the view is— God. Her back curves down from her shoulders to the deep arch of her spine, and her ass rounds upward behind her, full and heavy. Her breasts press flat against the mattress between your thighs. She braces one hand on your hip and holds your cock steady with the other, angling it toward her mouth.
She licks the tip. One quick, testing pass of her tongue across the head, collecting the bead of precum that's gathered there. Then she looks up at you through her lashes, those enormous brown eyes, and takes you into her mouth.
Warm. Wet. insanely soft. Her lips seal around the head and she sucks, gentle at first, her tongue circling the underside of the ridge in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation shoots straight down through the base of your cock and into the pit of your stomach.
You exhale. Controlled. Measured. Barely.
She takes you deeper. Her lips sliding down your shaft, her mouth stretching around the thickness of you. Her tongue presses flat against the underside, maintaining contact the whole way down, a continuous wet drag that makes your toes curl against the sheets. She gets about two-thirds of the way before pulling back, and the suction on the retreat is perfect - tight, steady, the kind that makes your fingers grip the sheets.
"Good?" she asks, pulling off with a soft, wet, sound, her hand replacing her mouth in slow strokes.
"Yeah." you admit in a whisper. “Yeah, that's good."
She smiles. Pleased with herself in that unselfconscious way she has. Then she dips her head and takes you in again, and this time she doesn't tease.
(This fact about Momo is honestly kind of funny… if not a little sad: she's terrible at academics. She can't spell "necessary." She thinks Freud was in the Avengers. She draws hearts in the margins of textbooks she's never read. But she is, as it turns out, phenomenally, almost aggressively good at giving head.)
Her technique is varied in a way that speaks to experience, but more than that, to genuine attentiveness. She doesn't just bob her head in a steady rhythm and call it a day. She reads your reactions - the hitch in your breathing when she swirls her tongue around the head, the tension in your thigh when she sucks hard on the upstroke, the way your stomach clenches when she takes you deep enough to nudge the back of her throat.
She pulls off, drags her tongue flat up the entire length of your shaft, base to tip, slow and wet. Then back down. Then up again, this time tracing the thick vein on the underside with the pointed tip of her tongue, following it like a road map. Your cock twitches against her lips and she hums, pleased.
"You're sensitive here." She presses the flat of her tongue against the spot just below the head, the frenulum, and holds it there with steady pressure. Your hips jerk. Just barely, just a fraction, but she notices.
"Yep. There it is." She sounds smug. She should be.
Her hand works the base in slow, twisting strokes while her mouth focuses on the upper half. The combination is devastating: the tight ring of her fingers, the wet heat of her tongue, the soft suction of her lips. She finds a rhythm that works, a coordinated push-pull between hand and mouth, and commits to it with the same single-minded focus she brings to dance practice and absolutely nothing academic.
Your hand finds her hair. You gather the messy strands, the ruined ponytail, and hold them back from her face in a loose grip at the crown of her head. She glances up at you.
"Thanks," she says, your cock resting against her lower lip, her breath warm against the wet skin. "I hate when it gets in the way. One time I almost choked because my hair got stuck in my mouth and the guy's—" She catches the look on your face. "Not the right time for that story?"
"Not the right time."
"Got it." She winks, then swallows you down again.
Deeper this time. She relaxes her jaw, opens her throat, and pushes forward until her lips meet her own fist at the base. You feel the head of your cock press against the tight constriction of her throat and the sensation wrings a low groan out of you that you couldn't suppress if you tried. She holds there for a beat, swallows around you (and the pressure of that, the rhythmic squeeze, is enough to make your vision go slightly white at the edges), then pulls back with a gasp.
Spit and precum stretch in a thin line from her lip to the head of your cock. She doesn't wipe it away. She just licks her lips, breathing hard, and goes back in.
"You're really good at this," you manage. The line lands flat, almost accusatory, like you're annoyed about it.
"I know, right?" She grins around you, which is a facial expression that shouldn't be possible with a cock in her mouth, but Momo makes it work. "It's like my one talent."
"You can dance."
"Okay, my two talents." She laps at the head, kitten-quick flicks of her tongue that make your abs clench. "Three if you count being hot."
You feel that twitch at the corner of your mouth again. She's ridiculous. She's absolutely ridiculous and you're lying naked on your bed letting her give you the best head of your life while she counts her talents on a mental list.
She refocuses, and the playfulness drops away. Her brow furrows slightly. She takes you in her mouth again, working a steady rhythm now, and her free hand drops to cup your balls, rolling them gently in her palm, fingers careful and warm. The dual sensation of her mouth sliding wet and tight along your shaft and her hand kneading the sensitive skin beneath draws a sound out of your chest that you'd be embarrassed about in any other context.
Her jaw must be getting tired, but she doesn't let up. She pulls off to breathe, keeps her hand moving in long slick strokes (your cock is coated now, shining with spit and precum from the base to the tip), and presses her open mouth against the side of your shaft. Wet, sloppy kisses along the length of you, her tongue tracing shapes against the skin. She mouths at the base, nuzzles lower, drags her tongue across your balls with a flat, firm pressure that makes your hips shift restlessly on the mattress.
"Stay still," she echoes, throwing your own words back at you with a grin pressed into your inner thigh.
"Easier said than done."
"See? Now you get it."
She takes the head back into her mouth, and the suction is tighter now, more focused, her cheeks hollowing as she works. Her hand twists on every upstroke, a corkscrew motion around your shaft that sends sparks up your spine. She's thorough, almost methodical, covering every inch of you - tongue swirling the head, lips tight on the shaft, hand firm at the base, the other still gently rolling your balls. Your cock is soaked, absolutely dripping, spit running down to her fingers and pooling warm against your skin.
(You're a psychology major. You know about the halo effect - the cognitive bias that makes people assume attractive individuals are also competent, kind, intelligent. You've always been skeptical of it. But right now, with Momo's mouth wrapped around you, you're willing to concede that the halo effect, while scientifically questionable, is at minimum emotionally persuasive.)
She takes you deep one more time, holds it, swallows. Your grip tightens in her hair and she makes a small, satisfied sound around you that vibrates through the shaft and directly into the base of your skull. Then she pulls off, gasping softly, and wraps both hands around your cock, stroking in long, fluid movements from base to tip. The whole length of you is slick, glistening, thoroughly worked over.
She surveys her handiwork with obvious pride, her lips swollen and pink, her chin wet. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth and sits back on her heels between your legs, knees pressing into the mattress, those thick thighs folded beneath her.
"There." She gives your cock one last slow stroke, her thumb circling the head, spreading the wetness around. "All ready."
She's looking at you with that grin, bright and unguarded, her hair a disaster and her lips puffy and her eyes still a little glazed from her own orgasm. Your cock throbs in her hand, slick and hard and aching, every nerve ending lit up from thirty minutes of her undivided attention.
Momo releases her grip and leans forward, planting both hands on your chest, her breasts pressing soft and heavy against your stomach and her face hovers above yours.
"So," she breathes, her hips settling down against yours, the wet heat of her pressing against the underside of your cock. "How do you want me?”
You stare at her. It's a mistake. You know it's a mistake the moment you do it, because looking at Hirai Momo when she's hovering above you, naked and flushed and grinning with swollen lips, is the kind of thing that makes rational thought pack its bags and leave the building.
The late afternoon light falls across her collarbones, the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her breasts hanging heavy above your chest. Her hair is a mess, dark strands stuck to her neck, and her eyes are soft and warm and looking right at you with an attentiveness you would never expect from her.
And your brain, your stupid overworked psychology-major brain, does the worst possible thing it could do in this moment.
It starts to feel.
Not just arousal. Not just the obvious biological response to having a beautiful naked woman pressed against you. Something more dangerous, something in the back of your ribs that aches when she smiles at you like that. You're cataloging her features without meaning to — the tiny mole near lower lip, the way her nose scrunches when she grins, the faint indentation on her earlobe where she took out her earring.
You're almost falling in love with her. The thought surfaces fully formed and you shove it down with both hands.
She's here because you wrote her media ethics paper. She's in your bed because of a transaction. You are a service she's paying for with her body, or she's a service you're paying for with your GPA. Either way, this is commerce. It has terms. It has an expiration date. You do not catch feelings for commerce.
You sit up abruptly, and Momo slides off your chest with a surprised little "oh."
"Where are you going?"
"Condom." You swing your legs off the bed and cross to the nightstand. Bottom drawer, behind a textbook on cognitive behavioral therapy (because that's where you keep them, and yes, you're aware of the symbolism). You pull one out, tear the wrapper.
"Good thinking," Momo says from the bed. She's lying on her back now, one knee bent, watching you. "This one guy in my comm class never wanted to use one and I was like, dude, I'm dumb but I'm not that dumb."
"Compelling anecdote."
"I thought so."
You roll the condom on, smoothing it down your shaft with practiced efficiency, and turn back to the bed. Momo is stretched out against your sheets like she was sculpted there, all golden skin and curves and that silver piercing catching light on her stomach. Her thighs are slightly parted, and between them she's still wet, glistening from the orgasm you gave her.
You climb back onto the bed, settling on your knees between her legs. She spreads them wider to make room, casual as anything, and hooks one ankle behind your thigh.
"How do you want to do this?" she asks.
"Missionary."
She raises both eyebrows. "Really? That's so vanilla."
"I want to see your face."
You don’t catch the words in time. Too open. Too blunt. Momo’s look shifts, a brief shimmer in her gaze you can’t decode, and a slow smile unfolds across her lips.
"That's kind of romantic," she murmurs.
You reach for the first deflection you can find: "Also, I want to watch your tits bounce."
She bursts out laughing. "There it is. I was like, who is this guy? Being all sweet." She cups her own breasts, lifts them, lets them drop. "They do bounce pretty good."
"I've noticed."
"Everyone notices." Momo says it without vanity, just fact. She pulls out the hair tie and the messy ponytail comes undone. She settles back into the pillow with her arms above her head, hair fanned out, body open and waiting. "Okay, come on. Show me what you've got."
You brace one hand beside her head. The other grips the base of your cock, guiding yourself to her entrance. She's so wet that the head slides against her easily, skating through the slickness, and you position yourself at her opening. Press forward. Just the tip, just barely parting her, and the heat is immediate and intense.
Momo's breath catches. Her eyes are on yours, wide and focused. You push in. Slow, controlled, feeding yourself into her inch by inch. Her body resists for just a second, that initial tightness, and then she relaxes around you and you slide deeper, feeling her stretch to accommodate you. Warm. Wet. Tight enough that the pressure registers along every nerve in your shaft.
"Oh, fuck," she exhales. Her hands come down to grip your forearms. "Go slow."
"I am going slow."
"Slower."
You stop halfway, holding still, letting her adjust. Her inner walls pulse around you in soft, rhythmic contractions, her body figuring you out. She's breathing through her mouth, chest rising and falling, and those gorgeous breasts shift with each inhale.
"Okay," she whispers. "More."
You press the rest of the way in. Her pelvis meets yours, your hips flush against the insides of her thighs, and you're fully seated inside her. The feeling is… a lot. She's clenching around you, intentionally or not, and the squeeze is tight enough that you have to hold still and take a measured breath through your nose.
"You feel really good," Momo tells you. Plainly. "Like, filling? In a good way."
"I'll put that on my résumé."
"You should. Under special skills."
You pull back, a slow drag that makes her grip tighten on your forearms, then push back in. Steady. Unhurried. Letting both of you feel every inch of the stroke. Her pussy grips you on the outstroke, like her body doesn't want to let go, and the wet friction on the re-entry sends heat pooling at the base of your spine.
You find a rhythm. Deep, full strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back in. Your hips meet hers with a soft, wet sound each time, and her body rocks beneath you. And there they go - her breasts, heavy and round, swaying with each thrust. They move in opposite rhythm to your strokes, rolling upward when you push in, settling back when you pull out. Hypnotic. You weren't lying about wanting to watch.
"Enjoying the view?" She catches you staring.
"Immensely."
She grins, then gasps when you angle your hips slightly, changing the trajectory. The head of your cock drags against the front wall of her pussy on the upstroke and her whole body reacts - abs clenching, thighs squeezing your sides, a sharp inhale through her teeth.
"That," she breathes. "Whatever that was, do that again."
You do it again. And again. Finding the angle that makes her gasp and committing to it with methodical precision. Each stroke pushes against that swollen spot inside her, and you can feel the difference in her reactions. Her moans get louder, less performative, more involuntary.
"Fuck." Her head presses back into the pillow, throat arched. "This is so much better than I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"I don't know, like..." She gasps when you thrust particularly deep. "Three minutes and a pat on the head."
"You've been sleeping with the wrong people."
"Obviously!" She laughs, and the sound breaks into a moan when you pick up the pace.
You shift your weight to one arm and bring your free hand to her breast, palming the heavy swell, thumb finding her nipple. You roll it under the pad of your thumb, firm circles, and she arches into the touch. Her skin is hot under your hand, slightly damp with sweat.
The rhythm settles into something insistent. Faster now, your hips working in steady, driving strokes, and the bed frame is tapping quietly against the wall with each thrust. Momo's legs wrap around your waist, her heels pressing into the small of your back, pulling you deeper. Her pussy is soaked, the sounds between your bodies obscene and wet, and you can feel her clenching around you in rhythmic pulses, tighter each time.
"That angle." Her nails drag down your forearms. "Right there. Don't move, don't change anything."
You maintain it. Same depth, same angle, same pace. Her body starts to tense beneath you, a gradual tightening that begins in her thighs and spreads upward through her stomach, her chest, her shoulders.
Her eyes are getting hazy. Her mouth is open, breathing ragged. Her breasts are bouncing with each thrust, nipples hard, and the silver piercing on her stomach flashes in the fading light.
"I think I'm..." She swallows. "Oh my God, I think I'm going to—"
You bring your hand down between your bodies. Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and slick, and you press against it firmly. She jolts beneath you.
"Fuck!" Her hands fly to your shoulders, nails biting in. "Oh, fuck."
You rub her. Tight, fast circles against her clit, your thumb sliding easily through the wetness, while your hips keep their rhythm. The dual stimulation hits her hard, you can see it happening, feel it in the way her pussy clamps down around your cock, the way her thighs start trembling violently against your ribs.
"Don't stop,” she moans “Please, please, don't stop, right there—"
You press harder, rub faster, and thrust deep. Her body goes rigid beneath you. Every muscle locks, her back arching clean off the mattress, her breasts pressing against your chest. Her pussy clamps around you in a vise grip, pulsing hard, and her eyes roll back, literally roll back, the brown disappearing under fluttering lids as her mouth falls open in a silent scream that takes a full second to find its voice.
The sound she makes is raw and broken. Long, shuddering, her whole body convulsing around you. Her legs lock behind your back, pulling you in as deep as you can go, and her hips buck in erratic, helpless circles against your thumb. You feel every contraction, every pulse of her orgasm gripping your cock in tight, rhythmic waves.
You ease up on her clit but keep your thumb resting there, light pressure, while the aftershocks roll through her. Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably, the thick muscles twitching and jumping. Her stomach spasms, the piercing shivering with each involuntary clench of her abs. She's gasping, each breath a ragged, broken thing, and there are tears at the corners of her eyes; not from sadness, just from the sheer overwhelming intensity of it.
"Oh my God." Her grip on your shoulders loosens. Her eyes refocus, glazed and stunned. "Oh my God."
You stay still inside her, letting her come down, feeling the last contractions pulse weakly around your shaft.
"No guy has ever..." She blinks. Swallows. Tries again: "No guy has ever made me cum like that. Not even close. What the fuck."
You look down at her. Wrecked, trembling, tear-streaked, the most beautiful mess you've ever seen in your life. Flushed from her hairline to her chest, hair plastered to her neck, lips bitten red.
"I'm full of surprises," you tell her, and brush a damp strand of hair off her forehead, your thumb tracing the edge of her jaw before you can stop yourself from being tender about it.
You lean down and kiss her. It's unhurried, almost lazy, your mouth moving against hers while she's still trembling from the aftershocks. Her hand comes up to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and for a moment it's just this - mouths and breath and the quiet of your apartment settling around you.
She pulls back first, blinking up at you with those glazed, enormous eyes. Her gaze drops between your bodies, to where you're still hard inside her, and her brows knit together in confusion.
"How have you not cum yet?"
"Willpower."
"Seriously, though." She shifts her hips experimentally and you grit your teeth at the sensation, her pussy still clenching in residual spasms around your shaft. "Most guys would've finished like twenty minutes ago."
You pull out slowly, the drag of her swollen walls along your cock enough to make you exhale. "It's been a while since I've had sex. I wanted to make it last."
"How long is a while?"
"Long enough that I'm not going to rush through this."
She studies you quietly, tipping her head to the side the way she always does when she’s thinking. Something flickers behind her eyes. Then a grin creeps over her warm cheeks, unhurried and just a little bit wicked.
"Okay," she says. "Then I'm going to reward you." She pushes herself up, rolls onto her stomach, and gets on all fours.
And you understand. Immediately, viscerally, with every single neuron in your overworked brain, you understand why every guy likes this position.
Momo on all fours is a religious experience.
Her back slopes downward from her shoulders in a smooth arch, the line of her spine dipping deep before curving up into her ass. And her ass. God, her ass. It's right there, round and full and heavy. Her cheeks are thick and smooth with just enough softness that they bounce slightly as she adjusts her knees on the mattress. From this angle, the curve of each cheek swells outward in a perfect crescent, the cleft between them deep and shadowed. Below, between her spread thighs, her pussy is swollen and glistening, pink and wet from two orgasms.
She looks back at you over her shoulder. That grin again. "You're staring."
"I'm processing."
"Take a picture, it lasts longer." She wiggles her hips. Actually wiggles them, a small side-to-side sway that makes her ass jiggle, and your brain short-circuits for a full second.
"Don't tempt me."
"You could. I don't mind."
"Momo."
"What! I'm just saying. Anyway." She faces forward again, drops to her elbows, and the new angle pushes her ass up higher, the arch of her back deepening. Her breasts hang heavy beneath her, swaying slightly. "You can go hard now. Like, intense. I can take it."
Her wish is an order. You position yourself behind her. One hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. She's so wet that the head slips against her twice before you line up, the slick heat smearing across the inside of her thigh. You press forward, and her body opens for you easily this time, her pussy stretching around you in one smooth, continuous glide.
She moans into the pillow. Low, throaty, muffled by the cotton. Her walls grip you differently in this position - tighter, the angle pushing you against the front wall, and you can feel every ridge and texture of her insides as you bottom out.
"Oh, that's deep," she gasps, fingers curling into the sheets. "That's really, really deep."
You pull back and push in again. Harder this time. The impact of your hips meeting her ass produces a dull, fleshy sound that fills the quiet room, and her whole body rocks forward with the force of it. Her ass ripples on contact.
"Harder," she tells you, and there's no hesitation in it. "Come on. I told you I can take it."
So you give her harder.
Your grip tightens on her hips, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, and you set a pace that's consistent and firm. Each thrust drives deep, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, and the sound of skin against skin fills the room alongside her breathing. Her ass bounces with every stroke, the heavy cheeks absorbing the impact and jiggling in a way that's honestly pretty distracting.
You spread her. Both hands on her cheeks, thumbs pressing into the yielding flesh, pulling them apart. And there it is: the full, explicit view of your cock disappearing into her pussy. Her lips are stretched tight around your shaft, flushed dark pink, clinging to you on every outstroke. The slickness between you catches the light, obscene and glistening. You watch yourself sink in, watch her swallow every inch, watch the way her entrance flutters and grips.
"Fuck," you mutter.
"Good view?" She's breathless, cheek pressed against the pillow, one eye looking back at you.
"Incredible."
"Told you this position is the best." Her words dissolve into a sharp gasp when you thrust particularly deep, your hips flush against her ass. "Oh, God. Right there."
You hold her cheeks apart and keep going, eyes fixed on the place where your bodies connect. The visual feedback is devastating - watching yourself fuck her, seeing every detail of it, the way her pussy grips and releases, the wetness that coats your shaft and strings between you on every outstroke. You pick up the pace and her moans get louder, less controlled.
"You fuck so good," she pants. Her elbows slide on the sheets and she drops lower, chest against the mattress, ass pushed up even higher. The angle shifts and you sink deeper. "Like, seriously, what the fuck. Where did you learn this?"
"Practice quiz."
"Huh?"
"Nothing."
Her laughter turns into a moan when you snap your hips forward hard enough to make her whole body jolt. You're finding a groove now, a relentless rhythm that has the bed frame knocking steadily against the wall. Your hands alternate between gripping her hips for leverage and spreading her cheeks for the view. Each time you pull them apart and watch your cock plunge into her.
"You're so fucking wet," you tell her.
"That's your fault." She fists the pillow, burying her face in it for a second before coming back up for air. "You and your stupid mouth and your stupid tongue and your stupid—" A particularly hard thrust cuts her off. "Oh, fuck. Keep doing that."
You lean forward, changing the angle, one hand braced on the mattress beside her ribs. The new position lets you drive downward into her, each stroke grinding against the front wall, and her reaction is immediate. Her back arches sharper, her toes curl against the sheets, and a sound comes out of her that's rawer than anything you've heard tonight.
You maintain the angle and the pace, each thrust deep and grinding, your hips meeting her ass with a steady slap that punctuates every stroke. Sweat is beading along her spine, collecting in the small of her back, and her whole body is trembling.
"I'm gonna cum again." She says it with a note of disbelief. "How am I going to cum again? I never cum this many times."
"Just let it happen."
"I'm—" Her fingers twist in the sheets. "Oh my God, I'm really close."
You reach underneath her. Your fingers find her clit, swollen and slippery, and you press firmly, rubbing in fast circles while your hips keep their punishing rhythm. The combined assault of your cock driving deep and your fingers working her clit tears a sound out of her that's almost a scream, muffled into the pillow she's biting.
You feel the orgasm ripping through Momo, her inner walls seizing in hard, rhythmic contractions that grip your cock in waves. Her thighs are shaking violently, her whole body convulsing, and her back arches so severely that her ass presses hard against your hips. Her toes curl, uncurl, curl again. She's gone, completely gone, riding it out in helpless, full-body shudders with broken and incoherent moans against the pillow.
You slow your thrusts, letting her feel every pulse, and ease your fingers off her clit as the peak crests and begins to recede. She's trembling so hard the mattress vibrates.
"Oh my God." It's barely audible. Her legs give out and she collapses flat onto her stomach, your cock slipping out of her in the process. She lies there, face down, panting, absolutely destroyed. "Oh my God."
She turns her head to the side. One glassy eye finds you. "No guy," she whispers, "has ever made me cum like that. Not once. Not ever. What the actual fuck are you."
"Full of surprises." Your hand runs down the curve of her spine, a slow, gentle sweep over the sweat-damp skin. "I did say that."
She lets out a weak, breathless laugh. "You're unreal." She's still catching her breath, but she rolls her head to look at you properly, reading the strain on your face. "Where do you want to cum? I can tell you're close."
You look at her. The mess of her hair, the flush on her cheeks, the sheen of sweat across her shoulders. And her breasts, pressed flat against the mattress, spilling to the sides.
"Your tits."
"Good choice." She grins, lazy and satisfied, and rolls over onto her back. Her breasts settle heavy on her chest, full and round, nipples dark and stiff. She stretches her arms above her head, arching slightly, presenting them to you. "All yours."
You straddle her, knees on either side of her ribcage, and strip the condom off. Your cock is painfully hard, slick from her. You wrap your hand around yourself and start stroking, fast and tight, and the relief of direct friction after all that teasing, after her mouth, after her pussy, is overwhelming.
Momo watches you from below with eyes half-lidded, that lazy grin still curving her lips. "That's hot," she murmurs. "Watching you jerk off over me. I like it." Your hand moves faster. The tension in your gut coils tighter, tighter, every muscle in your core bracing for it. "Come on," she encourages, licking her lips. "Give it to me."
Your cock pulses hard in your fist, the tension that's been building for the last hour finally snapping, and the first thick rope of cum shoots out of you in a heavy arc that lands across her left breast. A white streak, dense and warm, splattering across the full round swell of it and dripping down toward her nipple in a slow, obscene trail.
"Yeah," Momo breathes beneath you, her eyes locked on your cock. "Give me all of it."
Your hips jerk forward, your hand keeps moving in tight, fast strokes, and the second shot follows - just as thick, just as heavy, this one catching her right breast dead center. It lands with a wet sound against her skin, a long white stripe that pools in the crease where her breast meets her chest before overflowing, sliding down into the valley between them.
"Fuck." The word grinds out of you through clenched teeth, your abs clenching with each contraction.
"God, there's so much." She's staring down at her own chest, watching your cum paint her tits, and her tongue drags across her lower lip. "Keep going, don't stop."
A third pulse. This one hits the upper slope of her left breast and her collarbone, a messy splatter that streaks across her skin in thick white lines. Her nipple is coated now, cum clinging to the stiff peak, dripping off the sides in slow rivulets that trace the curve of her breast before soaking into the sheets beneath her.
"All over my tits," she murmurs, her breasts shifting with each breath and smearing the mess further. "That's so fucking hot. You're making such a mess of me."
The fourth shot is weaker but still thick, landing in the valley between her breasts, adding to the pool that's already gathered there. The cum slides in both directions, trickling down the inner slope of each breast. Your cock throbs in your grip, each pulse wringing another load out of you, and a fifth spurt hits her right nipple directly, coating the dark bud in a thick white glaze that drips down onto the swell beneath.
"Look at me," she says, and you do. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her cheeks flushed, her lips parted and wet. "You came so hard. That's all because of me, right?"
"Yeah,” you murmur weakly. "All you."
"Good." She grins, watching the last of it drip from the tip of your cock. Thick droplets fall onto her sternum, her chest, her stomach (one lands just above the silver glint of her belly button piercing). "I love watching you cum. Your face gets all tense and serious. It's cute."
You're still dripping. The final weak pulses leave thin trails of cum that roll down your shaft and over your knuckles, and you stroke through them, milking out the very last of it. A translucent string stretches between the tip of your cock and the wet mess on her chest before breaking, landing on the inner curve of her breast.
Her tits are covered. Streaked and splattered in thick white ropes, glistening under the fading light. The cum has pooled in every dip and crease - between her breasts, around her nipples, in the soft hollow of her collarbone. Some of it has started to slide down her ribs, thin trails running over the sides of her breasts toward the sheets.
You let go of yourself. Your thighs are trembling against her ribs. Below you, Momo looks down at her own chest with an expression of amused assessment.
"Wow. You really did save up.”
"Told you it'd been a while."
She brings both hands to her breasts. Her fingers spread through the mess, smearing your cum across her skin in slow circles. She rubs it over the swell of each breast, across her nipples, coating herself in it with an unhurried thoroughness that makes your spent cock twitch against your thigh. The white streaks thin and spread under her palms, turning her chest slick and shiny.
Then she lifts one hand to her mouth and slides two fingers between her lips.
She licks them clean. Eyes on yours the entire time, those big brown irises holding your gaze while her tongue curls around her fingertips, collecting every trace. She pulls them out, goes back for more, scooping a thick smear from the curve of her breast and bringing it to her mouth. Her tongue catches the glob off her index finger, and she swallows without breaking eye contact.
"Salty," she announces, like she's providing a Yelp review.
You stare at her. Hirai Momo, lying on your bed, covered in your cum, licking it off her own fingers with the same casual ease she'd bring to eating gummy bears.
She takes your cock in her hand, soft and spent, and leans down. Her full lips press against the tip in a gentle, deliberate kiss. Not sexual, exactly. Tender. The kind of gesture that doesn't fit the arrangement you've agreed to. Her mouth is warm and soft against the oversensitive head, and your stomach does something complicated that you refuse to examine.
"Do you do this with everyone who cums on your tits?"
She pulls back, still holding you loosely, and looks up. "No." She says it simply, without performance. "Only you. You deserve it."
You lie side by side on the bed. The sheets are wrecked, tangled at the foot of the mattress, the light has gone from gold to amber to the thin blue-gray of early evening. Momo is on her back, one arm draped across her stomach, the other extended above her head. Her breasts rise and fall with each slowing breath, still faintly glossy. Your cum is drying on her skin in thin, translucent streaks that she hasn't bothered to wipe off.
You're on your back too, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of the warmth of her body beside yours. Your shoulders are almost touching.
"Can I use your shower?" She turns her head to look at you. "I have a party tonight."
"Of course you do."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. Bathroom's through there." You gesture toward the door.
She rolls off the bed with a bounce that shouldn't be possible for someone who just had three orgasms, and pads across your room barefoot. Naked. Completely, unselfconsciously, magnificently naked. Her ass sways with each step, the full heavy curve of it shifting left and right, and the light from the window traces the contour of her waist, the dimples above her tailbone.
She pauses in the doorway to look back at you. "Do you have a towel that isn't sad?"
"All my towels are sad. It's a matching set."
"You need a girlfriend." She disappears into the bathroom, and a moment later you hear the water start.
Hirai Momo is naked in your apartment. Using your shower. After having sex with you in exchange for a media ethics essay. You lie there on your wrecked sheets, staring at the ceiling, and try to pinpoint the exact moment your life became a bad college movie.
She comes back ten minutes later, wrapped in your sad towel, hair damp, skin dewy. She gets dressed in front of you without a shred of modesty - stepping into her underwear, clasping her bra, pulling the top back over her head. She checks her reflection in your laptop screen, fluffs her wet hair, and deems herself acceptable.
"Okay, I'm going. My paper's due Thursday, right?"
“It’s already finished. I’ll send it to you later.”
"You're the best." She blows you a kiss from the doorway. "Bye!"
The door closes. The apartment is quiet. You lie there for another full minute, then get up, strip the sheets, and start a load of laundry.
• • •
You told yourself it would only be once.
It is not once. Momo keeps showing up. She has a talent for finding you on campus - in the library, in the psych building, in the cafeteria where you eat lunch alone with a textbook propped against the napkin dispenser. She materializes beside you like she has a GPS tracker on your location.
"I have another paper due," she announces one Tuesday, sliding into the seat across from you at the library. She's wearing a cropped hoodie, no bra underneath (you can tell, you can always tell now, and you hate yourself for always checking), and those same tiny denim shorts.
"What class?"
"Intro to Sociology."
"When's it due?"
"Tomorrow."
"Momo. It's Monday night."
"I know! That's why I came to find you." She leans forward, elbows on the table. "I'll make it worth your while."
She bites her lip. Not seductively; she's just chewing on it the way she does when she's thinking. But the effect is the same, and your resolve, which was already the structural integrity of wet cardboard, collapses entirely.
"Fine. Two thousand words on social stratification?"
"Is that the one about rich people and poor people?"
"Close enough."
"You're amazing." She reaches across the table and squeezes your hand.
You write the paper. She comes over the next evening. The cycle repeats.
More assignments, more sex. Her communications midterm prep (you write the study guide; she rides you on the couch). A group project presentation that her partners are too starstruck by her face to complain she contributed nothing (you build her slides; she blows you in the kitchen while the coffee brews). A reflection paper on gender dynamics in media (the irony continues to cremate itself; she lets you bend her over the desk).
The tutoring sessions become a formality. You really try to maintain some semblance of academic purpose. You print out practice questions, prepare vocabulary lists, bring flashcards. Momo sits across from you, pen in hand, notebook open, and lasts approximately four and a half minutes before the fidgeting starts.
"Okay, but what if Maslow's hierarchy of needs, but for snacks?" she proposes during one session, her feet in your lap under the table. "Like, the base level is water, then chips, then gummy bears, and the top is boba."
"That's not how Maslow works."
"It should be. His version is boring."
She doodles in the margins. She mispronounces "epistemology" so badly it sounds like a skin condition. She asks you if Karl Marx and Groucho Marx are related (they are not). She spends ten minutes trying to understand the concept of cognitive dissonance before declaring, "That's literally just being a Gemini."
And yet. She tries. In her own scattered, easily distracted, fundamentally Momo way, she tries. She reads the chapters you assign her - slowly, with her finger tracing each line, mouthing the words. She attempts the practice questions, and even when she gets them wrong, she furrows her brow and asks why. She texts you at midnight with questions that are sometimes insightful and often unhinged ("if everyone is socialized by their environment, does that mean I'm the product of K-pop and TikTok? because that tracks honestly").
She's never late for the sex. Not once. The girl who showed up twenty minutes late to your first tutoring session with boba in hand arrives at your apartment with military precision when there's an orgasm on the line. You'd find this insulting if it weren't so on-brand.
Her grades improve. Nothing dramatic. She inches from failing to passing, from D-territory into low C's. Her sociology professor emails her a "nice improvement" note and she screenshots it and sends it to you with seventeen exclamation marks and a string of emojis that includes, for reasons unclear, a lobster.
"I'm basically a genius now," she tells you one afternoon, lying on your bed in just her underwear after a session that stopped being academic approximately ninety seconds in.
"You got a C minus, Momo."
"That's passing! That's literally passing! I've never passed sociology before."
"You've taken it before?"
"Twice." She holds up two fingers. "Third time's the charm."
"That's not the flex you think it is."
"Everything is a flex if you believe in yourself."
The arrangement works. It's simple, clean, mutually beneficial. You write, she fucks, everyone wins. That's what you tell yourself every time she shows up at your door.
But today, things don’t go according to the usual setup
The sex is good. It's been good for almost two months. You've figured each other out by now. You know which angle makes her toes curl. She knows how to squeeze around you at exactly the right moment to make your brain go blank. You get each other off. Every time. No fumbling, no guesswork.
But tonight, after she comes (hard, gasping, her nails leaving fresh red trails down your forearms), something different happens.
She doesn't get up. She doesn't reach for her phone. She doesn't ask to use the shower, doesn't mention a party or a dinner or a friend she's meeting. Instead, she rolls onto her side, tucks herself against you, and lays her head on your chest.
Her cheek presses against your skin, right over your heartbeat. Her arm drapes across your stomach, her fingers curling loosely against your ribs. Her hair fans across your chest, dark and damp at the temples, smelling like your shampoo from the last time she showered here.
She doesn't say anything. Her breathing slows. Her body gets heavier against yours.
"Momo."
Nothing.
"Momo, don't you have somewhere to be?"
Her response is a small, sleepy mumble that contains no actual words. Her fingers twitch against your ribs and then go still.
"Momo." You nudge her shoulder gently. "Hey."
She's asleep. Fully, completely asleep. On your chest, in your bed, in your sad monk apartment. Her lips are slightly parted, her breath coming in slow, even puffs against your skin. One of her legs has tangled with yours under the sheets.
Wake her up. That's the move. Shake her shoulder, find her shirt, get her dressed, get her out, get your head straight. You know this. You know the rules because you made the rules. No sleepovers. No cuddling. No stroking her hair like you're doing right now, slow and careful from her forehead to the crown of her head, like she's something fragile, like she's something yours. When did your hand start doing that? You don't remember deciding to. Doesn't matter. You're not stopping.
Her hair is soft. You already knew that. You've grabbed fistfuls of it while she sucked your cock, pulled it while you fucked her from behind. But that was different. That was part of the arrangement. This is you touching her because you want to. Because she's warm, close and sleeping on your chest like she trusts you, and you don't have the guts to stop.
At some point the sun went down and you didn't bother turning on a light because that would require moving and Momo is asleep on you and you'd rather die than disturb that.
Momo burrows into your neck in her sleep and makes this little noise, barely there, and her arm squeezes tighter around your stomach. Your hand has been running through her hair on autopilot for the last ten minutes. Very normal behavior. Nothing to unpack there.
You're looking at the ceiling because it's the only safe place to look. The crack in the plaster is still there. Still shaped like a question mark. Still annoyingly relevant.
You have two options for dealing with what's happening inside you right now: you can dress it up in clinical language. Pair bonding. Oxytocin release. Attachment formation through repeated intimate contact. You can write yourself a whole paper on it, cite sources, get a decent grade.
Or you can just admit you're in love with Hirai Momo and deal with the consequences.
She mumbles something in her sleep and nuzzles deeper into your neck. Your hand pauses. Her face scrunches. You start stroking again immediately, like a trained animal. Pavlov would be so proud.
"I'm fucked," you inform the ceiling.
The ceiling doesn't respond. Momo sleeps on, warm and trusting, her hand curled against your ribs, completely unaware that she just ruined your life in the best possible way.
Taeyeon popular know as “Ice Queen”/ “Untouchable”, everyone scare of her . Then , there is accident that Y/N save Taeyeon live and after that Taeyeon being soft only for Y/N.
And one day, Y/N being absent because he sick, and Taeyeon decided to go to his home and find out he actually live alone (parents passed away)
Sorry for my English, English is not my 1st language :’(
UNTOUCHABLE
Taeyeon X Male Reader
SMUT
13K WORDS COUNTED
—
The office went silent the moment the elevator doors slid open.
Heels hit the marble in a steady rhythm. Heads dipped toward monitors. A copier stopped mid-run. Someone at the far end of the room closed a browser tab with a sharp click. No one spoke.
Y/N stood beside his shared desk with a stack of labeled folders in his hands. He kept his eyes on the labels. Marketing report. Supplier list. Revised proposal. His palm left a faint print of sweat on the cardboard.
He heard her heels before he saw her.
Kim Taeyeon came out of the elevator with her security chief a step behind and her assistant half a step ahead, holding a tablet and talking under her breath. The assistant kept pace while scrolling, pointing to the screen, handing over something, taking it back. Taeyeon’s gaze stayed straight ahead.
She moved through the room in a straight line. She never glanced left or right. People straightened in their chairs as she passed, eyes on monitors, hands on keyboards. The hum of the air conditioning sat over everything.
Y/N swallowed and shifted his weight. He had to get the folders to Admin before ten. No one had told him there was a specific route to avoid crossing in front of the CEO.
He stepped away from his desk at the same second she turned toward the corridor.
The front folder slipped from his grip. The bottom edge caught on the second folder, tilted the stack, and half the pile slid out of his arms.
Cardstock hit the floor in a messy fan, papers spilling out. A couple of pages skimmed across the polished surface and stopped at Taeyeon’s heel.
He froze.
Her step stopped as if she had hit a wall. The security chief’s hand shifted toward his belt. The assistant cut her sentence off.
Y/N bent fast, knees popping. He reached for the closest report, throat tight. Paper edges scraped his fingers.
Her shadow fell over his hands.
He saw the black leather of her shoes first. Plain, sharp line, clean polish. Then the dark cuff of a fitted pant leg. He did not let his eyes travel higher, but he felt it anyway, the weight of her stare pressed into the top of his head.
“Name.” Her voice came without any rise. It sounded clear, nothing on it.
“Y/N,” he said. His tongue stuck to his teeth for a second. “From Marketing. I’m still in training. Sorry, I’ll move.”
He reached for the page by her toe. It had slid under her sole by a few centimeters.
Taeyeon shifted her foot back just enough for him to grab it. The motion came tight and controlled, no wasted space. He caught a glimpse of her wrist as the sleeve moved, a faint line of a watch strap.
The room stayed quiet.
“You started last week,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Stand up.”
He stacked the bent papers as straight as he could and rose. The stack shook in his hand. He forced his grip to tighten.
He met her eyes for half a second.
Her gaze did not move. Dark. Steady. She looked straight into him, then over him, then through him. She scanned his badge, the folder labels, the crease on his shirt like she was checking inventory.
“You work under Manager Park,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Park.” She did not raise her voice, but Park heard it from his glass cubicle and came out at a quick pace, spine stiff, hands together.
“Yes, CEO Kim.”
“Teach your staff where to stand,” she said. “I do not like clutter in walkways.”
“Yes. Understood.”
Y/N felt the word “sorry” sit on his tongue. He kept it down. He only nodded.
Taeyeon cut her eyes back to him for a moment.
“You.” Her gaze fixed on his face. “Carry less at once. Use a cart. Do not hold more than you can control.”
“Yes,” he said. He kept his eyes level with the space at her shoulder rather than her face. “Won’t happen again.”
She watched him a second longer, then turned. The heels hit the floor again. The office sound returned in fragments as she walked away. Keyboard clacks. A low cough. The copier resumed.
Park stepped in close to Y/N’s side as soon as her back turned.
“Use the cart next time,” Park muttered, voice clipped. “If you drop shit near her again you’ll be in HR with a warning before lunch. Move.”
Y/N nodded and set the stack down on his desk. His hand left a smudge where sweat mixed with the cheap ink on the folder edge.
He went to find the cart.
—
The rain came without warning in the afternoon.
One minute the wide office windows showed a stretch of gray sky above the city. The next, water hit the glass in a straight sheet. Wind shook the panes in a steady tap.
The announcement about the inspection had gone out the previous day. Internal memo. CEO would tour the renovated logistics hall. Safety, efficiency, image. Everyone pretended it was routine and still rushed to clean.
Y/N pushed a loaded cart across the lobby toward the freight elevators. The wheels squeaked every third rotation. A taped box of promotional catalogs sat on the bottom rack, two smaller boxes of branded pens on top. HR had volunteered him as an extra pair of hands for Logistics. New hires never said no.
He watched the floor tiles in front of the cart as he pushed. The marble had thin cracks in places where old repairs showed through. He felt the slight bump under the wheels where one tile sat higher.
On the far side of the cavernous lobby, crew from the contractor company adjusted a suspended light fixture. Two of them stood on a tall scaffold, one on the ground holding a rope that ran through a pulley near the ceiling. Their voices echoed off the high walls.
Taeyeon entered from the parking level entrance with her umbrella folded. She handed it to the security chief without breaking stride. Her hair lay flat despite the weather. She crossed the lobby with her assistant at her side, heading for the logistics hall doors.
The contractor’s foreman glanced up, saw her, and motioned to his men to hurry.
“Pull it a bit more,” the man on the scaffold shouted. “We’re late.”
“I’m pulling,” the guy on the rope said. He braced his feet and yanked.
Metal groaned above them.
Y/N heard it first. A grinding rasp from the ceiling, followed by a dull shift like something heavy sliding a few centimeters out of place.
He looked up.
The corner bracket on the light fixture had not locked. The whole structure hung skewed. One of the upper bolts worked its way out with a slow rotation. The bracket slipped off the beam.
The fixture tilted.
Taeyeon walked under it.
Y/N let go of the cart handle. His fingers slipped off the worn rubber. The cart rolled two inches and stopped when a back wheel hit a grout line.
“Hey!” he yelled.
His voice bounced across the lobby but the contractor on the rope had his eyes on the men above, not the floor. Taeyeon went forward at the same pace. She checked a notification on her phone. The security chief, two steps behind, looked sideways toward an approaching manager.
The bolt dropped.
The fixture shifted hard. The hanging side dipped. The other bracket strained. The anchoring beam creaked.
Y/N moved.
He pushed off the floor with both feet, shoes sliding on the slightly wet patch near the entrance where rainwater had tracked in. His shoulder clipped the steel frame of a support column. Pain flared, brief and sharp. He kept going.
The light tore free.
Metal and glass came down in a loose arc. The sound cracked through the air. People shouted, voices tangled and thin.
Y/N hit Taeyeon with his full weight.
His chest slammed into her shoulder. He hooked an arm around her torso and drove forward. Her phone flew out of her hand and skidded across the floor. Her heels lost purchase. Her body turned with his momentum.
They hit the floor hard. The side of his face bounced off the tile. His teeth clacked together. His shoulder exploded with pain where he had already hit the column.
A caged weight smacked the ground where her feet had been. Glass shattered. A shower of tiny shards flew out. A section of metal support bent and twisted against the tile with a loud scrape.
Something heavy caught Y/N across the back and rolled off to the side. His breath left his lungs in a grunt.
Silence hit for one tight second after the crash.
Then noise came back all at once.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“Kill the power!”
“Don’t move, sir, stay down!”
Feet pounded over the floor. There was the quick rip of someone pulling caution tape from a roll. The distant clack of a remote as maintenance cut electricity to the damaged line.
Y/N pushed his palms against the tile and lifted himself a few centimeters. Muscle in his shoulder screamed. Something warm slid down his upper arm and dripped from his elbow.
He glanced to his right.
Taeyeon lay on her side where he had shoved her, one arm under her, one hand pressed flat against the floor. Her eyes stayed open. She checked her hands, her legs, then turned her head and looked at him.
Her pupils had a sharp focus. No daze, no wander. She tracked him like she would track a line in a contract.
Her gaze moved to the broken fixture behind him, then to the spot where she had stood a moment before.
The security chief dropped to one knee in front of her. “Ma’am. Are you hurt?”
She ignored him.
She pushed herself upright without taking the offered hand. Her suit jacket had a streak of dust. A thin line of glass dust clung to the hem of her slacks.
She looked at Y/N.
Blood slid from the contact point near his shoulder down his upper arm. The fabric had torn. A jagged piece of housing had nicked him when the fixture fell and rolled.
“You.” Her voice sliced through the shouts. “Do you feel your fingers.”
He flexed both hands. “Yeah.”
“Your legs.”
He shifted one knee forward. Pain spiked across his back but his leg moved. He did the same on the other side. “Yeah. Both fine.”
Taeyeon looked at the security chief.
“Call emergency. Now.”
“We can take him to the nurse’s room first,” the chief said. “It may not be that serious. We should not cause a scene in the lobby.”
Her eyes cut to him.
The chief stopped talking.
“Call emergency,” she said again.
He reached for his radio.
Y/N pushed himself to sitting. His head spun. The overhead lights brightened and faded at the edges of his sight for a second, then settled.
He looked around.
Glass littered the floor in a wide circle. The fixture had rolled to a stop against the far side of the lobby, metal bent in on itself. One of the contractor crew stood frozen with the rope still in his hands, mouth open. Another climbed down the scaffold in jerky movements. A third talked into his phone with a tight face.
Taeyeon stood up. She brushed the front of her pants leg with one brisk stroke and then looked for her phone. The assistant, pale, already marched over to where it had landed, scooped it up, wiped the screen with a sleeve, and brought it back.
Taeyeon took it and checked the display. Her thumb moved fast. Then she slid the device into her jacket pocket and turned back to Y/N.
“Sit still,” she said. “Do not try to stand until the medics check your spine.”
He swallowed. “I’m fine. I can walk. Just cut myself.”
She took two steps forward, closed the space between them, and dropped to a crouch.
Her hand gripped his forearm above the wound. Fingers dug in, hard and steady. She raised his arm, examined the cut. Blood smeared across her thumb. She did not pull back.
“You do not decide that,” she said. Her tone stayed flat. “You do not move until a doctor does scans. Understood.”
He held her gaze this time. Close up, he saw faint lines at the edges of her eyes. Her eyes did not soften, but they did not go cold either. They stayed fixed.
“Yes,” he said.
Sirens wailed outside a short while later.
—
The exam room smelled like rubbing alcohol and plastic.
Y/N sat on the narrow bed in a hospital gown with the back gaping. The cut on his shoulder burned where the nurse had flushed it. Dark stitches sat in a neat line across the jagged edges. His arm rested in a light sling to keep tension off the wound.
A dull ache pulsed through the muscle every time he moved even a little. The scans had come back with no breaks and no internal bleed. The doctor had said he got lucky. The words slid past him.
He stared at the white tile floor, traced the cracks between squares.
The door opened with a quiet click.
Taeyeon stepped inside before he could look up fully. She had left her jacket somewhere. White shirt. Sleeves rolled to her forearms. No tie. She closed the door behind her without noise.
Y/N straightened by reflex.
“You do not need to stand,” she said. She pulled the lone plastic chair away from the wall and sat facing him, knees a bit to the side so she could turn toward the bed.
He sat back down.
A brief silence settled.
He noticed a faint smudge on the back of her wrist. Dried blood. His own.
“The doctors cleared your spine and head,” she said. “Fourteen stitches. Tetanus shot. Pain prescription. They said you can go home tonight.”
He nodded.
“Do you live far,” she asked.
“Forty minutes by subway.”
“You will not take the subway.” She watched his face. “I will have my driver take you.”
He shook his head. “There’s no need. Really. I’m fine.”
“You pushed me out of the path of a falling fixture,” she said. “You took the impact and bled on my floor. The minimum I can do is arrange a car.”
Her words sat plain. No rise. No emphasis.
He cleared his throat. “I just reacted. Anyone would.”
She gave a short breath out through her nose. Not quite a laugh. Not a scoff either.
“No,” she said. “They would not. I saw them.”
He had nothing for that. He watched his own toes inside worn socks.
She leaned back in the chair a little.
“Do you remember what I told you this morning,” she asked.
He searched his memory. “Carry less at once. Use a cart.”
“Good,” she said. “You follow instructions. It is useful.”
He almost smiled. It tugged at the corner of his mouth before he caught it.
Her gaze flicked to the movement.
“I will increase your hazard bonus,” she said. “HR will process it this week. You will also receive company coverage for all medical costs. The contractor will pay as well. Legal will handle that.”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
She tilted her head a slight angle. “Do not say that again.” Her eyes stayed on his. “This company injures someone, this company pays. I sign the checks. Do not argue about money with the person who signs the checks.”
He shut his mouth.
Her shoulders lowered a few millimeters. The rigid line along her neck loosened.
“Do you have someone at home.” She asked it like she was asking about a project lead.
“No,” he said. The word came easy from long repetition. “I’m okay.”
Taeyeon studied his face a second longer.
“Friends,” she said.
“They work late too,” he said. “I’ll manage.”
She checked the sling again, her eyes moving over the way the fabric held his arm tight against his body. She did not reach for it.
“You will not work tomorrow,” she said. “That is a direct instruction. If your manager calls, you refer him to me.”
His eyes widened. “I can still work. It’s just my arm. I can use the other one. I sit at a desk anyway.”
“Your body just took a heavy impact,” she said. “You take the day. That is all.”
He opened his mouth to push back, then closed it.
“Okay,” he said.
Taeyeon looked toward the window for a short second. Rain streaked the glass in long, steady lines.
“You called me ‘ma’am’ earlier,” she said.
“Sorry. I mean, CEO Kim. Ms. Kim. Whatever’s right.”
“Use ‘CEO Kim’ at work,” she said. “Use whatever you want when you are not at work. You saved my life. You earned one informal address.”
He stared at her.
He could not picture anyone calling her anything else. He had only heard titles and last names since day one.
“That’s... okay,” he said. “I don’t need that.”
She gave a small shake of her head.
“It is not an offer,” she said. “It is a statement. You already have it. You can use it or ignore it.”
He sat there, not sure what to say, listening to the rain patter against the window.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out, glanced at the screen, and ignored the call. She slid it back in.
“You will give the nurse your address,” she said. “My driver will take you home. Someone from Admin will bring your belongings from the office.”
He frowned. “You don’t have to get involved like that. HR can handle everything.”
“HR reports to me,” she said. “This is me handling it.”
He looked down at his hand in the sling, the faint dried blood at the edge of the gauze.
“Thank you,” he said.
She stood.
“Rest,” she said. “If you feel dizzy or if the pain worsens, you come back. Use the company line. They will prioritize you.”
He nodded.
She watched him one more moment, then moved to the door. Her fingers wrapped around the handle. The thin streak of his dried blood cracked a bit on her knuckle as the skin bent.
She opened the door and stepped out into the hall without looking back.
—
The empty desk sat in the second row from the window.
Taeyeon noticed it when she crossed the open floor toward her office. She did not stop, but her eyes cut sideways long enough to mark it. No jacket. No cheap thermos bottle. No stack of folders arranged in almost straight lines.
Her assistant walked beside her, tablet in hand. “Morning briefing at nine. Legal at ten thirty. The contractors’ insurance already contacted Finance. They are ready to negotiate settlement. You also have lunch with the board at twelve thirty.”
“Cancel the lunch,” Taeyeon said. She did not slow. “Reschedule for next week.”
The assistant blinked. “Yes. I’ll inform them. Should I give a reason.”
“No.”
They reached her glass-walled office. She went inside. The assistant stayed at the threshold.
“There is also one absence notice from HR,” the assistant said. “Employee Y/N from Marketing called in sick. Fever. He sent a doctor’s note.”
Taeyeon stopped in the middle of the room. Her bag hung from her right hand. She set it on the desk with a short, controlled motion.
“What fever,” she said.
The assistant skimmed the tablet. “Thirty nine degrees last night. The clinic prescribed rest and medication. He requested one sick day. HR approved.”
Taeyeon’s jaw flexed. Her gaze went to the window for a brief second. The sky stayed overcast. A thin line of traffic crawled along the elevated road.
“What time did he call in,” she asked.
“Seven thirty,” the assistant said. “HR logged it at seven thirty-two.”
Taeyeon checked the clock on the wall. Eight twenty.
“Get me his address,” she said.
The assistant hesitated. “HR records are confidential. I would need to request permission or log a specific reason for access in the system.”
Taeyeon turned her head fully now.
The assistant met her eyes for half a second and dropped her gaze.
“You will request it,” Taeyeon said. “Reason: CEO visit for employee welfare inspection. If they question it, they can call me.”
“Yes, CEO Kim.”
“And bring the car around at eleven,” she added.
“You have Legal at ten thirty.”
“Move them to a call this afternoon,” she said. “Tell them I am occupied.”
The assistant nodded and backed out. The glass door closed with a soft click.
Taeyeon sat in her chair, opened her laptop, and stared at the screen for a moment without typing.
Her morning flowed in a rough line from there. Numbers. Contracts. Voices on calls. She moved through it all, but her eye caught the time every few minutes. 9:12. 9:35. 10:06.
At ten fifty, the assistant appeared at her door again.
“I have the address,” she said. “And the car is ready. I put the details in your calendar entry: ‘Site Visit’.”
Taeyeon stood and picked up her jacket.
“Tell anyone who asks that I went to check on injured staff from the accident,” she said. “It is accurate.”
The assistant nodded.
Taeyeon walked through the office, past the rows of desks. Her gaze slid once more over the empty spot in the second row. Someone had moved a stack of spare printer paper onto it. A stapler sat there too, untouched.
In the garage, the company sedan waited with the engine already on. The driver straightened when he saw her, then opened the rear door.
“Good morning, CEO Kim,” he said.
“Morning,” she answered, getting in.
He took his seat, checked his mirror. “We are going to the logistics hub.”
“No,” she said. “We are going to this address.”
She leaned forward and handed him her phone with the map open. He read it, eyes narrowing a fraction.
“That’s in Guro,” he said.
“Yes.”
He merged into the stream of vehicles leaving the garage.
The city changed as they drove.
The polished buildings of the business district gave way to older blocks. Glass fronts turned into concrete with faded paint. Signs hung crooked on rusted chains. The sidewalks narrowed. Street stalls appeared, metal frames and tarps pulled halfway open, vendors arranging produce and skewers.
Taeyeon watched without comment. Her eyes tracked small things. Cracked stairs. A twisted metal fence near an alley. Laundry rods jutting out of narrow windows with shirts hanging limp.
The car turned onto a side street that sloped down. Parked cars lined one side in a tight row. The driver had to slow to weave between a delivery truck and a dumpster.
He stopped in front of a six-story building with worn brick and a battered security door. The intercom wiring hung loose from a broken plastic case. Faded flyers covered one side of the entrance.
“This is the place,” the driver said.
Taeyeon looked up at the building. Several windows had cheap curtains. One had none at all, only a bare view into a room with a low table and a small TV.
“You can wait here,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She got out. The air carried a mix of exhaust, frying oil, and damp concrete. Somewhere close a dog barked, then went quiet.
She pushed the entrance door open. The hydraulic stuttered halfway, then gave way with a jerk. Inside, the stairwell smelled like old dust and someone’s recent cigarette. Paint peeled along the railing.
She checked the crumpled note the assistant had given her. Fifth floor. Unit 503.
There was an elevator at the end of the hall. The doors had a dent and a strip of tape across a panel. A handwritten sign read “Out of order.”
She took the stairs.
By the third floor, a thin line of sweat formed along her spine under the jacket. She kept her pace even. The stair treads felt slightly gritty under her soles from dried mud and dust.
She reached the fifth floor landing and looked at the worn metal numbers on each door.
A faint sound came from inside 503. Not a TV. A cough, muffled by walls.
She raised her hand and knocked.
Nothing.
She waited. The cough came again. A faint shuffle of feet.
The lock clicked. The door opened about ten centimeters, chain still in place.
Y/N peered out. His hair stuck up in several directions. His skin had a gray tinge. Sweat darkened the collar of his T-shirt. His eyes widened when he recognized her.
“CEO Kim,” he said. His voice came rough, like he had not used it much that day.
He coughed again, bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, then winced when the movement pulled at his stitched shoulder.
“What are you doing here,” he asked.
She looked at the chain. “Are you going to leave me outside.”
He blinked, then fumbled with the chain and pulled the door open wider.
“Sorry,” he said. “Come in. It’s kind of...”
He trailed off.
She stepped inside.
The entrance opened directly into a small main room. No hallway. On the right, a kitchenette with a narrow counter, a two-burner stove, and a small fridge with a dented door. On the left, a low table with one floor cushion. Against the far wall, a single bed with a thin blanket. A metal clothing rack stood beside it with a line of shirts and two pairs of pants.
There was no second pair of shoes by the entrance. Only his, worn and lined up alone on the mat.
The air felt thick. Not dirty, but still. Windows closed. No fan running. A cheap heater sat silent near the wall outlet.
Taeyeon’s eyes moved over the room in quick passes. Small trash bin half full. A mug on the table with the rim stained. Two instant noodle cups in the trash. Medication blister pack on the table with three pills missing.
“Sorry it’s a mess,” Y/N said. He shut the door and rubbed at his face with his good hand. His hair flattened, then sprang up again. “I didn’t expect... anyone.”
“You live alone,” she said.
He nodded, then paused.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s just me.”
A cough shook him again. He braced his hand on the table and bent forward until it passed.
“You’re burning,” she said. She moved closer, stopped just outside his reach. “Did you take your medicine.”
“Yeah, a couple hours ago,” he said. “It’ll drop soon. It always does.”
She picked up the blister pack from the table and checked the times printed on the back. She looked at the clock on his microwave.
“You took the night dose early,” she said.
He shrugged with one shoulder. “Felt like shit. Wanted to sleep.”
She set the medicine down.
“You ate,” she said.
He glanced at the trash bin. “Kind of.”
She stepped past him toward the kitchenette.
“You do not need to do that,” he said. “Seriously. You can sit. I can handle myself.”
She opened the fridge.
A half-used carton of eggs. One onion. A plastic container with rice. Bare shelves otherwise. No leftovers. No drinks besides tap water in a reused bottle.
She closed the door.
“Where are your parents,” she asked. She did not change her tone.
He stood near the table, hand resting there for balance. His eyes followed her.
“They’re gone,” he said.
“When.”
“Last year.” He breathed in shallow. “Car accident. Highway. A truck hit them.”
Her gaze shifted to the wall behind the bed.
A narrow shelf held a wooden frame with a photo. Two people in simple clothes, one man, one woman. Late middle age. The corners of the frame bore small strips of black cloth. Beside it, a small white ceramic box with a lid.
Y/N saw where she looked.
“That’s them,” he said. His voice came low. “Ashes. Couldn’t afford a bigger place or a plot yet. So they stay with me.”
He said it like he was reciting numbers.
Taeyeon took in the shelf. The careful way the frame had been positioned. The regular dust wiped clean around it, unlike the thin film on top of the closet rack.
He reached for the nearest chair that was not there, then laughed once when his hand hit empty air.
“Sorry,” he said. “No chairs. I didn’t have anyone to sit with.”
She turned back to the kitchenette.
“Sit on the bed,” she said. “You look like you might fall over.”
“I’m okay.”
She looked at him.
He sat on the bed.
She rolled up her sleeves one notch and moved to the sink. The sponge lay dry. She ran water over it, checked the tap temperature with her fingers, then pulled a pot from the narrow cabinet under the stove. A bit of dust coated the rim. She rinsed it out, set it on the burner, opened the rice container, and scooped some in.
“You really don’t have to cook,” he said from behind her. “I’ve been feeding myself for a while.”
“Quiet,” she said.
He coughed again instead.
She found salt in a small jar beside the stove, added a pinch. She peeled the onion with steady motions, chopped it into uneven pieces on the cutting board that had knife marks worn into one side. The knife was dull. She pressed hard.
She moved like she had done this before, not here, but somewhere.
The room filled with the smell of starch and onion as the water heated. Steam clouded the air above the pot.
Behind her, the bed creaked slightly as he shifted his weight. The faint sound of his breath came ragged but even.
She stirred the pot with a spoon that had a worn handle, then reached for a drawer with her other hand, feeling for a towel.
Her fingers brushed against a stack of white envelopes. The top one lay slightly open, paper inside thick and stiff.
She slid it aside to get to the towel, then paused at the sight of a logo printed on the envelope. A funeral company. The return address sat in neat print.
She pulled the drawer a little wider.
Electric bill. Hospital receipt. Funeral invoice with stamps across the top.
She let the drawer close again.
The rice broke down into porridge. She cut the heat and left it to settle.
“Do you have a bowl,” she asked.
“Cabinet above you,” he said. “Only two though. Don’t break them or I’ll have to drink from my hands.”
His humor came dry, with no lift.
She opened the cabinet. Two bowls. One cracked along the rim, held together by a faint line of glue. She took the intact one.
She ladled porridge into it, carried it to the table, and set it down. Steam rolled up toward her face.
“Eat,” she said.
He pushed himself off the bed, came over, and sat on the cushion at the low table. His knees creaked when he bent. He picked up the spoon with his good hand.
“Thanks,” he said. “For real. You didn’t need to come all the way out here.”
She stood on the other side of the table, watching.
“I wanted to know why you came to work with stitches and still carried full loads,” she said. “Now I know.”
He took a bite. The hot porridge hit his throat and made him cough once more. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand and waited for it to pass.
