Karina had a way of walking into the office that made the fluorescent lights seem dimmer by comparison. Not because she demanded attention—she didn’t—but because the sheer precision of her movements drew it anyway. Today, like every other Tuesday, she wore a navy-blue pencil skirt that hugged her hips just enough to be noticed but not enough to be inappropriate, paired with a crisp white blouse tucked neatly at the waist. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor with the same measured rhythm she applied to everything: emails, spreadsheets, the way she stirred her coffee exactly three times before taking the first sip.
You glanced up from your monitor as she passed your desk, catching the faintest trace of her perfume—something clean and expensive, like citrus and linen. She didn’t look your way, but you knew she was aware of you in the same detached way you were aware of her: a fact of the office, like the hum of the printer or the perpetually broken Keurig in the break room.
“Morning,” you said, because it was polite, and because you’d been sitting close enough to each other for two years that silence would’ve been weirder.
Karina paused mid-stride, turning just enough to acknowledge you without fully stopping. “Morning,” she replied, her voice smooth and neutral, the kind that could’ve been reading a weather report. Then she was gone, disappearing into her cubicle with the same efficiency she applied to everything else.
The office settled back into its usual rhythm—keyboards clacking, phones buzzing, someone coughing three desks over. You adjusted your chair and dragged your focus back to the quarterly report blinking accusingly on your screen. It was the same as any other day, the same as it would be tomorrow, and the day after that.
The office had long since emptied when the hum of Karina’s chair rolling back cut through the silence. You glanced up just in time to see her slip her arms into her blazer, the motion effortless, like she’d practiced it in a mirror. “Heading out,” she said, more statement than announcement, as she tucked her phone into her purse.
“Yeah, me soon,” you lied, knowing full well the stack of unfinished reports on your desk had other plans. Karina nodded, her heels tapping a quiet retreat down the hallway. The elevator dinged softly in the distance, and then there was nothing but the relentless glow of your monitor and the occasional creak of the building settling into night.
Forty minutes later, your phone buzzed against the desk, startling you out of a spreadsheet-induced trance. Karina’s name flashed on the screen, followed by a message so succinct it bordered on clinical: Left my laptop. Can you bring it? You swiveled in your chair, spotting the sleek silver device perched on the edge of her desk, half-hidden under a stack of sticky notes.
“No problem,” you typed back, because it wasn’t. The walk to her apartment complex was only fifteen minutes, and the night air might actually clear your head. You packed up your own things, slung her laptop bag over your shoulder, and killed the lights on your way out.
The city outside was all amber streetlights and the occasional whoosh of a late-night cyclist. You’d texted Karina to let her know you were on your way, but she hadn’t replied. Maybe she was busy—or maybe she was the kind of person who considered “thanks” implied. You rounded the corner to her building, a modern high-rise with a lobby that smelled faintly of lemongrass disinfectant.
Karina’s apartment was bathed in the flickering blue glow of the TV, the only light in the otherwise dim living room. She had changed out of her office attire into a simple, sleeveless dress—one that clung to her curves in a way that would’ve been distracting in the workplace but felt natural here, alone. The fabric draped just low enough to hint at the swell of her breasts, the cinch at her waist accentuating the dip of her hips. She lounged sideways on the couch, one leg curled beneath her, the other stretched out lazily over the armrest.
On screen, two actors murmured heated dialogue, their hands roaming with practiced urgency before the scene dissolved into something far less clothed. Karina exhaled through her nose, shifting slightly against the cushions. It wasn’t that she was particularly invested in the movie—just that the sudden shift in tone had nudged something loose in her, a restless energy that had been simmering beneath the surface all day. Her fingers trailed absently along her thigh, then higher, teasing the hem of her dress upward. The air conditioning hummed softly, but it did little to combat the warmth spreading under her skin.
By the time the actors on screen were fully entangled, Karina’s breath had gone uneven. Her touch grew deliberate, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, tracing slow circles where she needed them most. Her head tipped back against the couch, eyes half-lidded but still fixed on the TV—as if watching the scene unfold gave her an excuse to indulge in the tension coiling low in her stomach. The dress rode up further, fabric whispering against her skin as she arched into her own hand, teeth catching her lower lip.
The rhythm of her fingers faltered only when her phone buzzed against the coffee table, the sound jarring in the quiet room. Karina blinked, momentarily disoriented, before reaching for it with her free hand. Your name flashed on the screen—right, the laptop. She had forgotten about that. For a second, she considered letting it go to voicemail, but professionalism won out. She cleared her throat before answering, though her voice still came out lower than usual. “Hey. You here already?”
On the other end of the line, you stood in the lobby, shifting the weight of the laptop bag on your shoulder. The elevator doors slid open with a muted chime. “Yeah, just got in. Front desk said I could come up.” There was a pause, barely noticeable. “You sound… out of breath.”
