Kaiyisha is a “influencer” but teasing us with her tight body in a bikini and then deleting it is just blue balling us but she deserves to get gangbang for teasing and blue balling us. Imagine the amount of loads in her pussy and some dripping out from her anal with her face covered with cum from all the guys that wants to just use her tight body like the object she is. Some of us would probably record her giving us a blowjob or unloading in her pussy or on her face and while other guys are doing that some guys are double penetrating her and just as she is about to scream from the penetration she is just stuffed with a cock.
fuck bro, came across janelle on instagram. this volleyball slut deserves to be painted with cum on her slutty face and tits. when she dance even her titties move, and her smile is so fucking sexy as well as that ass bro holy fuck.
Pause at the right time and you get to see how this petite slut has big boobs. Fucking love staring at them in class when she wears slutty tops to grab the attention of students and all the professors. Lowkey the top slut in SMU
The smirk on Winter's face evaporates the moment she sees the rankings.
You watch with satisfaction as her confident expression crumbles, those pretty features twisting from smugness to shock as she stares at the bulletin board. Her name sits right there in black and white - second place. Right beneath yours.
"No fucking way," she breathes, pressing closer to the board like the letters might rearrange themselves if she looks hard enough. "This has to be a mistake."
But there's no mistake. You scored a 98.7 average across all subjects. Winter managed a 98.2 - close, but not close enough. The difference might be tiny, but in your ongoing academic war, it's everything.
"Looks like someone's going to be very busy this week," you say, sliding up beside her with a grin. "Hope you cleared your schedule, Winter."
She whips around to face you, dark eyes flashing with indignation. Even pissed off, she's gorgeous - that sharp jawline, the way her school uniform hugs her petite frame, how her black hair falls in perfect waves past her shoulders. But right now, all that beauty is wrapped around pure, bratty fury.
"You cheated," she hisses, getting right up in your face. "There's no way you beat me fair and square."
"Aww, is little Winter having trouble accepting reality?" You lean in closer, voice dropping to that tone you know drives her crazy. "Because I remember someone being very confident about her 'guaranteed victory' yesterday. What was it you said? Something about making me your personal servant for a week?"
Her cheeks flush pink, but she lifts her chin defiantly. "The bet's off. I'm not doing it."
"Oh, but you are." You reach out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, enjoying how she shivers at the contact despite her anger. "We shook on it, remember? In front of witnesses. Unless you want everyone to know Princess Winter doesn't keep her word?"
The threat hits home. Winter's reputation as someone who follows through on her bets is almost as important to her as her grades. You can practically see her mind racing, looking for an escape that doesn't exist.
"This is bullshit," she mutters, but the fight's already draining out of her voice.
"No, this is consequences." You step back, hands in your pockets, thoroughly enjoying her predicament. "One week of doing whatever I want, however I want it. Starting right now."
Winter glances around the crowded hallway, noting the other students still checking their scores and chatting excitedly. When she looks back at you, there's a mix of dread and something else - something that makes your cock twitch with anticipation.
"What do you want me to do?" she asks quietly.
"First thing? Follow me to the supply closet on the third floor. We need to discuss the terms of your… punishment."
Her breath catches. You both know that supply closet well - it's where you've fucked more times than you can count, usually after particularly heated study sessions or arguments that needed a different kind of resolution.
"Here? Now?" she whispers.
"Unless you'd rather discuss it in front of the whole class?"
Winter's eyes dart around again, then she exhales sharply through her nose. "Fine. But this doesn't change anything between us after the week's over."
"We'll see about that."
You lead the way through the halls, Winter trailing behind with obvious reluctance. The third floor supply closet is tucked away in a corner that sees little foot traffic during lunch period. Perfect for privacy.
The moment you're both inside the cramped space, surrounded by shelves of cleaning supplies and textbooks, Winter crosses her arms and glares at you.
"Okay, asshole. What exactly do you think you're going to make me do?"
Instead of answering right away, you take your time looking her over. Her school uniform - white blouse, navy skirt that hits mid-thigh, knee-high socks - somehow makes her look both innocent and incredibly fuckable. The way she's standing with her arms crossed pushes her breasts up, creating delicious cleavage visible through her shirt.
"Strip," you say simply.
"What?" Her voice cracks on the word.
"You heard me. Take off your uniform. All of it."
"Are you insane? We're at school!"
"And you lost our bet. Which means for the next seven days, you do what I say, when I say it. So strip."
Winter stares at you like you've grown a second head. "Someone could come in!"
"Then you better hope they don't. Because you're not leaving this closet until I get what I want."
For a long moment, neither of you moves. You can see the war playing out on her face - her natural brattiness warring with the knowledge that she really did lose, that she really does have to pay up.
Finally, with a muttered "fuck you," she starts unbuttoning her blouse.
"That's more like it. But Winter?" You wait until she looks at you. "From now on, when you address me, you're going to call me Daddy. Understand?"
Her fingers freeze on the buttons. "Absolutely not."
"Absolutely yes. That's part of the deal."
"That wasn't in the original bet!"
"The original bet was that the loser does whatever the winner wants for a week. This is what I want. So try again."
Winter's jaw works silently for several seconds. Then, through gritted teeth: "Fine… Daddy."
"Good girl."
She finishes unbuttoning her blouse with sharp, angry movements, revealing a lacy black bra that barely contains her breasts. Next comes the skirt, unzipped and shimmied down her hips to pool around her ankles. Her panties match the bra - black lace that's practically transparent.
"Bra and panties too," you instruct.
"This is so fucked up," she mutters, but reaches behind herself to unclasp the bra. Her breasts bounce free, pale and perfect with dusty pink nipples already hardening in the cool air.
The panties slide down her smooth legs, and then Winter's standing completely naked in the supply closet, arms wrapped around herself in a futile attempt at modesty.
"Much better. Now come here."
She takes a reluctant step forward, and you immediately reach out to cup one of her breasts, thumbing over the nipple until it's a stiff peak.
"Ahh~" The soft moan escapes before she can stop it.
"Still sensitive here," you observe, switching to her other breast. "Good to know some things haven't changed."
"This is humiliating," Winter breathes, but her body betrays her arousal - nipples hard, skin flushed, the way she leans slightly into your touch.
"This is just the beginning." You slide your other hand down her flat stomach to the neat patch of hair between her legs. "Spread your legs for me."
"Someone's going to hear…"
"Then I guess you better stay quiet." Your fingers find her clit, already swollen and sensitive. "Unless you want the whole school to know what a slut you are for me."
"I'm not a— nngh~" Her protest dissolves into a whimper as you start rubbing slow circles.
"You're not what? Not wet?" You slide a finger between her folds, finding her already slick. "Because your pussy seems to disagree."
Winter's breathing grows ragged as you continue teasing her clit. Her hips start moving involuntarily, seeking more friction.
"Please," she whispers.
"Please what?"
"Please… Daddy… more…"
"That's my good girl." You slide two fingers inside her, groaning at how tight and wet she is. "Fuck, you're soaked. Does being my little fuck toy turn you on this much?"
"Shut up," she gasps, but her inner walls clench around your fingers.
You start pumping them in and out, curling slightly to hit that spot that makes her legs shake. Your thumb works her clit in counterpoint, building a rhythm that has her panting and clinging to your shoulders.
"Oh god, oh fuck, ahh~ ahh~" Winter's trying to stay quiet, but little moans keep escaping. "Don't stop, please don't stop…"
"Look at you, getting off on being finger-fucked in a supply closet like a desperate slut," you growl against her ear. "What would everyone think if they saw the perfect student Kim Minjeong taking my fingers like this?"
"Mmph~ I hate you," she whimpers, but her hips are moving frantically now, chasing her orgasm.
"No, you don't. You love this. Love being told what to do, love being my little toy." You add a third finger, stretching her wider. "Come on my fingers, Winter. Show Daddy what a good girl you can be."
The combination of your words and the stretch of three fingers pushes her over the edge. Her back arches as she comes, inner walls spasming around your digits.
"Daddy! Ahh~ fuck, fuck, nngh~!" The words spill out of her in a rush as waves of pleasure crash through her.
You work her through it until she's trembling and oversensitive, then slowly withdraw your fingers. They're coated in her arousal, glistening in the dim light.
"Clean them off," you command, bringing your hand to her lips.
Winter stares at your fingers for a moment, then parts her lips and takes them into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around them, tasting herself, and the sight sends blood rushing straight to your cock.
"Good girl," you praise as she releases your fingers with a soft pop. "Now get dressed. Lunch period's almost over."
"That's it?" she asks, looking confused and still slightly dazed from her orgasm.
"For now. But Winter?" You step closer again, backing her against the supply shelves. "This week is going to be very educational for you. I hope you're ready."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Instead of answering, you lean in to nip at her earlobe. "You'll find out soon enough. Now get dressed before someone comes looking."
Winter scrambles for her clothes, muttering under her breath as she pulls on her panties and bra. You watch appreciatively as she gets dressed, already planning all the delicious ways you're going to torment her over the next six days.
"This doesn't change anything," she says as she buttons her blouse, trying to reclaim some of her usual attitude. "After this week—"
"After this week, you're going to be begging me to make another bet." You unlock the closet door, checking to make sure the hallway's empty. "Trust me on that."
The rest of the school day passes in a blur of anticipation. You catch Winter glancing at you during classes, a mix of nervousness and something else flickering in her dark eyes. She knows this is just the beginning, and the uncertainty is clearly eating at her.
When the final bell rings, you pack up your things with deliberate slowness. Most of the other students rush out, eager to start their afternoon plans, but you take your time. Winter hovers by her desk, clearly wanting to leave but not daring to without permission.
"Walk with me," you say finally.
She falls into step beside you as you head toward the school exit. The hallways are mostly empty now, just a few students at their lockers or heading to club activities.
"So what's the plan for tonight?" Winter asks, trying to sound casual. "More supply closet adventures?"
"Tonight, you're coming to my place. We need to establish some ground rules for the rest of the week."
Her steps falter slightly. "Your place? But your parents…"
"Are out of town until Sunday. Business trip." You push open the school's front door, stepping into the warm afternoon air. "Which means we'll have plenty of privacy to… explore your new role."
Winter's cheeks flush pink. "Look, about what happened in the closet—"
"Was just a warm-up." You stop walking and turn to face her. "Winter, let me be very clear about something. For the next six days, you belong to me. Your body, your time, your attitude - all of it is mine to do with as I please. The sooner you accept that, the easier this will be for you."
She opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. "Fine. But I'm not calling you Daddy in front of other people. That's where I draw the line."
"Actually, that's exactly where you don't get to draw lines anymore." You start walking again, leaving her to hurry after you. "Tomorrow morning, you're going to walk into homeroom and greet me properly. In front of everyone."
"Are you insane? People will—"
"People will what? Think it's weird? Probably. But they'll also know exactly who's in charge now."
You can practically feel the indignation radiating off her as you walk toward the train station. Winter's always been proud, maybe even more so than you. The idea of public humiliation clearly terrifies her.
"This is cruel," she mutters.
"This is consequences. You were so confident you'd win, so sure you'd get to spend a week ordering me around. Well, the tables have turned."
The train ride to your neighborhood passes in tense silence. Winter stares out the window while you plan the evening ahead. By the time you reach your stop, you can see her hands shaking slightly.
Your house sits in a quiet residential area, a modest two-story building with a small garden out front. Winter's been here before, of course - your academic rivalry has occasionally spilled over into after-school study sessions that inevitably turned physical. But this feels different. More intense.
"Welcome to your home away from home for the next week," you say as you unlock the front door. "Hope you're comfortable here, because you're going to be spending a lot of time on your knees."
Winter's sharp intake of breath is audible in the quiet entryway. You lead her upstairs to your bedroom - a space she knows well, though usually under different circumstances.
"Strip," you command the moment the door closes behind you.
"Again? We just—"
"We just what? Had a quick finger-fucking in a supply closet? That was nothing compared to what's coming." You sit on the edge of your bed, watching her expectantly. "Strip, then kneel."
This time, Winter doesn't argue. Her school uniform comes off piece by piece - blouse, skirt, bra, panties - until she's naked again. But instead of covering herself, she lets her arms hang at her sides.
"Kneel," you repeat.
She sinks down onto her knees in front of you, hands resting on her thighs. The position puts her at perfect height for what you have in mind.
"Much better. Now, let's talk about your schedule for this week." You lean back slightly, enjoying the way her eyes track your movements. "Every morning, you'll meet me at my locker before homeroom. Every lunch period, you'll sit with me. Every afternoon, you'll come here after school."
"What about my part-time job? I work at the café on weekends."
"Not this weekend. This weekend, you belong to me completely."
Winter's jaw tightens, but she doesn't argue. Smart girl.
"Now," you continue, "let's address your attitude problem. You've been running your mouth all semester, talking about how much smarter you are, how you're going to crush me in rankings. Time to put that mouth to better use."
You start unbuckling your belt, the sound of leather sliding through fabric loops unnaturally loud in the quiet room. Winter's eyes widen as you unzip your pants and push them down along with your boxers.
Your cock springs free, already half-hard from the afternoon's activities and the anticipation of what's coming. Winter stares at it for a long moment, her tongue darting out to wet her lips unconsciously.
"Suck it," you order.
She hesitates for just a second, then leans forward. Her small hands wrap around the base as she takes the head into her mouth, tongue swirling around the sensitive tip.
"Ahh, that's it," you groan as she starts bobbing her head. "Put that smart mouth to work."
Winter's always been good at this, but there's something different about having her do it as punishment rather than mutual pleasure. The power dynamic adds an edge that makes every sensation more intense.
She takes more of you into her mouth with each bob of her head, cheeks hollowing as she sucks. One hand works your shaft while the other cups your balls, rolling them gently.
"Deeper," you command, threading your fingers through her hair. "I want to feel the back of your throat."
She looks up at you with watery eyes but complies, relaxing her throat to take you deeper. The sight of your cock disappearing between her lips is incredibly erotic.
"Good girl. Now hold still."
You tighten your grip on her hair and start moving your hips, fucking her mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. Winter's hands move to your thighs for balance as you use her throat.
"This is what you're good for," you growl, watching her struggle to accommodate your length. "Not for running your mouth or thinking you're better than me. Just for taking my cock like the good little slut you are."
"Mmph~ nngh~" Winter's muffled moans vibrate around your shaft as tears gather in her eyes from the effort of deep-throating you.
You pull out suddenly, leaving her gasping and coughing. Saliva connects her lips to your cock in gleaming strands.
"On the bed," you order. "Hands and knees."
Winter scrambles onto the mattress, presenting herself exactly as you want - ass in the air, face down against the pillows. The position gives you a perfect view of her pussy, already glistening with arousal despite her supposed reluctance.
"Look how wet you are," you observe, running a finger along her slit. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your brain won't admit it."
"Please," she whimpers into the pillow.
"Please what?"
"Please… Daddy… fuck me…"
"That's what I wanted to hear."
You position yourself behind her, rubbing the head of your cock against her entrance. She's so wet that you slide in easily, her inner walls clenching around you like a velvet glove.
"Oh fuck, nngh~" Winter moans as you bottom out inside her. "So full…"
You give her a moment to adjust, then start moving with long, slow strokes. Each thrust draws breathless gasps from her as you establish a rhythm.
"This is how it's going to be all week," you tell her, gripping her hips tight enough to leave marks. "Me fucking you wherever and whenever I want. You bent over desks, pressed against walls, spread out on beds."
"Ahh~ ahh~ yes, Daddy!" Winter's usual composure is completely shattered as you pick up the pace. "Harder, please!"
You oblige, slamming into her with enough force to rock the bed. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, punctuated by her increasingly desperate moans.
"You love this, don't you?" You lean over her back, biting at her shoulder. "Love being used like a fuck toy."
"Yes! Fuck yes! Nngh~ don't stop!"
One hand snakes around to find her clit, rubbing tight circles that make her whole body shake. She's close - you can tell by the way her inner walls are fluttering, by how her moans are getting higher and more breathless.
"Come for me," you growl in her ear. "Come on Daddy's cock like a good little slut."
That pushes her over the edge. Winter screams into the pillow as her orgasm crashes through her, pussy clenching rhythmically around your shaft. The sensation is enough to trigger your own release.
"Fuck!" You bury yourself deep inside her as you come, painting her inner walls with hot spurts of cum.
Both of you collapse onto the bed afterward, breathing hard. Winter's hair is a mess, her skin flushed and sweaty, but she looks more satisfied than she has all day.
"That was…" she starts, then trails off.
"That was just Monday," you finish. "We still have six more days."
She turns to look at you, something unreadable in her expression. "What happens at the end of the week?"
"That depends on you. Maybe you'll have learned your lesson about making bets you can't win. Or maybe…" You trace a finger along her spine, making her shiver. "Maybe you'll realize you like losing more than you thought."
Winter doesn't respond, but you can see the wheels turning in her head. Good. Let her think about it.
The next morning arrives gray and drizzly, typical Seoul weather for late autumn. You arrive at school early, positioning yourself at your locker to wait. Other students trickle in gradually, the hallways filling with the usual pre-homeroom chatter.
Winter appears right on schedule, looking perfectly put-together despite yesterday's activities. Her uniform is crisp, her hair styled in loose waves, her makeup flawless. But you can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands shake slightly as she approaches.
"Good morning," she says quietly when she reaches you.
"Good morning what?" you prompt, closing your locker with deliberate slowness.
Her cheeks flush pink as she glances around at the other students nearby. A few are close enough to overhear, including some classmates from your homeroom.
"Good morning… Daddy," she whispers.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that. Could you speak up?"
Winter's jaw clenches, but she raises her voice slightly. "Good morning, Daddy."
The effect is immediate. Conversations stop mid-sentence as nearby students turn to stare. You can see confusion, shock, and amusement flickering across their faces as they try to process what they just heard.
"Much better," you say with a satisfied smile. "How did you sleep last night?"
"Fine," Winter mumbles, clearly mortified by the attention.
"I slept very well. Especially after our… study session yesterday evening." You make no effort to lower your voice, enjoying how Winter's blush deepens. "Are you looking forward to today's lesson?"
Before she can answer, the bell rings for homeroom. You sling your bag over your shoulder and start walking toward class, leaving Winter to follow like an obedient puppy.
The whispers start immediately. You catch fragments as you pass other students in the hallway - "did she just call him Daddy?" and "what the hell was that about?" and "are they dating now?"
In homeroom, you choose a seat in the back corner and pat the desk next to you. Winter sits without argument, though her posture is rigid with embarrassment.
"Rough morning?" asks Karina, one of Winter's friends, sliding into the seat in front of you both. Her eyes are bright with curiosity.
"Everything's fine," Winter says quickly.
"Really? Because that was quite a greeting out there. Since when do you call anyone Daddy?"
Winter's face burns red. "It's… complicated."
"I bet it is." Karina glances between you both with obvious interest. "So are you two finally admitting there's something going on?"
"There's nothing—" Winter starts.
"There's definitely something going on," you interrupt smoothly. "Winter's been very… accommodating lately. Haven't you, sweetheart?"
The endearment makes Winter flinch, but she nods reluctantly. "Yes, Daddy."
Karina's eyebrows shoot up. "Okay, what did I miss? Last week you two were at each other's throats about test rankings, and now she's calling you Daddy in public?"
"Let's just say we came to an understanding about who's really in charge," you reply, reaching over to place your hand on Winter's thigh under the desk.
She stiffens at the contact but doesn't push you away. Smart girl - she knows better than to make a scene.
The homeroom teacher calls for attention before Karina can ask more questions, but you can see her filing this information away for later interrogation. Word will spread quickly through the school grapevine.
During first period chemistry, you pass Winter a note: "Meet me in the third-floor bathroom during break. Don't be late."
She reads it and shoots you a panicked look, but nods reluctantly.
When break time arrives, you excuse yourself and head upstairs. The third-floor bathroom sees less traffic than the others, making it perfect for privacy. Winter appears a few minutes later, looking around nervously before slipping inside.
"What do you want?" she asks.
"You know what I want. Skirt up, panties down. Now."
"Here? Someone could walk in!"
"Then you better make it quick." You're already unbuckling your belt. "Unless you'd prefer to do this in the classroom in front of everyone?"
With a muttered curse, Winter hikes up her skirt and pushes her panties down to her ankles. You spin her around to face the sink, positioning her hands on the counter.
"Look at yourself," you command, nodding toward the mirror above the sink. "Look at what you've become."
Winter's reflection stares back - cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed, skirt bunched up around her waist. She looks thoroughly debauched, and the sight clearly affects her based on how wet she already is when you slide into her from behind.
"Ohh~ fuck…" she moans softly as you start moving.
"Quiet," you warn, one hand covering her mouth. "Unless you want everyone to know what a slut you are for me."