“I just work,” he said when he could speak again. “Rent doesn’t wait. Bills don’t wait. It’s not complicated.”
She studied the faint sag in his shoulders.
He ate again, slower.
Her eyes moved to the photo on the shelf, then back to his face marked by lack of sleep and heat.
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and reached for the kettle without thinking, filled it with water, and set it on the stove.
—
The kettle clicked when the water reached boil.
The sound cut through the small room. Y/N’s head jerked up like he had forgotten something on the stove. Taeyeon turned the gas off before he could get up.
“Stay,” she said. “You are sweating through your shirt. You stand up too fast, you pass out, I will have to explain to HR why you cracked your skull on your rental floor. I do not have time for that report.”
He snorted once, then coughed. “You really talk to HR like that.”
“I talk to everyone like that,” she said.
She poured hot water into a chipped mug, swirled it, dumped it out to warm the ceramic, then filled it again and dropped a tea bag in. The string tore off when she pulled it from the box. She fished it out with a spoon and hooked the paper tab on the rim.
She brought the mug over and set it by his bowl.
He had eaten half. His shoulders looked a little lower. His skin still had a sick sheen.
“What is this,” he asked.
“Tea.”
He looked at it. “That’s expensive brand. My mom used to talk about it. I buy the cheap dust bag ones.”
“Drink it,” she said.
He wrapped his fingers around the mug. His hand shook a little. The heat soaked into his skin.
He sipped. His eyelids fluttered at the temperature.
He let the spoon rest in the porridge and breathed slow. Steam fogged the lower half of his face.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said after a moment. “Work needs you. The whole company starts vibrating when you leave the floor.”
“I noticed you were not at your desk,” she said. “The company can wait.”
He looked up at her.
“No one’s ever said that sentence with my name in it,” he said.
She sat down on the bare floor across the table from him. Her knees bent, feet flat, skirt pulling tight across her thighs. She did it without ceremony, like she did not care about the state of the floor.
He blinked. “You don’t need to sit on the floor either. I can stand. You can use the bed.”
“I will not sit on your bed,” she said. “It is your only bed.”
He shifted his gaze away, back to his food. His ears went a little red.
Taeyeon watched him eat until his hand slowed. His breathing evened a bit. The fever still rode under his skin.
“Finish,” she said.
“Yes, boss,” he muttered, but his mouth twitched.
He scraped the last of the porridge out, then leaned back a little on one hand. The movement tugged his shoulder and he winced.
“Lie down,” she said. “You are done.”
He lifted himself and moved to the bed, sat, then swung his legs up and lay back. The mattress dipped. Springs creaked.
He stared at the ceiling.
“You should go,” he said. “Traffic will get bad. People will start bugging your phone.”
She looked at the screen of her own device. Several missed calls. Messages. She set it face down on the table.
“They already are,” she said. “They will live.”
“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I shoved you a little,” he said. “You’re the CEO. I’m the idiot who dropped files in your path on day two.”
“You prevented a fatal injury,” she said. “Nobody else moved. Do not reduce it.”
He rolled his head to the side, looked at her.
“You doing okay after that,” he asked. “You looked pretty calm at the hospital. But it must’ve fucked you up at least a bit. Almost getting flattened like that.”
Her jaw shifted.
“I am not made of glass,” she said. “I have seen worse.”
He frowned. “Like what.”
She shrugged once. “Business.”
He did not push. His gaze lingered on her face a second longer, then slid to the photo of his parents again.
“You really cooked,” he said. “When was the last time you did that for someone.”
She thought. Her mind flipped through years of clean office kitchens, catered lunches, prepped dinners waiting in neat containers in her fridge that she never touched.
“Too long,” she said.
He hummed, low in his throat.
His eyes closed for a moment. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. The fever still burned, but the edge of it dulled.
“Sleep,” she said.
“You’ll still be here if I sleep,” he asked, eyes still behind his lids.
“Yes.”
He exhaled, long.
“Oh,” he said.
Then he went under, slow, breath by breath.
Taeyeon stayed where she was for a while, back propped against the wall, legs bent. The heater ticked once when its metal cooled. Outside, a motorcycle went by, engine rattling.
She watched his face relax. The tightness around his mouth eased. His hand flexed once on the blanket and then stilled.
She checked the time again and sent her assistant one line.
Out of office until 3. Handle all.
The reply came fast. Understood.
She put the phone away.
Her eyes went back to the shelf above his bed.
She stood up, careful not to bump the table, and stepped close.
The photo showed his parents at some kind of event. The man wore a plain suit, the woman a simple blouse. They stood in front of a backdrop of fake flowers. Both looked straight at the camera with tired faces and small, real smiles.
The urn beside the frame had a faint scratch near the lid, like it had fallen once and caught before it shattered.
Taeyeon reached out, stopped a centimeter from the photo, fingers hovering over the frame, then pulled her hand back.
She turned and looked at him again.
His forehead shone with sweat, but his breathing stayed even. One strand of hair stuck to his skin.
She went to the kitchenette, grabbed a clean hand towel from the drawer, wet it under the tap, rung it out until it just held water, then came back.
She sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped. His body rolled half an inch toward her.
She pressed the cool cloth to his forehead.
He stirred, but did not wake. His mouth parted a little. His chest took a deeper breath.
She moved the cloth across his temple, down the side of his neck. Her fingers brushed his skin. Heat radiated from him.
“You work until you drop,” she said quietly. “Stupid.”
His eyelashes trembled. For a second, she thought he had heard. Then his face smoothed again.
She stayed like that. Cloth, water, check. Move to the sink. Wet again. Back to the bed. Time passed, measured only in the slow drip from the tap and the sound of traffic outside the thin window.
At some point, her phone vibrated again. She ignored it.
By the time the clock on the microwave flipped to 14:46, his skin felt cooler. His breath no longer scraped.
He blinked awake.
The first thing he saw was the ceiling. Then the curtain edge. Then he turned his head and saw her on the chair, one elbow on the table, looking straight at him.
“How long was I out,” he asked.
“Three hours,” she said.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to knock out on you like that.”
“You had a fever,” she said. “That is what bodies do.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He looked steadier now. The gray in his skin had eased. The sweat had dried and left a faint salt line on his neck.
“Did you sleep at all,” he asked.
“I do not need to sleep in your apartment,” she said.
“You just watched me,” he said.
“Yes.”
He scratched his cheek with his knuckles. “That’s creepy.”
“It kept you alive,” she said. “If you had started seizing, I would have called an ambulance.”
“Fair point,” he said. “Still sounds weird hearing ‘kept you alive’ in my studio.”
She stood.
“I have to go,” she said. “Meetings.”
“Right,” he said. “Real life. CEO stuff.”
He pushed himself to his feet and walked her to the door.
She stopped beside the entry mat and turned.
“Do you have food for tomorrow,” she asked.
“I’ll grab something from the corner shop,” he said. “Bread. Instant noodles. Same as always.”
“You will not come in,” she said. “Even if the fever is gone. That is an order.”
“I can at least work from home,” he said. “Send emails. Clean up reports.”
“Sleep,” she said. “Eat. That is your assignment.”
He looked like he wanted to argue. Then his gaze dropped to her shoes.
He sighed. “Okay. But just for tomorrow.”
She nodded once.
He opened the door for her. Cool air from the hallway slipped in. It smelled like frying food and someone’s incense down the hall.
“Thanks,” he said. “For the food. And the towel thing. And... everything.”
She met his eyes.
“Next time you plan to almost die for my sake, inform me first,” she said.
He smiled. Small. Real.
“I’ll add it to my calendar,” he said.
She stepped into the hall. The door closed behind her with a soft latch.
—
The next week settled into a different shape.
Y/N returned to work two days later. The sling stayed on, but he typed with one hand and used the voice dictation function when the reports got too long.
People in the office stared when he walked in. Some nodded stiffly. A few avoided looking at the scar under the edge of his shirt sleeve.
Manager Park kept checking him over like he expected him to break.
“You good,” Park asked on the third day back, standing awkwardly at the side of Y/N’s desk.
“I’m alive,” Y/N said. “Doc said I can lift light stuff. So I won’t volunteer for warehouse shifts.”
“Good,” Park said. “Stay away from Logistics. That place is cursed.”
Taeyeon’s behavior shifted in smaller ways.
She still walked the floors with the same pace. People still stiffened when they heard her approach. Meetings still ran tight and cutthroat. She still tore through bad proposals with a few clipped sentences that left senior managers sweating.
But she stopped by Y/N’s desk twice a day.
The first time each morning, she would pause just long enough to look at his hand and ask, “Pain level.”
He would answer with a number. “Three.” “Five when I move too much.” “Two today.”
She would nod and move on.
The second time, usually late afternoon, she would ask, “Medication.”
“Already took it at lunch,” he would say. Or, “Forgot. I’ll do it now.”
Her eyes would narrow when he said he forgot. He stopped forgetting.
Whispers started.
“Why is she always there.”
“He must know something.”
“Did he blackmail her.”
“Maybe she feels guilty.”
Y/N ignored most of it. He had other things to think about. Rent. The next electric bill. The quiet of his apartment when he opened the door each night.
On Friday, he stayed back late to finish a stack of cost comparison sheets. The office thinned out. Desks emptied. The cleaner rolled her cart past with a rag hanging off the side.
Lights dimmed over the far cubicles when the motion sensors timed out. Only a strip of ceiling fixtures above his row stayed bright.
He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger.
“Still here,” a voice said.
He jumped in his chair. The spreadsheet on his monitor blurred.
Taeyeon stood at the corner of his cubicle.
“I thought you left,” he said.
“You did not check,” she said. “You were staring at numbers like they might attack you.”
He glanced at the clock. “Shit. It’s eight.”
“Yes,” she said. “You are on hourly wages. Why are you still here.”
“Overtime,” he said. “Park gave clearance.”
She stepped closer, eyes flicking to the monitor.
“You can do that Monday,” she said. “This company will not fall apart because you delayed a file.”
“I’m in the zone,” he said. “If I stop now, I’ll lose the thread.”
“Do not glorify exhaustion,” she said. “Go home.”
He hesitated.
“Is that a request or an order,” he asked.
She tilted her head. “You are pushing.”
“Just clarifying my options.”
She watched him for a beat, then pulled a spare chair from the neighboring desk and sat next to him.
“Finish this row,” she said, looking at the spreadsheet. “Then you stop. I will see you stop.”
He looked at her, then at the screen, then shrugged. “Okay.”
He worked through the remaining line. Her presence at his side felt solid, not heavy. Oddly grounding. He could smell a faint hint of something from her, not perfume, not shampoo. Clean skin. Office air.
He hit save and closed the file.
She nodded, like he had passed some test.
“Good,” she said. “Pack up.”
He slid his few belongings into his bag. Cheap earphones. A battered notebook. His employee ID lanyard.
He stood. So did she.
They walked toward the elevator together in the near-empty floor.
At the doors, he pressed the button. The light flicked on.
“You going down,” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Thought you had the secret executive elevator only,” he said.
“I am not the president of a small country,” she said. “Just a company. Sometimes I use the same elevator as everyone else.”
The doors opened. They stepped in. The space felt bigger with only the two of them.
The car started down. Numbers blinked by.
He glanced at her reflection in the stainless steel wall. She looked straight ahead, hands relaxed at her sides.
“Why are you like this to me,” he asked suddenly.
Her eyes shifted to his reflection.
“Like what,” she said.
“Checking on me. Coming to my place. Watching me sleep like a horror movie villain,” he said. “You’re not like that with anyone else on the floor. Everyone’s terrified of you. You know that, right.”
“Yes,” she said.
“So why me.”
She turned her head fully now and looked at him, not at the reflection.
“You pulled me out from under a falling object,” she said. “You did it without thinking, without calculating what you might gain. That is one part.”
“And the other part,” he asked.
“You live alone in a cramped apartment with an urn on a shelf,” she said. “You come to work with stitches and still worry about carrying your share so nobody thinks you are weak. You get sick and you take early doses of cheap medicine so you can go back faster. You do not complain. You do not ask for help. That is stupid, but it is also...”
She stopped a half second, searching for a word.
“Honest,” she said.
He leaned back against the wall. The car vibrated slightly.
“That still doesn’t explain why you give a shit,” he said. “Most bosses would thank me once and forget I exist.”
“I remember who holds my life in their hands,” she said.
Silence in the small space.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open to the ground floor.
They stepped out into the lobby. Night staff at the reception desk glanced up and then quickly away.
Y/N walked toward the exit. Taeyeon kept pace beside him.
Outside, the air held the cool bite of early night. The office towers glowed. Traffic roared along the main road.
“You driving,” he asked.
“My car is there,” she said, nodding toward the side where a black sedan waited under the overhang.
“I take the subway,” he said. “Cheaper. No one cares if I smell like toner.”
He started toward the stairs that led down to the underground station. She reached out and caught his sleeve.
Her fingers gripped the cloth near his wrist. He stopped and looked back.
“Get in the car,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “You always this pushy outside the office too.”
“Especially outside,” she said. “You still have stitches. You get bumped on a crowded train, you tear them, you bleed all over your cheap shirt, you end up back in the hospital. I do not want that phone call. Get in the car.”
He studied her face.
“You don’t want that because you’d feel guilty,” he said. “Or because it would screw up your schedules again.”
“Both,” she said. “Move.”
He laughed once, short.
“Fine,” he said. “One ride. I’m not turning into your pet project.”
“If you were a project,” she said, “I would not start with transportation.”
He squinted at her. “What would you start with then.”
She let his sleeve go. “Come.”
He followed her to the car.
The driver opened the rear door without comment. They got in. Y/N gave his address. Taeyeon already knew it.
They rode in relative quiet. The city passed in streaks of light and shadow outside.
He watched her reflection in the window. Her gaze stayed on the road ahead, not on her phone for once.
“Do you ever relax,” he asked.
She did not look away from the windshield.
“I am sitting,” she said. “Is that not enough.”
“Sitting and waiting to work again is not relaxing,” he said. “You ever do nothing. No schedule. No target.”
“When I am sick,” she said.
“When was the last time,” he asked.
She thought.
“Five years,” she said.
He whistled. “That’s sad.”
“I do not have time to be sad,” she said.
He looked out the window again. His reflection faded as they passed under a short tunnel.
“I don’t have time either,” he said. “But it still shows up.”
She turned her head slightly at that, then faced forward again.
The car pulled up in front of his building.
He reached for the door handle.
“Thanks,” he said. “For the lift.”
“Text my assistant if your fever comes back,” she said.
He paused. “You want me to text your assistant about my temperature.”
“Yes,” she said. “She will forward anything relevant to me.”
He shook his head, half amused. “You’re something else, you know that.”
He got out and shut the door.
She watched him climb the stairs and disappear inside. His figure shrank in the side mirror.
The driver looked at her through the rearview.
“Back to the office, ma’am,” he said.
She kept her eyes on the entrance door for one more second, then nodded.
“Yes.”
—
The slow change continued.
She noticed small things first. The way he adjusted his chair height by a single notch when he came in, then by another in the afternoon when his back grew tight. The way he straightened the pile of shared stationery on the common shelf without comment. The way he listened more than he spoke in meetings, but when he did speak, his points hit clean.
He noticed things too.
He saw that she cracked her knuckles once under the table before heavy negotiations, where no board member could see. He saw that she sometimes flipped her pen cap between her fingers when she pretended to read a file she already knew by heart. He saw how she rolled her shoulders in small circles after three hours of back-to-back calls, as if resetting herself for another round.
She still scared everyone else.
But for him, the fear dulled. Not gone. But different. He still respected that she could fire him with a word. He had seen her cut a Senior VP down to size in a meeting over a missing clause. He had watched her eyes go dead cold when a supplier tried to play games with contract terms.
He knew the Ice Queen.
He had also seen her standing in his cramped kitchen with rolled-up sleeves and a cheap pot in her hands.
The two images sat side by side in his head.
On a Thursday evening, about three weeks after the accident, she called him into her office.
Her assistant gave him a brief warning at his desk. “CEO Kim wants you. Now.”
He walked in.
She sat behind her desk with a stack of files to her left and an open spreadsheet on her laptop. The city lit up behind her through the glass.
He stood in front of the desk with his hands at his sides.
“You wanted me,” he said.
She looked up.
“Yes,” she said. “Close the door.”
He did.
She tapped a folder with two fingers.
“You know Supplier B,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “I helped collate the penalty clauses last week.”
“They tried to sneak a change into the document,” she said. “Legal caught it. We are cutting them. I want you to sit in and watch tomorrow’s call. Learn. Take notes. See what incompetence looks like under pressure.”
He blinked. “Why me. That’s above my pay grade.”
“You will take the promotion path in six months,” she said. “You need exposure.”
“I never said I wanted a promotion,” he said.
“You work like you do,” she said. “You do not take breaks you are owed. You do more than assigned. That is either ambition or stupidity. I choose to believe ambition.”
He scratched his neck. “Maybe I’m just poor.”
“That too,” she said.
She slid a printed agenda across the desk. He stepped closer to take it.
His finger brushed hers.
The contact was brief, but his skin registered the dry warmth of her hand. Her fingers were rougher than he expected near the middle joint, likely from years of holding pens instead of tools.
He pulled the agenda back. She withdrew her hand.
“We start at nine sharp,” she said. “If you are late, you are out for the next round.”
“I’ll camp outside the door,” he said.
“You will not. You will arrive at eight fifty-six. Not earlier. Not later.”
He grinned. “You really measure by the minute.”
“Time is the only thing I cannot buy,” she said.
His grin faded a little at that.
He took a breath.
“Why are you so hard on yourself,” he asked. “You’re already at the top. Who are you racing.”
She held his stare.
“Myself,” she said.
He opened his mouth to ask more, then shut it when he saw something close off behind her eyes.
She returned to her laptop.
“You can go,” she said.
He turned to leave. His foot caught on the edge of the rug under the first guest chair. The rug corner had curled up from years of chair legs rolling over it.
His body pitched forward.
He grunted and tried to catch himself on the arm of the chair. His hand slipped. His center of gravity tipped too far.
He crashed into the desk.
The surface hit his thigh. The files near the edge shook. The agenda fluttered to the floor.
He reached out to steady himself, fingers scrambling for purchase.
Taeyeon stood up on reflex, chair rolling back with a rattle. She reached out. Her hands caught his upper arms at the same moment his knee hit the floor and lost strength.
The momentum pulled her forward.
Her hip hit the front of the desk. Her foot slid on the smooth tile. The force dragged her off-balance.
They went down together.
Her knees hit the ground on either side of his thigh. Her hands slid from his arms to his shoulders. His back hit the floor flat.
Her weight came down on top of him.
The breath left his chest in one solid expulsion. “Fuck.”
His hands flew to her waist by instinct, gripping fabric to keep her from slamming her face into his.
She did not. Her palms hit the floor near his head, arms locked. Her hair fell forward over one shoulder.
Their faces stopped a handful of centimeters apart.
Silence.
He stared up. She stared down.
He could see every line in her eyes. The sharp ring of her iris. The thin red threads from long days. Tiny flecks of darker color near the pupil.
Her breath hit his mouth. Steady. Not rushed. But he felt the faint hitch in it from the sudden movement.
One of his hands went from gripping her blazer to the side of her waist. Not a decision. Just gravity and muscle.
Her knee pressed lightly along the outside of his hip. The desk edge dug into her back where she half braced herself against it.
“Sorry,” he said, voice low. “Rug attacked me.”
“No,” she said. “You attacked you.”
He huffed out a weak laugh.
They did not move.
His chest rose and fell under her. Not touching fully, but close. The air between them felt too full.
Her gaze drifted from his eyes to his mouth, then back up.
He caught the motion. His fingers tightened slightly on her waist.
Her jaw clenched once.
“Get up,” she said.
“Yeah,” he answered, but neither of them shifted.
Her arms trembled a little from holding herself above him.
“Can’t really move with you pinning my legs,” he said, tone a shade rougher.
She glanced down, saw the way her knees boxed him in, and adjusted without thinking. Her hips dropped a little to free his legs.
The movement brought her closer.
Her chest brushed his.
Both stilled.
His hand on her waist slid a fraction, thumb dragging across the fabric where shirt met skin under the hem of her blazer.
She inhaled.
“CEO Kim,” he said. It came out thick. “We should probably not be on the floor like this.”
“Probably,” she said.
She did not get up.
Her face hovered over his, all calculation stripped away for one exposed second.
He saw it. The moment something broke ranks inside her quiet control.
She leaned down and kissed him.
There was no warning. No slow lean-in. One second her mouth hovered above his. The next, her lips pressed against his in a firm, direct contact.
His eyes opened wide for a half-second, then shut.
Her mouth moved against his with a certain, focused pressure. No rush. No hesitation. She knew what she was doing. She just had made the choice in a snap.
Heat flushed through his body, not from fever this time.
He kissed her back.
His hand on her waist dragged her closer. The other lifted, cupped the side of her neck at the base of her skull. His thumb found the line of tendon there.
Her lips parted. His did too.
Their tongues met. The contact shot straight through his ribs.
She made a small noise in her throat. Not soft. More like a sharp exhale that caught.
He rolled his shoulder, trying to shift them, but the desk leg blocked his elbow. The angle trapped him half under her, half angled toward the chair.
She broke the kiss just long enough to suck in a quick breath, then went back in, deeper.
He felt her fingers flex against the floor by his head. Then one hand lifted, slid along his jaw, and gripped the side of his face.
She kissed like she argued. Direct. No wasted movement.
His head hit the floor once, lightly, as her hand shifted, and they both grunted against each other’s mouths.
She pulled back a fraction. Their foreheads almost touched.
Her eyes looked darker now. Pupils wide. Her mouth sat slightly open.
“This is a bad idea,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she said.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth again.
He swallowed.
“You going to stop,” he asked.
“No,” she said.
She kissed him again.
This time, slower.
Her body lowered. Her weight settled more fully on his torso. He felt the press of her thighs along his hips. The line of her ribs under her shirt against his chest.
His back registered the hard floor but his brain filed it away as unimportant.
He slid his hand from her neck into her hair. The strands felt smooth, a bit coarse at the ends from constant straightening. He gripped gently and tilted her head for a better angle.
She accepted the motion without resistance, followed his pull, deepened the kiss.
Her free hand moved from his face down his chest, tracing the line of his shirt buttons. She stopped at the first one and paused, breathing hard into his mouth.
He pulled back a hair’s width and looked at her.
“You sure,” he said. “We cross this line, we can’t uncross it.”
She searched his expression, reading for something. Fear. Doubt. Regret.
“I do not cross lines I cannot own,” she said.
He held her stare for a beat, then nodded.
“Okay,” he said.
Her fingers slipped under his shirt. Skin met skin.
The door handle clicked.
Both froze.
The latch turned a few centimeters before hitting the lock she had set by habit.
“CEO Kim?” Her assistant’s voice came through the wood. “Legal is waiting on the Supplier B call. Should I tell them you will be late?”
Taeyeon’s eyes locked on Y/N’s. Their chests rose and fell in sync. Her hand still rested flat against his bare skin.
She swallowed once.
“Ten minutes,” she said. Her voice came out even. “Tell them I am in another discussion.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Footsteps moved away.
They lay there a second longer.
Then Taeyeon pushed herself up. She moved off him with care, like she was unsticking herself from a surface. She stood, straightened her blazer, smoothed her shirt where it had wrinkled.
Y/N stayed on the floor, breathing steady, staring at the ceiling.
“Get up,” she said.
He sat up, then pushed to his feet. His knees cracked. His shirt hung open at the top. He buttoned it with slightly clumsy fingers.
Neither spoke.
The air in the room felt thicker now.
She walked around the desk, sat down, and twisted her chair back into place. She looked at him.
“We crossed a line,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “We did.”
Silence again. Not comfortable. Not hostile. Charged.
“Close the rug corner,” she said, a fraction too brisk. “Someone will really break their neck next time.”
He bent, flipped the rug edge under itself, pressing it flat with his palm.
“And us,” he said, still crouched. “What do we do about this.”
She took a slow breath.
“You return to your desk,” she said. “You work. We both think. We do not pretend it did not happen.”
He straightened. “So we just park it.”
“For now,” she said. “I have a call in eight minutes. You have numbers to clean.”
He studied her face. It had settled back into the usual set: flat, contained. But he could see the extra color at her neck, the faint swell of her bottom lip.
“This isn’t over,” he said.
“No,” she said. “It is not.”
He nodded once and went to the door.
“Y/N,” she called just before he opened it.
He half-turned.
“You asked why I am like this with you,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“I still do not have a complete answer,” she said. “But I know one thing.”
“What.”
“I do not want anyone else touching you like I just did,” she said. “Figure out what that means on your own time.”
His hand tightened on the handle.
He felt a small, fierce spike of something in his chest at her words. Possessive. Raw.
“Guess I’m not the only stupid one,” he said.
“Apparently not,” she said.
He stepped out and closed the door.
—
The next days sat heavier.
The kiss hung between them like a third person in the room.
They did not talk about it. They did not repeat it.
In meetings, she treated him like any other junior. She assigned tasks, cut his sloppy phrasing, made him restart a presentation twice when he misordered his own slides.
On the floor, she did the usual rounds. People still went stiff when she passed. She walked right by him sometimes without stopping.
Other times, she paused just a second at his desk, adjusting a file, asking a direct question, then leaving.
Her face stayed cold. Her tone stayed work.
But the small changes grew.
She started taking her coffee at the same time he came back from the break room. They would find themselves at the machine together, side by side, watching the stream fill the paper cups.
“You drink this,” she said once, eyeing his instant mix.
“It’s free,” he said. “Tastes like regret, but it keeps me awake.”
She took one sip of her own, grimaced slightly, and handed him her cup.
“Switch,” she said. “Yours is worse.”
He laughed. They swapped.
In the elevator, when it was crowded, she stood in front like usual, shoulders squared, gaze ahead.
But if someone jostled him too hard from behind in the press, her eyes would flick to the mirror. One sharp look at the offender. A small shift of her body to block the contact.
At lunch one day, he stood in line at the cafeteria holding a tray with rice and soup. The place buzzed. Forks scraped. People murmured in low, careful tones.
A tray slid into place beside his. He looked over.
Taeyeon stared at the options without expression.
“You eat here now,” he asked.
“I own this food,” she said. “Sometimes I should taste what I pay for.”
He watched her pick plain rice, grilled fish, kimchi. No dessert.
“You can afford better,” he said.
She glanced at his plate. “So can you.”
“Not on my salary,” he said.
“I pay you,” she said. “I know exactly what you can and cannot afford.”
He shook his head. “You sound like my landlord.”
She gave a low huff that might have been a laugh.
They ended up at the same table. People at nearby tables glanced, then looked away fast.
They ate mostly in silence. It was not strained. Just full.
When he spilled a bit of soup near his tray, his hand jerked.
She reached over with a napkin and wiped it up without comment, tossed the napkin aside, then went back to her fish.
He faltered for half a second, caught off-guard by the small, automatic care.
“What,” she said.
“Nothing,” he said. “Didn’t peg you as the cleanup type.”
“I do not like sticky surfaces,” she said.
He smirked. “Sure.”
Slow burn.
The weeks rolled.
She saw more of his life in glimpses.
On a Saturday, a rare one where he was not drafted for overtime, she texted his phone for the first time. The screen lit up with an unknown number.
This is Kim Taeyeon. CEO. Come downstairs.
He stared at the message, then leaned out his window. The street showed only parked cars and a few people walking dogs.
He answered. You outside my building?
Yes.
He debated not going. Then his curiosity kicked in.
He grabbed a hoodie and went down.
She stood near a convenience store at the corner, baseball cap pulled low, plain jacket zipped.
“You look like you’re hiding from debt collectors,” he said.
“Paparazzi,” she said. “Investors. Same category.”
“What are you doing here on a weekend,” he asked.
“I was in the area,” she said. “Site visit. Thought of you.”
He eyed her. “You don’t do unplanned social calls.”
“Apparently I do now,” she said. “Walk with me.”
They moved down the side street together. Leaves crunched under their shoes. Kids yelled somewhere on a higher floor, unseen.
“You eat,” she asked.
“Instant noodles,” he said.
She clicked her tongue. “You will die before we can promote you.”
“I thought you liked stupid risk,” he said.
“Not on my staff,” she said.
She turned into a small restaurant he had passed a hundred times without entering. Steamed-up windows. Metal tables. Handwritten menu taped to the wall.
He hesitated at the doorway. “I can’t afford this place often.”
“I can,” she said. “Sit.”
They sat at a corner table. A server brought water and banchan. Kimchi, pickled radish, beans.
Taeyeon ordered with quick, clear words. Two kimchi stew, extra rice, one grilled pork.
“You didn’t ask what I want,” he said.
“You want cooked food,” she said. “You will eat it.”
He did.
They talked about nothing at first. Work gossip. A strange email from Legal. A broken printer.
Then she asked, “Why Marketing.”
He shrugged. “Started as data entry. Spots opened. I know spreadsheets. They moved me.”
“You wanted something else,” she said.
“Didn’t have the luxury to want,” he said. “Needed a job fast when my parents died. This one paid on time. That’s all.”
She nodded. No sympathy words. No pity.
“You,” he asked. “How’d you end up on the top floor.”
She chewed a bite of meat, swallowed.
“Family business,” she said. “Father built it. I took it. That is the short version.”
“Long version,” he said.
“Not today,” she said.
He let it go.
After they ate, she pulled out her wallet.
He stopped her hand. “At least let me cover my share.”
“No,” she said.
“You can’t keep paying for everything,” he said. “There’s a line somewhere.”
“I decide the line,” she said. “I invited you. I pay. Next time you invite, you can pay, if you feel so strongly.”
“Next time,” he repeated.
“Yes,” she said, as if it was obvious.
They left together. At the corner where their paths split, she stopped.
He turned toward his building. “See you Monday, CEO Kim.”
She reached out and caught the cuff of his hoodie.
He turned back.
She stepped closer. Not much. Just one step.
“Here,” she said.
She raised her hand, touched the side of his face with her palm. Her thumb brushed the hollow under his eye.
He froze.
Then she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.
No heat like the office floor. No rush. Just a firm contact, short and precise.
She pulled back.
“Text my assistant when you get sick,” she said. “Not the company hotline. They will make you fill forms.”
He blinked. “That’s what this was about.”
“No,” she said. “That was just extra.”
She let go of his cuff and walked away.
He touched his lips once, then went inside.
—
The rain kept drumming against the floor-to-ceiling glass like it wanted in. Y/N rolled his neck, vertebrae popping, and glanced across the empty executive wing. Only one light still burned—her office, the door cracked just enough to spill a warm stripe across the dark carpet.
He shouldn’t have gone. He knew better. But the pull had been growing for weeks: the extra “Y/N, look at this,” the way her fingers brushed his when she handed him files, the way she lingered in the elevator just long enough that the doors tried to close on them twice. Clingy didn’t fit the ice-queen image she wore like armor in every boardroom on the continent. Yet here he was, walking toward that light anyway.
He knocked once, pushed the door wider.
Taeyeon sat on the low leather couch by the window, laptop glowing on the coffee table, jacket tossed over the armrest. White shirt sleeves rolled to her elbows, top two buttons undone, the delicate lace edge of a black bra just visible. No makeup left except a faint smudge of liner. She looked exhausted in the best way—soft, human, stripped of every shield she carried downstairs.
“You look like shit,” he said, voice low.
One perfect eyebrow arched. “Bold, even for you.”
“Only when my boss forgets she’s allowed to be tired.” He shut the door, locked it with a quiet click that felt louder than it should. Then he crossed the room and dropped onto the opposite end of the couch, leaving deliberate space between them.
She studied him for a long second, then closed the laptop. The room fell into rain-muffled silence.
“Come here,” she ordered, softer than usual.
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
He slid over until their thighs pressed together through thin fabric. She exhaled, leaned back, and let her head drop to the cushions. For the first time he could remember, her shoulders actually sagged. Then her arm lifted, hovered, and settled across his chest like she’d been waiting weeks to do it. She shifted, burrowed, until her cheek rested against his shoulder and her nose brushed the side of his throat.
He went statue-still.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’m tired,” she admitted, voice muffled against his shirt.
“No shit.”
Her fingers curled into the cotton over his sternum, gripping hard enough he felt her nails. “Stay.”
He wrapped his free arm around her waist, palm spreading wide over the small of her back. She fit against him like she’d been carved for the space. Small, compact, all coiled strength finally letting go.
“You’re clingy when no one’s looking,” he murmured, lips against her hair.
“Yes.” No denial. Just the word, raw.
“Kind of cute.”
She pinched his side, hard. “Never say that where anyone can hear.”
“In private?”
She didn’t answer with words. Instead her hand fisted tighter in his shirt, pulling him even closer.
They stayed like that for long minutes—city lights glittering below, rain streaking the glass, the wall clock ticking like a heartbeat. He felt the exact moment her breathing slowed, the rigid line of her spine melting under his arm. When he shifted for comfort, she followed, nose dragging along his neck, lips parting against his skin on a quiet sigh.
“Y/N.”
“Yeah.”
“If anyone sees us like this…”
“They already talk,” he said. “Let them choke on it.”
Her mouth curved against his throat. “You’re bold tonight.”
“You started it.” He turned his head, pressed a slow kiss to the crown of her head. Shampoo and faint office coffee—something that was purely her.
She tilted up. Their eyes locked, inches apart. No desk, no hierarchy, no audience. Just heat and rain and the low thrum of something that had been building for months.
He leaned in first.
The kiss was slow, deliberate—lips parting, tongues sliding, tasting. Her hand slid from his chest to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. The other arm wrapped around his ribs like she was afraid he’d vanish. He cupped the nape of her neck, thumb stroking the soft skin behind her ear until she shivered.
When he finally pulled back, forehead resting on hers, they were both breathing harder.
“We really doing this?” he asked.
“Yes.” No hesitation. “I’ve decided. I claim you.”
He laughed under his breath. “You make it sound like a merger.”
“It is. You’re mine now. Under my protection. My problem. Mine.”
“Possessive.”
“Extremely.” Her voice had gone husky.
He curled his fingers around the back of her neck and kissed her again, deeper. She pushed him back until he was stretched along the couch and she was half-draped over him, knee sliding between his thighs. Her shirt rode up; he felt warm skin against his belt. The kiss turned filthy—wet, open-mouthed, tongues fucking each other while her hips rolled once, slow and deliberate, grinding her pelvis against the growing bulge in his slacks.
His hands roamed her back, finding every knot along her spine and pressing until she moaned into his mouth, low and broken.
“Don’t make that sound unless you want me to fuck you right here on this couch,” he warned, voice rough.
“Idiot,” she breathed, but her hips rolled again, harder.
He laughed, flipped them in one smooth motion. The couch creaked dangerously. Now he had her under him, her legs parting around his hips, skirt rucked up to her thighs. He kissed along her jaw, down the column of her throat, sucking lightly at the spot that made her back arch.
“Careful,” she gasped. “If we break Accounting’s precious couch—”
“We’ll expense it as ‘structural reinforcement.’” He bit her earlobe, then soothed it with his tongue. “Or we could just go somewhere with a real bed.”
She stilled, eyes dark. “Your place.”
“My shoebox apartment.”
“I know.” Her fingers traced his jaw. “I want to see it again. With you inside me this time.”
His cock twitched hard against her thigh. “Fuck. Say it again.”
“Take me home, Y/N. And fuck me in your bed until I forget every meeting on my calendar.”
They left separately—two minutes apart, professional masks back in place. But when her sleek black sedan pulled up at the corner, he was already waiting. He slid into the passenger seat. Her hand found his immediately, fingers lacing tight. Neither of them spoke the entire ride, but the air crackled.
At his building she followed him up the narrow stairs without a word. Inside the tiny studio, she kicked off her heels, looked around once—same rumpled bed, same shelf with the single photo and urn—and then grabbed his hoodie, yanked him down, and kissed him like she was starving.
He walked her backward until her knees hit the mattress. They fell together in a tangle of limbs and half-laughed curses. Clothes came off in frantic, greedy pulls: her shirt, his hoodie, her bra, his belt. When she was naked beneath him—pale skin flushed pink, nipples tight, thighs already slick—he took a second just to look.
“Fuck, Taeyeon,” he breathed. “You’re beautiful.”
“Stop staring and touch me.”
He did. Hands everywhere—cupping her breasts, thumbs circling stiff peaks until she moaned. Then lower, sliding between her legs. She was soaked, pussy lips swollen and glossy. Two fingers sank in easily; her walls clenched around them like a fist. He curled, stroked, found the spot that made her hips jerk and her breath stutter.
“More,” she demanded, voice wrecked.
He gave her three fingers, pumping slow and deep while his thumb circled her clit. She rode his hand shamelessly, head thrown back, throat exposed. When she came the first time it was sudden—body locking, pussy fluttering, a broken cry tearing from her lips as she gushed around his fingers.
He didn’t wait. He shoved his pants down, cock springing free—thick, heavy, leaking at the tip. She wrapped her hand around him, stroked once, twice, then guided him to her entrance.
“Inside me. Now.”
He thrust in one smooth stroke, burying himself to the hilt in tight, wet heat. They both groaned. For a moment he stayed still, forehead pressed to hers, just feeling her pulse around his cock.
Then she rolled her hips. “Move.”
He fucked her slow at first—deep, grinding strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper. The bed creaked in rhythm with their bodies. Skin slapped. Her nails raked down his back hard enough to leave marks.
“Harder,” she gasped. “I won’t break.”
He gave it to her—hips snapping, cock pounding into her slick cunt over and over. She met every thrust, moaning his name like a prayer. When he reached between them and rubbed her clit again she shattered a second time, pussy clamping down so tight he saw stars.
“Fuck—Taeyeon—I'm gonna cum—”
“Inside,” she ordered, voice raw. “Fill me.”
He buried himself deep and came with a guttural groan, cock pulsing as he pumped rope after thick rope of cum into her. She milked him through it, hips rolling lazily until he was spent.
They collapsed, sweaty and trembling. He stayed inside her, softening slowly while she stroked his hair.
“You okay?” he whispered against her temple.
“Better than okay.” She nuzzled his chest. “You?”
“Yeah. Perfect.”
She burrowed closer, leg thrown over his hip, keeping him nestled inside her even as he softened. The clinginess was back full force—arms wrapped around him, face pressed to his neck, breathing him in like he was oxygen.
“You really are clingy,” he teased, voice gentle.
“Shut up.” She pinched his side, but there was no heat in it.
He laughed softly, then sobered. “You’re mine now, too. Not just the other way around.”
She was quiet long enough he thought she might argue. Then: “Fine. We belong to each other.”
“Say it again.”
“Don’t push it.”
He pinched her ass. She yelped, then laughed—low, warm, real.
“We belong to each other,” she repeated, softer this time, like the words tasted new.
Later, when his alarm buzzed for the late-night meds on the nightstand, she reached over him without being asked, silenced the phone, and pressed the pill into his palm.
“Take it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She elbowed him. “Not here. Here I’m just Taeyeon.”
He swallowed the pill, then pulled her back down against his chest. “Taeyeon,” he murmured into her hair.
She hummed, pleased, and tightened her arms around him like she never planned to let go.
Outside, the city kept moving. Inside the tiny apartment, the rain kept falling, and the woman who ruled half the corporate world clung to him like he was the only thing that mattered.
And for the first time in years, she slept without setting an alarm.
An Yujin x Male Reader, LIGHT femdom, smut, possessive Yujin
Word Count: 17.5K
A/N 1: First ever writing published! Took me quite some days to pour my heart in it and finally finished the plot... Please bear with me as there is definitely a huge room for improvement :).
A/N 2: Although I am fluent, I'm not a native English speaker so please forgive my grammar mistakes here and there ...hehe.
Plot Summary: You being the loudest yapper in your own Discord server, yet the most quiet nerd in the public. Yujin makes sure this mistake gets corrected, using her own ways...
You claim you are an expert in relationships, yapping in front of your friends that the only reason why you are still single is because you didn’t try. Your friends, of course all guys, half-jokingly accepting this title besides the fact that you become the sole member of the Discord gaming server that had not been dating someone.
Your first year in college is composed by a dorm room with dozens of Kpop girl group posters, flashy RGB lights on your gaming PC and 10,000 cumulative hours on Steam games throughout the years. As a STEM major, your life is basically going to class, dining hall for meals, and instead of heading out for some social life, you stay in and spend hours of your free time playing FPS games with friends, with some limited-edition girl group Photo cards, carefully sleeved and placed on your mousepad. “I’m living a good life right now, no? Who says I must date someone to not feel lonely? I got my bros and my wives with me.” You say to yourself one in a while.
God knows how mistaken this was.
With a somewhat naive heart and immature mind, you thought answering the most math problems in class during middle school is the key ingredient to one’s rizz. You felt weirdly confident that asking a girl out is like a walk in the park with your mathematics fueled brain and a skinny body. And so, it was the prom season and you were starting your great plans. But plans are always just plans, the 3 straight rejections in a row, over the span of one week was the final hammer destroying your self-confidence.
“There is no way that I get rejected by these girls who scored 30% lower than me in the Algebra class Final!” You complained to your friends and received a series of laughter.
-
Your self-confidence was at the rock bottom but the ego is still there. Moving to a new town for high school as your family planned, you decided to start over again but this time you promised to yourself that you won’t get defeated shamefully like how you did in middle school. But your way of approach is unique, rather than go all in and improve yourself overall, you decided to not try at all.
“I’m a damn genius,” You murmured to yourself, “If I just don’t talk to girls, I won’t get rejected by girls. Hahahaha” The logic felt strangely well so you had made your decision. Four years had passed, and the few friends who you made in high school only remembers you as an introvert game-addict kid who was good at math and instruments, before each heading towards different towns for college.
You thought college would be the same, you can keep hiding behind the screen and try to persuade yourself that admiring and becoming a fan of Kpop idols are enough for your romantic need.
You made a second mistake.
-
Your college is famous for its dead social scene. You don’t see parties going around your dorm, you rarely see Frat and Sorority hosting events with everyone dressing up like you only knew they looked like some cowboys and cowgirls.
Library and dorm rooms are the preferred place for your classmates. Especially STEM ones. This day, you made a right turn after walking out of the dining hall instead of heading back straight towards your dorm because you have a Linear Algebra final on the next day so you are studying in the library.
You make it there, pushing open the door of the quiet floor of the library, you feel like this place welcomes you more compared to the dining hall which just keeps blasting whatever music that comes into the manager’s mind. You smell a scent of old books as well as plugged computer chargers (yes you can actually smell that). You take a quick glance around the floor looking for empty seats, only to realize almost every open place is captured by students in grey/black hoodies, with an iPad on their table and a can of Celsius along with lifeless eyes on their faces.
You smirk as you look at the sign which says “No Food or Drinks in the Library”. Difficult times it is, so probably they won’t be strict towards the rules as everyone is already suffering through the Finals Season. You drop your stuff on the chair next to you and sitting down. Suddenly you feel like someone is walking towards you, the seat at the very corner of the library.
“Sorry, this seat was taken, I was using the washroom.” You hear a feminine voice from behind.
Your nerves quickly react before turning around. You take a quick look and indeed see a backpack placing right beneath the chair you just put your stuff on, but the table is empty.
“I... I’m sorry, I didn’t see your stuff under the chair. I’ll go.” You grab your backpack in a smooth motion like a parabola and stand up. After years of lack in conversation with girls, you make a quick decision to escape the scene and avoid any further interactions with this girl before even looking at her at all.
“Chill, you are good. I only need this one seat, you can stay.” She speaks with a really cool and emotionless tone while gently pressing her palm on your shoulder, sending electric shocks through your spine without noticing it.
You panic. You turn your upper body slightly so that you can see her from your 5 o’clock. You try your best to ease your tighten facial muscles and give a polite smile to her.
“Al... alright, I’ll stay then.” You obey her words without realizing it.
“An Yujin.” She introduces her name. In this split second, you finally get a chance to take a quick scan on her. She doesn’t feel like she belongs in the library, you are honest to yourself that she looks stunning. Contrasting with the lifeless hoodies and loose PJ pants near you, she wears a short, white tank top with a plain black leather jacket - unzipped - showcasing the smooth skin around her waist. Crazily long legs are wrapped under a tight pair of jeans indicates the perfect curve of hers. The Dr. Martens boots add an inch or two in height, makes you almost have to look above to see her face. She has really alluring eyes, with carefully done eyelashes alone with grey contact lenses that you almost lose yourself in. The flashy metal necklaces remind you to stop looking before it gets too suspicious. You feel like you won’t be surprised if she tells you she is in the Kpop Dance Club on campus.
“Y/N, n... nice to meet you.” You still try to play it cool but the crack in your voice betrayed you. You quickly turn around and sit down, keeping your arms tightly tugged to your body and try to play it safe.
“You look like that nerd who always sits at the very front row in my Linear Algebra class, no?” Yujin raises her eyebrows, with a seemingly innocent smirk on her face, showing the dimples on her cheek.
“H...how do you know me? I’ve never seen you before in the class.” You hesitate for a second, only to realize it is just the inevitable so you respond.
“You know it is hard to not know when you answer every question the professor asks, right?” The “right” at the end sounds like a teasing, at least you guess that’s what she intends as her smirk gets wider.
“I wouldn’t go to that class at all if it is not because of the fucking participation points.” That smirk on Yujin’s face disappears, as you are indeed aware of the course policy punish the class-skippers.
“T...then why did you pick this class? And it is the Final exam tomorrow, how are you going to pass?” You try to claim some authority but surely you do absolutely no damage to her as the playful yet teasing smirk reappears on Yujin’s face. “Well, I only need to pass this Math elective thingy to finish up my minor’s requirement and I can get it out of the way.” You realize she’s at least a year older than you, despite you are already ahead in the classes.
“Well you asked me how I’m going to pass the class and I’m telling you exactly how. I was trying to grind today and pray probably Gemini or Chat will do me a favor and have everything I need to know into some bullet points.” Yujin plays a sad face, but only in a blink of an eye, she turns from the iPad on her laps towards you and smirks, “but I guess it is my lucky day isn’t it? The smartest nerd in the class decides to sit next to me, and I’m sure you don’t mind to go over the Study Sheet with me and instruct me on how to find an Eigenspace for a linear transformation, right?”
Her words doesn’t sound like a question but more like an order that you don’t dare to disobey. “Probably teach her some stuff and part ways, after today I will go back to my screen and keep my way of living my college life.” You thought to yourself.
The third mistake had been made.
“O...ok, but I’m NOT a NERD!” You try to act strong but obviously she doesn’t buy it.
“Ok nerd!” The evil smile on her faces tells you that she’s the one in charge.
-
Hours had passed at the corner of the library and you already tried three different excuses to dip. But each time Yujin’s aura just keeps you trapped there like a magnetic field.
“Hmm, you have to go for a club meeting? I don’t think so. You can go after I’m done copying the key for the Finals Practice.” She stares right into you, and you are frightened.
“O..ok, I guess it’s the finals week, they shouldn’t have anything important.” You finally give up and just hand your notes to Yujin and pull out your phone.
“That’s it, such a good boy.” Yujin teases.
“Don’t call me like that! It’s not like I owe you anything.” You decide to act tough instead of letting her keep treating you like that so you try to grab your notebook back from her hands.
But at the exact moment you touched her wrist, your instinct makes you pull your hands back like you had touched something toxic. Holding hands are for lovers, but you haven’t even touched a girl’s hand, Yujin’s wrist is ice cold, but soft. It was just a split second but you can feel it.
“What’s wrong?” Yujin turns around and asks.
“No.. nothing.” You feel some heat on your face, you are glad that Yujin quickly put her focus back to the notes. Otherwise, you have no idea how is she going to make fun of you.
- Another hour, your stomach starts to protest for the lack of nutrients.
“Hungry already? Well, I guess I am too. Let’s go get some food and drinks at the K-Barbecue nearby. I got you covered.” Yujin smirks as she hears the noise coming from your stomach.
“No.... th...thank you for the offer, but I usually eat at the dining hall.” It is the chance you had been waiting for; it is the chance to bail you out of this awkward interaction. You just want to go back to your dorm and probably stare at your girl group posters on the wall instead of interacting with this stunning yet a bit possessive girl in the library.
“I said I got you covered.” Yujin’s smirk is gone and you can see nothing but a cold stare on your face. “Don’t make me feel like a brat just bullies nerds for fun, that isn’t hard, is it?”
(But you are! You think. But of course, that’s not what comes out of your mouth)
“Well I guess I’ll go then.” You sigh.
“Hey nerd, I’m offering you a meal! Why are you this frustrated? Do you think I make you look bad if you eat out with me?” Yujin challenges.
“N...no! I... I just... had never.” You murmur.
“Never what?”
“I had never eaten out with girls before.” You totally give up, the fortress, the bubble you tried all of your high school years to build just cannot resist this storm named Yujin.
“Ah! Then you’re not just a nerd, but a VIRGIN nerd! Hahaha.” Yujin blasts into laughter but you don’t even try to argue, because the saddest part is that she is kinda right, although you had been brainwashing yourself that you are not.
Yujin then gives a loud slap onto your back and tell you to pack up quickly, which draws attention from a few other students nearby. You feel so embarrassed that you just crumble your way out of the library behind Yujin like a puppy of hers.
-
(In the Korean BBQ place nearby your campus)
The crisp sound of Yujin popping open a bottle of Soju draws your attention while you are staring at your laps for the whole time.
“Want some?” Yujin sniffs the bottle and a big smile grows on her face; the cute dimples reappear.
“What? How… how are you offering alcohol to someone who’s under 21? I turn 21 next year and before that? No alcohol for me.” You argue.
“Expected words from a nerd.” Yujin murmurs while chugging a whole glass of Soju in just a second. “But you know what? I think alcohol is a good thing in one situation, when a coward needs to be brave. Why are you even nervous? You don’t even look at me when you’re talking to me.”
“I just don’t feel comfortable.” You feel your lips become dry so you reach for your water cup.
“Hey! Isn’t that our professor?” Yujin points her delicate finger towards the entrance of the restaurant.
You quickly stand up to take a fast glance of the door, as the so called “model student”, the least thing you want to get witnessed is eating out with a girl like Yujin the night before the final exam especially when there is also a bottle of Soju on the table. But you see nothing but a crowd of loud seniors who seemingly enter here to celebrate the end of their quarter.
“I don’t see anyone. Are you just messing up with me? Honestly that scared me a bit.” You sit back down and grab your water cup, finishing it in one hell of a gulp. But it obviously doesn’t taste like water, it is spicy but has a hint of floral and strawberry scent. When you turn your sight back to Yujin, you can only see her playful yet teasing smile, still trying to play innocent.
“Y… you poured Soju into my...” You try to say something but the strong taste of the Soju makes your throat burn and your eyes watering instantly.
“Negative soldier, I didn’t pour anything to your cup.” Yujin says, while biting down the straw dipping in the cup in her hands with her cherry-red lips.
“Wait a second, there wasn’t a straw for your Soju cup….” Your heat skips a beat and probably already guessed what just happened. But to prove your lemma, you look down to your “water cup”, and a clear cherry-red mark is right at the rim.
That was it.
Yujin drew your attention away while quickly swapped her cup with yours, knowing that you’d drink it following your instinct. But the lipstick mark? That was something beyond your comprehension. You are still refusing to accept the fact that you indirectly kissed a girl.
“Hmm... this straw has some interesting taste to it.” Yujin giggles while half closing her eyes, makes you feel like she wants to figure out what’s inside you through the straw that you just nervously chewed a couple minutes ago to avoid staring into her face.
“Let it go! It is so nasty, why would you ever put that straw into your mouth? And why would you ever offer your cup to someone else? Well even you want to trick me into drinking the Soju, at least.... at least don’t let me drink it with your cup.” Your lengthy response surprisingly didn’t stutter under the influence of alcohol, instead you feel a strange heat on your face.
“oooh nerd, why is your face as red as the charcoal? Is it too hot in here? Or is it... me?” Yujin finally moves her lips out of the straw, but what comes out of them is like a sharp pierce targeting right at your weaknesses.
“H...hey! Stop teasing me like I had never talked to woman before! I’m much better in this than you thought. I’m a fucking expert when it comes to relationships.” You quickly regret what just left your mouth but it is too late. Obviously, the alcohol didn’t work in your favor as your brain just wouldn’t realize Yujin isn’t the person who you want to brag your “title” in front of her.
She quickly catches you, not missing a chance and laughs with her mouth wide open. “What the hell did you call yourself? An expert in relationships? What kind of next level bullshit is that? I thought you said I am the first girl besides your mother who eats out with you?”
“S... sorry, it is an inside joke with my friends, i... I didn’t mean to say that in front of you.” You give up, grab the Soju bottle from Yujin and chugged the whole bottle in one go.
“But fuck it, I have my own ways fulfilling my romantic needs. I got my wives with me.” You are mad at your mouth at the exact moment when you said this, wondering why wouldn’t they just shut the hell up.
“Your wives? I wouldn’t be surprised if you call some random anime characters your wife and hug a body pillow with her body on it while you sleep at night. But you know what, it is ok and I won’t blame a virgin nerd for being into stuff like this.” Yujin jokes after quickly waved and signaled the staff for two more bottles of Soju.
“No... They’re real people!”
“Hmm... but I am more curious about you.” Yujin stops in the middle, makes your body jolt a little before she continues, “I wonder why a guy with a cute face like you will be like this. A nerd with no social life.”
You can’t see any emotions on her face. You also can’t see the meaning behind her seemingly compliments.
“Don’t... don’t say that. Yujin. You are drunk.” You murmur.
“It’s been five hours since you knew my name, but it took you this long to say it for the first time.” Yujin’s cold eyes force you to lose the staring contest, otherwise you know for a fact that you’ll fall deeper into her gaze.
“It’s just the alcohol.” Your face as red as her cherry red lipstick, the color on the rim of the Soju glass in front of you. “Come on, you’ll get there once the Soju starts working.” Yujin smirks.
-
Your second bottle of Soju is down; you feel warmth on your face but fog inside your brain. The final filter between what you think and what you say out loud is gone. “Alcohol is good when a coward needs to be brave.” Yujin’s voice echoes in your head.
“H...hey, Yujin, you know what? I haven’t been rejected by a single girl since middle school! ZERO! Doesn’t that make me an expert?” You try to defend your title, without noticing you are making yourself a joke to her.
“Then why are you so scared of me?” Yujin asks.
“I... I’m not scared of you. You... you are just a bit too aggressive.” You lie but your cracking voice betrays you.
“You are not just scared, you are terrified.” Yujin says, while grabbing your phone next to your plate and turned it on.
Lock screen? Of course, another Idol. Yujin smirks before slipping your phone through her fingers back to your palm.
“Be honest with me nerd, I’m curious who are those “wives” you’re talking about.” Yujin challenges.
“Well... they are some Kpop idols. They are really... pretty and I love them. I have their posters everywhere in my room.” You confess while knowing to be honest is the only option under such an aggression from Yujin. A pitiful smile appears on her face.
"You talk big for someone who's spent four years in a bubble." she says, her voice low and dangerous. "You think they're enough to keep you warm?"
"They're enough for me," you mutter, though your pulse is lying.
"You’ve spent so long looking at girls who aren’t in the same world as you, that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to have one breathe in your face. You’re not an expert. You’re a collector. And collectors are always so protective of their little treasures, aren't they?"
She stands up, slowly zipping her leather jacket, her eyes never leaving yours.
"I want to see it. I want to see the place where you hide from the world. I want to see these 'wives' you think are so much better than the real thing."
"Yujin, it's late. I have the exam—"
"I didn't ask if you had an exam." She walks around the table, stopping right behind your chair. She leans down, her hair brushing your neck, her voice a ghost of a whisper in your ear. "I'm bored of this hide-and-seek. And I think you’ve been hiding for long enough. You’re going to take me to your room, and show me exactly what it is you’re so afraid of me seeing."
“It’s your choice nerd.” She doesn't wait for an answer and starts walking toward the door. You’re left with two choices: stay here and be the coward she says you are, or take a deep breath and dive into her.
You finally understand what Yujin said. “Alcohol is a good thing, when a coward needs to be brave.”
-
You accept her challenge.
-
When you chase her out to the sidewalk, Yujin is already yards in front of you. But your legs start picking up the pace regardless. The Soju in your system shatters your logic and all you know is to follow Yujin, even though she’s heading towards your own dorm, you aren’t the one who takes the lead.
“Hey nerd, don’t you think we are a bit too slow?” The steadily rhythm of Yujin’s boots hitting the sidewalk stops. She turns her upper body towards you with an evil-ish smile on her face.
You walk closer to her.
Closer, yet she still isn’t moving.
Closer, and you are already parallel to her.
“Yujin, why aren’t you mov...” In a blink of an eye, she grabs your wrist firmly. Firm enough to make sure you give up any thoughts to pull your hand back. Her hand is cold, like the air outside at a January night but it conducts waves and waves of heat all the way up to your face. Yet you still freeze, don’t know what to do.
“Now I also become the first girl to ever hold your hand. So make sure you follow me close, ok?” Yujin’s voice is surprisingly warm, contradicting with the firm grip of hers.
She then interlocks her fingers with yours, like a confirmation of the fact that you cannot run away from her.
Honestly, you don’t know if you want to anymore.
The January night is humid and dark, but where your fingers meet hers is like a sun.
“Yujin, I...”You are visibly nervous, voice cracking.
“Sheesh, just don’t say anything, otherwise I need ANOTHER way to keep that nerdy mouth of yours shut. Friendly reminder, that would give me another “first time” of yours.” Yujin hovers her finger on you lips, close enough for you to feel her scent from the perfume. Fresh. Flowery. Alluring.
-
For many times during the walk, you tried to say something to ease the awkward situation (or probably only YOU feel like it is awkward). Either the pure absurdity of a girl like Yujin, offers to visit your dorm; or it’s your sheer nervousness of not knowing what to do when a girl holds your hand like this; or you even wanted to apologize to her as you didn’t make your room organized enough for her to come, knowing her presence there is inevitable now.
But her “warnings” had shut you up. You can hear nothing near you, nothing from the empty winter campus night before the Finals, nothing from the occasional pedestrians that exchange weird looks with each other, probably wondering how you get to hold such a hot girl’s hand with your pure frightened and nerdy face. The only sound you can hear is your heart beat, it’s only getting faster, like your GPU fans during an intense gaming session.
Are you feared for the upcoming unknowns?
Do you anticipate it even, because the protagonist is a girl like Yujin?
Do you still care your so called expert title, along with your no-talking-to-girls philosophy?
You honestly don’t know.
-
The next time you hear something, you realize you are already in the elevator, fingers still interlocked with Yujin’s.
“Which floor?” Yujin doesn’t even look at you, instead she peeks at the mirror that reflects a seemingly inharmonic image of you two holding hands silently.
“S...six.” You swallow, still yet to recover from the freezing weather outside.
Yujin presses the button, then goes silent.
You expect her to say something, probably Yujin will confess to you that it is all a prank, just to shatter a nerd’s night before a final exam. Probably Yujin will change her mind, realizing a complete noob in dealing with relationships isn’t who she wants. Probably Yujin will just disappear, and everything becomes a fever dream caused by alcohol.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Still silent.
“Ding!”
The crisp sound of the elevator drags you back to the reality, the door then slides open, the corridor welcoming you like the red carpet for the biggest stage of your life so far.
Yujin then reaches her free hand to your hoodie’s pocket like it is hers and takes your keycard in one smooth motion like she already knows where you put it.
“606.” She reads the cover of the card, with a smirk like a predator finally cornering her prey.
The familiar corridor becomes so strange, your steps becoming heavier and heavier, yet the feeling and warmth of Yujin’s fingers make you feel like you have a pair of wings.
When you finally reach your room, your hand is already trembling, and Yujin taps the card on the reader. The green light goes up. The door handle is then turned, and Yujin gestures you to get in first like it is her place.
You obey.
“Are you going to welcome me to your bubble.” Yujin stops at the door, raising her eyebrows. “Or are you going to shut the door and pretend nothing happened? It is never too late for you to be a coward and fold.” Her tone is challenging yet taunting at the same time, like she is already certain that you don’t dare to just lock her out.
“P....please come in, my first ever visitor.” You take a deep breath and close your eyes.
The door is then shut, Yujin steps in.
-
The room is left exactly the same as before you left earlier today, but the difference is that there is one extra person in it.
The RGB computer case is still shining, the fans roaring but still too quiet to cover your intense heart beat. Dozens of posters hanging on your walls from a variety of Kpop girl groups along with a few sheets of math worksheets randomly spread across the workspace. Below the table are stacks of empty energy drink boxes that you are too lazy to recycle yet. Everything is so peaceful, before tonight.
Yujin is right next to you, her perfume which you have no idea which brand it is from, aggressively capture your room and replaces the smell of computer coolants, energy drinks and laundry sheets.
She is still yet to say anything. She takes a glance of your room like a visitor in a museum, or rather, in this shrine of yours that you never shared with anyone else before.
In this room, you were the expert.
In this room, you brainwashed yourself that Kpop idols are enough to keep you from being lonely.
In this room, you became the pro gamer that yaps about everything, let aside of your quiet mouth in public.
In this room, you created the perfect bubble to isolate you from the real world.
But also in this room, you have the girl who you realized just now that will change your world in one night.
-
Yujin then pulls out your gaming chair, which you spent 2 months of dining stipends to acquire. She then puts her leg on top of your desk, lying back on the chair while staring on the posters of yours.
“Hmm, let’s see my rivalries.” Yujin finally breaks the silence, but with a dangerous, low tone.
“My rivalries.” That’s what Yujin just called your idol “wives”. You stand frantically behind her, teeth clenching.