Karina’s fingers stilled. She could’ve played it off—blamed it on rushing to answer the phone, or the walk from the kitchen. But something in the quiet of the apartment, the way her pulse hadn’t quite settled, made her honesty sharper than usual. “I was distracted,” she admitted, the words leaving her mouth before she could weigh them. Then, as if realizing how that sounded, she added, “By a movie.”
The elevator doors slid shut behind you with a quiet hiss, sealing you in the sterile, mirrored box. Your reflection stared back at you—slightly rumpled from the late hour, laptop bag hanging awkwardly off one shoulder. You jabbed the button for Karina’s floor, then hesitated, thumb hovering over the emergency stop. Not that you’d press it—but the impulse was there, a fleeting awareness that once those doors opened again, whatever neutral professionalism existed between you two might crack like thin ice.
Karina’s apartment door was ajar when you reached it, the gap just wide enough to spill a sliver of golden light into the hallway. You knocked lightly, the sound swallowed by the plush carpet. “It’s open,” she called, her voice closer than expected. You pushed the door wider and stepped inside, the scent of her perfume—warmer now, mixed with something muskier—hitting you like a physical thing.
She was perched on the arm of the couch, one foot tucked beneath her, the other dangling just above the floor. Her hair, usually sleek in its ponytail, had loosened into soft waves around her face, and a faint sheen of sweat glowed at her collarbone. The TV still played softly, the actors’ murmurs now reduced to post-coital whispers. Karina didn’t look at it. Her gaze pinned you in place, sharp despite the flush high on her cheeks.
“Thanks for this,” she said, nodding toward the laptop bag you were clutching like a shield. You handed it over, careful not to brush her fingers. She set it aside without glancing down.
The silence stretched between you, thick and electric, broken only by the soft murmur of the TV. You shifted your weight toward the door—polite exit strategy already forming in your mind—when Karina’s voice cut through the tension. “Stay.” It wasn’t a question. Her fingers curled around the edge of the couch cushion, nails sinking into the fabric. “The movie’s almost over.” Her gaze flicked to the screen, where the actors were now tangled in sheets, their bodies moving in lazy, post-climax closeness.
You should’ve said no. Should’ve mumbled something about early meetings, about unfinished reports. But the way her dress clung to her thighs, the way her breath still hadn’t quite steadied—it short-circuited whatever professionalism you had left. “Yeah,” you heard yourself say, as if your mouth had decided without you. “Okay.”
The couch was just shy of too small for two people, and Karina’s knee brushed against yours within the first thirty seconds of settling in. She jerked it away immediately, murmuring a clipped, “Sorry,” without looking at you. You nodded, eyes fixed on the screen where the actors were now arguing in a rain-soaked alley. The tension in the room was thicker than the plot.
Ten minutes later, her fingers grazed your forearm as she reached for her wineglass. “Oops,” she said, the word light, practiced. This time, you caught the way her gaze flickered to your face—testing, calculating—before she withdrew. The third time, her thigh pressed flush against yours under the pretense of adjusting her position. “My bad,” she added, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
That’s when it clicked.
You waited for her next move, your pulse ticking up a notch. When she “accidentally” leaned into you during a jump scare, her shoulder bumping yours, you didn’t let her pull away. Instead, you tilted your head toward her ear, close enough to feel her breath hitch. “You’re terrible at this,” you murmured.
Karina stilled. For a heartbeat, you thought you’d misread her. Then she turned, her lips inches from yours, and said, “Prove it.”
You didn’t give her time to overthink it. The moment the challenge left her lips, you closed the distance between you, one hand tangling in her hair while the other gripped her waist, pulling her flush against you. Karina gasped into your mouth, but she didn’t pull away—her fingers dug into your shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of your shirt as she kissed you back with a hunger that matched your own. It was messy, desperate, the kind of kiss that left no room for professionalism or pretense.
Her blazer hit the floor first, followed by the muffled thud of your belt unbuckling. Karina’s hands were everywhere—yanking your shirt over your head, fingers skimming down your chest like she was mapping territory she’d only ever glanced at from afar. You retaliated by slipping a hand beneath the hem of her dress, dragging it up her thighs until the fabric bunched at her hips. She arched into your touch, a quiet moan escaping her when your fingers found the damp lace of her panties.
“Off,” she demanded, breaking the kiss just long enough to tug the dress over her head. You barely had time to register the sight of her—bare except for that flimsy scrap of lace—before she was on you again, her teeth scraping your lower lip as her hands worked at the button of your pants. The air between you was charged, thick with the sound of ragged breaths and the slick slide of skin against skin.