The risk of discovery adds intensity to every sensation. Each thrust has to be controlled, every moan muffled. Winter's eyes stay locked on the mirror, watching herself get fucked in a school bathroom like some kind of porn fantasy.
"This is what you are now," you growl in her ear, your reflection meeting her eyes in the mirror. "My personal fuck toy. Ready to spread your legs whenever and wherever I want."
Her inner walls clench around you at the degrading words, betraying how much they turn her on despite her protests.
You keep the pace quick and efficient - this is about dominance and humiliation, not romance. When Winter starts to shake with approaching orgasm, you reach around to rub her clit with rough circles.
"Come for Daddy," you whisper. "Show me what a good little slut you are."
Winter bites down on your palm to muffle her scream as she climaxes, body convulsing against yours. The sight and sensation push you over the edge as well, and you empty yourself inside her with a muffled grunt.
"Clean yourself up," you order as you pull out and tuck yourself back into your pants. "And fix your hair. People will notice if you look too fucked-out."
Winter fumbles for paper towels, cleaning up the evidence of your encounter. Her legs are shaky, and there's a dazed look in her eyes that she's trying to hide.
"This is insane," she mutters as she adjusts her skirt. "We can't keep doing this at school."
"We can and we will. Because you belong to me now, remember? All week long, wherever I want you."
The bathroom door opens just as Winter finishes fixing her appearance. A younger student walks in, glances at you both with mild confusion, then heads to one of the stalls.
"We should go," Winter whispers.
"After you," you reply with mock courtesy.
The rest of the morning passes normally, though you catch Winter shifting uncomfortably in her seat during classes. No doubt she can feel your cum leaking out of her, a constant reminder of her new status.
Lunch period brings fresh humiliation. Instead of sitting with her usual friend group, Winter has to join you at your regular table. Your friends greet her arrival with surprise and barely concealed amusement.
"Well, well," says Jeno, one of your closest friends. "Look who decided to join us. To what do we owe the pleasure, Winter?"
"She wanted to spend more time with me," you answer before Winter can respond. "Didn't you, sweetheart?"
Winter's grip tightens on her chopsticks. "Yes… Daddy."
The word drops like a bomb on the conversation. Your friends exchange incredulous looks, clearly struggling to process what they just heard.
"Did she just…" Mark starts.
"Call you Daddy?" Haechan finishes. "In public?"
"Winter's been very… compliant lately," you explain casually, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. "Haven't you, baby?"
"Yes, Daddy," Winter repeats through gritted teeth.
"This is either the weirdest roleplay I've ever seen, or something major happened that we don't know about," Jaemin observes.
"Let's just say Winter learned some valuable lessons about making bets she can't win," you reply, reaching over to squeeze her thigh under the table.
Winter jerks at the contact but doesn't pull away. She can't, not without making an even bigger scene.
"Bets?" Jeno leans forward with interest. "What kind of bets?"
"The kind where the loser has to do whatever the winner wants for a week," you explain. "And Winter here was so confident about her test scores…"
Understanding dawns on your friends' faces. They know about your academic rivalry, know how competitive you both are. The idea that Winter would agree to such terms isn't entirely shocking.
"So she has to call you Daddy for a whole week?" Mark asks, barely suppressed laughter in his voice.
"Among other things." You let your hand drift higher on Winter's thigh, making her breath catch. "She's been very… accommodating."
Winter's face is burning red now, but she sits perfectly still as your fingers trace patterns on her inner thigh. The combination of public humiliation and subtle arousal is clearly affecting her.
"This is the best thing I've ever witnessed," Haechan declares. "Perfect little Kim Minjeong brought down a peg by academic rivalry. It's like justice."
"I wouldn't say she's been brought down a peg," you correct. "More like she's found her proper place. Haven't you, sweetheart?"
"Yes, Daddy," Winter whispers, and you can hear the genuine submission creeping into her voice despite her embarrassment.
The conversation moves on to other topics, but the damage is done. Word of Winter's new… situation will be all over school by the end of the day. Every time someone calls her name, every time she has to respond to you in public, her humiliation will deepen.
After school, you don't even have to tell Winter to follow you. She trails behind as you head for the train station, her usual attitude replaced by resigned acceptance.
"How does it feel?" you ask as you wait for your train. "Being the school's newest gossip topic?"
"Humiliating," she admits quietly.
"Good. You need to learn what happens when you get too cocky." The train arrives and you board together, finding seats near the back. "But don't worry - by the end of the week, you'll be thanking me for putting you in your place."
Winter doesn't respond, but you notice she doesn't argue either. Progress.
Back at your house, you waste no time getting her out of her uniform. But instead of immediately fucking her, you have something else in mind.
"Kitchen," you order once she's naked. "I'm hungry, and you're going to cook for me."
"Cook? Like this?" She gestures at her nude body.
"Exactly like this. Consider it practice for being a proper girlfriend."
"I'm not your girlfriend!"
The protest earns her a sharp smack on the ass that makes her yelp. "Wrong answer. Try again."
"I'm… I'm whatever you want me to be, Daddy," she corrects reluctantly.
"Better. Now go make me dinner. And put on an apron - I don't want you getting burned."
Watching Winter cook while wearing nothing but a frilly apron is incredibly arousing. The way the strings tie around her narrow waist, how her ass peeks out from beneath the fabric, the glimpses of her breasts when she reaches for ingredients - it's like a living porn fantasy.
"What are you making?" you ask, coming up behind her as she stirs something on the stove.
"Kimchi fried rice. It's simple but…" Her words trail off as you press against her back, letting her feel your hardening cock.
"But what?" Your hands slide around to cup her breasts through the apron.
"But… nngh… nutritious," she finishes breathlessly as you pinch her nipples through the fabric.
"Good girl. Keep cooking while I play with you."
One hand stays on her breasts while the other slides down to tease between her legs. Winter tries to focus on the rice, but her movements become increasingly erratic as you work her toward orgasm.
"The food's going to burn," she protests weakly.
"Then you better finish cooking quickly." You slide two fingers inside her, making her gasp and grip the spatula tighter. "Unless you want to explain to me why dinner's ruined because you couldn't control yourself."
The dual sensations of cooking and being fingered create an interesting dynamic. Winter has to concentrate on not burning the food while fighting off the building pleasure between her legs. Every few seconds, soft moans escape her lips.
"Almost done," she pants, stirring frantically as your fingers work inside her.
"The food or you?"
"Both… ahh~ fuck, both!"
You crook your fingers to hit her g-spot just as she turns off the burner, and Winter comes with a sharp cry, her legs shaking as she grips the counter for support.
"Perfect timing," you observe, withdrawing your fingers and licking them clean. "Dinner's ready and you're properly wound up for dessert."
Winter serves the rice with trembling hands, still wearing nothing but the apron. You eat slowly, savoring both the food and the sight of her growing anticipation.
"It's good," you compliment, and she visibly relaxes. "You'll make someone a wonderful wife someday. Very domestic and obedient."
"This is temporary," she reminds you, but there's less conviction in her voice than before.
"We'll see. Now come here and sit on my lap while I finish eating."
Winter approaches hesitantly, then gasps as you position her so your cock slides inside her as she sits down. The angle is perfect for deep penetration, and she has to bite her lip to stifle a moan.
"Don't move," you warn, taking another bite of rice. "Just sit there and keep Daddy's cock warm while he eats."
The torture of being filled but not allowed to move is exquisite. Winter's inner walls clench involuntarily around you, and you can feel her fighting not to rock her hips.
"Please," she whispers after several minutes of this torment.
"Please what?"
"Please let me move, Daddy. I need…"
"You need what?"
"I need you to fuck me," she admits in a rush. "Please, I can't take just sitting here."
You finish the last bite of rice and push the plate aside. "Since you asked so nicely…"
Your hands grip her hips as you start lifting and lowering her on your cock. Winter's head falls back with a grateful moan as she finally gets the friction she's been craving.
"That's it, ride Daddy's cock like a good little slut," you growl, setting a punishing pace.
"Yes! Fuck yes! Nngh~ so deep!" Winter's completely lost to sensation now, bouncing on your lap with abandon.
The kitchen chair creaks under your movements, but neither of you care. This is raw, primal fucking - all about pleasure and dominance and the sweet corruption of perfect student Kim Minjeong.
When your orgasm approaches, you stand suddenly, lifting Winter with you. She wraps her legs around your waist as you pin her against the kitchen wall, never missing a beat in your rhythm.
"Come for me," you command, one hand finding her clit. "Come on Daddy's cock right here in the kitchen like the dirty girl you are."
Winter screams as her climax hits, nails digging into your shoulders as waves of pleasure crash through her. The sensation triggers your own release, and you empty yourself inside her with a satisfied groan.
Both of you are breathing hard as you slowly return to earth. Winter's legs are unsteady when you finally set her down, and she has to lean against the wall for support.
"Clean up the kitchen," you order, already tucking yourself back into your pants. "I'm going to shower. When I come back, I want you naked on my bed, ready for round two."
Winter nods wordlessly, still too overwhelmed to form coherent protests. As you head upstairs, you can hear her moving around the kitchen, obediently following your instructions.
This is only day two, and she's already becoming so much more compliant. By the end of the week, you suspect Winter will be a completely different person.
Wednesday morning brings a light rain that patters against your bedroom window. Winter stirs next to you, her naked body pressed against your side. She'd ended up staying the night after your marathon session, too exhausted to make the trip home.
"Good morning," you murmur against her hair.
She makes a soft sound of acknowledgment but doesn't pull away from your warmth. Progress.
"We need to get ready for school," you continue, though neither of you makes any move to leave the bed.
"Five more minutes," Winter mumbles, and you can't help but smile at how normal she sounds. No attitude, no protests - just sleepy contentment.
But eventually you do have to get up. Winter borrows one of your shirts and a pair of sweatpants for the walk to her house, where she quickly showers and changes into her school uniform. You wait in her living room, noting the family photos that line the mantle - Winter at various academic competitions, award ceremonies, perfect family moments.
"Your parents would be so proud to know what their perfect daughter has been up to," you comment when she reappears.
Winter's cheeks flush, but she doesn't take the bait. "They're on a business trip until Friday."
"Convenient. That gives us tonight and tomorrow to really explore some boundaries."
The walk to school is mostly silent, both of you lost in thought. But as you approach the building, you can see clusters of students already whispering and pointing. Word has definitely spread about yesterday's cafeteria incident.
"Ready for another day in the spotlight?" you ask as you reach your locker.