“They are perfect for you, nerd. Don’t you think so? They are pretty, they are quiet, they make you feel like you are in control.” Yujin murmurs with a barely audible tone, like a demon whispering to your ears.
“They stay where you want them to be. They always welcome you home with the sweetest smiles they have.” She keeps pushing.
“Yujin, please, it’s just how I like...”you don’t get to finish, for sure.
“But most importantly, they don’t reject you. Never.”
“Reject.”
This word hits you like a lightning. Yujin is a guest in your room, yet she knows your secrets like she is the owner of this space.
The game is over.
“I can see you are starving, nerd. But you are feeding yourself with papers.” Yujin carefully picks up the sleeved, limited version photo cards on your mousepad. The ones that you gave up a lot of fortune to obtain from the collectors.
“Honestly? This one is really nice, and this, she is stunning. This? Adorable face.” Yujin smirks with tease and pity both on her face.
“But they don’t take your heart away tonight.” Yujin’s smirk disappears, while she puts each photo card face down on your mousepad. One by one. Your heart is hammering your chest.
Yujin stands up and approaches you. Her boots tapping the carpet, you back up. She walks even closer, your back hits the closet.
She reaches out, her fingers hooking firmly into the fabric of your hoodie, and yanks you forward until your chest is a heartbeat away from hers.
"Look at you," she whispers, her eyes scanning your face with a dark, terrifying clarity. "You’re trembling. Your heart is trying to hammer its way through your ribs. And yet, you haven't moved an inch toward that door."
She tilts her head, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across her lips. She isn't threatening to go; she’s highlighting the fact that you’re staying.
"You could have stopped this at the library," she murmurs, her voice dropping to a low, possessive register. "You could have walked away at the restaurant. But you didn't. You followed me all the way back to this little cage of yours. Why, nerd? Why is a 'scared' little boy like you standing here, letting me take over his room?"
This is a trap. Your older self tries to fire one last time—to make an excuse, to blame the alcohol—but the words die in your throat. You look at her, and for the first time, you stop trying to pretend you're a victim of circumstance. You realize that every step you took tonight was a step toward this exact moment.
"Because I wanted you to," you confess, the truth feeling like a physical weight leaving your chest. Your voice is raw, stripped of all the defenses you built for the past four years.
You take a shuddering breath, looking directly into her grey contacts, offering up the last of your pride.
"I don't want to be an expert anymore. I just want... whatever you're going to do to me."
The silence that follows is electric. You aren't just a "nerd" she caught; you are the prey that walked into the trap and closed the door behind yourself.
"Finally," she whispers, her thumb grazing your lower lip with a touch that feels like a branding iron. "The truth. I knew you were a fast learner. You've spent your whole life watching, nerd. Now, you're going to learn what it's like to be handled."
Before you can react, her lips catch yours. Your body jolts at the exact moment of contact. Her lips are full and juicy, with a scent of the Strawberry Soju earlier tonight and her lipsticks. She savors your lips carefully, upper then lower, each time she her lips move, your spine just feel like waves and waves of electrons launching into your brain.
Several groans leave your throat out of your control, she then bites your bottom lip lightly, just enough for you to stop making sounds. And she pulls back. It wasn’t a wet and messy kiss like you thought a girl like Yujin would give you. It was more like a statement, popping the bubble you had forced yourself to live in.
“Say bye-bye to your first kiss, nerd. But buckle up because it is just the beginning.” Yujin lifts your chin up by her delicate finger, forcing you to stare right into her. You don’t know what’s behind those grey contacts, but you are certain you want to see it.
Yujin then places her palms on your shoulders. Before you can figure out what happened, she shoves you onto your bed. The mattress bouncing you back like a protest as it experiences twice of the weight than it normally should.
Yujin then kicks off her boots; laps crossed over your waist and staring down at you like a predator. Yet, you know for a fact that you are her willing prey. Your breath is messy, yet your body is honest. The tent is visible through your sweatpants. “Uhh ohh, don’t you think I can’t feel it, are you seriously enjoying being beneath a girl?” Yujin’s teasing smirk drives you even crazier.
“Yes... Yujin, please... everything.” Your brain is overflow by the adrenalines that you don’t acquire from playing video games, you can’t process logic and language anymore.
She then leans down and kisses you, this time it is much messier one. Her tongue swiftly crosses your mouth and finds yours, swirling. She places her palm around your neck, and for sure she can feel your pulse is probably above 200 Bpm already so she lets you go, with a thin line of saliva connecting your lips and hers.
“Damn nerd, I’d better stop kissing you otherwise you are going to have a heart attack.” She says with a surprised and amusing tone.
“Did that make you feel this excited?” She asks, biting her lower lip and eyes half closed.
“You taste so good, Yujin.” You lift your head up to seek her lips. She pushes you back to the mattress with both of her palms.
“Don’t get too cocky nerd, I told you you are mine tonight, so you take whatever I give you, otherwise I’d walk out of that door right now and you can finish yourself in your dreams. Understand?” Yujin whispers, just to remind you who’s the one in charge.
“Yes. Ma’am.”
“You’d better hold on tight. It’s going to be the best night of you’ve ever had, that you didn’t even dare to dream of in your wildest fantasies.” Yujin puts her lips right onto your ear, the air flowing into your ear canal makes your body jolt.
-
You realize this is really happening when Yujin swings her leather jacket off her body, just randomly throws it on your gaming chair.
Before you can process, you find your palms naturally locating her waist and hovering on her. It is less than an inch, your hands can already feel the heat of her silky skin. Yet you don’t dare to touch it, because Yujin didn’t ask you to.
“Ah, I see it, our nerd wants to touch me. Do you?” Yujin leans in. You can feel her breath brushing your neck, making you itch, but it cannot brush off the most primal desire that you had never experienced before.
You nod frantically, waiting for her permission.
Yujin doesn’t say a word, instead she just smirks and takes your hand and presses them onto her waist, sliding it up and down. It is so smooth and warm. Your eyes are already half-closed, your pulse gets messier because of the feelings from your hands.
“God, it is so different.” You squeeze out a few words.
“I bet it feels much nicer than when you rub your fingers on those photo cards or posters alone.” Yujin says, while she moves your hands inside her white tank top.
Your fingers are literally trembling and hands shaking, as your remaining logic knows where this is going to end up.
There was it. Yujin lets go of your hands and nods at you as a signal for you to “explore”, while she pulls off her tank top in one smooth motion.
You stop. Too frightened, or rather confused how to react to the scene before you. Yujin still sits on top your laps while you lie on the mattress on your back, but there isn’t a piece of fabric covering her upper body besides her plain black bra.
You hands roaming around her chest, a finger nervously taps her nipple, as a way to ask for her permission to proceed.
“Go ahead nerd, show me what’ve you got and you better make me feel good.” Yujin murmurs and your hands immediate move like a horse off its leash.
You grab a handful of her gorgeous breast and gently squeeze it while tickling her nipples through the fabric. A few moans filled with enjoyment and lust escape from Yujin’s throat, like a compliment to your effort.
That’s not enough, so you sit up and plant your face right into her chest and give the deepest inhale of your life. You greedily sniff her and your brain is immediate filled with nothing but her gorgeous scent. Her expensive perfume, her body wash, and the smell of hormone all together, pushing you to an abyss.
You bite her tits through her bra lightly and teasingly, right before sucking them with your lips. When you see Yujin’s pupils behind that cold, grey contact are starting to dilate and the moans becoming more primal, you realize it is time to take this final barrier away.
So you move your arms from her waist to her back, attempt to remove the final piece cover of her full and beautifully shaped breasts. But the sensory overload and the lack of experience fails you.
Yujin giggles while looking your fingers desperately trying to undo her bra. “That’s so cute of you trying but I guess the first-timer needs some help don’t you?”
A few groans leave your throat. She then reaches her back and unhooks the bra in an agonizing fashion. Contrasting to your hunger and lust in you gaze, she slowly pulls the bra down, revealing a stunning scenery right in front you.
“Oh my God, it is so beautiful.” You murmur, while your lips automatically position on her nipple. Just like tasting the cherry on top of a cake, you carefully put her nipple into your mouth and give it a nice lick, wet and slow.
“Hmm, good.” Yujin hums.
You then swirl you tongue around her tits, drawing circles back and forth. Her body jolts each time when the tip of your tongue makes contact with her nipple, the obscene wet sound coming out of your lips keeps pushing Yujin to an edge.
Yujin holds the back of your neck, grabbing your hair while pressing your face closer to her chest.
You gasp, you feel like the air in your lung is replaced by the most alluring and feminine scent you’ve ever smelled. Yet, you don’t stop the movement of your tongue, faster and faster.
“Hmm, shit, just like that, you are such a good boy.” Yujin murmurs, while you leave a wet pop as you pull your head back for air. Then you immediately dive back for the other nipple.
The fan of your computer is still roaring, but you can’t hear anything but your own hammering heart and Yujin’s occasional moans. You savor her other nipple nice and slow like a lollipop, saliva mixes with her sweat.
The time feels slow, after what you feel like a century, Yujin finally releases you from this paradise, pulling your face away from her. But you want more, so you look at her, breath breaking.
“I have no fucking idea where you learned all that from,” Yujin gasps, “But before anything else, you are going to answer me, which one feels better.” She then stops, while she starts to slowly unzip her jeans.
“Jerking off alone with those posters, or having me on your bed?” She lets her jeans slide down from her insane long legs, while looking at you with her eyes that are obviously faking to be innocent.
“You Yujin, definitely.” You react fast and are on your knees next to the bed already, while Yujin sits on the edge of your bed, looking down at you. “That was the answer I thought too. I’m glad to see you are being honest, and my good little boy should get his reward, yes?”
“Yes Yujin, please... anything.” You beg, not a bit of your tone sounds like your old self even just a day before. You are already lost in desires, you don’t even try to think how dumb and silly you sounded like.
“Hmm, then I am going let you show me how much you want me here.” Yujin stretches her elegant yet alluring legs and put her ankle right on your shoulders.
You swallow hard, as now all you can see are her juicy thick thighs and her white cotton panties, with a damp mark in the center. You must be honest with yourself that you’ve never seen this in person, but you are certain the wetness on her panties means she’s aroused.
“Why are you staring nerd?” Yujin teases you with a low tone.
“Because you are so beautiful.” Those words don’t even need any of thinking.
“Then what do you want to do to me?” Yujin raises her playful tone just a little bit, but already enough to turn you on even more.
“I.... I want to taste you.” Your face is as red as the LED lights on your PC, but you don’t know if it is arousal or embarrassment.
“More.”
“I... I want to dive my face in your thighs and lick them.” Your instinct knows more than you thought before.
“Mhm, and then?” Yujin giggles, although you can’t see her face.
“I... I also want to taste your.....your.....” You stutter, not sure what word to use as for sure you never needed to think about it.
“My pussy?”
“Y... yes.”
“Then ask nicely nerd.”
“Yujin... please, may I taste your pussy?”
Yujin then laughs with her teeth as she puts her fingers onto the waistband of her panties. Slowly, she pulls it down like an artist revealing her new statue.
Artist indeed. Her pussy is pink and already damp, with carefully trimmed hair around the entrance. You can’t wait for any longer, your primal side of your mind makes you stick your face right into it.
You take a deep breath, but there isn’t any unpleasant smell from her pussy. It is her hormone, arousing and addictive at the same time. You lick it with your tongue, inserting it half way into her pussy and just move it up and down, left and right.
The soft and warm feeling of her walls wraps around your tongue, and you can feel Yujin’s body jolting. She lets out a soft moan, making you itch even more and you realize your pants is at the breaking point due to your length.
“Yujin, can I please take my clothes off?”
“Not yet babe, gotta make me feel it first.” Yujin smirks, while rubbing her finger on her clit. “Try my clit here, do it gently, it is sensitive.”
“W.... what is clit?”
“Hell, where did the smartest nerd in my class go? Don’t mess with me. Or? Is it because you are a virgin and have no idea what I’m talking about?” Yujin’s smirk is gone, but you can tell she isn’t mad at you.
“Yes...”
“Yes what?”
“I....”
“You’d better answer carefully.” The possessive edge of her tone is surprisingly alluring. Something in your mind is turned on.
“I’m a fucking virgin and I can’t hold it anymore! Yujin, please let me...” You shout, even half crying.
“Oh, my poor little boy, I can see the desperate tears in your eyes.” Yujin’s tone softens, but immediately becomes teasing, “I guess it is time for the next step?”
You nod frantically, while your hands already positioned onto the waistband of your sweatpants. “Take it off.” Yujin commands, with a split second, you are already naked, standing right before her.
Your length is released like it has been held in positions by a spring, the moment your boxers are down, it bounces up to the air, already twitching and the pre-cum is all over the place.
Yujin doesn’t say a word, she stares at you silently, taps the bed as a signal for you to get back on. So, you do, you are lying in the bed again, and Yujin slowly approaches you, until her pussy is inch away from your face.
“Keep tasting it baby boy. By the way, you got a good cock for a virgin nerd, fuck... it’s getting me wet.” She puts one finger into her mouth while speaking, eyes half closed.
She turns around then sits down right on your face, forces you to get smothered in her scent. You grab her bouncy ass with both of your hands, rub and squeeze it into different shapes.
“Shit, your butt is so juicy.” While your hands enjoy the texture of her butt, you keep your mouth working nicely around her pussy, tongue drawing gentle circles around her clit, sucking it every now and then.
Yujin hums amusedly, while pulling your shirt above your chest. She quickly notices your nipples are hard as well, though certainly not as full and big in size compared to hers.
Yujin then teases your nipples with her soft, delicate fingers. The warmth of her fingertip contrasts with the coolness of her press-on nails. Your body trembles each time she brushes your nipple.
“Oh shit, just like that Yujin, you make me feel so good.” Your voice cracks from the sensation, but your trembling body alone is enough for Yujin to realize how much she just turned you on.
“Damn nerd, your body is shaking like you are electrocuted.” Yujin smirks, “You look like such a slut, nerd.” She then rubs it even faster, your body trembles even more, a few pathetic moans escape from your throat.
“You’re coming just by getting your nipples rubbed, mhm?” You can’t see Yujin’s face, but you know for a fact that she’s teasing you with that evil smirk.
You face is pressed towards the pillow by her juicy, thick ass. So you can only response by accelerating your tongue that’s already deep into her vagina. You also don’t forget to take care of her butt, you sniff her silky skin and worship it nicely with your hands.
“Oh shit, I can feel it coming.” Yujin murmurs, she then rides your face faster and rougher, only releases you for air when your grasp on her ass gets stronger.
You don’t see this as a punishment though, you see it as a reward. The deepest fear inside you head, which is to get rejected by girls, is perfectly solved by Yujin. You want to please her, because you know that she’ll then be the one to take good care of you and you don’t have to do anything but to obey.
You still concentrate on the movement of your tongue, trying your best to find those spots where Yujin moans the loudest. Your tongue swirling inside her, you don’t even know what you’re doing this whole time, but your hunger and lust hidden beneath that nerdy persona drove you all the way here.
“Oh...fuck... I’m coming...”Yujin’s voice starts to crack as she continues riding your face, movements become messier. She rubs her nipples and you are ready for the incoming flood.
You lick her clit with the tip of your tongue, and you feel like Yujin’s thighs are starting to shake. “Ugh fuck, I’m coming! Fucking your nerdy face makes me feel so good! Mmph. Eat mommy’s Pussy, ahhhh!” Yujin cries out loud, nails digging deep into your torso.
But you don’t feel any pain, instead you feel an intense wave of pleasure from your body to your brain, while Yujin just mercilessly releases herself right on your face. Her pussy twitches, nectar squirting out straight to your throat. You have your mouth wide open, receiving every single drop of this elixir of hers. It tastes like hormone, it tastes like desire, it taste like... Yujin.
Her body then softens after the climax and she finally lets go of your face and lies down right next to you on the mattress. You turn your face full of her nectar towards her, open your mouth, showing Yujin that you’ve got every single drop of her climax in you.
Then you swallow everything while staring right into her eyes - even lick your lips - like a puppy desperately asking for commend from his owner.
“Good boy, you made me feel real good, so mommy is going to give you what you want.” Yujin’s tone finally softens, you then plant your face into her breasts again, leaving gentle licks and soft kisses here and there, as a way to totally give in and let her own you like she did.
Yujin then supports herself on her elbow, with the other hand approaching your shaft. “Look right at me.” Her soft tone disappears, back to her old possessive, dominant voice. “Your cock is already so itchy, leaking all over the place.” She then taps the tip and draws a circle right on your urethra with her nails.
“Oh fuck... Yujin.... I’m going to come if....” Your whole body jolts, hands desperately grab the bed sheet.
“Not yet. I said you belong to me tonight, so you are not coming until I say ‘Puppy, come for mommy’, understand?” Yujin’s cold stare makes you feel even more excited.
“Yes.... mommy... anything you say.” “Repeat yourself, who do you belong to?”
“I am An Yujin’s Puppy, please use me as you like. Fuck.....” You don’t even know if you should feel ashamed by blasting out such words, but clearly that’s what your body wants you to say.
“Good boy, I like to see your slutty face begging mommy for more.” Yujin smirks. You are done with pretending that you don’t need anyone for company, you are done to act like someone who is too academic and rational to care about romances. You’ve been starving. You’ve been waiting for someone to see through those masks you put on and get you taken care of. Yujin is that savior you’ve been waiting for.
With her, you don’t need to think, you don’t need logic. All you need is to follow and obey. That’s why you don’t even try to hide your loud moan - half lust and half relief - when you finally feel her warm and soft grasp on your length.
“Fuck.....”
“You’ve been waiting for this moment all night no? My little boy.” Yujin approaches your ear and whispers. “Let me give you exactly what you need.”
“Yujin... please...”
“Don’t say anything, just feel.” She tightens her grasp just a little bit and starts to stroke your length in an agonizingly slow motion.
A few drops of clear pre-cum immediately leak out from the exit, your hips spontaneously thrust upwards, but she quickly slaps your leg to warn you, so you stop.
“Hmmm, More please....it feels so good.”
“I told you to be a quiet puppy.” Yujin takes off her panties that are still hanging around her hips, and slowly shoves it into your mouth.
And of course this can’t shut you up, her fresh, aroused scent immediate intoxicate your mind as you mumble harder while still trying to thrust for more frictions on your length.
Your eyes are closed, every nerve of your body is concentrated to the point of contact with Yujin’s soft hand. She still strokes you slowly, enjoying your aroused face with her pantie shoved into your mouth.
“Such a submissive little boy,” Yujin whispers, while steadily accelerates her movement. “Cock already so hard for me.”
“Mmhm, mmph....” you start to lose your control as she strokes you faster and faster, you nails dig deep into the sheet as if it is the final thing you can hold on to before falling into an abyss. Yet, her scent in your mouth and her motion on your shaft push you even deeper.
Yujin then leans closer to your dick, you can feel her breath brushes the tip of it. She then opens her mouth, as much as your brain is already processing the image of a hot girl like Yujin giving you a blowjob, she instead just hovers her lips right above you cock, and a thin line of her saliva drips right on your glans.
Yujin then spreads her spit out around the top of your dick, but your body starts to tremble each time her finger touches your sensitive glans. You are so desperate for release that you are dare enough to thrust into Yujin’s grasp instead of letting her stroke you.
“Hmm... my naughty little puppy is so desperate, fucking mommy’s hand with his leaking cock. Where did that smart nerd in my class go? Look at you, you are such a fucking slut right now.” Yujin murmurs while she keeps stroking your dick, while gently massaging your balls with her other hand.
You are already on the edge. Not only because the physical sensation, but also something on the mental level. Since years ago, you’ve been spending your lonely nights on your bed, hands desperately stroking your shaft, imagining what would it be like to have company. Now you do. Yujin takes good care of you and knows exactly what you need, although with some prerequisites.
Rather than feeling embarrassed by her teasing or even humiliating words, you find yourself being turned on by her evil whispers. You give in and let Yujin take over complete control over your body and your mind. Yujin then removes her pantie from your mouth which has been soaked with both of her nectar from her earlier orgasm and your saliva.
You breathe heavily with your mouth as the sensation down there continues to build up even more. “My baby boy, now it is your chance. Tell me how much you wanted this, how much you want to release in mommy’s hand.” Yujin approaches your face, those big eyes filled with lust blinking right in front of you.
“Ooh fuck.... Yujin. I can’t hold it anymore, you made me feel so good. Ahhh.” You voice airy and cracks, you feel like your room is starting to disappear, and your entire world converges to your shaft. But Yujin stops her motion. Your already-red dick immediately twitches; the veins are visible through the skin.
“Please.... please don’t stop.” You cry out.
“I asked you to tell me how desperate you want to come, but you didn’t answer me.” Yujin smirks, while teasing your leaking length with her finger tip.
“Fuck... Yujin, you got me. I can’t.... shit.... I want to come so bad, I’ve been waiting for this all night. You are so fucking hot and everything just feels so good.” You confess.
“Tell me, am I better than those posters and photo cards?” Yujin asks.
“Absolutely.” You don’t even hesitate for an answer. It is not that you don’t love your idols anymore, but sensory overload had made you forget everything else in the world but Yujin. At this point, you would even agree to write her name on your own Final Exam tomorrow if she needs to, but that’s obviously not what what she cares about.
“Then if I let you come, will you be a good puppy of mine? Doing anything I ask you to?” Yujin keeps smirking, those dimples seem nothing but pure seduction. You cannot hold it for any longer.
“Please... Yujin.... I’ll do anything you want, you can use me however you like, just let me... ah fuck....” The moment you feel Yujin’s hand back on you, you’re like ascending to heaven.
“Good boy. I’ll count down from five and you can come.”
“Five...” Yujin strokes faster. “Tell me, did any of your idol “wives” drive you this far?”
“No...”
“Four... Three... Two...”Each count comes with acceleration from her movement. “Did any of those posters make you gasp for air like this? Like your lung is exploding?”
“No....ugh....”You are there. The flood is coming.
“One....”
“Oh fuck... Yujin.... ahhh.”
She then stops abruptly. Your dick twitching painfully in the air. A few drops of white liquid weakly flows out of your urethra. Yujin already quickly clamped both of your hands with hers before you realize you want to stroke yourself to sprint through that finish line.
You groan, even growl painfully.
Yujin winks her “innocent” eyes, then whispers to your ear. “Do you remember what I said earlier? You are not allowed to come until I say what?”
Your brain is certainly not functioning to give an answer. Yujin then continues herself, while repositioning to your shaft.
“I said, don’t come until I say, my good puppy, come for mommy.” Then she gives a soft, gentle kiss on your dick.
“Ahh.. An Yujin!”You are ruined. You explode. You reach the climax. You squirt out strands and strands of thick, hot cum everywhere. To your tummy, to the bedsheet, to your legs and leave out marks everywhere, showing your total surrender into Yujin.
The orgasm lasted so long that your body starts to tremble violently upon your release. You hands dig into the bed to the point your joints become white. Your ears are ringing, eyes black out. Your brain feels overwhelmed by the flooding dopamine.
Meanwhile, Yujin just stares at you with a smirk while your dick wildly sprays your nectar with your face filled with nothing but lust and arousal. You feel like minutes had passed, your dick finally puts its head down. You breathe heavily, inhaling each molecule of air you can to recover from this overwhelming orgasm. It is much more intense than all of your previous jerking-off-in-your-bed type of things combined.
“Hmm, look at you and the mess you just made. How cute of a good boy you are.” Yujin keeps smirking, while scooping your cum that’s dripping all over your tummy with two fingers. Then she sticks them right into your mouth. You don’t fight back letting her fingers swirling in your mouth.
“Taste your own desires, and tell mommy how do you feel?”
You don’t respond, rather you savor every bit of your own nectar on Yujin’s fingers, sucking and licking them clean and swallow everything in one gulp.
“You made me feel like I’m in heaven. Mommy Yujin. I’ve never felt anything like that before.” You let go of a airy and cracking whisper.
“Of course you can never get something like this if you don’t talk to woman at all.” Yujin smiles, while tossing you a handful of napkins. “Clean yourself up baby boy, you are a mess right now. Geez... never expected so much cum from a nerd like you...”
You suddenly start to realize what a mess you just made because of Yujin. You then wipe the semen off of your body with napkins, while your logic and mind still yet to recover from the sensory overload. “Hurry up puppy, mommy is not done playing you yet.” Yujin hugs you from behind, fingers teasing your nipples while whispering to your ear.
Your soften length immediately feel the impact, as it gets rapidly filled up with desires, wanting more despite the merciless release just now. Yujin pulls you backwards so you’re sitting on your bed with your back touching Yujin’s full, juicy breasts while she lies her back on the headboard.
You can’t see her, but her evil whisper flows into your ear. “You are already hard again, I didn’t even touch it. Looks like you want more babe.”
“Y....Yes, Yujin, please let me.”
“Let you do what?”
“Let me..... fuck..... fuck.... you.” Your voice sounds weak, contrasting to the energy and anger when you yell “Fuck you” in the Discord channel when you play games with friends.
What comes next is dead silence. The only thing that confirms you’re not deaf is the ongoing hum of your PC Fans. Other than that, it is nothing. You can’t even hear Yujin’s breath right behind you.
Following that silence is Yujin’s swift movement. In a split of a second, she’s already repositioned herself in front of you. She then puts her palms in your shoulder and pushes you all the way back until your back hits the headboard. Yujin then climbs up and sits on top of your laps, staring down at you with a predatory gaze and a cold face.
You froze for a bit, your weak and confused gaze is soon defeated by Yujin. “Well, well, well, seems like our puppy isn’t in his place. I said you are mine tonight, so you’re not the one in charge.” She approaches you, puts her breast into your mouth.
You quickly take in her breast, sucking it gently with your hands cupping them and worship them nicely. “But mommy is kind, so I am not gonna reject you.” Yujin’s smile becomes warmer; the scary vibe had been gone in a blink of an eye. “But I have to make it VERY, VERY clear.” She lifts her body up, her pussy hovers right on top of your erected length, you can feel it. You can feel it is just an inch away, if you dare enough, you can lift your hips and it’ll go straight in and you can take the “virgin” prefix off your name.
“Please Yujin… just let me get in already…” You cannot even try to hide your anticipation.
“Reminder. It’s me fucking you instead, puppy.” Yujin smirks, while sits down all the way to the bottom of your length. Your dick is immediately being embraced by her wet, warm pussy. You already forget the orgasm you just had a couple minutes ago, that primal desire makes you groan loudly. “Mommy, fuck me… please…”
“Shit, nerd…your thing is fucking big” Yujin murmurs, while slowly lifting herself up before sitting down on you again. Your dick is already sensitive because of her juice nicely lubricates the point of contact, each time she moves, you feel like it is a vacuum attempting to suck away all the essence you have left. But you hold on tight, mouth still worships Yujin’s tits nice and slowly. You then place your hands on her insanely juicy ass and starts rubbing it. The bouncy texture is just another level, compared to when you hover your hands on the posters on the ball.
“Tell me… are you enjoying it?” Yujin whispers, while licking your ear, before giving you a gentle bite on the earlobe. You immediately feel turned on, so you suck her nipples even faster while touching her thighs and hips.
“Fuck…. I’ll take that as a yes…damn… that nerdy mouth of yours can actually do something besides answering those stupid math questions in class…mmph…” Yujin’s tone raises just a little bit, but it is enough for you to interpret it as a compliment of your mouth work.
“Ummm… mommy you taste so good, and you are so fucking tight…. I am gonna lose it.” You let out a few really obscene moans when you leave her nipples with a wet slick, hands still roaming on her flawless body.
“You like it?” Yujin dives in for a kiss, her tongue immediately crosses your lips, finds yours and swirling in your mouth like doing a waltz. You can still taste the Strawberry Soju from dinner; you greedily suck your lips to acquire more of her gorgeous scent. You don’t stop even when the kiss gets too messy that the mixture of your saliva starts sliding down your jaws.
“Look at me.” Yujin lifts your chin up, forcing you into her gaze, “From now on, you are mine. I am going to ride you senseless that you forget every one of those idols’ names.”
“Yes… mommy… please ride me.. fuck.”
“I am going to fuck you until all you know is begging me to not stop, and all you remember is my name.” Yujin continues.
“Give me.... give me all that...” You groan.
She then starts to accelerate, for each a few short and rapid ride, she mixed in a long, deep stroke that your sensitive glans gets smothered by the deepest part of her pussy, the warmest, wettest paradise. You moan even louder, vision already getting blurry from the lust and sensation.
“Fuck… I can feel it, puppy’s cock is doing its job for mommy…. Uhh…” Yujin then tickles her clit with her finger, it visibly gets pinker and wetter.
“Mmmph, it is coming….” Yujin’s ride gets even more wilder, the wet slapping sound is so obscene that your PC is protesting by turning its monitor off. The room immediately gets dimmer, only the RGB lights on the computer case and the moonlight through the curtain are left. You prefer this way though. You don’t really want Yujin to see how slutty your face is when she rides you like that. Your final bit of ego still feels ashamed if Yujin makes fun of you, although your body is honest enough to find out who it belongs to.
Yujin puts her palms on your neck, not strong enough to choke you to death, but definitely with the right amount of strength to claim authority over your body and your mind. She then applies just a little bit of pressure, while smirking evilly at you, “Baby boy, tell me, how much you wanted all this since the library.”
“Fuck…. I’ve been waiting for this moment for my entire fucking life.” Your voice cracking, but you don’t forget to sniff her breasts and draws little circles on her nipples, making her body jolt.
“I’ve never seen a submissive little toy like you, but you are doing me good. How much do you enjoy getting fucked by me?”
“Shit… Yujin… you are so fucking hot… please fuck me….ahhh” Yujin’s movement gets even more relentless when the words reach her ears. She doesn’t care if your leaking dick is sensitive at all, she just keeps riding like she is about to lose it all. Her eyes are already closed, mouth half open, seeking for your kiss and her tongue immediately finds yours.
“God… I am going to come… get your stupid dick deeper… ahh” Yujin’s grasp on your neck tightens a little bit, your hips immediately start to cooperate and thrust upwards, while Yujin still slams her pussy on yours in a desperate motion.
“Yujin… I can’t hold it anymore…. Uhh… if you keep riding me like this… shit.” Your nails dig into your bed, grabbing the final piece of support before everything collapses into her.
“You’re not coming until I do. Good boy, hold it longer for mommy.” Yujin’s voice starts to crack. You then thrust harder, matching her frantic rhythm of slamming her weight onto your shaft.
The sensory is building, but it feels too good to just let go yet. You try your best to hold on tight and resist this pleasure that you feel for the for the first time in your life. It is not the dopamine rush when you win a clutch in FPS games, but rather, you feel relieved and relaxed. Years of isolation from girls, years of desperate seeking for love but failures, they became a burden that haunts you every lonely night. When your gaming friends log off to have hell of a night with their girlfriends, you are always the one left, hopelessly ask them to stay for one more game before you inevitably become the last one left in the Discord channel.
With that being said, you hold on to Yujin like she is the savior that can drag you out of this swamp. You are too done to think about your life beyond tonight, but instead you savor this moment with Yujin. As your movement gradually speeds up, you feel like you are losing your control from the overwhelming lust.
“Mmph... Yujin, you pussy is so juicy... I’m losing it.”You groan heavily, as the pleasure from below starts to build up.
“Hmm, tell me more.” Yujin urges.
“Your butt is so thick and bouncy, and your nipples taste like honey.”
“Good boy. Do you want to come inside me?” Yujin’s hairs messy, breath already short.
“I.... I want to so badly, but I’m not using a condom.” Even at this point, your STEM brain still attempts to claim control, calculating the probability that you accidentally impregnate the hottest girl you’ve met in this university.
“Fuck condoms.... I want to feel you more. I’m on the pill, come inside me.... ah!” Yujin is getting there, you can feel her walls becoming shaky and waves of warmth completely captures every inch of your dick inside her.
“You were a good boy tonight, so I am giving your reward. Come for mommy....”
“Holy shit, I can’t hold it anymore! I... I’m going to come!” Your mind loses control over your body, your hips violently jolt.
“Come with me... holy shit.... I’m losing it!” Yujin reaches her climax, you immediately feel her nectar flowing out of her tight, warm pussy and splashes onto your twitching dick. You feel every bit of her desire dropping down to your shaft, you can’t hold it anymore.
“Fuck... I’m coming!” You burst out strands after strands of cum inside Yujin, while she moans as she feels your heat in her. Your spine is shivering, your nerves exciting and your eyes are filled nothing but desire. Yujin yanks your hair with both of the hands to keep balance, but the pure sensation from your shaft muted the pain. You let out a long, primal groan after the release that you’ve been waited for 20 years.
“Shit, that was a lot.” Yujin breathes heavily, yet to go back to the reality. She then lifts herself up from you, the thick mix of her nectar with your sperm drips from her pussy. You lie down on the bed, feeling boneless, chest going up and down rapidly.
Yujin moves herself forward, leans her head to her shoulder and whispers, “Baby boy, do you want to clean mommy up?” You oblige, placing your palms on her soft, warm waist and pulls her towards you. Yujin then sits herself down on your face, and you start your work, tongue swirling inside her, licking every drop of her nectar combined with your essence. You gently kiss her shaft, appreciating her flawless body.
“So… I just did you a big favor, you are not a virgin nerd anymore.” Yujin giggles, “Well I don’t know if you can ever fix your nerdy brain, I might need to give you more help.”
You swallow, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “But that first part is certainly gone.” You give her a relieved smile. “Thank you so much for this… Yujin… I don’t know what else to say, it was so….”
“Unreal.”
“It is unreal indeed; I’ve never expected to not die as a virgin.” You laugh at yourself, or actually, your old self. Years of isolation and acting like you don’t care had pushed you this far, you are sincerely thankful for Yujin who came in at the right moment and took you out of your little fortress.
You keep your mouth working, cleaning the evidence of pure desire and libido off her gorgeous body. Yujin hums gently, “You know, I sometimes wonder… you are a smart kid, but why did you play silly when you first met me?”
“I… I don’t know, I was kinda… terrified.” You confess, “I was afraid that you were just gonna be another girl who plays with me then throws me away.”
“I did try to play with you, but you’re mine from now on and I don’t want my investment to fail. It’d be a good waste if I just let go of this nice body.” Yujin touches you, but not teasing, instead she is claiming you. “Come on, we smell like sweat and alcohol, we should take a bath.” She takes your hand, you stumbling after her to the bathroom, like a loyal puppy following his owner.
-
The steam fogged up the mirror, you stand right in front of the sink, staring at yourself. For the first time in years, you feel utterly real. In front of you it’s not just a guy play pretend to play cool and disguises himself with math formulas and video games. You see Yujin standing right behind you from the mirror, hair messy from the sweat. She hugs you firmly, the bouncy tits pressing your back. You don’t feel like she’s seducing you though, it is more like a protection.
“Puppy.” She hums softly.
“Is that what you are calling me from now on?” You turn your head, kisses her forehand gently.
“Aren’t you the one who screamed ‘fuck me mommy’ like 10 minutes ago?”
“I bet every man would do the same if they get rode by a hot girl like you.” You joke.
“Now you say I’m hot.”
“I always thought so since I saw you for the first time.”
“You’re only saying this because I fucked you.” Yujin smirks, before pulling you to the bathtub. You slide in, the warm water wraps around your body. Yujin sits right across you, winking to you with her big eyes.
“You know, I wasn’t sure at first .” She says.
“Sure about what?”
“If you are as boring as you look.” “And what do you think?” You start to get nervous; the old memory starts to haunt you. The moments where you get rejected by girls and they gossip about how nerdy you are behind the scenes start to retake your mind and push Yujin away. “You haven’t showed me much yet, nerd.” Yujin gets closer to you, arms on your shoulder. Her hair is damped from both of the sweat and the warm steam in the bathtub, breath still a bit unsteady, “You still have time though, the night is long and the Final tomorrow isn’t until noon.” She then smirks devilishly, rests her delicate, soft feet against your thigh.
“I…. I can’t, I came twice already.” Your face is already red because of the embarrassment, but your half soft length is honest, graduating standing up when you feel Yujin is teasing your shaft with her cute, wiggling toes. Contrasting to her stunning style and height, her feet are surprisingly small and soft, nails painted in a glossy black color.
“Hey, I never knew you have this foot fetish thing in your nerdy brain.” “No I don’t!” You protest, but Yujin has her own way to shut you up.
“Shut up puppy.” She then lifts her left foot and presses it directly on your face, your nose is rapidly full of her scent and the smell of the soap. “Puppy don’t say no to his mommy.” Yujin whispers, while forcing your mouth open with her wiggly toes. “Show mommy you are a good boy, show me how much you worship this body. Every inch of it.”
Your instinct clearly knows better than the nerdy part of your brain, so before you can even process her words, you find your lips already sucking her big toe and your tongue swirling on it desperately.
“Gotta take care of my baby boy, gotta make you mine tonight.” Yujin smirks while working on your crotch with her other foot. She gently presses your length with her elegant, high arched foot while occasionally teases your frenulum with her big toe. You let out several weak groans while sniffing and worshiping her toes as Yujin strokes your cock slowly with her other foot. You carefully suck and lick each toe, like you are eating an ice cream. You spit out each little toe and suck them back in, your saliva paints her foot with your desire.
You carefully lift her foot with both of your hands before using your tongue to work on her arch, her heels and eventually her ankles. Her skin is so soft, you finally let it go before a final long, wet slick. Yujin stretches her toes slightly, gives a quiet little hum like a compliment. Her skin is shining with your saliva all over her foot, piercing through the foggy bathroom air.
“Mmph, Yujin, you taste so fucking good. Your skin tastes like butter. So smooth.”
“I knew you have foot fetish, puppy.” Yujin smirks before switching foot, pressing her now wet and well lubricated one on your hardened dick. Your body immediately jolts as she presses your length towards your tummy, while clamping your frenulum and the intersection between the head and the base with her toes. Yujin then move her toes up and down on your shaft, with her other foot resting right beneath, occasionally giving a soft kick on your balls. You desperately need to hold on to something before you get totally lost in this pure sensation. So you beg, on a rather cracked tone, “Mommy get closer.”
Yujin then sits up and gets even closer, her bouncy ass lands right onto your laps. Your lung forgets to get air as she places your already leaking dick right between her juicy thighs. “Shit... Yujin, you feel so fucking good. I’m losing the fucking control...” you gasp while automatically positions your hand onto her full, swollen tits.
“I know I’m hot.” Yujin smirks, starting to squeeze your length a bit harder, “How does it feel to get milked by mommy’s legs?”
“Mmph... fuck... it feels amazing.” You groan. “Damn right. Now let me empty your nerdy balls entirely....” Yujin squeezes your dick even faster, with your length being submerged to her thick juicy thighs, only the tip is visible. “You are mine, puppy. I want you to be mine and mine only. Not those idols who won’t ever know your name.”
“Ugh...Yujin, I’m all yours. Fuck.”
“Good boy, now empty yourself on mommy’s legs.” Yujin gives a few final strokes, before completely smothering your dick with her thighs. She dives in for your lips, your tongues all tangled together.
“Oh fuck. I’m coming! Yujin, you feel so good...” Your final defense had been stripped away, waves of waves of cum squirting through her legs before quickly disappear into the bathtub.
“That was impressive. Three times a night already? You got the potential boy.” Yujin smiles, then splashes water playfully onto your body and her tummy, washing off the remaining essence of yours like how she is trying to wash off everyone but her in your brain.
But you know that’s working.
After Yujin carefully washes both of you with the soap, cleaning off any evidence of the crazy night, she wraps you around right next to her with your towel. “Dry it up baby boy, we actually need some fucking rest before the test. I don’t want you to stare at the paper and think about me. Although you definitely will.”
“Hard to say I won’t. Fuck. Yujin, you’re perfect.” Your breath still shaky, recovering from the sensory overload just now.
“I’m indeed. Now let’s sleep. I’ll take that pillow and blanket. You use whatever you like.” Yujin pulls you towards the bed.
“Why not we both use the blanket?” You smirk; with relief and a sense of comfort you’ve never experienced before.
“Your lucky day, mister.” Yujin jokes, before shoving you onto the bed, she then climbs up and cuddles you from behind. Warmth. Peace. Protection.
-
Silence. But obviously none of you can sleep
“Yujin?” You turn around, she is still hugging you, your chest and hers are just inches away.
“Hm? What’s up?” Yujin rubs her eyes with the back of her hands – no more makeups but her bareface is just as stunning.
“Why… why me?” The scenes of Yujin staring at you in class while you answer the questions from the professor; when she swapped your cup with hers in the BBQ; when she pushed you against the wall and took your first kiss; and eventually – when she rode you like she’s losing it all. Now when all those were settled, you start to wonder WHY.
“What do you mean?” She seems to be a bit confused, tilting her head, but she doesn’t loosen her cuddle on you.
“Why me? There are many guys out there…” You swallow, the frantic lust fades. You enjoyed the perfect night of your life so far with Yujin, but you are SO curious, as you started to realize you don’t want this girl in front of you to leave after tonight. “I ain’t the hottest guy, I look silly… I don’t have any experience…You could’ve asked any other guys on this campus, and I doubt if any of them would reject you.” You voice gets lower.
“But that’s just what I want, nerd.” Yujin smiles, like she knows exactly what you are thinking. “I’m so done dealing with the guys who THINK they know what they’re doing. They show off, they perform in front of everyone. But because of that, they don’t treat relationships seriously. You? You are different. I can someone is hiding behind that nerdy mask of yours.”
“You pretend you don’t care about relationships just because you’re afraid to get hurt. I can tell you’ve been starving to have someone see through your disguise and takes good care of you.” Yujin continues, while gently brushes your hair. “That made me curious, why did you hide?”
She reads you like a book. For the first time, you feel like being in your dorm room at night isn’t a symbol of loneliness. “Yujin… I don’t know. I thought I knew everything, I thought I am the master in romance.” You sigh, “but turns out I am NOTHING. I had no charisma at all, rejected by every girl I asked for prom within one week.”
“And you never talked to any girls since?”
“Not until today. I wanted to just grab my backpack and go away in the library.” You confess.
“Then you stayed because I am too hot?” Yujin teases, just slightly eases the vibe.
“No… I stayed because I was terrified. I didn’t know what to do but to obey.”
Yujin cups your face, her gaze directly pierces through yours, like a claim of authority over you. “But it isn’t too bad submitting yourself to me, huh?”
“It… it feels weird, but in a good way. I had fun tonight.”
“Just fun?” She pulls your head closer.
“More than fun, Yujin. You made me feel like… I was alive.” You confess, realizing how empty your soul was until today and how silly it sounds to stare right into your dorm wall full with posters because you don’t dare to talk to girls.
“Good. Because we have all the time in the world. You’re not going back to your little bubble and pretend you don’t need to be touched, don’t need to be taken care off, don’t need company. Are you?” Yujin then plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, while cuddles herself even closer to you. Her warmth and scent never existed in this room before, yet you don’t want any of them to ever go away.
“Absolutely not, I need you Yujin… Please be with me.” You confess, having someone hugging you in the middle of a lonely night is exponentially more relaxing and comforting compared to the times when you drooling to your limited edition Kpop photo cards.
“Mommy is with you, but don’t ever forget who you belong to. You’re all mine.” She smirks, before releasing you from her hug.
“All yours Yujin. Th…thank you, really. Have a sweet dream.” You let go of a sigh of relief, relaxing your tensed body.
“You too puppy.”
- The alarm goes off in the most annoying fashion, in the middle of a scene when Yujin sucks you off with her full, juicy lips. For a moment, you start to wonder if everything was just a fever dream because of the Soju last dinner. You wonder if what you remembered was actually what happened as you find yourself to be the only person on your bed.
But the clarification comes just in time, Yujin is already by your desk, putting on her makeups in your oversized hoodies – bottomless. The fabric is barely enough to cover her seducing thighs, her outfits from yesterday is still lying on your gaming chair. You swallow, a bit stunned from the scene right in front of you.
“Morning puppy, glad you can still wake up after three times last night.” Yujin giggles.
Your face immediate turns red as her words reminding you how slutty and desperate you were when you gave all yourself to Yujin, letting her use you as she wished.
“Don’t tease me anymore, Yujin. We literally have a Final in an hour.” You protest.
“And we spent the entire last night fucking.” She says, while putting her lipstick on, cherry red.
You try to take your notebook out from the drawers, only for Yujin to slap your arms away playfully. “Forget about the notes, forget that 4.0 GPA. I want you to only remember me. I want you to replay our scenes last night when you stare the exam paper.” She then stands up, undresses herself right in front of you. Your hoodie falls to the ground and Yujin is only in her lingerie. You swallow, trying your best to not get seduced in a moment like this, not before a final exam. But obviously you failed, eyes locked in on Yujin’s flawless body and you swallow again, hard.
“Hmm, still staring?” Yujin grabs your collar and pulls you close, gives you a firm kiss. Your lips then get dyed by her red lipstick, you follow your instinct, asking for more. But Yujin puts her index finger on your lips, mouthing “not now”.
“It’s a teaser, nerd. Wait until the exam is done and we have all the time in the world.” Yujin then starts to put her clothes back on, her own outfit. White tank top, leather jacket, a pair of tight, navy-blue jeans. “I was just messing with you; you’d better go and pass that exam. Don’t be a loser and fail otherwise it’ll make my taste on man look bad, would you?” Yujin smirks, while grabbing her purse from your gaming chair, nodding at the door.
You then get yourself ready and walk out of the room with her. It feels less weird this time when Yujin grabs your hand and fingers interlock with yours. You enjoy her soft skin and her deadly scent, the elevator ride was dead silent, but this time it is not because of it is awkward. It is because you already told Yujin everything she needed to know.
The weather outside is still cold, but Yujin’s fingers didn’t just slide in yours: it is a statement that forces your hand to mold to hers to the point where there is no air between your palms. As you walk out of the dorm building, you start to see occasional fellow students passing by, with some familiar faces from your classes. Each time you see them murmur to each other, you can’t control yourself to think if they are gossiping about you. Something like “isn’t that the nerd from our classes? How the fuck he gets to hold Yujin’s hand like this?” or “Damn! Did this guy pay her a fortune to be his one-day-girlfriend type of shit? He fucking looks like someone who’ll die before dating a woman”.
But Yujin knows exactly what you are thinking, each time when your eyes move from her to the pedestrians, she would hold your hand even firmer. It is not just walking. It is a parade. It is a parade that Yujin shows the entire campus her precious trophy. “Thinking about what people might say about you?” She whispers.
“Y…yes, this feels unreal. Never expected to walk like this in the public, not with my headphones on and with my hands being held by a girl like you.” Your lips tremble.
“Still try to play it cool huh? Try to put that cold, nerdy mask of yours on? Did you forget how you scream my name last night?” Yujin teases, while caressing your hand with hers.
“Don’t say it in the public, Yujin. People can hear us!” Your cheek turns pink.
“Then what? I am letting them all know that this nerd is mine and mine alone. I don’t give a shit what they think.” Yujin slaps your back gently, and you all finally approach the lecture hall. The tall, 3 stories building is like a statue, staring down at everyone passing by like it is making a statement of “you shall not pass”. Well, if you actually fail your Final, passing isn’t possible anyways. Yujin and you walk towards the wall where the seating chart is posted, you’re at the second to the last row, whereas Yujin is two rows in front of you, on your right.
You find this arrangement perfectly working, if Yujin gets too close? You’re doomed. There is no way to focus giving her deadly alluring scent and she’s definitely going to tease you to a point where you’d abandon your final exam to jerk yourself off in the bathroom. You decide to chug another can of Celsius before the final battle for the quarter, so you start to pace towards the back of the building where the vending machines are located.
You think Yujin already went inside of the room, as she waved you goodbye with a big, warm smile. The cute dimples on her gorgeous face are the last thing you’ll remember until the exam ends, not those stupid theorems that you spent hours mastering. Not anymore. So, you take out your wallet, counting how many $1 bills you have left to feed to the overpriced caffeine.
You anticipate the sound of your good friend Celsius rolling down the ramp of the vending machine, but what goes into your year is a steady rhythm of footsteps, of someone’s shoes tapping the ground. Might just be another fellow victim of caffeine addiction that needs to get their dose before the final, you think.
But then it is that familiar scent, aggressively catching your nose, it can’t be anyone else. As much you try your best to play it cool out in the public, you cannot hide your curiosity of finding out why Yujin still isn’t in the exam room yet. So you turn around.
“Yu…” You don’t get to finish, she shoves you onto the wall with such a force that your skinny body cannot resist, well you wouldn’t anyway. “Hmm, I figured out that I forgot something last night and I might as well just do it right now. Yujin winks at you devilishly, with a playful smirk on her face.
“W…what?” You are confused.
“Close your eyes, baby boy.” Yujin hums.
You obey, and feel surprised in your mind that Yujin would do something this romantic like a farewell kiss to you. Well, that’s what you think. You feel her getting closer, you can smell it, you can feel it. Your lips half parted, waiting for hers to catch yours. You wait, but the gentle kiss of hers never arrived.
Instead, you feel warmth on your neck, right at the place where it connects with your collarbone. Yujin gives you a kiss there, soft at first, but you immediately feel a sting as she bites you with her teeth suddenly after a suck.
“Ouch!” You gasp, eyes wide open. But there is no way for you to run as your back is already at the wall. You take a quick glance on your neck, a pink blossom with Yujin’s cherry red lipstick mark on your skin. She just planted a hickey on you.
“NO! That’s so embarrassing! You try to pull your collar up, only for Yujin to slap you hands off.
“Don’t you dare to hide it!” Yujin laughs, while staring right into the mark she left on you like an artist admiring her own work. That’s still not enough for her, Yujin decides to drag your collar even lower, making sure the full blossom is well displayed on your neck.
“Good. Now let’s go and show them who you belong to.” Yujin grabs the Celsius that had been witnessing the scene at the exit of the vending machine, pops it open and takes a big gulp.
-
When Yujin and you enter the lecture hall, the proctor already started to hand out the exam. You quickly find your seat and put your stuff down, Yujin is in front of you, sipping the Celsius that you involuntarily gave her. Her hair is a bit messy from the winter wind, but just as stunning as she always is. You look at her, your finger hovering on the mark she just left on you. You can feel her warmth on your skin.
Yujin then turns back to check the clock hanging on the back of the lecture hall, so “naturally” that your intentional look somewhere else to avoid being fall into her little trap. But you know that her gaze is locked on your body, so you quickly turn back towards her. Yujin sees you, then she looks down on her own shoulder like a reminder of the hickey on yours. She picks up the Celsius with two fingers, takes a slow and deliberate sip with her full, juicy lips before mouthing a big “mwah” to you.
The exam then begins. Those familiar Greek letters, those abstract operators no longer feel familiar. First problem is about some Discrete Fourier Transform; you stare at the Greek letter omega (ω). But the double-curve of the character on the page didn't look like a mathematical constant. It looked like the bruise blooming on your collarbone. It was the symbol of a cycle you couldn't break—the way Yujin pulled you in, marked your as hers, and left you spinning. You try to calculate the value, but the only answer you could remember was the way your breath hitched when Yujin asked you who you belong to. Fine. You skip this problem for now.
Second page is about computing an Eigenspace for a matrix. The exact topic that you tutored Yujin in the library yesterday. But at this moment you don’t give a damn about the Av = λv bullshit anymore. Because that lambda λ just looks like Yujin last night so much: it looks exactly like her when she rode you on your bed frantically, hands pressing down your chest for balance. By the time you compute the limit of a Fourier series, the infinity symbol ∞looks like nothing else but Yujin’s beautifully shaped breasts. You realize you are screwed, but in the best way you can. You realize your mind has nothing left but Yujin and she know exactly that.
“Hey, you! Eyes on your own paper.” The professor shouts while pacing around the hall. Your body jolt immediately, wondering if he caught you staring at Yujin’s back like a freak. You swallow hard, trying to put your focus back on the papers, but the professor walks closer to you.
“What’s up with you today, man?” The professor whispers your name, laying down close to you. “You don’t seem to be focusing, you should know this better than others in this class. Don’t disappoint me, ok?” But then, you are certain that you see his eyes flickers onto your neck. Your face is now flushed red in a blink of an eye. Fortunately, he just walked away to answer another student’s question.
You can already imagine the chitchats, the whispers, the gossips. It is going to be the total collapse of your smart kid character. Your legs nervously shake is the most visible evidence of your own “unmaking.” You feel like the lecture hall gets filled with the sound of shifting fabric, pens stopping, and the low-frequency vibration of whispers. “Is that…?” “No way, with him?” “Look at his neck.” The judgment feels heavy, like a physical weight pressing you into the seat. You feel like a fraud, like you are being interrogated to answer how a girl like Yujin ended up leaving her mark on a nerd like yourself.
Circling the final answer with your trembling hand, your sweet GPA is probably slipping through your finger as your social anxiety reaches its peak. Just as you are read to fold by pulling up of hood of your hoodie, Yujin suddenly, “accidentally” drops her pen. As she leans down to retrieve it, she turns her upper body back, just enough to give you a piercing gaze like a reminder. Her eyes seem to say, “You are mine, why do you care about others?”
Suddenly you realize those non-existing whispers actually aren’t insults and embarrassment anymore, instead they sound like an envy. Let them keep wondering how the nerd they ignored and looked down is the only who is allowed to feel the heat of Yujin’s touch. The anxiety and fear had been replaced with an intoxicating sense of belonging: you belong to the most gorgeous girl on this campus, and for the first time of your life, you want everyone to know it.
The difficult battle against the final exam (well, the most difficult part is to have the self-discipline and not get distracted by Yujin) lasts for about an hour extra, then you’re finally done. The normal habit of doublechecking your answer for at least three times is gone. Your heart is already a frantic drum that tries to escape your ribs. You turn in your paper in a rush like your life is depending on it because you can see Yujin is packing up her stuff as well.
You pretend to be on your phone and totally not care about who is the next person that walks out of the lecture hall after you. But you sniff, trying desperately to search for the deadly scent of Yujin’s perfume. You take a quick peek, praying that the next thing you see is Yujin’s leather jacket that comes out of the double-door. Finally, after about a century of waiting, you see that familiar outfit again. Yujin walks out of the hall with her usual steady rhythms of her boots tapping the concrete floor, jacket taken off and hanging on her shoulder. She doesn’t look like someone who “survived” the final exam, but someone who thrived on it.
“Hmm, puppy, you are done already?” She quickly closes the distance between you, as you lean on the pillar right outside of the lecture hall. Yujin keeps getting closer, trapping you against the pillar. She doesn’t care about the crowd, nor the lifeless students storming out of the building. She then leans in close, the alluring mix of her perfume and your own body wash (yes, you guys took a bath together last night) reminds you of your hunger and desperation.
“You look a bit…. Frustrated? Did the exam not go in your favor, baby boy?” Yujin smirks with her iconic dimples on her face.
“You know it wouldn’t.” You murmur, tone sounding so thin and weak even to your own ears. You stare right in her eyes, now behind the grey contact lenses again. The hunger and desire you tried your absolute best to suppress during the exam finally spills over. You’re not just looking at Yujin; you are devouring her. Of course she notices, she hovers her palm right on the tent of your pants. “Hmm, look at you puppy. You don’t seem to care about her grade anymore, are you? You are thinking when we are heading back to your dorm and have the door locked.” She leans in, lips touching your ear. “Then… you are thinking how I’m going to shove you on to the bed and fuck you senseless, right?”
“Y..yes, Yujin. I already missed it so much, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” Your body jolts as she leaves a kiss on your lobe while pulling herself back.
“But you know what? I might need to go back to my own room to pack up stuff for the break. Oh! And I also haven’t had lunch yet. And how about we go on a walk around the campus this afternoon? My good boy had been waiting patiently, and you for sure don’t mind to wait a bit longer, right?” Yujin teases, but that was it. The threads snapped.
“Please….” You whispered, fingers trying to grip the edge of her tank top as Yujin pretends to start leaving. You don’t care about the students around; you don’t care about your dignity. “Yujin, I can’t… I need you so bad. I’ll do anything for you later, just let’s go back to my dorm right now, pretty please?”
Yujin then turns back, her smirk widening to something that’s pure predatory. She sees your voice cracking and your pupils dilating. “Anything?” She echoed with mischief in her voice. Then Yujin grabs your hand and begins to walk towards the dorm buildings. “Well… since my puppy asked me this desperately, I suppose I shouldn’t keep you waiting like that. But before that, I have a question for you.”
“Yes Yujin, anything.”
“You aren’t going home this winter break, are you?”
“Not really because I am not local… why?” You start to realize something is going on.
“Good, because I am moving in your dorm for the break. My lease is expiring at the end of the year.” Yujin smiles, but it doesn’t sound like she is asking you to do her a favor, instead she is giving you a reward for “bothering” you.
“God….. I can see where this is going.” You murmur, but anticipation overcomes the confusion.
“Exactly. That’s why I told you we have a lot of time to do the stuff.” Yujin smiles. “So, are you still want it right now or are you helping me move in? Because once we are behind that locked door, you aren’t gonna beg me for mercy.”
“Shit…” You sigh, with the winter breeze brushing your face. The usual sense of loneliness and desperation when the Winter Break approaches is gone. What is left is the pure will to savor every inch of Yujin, or rather get savored by Yujin. Doesn’t really matter to you that much though.
God knows what the upcoming month is going to be like, but for the first time ever, you aren’t afraid of being lonely anymore.
Jaebin carried the last cardboard box up the narrow stairs and pushed open the door to room 403 with his shoulder.
The apartment smelled fresh, small, one room plus a tiny kitchen and bathroom, but it was his.
No parents nagging about dishes, no little sister stealing his snacks. Just him, a single bed, a cheap desk, and one window that looked out at the train tracks.
He dropped the box with a thud and wiped sweat from his forehead. “Finally,” he muttered.
The moving company guys had already left. Jaebin stood in the middle of the empty space, breathing hard. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
Mom: Did you arrive safely? Eat something. Don’t skip dinner just because you’re excited.
He typed back fast: Yeah, I’m good. Unpacking now. Love you.
He turned the phone face down on the desk and started opening boxes. Clothes first, then the rice cooker his mom forced him to take, then books and his old gaming laptop.
He was halfway through sorting socks when someone knocked on the door. Three quick taps.
Jaebin froze. He wasn’t expecting anyone.
He walked over and opened the door a crack.
Standing there was a girl. Long dark hair tied in a loose, white t-shirt stretched tight across her chest, denim shorts, and a friendly but slightly tired smile. She held a small paper bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of barley tea in the other.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Jihyo. From 402, right next door.”
Jaebin blinked. “Oh. Uh… hi. I’m Jaebin. Just moved in today.”
“I know.” She laughed a little. “I heard every time you dropped something.”
Jaebin’s face went red. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be loud.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I was actually waiting for you to finish so I could say welcome.” She lifted the paper bag. “I brought red bean buns. Fresh from the bakery downstairs. And this tea. Moving is hot work.”
Jaebin stared at the bag, “You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to. New neighbors are rare here.” She tilted her head. “Can I come in for a second? Or is it too messy?”
He stepped back fast. “It’s messy, but… yeah, come in.”
Jihyo walked inside and looked around. “Wow. You work fast. Most guys would just leave boxes everywhere for a week.”
“I hate living out of boxes,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Feels like I’m still homeless.”
She nodded like she understood. “Smart. I like that.” She set the bag and tea on the tiny kitchen counter. “So, college? Work? Or…?”
“Just graduated high school. Taking a gap year. Maybe find a part-time job soon. I didn’t want to stay home doing nothing.”
Jihyo leaned against the counter. Her shirt pulled tighter when she crossed her arms. Jaebin tried very hard to keep his eyes on her face.
“Gap year is brave,” she said. “Most people just rush into university because they’re scared to stop. What do you want to do?”
“I… don’t know yet.” He laughed awkwardly. “Maybe game design? Or just anything that pays enough so I don’t go back home in shame.”
Jihyo smiled wider. “Honest. I like that too.”
She opened the paper bag and pulled out two red bean buns wrapped in wax paper. “Here. Eat one while it’s still warm.”
Jaebin took it, “Thanks,” he said quietly.
They stood there eating in silence for a moment. The bun was soft, sweet, still warm. Jaebin realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Jihyo finished hers first and wiped her hands on her shorts. “Okay, I should let you unpack. But… quick question.”
“Yeah?”
“How old are you?”
“Nineteen. Just turned in May.”
She nodded slowly. “Nineteen. Cute.”
Jaebin almost choked on the last bite. “C-cute?”
Jihyo laughed, covering her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. You just look… fresh? Like you haven’t been ruined by the world yet.” She waved her hand. “Don’t mind me. I’m twenty-nine. Been working full-time for three years. I forget how young nineteen sounds.”
She turned toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, one more thing.”
Jaebin looked up.
“This building,” she said, lowering her voice a little, “has kind of a… reputation. Not bad reputation. Just… lively. A lot of girls live here. Nine of us, actually, including me. All on the fourth floor.”
“Nine?” Jaebin’s brain short-circuited for a second.
“Yeah. We call it Paizuri Apartment. Not officially, of course. Just between us.”
Jaebin stared. “Paizuri…?”
She grinned like she was sharing a secret. “Don’t google it. You’ll only find weird stuff, you know what I mean.”
He swallowed. “I… uh… yeah. I know.”
“We’re not scary, I promise. Just… friendly. Very friendly. If you ever need sugar, or help with the washing machine, or just someone to talk to at 2 a.m. because you can’t sleep, knock on any door on this floor. We don’t bite. Maybe.”
Jaebin’s heart was hammering so loud, “Okay,” he managed.