Your pants pooled at your ankles, and Karina kicked them aside with a impatience that bordered on violence. She pressed you back against the couch, her body a warm, insistent weight against yours. The lace followed soon after, peeled down her thighs with agonizing slowness until she stepped out of it, leaving her completely bare. You dragged your palms up the curve of her ass, relishing the way she shuddered under your touch.
“Now you,” she murmured, her voice rough as she reached for your waistband. You let her push you back onto the cushions, watching as she knelt between your legs, her fingers hooking into the elastic of your boxers. The fabric slid down your hips, and then there was nothing left between you—just heat, skin, and the unspoken certainty that neither of you would pretend this hadn’t happened tomorrow.
Karina’s hands skimmed up your thighs, her nails leaving faint trails in their wake. Her gaze locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before she leaned down, her breath ghosting over your cock. “Tell me,” she said, her lips brushing the tip, “if this is still professional.”
You groaned, tangling your fingers in her hair as she took you into her mouth, slow and deliberate. The TV droned on in the background, forgotten, the actors’ voices drowned out by the sound of your pulse roaring in your ears. Karina’s tongue swirled around you, her rhythm alternating between teasing and demanding, until your grip on her hair tightened involuntarily.
She pulled back with a wet pop, her lips glistening. “Too much?” she taunted, though the flush creeping down her chest betrayed her own arousal.
“No, not too much,” you gasped, your fingers tightening in her hair as she swallowed you deeper, her throat flexing around you in a way that sent shockwaves down your spine. “Fuck, Karina—your mouth is unreal.” The words came out ragged, barely coherent, but her eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and glinting with something like triumph. She didn’t pull back, didn’t break contact—just held your gaze as she took you to the hilt, her nose brushing against your stomach, her throat working around you with practiced ease.
You groaned, hips lifting off the couch involuntarily, but she pressed a hand flat against your abdomen, pinning you down with a strength that shouldn’t have been surprising but still caught you off guard. “Stay still,” she murmured around you, the vibration of her voice making your toes curl. Her tongue dragged along the underside of your cock as she pulled back just enough to breathe, then plunged down again, her rhythm relentless. Every time she took you deep, her eyes stayed locked on yours, unblinking, as if daring you to look away first.
“You’re—god, you’re fucking perfect at this,” you managed, your voice cracking as she hollowed her cheeks, sucking hard enough to make your vision blur. She hummed in response, the sound vibrating through you, and you swore you could feel it in your teeth. Her fingers dug into your thighs, nails biting just shy of pain, and you realized with a dizzying rush that she was cataloging every twitch, every ragged breath, every broken compliment—hoarding them like ammunition.
The tension coiled in your gut like a live wire, every nerve ending screaming for release. Karina’s mouth was relentless—warm, wet, and so fucking skilled it was almost unfair. Your fingers tightened in her hair, gripping hard enough to make her gasp around you, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering as she surrendered to the rhythm you set, her throat working around you with every thrust.
You didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. The pressure built to a breaking point, your hips jerking erratically as you fucked her mouth with abandon. Karina’s nails dug into your thighs, her muffled moans vibrating against your cock, and that was all it took—your release hit you like a freight train, spilling hot and thick down her throat. She swallowed instinctively, her body arching against your grip, but you held her there until the last pulse faded, until her lips were slick and her breath came in ragged, shuddering gasps.
When you finally let go, Karina slumped back on her heels, one hand braced against your knee as she caught her breath. A strand of saliva glistened between her lips and your still-hard cock, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand, her gaze dark and unreadable. “That,” she said, voice hoarse, “wasn’t professional.”
You barked out a laugh, your fingers trailing absently through her mussed hair. “Neither was your little movie night.”
Karina’s lips curled into a smirk as she pushed herself up, straddling your lap in one fluid motion. Her bare skin pressed against yours, still flushed and fever-warm. “Fair,” she conceded, grinding down just enough to make you groan. “But I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“Not a single one,” you admitted, hands sliding up her waist to palm her breasts. She arched into your touch, her nipples pebbling under your thumbs, and you leaned forward to capture one between your teeth. Karina gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair as you nipped and licked, reveling in the way her hips rolled against yours.
“It’s your turn,” you murmured against Karina’s throat, flipping her onto her back with a rough push. Her breath hitched as her shoulders hit the couch cushions, legs splaying open instinctively—not wide enough. You hooked your hands behind her knees and dragged her closer, spreading her wider until the heat of her pressed against your mouth. She shuddered, her hips jerking off the couch, but you pinned her down with a firm grip on her thighs. “Stay,” you ordered, echoing her earlier command, and watched her throat bob as she swallowed a whimper.