Winter takes a deep breath, then squares her shoulders. "Good morning, Daddy," she says clearly, loud enough for nearby students to hear.
The whispers intensify immediately, but Winter keeps her chin up. She's learning to own her situation rather than hide from it.
"Very good. I'm proud of you." The praise makes her eyes widen slightly - she wasn't expecting genuine approval. "How about we give them something really worth talking about?"
Before Winter can ask what you mean, you cup her face and kiss her deeply, right there in the crowded hallway. She stiffens in surprise for a moment, then melts against you with a soft sigh.
The reaction from onlookers is immediate and dramatic. Gasps, excited chatter, the sound of phone cameras clicking. When you finally break the kiss, Winter looks dazed.
"There," you say with satisfaction. "Now it's official."
"Official?" Winter touches her lips unconsciously.
"We're dating. Publicly. No more speculation or gossip - everyone knows you belong to me now."
The implication hits her like a physical blow. It's one thing to call you Daddy as part of a bet, another entirely to be seen as your actual girlfriend in front of the whole school.
"I… we…" she stammers.
"We should get to class," you finish smoothly. "Wouldn't want to be late."
Homeroom is a circus of barely concealed excitement. Your classmates keep glancing between you and Winter, clearly dying to ask questions but not quite daring to. The teacher has to call for attention three times before the room settles down.
During first period, you pass Winter another note: "Library. Study room C. Lunch period. Wear a skirt."
She reads it and shoots you a questioning look, but you just smile and turn back to the lesson.
Study room C is tucked away in the back corner of the library, supposedly soundproof for group projects. It's also where you and Winter have had some of your most intense study sessions over the past year - and where things first turned physical between you.
Winter arrives right on schedule, having changed from her usual pants into a short plaid skirt that shows off her long legs. She looks around the familiar room with obvious nervousness.
"Memories?" you ask, closing the door behind you.
"This is where we first…" she trails off, cheeks pinking.
"Where you first let me finger you during our calculus review session," you finish. "You were so desperate to beat my test score that you agreed to some very creative study methods."
Winter's breathing has quickened at the memory. That day had been a turning point - the moment your academic rivalry gained a sexual dimension.
"And now here we are again. But this time, I don't have to convince you or negotiate. You're going to do whatever I want because you belong to me."
"The bet ends in four days," Winter reminds you, but her voice lacks conviction.
"Does it? Because I'm starting to think you like being owned more than you want to admit." You step closer, backing her against the study table. "Your body certainly seems to enjoy it."
To prove your point, you slide your hand up her thigh and under her skirt. She's not wearing panties - another sign of how well she's adapting to her new role.
"Nngh~" Winter bites her lip as your fingers find her already wet pussy. "Someone could come in…"
"The door's locked. And even if someone did interrupt, they'd just see perfect-student-Minjeong getting finger-fucked in the library like a desperate slut."
You work two fingers inside her while your thumb circles her clit. The angle is perfect for hitting all her sensitive spots, and within minutes she's panting and gripping the edge of the table.
"This is where it all started," you murmur against her ear. "You spread your legs for me in this exact spot because you were so competitive, so determined to find an edge. And now look at you - wet and ready whenever I snap my fingers."
"Ahh~ Daddy, please…" Winter's hips rock against your hand desperately.
"Please what? Please make you come in the library where anyone could hear? Please remind you what a good little fuck toy you are?"
"Yes! All of it! Nngh~ don't stop!"
You add a third finger, stretching her wider as you increase the pace. Winter has to bite down on her sleeve to muffle her moans as she approaches orgasm.
"Come for me," you command. "Show me how much you love being my slut."
Winter's climax hits her like a tidal wave. Her back arches as she comes, inner walls clenching rhythmically around your fingers while muffled cries escape her makeshift gag.
You work her through it until she's trembling and oversensitive, then slowly withdraw your hand. Your fingers glisten with her arousal in the fluorescent library lighting.
"Clean them," you instruct, bringing your hand to her lips.
Winter parts her lips obediently, sucking your fingers clean while maintaining eye contact. The sight is incredibly erotic - innocent student Minjeong tasting herself in a library study room.
"Good girl. Now fix your skirt and let's go get some actual lunch. All this exercise is making me hungry."
The cafeteria buzzes with excited energy when you enter together. The morning's hallway kiss has clearly been the talk of the school all day. You lead Winter to your usual table, where your friends are waiting with barely concealed grins.
"So," Jeno says without preamble, "that was quite a show this morning."
"Just making things official," you reply casually, pulling out Winter's chair for her like a gentleman.
"Official how?" Mark presses. "Are you two actually dating now, or is this still part of your weird bet thing?"
"We're dating," Winter says quietly, and you're surprised she's the one to confirm it. "It's… complicated, but yes. We're together."
"Holy shit," Haechan breathes. "I never thought I'd see the day when Winter submitted to anyone."
"I haven't submitted to anything," Winter protests, some of her old fire flaring up. "We're equals in this relationship."
You raise an eyebrow at that, and she quickly looks away. Calling you Daddy in public and getting fingered in study rooms hardly qualifies as an equal partnership.
"Sure you are," Jaemin says with obvious amusement. "That's why you call him Daddy and follow him around like a lost puppy."
"It's not like that," Winter insists, but her face is burning red.
"It's exactly like that," you correct gently. "And there's nothing wrong with knowing your place. Is there, sweetheart?"
Winter opens her mouth to argue, then seems to think better of it. "No, Daddy. There isn't."
The admission draws impressed whistles from your friends. Even they can see how thoroughly Winter's attitude has shifted over just three days.
"This is the best character development I've ever witnessed," Mark declares. "Bratty Winter becomes obedient girlfriend. It's like something out of an anime."
"She's still bratty," you assure them. "She just expresses it differently now. Don't you, baby?"
Winter's grip tightens on her chopsticks, but she nods. "Yes, Daddy."
After school, you take Winter shopping instead of heading straight home. She needs some new clothes that better reflect her changing status - things that are easier to remove, that show off her body for your enjoyment.
"Try this on," you say, handing her a short black dress that will barely reach mid-thigh.
"It's too short," Winter protests, holding it up against herself.
"It's perfect. Now go."
The dress fits like a second skin, hugging her curves and showing off her long legs. When she emerges from the dressing room, several other customers do double-takes.
"Beautiful," you approve. "We'll take it. And that red one too. And the blue skirt."
By the time you're done, Winter has a completely new wardrobe - all pieces chosen specifically for easy access and maximum visual impact. She looks overwhelmed by the sudden transformation.
"This is too much," she says as you load shopping bags into your car. "I can't accept all this."
"You're not accepting anything. I'm investing in my girlfriend's appearance." You lean across the center console to cup her face. "Besides, you're going to look incredible in all of these. Especially when I'm taking them off you."
Winter shivers at the promise in your voice. "Where are we going now?"
"Home. We have some new outfits to try on properly."
The drive passes in comfortable silence. Winter seems lost in thought, occasionally touching the fabric of her new dress like she can't quite believe this is her life now.
At your house, you waste no time putting the new clothes to use. Winter models each piece for you, turning and posing as you direct. The power dynamic is intoxicating - the perfect student treating her body like your personal dress-up doll.
"The red dress," you decide finally. "Leave it on, but lose everything underneath."
Winter strips off her bra and panties, leaving only the clingy red fabric. The dress is cut low enough to show the swell of her breasts and short enough that you can see the curve of her ass when she bends over.
"Perfect. Now come here."
She approaches slowly, and you can see her nipples already hardening against the thin fabric. The material is so fine it's practically transparent.
"Turn around and bend over the couch," you instruct.
Winter complies, bracing her hands on the cushions. The position makes her dress ride up, exposing her pussy and ass completely. You take a moment to appreciate the view before moving behind her.
"This dress was made for fucking," you observe, running your hands over her curves. "Easy access, shows off all your best features. You look like expensive arm candy."
"Is that what I am now?" Winter asks softly. "Your arm candy?"
"You're whatever I want you to be. Arm candy, fuck toy, girlfriend, study partner - it all depends on my mood." You unzip your pants, freeing your already hard cock. "Right now, I want you to be my personal stress relief."
You slide into her without warning, making her gasp and arch her back. She's always ready for you now, always wet and eager despite her protests.
"Ohh~ fuck, so deep like this," Winter moans as you start moving.
"That's the idea. This position lets me get nice and deep, hit all your sensitive spots." You grip her hips, using the leverage to thrust harder. "Plus I love watching your ass bounce."
The red dress clings to her sweat-dampened skin as you fuck her, the fabric bunched around her waist. Every thrust draws breathless moans from her lips.
"Tell me how it feels," you demand, reaching around to cup her breasts through the dress.
"Good! So good, Daddy! Nngh~ I love how you fill me up!"
"Love being used like this? Love having your pussy stretched around my cock?"
"Yes! Fuck yes! I love it all!"
Her admission sends heat straight through you. This perfect girl admitting she loves being fucked like a slut - it's everything you've ever fantasized about.
You change the angle slightly, hitting her g-spot with each thrust. Winter's moans become higher and more desperate as she approaches climax.
"Come for me," you order, pinching her nipples through the dress. "Come all over Daddy's cock while wearing your pretty new dress."
Winter's orgasm hits her like lightning. She screams your name as her body convulses, inner walls clamping down on your shaft like a vice. The sensation pushes you over the edge as well, and you empty yourself inside her with a satisfied growl.
Both of you are breathing hard as you slowly return to earth. Winter's legs are shaky when you finally pull out, and she has to grip the couch for support.
"The dress looks even better now," you observe, noting how the fabric clings to her flushed, sweaty skin. "Thoroughly fucked suits you."
Winter doesn't argue, just leans against the couch trying to catch her breath. She looks completely debauched in the best possible way.
"Dinner?" you suggest, as if you hadn't just fucked her senseless in your living room.
"I should probably shower first," she says, gesturing at her disheveled appearance.
"No need. I like you messy."
And you do. There's something incredibly satisfying about seeing this girl looking thoroughly used, her careful composure completely shattered by pleasure.
Thursday arrives with unseasonably warm weather that has everyone shedding layers and opening windows. Winter meets you at your locker wearing one of her new outfits - a short pleated skirt and fitted blouse that shows off her figure perfectly.
"Good morning, Daddy," she says with only minimal hesitation. The public displays are becoming more natural for her.
"Good morning, beautiful. I love the outfit."
"Thank you. I thought you might." There's a hint of her old mischief in her smile, and you realize she chose this particular combination specifically to please you.