Jihyo reached out and patted his shoulder once. Her hand was warm. “Welcome to the fourth floor, Jaebin. See you around.”
She opened the door and stepped out.
“Wait,” he said suddenly.
She turned back, one eyebrow raised.
“Um… thank you. For the buns. And the tea. And… coming to say hi.”
Jihyo’s smile softened. “Anytime.”
The door clicked shut.
Jaebin stood there for a full minute, staring at the closed door. His face felt hot. His chest felt tight. He looked down at the half-eaten bun still in his hand, then at the empty space where Jihyo had been standing.
“Nine girls,” he whispered to himself. “All on this floor.”
He walked to the window and looked out at the train passing by. The sun was already going down. Orange light came through the glass and painted the floor.
He laughed once, short and nervous.
“What the hell did I just move into?”
Jaebin finished unpacking the last box around 8 PM.
His stomach growled loud. The red bean bun from Jihyo was nice, but it wasn’t dinner.
He checked his wallet—enough for a triangle kimbap and maybe a canned coffee.
He grabbed his keys, slipped on sneakers, and headed out.
The hallway light flickered once when he passed. Thin carpet, pale yellow walls, the faint smell of someone’s instant ramen drifting under a door. He walked toward the elevator.
As he pressed the down button, the door 405 opened.
A girl stepped out. Short black hair with blue tips, oversized hoodie that still couldn’t hide how full her chest was, black leggings, white sneakers. She had earbuds in one ear and was scrolling on her phone with her thumb. She looked up, saw Jaebin, and pulled the earbud out.
“Oh. New guy,” she said. Voice a little rough, like she hadn’t talked in a while.
Jaebin nodded. “Yeah. Jaebin. 403.”
“Yel.” She gave a small wave. “405. You going down?”
“Yeah. Convenience store. Hungry.”
“Same.” She slipped the phone into her hoodie pocket. “Mind if I walk with you? I was just gonna grab air anyway. Been staring at my screen for six hours straight.”
“Sure,” Jaebin said. He tried not to stare at how the hoodie zipper strained a little when she moved.
The elevator dinged. They stepped in. It was small—barely enough room for two people without touching. Yel leaned against the wall opposite him, arms crossed under her chest. Jaebin looked at the floor numbers.
“So,” she said after the doors closed. “You just graduated?”
“Yeah. High school. Moved here today.”
“Big step. Most guys your age would still be at home playing games and eating mom’s food.”
Jaebin laughed once. “That was the plan until I decided I didn’t want to be that guy.”
Yel nodded. “Respect. I moved out at nineteen too. Freelance illustrator now. Pays okay if I don’t sleep.”
“You draw for a living?”
“Mostly webtoons, some album covers, random commissions. Deadlines are evil, though.” She rubbed her eyes. “That’s why I need air. My room smells like coffee and regret.”
The elevator hit ground floor. Doors opened. Cool night air rushed in from the lobby. They walked out together.
The convenience store was only a five-minute walk—bright lights, glass doors, the usual 7-Eleven sign glowing yellow and green. A few cars passed slowly.
Yel pulled her hood up against the breeze. “So what’s your plan? Job? School? Or just… existing?”
“Gap year. Probably get a part-time somewhere soon. Cafe maybe. Or delivery. Something easy.”
“Easy is good at first,” she said. “Don’t burn out. I learned that the hard way. Worked sixteen-hour days for three months straight last year. Almost ended up in the hospital.”
“Damn.”
“Slower pace these days. More coffee, less panic.” She glanced at him sideways. “You look like the type who overthinks everything.”
Jaebin raised an eyebrow. “That obvious?”
“Very. Your shoulders are up to your ears right now.”
He forced them down. “Habit.”
They reached the store. Automatic doors whooshed open.
Yel grabbed a basket. “I’m getting ramyeon and a choco pie. You?”
“Triangle kimbap. Maybe hot bar chicken.”
They split up for a minute. Jaebin picked tuna mayo kimbap and two pieces of fried chicken on a stick. Yel came back with spicy ramyeon cup, a banana milk, and two choco pies.
At the counter, the part-time guy—older, bored—scanned everything without looking up.
Yel paid first. She pulled out her card, then paused. “Hey, new guy. Want me to add your stuff? My treat. Welcome tax.”
Jaebin shook his head fast. “No, no, I can—”
“Too late.” She tapped her card again before he could argue. “Done.”
The cashier handed her the receipt. Yel grabbed both bags and nodded toward the door. “Come on. Let’s eat outside. My room’s too hot and my brain needs to shut off.”
They walked to the small bench in front of the store. Plastic table, two chairs, cigarette butts on the ground. Not fancy, but it had a streetlamp shining right on it.
Yel sat first, crossed her legs. Jaebin sat across from her and opened his kimbap.
She tore the lid off her ramyeon cup, poured hot water from the dispenser inside the store, and put the lid back on. “Three minutes,” she said. “Perfect timer.”
Jaebin bit into the kimbap. Rice, tuna, mayo, seaweed. Simple, good.
Yel watched him eat for a second. “You’re quiet.”
“Still processing the day,” he admitted. “Moved in, met Jihyo next door, now you. Feels fast.”
Yel smirked. “Jihyo-unnie already got to you, huh?”
“She brought red bean buns.”
“Of course she did. She’s the welcome committee. Sweet like that.” Yel stirred her ramyeon with chopsticks. Steam rose up. “She tell you about the floor yet?”
“Yeah. Nine girls. Paizuri Apartment.”
Yel laughed—short, real. “God, that name. We were drunk when we came up with it. Now it stuck.”
She looked at him straight. “You freaked out yet?”
“A little,” he said honestly. “Not bad freaked out. Just… didn’t expect it.”
She took a sip of banana milk. “We’re not a cult or anything. Just… ended up here one by one. Good rent, close to stations, and we all get along. Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“Drama happens. Small floor, thin walls. But nothing crazy.” She paused. “You’ll meet the rest soon enough. They’re curious about you already.”
Jaebin swallowed. “They know I moved in?”
“Jihyo-unnie texted the group chat five minutes after she left your room. ‘New neighbor. Boy. Nineteen. Cute. Be nice.’”
Yel opened one choco pie and broke it in half. She held out a piece. “Here. Sugar helps with shock.”
He took it. They ate in quiet for a bit. Cars passed. A train rumbled in the distance.
Yel finished her ramyeon, crushed the cup, and leaned back. “Okay. Real talk. You single?”
Jaebin almost dropped his chicken stick. “Uh… yeah. Why?”
“Just checking. Some guys move here thinking it’s paradise, then get weird when girls actually talk to them. I like to know upfront.”
“I’m not… weird,” he said. “I think.”
“Good.” She stood up, stretched. Her hoodie rode up a little, showing a strip of stomach. Jaebin looked away fast.
“I should head back. Got a deadline at midnight.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the food. And… walking together.”
Yel shrugged. “Anytime. If you hear screaming from 405 at 3 a.m., it’s just me arguing with my tablet. Don’t call the cops.”
He grins.
She started walking back toward the apartment. Jaebin grabbed the trash and followed a step behind.
At the elevator, she pressed 4. Doors closed.
“Hey,” she said suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“If you can’t sleep tonight… knock on my door. I’m usually up late. We can share coffee or just sit in silence. No pressure.”
Jaebin nodded slowly. “Okay.”
The elevator dinged. Fourth floor.
Yel stepped out first. “Night, Jaebin.”
“Night, Yel.”
She walked to 405, gave a small salute without turning around, and disappeared inside.
Jaebin stood in the hallway alone for a second. His heart was beating fast again.
He opened his own door, stepped in, locked it.
11:17 PM.
Jaebin was lying on his bed in just boxers and a loose t-shirt, scrolling through his phone with the lights off except for the screen glow. He was tired from unpacking but wired. Too much newness in one day.
His eyes were starting to close when three soft knocks came at the door.
Not loud. Not angry. Just… there.
Jaebin sat up fast. Heart jumped.
“Who…?” he called quietly.
A woman’s voice answered from the other side. Low, smooth, a little husky from the day.
“It’s Eunbi. From 408. Sorry it’s late.”
He scrambled off the bed, pulled on his shorts, checked his hair in the dark mirror by reflex. Then he opened the door a crack.
Eunbi stood in the hallway light.
Long black hair still perfect even after a full day, slight wave at the ends.
Black blazer open over a white blouse that hugged every curve—especially the heavy swell of her breasts pushing against the buttons like they were fighting to get free. Pencil skirt tight on her hips, black stockings, low heels.
She carried a plastic bag from the chicken place two blocks away. Smelled like fried skin and garlic soy.
She smiled. Small, tired, but warm. And something else underneath. Something hungry.
“Hey, new kid,” she said. “Heard you moved in. Thought you might be hungry.”
Jaebin blinked. “Uh… hi. Yeah. I mean—thanks. You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.” She lifted the bag a little. Steam still coming off it. “Half yangnyeom, half garlic. Extra spicy because I like it that way. Figured you might too.”
He stepped back. “Come in. It’s… not much, but.”
Eunbi walked past him. Her perfume hit him—something expensive, warm, like vanilla and smoke. She looked around the room, eyes scanning the bare walls, the single bed, the unpacked lamp still in its box.
“Fresh start,” she said, almost to herself. “I remember that feeling.”
She set the bag on the tiny kitchen counter, turned, and leaned back against it. The movement made her blazer fall open more. Jaebin’s eyes flicked down for half a second—couldn’t help it—then snapped back to her face.
She noticed. Didn’t say anything. Just smiled a little wider.
“You’re Jaebin, right? Nineteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Eunbi. Thirty.” She said the number like it was nothing. Thirty years old, but she didn’t look it the way most thirty-year-olds did. “I work at a marketing agency downtown. Long hours. Late nights. Tonight was one of those.”
“You just got home?”
“Fifteen minutes ago. Saw your light under the door. Figured I’d say hi before I crash.”
She reached into the bag, pulled out the chicken box, opened it. The smell filled the room instantly. “Eat with me? I hate eating alone after a day like today.”
Jaebin nodded. “Sure. Let me grab plates.”
“No need.” She pulled out two pairs of disposable chopsticks from the bag. “We can share straight from the box. Less dishes.”
They sat on the floor because the bed felt too weird and there was only one chair. Back against the bed frame, legs stretched out. The chicken was hot, crispy, sauce sticky on fingers. Jaebin took a piece—yangnyeom first. Burned his tongue a little because of the spicy.
Eunbi ate slower. Watched him more than she ate.
“You’re quiet,” she said after a minute.
“I'm eating! But yeah... still taking everything in.”
She laughed softly. “This place does that. Hits you all at once.” She licked a bit of sauce off her thumb.
“You met Jihyo already?”
“Yeah. This afternoon.”
“And Yel?”
“Tonight. Walked to the store.”
Eunbi nodded. “They’re sweet. Young energy. Me… I’m the old one.” She said it with a small shrug, but her eyes said the opposite. “Been here four years. Seen boys come and go.”
“Boys?”
“Neighbors. Roommates. Boyfriends of other girls. Some stay. Most don’t.” She took another piece of chicken, bit into it, chewed slowly. “You planning to stay?”
“I… yeah. Signed for a year.”
“Good.” She looked at him straight. “We like boys who stay.”
Jaebin swallowed hard. The chicken suddenly tasted like nothing.
Eunbi wiped her hands on a napkin, then leaned back on her palms. The blouse pulled tight across her chest. Buttons looked ready to pop. She didn’t fix it.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” she said quietly.
“I’m not—”
“You are.” She tilted her head. “It’s okay. I like it.”
Silence stretched. Not uncomfortable. Heavy.
She spoke again. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Jaebin. I came here with chicken, but that’s not the only reason.”
His heart slammed against his ribs.
She kept going, voice low. “I had a shitty day. Boss blown up, clients changing their minds every hour, heels killing my feet. I get home, shower, change… and all I can think about is how long it’s been since someone touched me like they meant it.”
Jaebin couldn’t breathe right.
Eunbi looked at him. No shame. Just want.
“I’m not asking for forever,” she said. “Just tonight. If you want.”
He stared at her. The way her lips were parted a little. The way her chest rose and fell faster now. The way she didn’t look away.
“I…” His voice cracked. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She reached over, slow, and brushed her fingers along his arm. Light. Testing. “Just nod if you want me to stay. Or tell me to go. No hard feelings.”
Jaebin’s mouth was dry.
He looked at her hand on his arm. Then up at her face. Then down again—at the way her skirt had ridden up just enough to show more thigh.
He nodded once. Small. But clear.
Eunbi’s smile changed. Softer, but sharper too.
“Good boy,” she whispered.
She moved closer. Knees touching now. She leaned in, slow enough he could stop her if he wanted.
He didn’t.
Her lips brushed his. Soft at first. Then deeper. She tasted like garlic soy and heat. Her hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers in his hair. Pulling him closer.
Jaebin’s hands found her waist. Hesitant. Then firmer.
She made a small sound against his mouth. Almost a moan.
When she pulled back, her eyes were dark.
“Bed?” she asked. Voice rough.
“Yeah.”
She stood first. Offered her hand. He took it.
She led him the three steps to the mattress. Pushed him down gently. Then climbed on top, straddling his hips.
Her blazer hit the floor. Blouse buttons came undone one by one. Slow. Teasing.
Jaebin watched, heart racing, hands shaking a little on her thighs.
Eunbi leaned down, lips near his ear.
“Relax,” she murmured. “I’ve got you.”
Her breasts pressed against his chest through the thin fabric left. Heavy. Warm. She rocked her hips once—slow grind.
Jaebin groaned low in his throat.
She smiled against his neck. “That’s it.”
Eunbi’s blouse was gone now, tossed somewhere near the foot of the bed. Her black lace bra looked expensive—thin straps digging into soft shoulders, cups barely containing her.
She reached behind her back with one smooth motion. The clasp popped open. Fabric fell away.
Jaebin’s breath caught hard.
Her breasts were heavy, full, pale skin. Nipples dark and already tight. She didn’t cover up. Just let him look.
“Like what you see?” she asked, voice low and teasing.
He could only nod. Words were gone.
Eunbi smiled—slow, knowing. She slid down his body until she was kneeling between his legs. Her hands found the waistband of his shorts and boxers together. She tugged them down in one pull. His cock sprang free, already hard, tip shiny.
She wrapped her fingers around him once, loose, testing. Jaebin hissed through his teeth.
“Sensitive,” she murmured. “Good.”
She leaned forward. Pressed her breasts together with both arms. The soft weight enveloped him completely—warm, smooth, tight in the best way. She looked up at him through her lashes.
“First time someone’s done this for you?”
Jaebin swallowed. “Yeah.”
“Thought so.” She started moving—slow slide up, slow slide down.
The friction was perfect, slick from a little spit she let drip between her cleavage first. “Just relax. Let me take care of it.”
He tried. He really tried.
Her movements were steady at first. Controlled. Every time the head of his cock disappeared between her tits, she squeezed a little harder. Then released on the way up. Jaebin’s hands fisted the sheets. His hips twitched without permission.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Eunbi laughed softly. The sound vibrated through her chest, right into him.
“You’re doing good,” she said. “Hold on a little longer if you can.”
But he couldn’t.
The sight of her—hair falling over one shoulder, lips parted, eyes locked on his face while her breasts worked him—was too much. The heat, the softness, the way she looked like she was enjoying it just as much as he was. It built too fast.
“Eunbi—I’m—” His voice cracked. “Gonna—”
“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Right here. Let it happen.”
She sped up just a fraction. Pressed tighter. One hand came up to cup the underside of her own breast, pushing them together even more.
Jaebin’s back arched off the mattress. A low groan ripped out of him.
He came hard—thick ropes spilling across the tops of her breasts, dripping down into the valley between them. Pulse after pulse. His whole body shook with it.
Eunbi didn’t stop moving until he was empty. Then she slowed, milking the last few drops with gentle squeezes. When he finally went soft against her skin, she let go.
Eunbi sat back on her heels. Looked down at the mess he’d made on her chest. She dragged one finger through it—slow—then brought it to her lips and licked it clean. Like it was nothing.
Jaebin stared. Brain still rebooting.
She noticed his expression and laughed—real, warm, a little wicked.
“Surprised?” she asked.
“Yeah. I lasted like… thirty seconds.”
“Fifteen,” she corrected gently. “But who’s counting?”
He covered his face with both hands. “God. That’s embarrassing.”
“No.” Eunbi leaned over him, breasts still glistening, brushing his stomach as she got close. “It’s honest. I like honest.” She kissed his forehead once. Soft. “You were wound up all day. New place, new girls, new everything. Of course you popped fast.”
Jaebin peeked through his fingers. “You’re not… mad?”
“Why would I be mad?” She sat beside him now, one leg tucked under her. “I came here to feel good. You just gave me exactly that. Watching you lose it like that? Hot as hell.”
She reached over, wiped a bit more of his cum off her skin with her finger, then wiped it on the inside of her discarded blouse like it was a napkin. “But tonight’s just this. Titfuck only. No more.”
Jaebin blinked. “Wait… what?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not ready to go all the way yet. Not on night one. I wanted to tease you. Feel you throb between my tits. See your face when you couldn’t hold back. That’s enough for me tonight. Makes me feel powerful. Knowing I can make you come that fast just from my chest. Knowing you’ll be thinking about it every time you see me in the hallway.”
Jaebin groaned again—this time half-embarrassed, half-turned on all over.
Eunbi stood up. Picked up her bra, slipped it back on without cleaning herself first. The lace stuck a little to the wet skin. She didn’t care. Buttoned two buttons on her blouse—enough to cover, but anyone looking close would know.
She walked to the tiny bathroom, wet a tissue, wiped her chest properly this time. Then came back, sat on the edge of the bed.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. Just… processing.”
“Good.” She touched his cheek once. Thumb stroking lightly. “Get some sleep. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. Nine girls on this floor, remember? They’re gonna start circling.”
Jaebin laughed weakly. “I’m already dead.”
She walked to the door.
“Eunbi?”
She paused, hand on the knob.
“Thanks,” he said. “For… everything.”
She looked back. Smiled “Anytime, honey.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Jaebin lay there in the quiet.
He stared at the ceiling. Fifteen seconds.
Tomorrow was going to be insane.
But tonight?
Tonight, he’d survived Eunbi.
Barely.
Jaebin’s alarm went off at 6:30 AM
He slapped it quiet before it could wake the whole floor. His body felt heavy. Last night replayed in flashes— he groaned into the pillow.
“Get up,” he told himself out loud. “You promised.”
Back home, he’d told his mom he was moving out to be independent.
Part of that promise was no more lazy mornings. He’d start jogging every day. Build habits. Not turn into the guy who gains twenty kilos living alone on instant noodles.
He rolled out of bed. Brushed teeth. Pulled on gray sweatpants, a black hoodie, old running shoes. Looked in the mirror—hair messy, eyes a little red, but alive.
“Okay. You got this.”
He grabbed his phone, earbuds, keys. Opened the door quietly.
And almost walked straight into Eunbi.
She was right there in the hallway, locking 408. Black pencil skirt again, white blouse tucked in tight, blazer over one arm, heels clicking softly as she turned. Hair pulled back in a neat low bun. Makeup perfect. Coffee thermos in one hand.
She froze when she saw him. Then her lips curved—slow, private smile.
“Morning, Jaebin.”
His face went hot in half a second. “M-morning.”
She stepped closer. Close enough he could smell her perfume again—same one from last night. Vanilla and smoke. It hit him like a memory punch.
“You’re up early,” she said. Voice low so it wouldn’t carry.
“Jogging. Promised myself I’d… start working out. Live alone and all.”
Eunbi’s eyes flicked down his body—hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers—then back up. “Good boy. Discipline looks good on you.”
Jaebin swallowed. “You… going to work?”
“Early meeting. Boss wants reports before the rest of the office wakes up.” She adjusted her bag on her shoulder. The movement made her blouse pull tight across her chest.
“Sleep okay?” she asked, innocent tone.
“Yeah. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” She stepped even closer. Her free hand brushed his sleeve—just a graze. “Dream about anything fun?”
He couldn’t look at her eyes. Stared at her collarbone instead. “Maybe.”
Eunbi laughed under her breath. Soft. “Thought so.” She leaned in, lips near his ear. “Next time… maybe I won’t stop at just my tits.”
Jaebin’s knees almost buckled.
She pulled back like nothing happened. “Have a good run. Don’t trip thinking about me.”
She walked past him toward the elevator. He stood there frozen until the doors dinged shut.
“Fuck,” he whispered to the empty hallway.
He shook his head hard, jogged down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. Needed the extra burn.
Outside, the air was cool in the city, not freezing. Streets still quiet. A few delivery bikes zooming by.
Jaebin started slow—jog down the block, past the convenience store where he’d gone with Yel last night, past the small park with the broken benches.
He was on his second lap around the park when he heard footsteps behind him. Steady. Matching his pace.
He glanced over.
Yel.
Hair tied up in a high ponytail today. Black sports bra that left nothing to imagination—her chest bouncing with each step—gray tank top loose over it, black running shorts, sneakers. Earbuds in, but she pulled one out when she caught up.
“New guy,” she said, breathing even. “Didn’t expect company.”
Jaebin slowed a little so they could talk. “You jog too?”
“Every morning I don’t pull an all-nighter. Clears my head. You?”
“First day trying. Promised myself no slacking.”
Yel nodded. “Respect. Most guys say that then quit after three days.”
“I’m not most guys,” he said.
She smirked. “We’ll see.”
They kept pace together. Not racing—just steady. The park loop was maybe 800 meters. Trees bare, leaves crunching underfoot. Sun coming up stronger now, turning everything gold.
After the first full loop, Yel spoke again. “You look… distracted.”
Jaebin almost tripped. “What?”
“Your form’s off. Shoulders tight. Like you’re carrying something heavy.”
He laughed awkwardly. “Just… new place. New everything.”
“Uh-huh.” She side-eyed him. “Or maybe you ran into Eunbi in the hallway?”
His foot caught a crack in the pavement. He stumbled, caught himself.
Yel laughed—short, real. “Knew it. She’s got that effect.”
“She just… said hi. Going to work.”
“Sure she did.” Yel sped up a tiny bit. Jaebin matched her. “She knock on your door last night?”
Jaebin’s face burned again. “Yeah.”
Yel didn’t push. Just kept running. “She’s intense. But good intense. Don’t overthink it.”
“I’m trying.”
They did another lap in silence. Breathing harder now. Sweat starting on his forehead. Yel’s tank top stuck a little to her skin. Her sports bra did nothing to hide how full she was—bouncing with every step. Jaebin forced his eyes forward.
After the third loop, Yel slowed to a walk. Hands on hips. Breathing deep.
“Cool down?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
They walked the last stretch side by side. Park emptying out a little.
Yel wiped sweat from her neck with the hem of her tank. Flash of stomach. Jaebin looked away fast.
“So,” she said. “How was night one? Survive?”
“Barely.”
She grinned. “Eunbi?”
He nodded once.
“Figured. She’s been… restless lately. Work stress. She picks someone to blow off steam with. You’re fresh meat.”
Jaebin rubbed the back of his neck. “She didn’t… we didn’t go all the way. Just…”
Yel raised an eyebrow. “Just?”
He hesitated. Then muttered, “Titjob.”
Yel stopped walking. Looked at him. Then burst out laughing—loud enough a pigeon flew away.
“Oh my god,” she said, still laughing. “Fifteen seconds?”
Jaebin groaned. “She told you?”
“No. But I know her. And I know that look on your face.” She punched his arm lightly. “Don’t be embarrassed. She’s good at that. Really good. Most guys don’t last longer the first time.”
“Still embarrassing.”
“Honest is hot.” She started walking again. “She’ll probably tease you for weeks now. But in a good way.”
They reached the apartment entrance. Both breathing hard, shirts damp.
Yel stopped at the door. “Hey. Same time tomorrow?”
Jaebin nodded. “Yeah. If I don’t die first.”
“You won’t.” She pulled her ponytail tighter. “And if you need to talk about… whatever happens next on this floor… my door’s open. Late nights, remember?”
“Thanks, Yel.”
She gave a small salute. “See you, runner boy.”
She disappeared inside first.
Jaebin stood there a second, maybe minutes. Minding his mind to keep it together, facing whatever things would happen this day.
He finally pushed through the lobby door, wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his hoodie and headed straight for the elevator. Pressed the up button. Doors opened almost right away—empty. Lucky.
He stepped in, leaned against the back wall, and hit 4. The doors started closing slow.
Halfway shut, a hand shot out to stop them.
The doors bounced back open.
And Jaebin turned just in time to walk face-first into soft, warm pressure.
His nose and cheek smooshed right into the biggest, softest pair of breasts he’d ever felt in his life.
He froze. Completely. Couldn’t even pull back right away because the elevator was still small and she was filling most of the doorway.
“Oh my god—sorry! Are you hurt?”
The voice was soft. Gentle. Almost baby-like, but deeper, like someone who spoke quietly on purpose.
Jaebin stumbled back one step, face flaming. “N-no! I’m fine! I’m the one who—sorry!”
He finally looked up.
Chaeyeon.
Twenty-three, but her face looked younger—round cheeks, big doe eyes, small nose, lips naturally pink and full. Cute in that innocent way that made you want to protect her. Except her body was anything but innocent.
Tall—maybe 170 cm—wide shoulders, thick thighs in black leggings, oversized white t-shirt that did zero to hide how massive her chest was. Bigger than Yel’s. Bigger than Jihyo’s. Bigger even than Eunbi’s.
She had one hand still holding the door open, the other clutching a tote bag full of what looked like groceries—bananas, a carton of milk, a bag of rice cakes.
“I didn’t see you turning,” she said, voice still soft, worried. “Are you okay? Your face hit pretty hard.”
Jaebin rubbed his nose. It didn’t hurt. Just… stunned. “Yeah, I’m good. Really. My fault. I was spacing out.”
Chaeyeon stepped fully inside now. The elevator doors finally closed behind her. She pressed 4 too, even though it was already lit.
She looked down at him, “You’re the new guy, right? Jaebin?”
“Yeah. Moved in yesterday.”
She smiled—small, shy, but real. Dimples appeared. “I’m Chaeyeon. 406. I heard about you from Jihyo last night. She said you’re nice.”
Jaebin laughed once, nervous. “She said that?”
“Mhm. And that you blush easy.” Chaeyeon tilted her head. “She wasn’t wrong.”
His ears burned hotter. “I… yeah. Guilty.”
The elevator hummed upward. Slow. Too slow.
Chaeyeon shifted her tote to the other arm. The movement made her chest jiggle—once, heavy, impossible to ignore. Jaebin’s eyes flicked down for half a second then snapped back to the floor numbers.
She noticed. Didn’t say anything about it. Just spoke softer.
“You were jogging?”
“Yeah. Trying to start a routine. Don’t want to get lazy living alone.”
“That’s good.” She nodded seriously. “I like morning walks. Not running—my knees complain—but walking helps me think. I’m a barista. Early shifts. I walk to the cafe sometimes instead of taking the bus.”
“Which cafe?”
“Little one near the station. The one with the cat logo. I make the lattes.”
“I’ll have to stop by sometime.”
“You should.” Her smile got a little bigger. “I can make yours extra pretty. Hearts in the foam and everything.”
Jaebin smiled back, “Sounds good.”
The elevator dinged. Fourth floor.
Doors opened.
Chaeyeon stepped out first. Jaebin followed.
She turned toward 406. Paused. Looked back at him.
“Hey… um…”
“Yeah?”
“If your nose really hurts later… or if you just want ice or something… knock on my door, okay? I have a freezer full of gel packs. And cookies. Fresh ones. I baked last night.”
Jaebin blinked. “You bake too?”
“Mhm. Stress baking. Helps me relax after long shifts.” She hugged the tote closer to her chest—again, the shirt stretched. Jaebin tried very hard to keep eye contact. “So… yeah. Door’s always open. I forget to lock it sometimes.”
“That’s… not safe.”
“I know.” She laughed quietly. “But the girls on this floor look out for each other. And now you too, I guess.”
Jaebin nodded slowly. “Thanks, Chaeyeon.”
She gave a little wave—fingers wiggling cute. “See you around, Jaebin. Careful with doors next time.”
She walked to 406. Unlocked it with one hand. Glanced back once more—smile soft, eyes warm—then disappeared inside.
Jaebin stood there for a second. Hallway quiet except for the faint sound of music from someone’s room. Probably Yel again.
He touched his nose. Still no pain. Just the memory of softness pressing against his face.
“God,” he muttered under his breath. “They keep getting bigger.”
He walked the few steps to 403. Unlocked his door. Stepped in.
Closed it.
Leaned against the wood for a second.
Jaebin had just finished a quick lunch—ramyeon from the cupboard, one egg cracked in, green onion he’d chopped with a dull knife.
He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, back against the bed, scrolling through job listings on his phone. Part-time café work, delivery gigs, anything that didn’t require experience or a degree.
Three quick knocks.
He looked up. “Yeah?”
Door opened without waiting for more. Yel poked her head in.
“Hey, neighbor. Not busy, right?”
Jaebin sat up straighter. “Uh—no. Just eating leftovers. Come in.”
She stepped inside and kicked the door shut behind her. She was in comfy mode now, oversized gray hoodie, same one from yesterday, zipper halfway down, black bike shorts, fuzzy socks.
No makeup, hair a little messy from whatever she’d been doing all morning. She looked smaller like this. More approachable. Less intimidating.
“Smells like spicy ramyeon in here,” she said, sniffing the air. “Classic broke college kid meal.”
“I’m not in college yet,” he reminded her.
“Same difference.” She walked over, plopped down on the floor right next to him without asking. She leaned back on her hands and stretched her legs out.
“Ugh. Brain is fried. Been staring at line art for four hours straight. Needed a break before I start deleting everything in rage.”
Jaebin closed his phone screen. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… need human contact that isn’t a tablet stylus.” She turned her head toward him. Grinned. “So here I am. Your official chill buddy for the next thirty minutes. Or until my client messages me again.”
He laughed—small, surprised. “I’m honored.”
“You should be.” She nudged his knee with hers. Playful. “So. How’s day two treating you? Survived the morning jog, bumped into anyone interesting?”
His face heated instantly. “You mean Chaeyeon?”
Yel’s eyes lit up. “Ohhh, you already met the big titty goddess? Spill.”
“She was coming out of the elevator. I turned too fast. Face-planted into her… yeah.”
Yel cackled, head tipping back. “She’s got those things like airbags. You okay? Nose still working?”
“Barely,” he muttered. “She was super nice about it though. Offered ice and cookies.”
“Of course she did. Chaeyeon’s the mom of the floor. Always feeding people, always worrying.” Yel stretched her arms over her head. The hoodie rode up a little, showing a thin strip of stomach. Jaebin looked at the wall fast. “She’s sweet. You’ll like her. Everyone does.”
“Yeah. She seems… calm.”
“Unlike me.” Yel dropped her arms and scooted even closer. Now their thighs were touching. She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did and didn’t care.
“I’m the chaotic one. Youngest too. Always have been. Grew up with three older sisters who bossed me around. So, I never got to be the big sister. Sucks.”
Jaebin glanced at her. “You want to be a big sister?”
“Little brother, actually.” She said it casual.
“I mean, I’m twenty-one. Still the baby in my family. No one to look after. No one to tease or protect or feed ramyeon to when they’re sad.”
She looked at him sideways. “You’re nineteen. Prime little brother material.”
He blinked. “Wait. You’re adopting me?”
“Unofficially. Yeah.” She reached over and ruffled his hair—messy from the jog, still damp from the shower. “You’re cute when you’re flustered. And you don’t talk back much. Perfect dongsaeng.”
Jaebin’s heart did a weird flip. Not the horny kind like with Eunbi last night. Something softer. Warmer. He actually liked how close she was sitting. The easy way she talked. The teasing without meanness.
“I… don’t mind,” he said quietly.
Yel’s grin softened into something real. “Good. Because I’m gonna bug you a lot now. Bring you snacks. Steal your charger. Complain about deadlines at 2 a.m. Standard little-sister torture, but reversed.”
He smiled, “I can live with that.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder—just for a second, testing. Then lifted it again. “You’re comfy. This is dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
“You’re gonna get used to me being here. Then I’ll never leave.” She laughed, “Anyway. Tell me something. What do you do when you’re not jogging or getting smothered by Chaeyeon’s assets?”
Jaebin thought for a second. “Play games. Mostly single-player stuff. Sometimes I draw a little. Nothing good.”
“You draw?” Her eyes brightened. “Show me.”
“It’s trash—”
“Show me anyway. Big sister orders.”
He hesitated, then grabbed his sketchbook from under the bed. Flipped to a page—a rough pencil sketch of a city skyline at night, some mecha robot concept he’d doodled last month.
Yel took the book. Studied it seriously. No teasing this time.
“Not bad,” she said after a minute. “Line work’s clean. Perspective’s off here—” she pointed with her pinky “—but you’ve got style. You should do more.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Haven’t had time.”
“You’ve got time now.” She handed the book back. “I’ll drag you into my freelance hell sometime. We can draw together. Misery loves company.”
Jaebin nodded. “Sounds like a deal.”
They sat quiet for a bit. Not awkward quiet. Comfortable. Yel picked at a loose thread on her hoodie sleeve. Jaebin finished the last of his ramyeon.
“You know,” she said suddenly, “I’m glad you moved in. This floor was getting… estrogen heavy. Needed some guy energy. Even if you’re a shy baby.”
“I’m not that shy.”
“You’re blushing right now.”
“Shut up.”
She laughed again, then she stood up, stretched tall, “Okay. Break over. Gotta go finish these panels before my editor hunts me down.”
She walked to the door, paused with her hand on the knob. “Hey.”
“Yeah?”
“Come over later if you want. Like… dinner time. I make tteokbokki. Not promising it won’t be spicy enough to kill you, but.”
Jaebin smiled. “I like spicy.”
“My guy.” She winked. “See you, little bro.”
The door clicked shut.
Jaebin sat there alone again. Room felt bigger without her in it. Emptier.
He touched the top of his head where she’d ruffled his hair.
Little brother.
He didn’t hate it.
Not even a little.
Evening, around 7:40 PM.
The sun had dropped behind the taller buildings an hour ago, leaving the sky a deep purple streaked with orange.
Jaebin pushed open the small sliding door to his balcony—a tiny concrete ledge barely big enough for one chair and a dying potted plant the last tenant left behind.
He stepped out in just his loose t-shirt and shorts, barefoot, the cool evening air hitting his skin right away.
He leaned on the metal railing and looked out. The city skyline wasn’t anything special from this angle—mostly mid-rise apartments, neon signs from the convenience stores below, the red blinking light on top of a distant office tower. Trains rattled by every few minutes, lights streaking like slow comets. It felt somehow... peaceful, despite whatever happens today.
He exhaled slow. “This place is insane,” he muttered to no one.
His eyes wandered left along the building’s facade. The balconies were staggered—some had laundry hanging, some had plants, most had nothing.
Four rooms from his, maybe room 407 or 408, a light was on behind thin white curtains. Not fully closed. A gap maybe ten centimeters wide.
He didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t.
But movement caught his eye.
A girl stepped into view.
She was facing away at first—long straight black hair down her back, slim waist, wearing only light gray panties that hugged her hips. No bra. No top. Bare.
That’s Jeewon—he didn’t know her name yet, but that’s who it was.
She reached up with both arms, stretching like she’d been sitting all day. Her back arched. And then her breasts came into full side view as she turned slightly toward the window.
Big.
Not just big—full, round, heavy in that natural way that made them sway a little even with the smallest movement. Nipples dark against the paleness, already perked from the cool.
Jaebin’s throat went dry.
She didn’t notice him. Or if she did, she didn’t care.
She bent forward to pick something up from the floor—a fresh white tank top maybe—and the motion made everything bounce once.
Jaebin gripped the railing harder. His heart started hammering like it had last night with Eunbi, but this was different.
This wasn’t invited. This was accidental. Wrong to watch. But he couldn’t look away.
Jeewon straightened up. Slipped the tank top over her head, caught for a second on her chest, she had to tug it down twice.
When it finally settled, it clung tight, outlining every curve, the material so thin he could still see her nipples underneath.
She turned more toward the window then. Facing out.
Jaebin froze.
She was pretty—sharp jawline, full lips, eyes that looked tired but bright. Maybe twenty-two, twenty-three or maybe older. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. Then she walked closer to the sliding door, like she was checking something outside.
Her eyes scanned the balconies.
And landed right on him.
Jaebin’s stomach dropped.
For one long second they just stared at each other across the gap—him on his tiny ledge, her inside her lit room, tank top stretched tight over those impossible breasts.
She didn’t scream. Didn’t cover up. Didn’t even look mad.
Instead, one corner of her mouth lifted. Small smirk.
She raised one hand—slow—waved once. Casual. Like she was saying hi to a neighbor she’d seen a hundred times.
Jaebin lifted his hand automatically. Waved back. Awkward. Face burning so hot he thought it might glow.
Jeewon tilted her head. Then she reached up again—both hands this time—cupped the undersides of her breasts through the tank top for a second, lifted them slightly like she was adjusting, then let go.
She is teasing.
Jaebin’s mouth opened. No sound came out.
She laughed—soft, muffled through the glass—and mouthed something he couldn’t hear. Probably “sorry” or “oops” or maybe just “hi.”
Then she reached over, slid her curtain the rest of the way closed.
The light stayed on behind it, silhouette faint now.
Jaebin stood there another full minute. Breathing shallow. Cock half-hard in his shorts without him even realizing it had happened.
He finally stepped back inside. Closed his sliding door. Locked it like that would erase what just happened.
He dropped onto the bed. Stared at the ceiling.
“Who the hell was that?” he whispered.
He didn’t know her name. Didn’t know her room number for sure. But he knew one thing:
She’d seen him looking.
And she hadn’t minded. Not one bit.
Jaebin was still on the bed, blanket half over his head, trying to calm his pulse after what he’d just seen on the balcony.
He kept telling himself it was an accident. She probably didn’t even mean for him to see. Probably.
Three soft knocks.
He sat up fast. Heart jumped again.
“Yeah?” he called, voice rough.
The door opened without him getting up. Just cracked enough for her to slip through.
It was her.
Jeewon.
Smaller body than he expected up close—maybe 160 cm, slim shoulders, narrow waist, legs that looked long for her height in tiny sleep shorts.
But her chest… the white tank top was thin cotton, stretched so tight across her breasts that the fabric looked ready to tear at the seams. No bra underneath. Nipples pressed against the tank top.
Every breath made them shift. She closed the door behind her with her back, hands behind her like she was nervous but not really.
“Hi,” she said a little playful. “I’m Jeewon. 407. Saw you staring from your balcony.”
Jaebin’s mouth went dry. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
She laughed quietly and stepped closer. Bare feet on his floor. “It’s okay. I left the curtain open on purpose. Wanted to see if the new guy would look.”
He stared. Couldn’t help it. Her tits were right there, inches away now, heaving gently with each step. Bigger up close. Rounder. The tank top rode up a little at the bottom, showing a sliver of underboob.
She stopped at the edge of his bed. Looked down at him sitting there in his shorts and t-shirt, blanket bunched around his waist.
“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” she said. “Blushing again.”
Jaebin rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I just… moved in yesterday. Everything’s a lot.”
“I get it.” She sat on the edge of the mattress without asking. Close enough that her thigh touched his. “This floor can be overwhelming. Nine of us. All… friendly. You’ve met a few already?”
“Yeah. Jihyo, Yel, Eunbi last night, Chaeyeon this morning.”
Jeewon’s eyes sparkled. “Eunbi already? She moves fast.” She leaned in a little. Her chest brushed his arm—soft, warm pressure through the tank top. “Did she let you finish between her tits?”
Jaebin choked on air. “How—”
“Figures.” She smiled wider. “And she texted the group chat. ‘New boy popped quick. So sweet.’ Don’t worry. We all think it’s hot.”
He covered his face with both hands. “Kill me now.”
Jeewon giggled—soft, real. She pulled his hands down gently. Her fingers were small, cool.
“Hey,” she said. “Look at me.”
He did.
She was close now. Face inches from his. Lips full, glossed a little. Eyes dark and steady.
“I came over because I wanted to say hi properly,” she whispered. “And maybe… help you relax. You looked tense out there on the balcony.”
“I’m… fine.”
“You’re hard,” she said simply.
Jaebin glanced down. His shorts were tented obviously. No hiding it.
Jeewon’s hand moved slow. Palm flat on his thigh first. Then higher. She cupped him through the fabric—gentle squeeze.
He hissed.
“See?” she murmured. “You need this.”
She slid off the bed, knelt between his legs on the floor, her chest pressing against his knees as she leaned in.
She hooked her fingers in his waistband. Tugged shorts and boxers down together. His cock sprang free—hard, leaking at the tip already.
Jeewon licked her lips once. “Nice.”
She didn’t waste time.
One hand wrapped around the base—small fingers barely meeting. The other cupped his balls lightly. Then she leaned forward.
Her mouth was warm. Wet. She took him in slow—halfway first, tongue flat against the underside. Jaebin groaned low, head falling back against the wall.
She hummed around him. The vibration shot straight up his spine.
She started moving—slow bobs at first, lips tight, cheeks hollowing when she pulled back. Every time she went down deeper. Throat relaxed. No gag. Just smooth, steady suction.
Jaebin’s hands fisted the sheets. “Fuck… Jeewon…”
She pulled off for a second—just to breathe. A thin string of spit connected her lips to the tip.
“You can touch my hair if you want,” she said. Voice husky now. “Or my tits. Whatever feels good.”
He hesitated. Then reached down. One hand in her hair—soft, straight strands slipping through his fingers. The other… he cupped one breast through the tank top. Heavy. Overflowed his palm. He squeezed gently.
She moaned around his cock when he did that.
She sped up. Head moving faster. Hand stroking what her mouth couldn’t reach. Wet sounds filled the small room—sloppy, obscene.
Jaebin’s hips started moving on their own. Small thrusts. She took it. Let him fuck her mouth shallow.
“Jeewon—I’m close—”
She didn’t pull off. Just looked up at him—eyes watering a little from the depth, but steady. Nodded once. Keep going.
He groaned louder. Hand tightening in her hair. The other squeezed her breast harder—felt the nipple harden under his thumb through the fabric.
It hit fast.
He came with a choked sound—thick pulses straight down her throat. She swallowed around him. Kept sucking gentle until he was empty, twitching, oversensitive.
When she finally pulled off, she licked her lips. Clean. Wiped the corner of her mouth with her thumb. Smiled up at him.
“Better?” she asked.
He could only nod. Brain fried.
She stood up. Tank top still clinging to her curves—nipples hard points now. She leaned down, kissed his forehead once. Soft.
“Welcome to the floor, Jaebin,” she whispered. “If you ever want more… knock on 407. Door’s open.”
She walked to the door. Paused with her hand on the knob.
“And next time you see me changing… feel free to watch longer. I like being seen.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Jaebin lay there. Shorts still around his thighs.
He stared at the ceiling.
Day two.
And he still hadn’t met everyone.
11:03 PM.
Jaebin was half-asleep on his bed, phone on his chest, screen dark.
A knock. Not soft. Not polite. Three hard raps, then the doorknob rattled like someone was trying it without waiting.
He sat up fast. “Who—?”
The door pushed open before he finished.
Eunbi.
She stumbled in, heels clicking uneven on the floor. Black dress—short, tight, one strap slipping off her shoulder. Hair messy now, bun half-undone, strands sticking to her flushed cheeks. Makeup smudged under her eyes. She smelled like soju, sweet fruit mixer, and cigarette smoke from whatever bar she’d been at.
She kicked the door shut with her heel. Missed the first time. Tried again. Got it.
“Jaebin-ah,” she slurred, voice thicker than usual. She leaned back against the door for support. Breasts pushed up high in the low neckline, almost spilling out.
Jaebin stood up slow. “You okay? You’re drunk.”
“Very.” She laughed—short, bitter. Pushed off the door and wobbled toward him.
Almost tripped over his sneakers on the floor. He caught her elbow quick.
“Easy,” he said.
She looked up at him. Eyes glassy, pupils big. “You’re sweet. Always catching me.”
He guided her to sit on the edge of the bed. She dropped heavy, thighs spreading a little under the dress. Skirt rode up high enough to show lace panties—black, sheer in the middle.
“Why didn’t you go to your room?” he asked.
“Key… somewhere.” She patted her small purse, then gave up. “And I didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.”
Jaebin crouched in front of her so they were eye level. “You need water? Or coffee? I can make instant.”
Eunbi shook her head slow. Reached out, cupped his cheek with one warm hand. Thumb brushed his lip.
“No water. No coffee.” Her voice dropped lower. “There’s only one thing that sobers me up fast.”
He swallowed. “What?”
She leaned in. Breath hot against his ear. “Eat my pussy.”
Jaebin froze.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face. Smiled crooked. “Don’t look shocked. You already know I’m not shy.”
“I… yeah. But you’re drunk.”
“Drunk, not dead.” She spread her legs wider. Dress bunched at her hips now. Panties visible—wet spot already darkening the sheer panel. “I’ve been thinking about your tongue all night. Bar was boring. Guys staring at my tits, buying drinks, talking shit. I kept picturing your mouth instead.”
Jaebin’s heart slammed. Cock twitched in his shorts.
Eunbi noticed. Reached down, palmed him through the fabric. Slow rub. “See? You want it too.”
He didn’t deny it.
She hooked one finger under her panties, pulled them to the side. Shaved smooth. Lips swollen, glistening. She was soaked.
“Come here,” she whispered. “Please.”
Jaebin hesitated one more second. Then knelt between her thighs.
She leaned back on her elbows. Watched him.
He started slow—kissed the inside of her thigh first. Soft skin. She shivered. Then higher. Nosed along her slit, breathing her in—musky, sweet from the alcohol still on her skin.
Eunbi sighed. “Good boy.”
He licked once—flat tongue from bottom to top. Tasted salt and heat. She moaned low, hips lifting a little.
“More,” she said. Voice rough now.
He gave her more. Tongue circling her clit—slow at first, then faster. Sucked gently. She gasped. One hand went to his hair, fingers twisting.
“Fuck… just like that.”
He pressed harder. Tongue dipping inside her, then back to her clit. Two fingers slid in easy—she was dripping. Curled them up, found that spot. Rubbed steady while his mouth worked her.
Eunbi’s breathing turned ragged. Thighs started shaking around his head.
“Don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t you dare stop.”
He didn’t.
She came fast—back arching, moan loud enough the thin walls probably carried it. Walls clenched around his fingers. Wetness flooded his mouth. He kept licking through it, gentle now, until she pushed his head away weakly.
“Too much… too sensitive…”
Jaebin pulled back. Lips shiny. Chin wet.
Eunbi lay there panting. Chest rising and falling hard. Dress straps both off her shoulders now. Breasts almost fully out.
She looked down at him. Smiled—lazy, satisfied.
“See?” she said. “Sober now.”
Jaebin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You sure?”
“Clear as day.” She sat up slow. Pulled him up by his shirt. Kissed him deep—tasted herself on his tongue. Moaned into his mouth.
When she pulled away, her eyes were sharper. Less glassy.
“Better than coffee,” she murmured.
She stood up. Wobbled once. Steady. Fixed her dress—barely. Panties still crooked.
“I should go to my room now,” she said. “Before I decide to stay and ride you until morning.”
Jaebin’s cock throbbed at the words. He didn’t argue.
Eunbi leaned down. Kissed his forehead. Then his lips again—soft this time.
“Thank you, Jaebin-ah. For not sending me away.”
She walked to the door. Paused.
“Tomorrow… maybe I return the favor. Properly.”
The door clicked shut.
Jaebin sat on the floor where he’d knelt. Tasted her still on his tongue. Heart racing.
He looked at the clock. 11:27 p.m.
Day two still wasn’t over.
But he was exhausted.
He stripped off his shirt. Crawled under the blanket.
He closed his eyes.
Dreams were going to be wild tonight.
a/n: inspired by @mistyrani's The Apartment series. Don't forget to check that out, that's great series!
:breadTrue: (or the Sweaty Punishment Fantasy of an AI-addicted Pervert)
IVE's Naoi Rei & LE SSERAFIM's Huh Yunjin x Male Reader
5.9k words
A/N: Was gonna drop this at about 2k in lmao, but I kinda had an epiphany that no one writes like me. I'm fucking defmaybe! Please enjoy!
—
Definitely! I'll give you an opening scene that fits your desired mood and tone, without delving into the explicit scenes to keep the conversation appropriate:
It starts with—
"Pervert."
A voice cuts through the silence of the overtime, evening office. You almost scream.
"Can't you at least write it yourself?"
You turn back towards its originator, and you see Huh Yunjin in her all-black practice shirt and all-white sweatpants standing behind you, hands on her hips. There's a little Under Armour logo on her right thigh. A pair of glasses sits casually on her nose bridge.
"GPT got your tongue?" Yunjin snarks. "I see my name on your prompt, by the way." She points at your MacBook screen.
generate a smut in second person with le sserafim's huh yunjin (172 cm) and ive's naoi rei (170 cm) dominating a shorter male reader (165 cm), make them sweaty and wear glasses as well, then, add a blowjob scene, emphasize the women's plump, dick-sucking lips, add a breeding scene for both of the idols too
That's your prompt. Fuck, shouldn't have added the sweaty and glasses part.
"I'll call her if you want," Yunjin says coolly, picking up her phone from the pocket. "We can wait at the gym, getting ourselves sweaty and wet and soaked. What do you say?"
You stammer, "I-I didn't bring my workout cl-clothes today, Y-Yunjin."
"Oh, I love boys in suits and ties. They look … cutely professional," Yunjin breezes with seduction. "Now, would you please come with me to the gym?"
You just nod dumbly.
—
How the fuck would ChatGPT describe this scene?
Yunjin doesn't bother turning on the air conditioner, leaving the air uncirculated with the slightly artificial scent of your bodies from the deodorants and perfumes. The two of you are on the treadmills beside each other at a pretty daunting pace of eight kilometers per hour. The first few minutes were easy indeed, but after the first kilometer (seven minutes and a half of jogging later), your heart and lungs began to give out.
"Come on, baby, don't break down so soon!" Yunjin encourages you as she paces herself against the belt. You can barely catch up to the breakneck speed, so you try to reduce the—
"Don't even think about it~"
"B-but I-I'm tired," you whine exhaustedly.
Yunjin just slaps your right arm softly and giggles.
The run goes on and on as the clock ticks by. Your body has been feeling like collapsing at any given second. The destination just feels so far from the present. When the hell will Rei come?
At around the twentieth minute, your vision begins to blur. Your steps feel heavy and cramped. The breaths become pants through the mouth. This isn't just your normal exhaustion. You're overexerting yourself!
After what feels like an eternity, though, the door to the gym opens, and you turn to it in an instant — tired, spent, dazed.
There she is, instantly recognizable, Naoi Rei, with her white top that is tucked under her black sweatpants. The act alone reveals her shapely body, and you can't help but drool at the sight. Your legs work on autopilot on the running belt as she walks towards you. You're mystified and entranced at the sight of her. Oh, fuck, she's wearing glasses just like Yunjin.
Oh, fuck, she's sweating too.
"Here's the guy?" Those are her first words, with a slightly bitchy, tired voice — the opposite of Yunjin's more endearing and warm. "And why aren't you turning on the AC? It's fucking hot in here."
"Oh, hey! Yeah, this is the guy I'm talking about," Yunjin says before turning to you. "We can stop now, I think."
Your hand has never worked faster to halt the treadmill's operation. You rest your head on the dock, sweat clinging to your body and working clothes — so fucking sticky. Your deodorant is working overtime against the filth. The smell of your sweat is filling your nostrils, and it's not very pleasant, to be honest.
"So, like, what's the deal? He's trying to make a smut of us?" Rei asks.
"With ChatGPT," Yunjin answers, wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead. "Blowjob and breeding and height difference, if we're going into the details."
"That's unethical, I'd say, a waste of water resources," Rei replies with a shrug before dropping her belongings beside your treadmill. "Could've at least written it with his own hands."
"That's what I'm saying! See? Art is supposed to be created with our hands! It's a form of political and self-expression!" Yunjin says.
Rei just scoffs and rolls her eyes.
"Anyway, let's just … give him some inspiration," Yunjin adds and gets off the machine. "Come here." Then she beckons you with her gorgeous hand. You just follow obediently. There are no second thoughts about this. Yunjin leads you towards the flat bench sitting in the middle of the gym à la makeshift chair.
"Sit down," Yunjin orders, not without a glint of merriness in her voice and her signature giggle though.
You settle yourself on the bench, waiting for Yunjin's (or Rei's) next order impatiently. Your hands and legs quiver under your thick clothes made for working — sweaty, drenched. Rei walks towards the two of you, and as the daze fades, your eyes go deeper into examining the women.
Yunjin tucks her black shirt under the pants now, and it reveals the outline of her round, pert tits hidden under the bra. The glasses are doing a lot of heavy lifting, making her look a lot more … logical than she already is. Her lips look as plump as ever, despite being without the lipstick and the gloss. Her reddish hair looks all messy and undone after the jogging session. Rei, right by Yunjin's side, looks so fucking hot in a pair of glasses. Her hair looks slightly disheveled, but still mostly kempt. Her shirt, as mentioned earlier, is kept under the edge of her trousers. The lips seem so unbelievably immaculate for a dick-sucking session. Her breasts look even more voluptuous than those of her friend. (You couldn't care less, though.)
And you? You're fucking drooling like a dog seeing its feast.
Oh, my good-fucking-ness, the smells of their bodies are sending your brain into a haywire — sweat, perfume. They're all there — the fluids blending into a concoction that you've seen people yearning for on social media. Your cock is fucking straining inside the boxers.
"Bet GPT can't write this, huh?" Yunjin says, accidentally saying her surname out loud — poetic.
"Sorry, but I can't produce explicit material," Rei mocks as she runs her hand around her waist. God, what a fucking tease.
They edge closer towards you, letting their heady scents fill your nostrils without another word. Your hands reach forward at the women, just to get slapped away, making you jolt with a slight pain.
"Not yet, pretty boy~" and Yunjin wiggles her finger akin to a metronome à la no-and-no motion.
As they get close enough, Rei tips your chin with her finger, forcing your head up a little. "I've dealt with a few AI bros using it to write smuts of me," she voices before licking her lips. Fuck, they look so goddamn delicious. "And to be honest, they fucking suck."
"One-sentence opener, negations, weird metaphors, rule of threes — not a good look, to be honest," Yunjin adds with a chuckle. "Oh, and those voices that are barely above a whisper? Ugh, it just creeps me out."
"Let's give you some … human touch," and Rei closes in until the distance between your faces becomes an atom. Her forehead almost touches yours. Her eyes stare into yours sternly, locking you in your place. Her scent is invading your personal space. It's a barrage of sensations on your lithe, tiny body (165 centimeters — as written in the prompt initially). Your mind cannot comprehend this. Your heart beats fast. Your hands are trembling. You're running out of adjectives to describe your overloaded reactions.
"Ever kissed someone before?" Rei asks. Her breath smells of mint.
You nod dumbly with a small, boyish whine in your throat.
"Good."
And Rei just clashes her lips onto yours without another word. Her tongue invades your mouth with ease — you let her. Your face is cupped by her soft, slender hands, which sends waves of warmth through your soul. Rei moans and whines hungrily into the kiss, sending her voices down your shattering lungs. The wet, sloshing sound of the kiss rings inside your ears. She smells of sweat and mint — tart and cold. Your hands rest by your body idly, afraid to touch her body without permission again.
You hear Yunjin giggle beside you. She's probably enjoying the way Rei attacks your senses.
Rei pulls back eventually, and what's left is a string of spit linking your lips together — so fucking filthy. You stare at it stupidly, trying to cherish the moment between you and her. It disappears once Rei licks her lips again, though.
"Acceptable," Rei remarks. "Your lips are shaking a bit, still."
"I-I'm just n-nervous, that's all," you respond, bringing a chuckle out of Rei's lips. God, you just look so pathetic.
Yunjin swerves in place of Rei, visibly taller than the latter (though not by much; also, that means kpopping got it right). She bends down until her face is a sweat particle away from you. Her perfume and sweat blend into a brew that storms your brain without a hassle. Her doe-like eyes threaten to enchant you under her spell. Her lips look so perfect for dick-sucking. Huh Yunjin is toppling your sanity with her look and her smell and her potential to let her throat get molded into the shape of your cock.
"You're so cute when you're anxious," and Yunjin laughs softly before placing her hand on your thigh. You can feel the fabric of your underwear tearing apart with how hard your cock has been twitching. "We know you need this, pretty boy — having two taller idols sucking you off, having them dominating you."
You just stare into Yunjin's eyes blankly as she smiles mischievously, then she leans into your ear.
"Then, you get to fill us raw with your cum, breeding our tight and wet cunts so fucking good."
A lick on your lobe is what melts you.
Never have you known that your earlobe is an erogenous spot, really. Your body shrieks uncontrollably as Yunjin feels your body with her hands and her tongue — rubbing your thighs up and down, caressing your tummy in circles. You moan whorishly into the thick hot air of the Hybe gym with shockwaves that course through your pliant body. Good thing that nobody's here at … you look at the comically, conveniently placed clock on the wall … seven. Rei just watches you with a sly smile, ready to feast on you after Yunjin's turn finishes.
Yunjin pulls herself away, and you watch her, still as confident as ever, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Your ear is now drenched in Huh Yunjin's spit.
"We can kiss later~" Yunjin sings before kneeling down onto the floor — her meaty, dick-sucking lips so fucking close to giving you a godly blowjob. Rei makes Yunjin scoot to the side a bit as she kneels down in front of you. Your cock strains violently against the fabric cage of an extra large size, so ready to be freed with these deific figures' hands.
"You're such a slut for us, aren't you?" Yunjin says with a lip bite, still rubbing your thighs back and forth lazily. She looks so fucking hot doing that.
You can only nod dumbly.
Rei plays with your belt with an approving hum, teasing your slutty little waist with dexterity. And in all honesty, she's incredibly brilliant at it. You can feel her hot breath touching your wet crotch atop the suffocating heat of the room. Your entire supply of blood are flowing to your dick now. She's threatening to yank your belt off, and you just couldn't wait for it.
"P-please, Rei, Y-Yunjin," you plead pathetically — so fucking needy. Your hands remain on the bench, not daring to touch their bodies without permission. "I-I want your-your lips."
Yunjin gives you an air kiss. Her hand is on your inner thigh now — so fucking close to your throbbing, restrained cock, while Rei just scoffs, still toying with your waistline and leaving trails of fire on it.
"Please, please, please, please," you profusely beg with your nails digging into the bench. Rei seems to notice it, and she laughs cruelly.
"Slut," Rei scolds. "Do you really think we're gonna just suck you off that easily? After what you did? What was his prompt again, Yunjin?"
Yunjin laughs mockingly, with her hand remaining on the inner side of your thigh. You do expect to have their lips on your cock that easily. Perhaps it has to come with an exchange first.
Yunjin recalls, "Well, there were the three of us — him being the shortest and dominated. There was something about our dick-sucking lips," and Yunjin licks her upper lip seductively, winking at you. God, fuck, "and he just really seems to love sweat and breeding as well!"
"Promise us one thing," Yunjin proposes. You just nod dumbly. "Open Ellipsus, and write our smut yourself."
"Not Google Docs?" Rei quizzes.
"There's a dark theme on Ellipsus."
"Oh." Rei nods again.
"I mean, it's up to preference, to be honest. The point still stands, though," Yunjin says with a shrug. "Don't use AI to create art."
"B-but I suck at writing!" you whine.
"Ugh, just create a new doc and write, for fuck's sake. You'll get better with time," Yunjin half-scolds. "I believe in you."
"Well, not exactly as much as her," Rei adds. "I kind of believe in you too."
Your heart floats at their words. "R-really?"
"You'll find your audience, just don't touch GPT or anything like that," Yunjin breezes.
The notion of handmade art doesn't strike you at first, but as you ruminate, it begins to make sense. Art should be made with your soul, with your intent, with your feelings. It should capture the person you are. It should say something about you.
As your thoughts settle, you answer finally, "F-fine, I won't use AI to … you know … write about you guys."
Yunjin tilts her head to the side slightly, trying to examine your intent behind your words. Rei stares into your eyes as well, prying any hidden maliciousness under your promise. You look at them anxiously despite the earlier epiphany vis-à-vis art and its ethics.
"Well, don't forget to post it on AO3 and Tumblr, then," Yunjin says with a smile. Her hot breath touches your cock again, and you kind of forget that her and Rei's dick-sucking lips are going to be such a treat.
"Where were we?" Rei half-asks as she comes back to teasing the hem of your pants. "Oh~ we were going to suck Mister Writer's big fat cock."
So, this is who you are now, a K-pop idol smut writer. The thought of your followers and other passersby flooding your notifications section appears inside your mind, and it doesn't look too bad, to be honest. You're going to post your first story about Huh Yunjin (in glasses) and Naoi Rei (also in glasses) sucking your sizable cock. You might be breeding them as well.
To ground you, though, Yunjin starts first. She drags her tongue along your inner thigh that reeks of sweat. Your body jolts under the wet heat of the gym. Then, you hear her take a deep breath as she does so before humming approvingly.
"Such a dirty boy," Yunjin voices.
Rei follows suit. She begins undoing your belt in a practiced manner, as though she has been doing this countless times. Swiftly, she pulls the leather off your loops, and you feel a tad lighter as she does so.
"Might wrap this around your neck if you didn't already have a tie," Rei says with a chuckle, then she tugs at the fabric softly. "I'll use this one later."
Fucking hot.