The day passes in a blur of classes and stolen moments. A quick kiss between periods, your hand on her thigh during lunch, whispered promises of what's coming after school. Winter's settling into her role as your girlfriend with surprising ease.
But it's during seventh period chemistry that things get really interesting. You're working on a lab experiment together when Winter accidentally knocks over a beaker of solution.
"Shit!" she exclaims, then immediately claps her hand over her mouth.
"Language, Miss Kim," Mr. Park says sternly from across the room. "That'll be detention after school."
Your mind immediately starts racing. Detention means being alone with Winter in an empty classroom, supervised only by whichever teacher drew the short straw. The possibilities are endless.
"I'm sorry," Winter says meekly. "It was an accident."
"Accidents happen, but profanity in my classroom doesn't. Room 204 at 4 PM."
You squeeze Winter's hand under the lab table, and she gives you a questioning look. But you just smile and turn back to the experiment, already planning how to make the most of this unexpected opportunity.
After regular classes end, you walk Winter to room 204. Mrs. Chen, the elderly English teacher, is setting up at the supervisor's desk with a stack of papers to grade.
"Ah, Miss Kim. Take a seat anywhere you like. You'll be here for one hour."
Winter chooses a desk in the back corner, and you're pleased to see there's an empty seat right behind her. Perfect positioning for what you have in mind.
Mrs. Chen is notoriously hard of hearing and easily absorbed in her grading. Within minutes, she's completely focused on her papers, red pen moving steadily across student essays.
You pull out your phone and send Winter a text: "Slide your hand under your skirt. Start touching yourself. Quietly."
Winter's back stiffens as she reads the message. She turns slightly to look at you with wide, panicked eyes, but you just nod toward Mrs. Chen's bent head and give her an expectant look.
After a long moment of internal struggle, Winter slowly slides her hand under her desk. You can't see what she's doing, but the slight hitch in her breathing tells you she's following instructions.
"Good girl," you text. "Spread your legs wider. Make it easier to reach."
Winter's shoulders tense, but she complies. Her breathing becomes more carefully controlled as she tries to hide what she's doing.
"Are you wet?" you send.
A long pause, then her response: "Yes, Daddy."
"How wet? Describe it."
"Soaked. I can barely stay quiet."
The knowledge that Winter is sitting three feet away from a teacher while fingering herself sends blood rushing straight to your cock. You have to shift in your seat to hide your growing erection.
"Slip your fingers inside. Two of them. Nice and slow."
Winter's intake of breath is barely audible, but you catch it. She's really doing it - masturbating in detention like the desperate slut you've turned her into.
"How does it feel?" you text.
"Amazing. I wish it was your fingers instead."
"Soon. But first I want you to come like this. Right here, right now, with Mrs. Chen ten feet away."
"I can't! She'll hear!"
"Then you better be very quiet. Start moving your fingers faster."
You watch Winter's reflection in the window, noting how her eyes flutter closed and her free hand grips her pen tightly. She's close - you can tell by the subtle tension in her posture.
"That's it," you text. "Come for Daddy. Show me what a good little slut you are."
Winter's climax hits her silently but powerfully. Her back arches slightly and her mouth falls open in a soundless moan. Her whole body trembles with the effort of staying quiet during her orgasm.
Mrs. Chen never looks up from her grading.
"Clean your fingers," you instruct via text.
Winter glances around nervously, then brings her hand to her mouth. Watching her suck her own arousal off her fingers in a detention classroom is incredibly erotic.
"Good girl. You taste sweet, don't you?"
"Yes, Daddy. Thank you."
The rest of detention passes normally, though Winter keeps shooting you heated looks over her shoulder. When Mrs. Chen finally dismisses you, Winter can barely contain her excitement.
"That was insane," she whispers as you walk down the empty hallway. "I've never done anything like that before."
"But you loved it," you observe.
"I… yes. I loved it. Is that wrong?"
"It's honest. And honesty is exactly what I want from you."
You push her against the lockers suddenly, pinning her with your body as you capture her lips in a fierce kiss. Winter melts against you with a soft moan, her arms winding around your neck.
"I need you," she breathes when you break the kiss. "Right now. I don't care where."
"My place. We'll continue this properly."
The train ride home is torture. Winter keeps pressing against your side, her hand resting high on your thigh, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers all the things she wants you to do to her.
By the time you reach your house, you're both practically vibrating with need. The front door barely closes before Winter is pulling off her blouse, desperate to feel your hands on her skin.
"Bedroom," you command, though you're already backing her toward the stairs.
You don't make it past the living room. Winter trips over the coffee table in her haste, and you catch her, spinning to press her back against the wall. Her skirt rides up as she wraps her legs around your waist, and you can feel her heat through your pants.
"Please," she gasps, working frantically at your belt. "I need you inside me. Now."
You free your cock and slide into her in one smooth thrust, both of you groaning at the sensation. The angle is perfect - deep and intimate, her body perfectly aligned with yours.
"Fuck yes," Winter moans, her nails digging into your shoulders. "So good, Daddy. You feel so good."
You set a punishing pace, using the wall for leverage as you fuck her standing up. Winter's head falls back against the plaster, her mouth open in constant moans and gasps.
"This is what you needed, isn't it?" you growl against her throat. "Needed Daddy's cock stretching you open, filling you up completely."
"Yes! God yes! I need it so much! Nngh~ don't ever stop!"
Her desperation is intoxicating. Your toy, completely lost to pleasure, begging for your cock like it's the only thing that matters in the world.
When her orgasm approaches, Winter becomes almost frantic, her hips working against yours as she chases her release. "Please please please, I'm so close, Daddy, please make me come!"
"Come for me," you command, reaching between your bodies to rub her clit. "Come all over my cock like the desperate little slut you are."
Winter's climax tears through her like wildfire. She screams your name as her body convulses, inner walls clenching rhythmically around your shaft. The sensation triggers your own release, and you empty yourself inside her with a satisfied roar.
Both of you are breathing hard as you slowly come down from the high. Winter's legs are too shaky to support her when you finally pull out, and she slides down the wall to sit on the floor.
"I can't believe we just did that," she pants, looking dazed and thoroughly satisfied.
"We're just getting started," you promise, already planning the evening ahead. "Tomorrow's Friday - the last day of our bet. I intend to make it memorable."
Friday morning dawns bright and clear, the first truly beautiful day in weeks. Winter arrives at school wearing another of her new outfits - a white sundress that shows off her tan legs and makes her look like every teenage boy's fantasy.
"Last day," she says when she reaches your locker, and there's something unreadable in her expression.
"Having second thoughts?" you ask, studying her face carefully.
"About what? The bet, or…" she trails off, but you know what she means. About whatever this thing between you has become.
"Both. Either. Whatever's on your mind."
Winter looks around at the bustling hallway, at classmates who now openly stare and whisper when they see you together. A week ago, she would have hated the attention. Now she seems almost comfortable with it.
"I keep thinking about Sunday," she admits. "When things go back to normal."
"Who says they have to?"
The question hangs between you as the first bell rings. Winter gives you a complicated look, then heads toward homeroom without answering.
The day passes differently than the others. There's an undercurrent of anticipation, like both of you are waiting for something to happen. Your friends pick up on it too, making jokes about "the end of an era" and asking if Winter will go back to being her old self on Monday.
"I don't know," she answers honestly during lunch. "I'm not sure I remember how to be my old self anymore."
It's the most revealing thing she's said all week.
After school, instead of heading straight to your place, you suggest a detour to the park near the train station. It's where you and Winter first started studying together, back when your rivalry was purely academic.
"Memory lane?" she asks as you find the same bench you used to claim for study sessions.
"Something like that." You sit down, patting the space beside you. "I've been thinking about our first bet."
"The one where you had to buy me coffee for a month because I scored higher on the midterm essay?"
"That's the one. You were so smug about winning. Made me carry your books too, if I remember correctly."
Winter laughs, a sound you realize you haven't heard much of lately. "I was a total bitch about it."
"You were. And I spent that whole month planning my revenge."
"Is that what this week has been? Revenge?"
The question is serious despite her light tone. You consider it carefully before answering.
"At first, maybe. But not anymore." You turn to face her fully. "Winter, what do you want to happen on Sunday?"
She's quiet for a long time, watching other students walk by on their way home. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.
"I don't want it to end."
The admission hits you like a physical blow. You'd hoped she felt this way, but hearing her say it out loud is different.
"The bet, or us?"
"Us. Whatever we've become." She looks at you with vulnerable eyes. "I know it started as punishment, but somewhere along the way it became something else. Something I don't want to lose."
You reach out to cup her face, thumb stroking across her cheekbone. "Then we don't let it end."
"But what are we exactly? I can't keep calling you Daddy in public forever. People will think—"
"People will think we're a couple with an interesting dynamic. Which we are." You lean closer, resting your forehead against hers. "Winter, I don't want to go back to just being rivals who occasionally fuck. I want more than that."
"More how?"
"More everything. More time together, more public dates, more private moments. More of you being mine and me being yours."
Winter's breath catches. "You want to actually date me? Not just own me for a week?"
"I want both. I want to take you on proper dates and buy you flowers and meet your parents. But I also want to bend you over my desk whenever the mood strikes and have you call me Daddy when we're alone."
"That's… complicated."
"The best relationships usually are."
She's quiet again, but you can practically see the wheels turning in her head. Finally, she looks up with a small smile.
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay, let's try it. The real thing, not just a bet or punishment. But I have one condition."
"Name it."
"We make a new bet. Finals are in three weeks. Same terms as before - winner gets the loser for a week. But this time…" She grins, and there's her old competitive fire. "This time the winner gets to plan our first real date too."
You can't help but laugh. "You want to bet on who gets to be in charge of our relationship milestones?"
"Why?" she responds slyly, "Afraid you're going to lose?"
Your laughter dies, your eyes narrowing in challenge.
"You're on. Brat."
~
My first (of hopefully many) longer stories! I'm still getting used to this, but I hope this attempt wasn't atrocious to read. Thank you for reading <3
(male reader, prompt for & much love to suchsweetstories, 6k words)
A year to the day since the last time you saw her face:
You run into Jang Wonyoung in the alley behind a seedy bar.
“Hey,” you say, and stop short.
“Hey,” Wonyoung says. She’s wearing a black dress, thin straps, hem falling past her knees. She doesn’t even look surprised to see you. Only coughs around the cigarette she’s smoking.
“I was actually just about to call you.”
“Were you?” Her voice, when unforced, is always different than you expect. Low and rich and full.
“Yeah,” you say. It’s ludicrous, running into her tonight. Like something more divine than coincidence. “I was. Happy birthday.”
Wonyoung stares at you.
“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t say that to me.”
It doesn’t matter that it’s been a year. Jang Wonyoung is the same as she always is. Ice-cold. No dimples. No smile. All that glossy excessive hair. Those unseeing, unblinking large round doll eyes, reflective sheen like they’re encased in plastic. She looks beautiful. She looks like a ghost. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in weeks, sickly and skeletal in the moonlight. She looks like no one you could ever love.
“Wonyoung,” you say. “Come home with me.”
She takes another drag. You shouldn’t smoke, you think of telling her; come on, you’re killing yourself. But you’d never say that. You’re not in the business of hurting her and you never have been. Plus it’s her twenty-fifth birthday and there’s only so much cruelty a girl can take, even a girl like her.
It doesn’t matter that it’s been a year. Everything between you two is still as spectacularly fucked up as it’s always been.
“Fuck you,” Wonyoung says. And then she takes your hand.
-
You and Wonyoung have no reason to know each other. But:
“This is my table.”
It’s seven years ago and the first time you meet is in college, when you’re waiting in an on-campus coffee shop and look up from your laptop and there’s this girl standing above you with her arms crossed, looking somewhat mutinous. “I’m sorry?” you say.
“This is my table.” No pleasantries. Actually tapping her foot at you in her prissy little ballet flat. “I sit here every time I come here.”
“Uh,” you say.
“So move,” says the girl, flatly.
“Um-”
“My God, Wonyoung, are you already torturing him?”
The switch in mood is immediate, an impossible glimpse of summer sun in mid-winter blizzard. An Yujin walks up with her dimples and tight jeans and dazzling smile and throws an arm around the girl’s stiff, slender shoulders. The effect she has on you just by walking into a room is physical. You relax the second she throws that smile your way.
“Oh,” says the girl. Looks from Yujin to you. Her expression shifts even colder, as if to compensate. But just like you, her posture relaxes too. “So he’s one of yours?”
You splutter. “One of-”
“Shush.” Yujin smacks a kiss to the girl’s cheek. “Ignore her,” she says to you. “This is Wonyoung, my best friend. And - yes, she’s always this much of a sweetheart.” Then she grins, throws a hand out to you in a flourish. “Wonyoung, this is the guy I’m going to marry when I turn thirty.”
“I’m her boyfriend,” you supply. “Nice to meet you.”
Wonyoung’s face contorts like she’s just eaten something very sour. She gives you a rather unimpressed once-over, from your hair to your shoes. You’re halfway convinced that she’s about to chew you out like a mean girl from a movie. But all she says is: “Thirty? Like, exactly? You don’t want to get married earlier?”
“I’m not going to get married in my twenties like a fucking child bride,” says Yujin, appalled. “I’m way too pretty to squander my youth like that.”
Horrifically this makes both you and Wonyoung laugh. You glance her way; she wrinkles her pert, perfect nose, disgruntled to have something in common with you.
“Thanks for saving me a seat,” Yujin says, cheerfully oblivious or very good at faking it, and plops herself down right next to you.
Somehow you all end up sharing the table for the next two hours. Obviously Wonyoung doesn’t say another word to you that isn’t snide and you roll your eyes every time she tosses that long glossy curtain of hair. But you keep having these moments where you glance up and your gazes connect, where you catch each other with mirroring grins, where she goes to kick Yujin under the table at the same time you reach for her hand. It’s uncanny and horrible. She looks at Yujin the exact same way you do; quickly it becomes clear that this is kind of the root of the problem. But it’s just kid stuff, this instant rivalry. It’s college and you’re a stupid teenager and she’s a heinous bitch. You don’t look at Jang Wonyoung and think: We’re going to know each other forever.
But that’s exactly what you do.
-
About how you met An Yujin:
You were taking the same two PM lecture. You both sat in the back of the class. You turned to the side on the very first day and saw bangs and bright eyes and dimples and a low-cut top and a thousand-watt smile. Hi, the girl said. Her hair was up. You couldn’t stop staring at the column of her throat. Hi, you said, dumbly. The smile got wider. Then she said: You’re really cute. Why don’t I know you? Ten minutes later you were skipping class to make out in the bathroom. A week later you were dating. I don’t believe in taking things slow, Yujin said that Saturday, following you into your shitty dorm room wearing shorts so tiny it should qualify as public indecency. She’d made you laugh and then sucked your soul out through your dick and then made you laugh again. Naturally you have come to the conclusion that you have miraculously stumbled across the love of your life. But she holds your hand and kisses your mouth and steals all your clothes and fucks you half to death and tells everyone who’ll listen that she’s marrying you so at least you’re pretty sure it’s mutual.
“Oh, wow,” says Wonyoung, when she hears you tell this story. “Been there.”
You gape at her for a second. Then say: “Which part?”
“Definitely the part where she fell in love with me after I gave her the best head of her life,” says Yujin.
“No,” says Wonyoung, frostily, color rising in her cheeks. “Shut up. Obviously not that. We’ve never - whatever. I meant the…” Here she mimics you: “Why don’t I know you?”
“Right.” You say. You shoot a sidelong glance at Yujin, who looks very pleased with herself. Flash of both dimples and most of her teeth. “That how she got you, too?”
“Pretty much,” agrees Wonyoung. “Seventh grade. She sat right next to me in class and said: You’re too pretty for me to not know you.” Wonyoung makes her voice nasal and smarmy with the impression, gives an exasperated little eye-roll after. But there’s a tilt to her mouth that makes you think that line worked exactly the way it was supposed to. “Best friends ever since.”
“Is this what you do?” you say to Yujin, whose smile has gone so wide her eyes are nearly shut. “You just walk up to people and decide they belong to you?”
Except these days you’ve learned to know her, so you already know the answer. Oddly enough you’ve sort of learned to know Wonyoung, too. It’s weird but the months pass and the three of you hang out every week, almost every day. You skip more classes than you attend and pretend you’re studying together just to end up talking for hours and go to terrible frat parties and spend your weekends getting high in their dorm room until Yujin’s half in your lap and Wonyoung’s ice-princess face has split open in real unguarded laughter. When she looks at you in those moments it’s almost like you’re friends. But then she sees you looking and her expression goes cold and you’re certain you never will be.
“Yep,” chirps Yujin, leans in, kisses you. Pulls back with victory in her eyes. “Now you’re mine forever.”
“Alright,” you say, smiling. “I think I can be okay with that.”
-
She breaks up with you that spring.
She was really very nice about it in the moment, too. Said all the right things like she was reading from a playbook, held your hand to soften the blow. Her bangs were falling into her eyes and you went to brush them away before you remembered you were no longer allowed to. She sighed and said: It’s not you, it’s me. But coming out of her mouth it sounded like brave and earnest honesty instead of the world’s worst cliché. What happened to being yours forever? you wanted to say, and didn’t. Like she’d heard it anyway, Yujin smiled sadly. So sympathetic and sorry. I’m sorry things have to be like this, she told you. I never meant to break your heart. But you stared at those dimples and you knew better. Does it really matter if I left you? that smile said. You still belong to me.
Is there any way we can still be friends? Yujin asked, blinking up at you hopefully.
Of course, you said, sick with love for her. Always.
“Damn,” says Wonyoung, when she hears the news. She’s doing that thing where she makes her voice higher than it actually is, as if the princess-like benevolence will cover all the sarcasm. “Tough break. I really thought you guys were in it for the long haul.”
“We’re better off as friends,” you say. “Just like you and her, right? Friends.”
Wonyoung’s doll eyes narrow to slits. You watch her fingers twitch, each nail painted pink like viscera. But all she says is, “Right,” voice still sugar-sweet, and somehow turns away without strangling you.
And, well. Probably you’ll hate each other's guts forever. Probably she’ll murder you some other time. But you’re Yujin’s two favorite people in the world - that’s a tie that won’t break easily. Like being handcuffed to Wonyoung’s bony little wrist, thrashing so hard against the link between you that it leaves you both with bruises.
Or scars, one day, if you keep this up. But you’ll just have to wait and see.
-
A comprehensive list of your most significant memories involving An Yujin and Jang Wonyoung:
1. Freshman year finals week, the three of you holed up in the twenty-four-hour study room in the library until you accidentally fell asleep. Somehow you had all melted together on the floor like some misshapen, multi-headed body; Wonyoung was leaning against your shoulder; Yujin was kind of sprawled across both of your laps. Guys, you said, which startled Wonyoung awake. What are you… she began, peeved to be touching you, obviously about to throw some sort of fit. But then she saw that Yujin was still knocked out cold and paused. Wonyoung’s face was still puffy with sleep, mascara flaking off beneath her eyes. It was the first time you had ever seen her look less than perfect. Eventually Wonyoung said: Don’t wake her up. Then she spent the better part of an hour pressed against your side, sifting a hand through Yujin’s hair. Thing is, you probably knew Wonyoung was in love with Yujin before then. But that was the moment you were finally sure.
2. Sophomore year Yujin dated some guy who thought she hung the moon, which was the kind of worship that can really only end one way: him storming out of Yujin’s dorm and running straight into you and Wonyoung and snapping: I don’t know how you put up with her - that girl is seriously fucked up. Then he started talking shit about her to anyone who would listen. So one night you and Wonyoung and Yujin went out to the parking lot and destroyed her ex’s car. More accurately: you and Wonyoung destroyed his car while Yujin sat on the curb and cheered you on. Whatever. You were all pretty drunk. Here’s what you remember: Yujin’s wicked grin, moonlight pooling in the cup of her collarbone. Wonyoung, wearing a miniskirt and hair tied up in some complicated updo. She was so ridiculous and girlish and vain, even then: leather gloves and lip gloss as she dug a knife into some asshole’s tires. She caught you staring and scowled at you, like she was waiting for you to finish the job. So you glared back and you did. Spectating from her spot on the curb, Yujin laughed and laughed. I fucking love you guys, she hollered, and you believed her. You had never seen her happier and maybe never would.