In a haste, Yunjin doesn't waste time teasing the unbuttoning anymore, instead stripping you of the slacks without any hesitation. (If you care about them, yes, they remain unharmed.) You're left with the sight of a visible bulge poking from under your boxers. A wet spot has already formed on it, obviously. You're aroused to the point of ridiculousness.
"You're so big, baby boy," Yunjin praises, lips closer to your cock than ever. The warm breath can just make you cum right here and now. "God, the scent — so manly."
Rei leans in as well, and now there are two sources of hot air in front of your cock. The distance is minuscule, and Rei breathes in. "Fucking hell, you smell good, pretty boy."
With their encouraging words, you kind of want to know how your dick smells right now.
Yunjin runs her fingers along your slutty little waist, threatening to strip you of your last lower half fortress. Her black nails are igniting your nerves aflame. Every synapse and axon is firing out of all barrels. Your body cannot comprehend the sensory overload you're experiencing, and—
Oh God, Rei toys with your inner thighs as well. You shriek as her knuckles graze your tart, potent, heavy balls. Fucking fuck. Your fingertips dig into the leather bench, and you moan helplessly. You don't dare touch them unless they say so. Oh, these women are robbing away your sanity.
The relentless torture keeps going on as Yunjin and Rei don't stop playing with the area just around your cock, making sure that you're completely surrendering to them. Their warm puffs of air are making you writhe under the heat of the Hybe gym.
Perhaps the cadence feels right to them. After what feels like an eternity, Rei and Yunjin grab you by the edge of your boxers before pulling them down onto the floor. Your hard, throbbing cock springs free immediately, sending your premature essence everywhere — your tummy, the floor, their gorgeous faces. Now, the heat from their mouths is hovering just around your shaft.
"You're not shaved," Rei states before laying her hand on your pubic area, feeling your hair under her palm. You can't help but jitter a bit.
"I don't mind. All cocks are good," Yunjin remarks, and she leads with the first touch on the base under your cock. You moan as she draws a line upwards with her nail before stopping right below the leaking tip. It's twitching so goddamn violently.
"I don't mind as well, just an observation," Rei deflects.
Yunjin just chuckles. She then moves her nails along your skin to the tip. "There, there," she utters as she begins circling your slit in lazy circles with her nail. You watch — equally aroused and in awe — Yunjin's finger tracing loops. It's a little easier with the help of your own sweat, really.
Rei follows suit. With just her single finger, she caresses your testicles cautiously on the sack. You throb with this barrage on your body that just seems relentless — all the heat, all the sensations — it's so fucking much to take.
"Would you like our mouths to do the misdeed now, Mister Writer?" Yunjin asks sultrily, edging her mouth close to your cock. Her hot breath touches your shaft delicately.
"You should say yes, baby," Rei adds, now cupping your balls with her hand. "Your fic would love it if there's a blowjob scene, especially with our cock-sucking lips."
Your brain can barely comprehend the sensation, and now there's a question on top of it. "I-I—" you stammer, and the girls just chuckle at you.
"What is it, baby? GPT got your tongue again?" Yunjin teases.
"I'll take it as a yes, then," Rei says, and without another word, she dives in.
Rei's tongue feels soft on your balls as she begins lavishing them hungrily, as if to taste them wholly and completely. Her lips press against your sack as she licks it, and you can really feel those plump, dick-sucking lips pleasuring you. The notion of being a cockslut is right there, up for Naoi Rei's grabs. Your body quivers and writhes in the gym's heat — suffocating, stimulating, until Yunjin decides to join as well.
Yunjin starts from a different position, lapping at your leaky, swollen cockhead, painting it slick with her filthy saliva. The act, along with Rei's movements, just sends you straight to heaven. You cannot fathom the pleasure originating from their soft lips and wet tongues. Your body stops shaking now, instead tensing, attempting to translate the bliss into something coherent. The tension coils up quickly, all with how they've been giving you a meticulously crafted wonderland with their spit-soaked tongues.
"Don't cum so soon, baby," Yunjin sings knowingly as if she senses your impending orgasm, then, a kiss on your tip. "Haven't even let you fuck our throats yet~"
Rei keeps trying to fit both of your balls into her mouth. The feeling is incredible. She fails and fails, but that doesn't stop her from retrying over and over, though. Her mouth makes these audible but unintelligible sounds attempting to swallow your balls entirely.
"Y-you guys are too good at t-this," you stutter out, nails still digging deep into the leather-coated bench as Yunjin and Rei keep your cock busy inside their mouths.
"Suffering from success, I see," Yunjin says with a light chuckle. "Can I have him for a bit, Rei?"
Your balls leave Rei's drenched orifice with a wet pop. She gives your sack a squeeze with her nifty hand to make you shudder before she stands up. And to be frank, you can't help staring blankly at her — tucked white shirt, glasses, perfect breasts. She's a fucking feast for your lust-ridden eyes.
"Wanna touch my tits?" Rei quizzes as she sees where your eyes land, propping her chest up a bit with her hands. "There's no I'm lovely TROUBLE printed on it, but should work for you, nonetheless."
Yunjin chimes in, "Oh, from the uh … XOXZ performance, right?"
"Yeah, was one of the photo sets as well. People were going feral just because of the tight shirts," Rei answers, still laying her eyes on you. "What do you say, pretty boy, wanna feel them?"
You nod amply without a second thought, and Rei just smiles, sly, before sitting beside you on the bench. With the somewhat substantial height difference, she has to tilt your chin up to meet her eyes. She's just so … dominant like this.
"C'mon, touch me," Rei half-invites, half-commands.
Your hands quiver incessantly as you raise them up from the bench with your sweat-soaked palms. As you get closer, you can feel the heat emanating from her body onto your hands. You've touched boobs before, of course. It's like you're some sexless fuckface. Just that: it's Naoi Rei's tits, the pair that you've seen her flaunting under the text I'm lovely TROUBLE printed on an unbelievably tight white top. You used ChatGPT to generate a long piece of smut based just on that.
Once the cadence feels right, you place your damp hands on her chest, and Rei just hums favourably. She closes her eyes, letting the feeling of your hands run through her tall frame. Her clothed tits feel so soft in your hands — so malleable, so supple, so big. You whine awkwardly under the weight of Rei's expectations and trust for you. She's taller. She's dominant. She's letting you play with her breasts. You couldn't have asked for more.
"Good boy, good boy," Rei praises happily before leaning in closer. Instinctively, you close in the distance as well, and you kiss her for the second time of the night. Unlike the first contact, she doesn't attack your orifice with her tongue as violently, instead letting the flesh dance along with yours in a pleasing rhythm. There's no wrestling for dominance, but working in harmony for your pleasures. It feels more … sensual this time around, leaving you with more breathing room, leaving you with more respite.
"You guys are having fun, aren't you?" Yunjin adds before wrapping her slender hand around your sweaty cock, pumping it slowly — measured. Your lower body shudders at her affectionate touch. Then, a tongue comes into play.
You just helplessly jolt.
As expected, and with those dick-sucking lips, Yunjin holds two titles proudly — Miss Cockslut and Miss Cumslut. She starts with your tip, swirling her tongue around the leaky cockhead, letting precum ooze from your cute little slit. The feeling is just unreal — utterly incoherent, truly debased. Your litheness is further proven when she begins wrapping her soft, warm lips around the tip. You moan into Rei's mouth whorishly with the sensation that's crashing into you. The ideas are there — to be dominated, to be used, to be their boy-fucking-toy.
"Fuck, you smell so manly, baby boy," Yunjin coos.
Rei pulls back from you eventually, though your hands remain on her firmness — squeezing, grabbing, tickling even just for some laughs. She's still humming contentedly under your touch. Your body fights between feeling the softness of Rei's breasts and enjoying the way Yunjin starts dragging her plump lips up and down your shaft. The control is now long gone, but you're still trying to put it into your grasp desperately. Not that you don't enjoy being stripped mentally though.
With each second that passes, you hear Yunjin hum comfortably, unfazed by the size of your big fat cock that's obstructing and threatening to mold her throat. Each bob of her head takes more and more of your cock between her lips. The tension coils inside your loins again in the heat of the Hybe gym. You feel yourself getting closer to exploding inside Yunjin's throat. And to make matters worse, her eyes, staring into yours, are fucking hypnotic — so sweet, so tantalizing. She's not supposed to be this good at sucking cock!
"I'm c-close, Yunjin," you declare shakily, hands still terribly stuck on Rei's chest as if magnetized. "C-can I cum now?"
Yunjin then pulls herself off your hard cock with a loud, lewd pop before answering, "Well, let's ask Rei first. Don't you want her lips on your fat, smelly cock first, baby?" Yunjin quizzes.
Rei slides down from the bench to kneel on the floor again, and you regretfully withdraw your hands from her sizable chest with a small whine. She scoots over until she's side by side with Yunjin, awfully prepared to shove your fat cock down her throat. It's glistening with Yunjin's saliva. You can thank her for doing the service of sucking the masculine flavor away from your cock. Rei's job is easier now. Your hands go back to resting on the bench, not daring to touch them without consent.
"What do you say, Mister Writer?" Rei sulks in front of you, her hot, minty breath touching your cock and making it twitch. She wants those titles as well — Miss Cockslut and Miss Cumslut.
"S-sure," you answer weakly.
Rei smiles shrewdly, and she, analogous to Yunjin, begins swirling the tip of your cock with her tongue, tasting the sweetness of her friend's saliva that's left on your length. Your body jerks backwards uncontrollably at the feeling of Rei's wet tongue. Then, Rei grows more brazen with her totalitarian efforts, wrapping her plump, cock-sucking lips around you with practiced ease before going down. You hear her choking slightly, but that sound disappears the moment you feel her breath on your pubic bone. She's breathing through her nose, inhaling your virile scent down her lungs — helps with the gagging and sputtering. Her eyes become all teary while still attempting to look into your eyes. The hair is becoming disheveled with each bob of her own head up and down your dick.
"Give her time. She'll get used to it eventually," Yunjin coos.
Rei lifts her mouth off your cock in an instant to chide, "I don't fucking need time. I'm good at blowjobs, okay?"
Yunjin just chuckles heartily as Rei takes your dick into her mouth once more.
Rei restarts her ministrations, creating a vacuum suction at the tip of your cock, making you moan whorishly into the air. Your body quakes as her tongue lavishes the head. Then, she swallows more and more of you, downing your cock into her slutty throat just to see how much she can take. Her hands rest on your thighs for a hold, not willing to let you go out of this session. As she pushes forth, you can feel the back of her throat contracting and heaving around your shaft violently, trying to coax cum out of your heavy balls. The movement becomes rhythmic eventually. Rei moves up and down your cock with her dick-sucking lips, slathering saliva everywhere on your length — from the base to the tip. You can do nothing but moan and whine and cry raucously. Again, good thing that nobody is here at night, or you'd be charged with public indecency.
And with everything that's going on, Yunjin just watches the two of you in amusement — smiling and laughing with your reactions and Rei's slight struggles.
Your loins curl for the umpteenth time, ready to burst into Rei's mouth, ready to flood her stomach with your white, hot, fertile cum. Rei sucks you off a tad faster, probably with how your moans have been climbing up the scales.
And you just have to announce, "I'm-I'm cumming, Rei, f-fuck."
Suddenly, Rei pulls her lips off your cock with another loud, lewd pop just like Yunjin did. You whine disappointedly, but not physically resisting. Your eyes can only watch your cock twitching pathetically, missing its holes of Yunjin and Rei's orifices.
"Cum on my face," Rei commands haughtily, and Yunjin seems to be intrigued by the idea as well. "I'll jerk you off, and you can cum on my face. I'm wearing glasses either way."
"I don't mind too," Yunjin breezes with a nod. "I'll make sure nothing goes to waste~"
You can only gulp at the notion — cumming on their faces egregiously, painting their skin white with your fertility. The prospect is appealing, to be honest. Your cock is still twitching excitedly, ready to burst with their gracefully oppressive touches.
Without waiting any longer, Yunjin wraps her thin fingers around your spilling cock before starting to jerk you off with dexterity. Rei instantly puts herself into the equation, caressing your balls fondly. The tension quickly coils itself, ready to snap at any second. You can feel it pooling in your belly now, so eager to burst onto their faces.
"I'm-I'm gonna c-cum, h-holy fucking fuck," you rasp, nails digging into the leather of the bench.
"Even AIs don't stroke your ego like this, right?" Yunjin quizzes playfully, still jerking off your cock vigorously. "Bet they can't make you cum like we do."
Rei hums into your balls, then she adds, "Rule of threes, voices, negations — fuckass writing, soulless," and she takes a deep breath, inhaling the smell of your cock down into her lungs.
You can say nothing, only brace yourself for the impending orgasm that's about to crash into you. Yunjin's slender fingers pump your cock firmly, so eager to coax two days' worth of cum out of your testicles, while Rei, just beside her, massages your balls with adroitness. God, these women are fucking cumsluts.
And just like that, you snap — arching back, mouth agape.
"Fuck!"
Yunjin and Rei instantly close the distance between themselves — face to face, cheek to cheek. Shots of cum are firing everywhere as your vision turns white. Your body quakes uncontrollably under the heat of the Hybe gym, barely able to make any intelligible sounds out of your lips. Yunjin is still rubbing your cock back and forth, attempting to squeeze every drop of cum out of your balls. Rei doesn't let up either, playing with your balls strenuously, making your body throb and quiver restlessly in the wake of your own orgasm. Your hands hold on to the gym bench dearly with no intention of letting go, and that's when you look down.
The sight in front of you can probably be qualified by the blowjobs committee as the lewdest image that has ever graced the earth. Rei and Yunjin open their mouths, tongues out to catch the semen spilling out of your cock. There are already a few white streaks on their gorgeous, ethereal faces, tainting them with your fertile essence. Yunjin tries to have the next few spurts land on her and Rei's faces equally, and it kind of works. Some paint their lips. Some paint their cheeks, and the best fucking part is: some paint their lenses — their fucking glasses.
Your orgasm fades away eventually, and you're left with the spectacle of Rei and Yunjin licking their lips provocatively, gathering the semen into their mouths before swallowing it into their stomachs.
"Yum," Rei utters.
"Guess we're your cumsluts now, Mister Writer," Yunjin adds before sucking the last drop of cum out of your cock akin to a semen demon, with your cum still lingering on her face — so debased.
You just fall backwards, bending over the bench with your sheer flexibility. Your tie falls over your face, unable to recollect yourself after the earth-shattering climax — arms flailing, legs twitching. How you're going to describe this blowjob in your writing is a fucking mystery — dick-sucking lips, sweats, glasses. It's going to be one hell of a ride.
Yunjin lets go of your cock finally, letting it twitch pitifully and leaking the final residue of cum. Rei's hand leaves your now-sore balls as well, giving you the much-needed respite under the gym's heat. You languidly rotate yourself until all of your back lies on the bench, and you finally get to breathe properly once more.
The event of the entire evening to the night reels inside your mind — getting caught, the promise, your earth-shattering orgasm. It has been a great day. You'd love to end it just here — falling asleep on the bench with your pants and boxers lying on the floor.
Well, for tonight, it ends here. Yunjin and Rei help you up with their strength, pulling you up by your hands. You put on your boxers and slacks and belt before grabbing your backpack from the floor.
"You can go now," Rei says. "We'll have to wash our faces and glasses first."
"S-sure," you reply shyly. "Thanks for today."
Yunjin smiles, then she responds, "Doesn't have to be a onetime thing though, especially with what you've written in the prompt. We're just halfway done."
add a breeding scene for both of the idols too
Oh.
"Oh," and you blink awkwardly.
And the women just chuckle at you.
"Just call us if you wanna do this again," Rei entices. "Minding the schedule and all, since I think I like you already."
"I like you too. Well, not in a deep, romantic kind of way," Yunjin chimes in. "You know, nothing serious," and she just laughs.
"Just … promise us not to jerk off to those slops again," Rei says, holding up her pinky finger. And despite the cum-streaked face, she seems to really need your honesty.
"Yeah, they fucking suck, genuinely," Yunjin says with another small giggle, and she lifts her pinky finger, locking it with Rei's already. "Write it by yourself and jerk off to it — ethical gooning — you know?"
You just chuckle, and you give them your word before locking your pinky finger with theirs. "Well, maybe."
Yujin hated two things about that high school: the achievement board that always carried her name, and the fact that her name was almost always written right next to yours. Not below, not above—always side by side, aligned so neatly it felt deliberate. She stopped in front of the board, eyes scanning the familiar sheet of paper taped crookedly to the wall, the ink already smudged from too many replacements over the years.
Rank 1. Ahn Yujin
Rank 2. You
The difference in score was so small it barely mattered, too insignificant to feel like a real victory, yet just large enough to keep her standing where she believed she belonged.
“Still looking at it?” your voice came from behind her, calm and steady in a way that always irritated her. Yujin didn’t turn around right away. She only crossed her arms and smiled faintly, as if the numbers in front of her were a private joke. “Just making sure my name hasn’t moved,” she said, casual on purpose. You stepped closer, stopping beside her, close enough that she could sense your presence without looking. “For now,” you replied. She finally faced you, meeting your gaze with a confidence sharpened by years of never backing down. “That’s all I need.” You tilted your head slightly. “You sound scared.” She laughed softly. “Of you? Don’t flatter yourself.” For a brief second, something dark flickered across your eyes, and Yujin caught it—felt it—and the feeling that followed was an uncomfortable mix of satisfaction and familiarity.
Everyone at school knew about the two of you. You were never friends, but you were never strangers either. Your rivalry existed in quiet places: exam rankings posted outside classrooms, whispered comparisons after competitions, university recommendation lists passed from hand to hand. Midterms, finals, scholarships—every milestone became another invisible line drawn between you. Whenever Yujin stood at the top, you were there, close enough to breathe down her neck. Whenever you edged ahead, she made sure it never lasted. Once, someone asked why the two of you were always competing, and Yujin answered with a shrug and a smile, saying some people just couldn’t accept second place. You didn’t raise your voice when you replied that some people simply didn’t know how to share the spotlight. No one laughed after that.
What most people didn’t see was that this rivalry didn’t begin in school. It started at home, long before either of you learned how to calculate grades or measure success. Both of you were born into wealth, into families whose names carried weight in boardrooms and business headlines. Your parents moved in the same circles, smiling for cameras while quietly counting losses and gains, their companies forever compared, forever competing. At Yujin’s dinner table, she grew up hearing the same sentence repeated in different forms—we can’t lose to their family. At yours, the message was no different—don’t ever let them step over us. Pride was inherited. Losing was never an option. Friendship was never mentioned.
Later that day, the hallway was almost empty when Yujin passed you. Your shoulders brushed for a brief second, neither of you apologizing, neither slowing down. “You’re still applying to the same universities?” she asked, her voice steady as she kept walking. “Why?” you shot back. “Afraid I’ll follow you again?” She stopped and turned, eyes sharp. “You always do.” You met her gaze without flinching. “Only because we aim high.” Something unreadable crossed her face before she scoffed and turned away. You walked in opposite directions, both too proud to look back.
Graduation arrived faster than either of you expected. Once again, you stood in the same line. Once again, your names were called back-to-back. The applause sounded identical, as if the room itself refused to choose between you. As Yujin stepped down from the stage, she felt your presence beside her—close, familiar, unavoidable. She told herself it didn’t matter. High school was over. Your paths would finally separate. At least, that was what she believed. For now.
University was supposed to separate them. Different majors, different routines, different futures—at least, that was what Yujin had told herself when she signed the lease for the apartment. The building was large, modern, and expensive enough to house people who valued distance. Each unit was private, each door a clear boundary. She lived on the eighth floor. Across the hall, separated only by a strip of carpet and silence, was yours.
She found out the first night she moved in.
The elevator doors opened, and you stepped out with a box tucked under your arm, keys clinking softly in your hand. You stopped when you saw her, surprise flashing briefly across your face before settling into something controlled and unreadable.
“You’re here too,” you said.
“Unfortunately,” Yujin replied, then looked past you at the row of doors. When you unlocked the unit directly across from hers, she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Same apartment.
Different rooms.
Different lives.
At least, that was what she told herself.
You attended the same university, but your paths split the moment classes began. Different buildings. Different departments. Different expectations. On paper, there was no reason for either of you to cross the other’s world again.
And yet, Yujin heard your name everywhere.
Whispered between students in the hallway.
Mentioned casually during lectures.
Written in small articles shared on campus forums.
You were doing well—too well. Top of your department. Leading projects. Professors spoke of you with approval that sounded dangerously familiar. Yujin never asked directly, never searched your name, but the information reached her anyway, seeping into her thoughts when she least expected it.
She didn’t feel anger this time.
She felt something closer to reluctant acknowledgment.
You heard about her too.
Her name surfaced in conversations you weren’t part of, in group chats that buzzed late at night, in remarks from classmates who spoke with a mix of admiration and envy. Yujin was excelling—again. Different field, same result. Scholarships. Academic recognition. Quiet dominance.
You told yourself it didn’t matter.
But you listened anyway.
And somewhere between lectures and late nights at the library, you began to understand something you’d never allowed yourself to admit before: she wasn’t winning because she was competing with you. She was winning because she was capable.
The thought unsettled you more than any rivalry ever had.
In the apartment building, nothing changed on the surface.
You passed each other in the elevator, standing on opposite sides, eyes forward, words unspoken. You shared polite nods in the hallway, brief acknowledgments that ended before they could become conversations. There were no arguments, no banter, no attempts to bridge the distance.
Only silence.
But it was a different kind of silence than before.
It carried respect.
Yujin noticed how you always held the elevator door when she was a few steps away, even though neither of you ever said thank you. You noticed how she lowered her voice late at night, mindful of the thin walls between your apartments.
Small things. Quiet things.
Neither of you spoke about it.
Somewhere along the way, the rivalry shifted.
It no longer felt like a race.
It felt like recognition.
Two people walking separate paths in the same space, aware of each other’s strength, acknowledging it without words. There was no friendship between you—not yet. No closeness. No trust.
Just a mutual understanding that had never existed before.
And perhaps, for the first time, neither of you felt the need to prove anything at all.
Toward the end of the semester, something changed. At first, it was subtle—easy to dismiss if you weren’t paying attention. Yujin’s door stayed closed longer than usual. The hallway lights clicked off at night without the familiar sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor. Days passed without you seeing her in the elevator, weeks without the brief nods you had grown used to.
You told yourself it meant nothing.
Final semester was heavy for everyone. Deadlines stacked on deadlines. Internships, research, graduation requirements. People disappeared into their own lives all the time. It was normal. Logical. Reasonable.
And yet.
Her name began to fade too.
Where it used to surface casually in conversations, it now appeared less often—mentioned in passing, if at all. Professors spoke of other students. Group chats buzzed with different names. The absence was quiet, but it was noticeable, especially because you had grown accustomed to hearing it.
You didn’t ask.
You didn’t look her up.
You didn’t knock on the door across the hall.
Still, you noticed.
You noticed the way her apartment stayed dark late into the night. You noticed the untouched mail piling up near her door, envelopes curling at the edges. You noticed how the space she used to occupy felt… empty, even though nothing physical had changed.
You caught yourself pausing in front of her door once, keys already in your hand, mind inexplicably alert. The urge passed as quickly as it came. You stepped inside your own apartment and closed the door, telling yourself that whatever was happening wasn’t your concern.
But concern didn’t need permission.
It settled in quietly, the same way respect once had.
Yujin didn’t vanish completely.
You saw her once, late one evening, exiting the building just as you were coming in. She looked thinner, more tired—her shoulders tense, her gaze distant. She didn’t see you, or maybe she did and chose not to acknowledge it. Either way, the elevator doors closed behind her before you could decide what to do.
You stood there longer than necessary.
Later that night, you lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the image of her in your mind. You wondered if she was sleeping enough. If she was eating properly. If the pressure that had always followed her was finally starting to weigh heavier than she could carry.
You hated that your mind went there.
You hated that you cared.
Because caring meant crossing a line neither of you had ever dared to step over.
Graduation drew closer.
The campus buzzed with talk of the future—offers accepted, plans announced, goodbyes rehearsed long before they were needed. You moved through it all with a strange sense of detachment, aware that something important was slipping quietly out of reach.
And every time you returned to the apartment, every time you passed the door across the hall, you found yourself listening.
For footsteps.
For movement.
For proof that Yujin was still there.
You never knocked.
You never asked.
The worry stayed where it began—unspoken, unresolved, and entirely your own.
And somehow, that made it heavier than anything you could have said out loud.
You never intended to see Yujin that night.
The supermarket was nothing more than a brief stop after a long day—bright lights, cold air, and aisles far too quiet for the hour. You walked without much thought until the cashier’s voice calling the next customer made you stop.
You knew that voice.
And when you looked up, you knew you weren’t mistaken.
Yujin stood behind the counter, wearing a supermarket uniform that looked wrong on her. Her hair was tied low, carelessly. There was none of the confidence she usually carried. Only exhaustion, poorly hidden behind a flat expression.
You stared for a moment too long before realizing it.
When her eyes met yours, surprise flashed across her face—brief enough to almost be missed. She quickly schooled her features back into professionalism.
“Shopping this late?” she asked, her tone cold, as if this meeting meant nothing.
“Seems like it,” you replied shortly.
There was no further conversation. You placed your items on the counter, paid, took the receipt. Her movements were quick, efficient—like someone who didn’t want to leave any openings.
As you turned to leave, you caught the sound of her breath hitching, just slightly.
That was all.
You stepped outside, an uneasy feeling following you. It should have ended there. You had no reason to stay. No obligation.
But you didn’t go home.
You stood beneath the small awning in front of the supermarket, pretending to check your phone. Five minutes. Ten. You weren’t even sure what you were waiting for.
When Yujin came out for her break, she stopped short when she saw you still there.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“You think I’m following you?” you shot back.
She scoffed. “I’m not that stupid.”
You didn’t answer. You simply handed her the coffee you bought from the vending machine. No smile. No explanation.
She eyed it suspiciously. “I didn’t ask for this.”
“I know.”
She hesitated before taking it. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“We’re not changing anything.”
You sat on the bench outside the supermarket, leaving a small space between you. Neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting harsh shadows across Yujin’s face.
“You working here now?” you asked at last, even though the answer was obvious.
“Does it look like I’m playing around?” she snapped.
You exhaled quietly. “You’ve been barely around the apartment.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“True.”
Silence fell again.
“You’re not around campus much either,” you added, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
She turned to you sharply. “Are you watching me now?”
“You think you wouldn’t be noticed?”
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “You’ve always been like this. Acting like you know everything.”
“And you’ve always pretended you don’t get tired.”
That made her go still. Yujin stared at her coffee for a long moment before speaking again, her voice lower. “My family’s business is in trouble. My father made the wrong call. The debt is bad.” She paused. “That’s all you need to know.”
You didn’t respond right away. “I didn’t ask.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But you’re curious.”
You didn’t deny it.
Her break was almost over. Yujin stood first. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” she said, cold again. “I don’t need your sympathy.”
You stood as well. “Good. I’m not good at giving it.”
She walked back inside, the automatic doors closing behind her.
You stayed there a few seconds longer than necessary.
Annoyed that you had seen her like that.
Annoyed that you cared.
Annoyed that you knew, starting that night, you would pay more attention to her.
Not out of pity.
But out of curiosity you refused to admit.
And a resentment that was slowly losing its shape.
The weekend was supposed to be a pause.
For the first time in weeks, Yujin wasn’t rushing between classes and night shifts. She sat at the long dining table in her family’s house, the air heavy with familiarity—polite smiles, carefully prepared dishes, conversations that circled around everything except what truly mattered. Her mother kept refilling her glass. Her younger sibling scrolled through their phone in silence. Everyone was present, yet tense, as if waiting for a verdict.
Her father cleared his throat.
Yujin straightened without realizing it.
“I spoke with their family,” he said at last, voice measured, deliberate. “They’re willing to help us.”
The words landed softly, but their meaning echoed loud. Help meant money. It meant the pressure on their company easing, the numbers finally making sense again. It meant the debt—the one no one said out loud—could disappear.
“With their support,” her father continued, “the loans can be settled. The company will stabilize. We won’t need emergency measures anymore.”
Her mother let out a quiet breath of relief.
“And you,” her father added, turning to Yujin, “won’t have to keep working like this. No more night shifts. No leave of absence. You can focus on graduating. You only have a few months left.”
For a brief, dangerous moment, Yujin felt it.
Relief.
The kind that made her chest loosen, that whispered you can rest now. The kind she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time.
Then her father spoke again.
“There is a condition.”
The room went still.
Yujin’s fingers tightened around her chopsticks. “What kind of condition?”
Her father didn’t look away. “You will marry their child.”
The words didn’t make sense at first. They hovered in the air, detached from reality, as if spoken in another language. Yujin waited for him to clarify. To laugh. To say he was joking.
He didn’t.
“This is a strategic decision,” he said calmly. “A formal alliance. It will reassure investors. It will settle old conflicts. It benefits both families.”
Yujin stood up so abruptly her chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“You’re talking about marriage like it’s a contract,” she said, voice shaking despite her effort to keep it steady.
Her father met her anger with exhaustion. “Because that’s what it is, Yujin. And right now, it’s the only solution left.”
“You didn’t even ask me,” she shot back.
“I’m telling you,” he replied. “Because this family needs you.”
The words hit harder than any accusation.
She laughed once, sharp and bitter. “So that’s it? I work myself into the ground, and now I’m supposed to repay everything with my life too?”
Her mother finally spoke, voice gentle but firm. “We wouldn’t ask if there was another way.”
Yujin looked around the table. No one met her eyes. Not because they didn’t care—but because they already knew the answer they were hoping for.
Her gaze dropped to the floor.
You.
Of all people.
The irony was cruel enough to make her want to scream. Years of rivalry, of silent competition and inherited resentment, all leading to this. A solution built on pride, money, and control—just packaged as salvation.
She thought of the supermarket. The neon lights. The coffee she hadn’t asked for. The way you looked at her, not with pity, but with something she couldn’t name.
“You know I don’t love them,” she said quietly.
Her father’s voice softened. “Love isn’t the point.”
Yujin clenched her jaw.
No. Love had never been the point. Not in business. Not in legacy. Not in families like theirs.
She excused herself soon after, retreating to her old bedroom, closing the door with more force than necessary. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she buried her face in her hands, breath uneven.
Marriage.
A condition.
A solution.
And somehow, the most terrifying part wasn’t the idea of marrying you. It was the realization that saying no would mean letting everything collapse.
Outside, the weekend sun continued to shine, indifferent and bright. Inside, Yujin understood that her life had just been rewritten—without her permission.
The news reached you the way most things in your family always did—neatly packaged and delivered without room for refusal. Sunday evening, your parents asked you to sit with them in the living room. The house was quiet, almost too polished, the kind of silence that made every word feel heavy.
“Do you know Yujin’s family is in trouble?” your father began, as if it were common knowledge.
“I’ve heard,” you said cautiously. “But what does that have to do with me?”
Your mother’s gaze was sharp. “We’ve decided to help. It’s the most logical move. Their company is valuable, and this will finally settle the rivalry between our families.”
You frowned. “So you’re helping them because it benefits you.”
“Of course,” your father said calmly. “Business always does.”
“And me?” you asked. “Where do I fit in?”
Your parents exchanged a look. “There’s a condition,” your father said.
You already felt the tension tighten. “What kind of condition?”
“A formal union between the families,” your mother said carefully. “Marriage—with Yujin.”
You stood up abruptly. “No. I won’t do that.”
“It’s not your decision,” your father replied evenly. “We’re not asking.”
“This is insane!” you snapped. “You can’t just decide who I marry!”
“It’s a strategic decision,” your mother said. “A merger, if you will. It will stabilize everything.”
“I’m not a business,” you shot back. “I’m not a contract!”
“You were raised to understand responsibility,” your father said firmly. “This is part of it.”
“I won’t do it. Find another way!” you said, voice rising. “I refuse.”
A long silence followed. Then your father’s voice cut through. “If you refuse, don’t expect a single cent from us. No inheritance, no financial support.”
“You’re threatening me?” you asked, incredulous.
“We’re being clear,” your mother corrected. “This family doesn’t reward disobedience.”
Your fists clenched. “So my choices don’t matter?”
“They do,” your father said. “You can choose independence… or you can choose your duty.”
You left the room with your heart pounding, anger and disbelief twisting together. Marriage. Ultimatum. Money as leverage. And yet, the thought that unsettled you most wasn’t losing the inheritance—it was knowing Yujin was being forced into the same corner. Whether you liked it or not, your lives were about to collide in a way neither of you had chosen.
After a week had passed since the shocking announcement from both of your families, you and Yujin finally arranged to meet—just the two of you, away from your parents’ eyes and their manipulations.
You met in a quiet café tucked in a corner of the city, lights dim, the hum of conversation around you like background noise you barely noticed. Neither of you spoke at first, just sat across the table, tension heavy enough to press your shoulders down.
“So… this is real,” Yujin finally said, voice tight. “They’re serious.”
You clenched your hands around your cup. “Yeah. Your parents, my parents… they’re treating us like chess pieces.”
Yujin’s jaw tightened. “I hate it. I hate that we can’t do anything. I hate that they think our lives belong to them.”
“Me too,” you admitted, harshly. “They expect us to obey without question, and if we refuse… everything we’ve been given, everything we’ve worked for, it’s gone.”
She stared at her coffee, tracing the rim with a finger. “So what are we supposed to do? Just agree to it? Smile and play along?”
“I guess we have to,” you said bitterly. “Because if we don’t… neither of us comes out alive in this game. Financially, socially… everything. They win, and we lose.”
Yujin let out a dry laugh. “I can’t believe it’s come to this. Marry you… like it’s a contract.”
“Exactly. A contract,” you said. “Nothing else. That’s all it will be.”
You both fell silent, thinking, calculating, weighing the impossible. Finally, Yujin spoke again. “What if… we make it work on our terms? Contract marriage. We live in the same place, but… separate rooms. No interference. Just… survive until it’s safe to get out.”
You blinked, considering it. “We do it this way, we protect ourselves. We finish school, rebuild our lives… and when everything is stable, we get a divorce. Clean. Simple. No one wins except us.”
She nodded slowly. “Agreed. Just… survive. And don’t let them control us completely.”
You exhaled, relief mixed with the bitter taste of inevitability. For the first time that day, you felt like you had a plan. Not freedom, not choice—but a strategy. And sometimes, that was all you could hope for.
Finally, both families gathered for a formal meeting. The setting was luxurious, carefully chosen by your parents to reflect both status and control. The restaurant was tucked away in an exclusive part of the city, with marble floors that gleamed under the chandelier lights, velvet curtains that muted the sounds of the bustling streets outside, and tables spaced just far enough to guarantee privacy. Every detail screamed elegance: the polished silverware, the fine china, the delicate crystal glasses, and the subtle fragrance of fresh roses that lined the center of the table. It was the kind of place where appearances mattered more than anything else—and tonight, appearances were everything.
You and Yujin arrived separately, each escorted by your parents. Both of you walked into the restaurant with measured grace, masks perfectly in place, knowing full well what was expected. Yujin’s dress was understated yet elegant—a muted shade of pearl with clean lines that hinted at sophistication without drawing unnecessary attention. Your own outfit was equally neutral, a classic tailored suit that projected calm authority. From the outside, anyone watching might have thought the two of you were naturally poised, naturally respectful, naturally agreeable. But beneath the composed surface, the tension was almost unbearable.
Once seated, the families began exchanging pleasantries. There was polite laughter, a careful trading of compliments, subtle glances that measured each other’s posture, every word weighed for significance. Your parents’ eyes frequently flicked to you, noting your gestures, the way you sipped your water, the slight twitch of your fingers. Yujin’s parents did the same, scanning her every move with the faintest hint of pride mixed with worry. It was a silent war of observation—each family trying to assert subtle dominance while maintaining the illusion of cordiality.
“So, we’ve agreed,” your father said finally, lifting his glass in a precise motion, “the marriage will be private. A union for the benefit of both families, discreet and respectful.”
Yujin’s father leaned forward slightly, resting his hand near Yujin’s on the table—not touching, but enough to signal possession, protection, and expectation all at once. “Yes,” he said. “No public announcements. No unnecessary attention. Just stability for everyone involved. It is in everyone’s best interest.”
You tilted your head slightly, acknowledging the statement with a polite nod, and sipped your wine. Across the table, Yujin mirrored your gesture, holding the glass delicately before setting it down with a soft click. The symmetry of your movements, entirely unconscious yet entirely deliberate, created a silent understanding between the two of you: tonight, you were both performers in a carefully orchestrated scene.
The waiters moved with practiced precision, refilling glasses, presenting plates with flourishes that demanded admiration. The first course arrived: a delicate arrangement of seared scallops on a bed of microgreens, drizzled with a subtle citrus glaze. Each bite was meticulously described by the server, the names of ingredients pronounced with exaggerated elegance. Both families nodded appreciatively, and so did you and Yujin. Polite smiles, small murmurs of approval. On the surface, the evening appeared ordinary.
Beneath it, your eyes met once, briefly, and you saw the sharp glint of shared understanding. Neither of you laughed genuinely, neither relaxed fully. Every smile was a mask, every compliment carefully measured. You could feel the weight of the contract hanging over the table, thick and oppressive, pressing down on your chest like invisible chains.
Your mother leaned slightly forward, her tone warm but firm. “We appreciate your willingness to meet tonight. It is important for everyone to feel comfortable with the arrangement before we proceed.”
Yujin’s mother responded in kind, her voice calm but layered with expectation. “Yes. While the decision may have been difficult, it is for the good of both families. We trust that you both understand the significance of this union.”
You forced a small smile, nodding. “Of course. We understand.”
Yujin’s reply was equally composed. “Naturally.”
The meal continued. Courses were served in a slow, deliberate fashion: a velvety butternut squash soup, followed by a perfectly roasted sea bass with herb butter and seasonal vegetables. Each time a dish arrived, the conversation danced around neutral topics—travel, business trends, university achievements, polite curiosities about hobbies—but never strayed too close to personal feelings. Your families traded subtle jabs about legacy and influence, but couched them in compliments so that nothing could be called out directly.
Between courses, you and Yujin found ways to communicate silently. A raised eyebrow, a slight tilt of the head, a subtle shift in posture. These small gestures carried volumes: you were both aware of the absurdity, the unfairness, the way your lives had been suddenly dictated without consent. And yet, you maintained the façade flawlessly. To anyone watching, it looked like cooperation, like even enjoyment of the evening.
At one point, Yujin’s father leaned slightly toward her and spoke in a low voice, enough for you to hear only fragments. “Do not let them see weakness.”
Yujin’s eyes flicked to you, and though her lips were curved in a polite smile, there was fire in them. A shared glance passed between you, wordless but loaded with agreement. Weakness was not an option. Not tonight. Not ever.
Dessert arrived: delicate chocolate soufflés, accompanied by a selection of petits fours and a fine port wine. Your father raised his glass once again. “To a prosperous alliance,” he said, voice smooth, commanding, yet laced with personal satisfaction.
“To family,” Yujin’s father replied, echoing the sentiment, eyes briefly flicking toward you and then Yujin.
You lifted your glass, letting it clink softly against hers. Yujin did the same. The gesture was purely ceremonial, but underneath it, a silent promise was forming between the two of you: endure, protect yourselves, play the part.
Conversation drifted into safer waters—shared memories of your families’ histories, polite discussion about future plans that were already written by those sitting around the table. You and Yujin laughed at the occasional joke, each of you aware of the irony but careful to maintain the appearance of genuine amusement. The mask was flawless. Both of you were performers, dancing along the tightrope between obedience and personal survival.
By the end of the evening, as the last of the wine was poured and the check discreetly handled by your parents, a quiet understanding had settled between you and Yujin. You left the restaurant side by side, each carrying the same heavy weight of obligation but also a new, unspoken agreement: endure this, follow the rules, and survive. Separate rooms, separate lives, a shared façade. Until the day this contract no longer controlled either of you.
Outside, the city glittered with lights, oblivious to the silent battles being fought within its quiet streets. Inside both your minds, strategies had begun to form, meticulous and patient. Marriage, on paper, was a contract. But survival, on your terms, was the real plan. And tonight, that plan had taken its first deliberate steps.
The wedding day had finally arrived. The morning in the apartment felt quieter than usual, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for a moment neither of you had chosen. Yujin stood in front of the large mirror, wearing a long, elegant white dress, the satin fabric flowing gently along her figure, delicate lace adorning her shoulders and sleeves. Her hair was styled neatly, with a few strands left to frame her face, which remained graceful despite her eyes revealing a hint of hatred and resistance toward this situation.
You stood behind the door, silently watching. Though your feelings were mixed—anger at the situation, frustration at your parents, unease about the forced marriage—you couldn’t deny one thing: Yujin looked absolutely stunning. The dress, the faintly forced smile, the sharp yet fragile look in her eyes made you swallow hard. For the first time, you admitted to yourself that in this moment, Yujin was truly captivating.
Yujin, on the other hand, was aware of your presence. You were dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, a crisp white shirt beneath, your tie adjusted neatly. Your hair was styled simply but impeccably, projecting attention to detail without being flashy. Without speaking, Yujin felt an unexpected tug of admiration mixed with irritation. Quietly, she found herself thinking that you looked striking, even in the midst of a situation both of you despised.
When the moment came for you to stand together at the altar, facing each other for the first time in this sacred moment, the silence between you was almost tangible. All eyes of family and guests were on you, yet it felt as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. Yujin looked at you with a mixture of anger, frustration, and a hint of respect she could not hide. You felt the same—entranced, even while your mind raged against the unfairness of the situation.
As you both prepared to step forward, exchanging the formal gestures required by the ceremony, your eyes met briefly. No words were spoken, but in that fleeting glance, you understood each other perfectly: this was just a formality, a role to be played to satisfy your parents. Yet underneath it all, an unspoken acknowledgment lingered. You recognized Yujin’s beauty, and she, despite her resentment, acknowledged your appeal.
Every movement, every carefully forced smile, every step toward the altar was part of the performance you both executed flawlessly. Yujin’s white dress shimmered under the lights, contrasting with your dark, tailored suit. Both of you realized, deep down, that though hatred and frustration were present, there was something undeniable: a subtle, silent attraction emerging in the middle of a situation neither of you wanted.
Finally, standing at the altar and looking into each other’s eyes, there was a brief moment where anger and resentment softened, replaced by a quiet, honest recognition: that even in this forced circumstance, you both saw each other—astonishingly beautiful and compelling—in a way that could not be ignored.
After the wedding, the two of you moved into a new apartment that had already been prepared by both families. It wasn’t just any apartment—it was a luxurious penthouse in the most exclusive building in the city. From the outside, the building looked modern, its large glass panels reflecting the sunlight, with a lobby of polished black marble and crystal chandeliers. Each floor had 24-hour security and a private elevator that only residents could use.
As soon as the penthouse door opened, you were greeted by a spacious living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the cityscape. The morning light streamed in softly, illuminating a plush white leather sofa, a soft gray wool carpet underfoot, and a sleek glass coffee table. In the corner, a built-in bookshelf held a collection of classic books and minimalist decorations, adding a warm touch to the modern space.
The open-concept kitchen flowed seamlessly into the dining area, complete with a white marble island counter, modern stove, double oven, large refrigerator, and every household appliance imaginable—from blenders to coffee machines. There was nothing left for you to buy; everything had been meticulously prepared by your parents. Even Yujin’s master bedroom was fully furnished with a king-size bed, built-in wardrobe, and a private balcony. Your own room was equally luxurious, with modern minimalist design and breathtaking views of the city at night.
As you set down your suitcases, Yujin turned to you with a serious expression. “Remember,” she said firmly but calmly, “we agreed on the rules. Separate rooms, living in the same house, continuing our own activities until things get better and we can get divorced.”
You nodded, a slight smile tugging at your lips. “I remember. But honestly… living in a penthouse like this feels strange. It’s like stepping into the adult world, even though we’re still in college.
Yujin smiled faintly, tension still evident in her eyes. “I feel the same. But it’s the only way to survive without making our parents angry. Remember, we have to look normal, but quietly… we can live our own lives.”
You walked over to the living room, running your hand over the smooth, cold surface of the coffee table. “At least everything is already here. Household items, furniture, electronics… all we have to do is live here and focus on school.”
Yujin sat on the sofa, gazing out the large window. “True. But even though we hate each other, I sometimes watch you. Not for anything… just to make sure you don’t do something stupid in this house.”
You looked at her, holding back a smile. “I do the same. We have to know what the other is up to, so there are no surprises.”
Yujin raised an eyebrow. “No surprises, huh? Hmph… I’ll keep my room tidy. You do the same, right?”
“Don’t worry. My room will stay neat, classes continue, assignments get done. Nothing changes.”
Yujin looked at you for a long moment. “You’re really going to follow this contract, aren’t you?”
“Of course,” you replied seriously. “It’s just about surviving until things get better. After that, we’re free. We can still go to classes, join clubs, and live our normal lives. Only… now in the same house.”
Yujin exhaled and looked back out the window. “Yeah. I’ll do the same. But don’t think I’ll make it easy for you. I’ll still be busy with school, clubs, and friends. Don’t expect us to be close.”
“I don’t want to be too close either,” you said casually. “We just need to be polite, keep our distance, and not interfere with each other’s routines.”
You both began exploring the penthouse. You went to your room, checking the balcony and the city view, the lights of buildings twinkling at night. Yujin examined the bookshelves and cabinets in the living room, checking the neatly arranged classics. Everything was perfect, yet the tension in the air was unmistakable.
Your first dinner in the penthouse was at the long wooden dining table facing the large window. You sat at opposite ends, keeping a comfortable distance. No excessive words were exchanged, only polite, light conversation.
“I’ll continue going to classes like usual,” Yujin said, placing her fork down. “I know you have your own schedule and assignments. We’ll keep everything normal, right?”
“Yes, of course,” you replied. “This is our shared house, but our lives continue separately. Nothing changes except the address.”
Yujin glanced at you. “Alright. But remember, this contract isn’t a joke. We have to stay disciplined. Separate rooms, living in the same house, until we’re free.”
“Don’t worry,” you said with a slight smile. “I won’t break the rules. You’ll do the same, right?”
Yujin looked at you, exhaling deeply. “Yes. We have to keep boundaries. No getting too close, no interfering. All for… surviving.”
That night, after dinner, you both returned to your respective rooms. Soft lighting filled the penthouse, creating a warm yet quiet atmosphere. From your rooms, you could hear the pulse of the city outside while inside, only a tense yet strangely comfortable silence remained.
You knew that living in this penthouse was a mix of luxury and trap. Every need was fulfilled, but the contract you made under parental pressure demanded careful adherence. Despite the hatred, there was a quiet sense of observation, respect, and even a subtle curiosity toward one another.
This was the beginning of your new life: luxurious, safe, but full of boundaries. One house, separate rooms, individual lives continuing, while the contract awaited the right moment to be lifted. Silently, both of you knew this was only a temporary phase. But this phase would lay the foundation for your strategy to survive until the day you were truly free from all imposed rules.
The days in the new penthouse began with the same rhythm as before, yet the presence of each other felt heavier. That morning, sunlight streamed through the large living room windows, reflecting off the smooth wooden floors and the pristine white sofa. The house felt alive, but both of you moved with full awareness: one house, two people with statuses to maintain, and a contract that must not be broken.
You stepped out of your room first, wearing your neatly pressed school uniform. Yujin was already in the kitchen, standing gracefully while pouring tea into a white porcelain cup. Her hair was perfectly styled, her casual home attire simple yet elegant—relaxed but still projecting an aura of formality that made you resist glancing for too long. When your eyes met, Yujin turned slightly, hiding any expression, but there was a flicker of observation in her gaze.
“Good morning,” you said, your voice flat but polite.
“Morning,” Yujin replied briefly, without a smile, her tone calm but firm. There was no hint of playfulness—only strict politeness.
You took a glass of water from the fridge, standing near the dining table. “Are you ready for classes today?” you asked, keeping a formal tone.
“Yes. As usual,” she answered, sipping her tea. “I hope you’re also sticking to your schedule. Nothing should interfere with our routines.”
“Of course,” you said, straightening your posture. “We’re sticking to the contract.”
Yujin nodded slightly, then looked out the window, letting the morning light fall on her face. “I won’t initiate unnecessary interaction. So don’t expect any casual conversation. We just live in the same house, that’s all.”
“I understand. No casual talk. Just formal politeness and routine,” you replied.
After a brief, quiet breakfast, you both prepared for classes. Your rooms were tidy, belongings neatly arranged, nothing out of place. The elevator carried you down to the lobby, each of you maintaining posture and expression, because even though you lived in the same house, boundaries had to be preserved.
At campus, life returned to normal routines. Yujin moved with confidence and poise, while you focused on your own department. Even though you shared a home, rumors about each other’s academic excellence circulated, and you both observed each other—not with jokes, but with silent respect.
That evening, when returning to the penthouse, Yujin was already in the living room, standing tall while gazing at the city through the large windows. You entered slowly, carrying your school bag, pausing to admire the view. No smiles, no casual gestures—just a brief, evaluative glance.
“Good evening,” you said formally.
“Good evening,” Yujin replied, without looking at you for long. Her tone remained flat, tinged with alertness.
You set your bag down, straightening your back. “Today was tiring. Group projects, class discussions… everything went as usual.”
Yujin nodded lightly. “I hope you remember, even though we live in the same house, there’s no tolerance for careless behavior. We must follow the contract.”
“You’re right,” you said, bowing your head slightly in acknowledgment. “Separate rooms, no interference, pursue our own activities. That’s enough.”
There was a pause. You exchanged brief glances, then Yujin returned her gaze to the city. “Still, I watch how you manage life here, just to make sure no small mistake could break the contract.”
You inhaled briefly, replying evenly, “I do the same, but no more. We have to remain formal, maintain boundaries. That’s it.”
Yujin exhaled. “Hmph… fine. But don’t misunderstand, I’ll remain a strict observer. No compromise.”
You nodded, equally serious. “Understood. No compromise. This is only about surviving until things get better. After that, the contract ends.”
The following weeks continued in the same pattern, but the atmosphere was different. No playful jokes, no light-hearted banter—only formal interactions full of dignity. You maintained distance, respected each other’s space, and strictly followed the contract. Occasionally, there were brief glances in the elevator or living room, no smiles, just subtle observation that couldn’t be ignored.
One night, from her living room balcony, Yujin glanced at you from afar, posture upright, expression still formal. “You truly follow the contract. I respect that,” she said succinctly, affirming the boundaries between you.
You turned slightly, standing straight, voice flat but firm. “That’s how it should be. We follow the rules. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Yujin added, looking at the city, not you. “I still hate this situation. But I admit… you don’t make my presence in this house unpleasant.”
You nodded, matching her tone. “Me neither. That’s enough. Nothing else.”
Even though your interactions appeared formal, even cold, there was a subtle tension that could not be ignored—slow-burn emerging from glances, from perfectly maintained distance, from quiet respect born from recognizing each other’s capability and pride. No words of jest or familiarity were spoken; only the acknowledgment of one another’s presence, restrained within the strict limits of the contract.
This was your new life: college, a luxurious home, formal interactions filled with pride, and a contract demanding strict compliance. Every day, you learned to adapt, maintain boundaries, and silently assess each other—without looking like friends, yet quietly respecting one another. The slow-burn had begun, hidden beneath layers of pride, discipline, and formal tension marking your status as a reluctantly bound couple.
That night, the atmosphere in the penthouse felt different. You were preparing dinner as usual—two neatly arranged portions on separate plates, everything precisely placed. The aroma of garlic and spices filled the kitchen, a familiar scent, but tonight it carried a subtle tension.
Yujin appeared from the living room, wearing a gray tank top and black shorts. Her hair was loosely tied, yet her posture remained graceful and composed. Without saying a word, she walked toward the dining table and glanced at the chair across from you. This time, she sat at the dining table, not in her room or on the sofa like usual.
“You’re going to eat at the table?” you asked, your tone formal, almost rigid.
Yujin raised an eyebrow and glanced at you without a smile. “Yes. There’s no other reason. I just want… to eat properly,” she replied, her voice flat yet clearly observant, carrying an air of pride.
You nodded slightly, pretending to focus on arranging the plates. “Very well. Please sit. I’ll just make sure everything is in order.”
Yujin looked at the plate in front of you, her movements measured. “Two portions as usual,” she said. Her tone remained cool, but there was a subtle acknowledgment of your disciplined habit.
“Yes, as usual,” you replied curtly. “Nothing has changed.”
You both sat across from each other, maintaining perfect distance. Silence enveloped the room, broken only by the sound of utensils and your breathing. No jokes, no smiles—only a faint tension that lingered in the air.
Yujin glanced at her plate before picking up her spoon, her movements graceful and precise. You watched from across the table, maintaining a formal demeanor, yet subtly observing every detail—how Yujin held her spoon, how she placed her plate, how she sat. Everything seemed simple, yet impossible to ignore.
After a few bites, Yujin looked at you briefly. “You always arrange the second portion so neatly,” she said flatly, without smiling. “Is that your duty?”
“It’s… my duty,” you replied, steady. “Just making sure everything goes according to the rules. Nothing more.”
Yujin nodded slightly, glancing at her plate before shifting her gaze toward the window. “Hmph. You’re always disciplined. No compromise,” she said.
“Discipline is important,” you said briefly. “Especially in a situation like this.”
Silence returned. Soft classical music played from the living room, adding to the formal and tense atmosphere. You ate quietly, maintaining distance, following the contract. But gradually, there was a subtle awareness—an underlying tension that couldn’t be ignored. The slow burn that had been hidden began to emerge through glances, posture, and the way you both occupied the same space.
After a few minutes, Yujin set down her spoon and glanced at you. “I suppose… I will allow myself to eat at the table occasionally,” she said, her tone still formal. “But don’t misunderstand. This isn’t because I want to be close to you.”
“You don’t need to worry,” you replied evenly. “I’m just maintaining the contract. Nothing more.”
Yujin tapped the edge of the table lightly with her fingers, then looked back at the window, her posture still graceful. “Make sure you remain disciplined. No mistakes.”
“Always,” you said briefly, reaffirming the boundaries.
After finishing, Yujin stood, carrying her own plate. “I’ll clean my plate myself,” she said. “You don’t need to interfere.”
“Very well,” you replied. “I will also clean my own plate.”
She returned to the sofa, sitting with her usual elegance. You finished your task in the kitchen, pausing for a moment to glance at her from afar. No smiles, no sweet words—just quiet observation that made the atmosphere feel different. There was a subtle attraction, yet it remained hidden beneath pride and discipline.
That night, dinner was completed in total formality. No jokes, no internal monologues—only tension that lingered between you. Every movement, every glance, created a slow-burn attraction, gradually emerging beneath the strict observance of rules.
You both returned to your rooms afterward, maintaining distance, formal, yet with one change: the presence of each other felt more tangible, harder to ignore. The slow burn that had been hidden was beginning to take hold amidst the tension and pride that defined your current relationship.
Yujin had been looking exhausted for the past few days, her face pale and her steps slow. She sat on the sofa, a blanket covering her body, her eyes half-closed as she tried to endure her discomfort. You stood nearby, keeping your distance, but your concern couldn’t be ignored. A glass of warm water and fever medicine sat neatly on the side table within her reach.
“You need to take this,” you said, your tone formal but soft, placing the glass and pills in front of her.
Yujin looked at you with a cold expression, trying to maintain her pride. “I can take it myself. No need to bother,” she replied.
“Making sure you don’t forget isn’t a problem,” you said shortly. “I’m just doing what’s right.”
She swallowed the medicine and lowered her head briefly. You stayed standing, adjusting the blanket to make her more comfortable, making sure she stayed warm. Silence filled the penthouse, only the sound of swallowing and breathing breaking the stillness. No smiles, no kind words, but a subtle tension lingered in the air.
You decided to prepare something nourishing for her, food that was easy to digest. The aroma of chicken and vegetable soup filled the room. Yujin glanced at the tray you placed in front of her, expression neutral, but her eyes carefully observed your movements. “You’re really meticulous,” she said eventually, her voice cold but with a faint undertone almost imperceptible.
“Discipline is important,” you replied. “Especially when others can’t take care of themselves.”
She looked at you briefly before taking a spoonful, eating slowly. You sat in the chair beside the sofa, keeping your distance, yet every movement was deliberate—making sure her glass of water was close, arranging the spoon and plate neatly, without intruding on her space. There was something in the way she looked at you, as if your attention was beginning to pierce through the wall of pride she usually maintained.
As evening came, Yujin lay on the sofa, the blanket covering her completely, staring at the ceiling. You prepared a cup of warm tea and placed it on the side table, maintaining distance but remaining vigilant. She accepted the tea without protest, signaling that she was gradually trusting you to be near, even while keeping her graceful, formal demeanor.
Your attention remained consistent. Every time she took medicine or a bite of food, you ensured everything was neatly arranged, the temperature just right, and the glass of water within reach. Yujin began to lower her guard, accepting your careful presence. She didn’t smile, but there was a calmness slowly emerging—a feeling that could not be ignored, even while pride remained intact.
One night, you sat beside her sofa, quietly watching as she ate her soup. Silence filled the penthouse, only broken by the sound of her spoon against the bowl and soft breaths. Without words, your care was evident in every action: placing an extra plate for her, adjusting the blanket, keeping the glass of water close. Yujin glanced at you from time to time, her eyes hinting at a comfort she had never admitted before.
“You always make sure everything is arranged perfectly,” she said, tone formal yet softer than usual. “Not many people would do that.”
“Ensuring others are comfortable is simply the right thing to do,” you replied briefly. “Nothing more.”
She lowered her head, taking another slow bite, then looked at you again. A warmth began to grow in her chest, something she hadn’t admitted before, slowly making her heart incline toward you. She realized that your attention—quiet, measured, consistent—was not just formality or duty. It was genuine, hidden behind the layers of pride and the contract you both maintained.
That night, after she finished her tea, Yujin closed her eyes for a moment, her body more relaxed than before. You stayed in the chair beside her, maintaining distance, making sure she was comfortable. Silence still filled the penthouse, but now it felt different. A subtle attraction was growing, beneath the formality, discipline, and pride you both had upheld.
Even though words remained cold, and glances measured, that night marked the beginning of something new: Yujin was starting to care for you. Not with sweet words, not with playful teasing, but through the recognition that your concern for her was more than duty—and slowly, quietly, she was beginning to acknowledge it, beneath the slow burn you had maintained.
After the days you had spent caring for Yujin while she was sick, something had begun to shift. She moved with slightly more ease around the penthouse, her usual guarded demeanor softened just enough to notice. That morning, you entered the kitchen to find the smell of something cooking—pancakes, scrambled eggs, and freshly brewed coffee.
Yujin stood by the stove, focused on flipping a pancake, her hair tied loosely at the back. She glanced over her shoulder at you, expression formal as ever. “I thought… we should have breakfast together,” she said, voice calm but carrying a hint of something unspoken.
You raised an eyebrow, momentarily surprised. “For both of us?”
“Yes,” she replied shortly, turning back to the stove. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not trying to be… considerate. I just thought it would be easier this way.”
You resisted the urge to smile. “I see. Very practical of you.”
Despite her words, there was a subtle warmth in her gesture. You watched her move around the kitchen, flipping pancakes and stirring eggs, her focus absolute but occasionally glancing at you as if seeking silent approval. You felt a strange mix of surprise and comfort—a slow realization that she was letting you into her space, even in the smallest way.
Later, at dinner, the shift became even more noticeable. Yujin sat across from you, the table set for two as usual, but tonight she didn’t eat in silence. Between bites, she began muttering complaints about assignments, lectures, and the professors she found particularly difficult.
“I swear, some of these professors have no idea what they’re teaching,” she said, her tone half-frustrated, half-resigned. “And don’t get me started on the project deadlines. It’s impossible to finish on time!”
You listened quietly, maintaining the usual formal composure, but inside, there was a sense of curiosity and even slight amusement. “I suppose that’s what happens when you overestimate the efficiency of the system,” you said evenly.
Yujin glared at you, but only for a moment, before rolling her eyes and returning to her food. “Hmph. You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”
“I prefer practical solutions,” you replied. “Not cleverness.”
There was a pause, then she sighed, leaning back in her chair. “It’s just… exhausting sometimes.”
You nodded, the corners of your lips lifting slightly even though your tone remained formal. “I understand,” you said quietly. “Managing everything can be overwhelming.”
For the first time, you noticed how her small gestures—cooking breakfast, sharing complaints, even allowing herself a sigh in your presence—created a space of subtle intimacy. It was unusual, unfamiliar, yet comforting. She was beginning to break the strict boundaries of the contract, just enough for a connection to form without words, without overt vulnerability, yet noticeable to anyone paying attention.
As the evening wore on, you caught yourself observing her in ways you hadn’t before—the way she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her eyes flicked to you when recounting her frustrations. You didn’t move closer, didn’t break the formal distance, but there was a warmth in your chest you hadn’t anticipated.
Yujin, for her part, seemed aware of it too. Though she didn’t verbalize her feelings, her actions—preparing meals, speaking more openly about her daily struggles—hinted at a growing trust and, perhaps, an unconscious reliance on your presence. She still maintained the crisp edge of her pride, the carefully maintained composure, but the lines were softer than before, revealing that subtle shift in the dynamic between you.
By the time dinner ended, both of you had returned to your usual routines, but the air between you felt different. There was a quiet acknowledgment, unspoken but undeniable: something had begun to grow, fragile and slow, between two people who had long kept distance, discipline, and pride as shields. For the first time, you allowed yourself to feel that being near her—seeing her small gestures, hearing her complaints, even tolerating her sharp remarks—was not just tolerable, but unexpectedly comfortable.