3. Junior year Yujin started drinking a lot, and often, and destructively, to the point that you and Wonyoung began staying sober at parties just to look after her. But there was this one night where you were so tired of playing babysitter to the girl who broke your heart that you got drunk yourself and started flirting with some girl who was not nearly as gorgeous or complex or exhilarating or infuriating as An Yujin. Which was okay. Preferable, actually. But then just as you started kissing her Wonyoung stomped up to you and bodily ripped you off this girl with strength she summoned from God-knows-where and demanded to know where Yujin was. I don’t know, you said. You don’t know? she repeated, the high panicked pitch of her voice unfeigned for once. And that’s how you knew it was bad. So you two tore the place apart looking for her and eventually found Yujin locked in the upstairs bathroom. She was crying hysterically, blubbering nonsense. You were willing to step out, let her cool off. But Wonyoung knelt by the door. Please, she said. Her face was pale and tight with fear. Please open the door. I just need to know you’re okay. Tell me you’re okay. She stayed like that for twenty minutes until Yujin flung open the door and threw her body into Wonyoung’s arms, tears apparently forgotten. Wonyoung shut her eyes. As she hugged Yujin back you could see that she was trembling all over. After you’d both gotten her home and into bed Wonyoung yelled at you for a long time, for being a fucking idiot, for letting Yujin get so drunk, for leaving her alone, God, fuck, don’t you know you can’t leave her alone like that? Then she’d sunk to her knees outside of Yujin’s bedroom door and put her face in her hands and took in a deep, long breath. It’s just, she said, very quietly. There was this one night. In high school. She got so drunk, and I found her on the roof, and she was saying all these things - and then Wonyoung cut herself off. Shook her head very quickly. It doesn’t matter, she said. I worry because I have a good reason to. I’ve seen what she’s capable of.
4. Senior year you discovered Wonyoung was kind of weird about sex. You shouldn’t have ever known this. You wouldn’t have ever known this except that Wonyoung started hooking up with one of her TAs and subsequently began showing up with bruises everywhere: wrists and neck, inner thighs in her frilly skirts, ankles and thin forearms and knees. So one day you pulled her aside and said: Look, if anyone’s hurting you… But Wonyoung only stared at you blankly. Then nearly smiled. Oh, she said. No one’s doing anything to me that I didn’t beg for. Which was - fine. It was fine. Actually the thing that bothered you most about this was that Yujin was the same way. When you were dating her it had always kind of freaked you out, how hard she wanted to be hit. So one day you were talking with Yujin and Yujin made some crass joke about Wonyoung and her bruises and you just went: Why does she do it? Almost immediately Yujin replied: Because she hates herself. Obviously this shocked you. What? you said. Wonyoung? No. Why would you think that? And Yujin grinned at you with all her teeth and said: Take a wild guess.
5. Graduation, when Yujin wrapped her arms around you and Wonyoung and gave you both sloppy gross kisses on your cheeks and said: Not to be fucking disgusting right now, but you guys are going to be my best friends forever and ever and ever. You and Wonyoung groaned and complained: Yujin, ugh, that is fucking disgusting. Yeah, well, said Yujin, carefree and lovely, so high she’d never come down: Aren’t we all? And right then you met Wonyoung’s eyes and secretly thought the two of you would love An Yujin for the rest of your lives.
6. Three years ago, on Wonyoung’s twenty-second birthday, when you got the call.
-
There’s this one conversation the three of you have, drunk at the top level of a parking garage:
“How do you wanna go?”
Yujin’s leaning over the railing, wind in her hair. You and Wonyoung are on either side of her and trying very hard not to stare. But it’s a beautiful night and she’s got her head tipped back to the night sky and she’s smiling, dimples and all. You and Wonyoung look for so long at her that you accidentally make eye contact, just past the slope of Yujin’s nose. Probably Wonyoung’s wasted, or you are, and you’re seeing things. Because for a second you swear she almost smiles at you.
“Something painless,” Wonyoung says. It’s funny because she has a constellation of bruises on her collarbone right now, courtesy of her regular TA hook-up. You’ve never known her as a girl to shy away from pain. “Like - I just go to sleep and I never wake up. I don’t want to be afraid. That’d be the worst part.”
You look back at the moon, full and high in the sky. Say: “I agree, actually.”
“Ew,” says Wonyoung. She’s definitely smiling now; you can hear it in her voice. “Get your own way to die.”
“I think,” Yujin says. She’s speaking very softly. When you turn to her you see her eyes are closed, like she’s somewhere else entirely. “I’d want it to be exciting. Theatrical.” You watch the swanlike line of that beautiful throat bare itself to the stars. “A blaze of glory. You know me.”
“You have major issues,” says Wonyoung. But she’s laughing, and you’re so close to graduation and the endless golden possibility of the rest of your lives, and that one horrible night from junior year feels very far away. “Good luck with that blaze of glory.”
“Baby, I’m not blazing alone,” says Yujin, seriously, which sends you and Wonyoung into hysterics. “You guys know I’m taking you two down with me, right? If I’m going, you’re going.”
You and Wonyoung switch from giggling to protesting heavily about this - come on, you two say, talking over each other, except Wonyoung’s too drunk to fake her little princess voice so she’s sort of steamrolling you entirely and you’re reaching around Yujin to shove her in the shoulder, unfortunately totally in sync, variations on the same playful complaint: Yujin, God, leave us out of your fucking drama. We love you, you know we do. But let us live.
But then Yujin turns and breaks into a smile so stunning it brings both you and Wonyoung into complete silence.
“Please,” says Yujin, airily. “Like you could ever live without me.”
-
Three years ago, on Wonyoung’s twenty-second birthday, when you get the call:
“Hey,” you say. “What’s up? You never call me.”
But there’s a sudden and terrible unease creeping up your spine; a feeling like someone is breathing down the back of your neck. Because it’s true. Wonyoung never calls you. Unless it’s about-
“Yujin,” chokes out Wonyoung, in this horrible, sobbing gasp. “Yujin, she - she-“
She never gets the words out. But somehow you just know.
-
The day of the funeral-
You don’t want to talk about the funeral.
-
Somehow the world doesn’t stop turning. Months pass, then years. You try to move on and be normal. You get a job. You make new friends. You try to date people. You want to be as honest as you can. But there’s not really a delicate way to say that the girl you loved hung herself from her ceiling fan when you were twenty-two. So mostly you just don’t talk about it at all.
But it’s like an inevitability. Like they can all smell something tragic and wrong on you, taste the thick weight of grief in your mouth. Eventually all your girlfriends get skittish, suspicious. They don’t leave you. They want to figure you out. Going through your drawers, guessing at your passcode, scrolling through your texts. Confronting you at the end of the line: Who’s that girl in your camera roll, smiling at the lens? Who’s that girl you keep calling who never picks up the phone?
The truth always comes out, in the end. She was my favorite person in the world. She died. She’s gone.
Even the aftermath is the same. The big shocked eyes. The: Oh, I’m so sorry. The polite, perfunctory condolences, drawing you into their arms. And then, later, to all their friends: Well, I think he might be too sad, too damaged; I catch him wandering in circles around the apartment like he’s looking for something he’s lost. He says her name in his sleep. He wakes up crying. He’s too much; he’s in no place to love or be loved, and might not be for a long, long time. Yeah, I guess he’s a good guy, real nice, real sweet, but I’m leaving him - some things are just too heavy for anyone to handle.
“I don’t know why you bother trying,” Wonyoung says. “No one will ever understand you anymore.”
It’s her twenty-fourth birthday. You’re sitting on the hood of your car, sharing a cigarette. You’re not holding hands so much as you’re holding her wrist in your lap, tracing the clasp of the charm bracelet Yujin gave her when they were fifteen. Yujin had a matching one, too. They’d buried her in it. At her funeral you’d stared transfixed at that glint of gold and remembered how it used to warm with the heat of her skin and how strange it was that if you touched it in that moment it would be just as cold as she was now, would be forever. You never once looked at her face.
You thumb the twinkling charms of Wonyoung’s bracelet. You’ve seen other guys tug her around by this wrist hard enough to bruise. But you only lift her hand to your mouth and press a kiss to the soft pale center of her palm.
“You will,” you say. “You do.”
-
A comprehensive list of people you have spoken to about the day An Yujin died:
1. The guy who lived next door to Yujin. He’d been the one to call the cops first, actually. All the noise had woken him up. The screaming, he said. Her friend, the one who found her - she just wouldn’t stop screaming.
2. Yujin’s parents. But only very briefly. They always liked Wonyoung more than you.
3. The old lady who saw you standing on the curb, staring up at Yujin’s bedroom window. She lived across the street. Apparently she’d lived there Yujin’s whole life. Well, she told you, sighing with a shake of her head. It’s a tragedy, certainly. But we knew that one wasn’t long for this world. She wasn’t all there. She was always very fragile. Very reckless. All those hospital stays. You know she tried to kill herself before? Parents called the police and everything; terrible racket at two AM. You know she got drunk and crashed her car into that tree in our front yard? We didn’t blame her. We thought: Oh, poor girl. Everyone knew she was troubled. Plus, our lawn looks much nicer without the tree. God, sweetheart, I’m sorry for bringing up the tree. You lost much more than a silly tree. That’s horrible. That’s heartbreaking. You loved her, didn’t you? You loved her?*
4. Wonyoung. For a long time you kept having this same conversation about that night. Just tell me, you were always saying, I don’t understand, you just saw her, you were just with her, how could this have happened? Wonyoung must have heard an accusation in there somewhere because one day she turned to you and said: I don’t know what you want me to say. She was already dead when I found her. I tried. I did everything I could. I had her skin underneath my fingernails. I begged to fucking God. I couldn’t save her.**
(*Right, you said, staring up at that dark window, that childhood bedroom, the last place to feel her breathe. Yujin’s whole life. Beginning to end. She’d never even make it to twenty-two. I loved her.)
(**Don’t look at me like that, Wonyoung said. You couldn’t have saved her either.)
-
The day of the funeral-
You and Wonyoung decide that you’re going to go together. So in the morning you show up at her place.
Even now she’s inhumanly beautiful. Exquisite, really. Without makeup her doll eyes look wider than ever, underlined by bruiselike marks of exhaustion. She’s wearing this dress. Black, thin straps, clinging to her tiny waist, hanging past her knees. Her hair shines and cascades and never ends. For some reason you can’t stop looking at the sharp point of her left shoulder. Once someone had grown a bad habit of sinking their teeth into that shoulder, back in college. You never truly knew who. Only had a suspicion. Only saw the marks that lingered for days afterwards. The same little cuts reopened, over and over. You can’t believe she was left unscarred. You stare at her for a long while.
When you look up to her face, she’s staring back at you.
“Hey,” Wonyoung says, doll eyes gleaming with tears.
For a moment it’s as though you share a brain, and maybe a body too, fitting yourselves into the same coffin, dirt in your eyes and mouths and noses and lungs, suffocating as one. Involuntarily in sync in your train of thought, the way you always have been. This is it. Things will never be okay ever again. It’s the end of the world and the only thing we ever loved on this whole miserable planet put a noose around her neck and abandoned us. It’s just you and me, now. You and me.
“Hey,” you say. The link between you two as binding as it ever was. Or stronger, now that it’s the only thing that’s left.
Maybe that’s why you end up in her bed.
-
It’s terrible and torturous and hot and wet and messy and nowhere near as gentle as it should be. You fuck her like you’re trying to forget the ghost in the room, or maybe like you’re trying to summon her back to life, start the seance, make a spirit board out of her body. Hands sliding over her sharp ribs, concave stomach, pulling someone else’s postmortem from the sharp protrusion of bone. You sink your teeth into that perfect shoulder like you can taste whoever did it before you. Blood and sweat and soil over a grave. Indents of a phantom’s incisors. Wonyoung makes a horrible choked sound in the back of her throat. She pulls you off her shoulder, takes your hand, brings it up past her tummy and little tits and unbruised neck. Drags your palm over her face. Presses your thumb into her cheekbone. You dwarf her, you do. You could smother her. You could do something you can never take back.
“Hit me,” Wonyoung rasps out.
“No.” She’s dripping around your cock. “No.”
“You want to. You - you blame me.” The words come out in fitful little gasps. Halting like the stutter of your hips and the wet pulse of her cunt, like she’s trying to push you out, like she’s trying to keep you inside her forever, to replace whatever’s gone missing, to fill an impossible void. “For not saving her.” She won’t break eye contact. She won’t blink. “You think - you - you think it was my fault.”
“I don’t. I don’t.”
“You’re right, you know. It was my fault.”
“Wonyoung, shut up, stop talking-”
“Just hit me. I deserve it.” You can’t stand it. You can’t stand her. Big doll eyes and little doll mouth open and red and wet like a wound. “Hit me. Hit me, hit me, hit me-”
You’re shaking when you wrench yourself out and away from her, lurching back, leaving her body there on the bed, teeth marks in her shoulder, slick down her thighs, heaving for air. You clutch your arms to your chest like a frightened child. You put your hands somewhere they could never hurt her.
“It wasn’t your fault,” you say. Your voice sounds strange. You don’t know when you started crying. “And I’d never hurt you.”
She stares up at you with true and desperate hate in her expression, unmoving, dark hair spread out beneath her like a burial ground. So pale and brittle and cold and cadaverous. She could be the dead girl in the room, the eternal haunting. She could be the beautiful thing they’re about to bury in the dirt.
“You’re a fucking coward,” Wonyoung says. And then she begins to sob.
-
She puts her black dress back on and you get in the driver’s seat of your car. You go to the funeral together. You don’t speak. You stand all the way in the back and see Yujin in her casket and watch her parents fall apart.
Wonyoung reaches out and takes your hand, and doesn’t let it go for a very long time.
-
A comprehensive list of everything that happened on the day An Yujin died:
1. Wonyoung and Yujin got into a fight.
2. It was the summer after graduation and you had driven down to their hometown to go to their birthday party. It was just Wonyoung’s birthday, technically, but they always celebrated their birthdays together - they’d done it since they turned thirteen and fourteen, one right after the other. They used to show you pictures, their two little faces and one birthday cake, Yujin’s dimples and Wonyoung’s doll eyes all lit up by candles. Except this year, just before the party, they’d apparently gotten into this huge fight. No one knew what it was about, just that it was bad enough to make them spend their entire birthday party on opposite sides of the room, staunchly ignoring each other. A big deal. But you knew they’d be okay, obviously. You were their best friend and had seen more of them together than anyone at this party so you were confident being the voice of reason. They’ll be fine, you kept telling everyone. They’ll make up. They can’t stay mad at each other forever. You were certain of this because at some point during college you’d once caught Wonyoung stumbling out of her dorm on the verge of tears, wearing Yujin’s shirt with bite marks on her shoulder, Yujin shouting something taunting and catty and cruel after her, and you realized in that moment that Yujin had probably broken Wonyoung’s heart a million times over, much worse than she’d ever broken yours. Even then they were always okay. Always. Give it an hour. Give it a day. Look, come on, guys, you said, tomorrow is Yujin’s birthday. They’re always together. They’ll always be together. They’ll be alright.
3. That night, as you were leaving the party, Wonyoung pulled you aside and said to you, quietly: We’ll fix it in the morning.
4. That night, as you were leaving the party, Yujin wrapped you in a hug and kissed your cheek sloppily and said: Ugh, get off of me, loser. Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t miss me too much. Well, maybe miss me a little. Oh, shut up. You love me. Bye.
-
Now, three years to the day since the girl you both loved died:
It’s her twenty-fifth birthday, so Wonyoung smokes her cigarettes out the passenger side window of your car and lets you take her home. You talk about the messes you’ve made of your lives. You slip off her black dress and kiss her sharp shoulder. You’re real sweet to her, when you fuck her. So sweet that after you make her cum Wonyoung looks up at you with tears in her eyes and says: “I wish that you’d just hurt me.”
“I know,” you say, quietly. “But I won’t.”
And when she kisses you, you think she knows you meant it when you said you never will.
-
In the morning, you pick up a cake and flowers and drive out to the cemetery.
Wonyoung leans down and kisses the headstone. “Happy birthday,” she whispers.
You sit in the grass by the grave and share thick slices of cake. Wonyoung takes large, gluttonous bites and spits each of them out into a napkin instead of swallowing. Your stomach curdles in revolt. You think of her cigarettes. You think that Jang Wonyoung is always kind of killing herself, a slow and excruciating descent into being the girl in the open casket with a golden bracelet that you’ll never be able to forget. You could say something poetic and poignant about this cemetery, about the agony of burying her body beside the girl you both loved, about not being able to lose her, too. You can’t leave me, you could tell her. You can’t go where she went. You’re my best friend. You’re my last safe place. I need you here with me.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” you say, instead.
Wonyoung smiles, shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah, well,” she says, playing along. She remembers. She always remembers. There’s frosting on her chin. “Aren’t we all?”
You think of wiping the frosting off with your thumb. You think of doing a lot of things. You smile back at her and hope it’s enough.
-
(One last significant memory, just for the road:
It’s your sophomore year of college. You and Wonyoung are together at a party. You’re both mad at Yujin; you can’t remember why. But she’s in some guy’s lap on the couch and you and Wonyoung are both drunk and miserable in the corner and pretending not to stare at her. You’re ignoring each other, mostly. Except then there’s this moment where Wonyoung takes a step and stumbles in her stupid prim Mary Jane heels and you reach out and place a hand on her back to steady her. It’d be totally fine except for the fact that her shirt’s cropped and her hair’s up and your fingers graze bare skin, the notches in her spine. Electric and instantaneous. Wonyoung’s posture snaps impossibly straighter.
“Sorry,” you say. But Wonyoung puts a dainty finger to your elbow and keeps you there.
“You and me,” she says.
“What?”
Wonyoung turns to you. In her heels she almost matches you in height. She’s not looking at your face so much as your throat, studying the work of muscle as you swallow. You’re not looking at anything but the lip gloss on her mouth.
“You and me,” she says, except this time you understand her entirely. “She’d lose it. Because she thinks we belong to her.”
“Right,” you say. The obvious goes unsaid: We do belong to her. “Okay. So-”
You don’t pull her close so much as you fall together, a clumsy chain reaction of movements. Your hands and that tiny waist. Her wrists draped around your neck. Bracelet pressed against your skin, an exact match to the one on the girl across the room, watching you.
Wonyoung whispers, “Kiss me.”
So you do.
It’s a curious, tentative thing. Like it’s the first time either of you two have ever kissed anyone. Shy, awkward, careful, exploratory. Sweet. You never thought she’d be so sweet. Probably because you’ve spent the last year and a half with you two at each other’s throats half the time, you facing down her ice-princess voice and pout and perpetually rolling eyes. Near six feet tall and bulletproof, this one. Except now you’re cupping her little face in your hands and feeling her tremble against your mouth and she’s nothing like you thought she was. She’s just a girl. She’s just so small. Everyone who’d ever touched her has probably hurt her in one way or another, on purpose or by accident. Even - well. You won’t know this until later but Yujin will be furious about this, in that manic, vicious, smiling way of hers; she’ll take shots at you for weeks before she cools off. Say a lot of things about being left behind, used and disposed of. Oh, she’ll say, grinning and dimpled, voice serrated, I get it; you’re tired of me, bored of me. I’ll leave you two alone, then. Have fun. No, I understand: you guys don’t need me anymore. And you and Wonyoung will know she’s being unfair and immature and manipulative and reassure her anyway - that’s just what you do when you love somebody. An Yujin, you’ll tell her, over and over. You know we’ll always need you.
But for now, there’s only this. Her lip gloss and your mouth. Perfume sweet like summer fruit. Fragile cheekbones beneath your thumbs that could shatter as easy as glass.
Wonyoung pulls back, and says: “That was weird.”
You don’t say a word. You stare at those big doll eyes. The breathless rise and fall of her chest. For the first and last time in your life, you think: I could love you, if you’d let me.
“Extremely weird,” you say, after a long moment.
She nods once, licks her lips, leaves your arms. And then you never talk about it again.)
-
Sprawled on the grass in the afternoon light, Wonyoung tells you she doesn’t need you to drive her back from the cemetery. “I’ll walk,” she says. “My place is close enough. And it’s a nice day.”
You stand. Across Yujin’s grave sits a vase of sunflowers, their faces all turned towards the sky. “You’ll be okay?”
The sun shines so brightly that you have to shield your eyes as you look down at her. It’s the first day of September. Soon the turning leaves and the wind and the fog and the rain will creep in and steal what’s left of the summer. Everything changes, eventually; everyone leaves and dies and moves on. But for now the girl you thought you could never love sits in the sunlight with the ghost you thought you always would, just like they did when they were kids, twelve and thirteen, eighteen and nineteen, twenty-five and twenty-one forever. It’s sort of funny. Sometimes the link between you and Wonyoung feels less like handcuffs and more like a lifeline. Sometimes you can still hear Yujin’s voice saying: If I’m going, you’re going. But against all odds you’re still here. For however long it lasts. You’re here.
Wonyoung smiles. “Probably not,” she says. “But I’ll live.”