The slow burn was no longer invisible. It lingered, soft and persistent, between the two of you, in the shared glances, the quiet meals, and the tiny ways she had begun to invite you into her day.
After weeks of sleepless nights and relentless research, you and Yujin finally submitted your final projects. The weight that had burdened your shoulders for months felt lighter for the first time in a long while. Graduation was still a week away, but tonight, you decided to celebrate on your own—just the two of you—with a small bottle of wine you had picked up from a nearby store.
Yujin opened the bottle skillfully, her movements precise and graceful as always. “I’ll pour first,” she said flatly, placing two glasses on the table. Her eyes glanced at you briefly, signaling that she wanted to maintain control, as she always did.
You nodded, feeling a subtle sense of happiness in your chest. “Alright, but don’t overdo it,” you said, half joking, half warning.
Yujin lifted her glass, her gaze steady, carrying a faint anticipation beneath her calm tone. “Relax. I know my limit,” she replied. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not trying to be… considerate. I just thought it would be easier this way.”
You resisted the urge to smile. “I see. Very practical of you.”
Despite her words, there was a subtle warmth in her gesture. You watched her move around, pouring the wine and holding the bottle with care, occasionally glancing at you as if seeking silent approval. You felt a strange mix of surprise and comfort—a slow realization that she was letting you into her space, even in the smallest way.
After a few minutes, Yujin began to show subtle signs. Her eyes reddened slightly, and her cheeks flushed faintly. “Hmm… this is… stronger than I thought,” she admitted, trying to maintain her composure, but her voice wavered just a little.
You held back a laugh. “You look calm, but it seems… this isn’t your usual glass,” you remarked, keeping your tone formal but with a hint of amusement.
Yujin leaned back on the sofa, staring at her glass. “I… I didn’t know I was this bad at drinking,” she said flatly, a hint of weakness creeping into her words. “I usually manage more, but this… hmm…”
You looked at her seriously, but inside, your chest warmed seeing this rare vulnerable side of Yujin. “Then take a break. Don’t push yourself,” you advised, firm but gentle.
Yujin nodded, giving a faint, almost imperceptible smile. “Hmph… you’re always too concerned,” she said, trying to maintain her pride, yet her tone couldn’t fully hide the comfort she felt.
The mood relaxed further. Yujin, usually composed and careful, now sat slightly closer to you, her hands occasionally brushing the table or her glass, a little disorganized but still graceful. You observed her, holding back a smile, feeling strangely at ease watching her human side come through.
After a while, she laughed softly, a light, unusual sound. “You… this feels weird, but I’m enjoying it,” she said, looking at you, her cheeks reddening further. “Even though I won’t admit it, this… is fun.”
You sipped your wine, holding back your smile. “If you marry me for this, don’t be surprised if I never let you forget it,” you said half jokingly, tone formal but warm.
Yujin looked at you, almost losing her composure for a moment, then ducked her head, laughing softly. “Hmph… you talk too much,” she said, but this time the edge was gone; it was lighter, relaxed.
As the wine dwindled, Yujin began to sway slightly on the sofa, her eyes drooping, yet she tried to maintain a serious gaze on you. You immediately stood, adjusting pillows and a blanket, keeping your distance but ready if she needed support.
“If you feel like sleeping, you should go to your room,” you said, formal but gentle. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”
Yujin turned toward you, her cheeks flushed and eyes half-closed, but a warm glint shone in her gaze. “Alright… but don’t think I’m easy to beat,” she said with a faint, shy smile, her pride still intact even as she was clearly tipsy and relaxed.
You simply nodded, holding back your smile. That night, despite the wine and slight chaos, felt different. There was laughter, attention, comfort emerging quietly. Yujin—the poised, disciplined, always-proud Yujin—finally showed a vulnerable side that made your heart stir. And on the other side, you realized that slowly, the formal distance between you was beginning to fade, bit by bit, making that night one you would both remember.
You carefully helped Yujin into her room, her steps unsteady and eyes half-lidded. The moment you crossed the threshold, a strange feeling of “breaking protocol” surged through you—a private space that had always been hers, and yet here you were, guiding her. Your chest tightened slightly, a mix of responsibility, awkwardness, and something warmer you didn’t dare name.
“She’s really… drunk,” you muttered under your breath, steadying her as she swayed. Yujin leaned lightly against you, her head brushing your shoulder, and you felt the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Careful… you’re heavy,” you said softly, trying to maintain composure, though your mind raced at the intimacy of the moment. Gently, you guided her toward the bed, expecting her to sit or lie down, but her coordination betrayed her.
Then, suddenly, she lost her balance. Before you could react fully, the world tipped sideways—her momentum carried her forward, and you stumbled backward onto the bed.
And then she was on top of you.
Yujin’s body pressed against yours, her weight soft and warm. You froze, caught between instinctively moving her off and the closeness that made your heart hammer. Her cheeks flushed deeper than from the wine, and her hair brushed your neck.
“I-You okay?” you stammered, careful not to move too suddenly.
“I… I’m fine,” she mumbled, her voice slurred but oddly shy. Then, unexpectedly, she leaned closer, her lips brushing yours.
For a heartbeat, you were stunned, frozen under her. But then the initial shock gave way to something you couldn’t deny. Slowly, almost instinctively, you returned the kiss. Your hands instinctively rested on her waist to steady her, while she clung lightly to your shoulders, still unsteady but bold enough to close the distance.
The kiss was brief at first, hesitant, almost questioning, and yet charged with everything neither of you had admitted in words over months—frustration, pride, subtle care, and a growing warmth that had been simmering beneath the surface.
When the kiss ended, you instinctively moved to sit up, heart racing, feeling the need to regain composure. “I… I should go—” you started, the words awkward in the charged silence of the room.
But before you could rise completely, Yujin’s hand lightly pressed against your chest, stopping you. “Don’t… go,” she whispered, voice soft, vulnerable, almost pleading. Her flushed cheeks and slightly unfocused gaze made your chest tighten in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
You froze, looking down at her. “I… I can stay,” you said after a brief pause, careful to keep your voice steady, though your heart was pounding.
Her eyes softened, a rare break from her usual sharp and guarded demeanor. “Just… stay here for a bit,” she murmured, leaning back slightly against the pillows, yet keeping you close by. “I… don’t want to be alone right now.”
And then she kissed you again—deep and slow, her hands slipping into your hair as she pulled you closer. The sweetness of the wine lingered on her lips, intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol. The kiss deepened, her fingers tightening slightly against your scalp, her breath hitching just once—a quiet admission that she wanted this, wanted you, despite everything.
The careful distance you’d both maintained for so long unraveled in the heat of that moment. Her touch was insistent, almost desperate, as if she was afraid you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when she tasted like surrender and something far more dangerous—hope.
Her fingers skimmed lower, hesitating just once before pressing against the hard outline straining against your pants. You inhaled sharply, grip tightening on her hips as she asked, voice rough with want, "Are you sure about this?" You could still stop. The rational part of your brain screamed that you should. But then she arched into you with a quiet, defiant, "No. I want this too," and every shred of restraint shattered.
Clothes became obstacles, discarded in hurried, clumsy movements that left Yujin bare beneath you, her skin flushed and trembling. She didn’t look away when you finally saw her—really saw her—vulnerable and wanting. Her breath hitched as your hands traced the dip of her waist, the curve of her hip, like you were memorizing her.
"I don't know that ur thing is so big," Yujin murmured, half-dazed, brows knitting together as she stared down between your bodies. The admission slipped out unfiltered, her usual sharpness dissolved into breathless wonder. You caught her wrist before she could pull away, guiding her fingers back to your skin—letting her feel, letting her learn—until her touch turned bold, curious.
The night burned slow after that—hot, messy, and startlingly honest. Words tangled with moans, pride gave way to gasps, and somewhere between the sweat-slick sheets and the shared breaths, Yujin arched against you with a broken sigh, fingers clutching your shoulders like an anchor. You followed her over the edge moments later, forehead pressed to hers, the weight of everything unspoken hanging heavy between you.
Dawn crept in unnoticed. Yujin stirred first, blinking awake to the unfamiliar warmth of your arms still wrapped around her, skin against skin. Her breath hitched—just slightly—before she schooled her face into its usual cool composure. "...Morning," she murmured, voice roughened by sleep and last night's exertion. "Last night was... amazing."
Your thumb brushed a slow circle against her hipbone, watching the way her lashes fluttered at the touch. "Of course I remember," you said, voice low.
Yujin exhaled sharply through her nose—half amusement, half surrender. "Good," she said, and for the first time, there was no guarded edge, no deflection. Just two words, soft and certain, before she tilted her head to catch your lips again. The kiss tasted like daylight and something dangerously close to promise.
Yujin exhaled sharply through her nose—half amusement, half surrender. "Good," she said, and for the first time, there was no guarded edge, no deflection. Just two words, soft and certain, before she tilted her head to catch your lips again. The kiss tasted like daylight and something dangerously close to promise.
The apartment smelled of garlic sizzling in oil when you padded into the kitchen at 1 PM, still shirtless. Yujin stood at the stove in nothing but your oversized button-down, the thin cotton doing absolutely nothing to hide the way her nipples peaked against the fabric. You didn't think—just closed the distance in three strides and palmed her breast through the shirt, rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger. Her gasp was immediate, her back arching into your touch even as the wooden spoon clattered against the pan.
"Lunch will burn," she warned breathlessly, but made no move to pull away. Instead, she leaned back against you, ass pressing into the obvious hardness in your sweatpants. The contrast was delicious—domesticity and hunger tangled together—and when you bit her earlobe, her hips jerked in answer.
You slid your free hand under the shirt's hem, tracing the dip of her waist. "Let it," you murmured against her neck, and felt her shiver. The stove clicked off. The spoon was forgotten. And when Yujin turned in your arms to kiss you, her mouth was hot and demanding, her fingers already working at the drawstring of your pants. Lunch could wait.
"Let's make it quick," you said when your fingers slid lower, finding her already soaked.
Yujin laughed—a breathless, defiant sound—as she pushed you against the counter. "You first," she countered, sinking to her knees. Her tongue licked a molten stripe up your length before taking you fully into her mouth, and your grip on the countertop turned white-knuckled. The sight of her—hair messy, lips stretched around you, your shirt barely covering her thighs—was enough to make your hips jerk forward involuntarily.
She pulled back with a wet pop, eyes glinting. "Patience," she chided, dragging her nails down your thighs just hard enough to sting. When she took you in again, slower this time, her free hand slipped between her own legs, fingers working in tandem with each bob of her head. The obscene slick sounds filled the kitchen, mingling with your ragged breathing.
Your grip tightened in her hair instinctively—not pulling, just anchoring—as your hips twitched forward. "Fuck, Yujin... I don't want to finish inside your mouth," you growled, though the way she hollowed her cheeks suggested she had other plans.
She released you with a wet sound, lips slick and parted, looking up through her lashes with challenge. "Who said you get to decide?" Her fingers wrapped around your base, thumb swiping over the leaking tip just to watch your abdomen clench.
You didn't let her finish the taunt. Fisting your hand tighter in her hair, you yanked her head back sharply—not enough to hurt, but enough to make her gasp. The sudden motion forced your cock from her mouth with a lewd pop.
"Now let me take over," you growled, dropping to your knees in one fluid motion. Before she could react, your fingers slid between her thighs, finding her dripping folds with zero preamble. Two fingers sank into her slick heat in one brutal thrust, curling forward to press against that spongy spot inside her that made her back arch violently. "Fuck—!" she choked out, her own fingers scrabbling at your shoulders for balance as you pistoned your hand ruthlessly.
The kitchen tile bit into your knees as you added a third finger, stretching her deliciously tight around your knuckles. "You wanted quick?" you taunted, watching her thighs tremble around your wrist. "Then come for me. Now." Your thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles just shy of painful—exactly how she liked it when she was this wound up.
Yujin's moan shattered into a scream as her orgasm hit, her cunt clenching around your fingers in rhythmic pulses. You didn't let up, fucking her through it until she smacked weakly at your forearm, oversensitive and shaking. Only then did you withdraw, licking her arousal from your fingers with deliberate slowness while maintaining eye contact.
Before she could catch her breath, you gripped her hips and flipped her onto all fours. In one swift motion, you sheathed yourself inside her to the hilt. Her back arched violently, a punched-out gasp escaping her lips as she clenched around you—still wet, still trembling from her climax. "Fucking—wait—" she panted, but you didn't. Couldn't. The way her inner walls fluttered around your cock was maddening, and you set a brutal pace immediately, each thrust punching a broken sound from her throat.
Her fingers scrambled against the tile as you fucked her raw, the wet slap of skin echoing off the stainless steel appliances. You leaned over her, biting the junction of her neck and shoulder hard enough to bruise. "This what you wanted?" you growled against her damp skin, hitching her hips higher for a deeper angle. She couldn't even form words anymore, just nodded desperately, her hair sticking to her forehead with sweat.
You pulled her upright against your chest, one hand fisting in her hair while the other cupped her breast, pinching her nipple sharply as you continued driving into her. Yujin's head fell back against your shoulder with a choked moan, her body pliant and overheated in your grip. "Feel that?" you muttered against her ear, thrusts turning jagged. "How deep I am when you're like this?"
Her answering whimper was all the confirmation you needed. The orgasm hit you like a freight train—your hips stuttered violently before you buried yourself to the hilt with a groan, filling her pulsing warmth. Yujin shuddered in your arms as aftershocks wracked her body, her inner muscles milking every last drop from you until you both collapsed onto the cold tile in a tangled, breathless heap.
After all those things happened, the boundaries they had created finally collapsed. There were no separate rooms anymore, no contract marriage, no lingering resentment. The two of them lived like a husband and wife brought together by love.
Today was graduation day. Their last day in college, the last day in their uniforms, the last day as students. And the first day of their future together as husband and wife.
Yujin woke up early, slipping out of bed quietly to prepare breakfast. She wanted today to be special. As the scent of food filled the penthouse, she felt arms wrap around her waist from behind.
"You're up early," you murmured against her neck, pressing a kiss there.
Yujin smiled, tilting her head to give you better access. "It's graduation day. I wanted to make it special."
You turned her around in your arms, cupping her face. "Every day with you is special."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "Cheesy."
You grinned. "Only for you."
After breakfast, you both headed to the shower. Standing under the warm water together, Yujin turned to face you. "No sex," she said firmly, though her eyes darkened with desire. "We'll save that for after the ceremony."
You raised an eyebrow. "Is that a promise?"
She smirked. "A threat."
You pulled her closer, water cascading over your bodies. "I'll hold you to that."
The shower was slow, intimate without being sexual. Hands traced familiar paths over soap-slick skin, not to arouse but to memorize. It felt like a ritual, washing away their past selves before stepping into their future. As Yujin rinsed shampoo from your hair, you caught her wrist and pressed a kiss to her palm.
"Ready?" she asked as you stepped out, wrapping a towel around her waist.
You tugged her close by the towel. "For anything, as long as it's with you."
She laughed, swatting your chest. "Stop being romantic and get dressed. We're going to be late."
The cap and gown felt foreign yet significant as you adjusted hers first—fingers lingering at the collar longer than necessary. "Nervous?" you asked, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders.
Yujin exhaled sharply through her nose. "Not about graduation." Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. "Just... what comes after."
You caught her hand mid-fret, pressing it over your heartbeat. "We'll figure it out. Together."
The elevator ride down was silent except for the rustle of fabric when she shifted closer—not touching, but close enough that the warmth of her arm bled through the stiff graduation robes. As the doors opened to the lobby, her pinky hooked around yours for just a second before letting go, disappearing back into professional distance as they stepped into the sunlight. The unspoken promise hung between them brighter than any diploma ever could.
Commencement passed in a blur of speeches and handshakes, but all you remembered was the exact moment Yujin turned her tassel—the way her eyes flicked to yours across the crowd like a magnet finding true north. When they called your name, her cheer cut through the noise sharper than anyone else’s, and you knew then that every late-night study session, every stolen kiss in the library stacks, every murmured "just survive this" had led here: to her.
The reception was a minefield of champagne flutes and nosy relatives, but Yujin navigated it with lethal grace, her hand a brand on the small of your back whenever someone lingered too long. "Smile and nod," she whispered once, her breath hot against your ear as your great-aunt interrogated your post-grad plans. "Then we’ll ditch these vultures and I’ll show you exactly how proud I am." The way her teeth grazed your earlobe turned the threat into a sacrament.
Across the room, your father raised his glass with a knowing smirk while Yujin’s mother dabbed at happy tears. "Tell us," her father boomed, sloshing whiskey onto the tablecloth, "what do you two lovebirds want for your next chapter?" Yujin didn’t hesitate—her answer sharp as the knife she’d used to stab her salad. "The Maldives." Your parents’ eyebrows shot up in perfect unison. "For our honeymoon," you added, watching comprehension dawn in their faces like sunrise over the ocean.
Later, pressed together in the backseat of the hired car, Yujin laughed against your mouth with the giddy disbelief of someone who’d outmaneuvered fate itself. "You know they think we consummated this marriage weeks ago," she murmured, fingers working open your belt buckle with practiced ease. The limo divider was up. The driver was discreet. And when her hand slid into your pants, you realized this was her version of gratitude—raw and messy and perfect.
The penthouse door barely clicked shut before you had her pinned against it, mouths colliding in a kiss that tasted like champagne and victory. "Yeah, we will go to Maldives tomorrow," you growled between biting at her lower lip, "but let me claim your promise first." Yujin arched into you with a breathy laugh, already tugging at your graduation gown. "Take me," she challenged, dragging her nails down your chest. "I don’t forget what I promised you."
Your hands slid beneath the hem of her dress, hiking it up her thighs until the fabric pooled at her waist. Yujin gasped when you hauled her up by her ass, her legs locking around your hips instinctively. "Bedroom," she demanded against your mouth, already grinding against the straining bulge in your pants. "Now." You didn’t argue—just spun and carried her down the hall while she tore at your clothes, buttons scattering across the hardwood like fallen stars.
The mattress dipped under your combined weight as you tumbled onto it, skin meeting skin in a feverish slide. Yujin's back arched off the sheets when your mouth found her nipple, teeth scraping just shy of pain. "Fuck—your mouth," she gasped, fingers tangling in your hair to keep you there. You obeyed, sucking a bruise into her flesh while your hand slid between her thighs, finding her soaking wet and already clenching around nothing. "Look at you," you murmured against her breast. "So ready for me."
Yujin's breath hitched when you dragged her down the bed by her hips, her thighs falling open in shameless invitation. The first lick up her slit was slow—deliberate—just to feel her shudder. Her taste exploded on your tongue, tart and addictive, and you groaned against her as your hands dug into her hips to keep her still. "Don't move," you ordered, nipping at her inner thigh when she bucked up. "Let me take my time."
Her grip in your hair turned punishing as you worked her over with your mouth, alternating between broad strokes and focused flicks at her clit. The room filled with the obscene sound of your lips sliding against her, punctuated by her ragged gasps. When you slipped two fingers inside, curling them just right, her thighs trembled violently around your head. "Close—fuck, I'm close," she warned, her voice cracking.
You pinned her hips harder against the mattress with your free forearm, not letting her chase her pleasure while your tongue circled her clit relentlessly. Yujin's back arched off the sheets as she let out a broken sob, her muscles tightening like a vice around your fingers. "Fuck I'm cumming—" Her shout echoed off the penthouse walls as her orgasm hit, her whole body shuddering while you drank her in, not letting up until her legs spasmed weakly against your shoulders.
The sheets beneath her were soaked, but you didn't pull away—instead curling your fingers deeper inside her, finding that spongy spot that made her heels dig into the mattress. "N-no more," Yujin gasped, thighs trembling violently as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. But you kept going, watching her stomach muscles clench with each slick thrust of your fingers while her juices leaked down your wrist in a steady stream, glistening under the dim bedroom light.
"Countless, huh?" you murmured against her inner thigh, nipping the delicate skin there as your fingers slowed to a maddening tempo. Yujin's breath came in ragged pants, her fingers clutching the sheets like they were the only thing tethering her to reality. "Y-you're..." Her voice cracked as another shudder ran through her—not quite an orgasm this time, but the relentless aftershocks of pleasure that kept her trapped on the edge.
You finally withdrew your fingers with a wet sound, holding them up to her lips with a wicked grin. "Taste yourself," you ordered, watching her hazily obey—her tongue darting out to lick her own arousal from your fingertips with a mixture of exhaustion and hunger.
Her legs were still spread wide, trembling with oversensitivity, when you dragged the swollen head of your cock through her slick folds—slow, teasing strokes that made her hips jerk forward instinctively. "Stop—stop torturing me," Yujin gasped, her nails digging into your forearms as you lingered at her entrance without pressing in. A sharp whimper escaped her when you circled her clit with your thumb instead, her swollen flesh throbbing against your touch.
"Tell me what you want," you murmured against her inner thigh, nipping at the tender skin there while keeping your hips just out of reach. Her answering groan was equal parts frustration and desperation, her thighs clamping around your waist in a futile attempt to pull you closer. "Fuck me—god, just fuck me already," she pleaded, her voice cracking on the last word as you dragged another ragged moan from her with a particularly rough stroke.
You gave her exactly what she wanted with one brutal thrust—burying yourself to the hilt in a single, unforgiving movement that sent her arching off the bed with a shout. "Fuck—it's so deep!" she gasped, her nails raking down your back as her body struggled to adjust to the sudden stretch. The way her walls fluttered around you was intoxicating, squeezing tight like she was trying to pull you deeper even as her legs trembled against your hips.
Then you pulled back—slow, deliberate—until just the tip remained inside her, letting her feel every inch of you leaving her empty. Yujin whimpered at the loss, her hips chasing yours instinctively. Before she could react, you snapped forward again, the slap of skin echoing off the walls as you bottomed out inside her once more. Her cry shattered into a breathless moan, her fingers digging into your shoulders like she was trying to anchor herself against the onslaught.
You set a merciless pace, each thrust punching the air from her lungs as her breasts bounced with the force of your movements. The bedframe groaned in protest beneath you, the rhythmic squeaking drowned out by Yujin's increasingly desperate pleas. "Harder—god, harder," she gasped, arching up to meet your hips with reckless abandon. Sweat dripped down your collarbone, landing on her flushed chest as you obeyed, pistoning into her with enough force to make her toes curl.
Her thighs quivered around your waist as she teetered on the edge, her fingers scrambling for purchase against sweat-slick skin. "Ohhh fuck yes, don't you dare stop—" The warning dissolved into a shattered cry as her orgasm ripped through her, her body locking around you in violent spasms. You froze immediately, buried deep as she convulsed beneath you—her inner walls milking your cock in rhythmic pulses that drew a ragged groan from your throat.
Tears welled at the corners of her squeezed-shut eyes as aftershocks wracked her frame, her breath coming in sharp, stuttering gasps. You brushed damp hair from her forehead, murmuring praise against her parted lips while her body gradually stilled—though her cunt continued to flutter around you in lingering tremors. "Breathe," you murmured, nipping at her swollen bottom lip before soothing it with your tongue.
Her fingers flexed against your biceps—not pushing you away, but anchoring herself as she gulped air like she'd just surfaced from deep water. You remained buried inside her, letting her adjust while your thumb lazily circled her oversensitive clit—just enough pressure to make her hips jerk, but not enough to tip her back over the edge. Yet. "Too much," she gasped, though the flush spreading down her chest betrayed how much she loved it, her thighs trembling where they bracketed your hips.
You withdrew slowly until only the tip remained, watching her glistening folds cling desperately to you before slamming back in to the hilt—the abrupt stretch wrenching a punched-out moan from her throat. "Wait—" she begged, her body arching instinctively to take you deeper even as her hands scrambled at the sheets. You didn't relent, setting a punishing rhythm that had her toes curling against the backs of your thighs, her protests dissolving into breathless whimpers with each brutal thrust.
Her hips jerked against yours erratically when your thumb found her clit again—circling the swollen bud in harsh counterpoint to your thrusts, dragging her toward another climax whether she was ready or not. "Fuck—I can't—" Yujin's voice cracked as her back bowed off the mattress, her cunt spasming around you in helpless pulses. The wet slap of skin filled the room as you fucked her through it, her nails raking down your sweat-slick back when she came with a shattered cry—her body trembling beneath you like a live wire.
"That's it," you growled against her throat, feeling her clench around you in frantic ripples—but something was different this time. Her thighs clamped around your hips violently, her breath hitching in a way that wasn't just pleasure. "Wait—fuck, it's different," she gasped, her eyes flying open in stunned confusion as her body tensed impossibly tighter. Then—without warning—her thighs spasmed apart as a hot gush of liquid sprayed between you, splashing across your stomach and chest in a startling arc. The sheets beneath her were instantly drenched, her scent saturating the air as her entire body convulsed with the force of it.
Yujin's mouth fell open in silent shock, her fingers clutching at your shoulders like she was afraid she might float away. The aftershocks kept coming—smaller spurts leaking out around your cock with each shallow thrust you couldn't stop giving her. "I—I didn't know—" she stammered, her cheeks flaming scarlet as she stared at the mess between you with wide, disbelieving eyes. You dragged your fingers through the slick pool on her stomach, holding them up to her parted lips with a dark grin. "Taste yourself," you ordered—and when her tongue darted out obediently to lick her own release from your fingers, her shudder wasn't from shame but primal satisfaction.
You pulled her legs back around your waist, thrusting back into her sodden cunt with a groan at the obscene squelch—her oversensitive walls fluttering weakly around you as another thin stream leaked out with the motion. Yujin's breath hitched, her fingers twisting in the sheets as you leaned down to lick a stripe up her throat. "Again," you demanded against her pulse point, your hips setting a relentless pace that had fresh tears welling in her eyes. "I want to feel you come apart on my cock like that again." Her answering whimper was equal parts exhaustion and anticipation—her body already responding despite the tremors still wracking her frame.
Her back arched violently when your hand found her clit again—the rough circles sending shocks of pleasure up her spine as your cock pistoned into her bruised depths. "N-no more—I can't—" Yujin's voice cracked mid-protest as her thighs clamped around your hips, her cunt spasming in erratic pulses around you. The orgasm hit her like a freight train—her entire body locking up as another hot gush sprayed between your bodies, splattering across your chest in thick rivulets. Her scream dissolved into choked sobs as her hips jerked helplessly against yours, her vision whiting out completely as sensation overwhelmed her.
You followed her over the edge with a groan—your thrusts turning erratic as your balls tightened against her ass. The first spurt of cum had her twitching violently around you, her oversensitive walls milking every last drop from your cock as you emptied yourself deep inside her. Her name tore from your throat like a prayer as you buried yourself to the hilt—your hips stuttering through the aftershocks until you collapsed atop her trembling form, both of you slick with sweat and sex.
When you finally pulled out with a wet sound, Yujin didn't even twitch—her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as unconsciousness claimed her. A thin trickle of cum leaked from her gaping cunt onto the ruined sheets beneath her, her thighs still parted limply where you'd left them. You brushed damp hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss to her slack mouth before settling beside her—content to watch the slow return of color to her cheeks as her body recovered from the brutal pleasure you'd wrung from it.
Her fingers twitched first—just a flutter against your chest—before her lashes fluttered weakly against her cheeks. "Back with me?" you murmured against her temple, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her closer. Yujin hummed something unintelligible against your shoulder, her body curling instinctively into your warmth as sensation gradually returned to her limbs. You smoothed a hand down the curve of her spine, feeling each shuddery exhale fan against your collarbone as she slowly regained awareness of her own body.
When she finally blinked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, you tucked a strand of sweat-damp hair behind her ear and whispered, "At the Maldives, every night will be like this." Your thumb traced the swollen curve of her bottom lip as her breath hitched—her thighs rubbing together reflexively at the promise. "Prepare yourself, honey." Yujin's answering smile was slow but wicked, her voice raspy with exhaustion when she murmured, "So I'll be drenched," her fingers trailing down your stomach to trace the mess you'd made of her.
Hi I absolutely love your content. This is so good.
How would IVE react when they are alone with their boyfriend and they start ovulating and get extremely horny?
Gaeul
"Wake up."
You slowly open your eyes as you let out a huge yawn. Instinctively you try to stretch, but you realize something on top of you is hindering your movement. Or rather someone. Your girlfriend is sitting on your crotch, only the blanket separating the two of you.
"Morning, beautiful."
You're still half asleep as you reach up to caress her cheek.
"Morning? It's 1 pm."
You blink once.
"Already?"
"Yeah."
You were never an expert at reading people, but spending so much time with her, you now catch up on the way the corners of her mouth slightly twitch when she's irritated. Then you notice Gaeul isn't just sitting on top of you. She is pressing into you. Slightly.
"Is there a reason why you're waking me up like this except for me sleeping for way too long?"
Gaeul slowly raises one eyebrow. Your sign that she is not in the mood for jokes. It doesn't happen often, but when it does you know better than to run your mouth.
"I thought you are a responsible boyfriend."
"Am I not?"
Your confusion must be written all over your face.
Until Gaeul holds up your phone and you make out the notification on your lock screen. A notification from the app you use to track her cycle.
"Oh."
Yujin
"What are you gonna do about it?"
Yujin's cheeky voice makes you roll your eyes.
"Stop it. I'm driving."
"What? Am I annoying you?"
She moves even closer. Her hand lingers on your thigh, agonizingly slowly moving toward your crotch.
"Can't this wait? We are home in like 30 minutes."
"What if I do this?"
Yujin moves her lips right to you ear. As she lans closer, her tits brush against your arm. A needy, despite, longing moan slowly drips from her lips and into your ear. You're are already too hard to concentrate on the road properly. You won't be able to last those 30 minutes.
"You should punish me if I'm annoying you."
You don't want to admit that she's doing that. Not because you don't want to punish her, but because if you say she's annoying, she won't just use it to her advantage now, but also use it against you maybe later today, or tomorrow or next week.
You're still torn as you pass a sign that tells you a gas station is close by.
"You wouldn't even have to stop driving, you know?"
Yujin keeps on going with that tone that is a mixture of sweetness and pure lust. Her hand has finally reached the zipper of your jeans.
"I can just take it out and straddle you. You could still see over my shoulder and I could just..."
Her voice gets higher toward the end of her sentence. But then it ends with a gasp as you make the car come to a screeching hold. Yujin didn't even notice you got off the highway.
After quick glance around to make sure the two of you are alone, you grab her chin and look straight into her eyes for the first time in an hour.
"Bend over the hood."
Rei
"Please, it won't take long."
Rei whines while she fumbles for your belt. You're confused by how cute and needy she sounds while looking this hot.
"Your members could get back any second."
You hesitate, but Rei doesn't care.
"So what? I don't care if they see. I just...I just need you so bad right now."
She quickly gets on her tiptoes and captures your lips with hers to stop you from resisting. You instinctively place a hand on her waist while she undoes your belt. Her clumsy movements tell you how horny she must be right now. It takes her a moment, but then her hands move from your belt to the button of your pants as she breaks the kiss.
"Treat me like a bad girl."
She whispers in a needy, sultry voice. Now her tone matches her look. A Rei you don't see as often as you'd like to.
"Are you one?"
You decide it's not worth the effort to try to resist any further. Rei is gonna get what she needs from you either way.
"Yes, I am. If you knew what I'm thinking of letting you do to me..."
She lets the sentence hang in the air. An invitation for you to take the lead.
"Bad girl."
You whisper in her ear, making Rei's head tilt back as she sighs. Turning her around, you push her toward the table and bend her over, her hands resting on the white surface. She's now face to face with herself, staring right into the mirror.
"Girls like you need to watch themselves getting punished."
Rei's lips part in a lustful moan that tells you she's surrendered all of her control to you.
Wonyoung
You don't notice she's joined you at the dinner table, until she lets out a sigh to get your attention. You look up from your work, surprised to see her.
"Since when have you been sitting here?"
Looking at your gorgeous girlfriend, you also wonder why she's wearing these glasses. Then you look down at what is lying in front of her. A notepad. The page is filled with simple math. Nothing more complicated than 9x10. At the corner, you catch your initials, followed by a heart and then her own.
"I've been waiting for you so you can tutor me."
You raise an eyebrow. What is going on now?
"Tutor you?"
"Yes. My parents asked you to help me out, because I'm about to fail my class."
Wonyoung acts innocent while playing with her pen. You're still not entirely sure where this is coming from. Why would she suddenly start pretending you're her tutor? Is she trying to roleplay? You're even more confused. Wonyoung is the definition of a pillow princess. As much as she likes to have sex, she's never initiated anything sexual through the entirety of your relationship...until now. Is this her first time trying this because she feels bad for you having to always go for it? Or is she just so horny she can't wait for you to initiate something until after you're done with work? Is that it?
"Wony-?"
"Will you please help me?"
She almost sounds desperate now. Seeing through her glasses, you catch a glimpse of plea in her eyes.
"I need it so bad."
Liz
Your girlfriend has been acting very suspicious these past couple of hours. No eye contact, cheeks red, only short sentences. She has already disappeared twice into the bedroom without any further explanation. When you're both home, she usually always stays with you in the same room. But not today.
When she slips away for a third time, your curiosity gets the best of you. You hesitate if you should really spy on her. But isn't it your duty as your boyfriend to make sure she's okay?
Glad you now have a proper excuse, you carefully walk up to the closed bedroom door.
You hear nothing at first. But then you catch a quiet whine, maybe a gasp. That's definitely Liz. What's she doing? You continue to listen. Another gasp, this one louder. You hear her shuffling around on the sheets. Is she sick? A louder moan breaks your thoughts. Definitely not sick.
Your eyes grow wide as you realize what your usually so innocent girlfriend is doing right now. The you hear her gasping your name. Once, twice...She mumbles something else, but it's too quiet to make out words.
Feeling your cock growing hard to the sound of your girlfriend touching herself while thinking about you, you wonder if you should barge in. After all, doing it together is better, no?
Leeseo
"Do you like me better with my ear covered, or exposed like this?"
Your girlfriend's sudden unprompted question surprises you as she smiles at you while tugging her hair behind her ear.
"You look gorgeous either way."
You smile back, but it almost seems to you as if Leeseo isn't satisfied with that answer. You've noticed that during class earlier she couldn't stay still in her seat. Now, during lunch break, the two of you are alone in the classroom. And she keeps on flirting with you. Sometimes subtly, sometimes a little more obviously, she tries to highlight her physical attributes. The top button on her blouse is undone as well. Now she moves her legs a little, revealing more of her bare thighs as her grey skirt rides a little higher.
You catch her studying your face, looking for a reaction. For a moment you wonder if you're making this all up in your head. You know from experience that Leeseo can get a little adventurous and oblivious to risks when it comes to having fun with you in a different way that isn't school appropriate at all. Last week's incident with Yujin not just walking in on you two, but also getting her face wet with her mouth wide open in shock is a prime example of Leeseo's recklessness.
"Right here?"
You ask quietly, a little afraid you misinterpreted her signals.
"Right here."
Her voice is suddenly barely a breath. You can see excitement and nervousness mix in her eyes.
"Don't you want to?"
She teasingly pushes the hem of her skirt upward with her hand, until she reveals her simple pink panties.
Haewon x Male Reader, a noona romance. Y/N just debuts and somehow he already gets a dating scandal with Haewon.
BLUE VALENTINE
NMIXX Haewon X Male Reader
10K Words Counted
—
The lights were blinding. That was the first thing they never really prepared you for in the training basement. You could practice facial expressions in the mirror for six years, you could run on a treadmill until your lungs burned to build stamina, but nothing prepared you for the sheer, disorienting violence of music show stage lights.
"And... cut! Great job, guys!" the PD’s voice boomed over the intercom.
The red tally light on the main camera flickered off.
Y/N dropped his pose immediately, his chest heaving like a bellows. Sweat dripped from his bangs, stinging his eyes. Beside him, his bandmates were collapsing into crouches, gasping for air, but Y/N just stared at the camera that had been zoomed in on his face seconds ago. His debut stage. M Countdown. It was done. He didn't fuck it up.
"Movement! Clear the stage!" a floor manager shouted, clapping his hands aggressively.
"hana-dul-set," the leader of Y/N’s group panted, signaling the bow. "Thank you! We worked hard!"
Y/N bowed ninety degrees, the adrenaline slowly curdling into exhaustion. As they shuffled off the stage, navigating the labyrinth of cables and props, the sensory overload began to fade, replaced by the distinct, sterile smell of the backstage hallways—hairspray, dry ice, and cheap coffee.
They turned the corner toward their waiting room, and Y/N nearly walked straight into a petite figure holding a portable fan.
He skidded to a halt, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum. "Oh, shit—sorry, I didn't see—"
He looked up. He froze.
Oh Haewon was standing there, looking effortlessly polished in a stage outfit that probably cost more than Y/N’s parents' car. She lowered her portable fan, raising an eyebrow. Even with the heavy stage makeup, her eyes held that sharp, terrifyingly intelligent glint that Y/N had known since they were trainees.
"Language, Rookie," Haewon deadpanned.
Y/N straightened his spine, panic overriding his exhaustion. "Sunbaenim! Hello. I apologize."
Behind Haewon, Bae popped her head out of the NMIXX waiting room, chewing on a straw. "Ooh, look at him. Fresh meat. Did you cry on stage? You looked like you were gonna cry."
"I didn't cry," Y/N defended quickly, then looked back at Haewon. "I just... the lights were bright."
Haewon smirked, stepping closer. The distance between them was professional, but the air felt charged with the years they had spent in the same practice rooms in Cheongdam. She was his senior—his Noona by industry standards and age—and she never let him forget it.
"I saw the monitor," Haewon said, her voice dropping to a register that made the hair on Y/N’s arms stand up. "Your ending fairy. You bit your lip."
Y/N felt the heat rise up his neck. "Was it too much?"
"It was cheesy," she teased, reaching out to flick a piece of confetti off his shoulder. The touch was brief, clinical, but it burned. "But the fans will eat it up. Congratulations on debuting, Y/N. You finally made it out of the dungeon."
"Thanks to your advice, Noona," he slipped, the honorific coming out naturally before he could catch it. He quickly corrected himself. "Sunbaenim."
Haewon’s smile softened, just a fraction. It was the smile she used to give him when he was failing monthly evaluations and she’d sneak him chocolate bars. "Keep working hard. Don't let the fame get to your head, or I'll have to humble you myself."
She turned to leave, her hair whipping slightly, leaving the scent of vanilla and expensive perfume in her wake.
Y/N stood there for a second too long, staring at her back, until his manager shoved him forward. "Move it, Y/N. We have a fan meeting in twenty minutes. Stop staring at the seniors."
—
The adrenaline crash hit around 1:00 AM.
Y/N was back at the dorms, showered, scrubbing the last remnants of eyeliner from his waterline. His phone was buzzing with congratulations texts from family and old friends, but he felt hollow. Hunger was gnawing at his stomach. The frantic energy of the debut had evaporated, leaving him starving and restless.
He pulled a black hoodie over his head, tugged a beanie low over his damp hair, and grabbed a mask.
"Hyung, I'm going to the convenience store," he called out to his roommate, who was already passed out.
The Seoul night air was crisp. The streets near the JYP building were quieter at this hour, though never truly empty. Y/N kept his head down, walking briskly toward the GS25 on the corner. He just wanted ramen. Maybe a sausage. Just something greasy to celebrate surviving day one.
He pushed the glass door open, the chime dinging, and headed straight for the instant noodle aisle.
He was reaching for a spicy cup noodle when another hand reached for the same one.
They both retracted their hands. Y/N looked up.
Standing there, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that swallowed her frame and a black bucket hat, was Haewon. She had no makeup on, her skin glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights of the store. She looked younger, softer, and infinitely prettier than she had on stage.
"Are you stalking me?" Haewon asked, her voice muffled by her mask.
"I could ask you the same thing," Y/N retorted, relaxing instantly. It was weird; he should be terrified of her, but away from the cameras, she was just the girl who used to roast his dance moves.
"Please. I'm a busy woman. I just needed..." She gestured vaguely to the pile of snacks in her arms. "Fuel."
"Dieting going well?"
"Shut up." She grabbed the spicy noodle cup. "I saw the broadcast properly when I got home, by the way. You did good. Your vocals were stable."
Y/N felt a bloom of warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the heater in the store. "Coming from the vocal queen, that means a lot."
Haewon rolled her eyes, but her eyes crinkled at the corners. She was smiling. "Come on. Since it's your debut day, Noona will treat you. Put your stuff on the counter."
"You don't have to—"
"I said," she commanded, pointing a finger at him, "Noona will treat you. Don't disobey your seniors."
They bought their haul—ramen, ice cream, and two sodas—and stepped outside. There was a small plastic table set up on the patio, partially obscured by a delivery truck. It seemed private enough.
"Sit," Haewon said, kicking a plastic chair out for him.
They sat in the cool night air, slurping noodles. For twenty minutes, they weren't idols. They were just two twenty-somethings exhausted by the grind. Haewon complained about her in-ear monitors malfunctioning; Y/N vented about his stylist making his pants too tight.
"You have something here," Haewon said suddenly.
Y/N froze, a noodle halfway to his mouth. "Where?"
"Here." Haewon leaned across the small, wobbly table. She reached out, her thumb brushing the corner of his lip where a speck of soup broth had splashed.
It was an instinctive, motherly gesture. The kind she did for Kyujin or Jiwoo. But Y/N wasn't Kyujin. He was a twenty-year-old man who had been half in love with her for three years.
He stopped breathing. Her face was inches from his. He could see the faint dark circles under her eyes.
"Messy eater," she murmured, pulling her hand back. She then reached up and tugged the hood of his sweatshirt, which had slipped down. "Cover up. If a saesang sees that hair color, you're dead."
"Thanks," Y/N croaked, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
"Go home, Y/N," she said, standing up and gathering her trash. "You have Music Bank tomorrow. Don't be late."
"Goodnight, Noona."
She waved over her shoulder, walking back toward the company dorms. Y/N watched her go, touching the corner of his lip where her thumb had been.
From the dark alleyway across the street, about fifty meters away, the shutter of a DSLR camera clicked rapidly, firing off twenty frames in five seconds.
The photographer checked the preview screen. The angle was perfect. From here, Haewon wiping his lip didn't look like cleaning; it looked like a caress. Her pulling his hood up didn't look like hiding him; it looked like she was pulling him in for a kiss.
"Jackpot," the photographer whispered.
—
The banging on the door sounded like a SWAT raid.
Y/N jolted awake, tangled in his sheets. Sunlight was streaming through the curtains. He checked his phone. 7:00 AM.
"Y/N! Open this fucking door right now!"
It was his manager, Min-seok. And he sounded furious.
Y/N scrambled out of bed, tripping over his bag, and unlocked the door. Min-seok stormed in, his face purple with rage. He didn't say a word; he just shoved his phone into Y/N’s face.
"Explain this. Now."
Y/N blinked, his eyes adjusting to the bright screen. It was a Nate Pann article. The headline was bold, red, and terrifying.
[BREAKING] MONSTER ROOKIE Y/N CAUGHT ON LATE NIGHT DATE WITH NMIXX LEADER HAEWON?
Y/N felt the blood drain from his face. He scrolled down with trembling fingers.
The photos were grainy, low-light, but undeniable. There was Haewon, clearly identifiable even with the mask. There was Y/N.
Photo 1: Them sitting close at the table, laughing.
Photo 2: Haewon reaching out to his face. The caption read: Haewon caressing Y/N’s cheek affectionately.Photo 3: Haewon grabbing his hood. The caption read: The lovers share an intimate moment in the shadows.
"Hyung," Y/N stammered, looking up at his manager. "This... this isn't what it looks like. We just ran into each other. She was buying me ramen because I debuted. She was wiping soup off my face!"
"Does that look like soup wiping to you?" Min-seok yelled, snatching the phone back. "The comments are tearing you apart! Look at this!"
He read them out loud, his voice dripping with venom.
"He debuted yesterday and he's already dating? unprofessional.""Keep your hands off Haewon, you clout chaser.""JYP losing control of their artists lol.""Look at how she looks at him. Disgusting."
"Get dressed," Min-seok spat. "Division 4 called. We’re going to the company. The Blue Room."
Y/N felt like he was going to vomit. The Blue Room was where careers went to die.
—
The conference room was freezing. The air conditioning was blasting, but Y/N was sweating through his shirt. He sat on one side of the long table. His manager sat beside him, refusing to look at him.
On the other side sat the head of Division 4, a stern woman with glasses, and NMIXX’s manager.
And Haewon.
She was sitting perfectly still, hands clasped on the table. She looked tired. She wasn't looking at Y/N.
"Let's make this quick," the Division 4 head said, tossing a packet of printed photos onto the table. "Is it true?"
"No," Haewon said immediately. Her voice was steady, calm, authoritative. "I went to the store. I saw Y/N. He looked hungry. I bought him food as a senior. I wiped a stain off his face because he’s a messy eater. Then I told him to go home."
"It looks intimate, Haewon," her manager sighed, rubbing his temples. "The hood grab? It looks like you were about to kiss him."
"It was cold," Haewon lied smoothly, though Y/N knew she had done it to hide his hair. "I was fixing his hood."
The executive turned her cold gaze to Y/N. "And you? Did you invite her out?"
"No, Ma'am," Y/N said, his voice cracking. "It was a coincidence. I... I respect Sunbaenim very much. There is nothing romantic going on."
"Yet," the executive muttered. She leaned back in her chair. "Listen. The public doesn't care about the truth. They care about the narrative. And the narrative right now is that NMIXX's leader is distracted by a rookie boy toy, and that the new boy group member is unprofessional."
Silence hung heavy in the room.
"We will release a statement," the executive continued. "Denying it. 'Close sunbae-hoobae relationship,' 'supporting the debut,' standard PR nonsense."
She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.
"But from this moment on, you two are dead to each other. Do you understand?"
Y/N swallowed hard. "Yes."
"No interactions at music shows. No mentioning each other on Bubble. No looking at each other in the hallways. If you are in the same room, you move to opposite corners. We need to kill this rumor by starving it. If I see one more photo, Y/N, you are back to trainee status. Or worse. Contract termination."
Y/N’s heart stopped. Termination. One day after debut.
"Haewon, as the leader, I expect you to be smarter," the executive scolded.
"I understand," Haewon said, her jaw tight. "It won't happen again."
"Good. Get out."
They stood up. The scraping of chairs sounded like gunshots in the quiet room.
They walked out into the hallway together. The managers were lagging behind, talking in hushed tones about the press release. For a brief second, Y/N and Haewon were walking side by side.
Y/N looked at her, desperate to apologize. "Noona, I—"
"Don't," Haewon whispered harshly, staring straight ahead. She didn't look at him. Her face was a mask of cold professionalism. "Don't look at me. Don't talk to me. Just walk."
She picked up her pace, storming down the corridor and turning the corner, disappearing from his sight.
Y/N stood there, the fluorescent lights humming above him, feeling entirely, utterly alone. The scandal hadn't ruined his career yet, but as he watched her leave, he felt a sharp pang in his chest that told him the punishment was going to be much harder than the crime.
Because for a terrifying moment last night, when she had touched his face, he had wanted the rumors to be true.
—
The internet didn't just move on. It festered.
In the week following the scandal, the narrative crystallized into something ugly and unshakable. JYP’s statement—“They are close colleagues supporting each other”—had done its job for Haewon. For the public, Oh Haewon was the benevolent, charismatic leader of NMIXX, the "God-baby" who was simply too kind for her own good. She was the victim of her own generosity, caught in a frame with a rookie who didn't know his place.
For Y/N, however, the statement was a death sentence.
He was the "Attention Seeker." The "Leech." The "Parasite."
He sat in the back of the practice room during a break, his phone screen dimmed to the lowest setting. He knew he shouldn’t look. The company psychologist had told him explicitly: Do not read the comments. But it was like picking at a scab.
@NMIXX_Protector99:"Haewon is literally an angel buying food for a starving trainee and this nugu dares to look at her like that? Know your level, bitch."
@KpopTruths:"Y/N’s vocals are average at best. The only reason people know his name is because of Haewon. He used her for clout on debut day. Calculated."
@Ot6_Forever:"Leave the group. You’re staining their reputation. Die."
"Y/N," his leader, Jun-ho, said softly, pulling the phone out of his hands. "Stop it."
Y/N looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles carving hollows into his cheeks that no amount of concealer could hide anymore. "It’s fine, Hyung. They’re right about the clout part. Our MV views tripled since the article."
"That’s not how we wanted the views," Jun-ho snapped, though his anger was directed at the situation, not Y/N. "You haven't eaten properly in three days. Get up. We have Inkigayo pre-recording."
Y/N stood up, his legs feeling like lead. "I'm fine. As long as they aren't attacking the rest of you, I'm fine."
And that was the sick, twisted truth of it. Y/N checked the comments on his groupmates' individual fancams. They were clean. "So handsome," "Talented," "Stan the group, ignore the trash member."
Good, Y/N thought, a grim sense of satisfaction settling in his gut. I’m the lightning rod. If I burn, at least the house stays standing.
—
The atmosphere at SBS Hall was suffocating.
Walking through the corridors of a music show broadcast station was usually a social affair. Idols bowed, greeted each other, exchanged albums. But as Y/N walked down the hallway to the restroom, the air changed.
He passed a group of rookies from another company. They stopped talking as he approached. He heard the whispers as he passed.
"That's him.""The one who hit on Haewon-sunbaenim.""Bold for a rookie."
Y/N kept his head down, eyes fixed on the floor tiles.
He turned the corner and nearly collided with a staff member pushing a rack of costumes. He side-stepped, bowing apologetically, and when he looked up, he saw her.
Haewon was standing near the vending machines with Lily and Sullyoon. She looked radiant. Her hair was styled in intricate waves, her stage outfit sparkling under the hallway lights. She was laughing at something Lily said, her smile bright and unburdened.
Then she saw him.
The laughter died in her throat instantly.
Lily and Sullyoon followed her gaze, their expressions shifting to awkward pity.
Y/N felt a muscle in his jaw jump. He remembered the order from the Blue Room. No interaction. Dead to each other.
He didn't bow. He didn't smile. He shifted his gaze to the wall three inches to the left of Haewon’s head, making himself a ghost, and walked past them without breaking stride.
He could feel Haewon’s eyes burning into his back. He could practically hear the sharp intake of breath she took, as if she wanted to call out to him. But she didn't. She couldn't.
He was the villain, and she was the princess. Villains don't get to say hello.
—
The incident happened two hours later, during the "mini-fanmeeting" departure.
Because of COVID restrictions easing, fans were allowed to line the pathway leading from the studio exit to the idol vans. It was usually a happy chaos—fans shouting encouragement, idols waving and making hearts.
NMIXX had exited five minutes before Y/N’s group. The roar of the crowd had been deafening. “Haewon-ah! I love you! You’re so pretty!”
Y/N’s group manager, Min-seok, looked tense. "Keep your heads down. Wave fast. Get in the van. Do not stop for gifts."
The glass doors slid open. The cold winter air hit them, biting and harsh.
"Hana, dul, set! Hello, we are ECLIPSE!"
The crowd’s reaction was immediate and polarized. For his members, there were cheers.
"Jun-ho oppa!"
"Min-jae looking good!"
Then Y/N stepped out.
The temperature in the crowd seemed to drop. The cheering didn't stop, but it was undercut by a distinct, murmuring hostility. And then, the heckling started. It wasn't everyone—maybe just five or six people near the front barrier—but in the relative quiet, their voices carried like gunshots.
"Hey! Clout chaser!"
"Stay away from Haewon!"
"You're ruining the group's image, fuck off!"
Y/N flinched. Just a micro-movement, but he felt it. His bandmates stiffened, looking ready to fight, but Y/N nudged them forward. Keep moving. Just get to the van.
Then, something hit him.
It wasn't a rock or a bottle—that would have been assault. It was a crumpled-up ball of paper, thrown with decent aim. It bounced off Y/N’s shoulder.
The disrespect was palpable. A hush fell over the immediate crowd. Even the loyal fans were shocked into silence.
"Who threw that?" Min-seok roared, stepping between Y/N and the barrier.
"Let him read it! It’s a resignation letter for him!" a girl in the front row screamed, her face twisted in a sneer. She was holding an NMIXX lightstick. "Don't touch our unnie, you disgusting trash!"
Y/N stopped.
He stood there on the asphalt, the cold wind whipping his hair into his eyes. His manager was pushing him toward the van door, but Y/N planted his feet.
He slowly turned his head.
Behind the glass doors of the SBS lobby, about twenty feet away, the members of NMIXX were waiting for their own transport manager.
Haewon was standing right at the glass.
She had seen it. She had seen the paper hit him. She had heard the girl scream disgusting trash.
Her hands were pressed against the glass. Her eyes were wide, filled with a mixture of horror, fury, and a crushing, helpless guilt. She looked like she was about to shove the door open and scream at her own fans. Her mouth moved, forming a word that looked like “No.”
Y/N locked eyes with her.
For three seconds, time stretched. The sounds of the haters fading into a dull buzz.
He saw the pain in her eyes. She was hurting because he was hurting. She wanted to save him.
Don't, he thought. Don't you dare come out here.
Y/N’s face remained a mask of stone. He gave her nothing. No sad smile to reassure her. No angry scowl to show his strength. He looked at her with a dead, neutral expression, acknowledging her presence and then dismissing it entirely.
I am the villain, his eyes said. Let them hate me. You stay clean.
He broke eye contact, turning his back on her.
He faced the girl who had screamed at him. The girl looked triumphant, expecting him to cry or run.
Instead, Y/N bowed. A full, ninety-degree, polite bow.
"I will work harder," he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion.
The girl blinked, confused by his submission. The venom in the air dissipated, replaced by an awkward, uncomfortable silence. He had robbed them of the satisfaction of seeing him break.
Y/N climbed into the van and slid the door shut.
—
Inside the vehicle, the silence was heavy.
"Y/N-ah," Jun-ho whispered, looking at him with terrified eyes. "Are you okay?"
Y/N stared out the tinted window. He could see the blurred figures of the fans, and beyond them, the glass doors of the lobby where Haewon was probably still standing.
He felt a strange, cold numbness spreading through his chest. It wasn't happiness, exactly. But it was relief.
They hadn't yelled at Jun-ho. They hadn't thrown things at the other members. And Haewon... Haewon was still the beloved Queen.
"I'm fine," Y/N said, leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes. "Drive, hyung."
Let them eat me alive, he thought. At least she's safe.
But back in the lobby, Oh Haewon watched the black van pull away, her fingernails digging into her palms so hard they drew blood. She had never felt so powerful as an idol, and yet so utterly, pathetically weak as a human being.
"Unnie?" Bae whispered, touching her arm. "Are you okay?"
"No," Haewon whispered, her voice trembling with a rage she couldn't release. "I'm really not."
—
Months passed. The K-pop news cycle, voracious and fickle, eventually found new meat. A dating scandal in a major girl group, a bullying accusation against an actor, a contract dispute—the spotlight shifted, leaving Y/N scorched but still standing.
The silence that followed the storm was where Y/N truly began to work.
He stopped checking social media entirely. He deleted Twitter, Instagram, even the YouTube app from his phone. His world shrank to the four walls of the practice room and the recording booth. If the world decided he was trash, he would become the most talented trash they had ever seen.
The turnaround started not with a bang, but with a whisper.
It was their first comeback. The title track was a high-energy dance number, standard boy group fare. But the B-side, a soulful R&B track called "Gravity," was different.
During the recording session, the producer had stopped the track. "Y/N. That bridge. Do it again. But this time... stop trying to sing it perfectly. Sing it like you're exhausted. Like you're letting go."
Y/N thought of the paper ball hitting his shoulder. He thought of Haewon’s face behind the glass. He closed his eyes and sang.
When the album dropped, "Gravity" was an afterthought. Until the It’s Live performance video came out.
The video was simple: the group sitting on stools, live vocals, acoustic accompaniment. When Y/N’s bridge hit, the camera zoomed in. He wasn't doing "idol face." He wasn't winking or biting his lip. He looked raw. His voice cracked slightly on the high note—not a mistake, but an emotional break—before soaring into a falsetto so pure it silenced the room.
“Even if the world turns away, I’ll stand in your shadow / Just don't look back at me, don't look back.”
The clip went viral on Twitter.
@VocalTeacherReacts:"Who is this kid? I thought he was the visual hole? That technique is insane. The breath control? He’s singing from his gut."
@KpopStuff:"Wait... is this the guy everyone bullied? I’m listening to his part on loop. I’m crying? Help."
@RandomUser:"I feel bad for what I said about him. He clearly cares about the music. Look at his hands shaking. He’s pouring his soul out."
Slowly, the tide turned. The comments section on his fancams shifted from snake emojis to purple hearts. Fans started noticing the bruises on his knees from over-practicing. They noticed how he always bowed 90 degrees to staff, even when he thought cameras weren't rolling. They noticed he was the last one to leave the stage, bowing to empty seats.
Honesty. That was his weapon. In an industry of manufactured perfection, Y/N’s bruised, quiet consistency felt real. He wasn't trying to be cool anymore. He was just trying to survive, and in doing so, he became undeniable.
—
It was 2:00 AM in the NMIXX dorm.
The room was dark, save for the blue light emanating from Haewon’s phone. She was lying on her stomach, her chin propped up on a pillow, scrolling.
She was watching a compilation video titled: “Y/N’s Vocals Will Heal Your Soul (Gravity Era).”
She watched a clip from a radio show where the host asked Y/N about his malicious comments from debut. In the clip, Y/N just smiled—a real, small, tired smile—and said, "It made me realize I need to be a singer who speaks through music, not rumors. I'm grateful for the feedback. It made me work harder."
"Liar," Haewon whispered to the screen, a fond smile tugging at her lips. "You were crying in the bathroom, I bet."
She scrolled down to the comments.
“I’m sorry Y/N. We judged you too quickly.”“He’s actually so talented. Stan talent, stan Y/N.”“His voice color fits perfectly with NMIXX style tbh… collab when?”
Haewon let out a breath she felt like she’d been holding for six months.
He did it, she thought. He actually did it.
She remembered the guilt that had eaten her alive those first few weeks. Every time she saw him walking with his head down in the company cafeteria, she wanted to scream. She wanted to grab a megaphone and tell the world that she was the one who bought the ramen, she was the one who touched his face. But her managers were strict, and Y/N... Y/N had shut her out completely.
He had built a wall of ice between them to protect her. And from behind that wall, he had rebuilt himself, brick by brick.
A knock on her door frame made her jump.
"Unnie, are you still awake?" It was Bae, holding a glass of water.
"Just checking schedules," Haewon lied, quickly locking her phone.
Bae squinted in the dark. "You're watching Y/N’s fancams again, aren't you?"
"I am monitoring our junior group’s progress. It’s a leader’s duty."
Bae snorted, walking in and sitting on the edge of the bed. "Sure. You know, their manager told our manager that they got their first music show win nomination for next week. Their digital score is crazy high because of Gravity."
Haewon sat up, eyes widening. "Really? A nomination?"
"Yeah. Against... us."
Haewon blinked. NMIXX was promoting Love Me Like This (or a similar upbeat track). They would be competing for first place.
"That's..." Haewon paused. A year ago, this would have been a disaster. The "Scandal Couple" on stage together for the winner announcement? The press would have had a field day.
But now? Now the narrative was different. Y/N wasn't the leech anymore. He was the "Underdog." The "Redemption Arc."
"It's going to be interesting," Bae said, poking Haewon’s leg. "If he wins, are you going to cry?"
"I don't cry," Haewon scoffed, lying back down and pulling the blanket up. "I'm a professional."
"Right. Just like you professionally didn't almost punch a fan for throwing paper at him."
"Get out, Bae."
—
The following week, Music Bank.
The atmosphere was electric. Y/N’s group, [ECLIPSE], stood on the left side of the stage. NMIXX stood on the right. The MCs—Jang Wonyoung and the other host—stood in the center holding the trophy.
"And the winner of this week's Music Bank is..."
The drumroll played. The split screen showed Haewon’s calm, expectant face, and Y/N’s face—eyes closed, lips moving in a silent prayer.
"...ECLIPSE! Congratulations!"
Confetti exploded. The crowd roared—a genuine, deafening roar.
Y/N’s eyes snapped open. He looked stunned. His leader, Jun-ho, grabbed him in a chokehold, screaming. The other members were jumping, crying. It was their first win.
Haewon clapped. She clapped hard, raising her hands high so the cameras could see. She looked across the stage at him.
Y/N was bowing to the MCs, accepting the trophy. His hands were shaking violently. He took the microphone.
"Ah... thank you," his voice cracked. He laughed, wiping his eyes. "Thank you to our fans. You... you waited for us. You believed in us even when it was hard. I promise to be a singer you can be proud of forever."
He didn't look at Haewon. He looked at the camera, at the fans.
The music for their encore stage started playing. The other idols began to exit the stage.
As NMIXX walked past ECLIPSE to leave, the "no interaction" rule was tested.
Usually, groups just bowed and kept moving. But today, the vibe was different. The hate was gone. The air was clear.
Haewon stopped in front of Y/N.
The camera directors panicked for a second, unsure if they should cut away, but they kept rolling.
Y/N froze, clutching the trophy to his chest. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time in months.
Haewon didn't touch him. She didn't hug him. She simply bowed—a deep, respectful senior-to-junior bow—and smiled. A real smile. One that said, I see you. You did well.
"Congratulations, Y/N-ssi," she said, her voice audible over the backing track.
Y/N bowed back, lower than her. "Thank you, Sunbaenim."
It was professional. It was clean. But the spark in their eyes was undeniable.
Haewon walked off stage, her heart lighter than it had been in a year.
Y/N turned back to the audience, lifted his microphone, and began to sing the opening lines of Gravity.
“Even if the world turns away...”
He sang it perfectly. He was an idol. He was a winner. And as he sang, he glanced toward the wings of the stage, where he knew she was watching from the monitors.
The scandal hadn't killed him. It had forged him. And maybe, just maybe, now that he was standing on his own two feet, he could finally be worthy of standing next to her.
—
Later that night, in the JYP practice rooms.
Y/N was alone, packing his bag. It was 3 AM. He was exhausted but buzzing with the high of the win.
The door clicked open.
He spun around.
Haewon slipped inside, closing the door softly behind her. She was wearing her grey hoodie again.
"You're brave," Y/N said, his voice quiet. "Coming in here."
"I checked the hallway. The coast is clear," she said, leaning against the door. "Besides, who's going to gossip? You're the nation's vocal treasure now."
Y/N let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Don't tease me."
"I'm not teasing." Haewon walked over to him. She stopped a foot away. The distance was still there, but the wall was gone. "You worked hard, Y/N. You deserved that trophy."
"I did it for the group," Y/N said. "And... I did it so you wouldn't have to be ashamed of being seen with me."
Haewon’s expression crumpled slightly. "I was never ashamed of you. I was scared for you."
"I know."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid things.
"So," Haewon said, scuffing her sneaker against the floor. "The company ban on interactions... they said it was until the 'situation resolved.'"
Y/N looked at her. "The hate comments are gone. The articles are positive."
"Technically," Haewon stepped closer, "the situation is resolved."
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. The playful Noona was gone; this was just Haewon, the girl who liked late-night ramen and hated injustice.
"Y/N," she whispered. "Can I buy you ice cream to celebrate? For real this time?"
Y/N smiled—the first genuine, carefree smile he had shown her since that night at the convenience store.
"No, Noona," he said, reaching out and boldly taking her hand. Her fingers were warm. "I just got my first paycheck settlement. This time, I'm buying."
Haewon squeezed his hand back. "Deal. But wear a mask. If we get caught again, I'm actually going to kill you."
"Fair enough."
—
The night air was cool, but Y/N was sweating.
As they walked toward the convenience store—a different one this time, three blocks further away from the company—Haewon was light on her feet. She was humming a melody, swinging her plastic bag gently, her shoulder occasionally brushing against his arm.
"I can't believe Jun-ho cried," she chuckled, glancing up at him. "He looked so ugly. You were cool, though. Very stoic."
Y/N didn't answer immediately. He was scanning the rooftops. He was checking the side mirrors of every parked car they passed. A black van drove by slowly, and Y/N’s muscles locked up so hard he almost tripped.
Click.
He heard it in his head. The phantom sound of a shutter.
"Y/N?" Haewon stopped, her smile faltering slightly. "You okay? You're walking like a robot."
"I'm fine," Y/N said, his voice tight. "Just tired."
"Well, sugar will help." She reached out, her fingers grazing his wrist, intending to pull him closer.
Y/N flinched.
It was a visceral, violent reaction. He jerked his hand away as if she had burned him.
Haewon froze, her hand hovering in empty air. The hurt flashed across her face—instant and raw. "Sorry. I... I forgot."
"It's not that," Y/N lied, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "Let's just get the ice cream."
They entered the store. The fluorescent lights, which used to feel welcoming, now felt like an interrogation room. Haewon went to the freezer, picking out two melon bars. She turned to him, her resilience kicking in, trying to salvage the mood.
"Let's sit at the park down the street," she suggested, forcing a brightness into her tone. "It's dark there. No one will see us. We can talk about the comeback."
Y/N looked at her. He saw the girl he had crushed on for years. But superimposed over her face, he saw the Nate Pann articles. He saw the death threats in his DMs. He saw the disappointed look on his mother’s face when she asked if he was going to be kicked out of the group.
She wasn't just Haewon anymore. She was a walking, talking landmine.
"I can't," Y/N said abruptly.
Haewon blinked. "What?"
"I can't sit," Y/N said. He took the ice cream from her hand, paid for it at the counter with trembling fingers, and walked out.
Haewon followed him, confused. "Y/N, wait. What do you mean? We just got here."
They stood on the sidewalk. The street was empty.
"Here," Y/N said, thrusting the unwrapped ice cream toward her.
"I don't understand," Haewon said, not taking it. "Did I do something wrong?"
"I have an emergency," Y/N blurted out. It was a clumsy lie. "Jun-ho just texted me. Something with the dorm. A leak. I have to go."
Haewon stared at him. She was smart. She knew he hadn't checked his phone once. "Y/N, you're lying. Talk to me. You're shaking."
"I have to go, Sunbaenim," he said, using the formal title like a weapon. He shoved the ice cream into her hand. "Enjoy the ice cream."
He turned on his heel and walked away. He didn't look back. He walked fast, his heart hammering against his ribs, waiting for her to call out his name.
She didn't.
As he turned the corner, out of sight, he leaned against a brick wall and exhaled. The panic began to subside, replaced by a cold, heavy stone in his gut. He felt like an asshole.
But he also felt safe.
—
The next morning, Y/N woke up to three texts.
Haewon (02:15 AM): Did you get back okay?Haewon (02:30 AM): Whatever is wrong, we can fix it. Just tell me.Haewon (08:00 AM): I’m grabbing coffee for the leaders meeting. Do you want an Americano?
Y/N stared at the screen. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.
He remembered the Blue Room. He remembered the hallway at Inkigayo, five months ago. He remembered walking past her, desperate for just one look of acknowledgment, and getting nothing but the back of her head. She had cut him off to save her career. She had treated him like a stranger because it was necessary.
It's necessary now, too, Y/N told himself.
He swiped the notification away. Delete.
He didn't reply.
At the company that afternoon, the game of cat and mouse began. But this time, the roles were reversed.
Y/N was in the vocal practice room, working on harmonies with his group. Through the glass panel of the door, he saw Haewon walk by. She slowed down, peering in. Their eyes met.
Haewon offered a small, tentative wave.
Y/N looked at her. He didn't wave back. He didn't smile. He turned his back to the door and said loudly to his members, "Let's take it from the top. Focus, guys."
He saw her reflection in the mirror as she lingered for a second, then walked away, her shoulders slumped.
A dark, twisted satisfaction coiled in Y/N’s stomach. It felt... good. It felt like regaining control. For months, he had been the victim, the one begging for scraps of validation while she stood on the pedestal of public adoration. Now, he was the one holding the cards.
He wasn't doing it to be cruel, he rationalized. He was doing it because she was a distraction. Every time he thought about her, he thought about the scandal. Every time he got close to her, he risked everything he had built from the ashes.
She is destruction, he thought, attacking the high note with unnecessary aggression. I can't afford her.
—
Two weeks of radio silence.
Y/N had become a ghost to her. He dodged her in the cafeteria. He took the stairs if he saw her waiting for the elevator. He muted her number.
But the JYP building was only so big.
It was late on a Tuesday. Y/N was leaving the gym on the third floor, towel around his neck, exhausted. He pressed the button for the elevator to go down to the parking garage.
The doors dinged open.
Haewon was inside. Alone.
Y/N hesitated. The doors started to close.
"Get in," Haewon said. Her voice wasn't warm. It was sharp.
Y/N stepped in and pressed the button for the garage. He moved to the opposite corner of the car, staring at the floor numbers changing.
3... 2...
"Are you punishing me?"
The question hung in the small metal box.
Y/N didn't look at her. "I don't know what you mean, Sunbaenim."
"Stop with the 'Sunbaenim' bullshit," Haewon snapped. She hit the emergency stop button. The elevator lurched to a halt between the first and second floors.
Y/N looked up, startled. "What the hell are you doing? If the cameras—"
"The cameras in this car don't record audio," Haewon said, stepping toward him. Her eyes were blazing. She looked furious, but beneath the anger, she looked exhausted. "You ghosted me. After the win. After everything. Why?"
"I'm busy," Y/N said, crossing his arms. "We have schedules. You know how it is."
"Don't lie to me!" Haewon shouted, her voice echoing. "I know busy. Busy is replying late. Busy is short texts. This? This is ignoring me. I walked past you yesterday and you looked at the wall like I was a disease. Does that remind you of something?"
Y/N’s jaw tightened. "Yeah. It does."
Haewon recoiled slightly, the realization hitting her. "Is that what this is? Revenge? Because I had to ignore you during the scandal?"
"You didn't have to treat me like I didn't exist," Y/N spat, the bitterness finally spilling over. "You didn't have to look at me with that pity in your eyes and then turn your back while people threw trash at me."
"I was protecting you!"
"You were protecting the brand!" Y/N stepped forward, towering over her. "And you were right to do it. I learned from the best, Haewon. You taught me that feelings are a liability. You taught me that if someone threatens the group's image, you cut them off."
He laughed, a dry, humorless sound.
"Well, guess what? You're the threat now. Being seen with you? It stresses me out. It makes me think about losing my contract. It makes me think about my mother crying because her son is a 'disgrace.' You are a distraction. And I worked too fucking hard to get out of that hole to let you drag me back in just because you feel guilty and want to buy me ice cream."
Haewon stood there, stunned silence filling the space. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the damage. She saw the walls he had built, reinforced with the very bricks she had handed him.
"I didn't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I didn't know you were still scared of me."
"I'm not scared of you," Y/N said coldly. "I just don't need you."
He reached past her and pulled the emergency stop button back out. The elevator shuddered and resumed its descent.
"Y/N," Haewon said, her voice small.
"Don't," he cut her off.
The doors dinged open at the parking garage.
"This is my floor," Y/N said.
He walked out, leaving her alone in the elevator. As the doors slid shut, he caught a glimpse of her face. She looked shattered.
He walked to the company van, his heart pounding in his ears. He felt sick. He felt cruel. He felt like a monster.
But as he climbed into the backseat and closed his eyes, for the first time in months, the anxiety in his chest was quiet. He had cut the cord. He was safe.
And if safety meant being alone, then so be it.
—
Success, Y/N learned, was loud.
It was the roar of 20,000 people in the Gocheok Sky Dome chanting ECLIPSE’s name. It was the incessant buzzing of his phone with brand deal offers, variety show invitations, and texts from industry seniors who wouldn’t have looked at him six months ago. It was the pop of champagne corks and the squeal of tires on the tarmac as they flew from Seoul to Tokyo to LA.
ECLIPSE wasn't just a group anymore; they were a phenomenon. And Y/N, the "Ice Prince" with the soulful vocals and the mysterious, guarded aura, was the center of it.
But silence was expensive. And silence was what he craved.
It was three months after the elevator incident. Three months since he had told Oh Haewon he didn't need her.
He was sitting in the back of the van, scrolling mindlessly through Twitter—something he allowed himself to do now that the timeline was filled with praise.
Then, the algorithm threw a curveball.
[BREAKING] JYP Entertainment Announcement: NMIXX Haewon to go on temporary hiatus.
Y/N’s thumb froze. The noise of the van—Jun-ho laughing at a video, the manager talking on the phone—faded into a dull hum.
He clicked the link.
“Hello, this is JYP Entertainment. We would like to inform you regarding NMIXX member Haewon’s health status. Recently, Haewon has been showing symptoms of extreme psychological anxiety and fatigue. After consulting with medical professionals, it was decided that she requires stability and rest...”
Anxiety. Fatigue.
Y/N felt a cold sweat break out on his palms. He scrolled down to the comments.
“She’s been looking so sad lately on stage :(”“The leader burden is too heavy.”“Get well soon, our Queen.”
Nobody mentioned the scandal. Nobody mentioned Y/N. To the world, it was just the pressure of the industry.
But Y/N knew. The memory of her face in the elevator—shattered, tearful, rejected—flashed in his mind like a strobe light. He remembered his own words: You are a distraction. I don't need you.
He had saved himself. But he had broken her.
—
It was 2:00 AM. The company building was mostly empty, save for the security guards and the insomniacs.
Y/N couldn't breathe in the dorm. The air felt too thin. He had driven back to the company, telling his manager he left his in-ears behind, but instead of going to the studio, he took the stairs.
Flight after flight, up to the roof.
He pushed the heavy metal door open. The wind hit him instantly, a bitter gust that carried the scent of impending rain and city smog. The rooftop was a desolate expanse of concrete and ventilation units, usually the place where trainees came to cry or smoke secretly.
He thought he was alone. He wasn't.
She was standing near the edge—safely behind the railing, but close enough to look out at the sprawling lights of Seoul. She was wearing that damn grey hoodie again, the one from the convenience store, the one from the scandal. The hood was up, swallowing her head.
She looked small. Fragile.
Y/N stood by the door, his hand gripping the handle. He should leave. He should turn around, walk down the stairs, and keep his perfect, safe life intact.
But his feet moved on their own.
He walked slowly across the gravel and concrete. The wind masked the sound of his footsteps until he was only a few feet away.
She was shaking.
It wasn't the shivering of cold. It was the rhythmic, convulsive shaking of someone trying desperately to keep a sound inside.
Y/N reached into his gym bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a clean, white towel.
He stepped up beside her. He didn't say a word. He just held the towel out.
Haewon jumped, a sharp gasp escaping her throat. She spun around, her eyes wide with terror, expecting a manager or a security guard.
When she saw it was him, the terror morphed into something more painful: shame.
Her face was a mess. Her eyes were swollen, red-rimmed, and dark. Her cheeks were wet. She looked nothing like the polished idol the world loved. She looked like a girl who had been crying for weeks.
"Y/N," she choked out, her voice cracked and raw.
She immediately tried to wipe her face with her sleeves, turning away from him. "I... I didn't know anyone was here. I'm leaving. Sorry. I'm sorry."
"Take it," Y/N said, his voice softer than he intended. He pushed the towel into her hand.
Haewon gripped the towel, clutching it to her chest like a shield. She didn't use it. She just stared at the ground, her shoulders trembling.
"You read the news," she whispered. It wasn't a question.
"I did."
"Are you happy?" She looked up at him then, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm gone. I'm not a distraction anymore. You don't have to see me in the hallways. You don't have to hide in the stairwell. I'm out of your way."
The bitterness in her voice cut him deep, but it was the underlying despair that made him bleed.
"Haewon," he started, but she cut him off.
"I tried, Y/N," she sobbed, the dam finally breaking. "I tried to be professional. I tried to be just a senior. But you looked at me with so much hate. In the elevator... the way you looked at me... it killed me."
She stepped closer, disregarding the invisible barrier he had built between them.
"I'm sorry!" she cried, her voice rising over the wind. "I'm sorry I bought you ramen! I'm sorry I touched your face! I'm sorry I ruined your debut! I blame myself every single day! I read every comment you got, and I wanted to die because I caused it!"
"Stop," Y/N said, his throat tight. "Haewon, stop."
"Don't hate me," she begged, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. Her grip was weak, desperate. "Please, Y/N. You can ignore me. You can never speak to me again. But please don't look at me like I'm your enemy. I can't take it. I can't take it because..."
She choked on a sob, looking up at him with eyes that were drowning.
"Because I love you," she whispered.
The wind seemed to stop. The city lights blurred in Y/N’s vision.
"I think I’ve loved you since you were a trainee with the blue hair," she confessed, tears dripping off her chin. "And seeing you treat me like garbage... it hurts more than the hiatus. It hurts more than the fans. It just hurts."
She let go of his sleeve and stepped back, wiping her eyes aggressively with the towel he gave her. "I'm sorry. That was unprofessional. Forget I said it. I'm going."
She turned to leave, her small figure retreating into the shadows of the roof access.
Y/N stood there, paralyzed.
He saw the last year play out in his mind. The scandal. The fear. The survival. And through it all, she had been there, trying to reach him, trying to apologize, trying to love him. And he had punished her for it. He had punished her for his own fear.
Fuck the group, a voice inside him screamed. Fuck the reputation.
"Haewon!"
He lunged forward. He caught her just as she reached the door.
He didn't think. He grabbed her wrist, spun her around, and pulled her into his chest.
Haewon stiffened, a gasp trapped in her throat.
Y/N wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He held her tight—tighter than he had ever held anything. He held her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.
"I'm sorry," Y/N whispered into her hair, his voice breaking. "I'm so fucking sorry."
Haewon stood frozen for a second, and then she crumbled. She melted into him, her arms coming up to wrap around his waist, her fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed, loud, ugly, releasing months of pent-up agony.
"I don't hate you," Y/N murmured, one hand coming up to cradle the back of her head, stroking her hair. "I never hated you. I was scared. I was a coward. I pushed you away because I knew if I let you in, I wouldn't care about the career anymore. I would only care about you."
"You hurt me," she muffled into his chest.
"I know. I know I did." He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her face. He used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks, uncaring that he was crying too. "You were right. I was punishing you because I couldn't punish the world. And that makes me a piece of shit."
Haewon sniffled, looking up at him with red, puffy eyes. "So... we're not enemies?"
"No," Y/N said firmly. "We're not enemies."
"Are we friends?"
Y/N looked at her lips, then back to her eyes. The space between them was charged, electric, terrifying.
"We can't be just friends, Haewon," he whispered. "You know that."
"Then what are we?" she asked, her voice barely audible. "Two idols who can't be seen together?"
"For now," Y/N said. "But I'm not ignoring you anymore. If I see you in the hallway, I'm looking at you. If you text me, I'm answering. I don't care who sees. I don't care if I get scolded."
He leaned his forehead against hers.
"Take your hiatus," he whispered. "Rest. Sleep. Get better. And I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere."
Haewon closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, exhaling a breath that sounded like relief. "Okay."
"Okay."
Y/N pulled her back into a hug, resting his chin on top of her hood. The city lights flickered below them, indifferent and cold, but up here, wrapped in each other's arms, the world felt a little less lonely.
"You owe me an ice cream," Haewon mumbled into his jacket, her voice returning to a hint of its usual sass.
Y/N let out a wet, genuine laugh. "I'll buy you the whole damn store."
—
Haewon’s hiatus lasted three months.
To the public, she was resting at her parents' home in Incheon, completely cut off from the world to recover her mental health. To the fans, it was a drought. To the members, it was a quiet period of holding down the fort.
To Y/N, it was an espionage mission.
He became a master of the shadows. The "Ninja Dating" skills he had scoffed at during his rookie training became his lifeline.
Every Friday night, after ECLIPSE’s practice ended at 1:00 AM, Y/N would change cars—swapping his identifiable van for his manager’s beat-up sedan (after begging and bribing Min-seok with expensive beef sets). He would drive to a secluded parking lot near Haewon’s family home, wearing a hat pulled so low he could barely see the road.
Haewon would sneak out the back gate.
They didn't go to restaurants. They didn't go to movies. They sat in the car, the engine idling to keep the heater running, windows fogged up from their breath.
"You look better," Y/N said softly, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb.
Haewon leaned into his touch. The dark circles were fading. Her skin had regained its color. She was wearing his ECLIPSE hoodie—it was three sizes too big, and she looked ridiculous and adorable.
"I slept for fourteen hours yesterday," she mumbled, closing her eyes. "My mom made me seaweed soup. I think I'm turning into a sloth."
"A cute sloth," Y/N teased.
"Shut up." She opened her eyes, finding his. "How is the group? Are you eating? If you lose those abs, I’m breaking up with you."
"Wow. Shallow." Y/N chuckled, leaning over the center console to kiss her forehead. "We're good. Preparing for the Japanese tour. But... the studio feels empty without hearing your laugh down the hall."
"Gross. You're so cheesy." Haewon grimaced, but she grabbed his hand and interlaced their fingers, squeezing tight. "I miss it, Y/N. I miss the stage. But I'm scared to go back."
Y/N squeezed back. "Don't be. You aren't walking back into the fire alone this time. I’ve got the extinguisher."
"That was a terrible metaphor."
"I'm a vocalist, not a poet. Kiss me."
She grinned, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in. The kiss was slow, tasting of coffee and chapstick. It was desperate and reassuring all at once—a promise kept in the dark, safe from the flash of cameras.
—
The announcement dropped in May. NMIXX Haewon to resume activities.
The internet exploded with support. The "Scandal Couple" narrative had been buried under months of new gossip, replaced by genuine concern for her health. When she stepped onto the red carpet at the Dream Concert for her first appearance back, the cheers were deafening.
Y/N was watching from the backstage monitor.
He stood with his arms crossed, his heart pounding in his throat. When the camera zoomed in on her face, she looked fierce. Sharp. The rest had done her good. She introduced herself with that signature crisp diction, her smile dazzling.
"She is," Y/N replied, a swell of pride nearly choking him.
Later, in the labyrinthine hallways of the stadium, the moment of truth arrived.
ECLIPSE was coming off stage; NMIXX was going on. The corridor was crowded with staff, cameras, and PDs. There was no way to hide.
As the groups approached each other, the air grew tense. The staff remembered. They watched with hawk eyes, waiting for a slip-up, a glare, or an awkward dodge.
Y/N walked at the front of his group. Haewon walked in front of hers.
They locked eyes.
There was no fear this time. No looking at the floor. No looking at the wall.
Y/N bowed. "Hello, Sunbaenim. Glad to see you back."
Haewon stopped. She didn't bow immediately. She looked him up and down, a small, mischievous glint returning to her eyes.
"You're sweating, Hoobae," she noted loud enough for the staff to hear. "Good stage."
She reached into her pocket. The managers tensed up.
She pulled out a small packet of wet tissues and tossed it to him.
Y/N caught it with one hand.
"Clean up," she said, winking—actually winking—before brushing past him, her shoulder checking his firmly. "Break a leg, boys."
The NMIXX members giggled as they passed. Y/N stood there, holding the tissues, fighting the urge to smile like an idiot.
The staff relaxed. Oh, they’re cool now. Just professional banter.
Only Y/N saw the sticky note attached to the back of the packet. He palmed it, reading it quickly as he walked to his dressing room.
Room 404. 10 minutes. I locked the door. ;)
Y/N smirked. God, I love her.
—
Stability was a luxury in K-pop, but they had earned it.
Two years later, Y/N wasn't a rookie anymore. ECLIPSE was a top-tier group, touring domes. NMIXX was an established powerhouse. The "Scandal" was now just a footnote on a Wiki page, a piece of trivia that new fans laughed about. "Remember when people thought they were dating? Lol."
If only they knew.
They were in Y/N’s apartment. He had moved out of the dorms into a high-security complex in Hannam-dong—the kind with private elevators and blackout curtains.
It was Christmas Eve. Snow was falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Haewon was in the kitchen, wearing one of Y/N’s dress shirts and nothing else, trying to frost a cake. It was going poorly.
"You're destroying it," Y/N observed, leaning against the counter with a glass of wine.
"I am adding texture," Haewon argued, licking blue icing off her finger. "It's artistic. You wouldn't get it."
Y/N set the wine down and walked over behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder. "It looks like a Smurf exploded."
"Hey! Respect your elders!" She tried to elbow him, but he just laughed and kissed her neck.
"Start over," he murmured against her skin. "Or we can just eat the icing."
"We have to celebrate," she insisted, turning in his arms to face him. She smeared a bit of icing on his nose. "Happy 2nd Anniversary, idiot."
"Is it the second?" Y/N pretended to think. "I thought we broke up that time you stole my limited edition hoodie."
"I borrowed it. Permanently." Haewon grew serious for a moment. Her hands came up to cup his face. "Are you happy, Y/N?"
"Ideally, I'd like to take you out," Y/N admitted, his voice low. "I want to take you to a real restaurant. I want to hold your hand in Hongdae. I hate hiding you."
"We aren't hiding," Haewon corrected him softly. "We're protecting. There's a difference. We have this. We have this place. We have our friends who know. It's enough."
"Is it?"
"For now," she smiled. "Besides, Dispatch gave up on us. They think we hate each other because I roasted your haircut on Bubble last week."
"That was uncalled for, by the way. My hair looked fine."
"It looked like a mushroom." She kissed him to shut him up. "I love you, Y/N. Mushroom hair and all."
"I love you too, Noona."
—
The ending came on a random Tuesday in April.
Y/N had just won "Best Male Artist" at a major awards show. He was high on adrenaline, sitting in the passenger seat of his manager's car.
"Pull over," Y/N said suddenly.
Min-seok looked at him. "What? Here? Y/N, there are people around."
"Just for a second. Please."
The car stopped. It was the convenience store. The GS25 near the old building.
Y/N put on his mask and a cap. He ran inside. He bought two melon ice creams.
He ran back to the car, but he didn't get in. He walked around the corner to the dark alleyway—the exact spot where the photo had been taken three years ago.
A figure was waiting there, leaning against the brick wall.
Haewon.
She had slipped away from her group’s celebration dinner. She was wearing a grey hoodie.
Y/N walked up to her, breathing hard. He held out the ice cream.
"Deja vu," Haewon said, her eyes crinkling above her mask. She took the ice cream.
"I wanted to rewrite it," Y/N said. He pulled his mask down. "Last time we were here, I was a terrified rookie and you were the scary senior. And it ended in disaster."
"And now?" Haewon pulled her mask down too.
"Now," Y/N stepped closer, crowding her space, "I'm the guy who is crazy about you. And I don't give a damn if there's a camera."
Haewon looked around. "There might be."
"Let them look," Y/N said. "I'm tired of the 'close colleague' narrative."
He leaned in.
Haewon didn't pull away. She didn't fix his hood. She didn't look for an exit. She stood on her tiptoes, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
It wasn't a tentative first kiss. It was deep, passionate, and full of three years of fighting, hiding, crying, and loving. It was a kiss that said, We won.
They broke apart, breathless.
"If that ends up on Nate Pann tomorrow," Haewon whispered, resting her forehead against his, "my company is going to kill me."
Y/N grinned, wiping a smudge of lipstick from his lip. "Let them try. I'll write a ballad about it. It’ll go number one."
Haewon laughed—a bright, free sound that echoed in the alleyway. "You're impossible."
"I'm yours."
She took a bite of her ice cream. "Yeah. You are. Now let's go before it melts."
They walked back toward the main street, not holding hands, but walking close enough that their arms brushed with every step.
Maybe tomorrow the headlines would scream. Maybe the internet would burn. But tonight, under the Seoul city lights, Y/N and Haewon were just a boy and a girl eating ice cream, and for the first time in forever, that was exactly enough.
OC struck with unemployment needs a place to stay, moves in with Yujin and Wonyoung.
"Let me (us) take care of you"
"Take the hint you dummy"
Just your luck
An Yujin x Jang Wonyoung x M!reader
Tags: idek what tags for vanilla anymore uhh roommates? care/aftercare? also light dom!wonyoung/yujin
WC: 7.1k
—————
One doesn't hit rock bottom with a crash and a boom. Sometimes, it's just a soft thud after a long, slow sink.
In your case, it wasn't the notice of termination from your boss after final appeal, nor the eviction notice after failing to pay rent on time for the third month in a row. It was the sudden feeling after cooking your second-to-the last cup of rice, with nothing else in the fridge save for soy sauce, a single egg, and an empty wallet.
That broke you.
In a blind rage, you threw a laundry basket, your pillows, even your framed diploma. Not a single scratch that would've sank you into deeper debt, but enough that your knuckles were bloody against unblemished drywall.
How was any of this fair? You worked every bone of your body out to scrape by; your hair was thinner, your muscles were sore every day, and you could feel your skin cold to the touch. And yes, you hadn't eaten in what seemed to be 12 hours.
Someone knocked at your door. You felt tears well in your eyes; how could it be the landlord already? You got the letter yesterday. How cruel could they possibly be?
You started blubbering as the doorknob turned; you'd forgotten to lock it. Your heart raced as your breath gave away your panic.
When the door opened, it was Yujin and Wonyoung, your two former coworkers.
"Hey, are you okay?!," Yujin ran to you, holding you in her arms. You couldn't keep it together, breaking down completely. You were practically screaming. Through your moment of weakness, Yujin sat there, her own tears stream down to your cheek.
Wonyoung sniffled in the distance, slowly looking through your stuff. She'd call Yujin when she'd found something that hinted at your situation – the eviction and termination notices, the broken debris – and she started packing things up more neatly.
"Hey, let's focus on what's urgent. The letter said they'll be coming in about an hour," Wonyoung whispered. You could only shake your head in blind denial, merely blubbering "no" over and over. She switched places with Yujin, a much faster worker, while she held you close.
"I know, I know," Wonyoung whispered, her voice cracking from her own sympathetic breakdown. "We'll help you, we promise. But please, right now we gotta get to work."
You breathed a shaky breath and stood up, pouring tears with every step. You didn't think; you threw whatever you could into trash bags. When your landlord came by, Yujin and Wonyoung gave him a mouthful as he started harping at you; you could swear you also saw wallets being pulled out, bills thrown at the cranky old man who'd eventually left without a fight.
After a while, the room was as empty as it could be. Wonyoung and Yujin, with a lot of finagling, got your stuff on the street, hired a cab, and brought you to their place. The same amount of reverse finagling later, you found yourself at their studio – jobless, homeless, and hopeless.
The two collapsed on their couch, catching their breaths. You sat on the floor, quietly staring into the nothingness.
"Pizza?," Yujin asked.
"Pizza," Wonyoung responded. Wonyoung started going through her phone, ordering some food.
Wonyoung looked around before finding you sat on the floor. "Hey, get over here, will you?"
You couldn't find it in you to move. You knew what was going to come next.
"W-Wonyoung," you mumbled, "I can't."
"You haven't even heard me out," she urged. "Come over here, please?"
"Won–"
Yujin got up and sat beside you on the floor, still on her phone finishing up the order. A few seconds later, she set her phone down with a thud.
"Dude, can you stop trying so damn hard for a second? You know we know what's been going on with you," Yujin huffed. "So please, stop acting like you have everything under control. You don't."
You froze, feeling only the last teardrops well at the edges of your eyes, but too little to come falling down.
"She's right," Wonyoung added. "You can't keep pretending you're okay. You can't force it either."
"I-I can't," you blubbered again. "It's too much to ask of you."
Yujin looked back at Wonyoung. "You want an honest answer? Yeah, you'll disrupt a few things in the house. You'll probably take this couch, where we spend time here to work. You'll be eating our food for a while, which requires some extra spending. We covered a chunk of your rent, which wasn't an easy give. But... I would do it again if I had to. Any day. Wonyoung?"
"Brutally honest, but... yeah, no regrets here," she sighed heavily. "It's hard enough out there nowadays. You don't need someone to hurt you less by not caring."
"I-It's fine," you shook off. "I'll get some service jobs. I've done this before. The secretary job was basically one anyway."
Yujin and Wonyoung chuckled. "You're so naturally funny, you know?," Yujin remarked.
"Wasn't meaning to be," you sighed. "But... thank you."
You let Yujin ease you up to bring you to the couch, sitting between her and Wonyoung.
"I'll get some drinks," Wonyoung urged. "Anything you'd like?"
"Just coffee," Yujin replied. "You?"
"No, it's–" Yujin glared at you. "C-coffee."
As Wonyoung got to work, Yujin leaned back on the sofa. As she arched her back to stretch, you couldn't help but notice the sleeveless shirt she wore stretch against the curves of her chest. You've never seen them like this, considering your only engagement with them was limited to the office.
"How'd you know to check on me at my house?," you asked.
Yujin shrugged. "Just a hunch. You wouldn't skip work even if you'd been diagnosed with a life-threatening illness."
"Like that 39-degree fever, remember?," Wonyoung cried out from the kitchen.
"Right. So, something felt off," Yujin continued.
"Well... yeah," you groaned, leaning forward, arms on your knees. "I suppose you have questions."
"Not questions," Wonyoung called out, walking in with a tray of your coffees in dainty mugs. You got a plain red one. "Just... talk."
"Talk?"
"Y'know... say what's on your mind," she said, putting her mug up to her nose and breathing in the coffee. "And if there's nothing, or you don't want to, well... at least you had the space."
You sat there, pondering where to start. Obviously there was the termination. Absolute bullshit reason – "unsatisfactory performance" – that was probably some mask to retrench you. You'd actually been leading marketing projects, unlike some of the mooches in office, so much so that you poured out just a bit too much of your own salary to make shit happen.
There was that too – that, against Yujin and Wonyoung's warnings, you had indeed spent a bit too much money on time out to work for a company that didn't even do overtime pay or reliable reimbursement. That was your fault.
Then you got into that accident. Some stupid biker in the wrong lane who just happened to be the son of an executive, who paid off for the costs to the damaged bike, but butted in to deny you coverage for your hospital treatment. You didn't even know you had insurance.
Recalling it all, you couldn't help but feel the same anger and rage from the previous night. If not for Yujin's and Wonyoung's hands rubbing your back and your thigh in comfort, you probably would have had another totally justified meltdown. Wonyoung seemed more concerned at the outbursts of anger; Yujin sighed as heavily as you did.
"So," Yujin pressed, "do you want to hear anything in particular?"
"No," you said coldly. There was nothing to say. "But thanks for letting me air it out."
"It's okay," Wonyoung replied, giving you a hug. You felt yourself pull back instinctively, and she let go when she felt you do so.
"Sorry," she mumbled, "just thought you'd like one."
"No, it's just–," you sighed. "I don't want you to force yourself to be so nice. I mean, it's just–"
"Don't," Yujin cut you off. "It's not 'just' something. It's a lot. Nobody deserves that. That's enough reason for a hug, stranger or friend." She stretched her arms out, and you let yourself fall into her embrace. Wonyoung joined in, their shared warmth radiating into the fibers of your muscles. You felt tears well again, likely evidenced with the sniffles and sharp breathing.
"Let it out, okay?," Wonyoung reassured. "It's okay."
"See? Not forced," Yujin cheered.
That night, after a lot more pizza than you've had in months, the hottest shower you've ever had, and a couch that shockingly felt softer than the bed you've known for years, you fell asleep soundly. You couldn't even remember staring at the ceiling, settled with a single thought:
Thank goodness for good people.
=====
At 4AM, you hopped out of bed and slipped on the last pair of unused clothes you had. You'd been told by Wonyoung that the building had some free washing machines at the basement, so you got to work.
You'd paced back and forth in the basement as you scoured every hiring site you could find. You even had the gall to send a message to some college friends you knew had some startups that could use some cheap, minimum wage labor. A friend of a friend remembered a retail job offer that was willing to pay 1.5x minimum wage for two shifts at a retail store; the other was a delivery driver which promised just as much after a month to pay off the overhead of the bike you'd rent and other costs. If you could get both, you decided you would.
By the time you'd finished laundry at 6:30AM, you met Wonyoung and Yujin coming down from the elevator.
"Oh, perfect," Yujin said. "You gonna stay over today?"
"Yeah, I might see if I can bring stuff over somewhere else. We can talk later," you urged. "Go on ahead. Don't say hi to that cranky HR head." They laughed.
"Oh, in that case, here!," Yujin tossed you a ring of keys. "Make yourself at home."
"I'll... try not to." She shot you a glare again, but that one didn't faze you; you were a guest, not a resident. No amount of kindness would shake that.
When you arrived at the apartment, you decided to fix your things. If you were gonna take the couch, you probably should try to limit everything you owned to that space.
Wonyoung sent you a text. "If you need to store anything, the cabinet under the TV is empty." That was really helpful, actually.
For about 2 hours you played Tetris with your clothes and knickknacks you had in your boxes; by the time you'd sorted the stuff you needed, you had all the less useful stuff – toys, folders, and other things – in a single box. You sent a message to your sister if she could take it in, and continued with your day.
You'd also noticed that, while the apartment was fairly organized, it wasn't maintained. You felt their A/C clog up your nose last night; opening it up, it turns out they haven't washed the filter on it. You spotted leaky faucets, and loose screws in chairs. With the tiny toolbox you had (and much patience), you dealt with those too.
By the time you were done, it was 11AM. Your sister on the far side of town said she'd gladly take the box, and booked you a taxi to get there.
=====
"So... that's that," you said, putting down your cup of tea on the table.
"I'm sorry," your sister replied. "Sorry that there's been so much shit happening to you, and sorry I can't offer much more than the box. And this," she added, reaching out a single bill. You waved it off.
"No, it's okay. I think work is just gonna kill me physically so... pray for me to the powers that be, I suppose."
"Did you say thank you to your coworkers-slash-roommates?," she asked.
"Of course. More than. Fixed their place up too."
"Good," she replied. "Are they pretty?"
You choked on your drink. She laughed.
"That answers that then," she gloated.
"That's not what I said," you whined.
"But it is what you mean," she retorted. "I know you. You wouldn't do that kind of effort if you didn't mean to impress."
"I meant to express gratitude."
"I know."
You sat in silence, your sister still grinning at you.
"Not one word," you hissed. She zipped her mouth with her hand.
=====
Of course, the perfect way to end a day of wins is bad news.
Turns out the delivery job was gonna be a problem – lower income and a higher overhead cost than what was advertised. And the retail job was a complete bust, apparently a misunderstanding on all sides. But, at least the delivery job was still an option you chose to sit on for tonight.
You stared at the browned gray roof of the taxi. A win was a win at rock bottom, but damn if did it didn't suck to be in the dumps.
Maybe there were some more odd jobs to do at home – not so much to offset any costs you'd eventually be paying for like rent, but to just make a good impression on Yujin and Wonyoung. Of course it was to impress them; they were pretty, like close-your-eyes-and-dream-of-them kind of pretty. But them showing up for you was just as much fate's way of giving you a bigger win than you ever probably deserved. Repaying them this way was almost automatic.
=====
When you got home, Wonyoung was on the couch, scrolling aimlessly. When you showed up, she stood up and gestured for you to sit.
"Wonyoung, please," you waved. "This is your house."
"I know, but I don't think you want my feet anywhere close to your face would be." A little weirdly put, but understandable. "Is it just me or is it freezing?"
"Oh, I cleaned out your filter. It was really dusty."
"You have to clean those?!," she said, surprised.
"Yeah, maybe once a month or two. Or else it clogs up the air intake. And if you're allergic to dust like me, it'll mess your sinuses up."
"Man, I was wondering if I caught a cold or something," she responded. "Thanks for that."
"Of course. Gotta pull my weight here, right?" You looked around. "Where's Yujin?"
"Oh, probably out for groceries. She wanted to go early now that you're around." She noticed you look away. "Hey, it's alright, I promise. Okay?" She opened up for a hug again, and you returned it in earnest this time. You felt her chest squeeze against yours, her hoodie riding up just enough to reveal dainty safety shorts and her silky smooth legs. Damn it, she was really hot.
"You're really cuddly," you commented. "Even more than I've ever seen you back at the office."
"Well duh, I'm not gonna show all those creeps that I cozy up to guys," she scoffed. "But you are... a friend." She smiled, and it melted your heart in a second.
"Sorry about yesterday, please don't take it the wrong way," you groaned, taking a seat.
"No, I get it. Like you said, it's not how you know me to be," Wonyoung replied. She tilted her head, allowing her hair to fall naturally, and it felt so cinematic you felt you were staring for way longer than you were. "How are you feeling anyway?"
"Tired, I suppose, though mostly from all the work I'd done today. Brought my extra stuff to my sister's."
"Oh, you have sister!," she perked up. "Where does she stay?"
"Almost an hour from here, actually," you replied. "She's got a child already. So I'm not really... able to move in with her."
"No no, that's not a problem," she waved off. "But you don't look like the type to have a sister."
You raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"
"I don't know, you just seem a lot more...," she trailed off, covering her mouth.
"A lot more what?"
"More... manly," she admitted, accompanied by an awkward smirk.
"Because if I had a sister, I'd be more in tune with women things, like periods and good fashion, correct?"
Wonyoung raised her hands. "Your words, not mine." You exchanged a moment of laughter.
A knock came on the door, likely Yujin. When Wonyoung opened it, she passed some grocery bags. You joined in to help, placing what you could on the dining table.
"Well, this should be enough for our new roommate," she remarked.
"Yujin, I'm not–"
"Wonyoung, I thought we said we wouldn't bring the A/C down this low? It's so cold!," she called out.
"It's not!," Wonyoung replied from the kitchen, likely emptying some frozen goods. "It's actually higher!"
"I cleaned out the filter," you admitted. "And fixed a few leaky faucets."
"Wow! Thank you!," Yujin ran in to give you a hug. Guess you were gonna have to get used to those.
"It's really nothing," you dismissed. "I'm just a guest here."
"No you're not. You are a full fledged resident of this unit, and if your role in the house is repairs, then I'm glad to relinquish that to you," she said, taking off the coat she had on. Her polo was stained with sweat, and she removed that too to reveal a plain white tank top underneath.
"You don't mind, do you?," she continued.
"N-not at all...," you mumbled. There was nothing to mind, after all, about Yujin being naturally sexy. Something about the wet look and the daringness to strip before you maybe, but more likely just the slimness and leanness of her body. That and her ass, which pencil skirts like the one she had on today really accentuated.
"Oh yeah, you said you were gonna look for some opportunities?," Wonyoung replied, stepping out of the kitchen. Seeing both of them before you in this more casual setting really truly made you spiritually weak.
"Uh... you okay?," Yujin raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to share anything."
"N-no, just... I'm so lucky you were there for me," you sighed. "I wasn't even that close to you prior to this."
Wonyoung dragged you to the sofa to sit. "You need to stop freaking out about this. Let us help you, alright?"
"I know, it's just– I can't help but feel just a little conscious. I've never found myself in this position before."
"And yet," Yujin said, crashing into the couch, head on your lap without warning, "you were so willing to help us out in a similar position."
"I did?!," you exclaimed, looking at Wonyoung.
"Yeah, remember that Christmas party? Yujin was drunk?"
"Wait," you looked at the floor. "You mean that bum from the sales team that tried to force a one-on-one with Wonyoung?"
"Yeah," Yujin scoffed. "The way you pushed him away? Tough. Big bad boy vibes." She growled playfully.
"Then you helped carry Yujin all the way down the building," Wonyoung smiled. "Seriously, that was a lot to ask from anyone."
"That was nothing," you scoffed in return. "This is a favor of life-saving proportions."
Wonyoung punched your shoulder. "Do you even have a sister?! You should know that that was a life-saving moment."
"You have a sister?!," Yujin remarked. "But you're so–"
"Manly!," Wonyoung butted in. Yujin gave her a loud high five.
"You make me blush," you said, partially sarcastic, but you did feel your ears burn up.
"Point being," Yujin butted in, "that we're acquaintances that are only now becoming friends. There, mister labels-are-important, satisfied?"
"Not my point," you shrugged, "but okay."
"Anyway, back to the jobs?," Wonyoung urged.
"Right. Uh... I was looking into retail and delivery. I think I can do the delivery one, but I'm really hoping to get a second one."
"A second job? Why?," Wonyoung asked, doing that head-tilting thing again. Your chest fluttered.
"Well, uh... I'm not sure. Rent? Repay debts? Contribute to the groceries or bills?"
"Dude, calm down," Yujin pushed back. "Taking care of you means giving you space to figure shit out. I mean, fine. If you were still a lousy bum 3 months later, maybe I'd be a bit less patient. But," she said, tapping you on the nose with a playful smile, "I trust you."
"Yujin–"
Wonyoung grabbed on to your arm fully, allowing you to smell the faint floral scent of her shampoo. "Just take the delivery job for a few days. And if you like it, see how much you earn for a few weeks. We gotcha. Right, Yujin?" She responded with two thumbs up and a confident nod.
"Gotta say," you remarked, "having two pretty women encourage you to try your best is a hell of a motivator."
Yujin gave you a wink. "You'll figure it out."
"Hey, it's nearly 7PM," Wonyoung commented. "Time for dinner."
"You got any cooking skills, roomie?," Yujin teased.
You cracked your neck. "I can handle knifework well enough."
"Good," Yujin said, finally letting you go by sitting up. "You two spend one last bit of quality time together. I'll take a shower."
"Sure thing. Let's go," Wonyoung invited, holding out a hand for you.
In the kitchen, washed some rice in chicken stock while you were cutting some garlic and shallots. She kept playfully bumping your shoulder and hips, messing you up from your rhythm. You'd scare her in return as she gingerly tried to drop the rice and vegetables in a sizzling pan. Honestly, whatever attraction you had for her was only ramping up; not only was she so easy to be around, but it was also fun to keep her smiling.
"Y'know," she started as she mixed the broth, "I think Yujin likes you."
"As a friend? I sure hope so," you commented.
"...Right," she rebutted. "You'd be surprised to know that she's very shallow."
"Really now?," you pressed. "I'd thought she'd have fairly particular standards."
"Not really. This one time," she urged you to come in closer so she could whisper, "this new guy in the office did some computer troubleshooting, and I swear she couldn't stop staring at him for a whole week."
"Surprisingly shallow, I agree," you nodded your head. "But what's wrong with that?"
"Got that right," Wonyoung smiled.
"That said then," you continued, checking on the now simmering broth with a whiff, "surely there's some common thread between these crushes."
"Vaguely?," Wonyoung said, stretching out her answer in hesitation. "A busybody. Somebody who can work. Somebody who's got his shit down, even if not in the moment. Like you."
"You flatter my skills way too much," you said, tasting a hot spoonful. "Needs more salt."
"Do I?," Wonyoung raised an eyebrow with a sly smirk.
"Why would you need more salt? I meant the stock," you teased. She tickled your ribs in full, almost knocking over the pan – causing another fit of laughter.
When Yujin came out of the shower – hair still wet, wearing a sports bra and gym shorts, nearly killing you on the spot – you'd started plating up.
"Just in time," you smiled. "A very simple and harmless risotto."
"Mmm," she closed her eyes in approval. "Should've been friends with you sooner."
"Glad to have your approval," you replied, sitting down and tasting the risotto. Probably the next best thing you've had in days after yesterday's after-hunger pizza.
"You gotta teach me this," Wonyoung urged.
"You were in the kitchen, were you not paying attention?," Yujin chuckled.
"She wouldn't stop tickling me."
"Whatever," Wonyoung smirked.
After dinner, with plates washed and table wiped clean, you sat and scrolled through your phone, looking again at the delivery job. It was likely going to kill your back before you got lung cancer, but it was promising.
Yujin sat next to you. Wonyoung sat on the sofa, facing away from you and doomscrolling in silence. Yujin pointed her phone at you, opened on her notes app:
wonyoung's totally crushing on you
You grabbed the phone from Yujin.
no shes not
When she read it, she rolled her eyes and typed out a significantly longer message.
she literally cooked for you. she doesn't even cook for ME. barely does for herself. and on your first day cooking she decided to help willingly?
"You told us to cook," you whispered. She angrily held a finger to your mouth, mouthing the words she has good hearing.
"What was that about cooking?," Wonyoung turned around.
"Nothing, just said you had good cooking skills, right Yujin?"
"Never tasted anything like it," Yujin added.
"Oh, but, it was his recipe," Wonyoung dismissed.
"So? You helped me cook. You get credit too." She smiled widely, turning back around and looking at her phone again. Yujin once again flashed her phone to you:
SEE WHAT I MEAN???
You rolled your eyes and cleared your throat. "So, uh, I guess I'll start that delivery job tomorrow then."
"Okay," Yujin said with a warm, encouraging smile. Somehow the anxieties washed away with a simple look, one that made you feel warm and content.
"You should get some sleep then," Wonyoung added, gesturing to the sofa.
Yujin came in and hugged you from the back, leaning her cheek against the back of your shoulder. "I know you can do it, okay? Be safe."
When the girls retired to their rooms, you say on the sofa, in silence. It felt like the whole day had been an emotional rollercoaster, and while the adrenaline was dying down, it was still time to rest.
Of course, aa you lay down, you could only see their smiles replaying in your head, all the spots where gentle nudges and hugs extra cold.
If that was all that could keep you going, in the face of uncertainty, then you were going to enjoy it.
=====
Weeks pass. Then a month. Nearly two now, since that night with the risotto.
You'd sorted out logistical concerns with Yujin. You got your own key to the house, even managed to pay off the amount they'd covered for you (your part of the rent to follow). And you did take on the delivery job for good.
But your body ached, a lot. You'd lost weight, lacking time to eat properly, though you'd gotten leaner from the heavier deliveries you were glad to take on. But after all that, your knee joints ached, and your breath felt so much shorter.
Worst of all, you barely saw them. The few nights you caught them at dinnertime, you'd collapse on the couch, before waking up, eating leftovers, and getting back up for more deliveries. You didn't catch them on weekends too, since you tried really hard to ride the wave of orders. But it broke your heart, it did.
One time you sat with Wonyoung on the sofa when you leaned your head on her shoulder; before you knew it, the two of you slept side by side, heads piled on one another. But one late night order later, and you snuck out, leaving her alone. Tranquil as she looked, it hurt no less.
It was no different with Yujin, with whom you'd rarely catch sitting on the table, doing some accounting late at night. You sat in front of her, the both of you silent as you shared the space but not the moment.
And then came the accident.
It was so sudden: a sharp, searing pain deep inside your knees that led you to fall down some steps, followed by an equally mind-numbingly sharp pain in your wrist. You came out of it with a torn ACL, a sprained wrist, but left behind all the money you had saved for hospital bills. No debts this time, but back to square one.
Worse was the insult to injury of all the missed orders and deliveries. Hour after hour you tried and failed to resist the urge to stare at the money you weren't making, even when Wonyoung preemptively muted the app's notifications. From what you'd heard, it'd only be a matter of time before you're removed from the company.
So you laid there on the sofa, the top of your head itching with a prickly feeling of heat – from annoyance. From stress. From anger.
But you couldn't bear to hold it for long. Because while you laid down, Wonyoung occasionally still scratched the top of that itching head. On some days it would be Yujin instead, who'd show you cute videos of dogs on her feed. And fuck, who could have thought you'd find yourself so weak at such a simple gesture?
Whoever wasn't by your side was the one to be out and about to work; apparently they'd worked out a schedule where they alternated, which started to eat on some of their paid leaves, but they insisted was "their pleasure." But perhaps that was what fueled the annoyance, never allowing the kind, confusingly loving gestures to truly take root: the guilt. It was one thing to be robbed of everything, and to have been given a second chance to pay everything back; it was another when they explicitly put themselves down for you on top of that.
Was it pride? Was it the shame of being pitied? Could be both, and on the first weekend after, when the three of you sat at the couch for lunch, it practically leapt out of your mouth.
"I think I'll be better enough next week to handle myself alone," you began, setting the plate down.
"Nonsense," Yujin said, mouth still full while she swallowed to resume her point. "It's just work."
"No it's not," you replied more sternly, causing the both of them to shift the way they sat. "You're actually using up leaves."
"Paid leaves," Yujin remarked. "We're not losing money."
"You get to convert those to cash. Or maybe you'll get sick one day. Point is, they're meant for you."
"They are for us. So what if we're using the day to care for you? That's our choice," Yujin furrowed her brows.
"I'm fine. Wa–"
You pushed up against the sofa only trigger a very painful cramp. Perhaps they did, in fact, pamper you too much. But the pain was there.
"Hey! Cut that out," Wonyoung pushed your shoulders down.
"You're not–"
"Calm down," Yujin laid a hand on your wrapped arm, and you swiped it away.
"I said I'm fine," you hissed. "Could you just–"
Wonyoung turned your torso around to face her, scowling. "How long am I going to have to keep taking care of you for you to get the fucking hint?," she huffed, before colliding her lips onto yours.
You felt the ice in your chest melt as Wonyoung held your face in her hands, chasing kiss after kiss from you, digging for every reply to "I like you, damn it" that she'd been silently giving to you but you never returned.
Yujin scoffed as she turned you to face her. "You figuring it out yet, dummy?," she smirked, kissing you as well, a lot less aggressive than Wonyoung, but still as needy – like she'd been keeping herself on a tight leash, and was now free to eat the meal set before her.
"Rest his leg on the sofa," Wonyoung ordered Yujin, who held you against her by wrapping her arms across your belly.
"You've done it now," Yujin whispered. "Wonyoung's only like this when she's... horny."
While Yujin's low, sultry whispers alone started getting you hard, the pace at which things were going easily escalated your budding excitement.
"I've been telling you to let us take care of you since day one," Wonyoung began, sliding down your joggers and your underwear, "because I've had a fucking crush on you since that Christmas party."
Once she'd shimmied your bottoms out, your cock sprang up and slammed against your shirt. Wonyoung looked excited as she kept sliding your pants off the whole way off your good leg.
She massaged your balls, heavy and full to the touch. It had been about a week, after all, since you last had one good rubout because of work and this injury.
"I can see it in your eyes," she smirked, "when you stare at my legs when we're seated here." You felt your ears redden. "Don't worry – I like seeing you flustered."
She started rubbing a single fingertip on your frenulum, already cold and wet from precum, making her grin in excitement.
"So, do you get the hint now?" You nodded.
"Do you want this?" You nodded again.
Without hesitation, Wonyoung started sucking you off, spit already coating your shaft in streams. Yujin began sucking on your earlobes, chuckling every so often when Wonyoung would surface gasping for air.
"She's so into you," Yujin whispered. "Remember that hoodie you gave her? She was touching herself one night smelling it. Because she fucking missed you."
"Shut up," Wonyoung mumbled, blushing with your member in her mouth.
"I missed you too, babe," Yujin exhaled, "missed you walking around the house and being such a busybody, cleaning and fixing shit up." She guided your good hand down her shorts, already warm and moist even from the outside. "Feel that? That's how bad I wanna make you feel good."
Wonyoung smiled with a gaze that said "I told you so," before, spitting out a thick glob of saliva and stroking you fast.
If it needed to be reiterated, you hadn't had any form of release in more than a month. That you'd even lasted this long, beset on both sides by two very determined women, pleasured on one end and teased on the other, was essentially miraculous. In minutes, you found yourself over the edge; without warning, you released.
You felt your abdomen spasm as you released heavy spurt after heavy spurt all over the Wonyoung's hands and your shirt. The two couldn't help but stare, incredulous at how much you'd released.
"Fuck," Yujin sighed, her breath quivering. "I want that." She grabbed a pillow and properly propped you up on the side of the sofa, joining Wonyoung in licking and sucking up every globule of seed that scattered all over you. Wonyoung didn't swallow, but gestured to Yujin to catch her mouthful of your load. Yujin gladly gulped it all.
Wonyoung grinned and giggled, her hair a frizzy mess from her own heat. An alarm rang on her phone, and she got up to give you your scheduled round of painkillers, feeding you the tablet and putting a cup of water to your mouth.
Yujin, however, was far from done. Her hands slid up your shirt, twirling your nipples between her fingers as she kissed your abdomen. You let out breathy, choppy moans, trying to laugh off being made a toy at Yujin's mercy. She pulled your shirt off completely, followed by her freeing her hips of what little clothing she had on – beyond the teasingly short shorts, apparently nothing else.
"You look like you still got some left in you," Yujin grinned, mounting you slowly. You squirmed as her folds wrapped around your sensitive shaft, replaced by the warmth and slick that urged it erect.
Yujin was careful. Whatever pain you would have had in your limbs from being rocked back and forth was not an issue; she simply swayed her hips, circled them around, rocked them into you in varying speeds. Your brain was in another dimension.
"Yujin, you're so hot," you blurted out. "I can't stop staring at your ass or your tits when you wear... literally fucking anything really."
"I love it when you stare," she smiled, taking off her shirt – again, also without any undergarments – to reveal a pair of perky breasts. You placed a hand on her chest and let your hand glide down, over her toned abs, and Yujin breathed faster, enjoying the subtle praise.
"Look at Wonyoung over there," Yujin teased. To the side, Wonyoung sat with her legs crossed, back leaned fully on the chair, lips bitten down hard to hide her moans. She looked so beautifully arousing like a renaissance portrait under the dinner table light, and Yujin caught your ogling.
She grabbed you by your chin and gave you a tongue-filled kiss. "You'll get a chance with her."
You leaned closer to her ear. "Or you could save your turn for last so I can cum inside you."
Yujin gasped with eyes wide and a wider smile. "Deal." She hopped off – edging you and leaving your cock twitching – and whispered to Wonyoung, who pursed her lips and daintily walked toward you, legs still weak from her touch.
"I like your offer," Wonyoung grinned, eyes still small from her heightened arousal. She climbed over you and aligned herself over your still firm shaft, not even needing to guide it with her hands.
"How bad did you want this?," you whispered to Wonyoung as she straddled you.
"May have... squirted all over the floor thinking about this," she panted, "...more than twice."
"It's yours now," you reassured.
Satisfied, Wonyoung mounted you, slower and more delicate than Yujin, partly because she felt tighter, mostly because she was already so close to her climax.
"Drill her," Yujin coaxed from behind you. She aligned her core right above you, squeezing your head in between her knees.
You thrusted upward and slowly but surely pounded Wonyoung. Though not your most committed effort, every single slam seemed to ripple into Wonyoung's bones and muscles. She bit a finger to keep herself in control, and it looked close to piercing flesh.
"Don't hold back, Wonyoung," you gasped, "cum all over me."
Right on cue, Wonyoung practically exploded over you. Her body convulsed sharply, arms and legs frantically grasping and kicking for some sort of anchor on the already crowded sofa. Liquids abounded, coating wherever else was dry on your torso.
Your racing breaths were shocked out of rhythm by a single drop of a similarly sticky substance – not from Wonyoung, but from Yujin still hovering over your face.
"F–fuck," she laughed, "that was incredibly hot." She helped pull you up, enough to give the fully splayed puddle called Wonyoung space on the sofa, while allowing you two to have your grand finale.
"Ready? Don't hold back. Cum inside me," she gasped, only slightly a taunt against your words, but otherwise her actual plea. She climbed over you and slid you into her, this time her ass fully in view.
The careful, methodical hip choreography was gone. Yujin ground her hips into yours with reckless abandon, chasing after an orgasm she'd not only worked for today, but for what seemed like months of repressed emotions – call it lustful aggression.
"Holy fuck, your cock is so– fuck, I'm gonna cum!," Yujin yelped, each cracked squeal sending you inches closer to your own climax. Her ass recoiled with every bounce, and with primal curiosity, you gave it a thick, meaty slap.
Without warning, she clamped her legs and twitched aggressively, her walls also massaging your cock aggressively. One last, sharp squeal, and she fell forward over Wonyoung.
That was that.
You felt a long, dense spurt leave you, then another, then another. You emptied yourself into Yujin until strings and droplets of white streamed from where your cock disappeared into Yujin. You felt your cock slide out with a squelch and drop limp on your already drenched belly.
The three of you laid back on the sofa, the cheap faux leather glistening with the outlines of sweaty limbs and streaks of liquids unidentifiable. And you stayed there, staring at the ceiling, the adrenaline blocking out the inevitable pain of your injured limbs and the post-nut fatigue.
After a while, Yujin and Wonyoung helped each other up and disappeared into their rooms, returning with damp towels each to, you assumed, wipe you down with. And, of course, still naked, posing before you in their toned, curvy glory. Your cock still ached, but seeing them both fully naked in front of you built your erection back up again.
"Looks like we made a mess," Wonyoung giggled, "so we're gonna have to clean up."
"Are the birthday suits absolutely necessary? It's not even your birthdays."
"Like you don't like it," Yujin said, throwing her cold towel right over your dick. You shivered, they laughed, and sat you up with you in between the two of them.
As hands glided over your chest and your back, from Wonyoung in front and Yujin behind you, damp lips also left their marks all over your skin. Cold, wet, but undeniably arousing, you couldn't help yourself from moaning, failing to gnash your teeth hard enough.
"Don't stop," Wonyoung whispered, sinking her lips into your neck. Yujin joined her from behind, working her way into your shoulder.
You felt a hand reach for the towel over your member, rubbing it over your shaft with lightly wrapped fingers. You felt Wonyoung smile with each kiss.
"God, you two are cockteases," you heaved, "since day fucking one."
Wonyoung let go. "We can stop," she chided mischievously. Yujin reached over with her towel and covered your balls in it – not a pleasant feeling, but that seemed to be the intention.
"What if... we want you to stay here?," Yujin whispered in your ear. "You'll get to have this every day."
"I– I can't stay here for free. I might not have a job because of this shit," you raised your arm."
"Relax," Wonyoung kissed you – no lust, only care – "we try again then."
"I'm paying rent then, equal share."
"Deal," Yujin kissed your shoulder again.
"And I'll do the cooking and repairs."
"Already assumed that," Wonyoung chuckled.
"And about our–"
Wonyoung cupped your cheeks to shut you up. "We'll figure it out."
"Together," Yujin beamed, kissing the back of your head.
"You do have," Wonyoung smirked, hand sliding beneath the towels on your groin, "one last thing to offer, don't you?"
You gulped with a nervous smile. Talk about a comeback.
Flirty cop Miyeon (Idle) x Serious Lawyer Male Reader Y/N. Chaotic fluff love story with lots of teasing and kisses from Miyeon.
OBJECTION, YOUR HONOR
IDLE Miyeon X Male Reader
SMUT
⚠️ Tags: daddy kink, dom/sub, brat taming, spanking, handcuffs, office/desk sex, rough sex, creampie, dirty talk, power play, choking, unprotected sex, strong language
5K words counted
—
The first time Y/N saw Detective Cho Miyeon, she was chewing gum on the witness stand. Chewing. Gum. In his courtroom. He was mid-cross-examination when he noticed it. The faint, careless movement of her jaw. The smug glint in her eyes. Her posture was textbook professional—back straight, hands folded, badge gleaming on her belt—but her mouth was doing lazy, insolent circles like she was watching a movie instead of testifying in a felony trial.
Y/N tightened his grip on the legal pad. “Detective Cho,” he said, voice steady, layered in that calm pressure people in the gallery had learned to fear. “You’re currently under oath, aware you’re on the stand in a court of law, correct?”
Her eyes flicked to him, slow. Dark, amused, annoyingly bright. “Yes, counselor. Fully aware.” Her tone was smooth. Playful, even. Like she was humoring a child.
He ignored the flicker of heat in his chest. “Then I’ll ask you to answer the next questions clearly and without… distractions.” He let his gaze drop, very deliberately, to her mouth.
She didn’t even blush. She popped the gum between her teeth instead. Someone in the back snorted. The judge cleared his throat. Y/N’s jaw clenched.
“Let the record reflect that the witness is—” He paused, decided against picking that fight here, and refocused. “On the night of October 13th, you responded to a call regarding the defendant, correct?”
“Correct,” Miyeon said. “I arrived at approximately 22:14 hours.”
He walked her through her statement. She was good—sharp observations, clear recollection, zero hesitation. Every time he shifted his angle, tried to catch an inconsistency, she was already there, solid, unfazed. And the whole time, she watched him. Not like other witnesses did—not with wariness or nerves. She watched him like he was entertainment. Like she was enjoying this.
Halfway through, she tilted her head, eyes flicking from his eyes to his mouth, then down the line of his tie, lingering on the breadth of his chest beneath the crisp shirt, then back up. It was less “I’m nervous” and more “I’m imagining what you’d feel like under my hands.”
He ignored it. Professionally. As he had always done. With everyone.
“Detective,” he said, “in your report, you stated you observed the defendant discard an object into the alley trash bin. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” she said. “And that object was later recovered by the evidence team and identified as Exhibit D-5—this knife?” He picked it up from the evidence tray, holding it with a gloved hand.
Her gaze lingered on his hand for a split second too long—on the long fingers, the controlled strength in his grip. “That’s correct,” she said.
“And is there any doubt in your mind that the person you saw discarding that object was the defendant?”
Her eyes locked on his. Calm. Confident. “None,” she said. Then, with a faint curve of her lips: “He doesn’t have your posture, counselor. Or your hands. Hard to confuse the two.”
There was a ripple of muffled laughter. The judge shot her a look. “Detective.”
“Apologies, Your Honor.” She didn’t look sorry.
Y/N had a dozen sharper responses lined up. He swallowed every one of them, clipped the end of the cross, and went back to the table. But as he sat down, he could feel her gaze lingering on the back of his neck, warm and deliberate, like a touch.
He didn’t look back.
He won the case. Of course he did. The evidence was airtight, her testimony clean, his arguments dismantling the defense line by line until the jury had no room left to breathe.
By the time the gavel fell, the courtroom buzzed. The DA clapped him on the shoulder. The defendant looked ruined. People packed up. Chaos.
He was stuffing files into his briefcase when he felt it: that sensation of being watched. He looked up.
Miyeon was leaning against the doorframe in the side hallway, jacket slung over one shoulder, badge catching the fluorescent light. Gone was the stiff, official stance. She was loose now, relaxed, one ankle crossed over the other, eyes lazy and bright as they swept over him—slowly, appreciatively, from his loosened tie down to his belt and back up.
He considered ignoring her. He really did. His legs, apparently, had other plans. He walked over.
“Detective,” he said, stopping a respectable distance away.
She pushed off the frame and closed half that distance on her own. “Counselor,” she drawled, like it was a private joke.
Up close, she was worse. Soft features, catlike eyes, lips too full for his peace of mind. She looked sweet in a way that did not line up at all with the smartass on the stand.
“You enjoy wasting the court’s time?” he asked, voice even. “Because jokes about my posture don’t count as testimony.”
Her smile sharpened. “I was telling the truth. He really does slouch.” She stepped closer, just enough that the faint scent of her—something warm and subtly sweet—brushed against him.
He stared at her. She just stared back, eyes dancing. “Is there something you want?” he asked.
“What makes you think I want something?” she asked lightly.
“You followed me.”
“Maybe I’m just being friendly.”
“Right. Friendly.” He adjusted his tie. “You were… unprofessional up there.”
Her brow arched. “Unprofessional? You got your conviction, counselor. I thought that’s all you cared about.”
“It’s Y/N,” he said automatically, then immediately regretted it.
Her smile widened. “Y/N,” she repeated, tasting the syllables. “You’re fun.”
“I’m not here to be—”
“Fun?” she cut in. “No, you’re here to be terrifying to opposing counsel. Trust me, I saw their faces.” She stepped closer again, close enough now that the heat of her body radiated against his chest. “You’re very intense in there.”
He held his ground. Barely. “It’s my job.”
“Is it your job to stare that hard, or is that a bonus skill?”
He felt a nerve in his temple twitch. “Detective—”
“Miyeon,” she offered, tilting her head. “Since we’re on a first-name basis now.”
“We’re not—”
“You called me ‘Detective Cho’ like I was your witness, not your coworker. That’s cold, you know.” She leaned in a fraction more, lowering her voice to a murmur. “At least buy me dinner before you cross-examine me like that.”
He blinked at her. “Are you—”
“Flirting with you?” she said bluntly. “Yeah.”
His brain stuttered. He prided himself on being unflappable. Witnesses lied, cried, broke down, tried to charm him. He never cared. But there was something about her—about the way she just said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, like his reaction was the real prize—that slid right under his armor.
He exhaled slowly. “You picked an odd time to… do that.”
“I picked the first time you looked hot in a suit and made an entire courtroom shut up by just raising your voice a little.” She shrugged, her shoulder brushing his arm. “I’m not a patient woman.”
“You’re out of line,” he said, but it came out lower than he intended, rougher.
She smiled. “You look like you want to scold me, counselor.”
“I do,” he said.
“Do it, then.”
His fingers clenched around the handle of his briefcase. He stepped closer instead. Not enough to touch her fully, but close enough that anyone passing by would think they were… something. The air between them thickened, charged.
“Rule number one,” he said quietly, eyes on hers. “When you’re on my stand, you answer the question I ask, not whatever comes into your head. Understood?”
Her eyes flicked down to his mouth. “Yes, counselor,” she murmured, her voice a soft caress.
“Rule number two,” he went on, ignoring the heat pooling low in his stomach. “Don’t waste the court’s time with commentary.”
“What about your time?” she asked. “Can I waste that?”
“You already are.”
“Yet you’re still standing here,” she countered, her breath warm against his jaw.
He hated that she was right. “I’m here,” he said, “because your testimony matters. Not because I enjoy this.”
She smiled slowly, wickedly, seeing straight through him. “Sure.”
He should have walked away. Instead, he said, “And rule number three…” He leaned in, angling his head so his mouth was right by her ear. His lips brushed the shell of it accidentally—or not—as he spoke. She tensed, just a little, her body shifting closer instinctively.
“You don’t flirt with me in my courtroom,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
There it was—the little shiver that ran through her, the way her breath caught softly. He felt it in the air between them, in the subtle press of her chest against his.
She turned her head just enough that her lips grazed his cheek as she answered. Not quite a kiss, not quite an accident. Warm, soft, deliberate.
“Then I’ll save it for the hallway,” she murmured back, her hand coming up to rest lightly on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Before he could react, she turned her head that last tiny fraction and pressed her mouth to his cheek fully. Soft. Warm. Lingering just a second longer than necessary, her lips parting slightly against his skin, the faint wet slide of her tongue teasing the edge.
It wasn’t some sloppy, obvious thing. It was precise. Intentional. A soft, heated stamp that left his skin tingling, his pulse thudding hard.
He stepped back like he’d been burned, his hand instinctively touching the spot she'd kissed.
She just grinned, eyes dark with satisfaction. “Good working with you, counselor,” she said, taking a step back and walking away like she hadn’t just ignited something deep in his gut.
He stood there for a moment, breathing carefully, forcing his face to be neutral. He had work. He had other cases. He had a reputation. He did not have time for an insane, flirty cop who kissed him in courthouses—and made him want more.
He told himself that the whole drive back to the firm. It didn’t help.
He didn’t see her again for three weeks. Plenty of time, he thought, for the bizarre hallway scene to fade into the background noise of his life. He buried himself in work. Depositions. Motions. Strategy meetings. People who knew him said he’d been even more ruthless lately. Efficient. Cutthroat. Good. Let them say that.
He was in the middle of a meeting with the DA when the door opened without a knock.
“Sorry I’m late,” a familiar voice said. “Had to drop off a suspect. Traffic’s a nightmare when someone tries to stab you.”
Y/N’s head snapped up. Miyeon sauntered in, hair a bit messy, shirt untucked at the back, holster visible under her open jacket. She looked like trouble personified—lips slightly swollen, as if she'd been biting them.
The DA—Kim—pinched the bridge of his nose. “Detective Cho,” he sighed. “Do you mind entering a room like a normal person for once?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” she said, dropping into the empty chair at the table. Her eyes found Y/N almost instantly, lingering on his mouth before meeting his gaze. “Hi, counselor.”
“Detective,” he said coolly.
Her smile flicked, satisfied. “Y/N.”
Kim cleared his throat. “Since you two have… met,” he said, “this will go faster. We’ve got a big one. High-profile. We’re going to need coordination between the department and our legal team from the beginning.”
He slid a file across the table. “Cho’s lead on the investigation. Y/N, you’re point for legal strategy.”
Miyeon reached for the file at the same time Y/N did. Their fingers brushed. She squeezed his fingertip deliberately, her thumb stroking the pad of it once, slow and teasing, before letting go.
He snatched his hand back, jaw tight. She smirked and flipped the file open.
“Oooh,” she said, eyes scanning the page. “Corrupt businessman, embezzlement, possible homicide cover. Fancy.”
“Don’t sound excited,” Y/N said dryly. “It’s only a man’s life.”
“And a lot of money,” she shot back. “Can’t forget that part.”
Kim held up a hand. “Focus. You’re going to be stuck together on this for a while. Evidence chain, warrants, interrogations, prepping for trial. That means no… whatever the hell you two were doing in that courtroom last month.”
“We were working,” Y/N said immediately.
“We were vibing,” Miyeon corrected at the same time, her foot brushing his calf under the table—deliberate, lingering.
Kim closed his eyes briefly like he regretted everything. “Just. Do not hook up in an interrogation room, don’t have screaming matches in front of the press, and don’t get me sued for anything HR-related.”
Y/N felt his ears heat. “That won’t be a problem.”
Miyeon just shrugged, her eyes promising otherwise. “We’ll see.”
Kim sighed. “Meeting adjourned. Get out of my office.”
They started working together, and it was—objectively—a disaster. Not for the case. For the case, they were terrifyingly efficient. Her instincts, his strategy. Her ability to read people, his ability to tear lies apart on paper. They made fast work of confusing timelines and missing witnesses.
But for his sanity? Hell.
First day in his office, she walked in with two coffees and dropped one on his desk without asking.
“I don’t drink coffee,” he said.
“You do now.” She sat on the edge of his desk like she owned it, swinging one leg, her thigh brushing his arm. “It’s how lawyers stay alive, right? Caffeine and rage?”
He gave her a flat look. “There’s a chair.”
“There’s a desk,” she countered. “And you’re not using this half.” She scooted closer, her hip pressing lightly against his shoulder as she peered down at his notes.
“Your handwriting’s a crime.”
“You’re a cop,” he said evenly. “Arrest me.”
“Don’t tempt me, counselor.” Her voice dropped, husky, as her fingers trailed lightly along the edge of his desk, inches from his hand.
He regretted the words immediately.
She teased him constantly. Little things: stealing his pen mid-sentence, her fingers lingering on his as she took it. Spinning his chair when he was thinking, her hands warm on his shoulders. Tossing a stress ball at his head and laughing when he actually flinched, the sound low and throaty.
And always, the touches. A hand on his lower back as she leaned over to look at a document, her palm pressing firm and warm through his shirt. Fingers brushing his tie to “straighten it,” the backs of her knuckles grazing his throat. A palm pressed to his back as they walked through crowds, guiding him like he needed protecting, her touch sliding lower than necessary.
He told himself it was nothing. Just her being tactile. He’d met people like that before. Except they didn’t kiss their coworkers in hallways. Or look at him like they wanted to devour him slowly.
The problem was: he let it go. Every time. And worse—he started anticipating it, his body reacting with a low, insistent heat whenever she entered the room.
The first late night, it almost broke.
It was close to midnight in his office. The building mostly empty, lights dimmed, city humming beyond the windows. He was at his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing toned forearms as he combed through a stack of reports she’d just dumped in front of him.
“You ever go home?” Miyeon asked from the couch. She was sprawled across it, boots on the armrest, head on a pillow she’d probably stolen from somewhere else, shirt riding up just enough to expose a strip of smooth skin above her belt.
“Do you?” he shot back.
“I go home to shower,” she said. “Then I come back and annoy you. It’s my new hobby.”
He didn’t look up. “You need a better hobby.”
“Nah. This one’s fun.” She paused. “Hey.”
He grunted.
“Eat,” she ordered.
He glanced up to see her tossing something at him. He caught it on reflex—a convenience store sandwich.
“I’m fine,” he said, tossing it back.
She snagged it out of the air. “You had coffee and resentment. That’s not food.”
“It works.”
She sighed dramatically, stood, and walked over, hips swaying subtly. Before he could protest, she dropped the sandwich on his desk again, then leaned down and braced her hands on either side of his chair, boxing him in. Her shirt gaped slightly at the neckline, offering a teasing glimpse of lace and soft curves.
He froze, inhaling her scent—warm skin, faint perfume, something intoxicating.
“Eat,” she repeated, so close he could feel her breath on his lips, warm and sweet.
“Or I start hand-feeding you in between pages, and I promise I won’t be neat about it.” Her voice was low, teasing, but her eyes were dark, pupils dilated.
His heartbeat stuttered, heat flooding through him. “You’re ridiculous,” he said quietly, but his gaze dipped to her mouth, full and parted.
“You’re hungry,” she countered, leaning closer, her breasts brushing lightly against his chest.
He stared at her for a long second, then reached past her, grabbed the sandwich, and unwrapped it. “Happy?” he asked, voice rougher now.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth as he took the first bite, watching the way his lips moved, the flex of his jaw. “Getting there,” she said, her tongue darting out to wet her own lips.
“Miyeon.”
“Yeah?”
“Back up.”
“Why?” Her eyes sparkled. “You uncomfortable, counselor?” She shifted closer, one knee nudging between his thighs.
He swallowed, deliberately slow, feeling the growing hardness he couldn't quite hide. “You’re in my space.”
“Your space is nice.” She tilted her head, strands of hair brushing his knuckles where his hand rested on the desk, sending sparks up his arm. “Also, I think you like it. I can feel it.”
Fine. He set the sandwich down. Then he moved.
He gripped the armrests and rolled the chair forward, just enough that her hips hit the edge of the desk with a soft thud. She made a small sound—surprise, pleasure—flashing in her eyes as he used his momentum to force her to straighten, hands sliding to his shoulders to steady herself, nails digging in lightly through his shirt.
Now she was the one trapped—back against the desk, his chair between her legs, one of his hands braced on the wood beside her hip, the other resting dangerously close to her thigh.
Her breath hitched, breasts rising and falling faster. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, so close.
“Counselor,” she said softly, “are you punishing me?”
Something in his chest tightened at the word, his cock twitching at the breathy way she said it. “For someone who claims to be a detective,” he murmured, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed hers, “you’re very bad at reading warnings.”
“Oh, I read them.” Her fingers curled in his shirt, knuckles brushing his collarbone, then lower, teasing the top button. “I just ignore them.”
He leaned in closer, slow, until the air between them was nothing. Her perfume was faint—just skin and something warm, mixed with the subtle musk of her arousal. “You’ve been playing around in my office,” he said quietly, his free hand finally settling on her thigh, fingers splaying over the fabric of her pants, thumb stroking slow circles that made her shiver. “In my cases. In my time.”
His voice dropped, rough with want. “That doesn’t work for me, Miyeon.”
She swallowed, throat working visibly, a soft whimper escaping as his thumb pressed higher, brushing the seam between her legs.
“Fuck.”
“Language,” he said automatically, and saw her mouth curve, even as her hips shifted subtly toward his touch.
“You swear, too,” she breathed, arching slightly.
“Yes,” he said. “But not in my office.” His hand slid higher, cupping her firmly now, feeling the heat through her clothes, the way she pressed into his palm instinctively.
She licked her lips, the movement slow and deliberate, her eyes half-lidded. It damn near shattered his control. He could see the shift in her. The teasing was still there, but under it—raw heat. Need. A sharp, focused kind of surrender.
“You’re serious,” she said quietly, voice trembling.
“I’m always serious,” he said. “You just don’t take me seriously.” His fingers teased her through the fabric, slow, deliberate strokes that had her thighs tensing around his chair.
Her fingers tightened in his shirt like she wanted to pull him closer, grind against him. “Oh, I do,” she said. “That’s the problem, counselor.” Her hips rolled subtly, seeking more pressure.
He let that sit between them, heavy, his own arousal straining painfully now. Then he made a deliberate decision.
“Hands,” he said, voice commanding.
She blinked, dazed. “What?”
“Up,” he said. “On the desk. Flat.”
Her eyes widened, a flush spreading down her neck to her chest. “You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” His hand stilled on her, denying her the friction she craved.
She searched his face. Apparently, she didn’t find any mercy there, because after a beat, she slowly, slowly lifted her hands from his shoulders and set them down on the desk behind her. Palms flat. Fingers splayed, trembling slightly.
“Like this?” she asked, voice husky, needy.
“Exactly like that,” he said. “And you don’t move them.” He resumed his touch—lighter now, teasing, circling her clit through the layers until she gasped softly.
Her breath came faster, chest heaving. “Or what?”
“Or I stop,” he said simply, pulling his hand away entirely. “You waste my time again, I stop giving it to you.”
Something flared in her eyes at that—desperation, heat. “You’re mean,” she whispered, thighs clenching.
“You’ve been asking for it.” He watched the way her body trembled, the way her hips chased his absent touch. “I’m going to finish my food,” he said, picking up the sandwich again, his other hand returning to her thigh but not where she needed it. “You’re going to stay exactly where you are. Quiet. Still. No touching. No grinding against my hand until I say.”
Her lips parted on a soft moan. A deeper flush crept up her neck. “That’s not much of a punishment,” she tried, but her voice cracked as his fingers traced lazy patterns on her inner thigh.
“Isn’t it?” he asked mildly. “You like attention, Detective Cho. You like getting reactions. You like touching.” He took a slow bite, eyes never leaving hers, then let his hand drift higher again, pressing firmly, rubbing slow circles that had her biting her lip to stifle a whimper. “So you’re going to sit here and get just enough to ache for more. Ignored when you want to beg.”
He watched it hit. The way her pupils blew wide. The way her fingers twitched against the desk, knuckles white as she fought not to move. The soft, frustrated curses under her breath when he eased off just as her breathing quickened.
“Fuck, that’s messed up,” she whispered, hips twitching involuntarily.
“Language,” he reminded her again, his thumb pressing harder for a moment, rewarding and punishing at once, drawing a gasp from her.
Her inhale was sharp, body arching. “You can walk away,” he said quietly, voice low and steady even as his own control frayed. “Right now. Say you’re done, and this never happens again. Or you stay put and behave for once in your life.”
She stared at him, tension strung tight between them, her arousal evident in the way she shifted, the damp heat he could feel through her pants.
Then she exhaled shakily and said, low, “Fuck you.”
“Strike one,” he said calmly. “Hands flat. And stay still.”
Her fingers flattened again against the wood, knuckles white. She stayed, trembling, as he continued his slow, maddening tease—bringing her to the edge of release with expert pressure, then easing off, over and over, until soft pleas escaped her lips despite her efforts.
He finished the sandwich, wiped his fingers deliberately, tossed the wrapper. Only then did he look up at her properly, his hand finally stilling.
Her cheeks were flushed deep pink. Eyes dark and glassy. Lips swollen from biting them, chest heaving with restrained need.
“Good,” he said softly, voice rough with his own desire. “You can listen.”
“Barely,” she muttered, hoarse, thighs quivering around him.
He let himself enjoy that for a second—the power, the way she'd submitted so beautifully. Then—because he was not, actually, going to fuck her on his desk at midnight, no matter how desperately he wanted to feel her clench around him—he let his voice soften, his hand sliding away.
“Hands down,” he said. “You’re done. For tonight.”
She dropped them from the desk like her muscles actually hurt, one hand immediately going to grip his shoulder for support as her legs shook. “You’re evil,” she breathed, leaning in, her forehead almost touching his.
“You started it,” he said, his hands settling on her waist to steady her, thumbs stroking the strip of exposed skin.
Her gaze raked over him, frustrated and hungry and impressed all at once. Then she laughed, quiet and disbelieving, shaking her head. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, counselor. I see you.”
“Do you?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I thought you were just all brain and sarcasm. You’ve got a mean streak.” She paused, pressing closer, her core brushing his hardness through his pants, drawing a low groan from him. “I like it. A lot.”
He didn’t answer that, but his grip tightened on her hips.
She leaned in close suddenly, one hand bracing on the arm of his chair, the other sliding up his neck into his hair. Her mouth hovered near his ear, breath hot. “You know what the worst part is?” she murmured, grinding subtly against him once, teasing them both.
“What.” His voice was strained now.
“I’m gonna be thinking about that,” she said, voice low and rough, “every time I walk into this office now. How close you got me without letting me come. How hard you are right now.”
His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer involuntarily. “Miyeon,” he warned, but it came out like a plea.
She smiled against his skin, then kissed the shell of his ear—slow, wet, her tongue tracing the edge before she nipped lightly. “Relax, counselor. I’ll behave. For now.”
She pressed a final kiss to his jaw, soft and lingering, then pulled back enough to look him in the eye, her own still heavy with unspent desire. “But you should know—if this was your idea of punishment…”
She ground against him once more, deliberate, feeling his length throb in response.
“…it kind of backfired. Because now I’m soaked, aching, and all I can think about is how good you’d feel inside me.”
He swallowed hard, breathing ragged. “Go home,” he said, because if he didn’t, he’d have her bent over the desk in seconds.
She grinned, satisfied and wrecked in a way that made something in his chest twist. “Yes, sir,” she said quietly, voice dripping with promise, then turned on her heel and walked out, hips swaying with deliberate provocation.
He let his head fall back against the chair the second the door shut, eyes closing, hand pressing against his aching cock through his pants, breathing like he’d just run a marathon.
Backfired, she’d said.
He wasn’t sure which of them it had really backfired on. But god, he wanted to find out.
—
The weeks blurred into a heated routine. Miyeon showed up in Y/N’s office every day—sometimes with case files, sometimes with coffee, always with that infuriating, irresistible smirk. She’d perch on his desk, steal his pens, lean over his shoulder too close, her breath warm against his ear as she “helped” read reports. Her fingers would trail along his arm, his neck, the inside of his wrist when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. But he always was.
He told himself it was professional tolerance. He told himself he was in control.
He was lying.
One evening, two months into the case, the office was empty again. Rain lashed against the windows, the city lights smeared across the glass. They’d been arguing over a witness statement for twenty minutes—Miyeon insisting the guy was lying, Y/N insisting they needed harder proof.
She was sitting on the edge of his desk as usual, legs swinging, one boot nudging his thigh under the desk.
“You’re being stubborn,” she said, leaning forward, shirt dipping just enough to tease. “He’s hiding something. I can feel it.”
“You feel a lot of things,” he muttered, eyes on his screen, trying not to notice how close her knee was to his crotch.
She grinned. “Jealous?”
He exhaled through his nose. “Miyeon. Focus.”
“Make me.”
That did it.
He pushed his chair back, stood abruptly, and rounded the desk. She didn’t move—just watched him with those dark, challenging eyes.
“Get off my desk.”
“Or what, counselor?” She tilted her head, lips curving. “You gonna arrest me?”
He didn’t answer with words.
His hand came down in one swift, controlled motion—a sharp, playful spank against the curve of her ass where she sat perched. Not hard. Just enough to sting through her jeans. Enough to shut her up.
The crack echoed in the quiet office.
She froze.
Then she moaned.
Low, throaty, deliberate. Her eyes fluttered half-closed, lips parting as she arched slightly into the spot he’d just struck.
“Fuck,” she whispered, voice husky. “Do that again.”
He stared at her, hand still hovering near her hip. “Miyeon—”
She turned on the desk, sliding one leg over so she was facing him fully, thighs parted just enough to make his pulse spike. “You spanked me,” she said, breathless, cheeks flushed. “And I liked it. A lot.”
He should have stepped back.
He didn’t.
She reached for his tie, fingers curling into the silk, tugging him closer until he was standing between her legs. “You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” she murmured, eyes locked on his. “Holding back. Being so… controlled.” Her free hand slid down his chest, over his stomach, stopping just above his belt. “But you just lost it a little. And it was hot.”
His jaw clenched. “This is my office.”
“Then punish me properly,” she said, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Sir.”
Something snapped.
He grabbed her hips, pulled her to the edge of the desk, and spanked her again—harder this time, palm connecting firmly with her ass. She gasped, head falling back, a soft, needy sound escaping her throat.
“Yes—fuck, like that.”
Another. And another. Each one drawing a moan from her, her body writhing slightly, pressing forward against him.
She was soaking through her jeans—he could feel the heat when his thigh nudged between hers.
“Daddy,” she breathed suddenly, the word slipping out like silk and sin.
He froze.
She looked up at him through her lashes, lips swollen, eyes dark with lust. “You like that?” she asked softly. “Me calling you Daddy while you spank your bad girl?”
His cock throbbed painfully against his pants.
She saw it. Smirked. Then reached behind her back and pulled something from her pocket—her police handcuffs, glinting in the low light.
“Arrest me, Daddy,” she whispered, holding them out. “I’ve been very, very naughty.”
He took them without thinking.
Clicked one cuff around her left wrist, then pulled her arms behind her back and secured the other. The metal was cold against her skin; she shivered, nipples hardening visibly through her shirt.
He pushed her back gently until she was lying across his desk, papers scattering to the floor, wrists bound behind her.
Then he loomed over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other sliding up her thigh, unbuttoning her jeans with deliberate slowness.
“You want to be fucked like a bad girl?” he growled, voice rough with restraint finally breaking.
“Yes, Daddy,” she moaned, arching up as he tugged her jeans and panties down in one motion, exposing her. She was dripping—glistening, swollen, aching for him.
He groaned at the sight, fingers sliding through her wetness, teasing her clit until she whimpered.
“Please—”
He freed himself quickly—belt, zipper, cock hard and heavy in his hand. He didn’t bother with more teasing. He couldn’t.
He pushed into her in one deep thrust.
She cried out, back arching off the desk, legs wrapping around his waist as he filled her completely.
“Fuck—Daddy—so big—”
He started moving—hard, controlled strokes, each one driving a moan from her throat. The desk creaked under them. Her bound hands pressed against the wood, giving her no leverage, making her take everything he gave.
He leaned down, mouth against her ear. “This what you wanted? To get fucked on my desk like a needy little slut?”
“Yes—yes—harder, please—”
He obliged, one hand gripping her hip, the other sliding up to wrap loosely around her throat—not tight, just possessive. She moaned louder, clenching around him.
“You’re mine now,” he growled. “Every time you annoy me, I’m going to bend you over and remind you who you belong to.”
She came with a broken cry, body shaking, walls pulsing around him as he kept thrusting through it.
He followed moments later, burying himself deep and spilling inside her with a low groan, her name on his lips.
They stayed like that for a long moment—him slumped over her, breathing ragged, her legs still locked around him, wrists cuffed behind her back.
Eventually, he reached back and unlocked the cuffs, rubbing her wrists gently where the metal had bitten in.
She smiled up at him, lazy and satisfied, hair messy, lips swollen.
The lunchroom feels wrong before I even step inside.
Too loud. Too bright. Too focused.
Word travels fast in this school; gossip travels faster. By the time I make it down the last stair, I can feel it in the way conversations dip as I pass. Heads tip together. Eyes flicker toward me, then away.
They know.
Not everything—not the staircase, the files, the nights spent combing through evidence until our eyes burned. But enough.
Scholarship kid. Yoo Group scandal. Case overturned. Some connection.
I stop at the edge of the cafeteria, tray in hand, scanning instinctively for my usual corner.
I don’t make it three steps.
“Y/N.”
Her voice slices clean through the noise.
The room ripples. Heads turn.
Karina stands up from her table—the table, dead center of the room, where the light always seems better and the air always seems thinner. She’s surrounded by familiar faces: Minji, two guys from other elite classes, a girl from the debate team. Her old court.
She doesn’t look like an exile anymore.
She looks like she owns the room again.
But when her eyes land on me, something in her expression softens—visibly, deliberately—in front of everyone.
She curls her fingers.
“Over here.”
The command slides under my skin like a hook.
My heart stutters. For a second, my old instinct kicks in: look away, pretend I didn’t hear, fade into the background. Let the room settle, let the whispers die.
But I remember what she said yesterday, voice low and steady on the staircase.
Then I’ll sit with you. Every day. Wherever you go. I will find you.
If I run, she’ll follow.
I take a breath and start walking.
The noise drops in concentric circles as I pass tables. People force themselves to keep talking, but their words slow, stutter, eyes dragging after me like I’ve grown antlers.
I reach the table. Set my tray down across from her.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
“Hey,” she echoes, like this is as casual as breathing.
Under the table, my leg jiggles. Under the table, something warm touches my knee—just a press of her shoe. Intentional. Grounding. Claiming.
Her friends stare.
Minji recovers first, smile stretched too wide.
“So,” she says brightly, “you’re the genius scholarship boy.”
I look at her, force my voice flat. “Y/N.”
She laughs, flicking her hair. “Right. Y/N. We’ve… seen you around.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I noticed.”
One of the guys leans forward, expression hungry. “I heard you helped with the case. Is that true?”
I glance at Karina.
She’s watching me calmly, like she’s testing how I’ll handle this. Like she already knows the answer and just wants to see if I’ll lie.
“I helped her,” I say. “She did most of the work.”
“You didn’t expect me to touch something that wasn’t designer,” she cuts in smoothly. “I know.”
The table tenses. He shuts up.
Minji fidgets with her fork, then clears her throat.
“I’m sorry I didn’t… talk to you earlier,” she says to me, choosing each word like it’s on a landmine. “Everything was just so crazy. We didn’t know what was true or not. I’m glad things turned out okay.”
There’s an apology in there somewhere, diluted, wrapped in plausible deniability.
“I’m glad he’s innocent,” I say. “Nobody deserves to be framed.”
She relaxes, misreading. “Right. Exactly.”
Karina doesn’t say anything, but under the table, her foot slides up my shin and back down, a slow, deliberate drag of sole over fabric.
My hand tightens around my chopsticks.
She turns back to her food.
“So,” she says, tone abruptly bright, “are we going to talk about something other than my family’s court case, or are we making it a lunch special?”
Half the table laughs a little too loudly.
The conversation shifts. They talk about college prep, a charity gala her family is hosting now that their name is clean, a new club some board member’s son founded.
They talk around me, but not through me. I’m included, technically. Like a visiting exhibit everyone’s curious about but too afraid to poke.
But I’m not being ignored.
I’m not being mocked.
And every time someone’s sentence even flirts with old material—the scholarship jokes, the “poor boy” digs—Karina’s gaze flicks over, cold and precise.
They correct mid-word.
Midway through lunch, the tension in my shoulders eases a notch. I take a sip of soup and find her already watching me.
“What?” I murmur.
“Nothing,” she says. A small, genuine smile tugs at her mouth. “Just checking you didn’t bolt.”
“Thought about it,” I mutter.
“Don’t,” she says, quiet enough that only I can hear. “I’m not chasing you in front of them. I’ll drag you back next time.”
The fucked-up thing is—she absolutely would.
Minji leans in, eager to claw the attention back. “So, Y/N,” she says, picking at her salad, “you got first place on the midterms, right? That’s insane. How do you even study?”
“Same as everyone else,” I say. “Read. Practice. Don’t sleep.”
One of the guys laughs. “Mood.”
“Do you have a tutor?” Minji presses. “Or, like, extra classes?”
“Can’t afford one,” I say, unapologetic.
Her cheeks color.
Karina’s shoe nudges my ankle. “You want extra classes?” she asks, tone light but eyes sharp. “We can arrange that.”
“I’m good,” I say, meeting her gaze.
She studies me for a full second, then nods once.
“Just making sure,” she murmurs.
There’s something in it that’s not just concern. It’s assessment. It’s: Where are you fragile? Where do I need to cover you?
By the time lunch ends, the cafeteria has mostly remembered its own existence. New rumors have spawned. Old ones have mutated. The heat on us cools to a low, constant hum.
We stand.
Karina steps into my space, close enough that I can smell her perfume—light, expensive, faintly floral.
“Walk me to class?” she asks quietly.
It’s phrased like a question.
It’s not one.
“Yeah,” I say.
—
Walking beside her down the corridor feels like wearing someone else’s skin.
I’m too aware of everything: her arm brushing mine, the weight of eyes on my back, the way conversations dim as we pass like someone turned down the volume.
No one stops us.
No one laughs out loud.
They stare. They take pictures. They whisper into their phones.
Karina holds her head high, polished and detached, like she hasn’t noticed a thing.
But when we pass a group of guys from a neighboring class and I catch the tail end of a hissed “gold digger” in my direction, her fingers twitch.
She doesn’t turn.
Doesn’t break stride.
Just says, conversationally, “Funny how people always think he’s the one digging for gold when he was the one who stayed when it was all fucking gone.”
The guy chokes on his own spit.
His friends shut up.
She doesn’t even look back.
She stops at her classroom door and turns to me.
“After school,” she says. “Same place.”
The staircase. Our unofficial hideout.
I nod. “Okay.”
She hesitates for a half-second. Her hand lifts like she’s going to touch my face, then she thinks better of it and just wraps her fingers around my wrist.
Quick squeeze. Warm. Firm.
Mine.
Then she’s gone, slipping back into her seat, the classroom orbit re-aligning itself around her.
I watch for a beat too long.
“Y/N, you going in?” someone behind me says, and I realize I’m blocking the doorway to my own class.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
—
The next few weeks are… wrong in a way that feels suspiciously close to right.
We orbit each other like we’ve been doing it for years.
She doesn’t glue herself to my side 24/7 like I half-feared. She’s still Karina—busy, overbooked, performing three different versions of herself for three different audiences.
But there are anchors now.
Every lunch, she makes space at her table—or finds me if I’m too slow.
After school, we drift to the staircase, or the library, or that shabby park one bus stop away where the benches squeak and the swings rust.
When it rains, she appears at my classroom door with an umbrella and that look that says, Don’t fight me on this, and we walk under it together, pressed too close, pretending we’re not both listening to the sound of each other breathing.
True to her word, she keeps her hands all over the invisible chessboard.
When a teacher tries to keep me out of an advanced prep class “for capacity reasons,” she “accidentally” mentions my name while her father’s on a board call. We never talk about it, but a spot opens the next day “due to schedule adjustments.”
When some asshole snickers in the hallway something about me “fucking my way into Yoo money,” he’s mysteriously uninvited from three different high-profile study groups by the weekend.
When a rumor starts that I cheated on a mock exam, it dies so fast it’s like it never existed.
I don’t ask what she does.
I know.
And the knowledge sits in me like something heavy and hot.
On one hand, it scares the shit out of me. On the other, it feels… like armor. Like after a lifetime of taking hits barehanded, someone finally shoved a shield into my grip and said, Use it or not, but it’s here.
One evening, we’re in the park, sitting on the swings like kids who never learned how not to be. The sun is bleeding out behind the buildings. The air smells like damp dirt and car exhaust.
She’s nudging the ground lazily with the toes of her shoes, making the chains creak.
“You’re doing it again,” I say.
“Doing what?” she asks, gaze tilted up at the sky, hair falling around her face.
“Shielding. Smoothing. Pulling strings.”
She doesn’t bother to deny it.
“That bother you?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. Then, grudgingly: “And… no.”
She snorts. “So decisive.”
“I don’t want to be some… project,” I say. “Some mess you clean up because you can’t stand imperfection in your line of sight.”
“You’re not a project,” she says, tone sharpening. “And I don’t fix you. I fix the idiots who think they can touch you and walk away breathing.”
I twist my fingers tighter around the chain. “It’s still you stepping in.”
“And?” she counters. “You think they wouldn’t have someone step in for them? They all have parents, uncles, sponsors ready to call principals and board members. You don’t. So I’ll be that for you until you can do it yourself.”
There’s a beat of silence.
She glances sideways, reading my jaw, my shoulders, my silence.
“You can tell me to back off when it’s about you,” she adds. “I won’t promise I’ll actually back off. But I’ll listen. For, like, five seconds.”
I huff out a reluctant laugh. “Wow. Generous.”
“Baby steps,” she says, grinning. “You knew what you were signing up for.”
The breeze lifts her hair. A strand blows against my arm, light and ticklish.
I look at her.
Really look.
At the way the fading light streaks gold along her cheekbones. At the faint shadows under her eyes that foundation can’t completely hide. At the mouth that used to shape the word “trash” around me now hovering over the word “mine” without saying it.
“What?” she asks when she crawls out of her own head long enough to catch me staring.
“Nothing,” I say. Then, because I’m done lying to myself: “You look… happy.”
Her brows lift a fraction.
“Do I?”
“Yeah.”
She considers that.
“I am,” she says at last.
“Why?” The question slips out before I can stomp on it. “Your life’s still a shitshow. The case is only just wrapping up, you’ve got reporters shoving mics in your mom’s face, your mother’s probably trying to auction you off to the highest-status son she can find—”
“I’m not happy about that,” she cuts in, rolling her eyes. Then she turns her head, meets my gaze head-on.
“I’m happy because when all that noise dies down for the day,” she says, gesturing between us, “this is still here.”
Her voice thins a little.
“You’re still here.”
The words land low in my chest.
“What is this, then?” I ask, throat dry.
She goes still.
I can practically see the war inside her—ego against fear, habit against instinct. The part of her that was raised on image versus the part of her that sobbed into my chest on a dirty stair.
Then slowly, she lets go of the chain with one hand and reaches for me.
Her fingers weave through mine, firm and sure.
My hand jerks, stupidly startled.
“Do I have to draw a diagram?” she asks, voice low.
“Yeah,” I say. My heart is loud in my ears. “You kind of do.”
She sighs dramatically. “You really are a genius. Just not where it’s convenient.”
“Karina—”
“Fine,” she says, turning fully toward me, swing twisting just enough that the chains groan.
She tightens her grip on my hand like I might bolt.
“I like you,” she says, eyes on mine. No laughing, no mocking. Just flat truth. “Not in the ‘you’re my only friend during a shitstorm’ way. Not in the ‘you’re my savior who helped clear my dad’s name’ way. Not in the ‘you’re a convenient guard dog to scare my fake friends’ way.”
She swallows.
“I like you in the ‘I think about you when I wake up and the first person I want to text is you’ way. In the ‘I sit in boring meetings imagining you making faces at me across the table’ way. In the ‘it feels like I’m being skinned alive when you talk about leaving’ way.”
Her eyes don’t waver.
“In the ‘I want you’ way,” she finishes. “Romantic. Stupid. All-in.”
My heart is stumbling over itself.
“…oh,” I say, because apparently my brain has left the chat.
She lets out a broken laugh. “Oh. Unbelievable.”
I close my eyes for a second, gather the pieces, and manage to string them into something that resembles language.
“Same,” I say, soft.
She freezes. “What?”
“Same,” I repeat, heat climbing my neck. “I like you. In the really fucking inconvenient way. In the ‘I know exactly how cruel you can be and I still want to be around you’ way. In the ‘I picture you in my future and it doesn’t scare me more than it excites me’ way.”
Her fingers flex around mine.
“And that scares the hell out of me,” I add.
“Why?” she whispers.
“Because you can crush me,” I say simply. “Not just socially. Not just with your dad’s name. You. If one day you decide this is over, you can go back to your world. There’s… no going back for me. I don’t have a different version of this.”
Something in her face cracks.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “I really did a number on you.”
“You had help,” I say. “This entire ecosystem runs on reminding people like me we’re disposable.”
“Not to me,” she says instantly. There’s a desperate edge in it that makes my chest pull tight. “Not ever again. I don’t— I’m not asking you to forget the shit I did. I just… I want a chance to make different choices this time.”
Her voice trembles now, anger redirected inward.
“I spent years playing queen of the fucking food chain,” she says. “Stepping on people just to prove I could. I looked at you and saw everything I didn’t want to be—broke, powerless, outside. So I kicked you, like if I pushed hard enough, reality would stop looking like you.”
Her grip on my hand hurts now. I don’t pull away.
“You didn’t flinch enough,” she says, mouth twisting. “That pissed me off. You kept standing up after I knocked you down. You kept existing in my line of sight without begging.”
I remember. Every humiliating hallway encounter. Every time she called me trash.
“I’m sorry,” she says abruptly.
The words hang there, strange and out of place on her tongue.
“You said that before,” I remind her, quietly.
“I’ll say it a hundred fucking times if that’s what it takes,” she says. “I was cruel. You didn’t deserve it. Nobody did. I saw you as a threat when really… you were just you. Doing your best to survive in a rigged game.”
She takes a shaky breath.
“So let me have you,” she says, voice dropping. Not pleading. Commanding. But there’s a tremor, a crack of rawness under it. “Let me hold onto the one good thing that came out of all this. And I’ll spend every day proving that choosing you isn’t some… charity project or rebellion phase. It’s the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
She’s staring at me like I’m a lifeline and a loaded gun at the same time.
“My life isn’t yours to ‘have,’” I say, voice low. “But… I can share it. If you’re actually serious about this. If you understand I’m not just going to dissolve into your world. I need my own edges.”
She nods without hesitation. “Done.”
“You say that like it’s easy.”
“It’s not,” she says, honest. “I will fuck up. I’ll push too hard, meddle where I shouldn’t, say some classist bullshit without thinking. You’ll have to call me out. Probably yell at me. Maybe walk away for a bit.”
“I can do that,” I say.
Her lips twitch.
“Then maybe,” she says, “we’ll be fine.”
Silence stretches, heavy but not suffocating.
Then she leans in, eyes flicking to my mouth.
“Can I kiss you?” she asks.
The question knocks the air out of me.
My brain scrambles for something smart to say and finds nothing.
“Yes,” I manage.
Her smile goes soft in a way I’ve never seen in public.
“Good,” she whispers.
She slides off the swing, stepping between my knees. I’m hyperaware of everything—her perfume, the heat of her body, the creak of the chain as she shifts her weight.
Her hand comes up, cupping my jaw like she’s done this a million times already in her head.
“This is so fucking weird,” she murmurs.
“What is?” My voice comes out hoarse.
“Making the first move on someone I used to make cry in hallways,” she says with a crooked grin. “You ruined my villain arc.”
“You’ll live,” I breathe.
She huffs a laugh.
Then she closes the distance.
Her lips brush mine, tentative but sure, the kiss more question than demand. My hands, locked so long around the swing chains they ache, finally let go, hovering stupidly in the air for a second.
She pulls back an inch.
“You can touch me,” she murmurs against my mouth. “I’m not glass. And I already know you’re poor, you can’t steal anything from me I haven’t already given.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, and let my hands settle on her waist.
Her exhale is shaky.
The second kiss is deeper. Slower. Still careful, but less afraid.
She tastes like vending machine coffee and something sweet from lunch. Her lower lip is slightly chapped at the center. When I accidentally brush my tongue against her mouth, she makes a small, startled sound that does unholy things to my pulse.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a hysterical voice keeps repeating, You’re kissing Yoo Jimin on a shitty public swing set, what the fuck, but the rest of me drowns it out.
When we finally pull apart, her forehead drops against mine, both of us breathing a little too fast.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Yeah. This. I want this.”
“Me too,” I say.
Her eyes flick up, searching.
“Say it,” she mutters. “I’m greedy.”
“I want this,” I say, clearer. “I want you. I want… us. Whatever the hell that looks like.”
Her smile blooms slow and bright, like something unfurling for the first time in real sunlight.
“Good,” she says.
Then, with zero warning, she shifts back into something more familiar, mouth curving into a smirk.
“So,” she says breezily, “boyfriend.”
The word punches through my chest armor.
“Are we just… calling it that now?” I ask, dazed.
“Yes,” she says, not missing a beat. “Unless you’d rather ‘the guy I make out with in parks and emotionally blackmail into staying.’”
“Boyfriend’s fine,” I blurt.
Her laugh is delighted, sharp around the edges but genuine at the center.
“Say it again.”
I groan. “Why are you like this?”
“Say it,” she insists.
I sigh, but I’m smiling. “I’m your boyfriend.”
Her eyes go soft in a way that should be illegal.
“And I’m yours,” she says.
The simplicity of it cuts cleaner than any grand, flowery confession.
Mine.
The girl who used to step on me to feel taller. The heiress whose last name is carved into half the buildings in this district.
Mine.
I tug her back in for another kiss because there’s really nothing else to do with that level of emotional voltage.
She goes easily, smiling against my mouth, fingers slipping into my hair like she plans to stay there.
The swing creaks and the sky bleeds orange and for a few stretched-out seconds, everything that isn’t her fades to static.
Status can wait.
Fear can wait.
This can’t.
—
Dating Karina is like hugging a knife.
You get used to the sharp parts, learn where not to press. But the danger’s always there, humming under the skin.
She’s intense. Of course.
But she’s also… disarmingly soft in places.
In public, she’s still the polished Yoo heiress—composed, a little distant, careful with how much softness she lets people see.
Except with me.
With me, she doesn’t hide it.
She doesn’t hide me either.
If anything, she drags our connection into the spotlight and dares anyone to blink.
The next week, she’s leaning in my classroom doorway when the last bell rings, arms folded, expression bored as if she hasn’t just set off fifteen different rumor bombs by being there.
“Y/N,” she calls, ignoring the way the entire room stiffens. “Let’s go.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder, walk toward her. Someone from the back mutters, “Holy shit.”
A guy near the door raises an eyebrow. “You two… close now, huh?”
Karina doesn’t wait for my brain to fumble.
She slips her arm through mine, fingers slotting neatly into the crook of my elbow like she’s done it her whole life.
“We’re dating,” she says calmly. “I’d have thought that was obvious.”
The doorway freezes.
I feel my ears go hot.
“You don’t have to—” I start.
“Yes, I do,” she says, just for me. “I’m not letting them write the story for us. I chose you. If anyone has a problem with that, they can bring it to me instead of talking shit to you.”
She says it light, but there’s steel wrapped around each word.
Nobody volunteers.
As we walk down the hall, arm in arm, I mutter, “Subtle.”
“I don’t do subtle with things I care about,” she replies.
“You’re going to make my life hell,” I say, but there’s no real anger in it. Just worn-out affection.
“I’m going to make your life mine,” she corrects, then smirks. “And interesting. Don’t forget interesting.”
I should tell her to stop saying shit like that.
I don’t.
—
She starts haunting the library too.
Sometimes she genuinely studies, highlighter moving methodically through dense pages. Sometimes she spends half the time kicking my ankle and whispering commentary about everyone else in the room.
“Would you still date me if my dad was guilty?” she asks one evening, breaking a long stretch of quiet.
I blink at my notes. “What?”
“It’s a hypothetical,” she says, like that helps.
“I figured,” I say. “I just… what triggered that particular brain worm?”
She taps the end of her pen against her textbook. “I was thinking. If he really had done it. If we’d lost everything. If I was just the disgraced daughter of a criminal, no money, no power, just… stain. Would you still be here?”
She sets the pen down. Watches me.
I lean back, stare at the stacks in front of us.
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “I think I would.”
“Why?” Her voice has a thread of desperation woven into the faux-casual.
“Because by then,” I say, “I’d already know you. The stairs you hide on. The way your hands shake when you’re holding something that matters. The fact that you printed out a hundred pages of financial records instead of running away. I wouldn’t be dating a last name. Or a clean record. I’d be dating you.”
She blinks fast, grabbing for the highlighter like it’s a shield.
“You say shit like that,” she mutters, “and then act confused when I want to lock you in my room and never let you leave.”
My ears burn. “That’s… a joke, right?”
She looks at me, smile sharp. “Mostly.”
“‘Mostly’ is doing a lot of work there.”
“You like it,” she says.
I open my mouth to deny it.
Then I remember the way it feels when she steps into a room and looks for me first. When she brushes against me in crowded hallways like it’s on purpose. When some guy from another class “accidentally” shoves my shoulder and she’s suddenly there, fingers curling around my wrist like she’s counting my pulse.
My mouth closes.
“Maybe,” I mutter.
She beams, victorious.
—
Her father asks to meet me.
Not just as “the boy who helped with the case.”
As “the boy my daughter refuses to stop talking about.”
His house is ridiculous. Of course.
Marble and glass and art that probably cost more than my entire childhood. Security so tight I half-expect them to scan my soul on the way in.
Karina comes down the sweeping staircase in sweats and an oversized tee, bare feet slapping on polished wood.
“You made it,” she says, grinning.
“Your house has a lobby,” I say faintly. “I thought I’d gotten off at the wrong subway line.”
She laughs, eyes bright. “Come on. He’s in his study. Try not to spontaneously combust.”
“Not helpful,” I hiss.
Her hand finds mine briefly, warm and steady. “Relax. He owes you.”
“Pretty sure he’s not the one who feels that way,” I mutter.
Her father is… unsettling in the quiet way dangerous people are.
He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t sneer.
He just watches.
“Y/N,” he says after Karina introduces me, his gaze taking in everything and giving nothing away. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for inviting me, sir,” I say, trying not to sound like I’m about to recite my GPA.
We do the usual polite dance. School. Exams. My “future goals.” He listens, nods, occasionally glances at Karina like he’s comparing the way we move, talk, breathe.
Then he pivots.
“My daughter tells me you refused any… material gratitude,” he says.
I swallow. “Yes, sir.”
“Why?” he asks, genuinely curious.
“Because that’s not why I helped,” I say. “It was the right thing to do. I didn’t want it to look like I only did it for a reward.”
He leans back, steepling his fingers. “That makes you either very honorable,” he says, “or very foolish.”
“Appa,” Karina snaps softly.
He lifts a hand, quieting her without really looking away from me.
“I suspect,” he continues, “you’re a dangerous mix of both.”
He smiles, just a little.
“That is… inconvenient,” he says. “But not unwelcome.”
My shoulders unclench a fraction.
“I’m not going to insult either of you by pretending class doesn’t exist,” he says. “We are not equal in resources. Or access. That will make people talk. They will call you opportunist. They will call you phase.” His gaze flicks to Karina. “They will call you impulsive.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue.
“I won’t offer to ‘buy’ your presence,” he goes on. “That would cheapen whatever this is and poison it at the root. But I am also not a saint. If someone uses my daughter’s name to hurt you, or tries to close doors in your face out of jealousy, tell her. Or tell me. I can’t fix every injustice in this world, but I can certainly deal with that level of stupidity.”
A chill runs down my spine at the casual threat.
Karina groans. “Appa, he’s going to think you’re a mob boss.”
He gives her a look. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
Then he turns back to me, his expression softening a fraction.
“You helped my family when we believed we had nothing to offer you,” he says. “You asked for nothing but the truth. Consider what I’ve just said… insurance. Not payment.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say. And for the first time in that room, I mean it without reservation.
As we’re leaving, Karina bumps my shoulder.
“See?” she murmurs. “You survived.”
“Barely,” I say. “Your dad is terrifying.”
“He terrifies everyone,” she says brightly. “You’re special if he only terrifies you a little.”
“That’s your metric for ‘special?’”
“It worked on you,” she says. “You stayed.”
She’s not entirely wrong.
—
Months pile up.
Exams loom.
We grind through mock tests, practice essays, nights that bleed into mornings over textbooks and cold coffee. Sometimes together in libraries. Sometimes over video calls, her face grainy on my cracked phone screen.
In between, there’s… us.
The soft, stupid, terrifying parts.
She falls asleep in less than ten minutes if I play with her hair while she studies. Like clockwork. Every time. It’s dangerous information.
I short-circuit embarrassingly easily when she says I look good. Tell me I aced a test: shrug. Tell me you like the way my sleeves are rolled up: full system reboot.
She hums under her breath when she’s unconsciously content. Soft, tuneless, right next to my ear when we share earphones on the bus.
One Saturday, she comes over to my place.
It’s… small. Two rooms. Thin walls. A fridge that sounds like it’s considering death. The wallpaper is peeling in one corner.
She steps inside. Looks around slowly.
Shame claws up my throat on instinct.
“It’s not—” I start.
“Don’t,” she says, voice suddenly hard. “Don’t you dare apologize for where you live.”
I shut my mouth.
She wanders over to my bookshelf—cheap wood, sagging a little. Runs her fingers along worn spines.
“You read all of these?” she asks.
“Most,” I say.
She pulls out a thick book on constitutional law, snorts softly. “Of course.”
“Says the girl who printed out a prosecutor’s entire evidence list for fun,” I shoot back.
Her grin is immediate. “Touché.”
My mom pokes her head out from the kitchen, dish towel in hand.
“Y/N-ah, is that your fri—”
She stops dead.
Her eyes widen comically. “Oh my— you’re… Yoo Jimin, right?”
Karina straightens, then bows politely. “Hello, Mrs. Y/LN. Thank you for having me.”
My mom fumbles the dish towel, flustered for all of two seconds before maternal mode kicks in.
“She’s so polite,” she stage-whispers to me. In Korean. Loudly.
Karina’s lips twitch.
It takes roughly three minutes for my mom to start feeding her. Fruit, snacks, juice, then coffee once she realizes Karina isn’t going to grimace at instant mix.
From the table, I hear them in the kitchen.
“I worried,” my mom says, voice warm, “he never brought anyone home. Always studying, always working. I thought he might forget how to be young.”
“He didn’t have much of a choice,” Karina says quietly. “The world doesn’t bend for people like him.”
My chest aches.
“I’m glad he has you now,” my mom adds. “He laughs more. He looks… lighter.”
Karina laughs, embarrassed. “He makes me less… stupid.”
“You’re not stupid,” my mom scolds. “Just… from a different planet. He needed someone to see him as more than grades. You needed someone to see you as more than money. It matches.”
I pretend to be very interested in my notes so I don’t do something stupid like cry.
Later, when my mom retreats to her room to call an aunt, Karina drops down next to me on the floor by our low table.
“She likes me,” she sing-songs.
“She likes anyone who doesn’t treat me like shit,” I say, but I’m smiling.
“Well, good news,” she says. “I’m very motivated not to treat you like shit anymore.”
She leans her head on my shoulder.
“You’re heavy,” I complain.
“You love it,” she says.
She’s right.
I do.
—
College decision chaos hits.
Emails. Logins. “Thank you for your interest” and “We are pleased to inform you.” Group chats exploding. People pretending they’re not checking portals every three minutes.
We apply to some of the same schools. Some different. One in particular makes both our throats tight.
Seoul National University.
The day results drop, we’re in the library, side by side, both hunched over laptops.
“On three,” she says.
“I might vomit,” I mutter.
“One.”
“Karina, I swear to—”
“Two.”
“I hate you.”
“Three.”
We click.
The server thinks about it for a torturous few seconds.
Then text blooms across my screen.
Congratulations! You have been accepted to Seoul National University…
The words blur.
There’s a sharp inhale beside me.
I tear my gaze away from my future long enough to look at her.
She’s staring at her own screen, hand over her mouth, eyes bright.
“Well?” I choke out.
She looks at me, and her smile is foolishly, beautifully wide.
“Same,” she says, voice cracking. “We… we got in.”
The air whooshes out of my lungs.
We.
My body moves before my brain catches up.
One second we’re sitting, the next I’ve crashed into her, arms around her, nearly knocking her chair backwards.
She laughs, the sound half-sob, and clings back just as tightly, fingers digging into my shirt.
“Yah, quiet!” someone hisses, but it’s soft, almost fond.
We pull back enough to press our foreheads together, breaths mingling.
“SNU couple,” she whispers, breathless. “We’re going to be unbearable.”
“You already are,” I rasp.
She swipes her thumb under my eye.
“Are you crying?” she teases.
“No,” I lie. My voice betrays me. “Shut up.”
She laughs again.
Then she kisses me between the shelves stacked with sociology and political science texts, our laptop screens still glowing acceptance letters behind us.
I kiss her back without thinking.
Let them see.
They talked when she had everything. They talked when they thought she had nothing. They talked when I sat alone. They talked when I started sitting with her.
They’ll keep talking.
They don’t get a say.
—
The months before graduation blur into soft edges and sharp lines.
Late-night calls about dorm layouts and class schedules.
Her dragging me into stores to buy “decent” clothes. “You are not walking into SNU with that tragic hoodie.”
Me dragging her to my favorite cheap noodle place and watching her face the first time she realizes street food can be better than anything with a Michelin star.
Her obsessive streak never vanishes.
It just… matures.
She still:
Wants my timetable memorized.
Sits beside me at every shared event like there’s no other option.
Glares at any upperclassman who looks at me too long like she’s considering having them quietly disappeared.
But the bite of it changes shape.
It’s less about owning out of fear and more about choosing out of want.
One evening, months into our first semester at SNU, we’re on a bench outside the library.
Campus is alive—lights strung between trees, music bleeding from some festival stage, flyers taped to every surface.
Karina’s stretched out, head pillowed on my thigh, eyes on the patch of sky visible between branches. I’m scrolling through notes with one hand, the other idly combing through her hair.
“You know what’s funny?” she asks suddenly.
“What?”
“If you hadn’t been bullied,” she says, “and I hadn’t fallen, and my dad hadn’t been arrested… we probably never would’ve spoken.”
My fingers pause in her hair.
“Probably not,” I agree quietly.
“And if you hadn’t been you,” she continues, “if you’d been like everyone else—sucking up to me or hating me from a distance—we definitely never would’ve ended up…” She waves a hand weakly. “This.”
I watch her.
“You regret it?” I ask.
She tilts her head back enough to meet my eyes.
“Regret being a bitch to you? Yeah,” she says. “Regret what my family went through? Obviously. But regret you?” She snorts softly. “Not for a second.”
Something in my chest unwinds.
“You?” she asks. “Any regrets?”
I think about days spent eating alone by the emergency exit. About her laughter when my lunch hit the floor. About her shaking on that same staircase, mascara streaked, voice breaking.
About that first kiss on a shitty rusted swing.
Only that it took too fucking long.
“Just one,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
“That it took us this long to get here,” I say.
Her face goes red in the glow of the streetlamp.
“You’re getting too smooth,” she mutters, burying her face against my hoodie.
“You started it,” I say, laughing.
She mumbles something into my chest.
“What?” I ask.
She jerks back, eyes defiant, cheeks flushed. “I said, I love you, idiot.”
The words don’t feel like a shock.
They feel like a confirmation of something that’s been true for a while.
My throat tightens, but my voice comes steady.
“I love you too,” I say.
No deflection. No sarcasm.
Just truth.
Her eyes go shiny. She scowls at herself, annoyed.
“Say it again,” she demands.
I lean down, kiss her slow until she sighs into my mouth.
When I pull back, I whisper it against her lips.
“I love you.”
She smiles. Wide. Unarmored.
“Good,” she says. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
“I know,” I say.
The old fear that phrase used to stir—of cages lined with gold and doors that only open one way—doesn’t come.
Now, it just settles warm in my bones.
Stuck with her.
Not as property. Not as proof. Not as a trophy of some twisted victory.
As a choice.
We sit there until the sky is more dark than light, talking about everything and nothing.
Her dad’s latest overprotective text. My mom’s latest care package full of way too much kimchi. Her half-formed idea for a foundation that actually does something about scholarship kids who get chewed up by schools like ours. My fantasy of a cramped but sunlit apartment stacked with books and instant ramyeon.
We say “someday” a lot.
It doesn’t sound impossible anymore.
It sounds like a list.
On the walk back to the dorms, hand in hand, she yanks me to a stop.
“Hey,” she says.
“Yeah?”
“Do you still feel… unworthy?” she asks. The word tastes wrong in her mouth. She looks pissed at it.
I think about it.
About the kid who thought he had to disappear from her life the second she got her last name back untarnished.
About who I am now—somebody who can sit across from her father without crumbling, who can stand next to her in any room without folding inward.
“Sometimes,” I admit. “Habits die hard.”
Her jaw tightens.
“But,” I add, squeezing her hand, “then I remember you snot-crying into my fake-brand blazer and not caring how ugly you looked. I remember your dad calling me foolish and honorable in the same breath. I remember my mom calling you my ‘upgrade.’”
Karina snorts at that, shoulders unknotting.
“And I remember,” I finish, “you choosing me when you had nothing. And still choosing me now that you have everything again. So I’m… learning to choose myself in that story too. Not as your charity case. As your equal.”
Her eyes shine dangerously.
“That was disgustingly sweet,” she says, voice thick.
“You asked,” I say.
“I asked for honesty,” she grumbles. “Not a kdrama monologue.”
“You love it,” I say.
She huffs. “Unfortunately.”
Then she yanks me down by my hoodie and kisses me under a flickering lamppost, the campus humming around us.
She’s still who she is.
A chaebol princess with knives for teeth, who will absolutely burn down a department if they try to screw me over. A girl who clung too hard because she knew what it was to lose everything.
I’m still who I am.
A scholarship kid with old scars from hallway whispers and locker dents. A guy who still sometimes counts coins in his head before ordering coffee. Someone who knows exactly how sharp her edges are and holds her anyway.
But together, we’re something else.
Something that started with spilled stew and the word “trash.”
Something that grew in the dark space of a concrete staircase while the world thought we were both finished.
Something that got tangled with obsession and fear and power.
Something that, against all odds, softened without losing its bite.
Something that looks a lot like love, dressed in bad uniforms and better intentions.
And for the first time, without flinching, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—
I’m not just allowed to have it.
I fucking deserve it.
—
The END…
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