The first slow lick up her folds drew a broken noise from her lips, her fingers twisting in the cushions. You repeated the motion, savoring the way her taste bloomed across your tongue—sharp and musky, unmistakably hers. Karina’s thighs trembled under your hands, but she didn’t pull away; instead, she arched into it, her heel digging into your shoulder blade as if to drag you closer. You chuckled against her skin, the vibration making her gasp. “Eager?” you taunted, flicking your tongue over her clit just hard enough to make her jerk.
Karina’s response was a ragged exhale, her hips canting up in silent demand. You obliged, circling her clit with slow, deliberate strokes until her breathing turned uneven, her thighs tightening around your head. Her moans were quiet at first—restrained, like she was still trying to maintain some shred of control—but when you sucked gently at her clit, her back bowed off the couch with a sharp cry. “Fuck,” she hissed, her hand flying to your hair, fingers tightening almost painfully. “Right there—don’t stop—”
You didn’t. You lapped at her with relentless precision, alternating between broad strokes and quick flicks, learning the rhythm that made her gasp, the pressure that made her nails scrape against your scalp. Her thighs clenched around your ears, her breath coming in short, punched-out bursts as she rocked against your mouth. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air, mingling with the faint tang of sweat and the citrus-clean remnants of her perfume.
When you slipped two fingers inside her without warning, Karina’s whole body stiffened, a choked moan tearing from her throat. You crooked your fingers just so, dragging against that spot that made her eyes roll back, and her grip on your hair turned punishing. “Yes—god, yes,” she gasped, her hips rolling to meet every thrust of your fingers. Her muscles fluttered around you, her thighs shaking with the effort of holding herself together, but you could feel the tension coiling tighter, her breath hitching with every stroke.
“Cum for me,” you growled against her clit, sealing your mouth over it and sucking hard. Karina’s back arched violently, her cry echoing off the walls as her orgasm ripped through her. Her thighs clamped around your head, her cunt pulsing around your fingers as she rode out the waves, her whole body taut like a bowstring. You didn’t let up—not until her grip on your hair went slack, her legs falling open bonelessly against the couch.
Karina’s chest heaved as she came down from her climax, her skin flushed and damp. Before she could catch her breath, you ducked your head and latched onto one taut nipple, swirling your tongue in tight circles while your fingers—still buried inside her—curved upward again, pressing insistently against that spongy spot.
“Wait—” Karina gasped, her hands flying to your shoulders, fingers digging in half-protest, half-pleasure. “It’s too much—ah!” Her voice cracked as your teeth grazed her nipple, the sharp sensation jolting through her oversensitive nerves. You didn’t relent, twisting your fingers deeper just as she tried to squirm away, turning her shudder into a full-body tremble.
Her thighs clamped around your wrist, her body betraying her words as she rocked into your touch despite her weak protests. “You don’t mean that,” you murmured against her breast, flicking your tongue over her nipple one last time before trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach.
Karina’s head thrashed against the cushions, her breath coming in ragged hitches. “I—I do,” she lied, her voice thin and unconvincing even to her own ears. Her hips lifted off the couch anyway, chasing the slow drag of your fingers as you withdrew them almost completely—only to plunge back in with a rough thrust that punched another moan from her lips.
You smirked, watching her stomach muscles jump under your lips. “Liar.” With that, you sealed your mouth over her clit again, sucking hard just as your fingers found that spot inside her once more. Karina’s back arched violently, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as another orgasm crashed over her, this one sharper, brighter, leaving her toes curling and her thighs shaking.
Karina’s body arched like a bowstring pulled too tight, her thighs clamping around your head with desperate, shaking pressure. You didn’t let up—not when her nails raked down your back, not when her breath hitched into something ragged and broken. Your tongue lashed at her clit in relentless, rapid flicks while your fingers pistoned inside her, curling just so with every thrust to drag another choked whimper from her throat. Her hips jerked erratically, her heels digging into the couch cushions as if trying to ground herself, but the friction only made her cunt clench tighter around your fingers.
The first spasm hit her like a live wire—her back bowing off the couch, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream. You felt it before you saw it: the hot gush of her release soaking your chin, your fingers, the couch beneath her. Karina’s eyes rolled back, her eyelids fluttering wildly as the second wave crashed over her, her legs trembling so violently you had to grip her hips to keep her from sliding off the couch entirely. Her orgasm ripped through her in pulsing waves, her pussy squirting in messy, uncontrollable bursts that left her gasping like she’d been drowning.
You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when her body was still convulsing, not when every ragged sob from her lips was another plea you refused to ignore. Your tongue lapped at her oversensitive clit, gentler now but no less insistent, and Karina’s hands flew to your hair, twisting in the strands as if she couldn’t decide whether to push you away or drag you closer. “T-too much,” she slurred, her voice wrecked, but her hips still rocked against your mouth, her thighs quivering with the effort of holding herself together.
The third climax hit her like a freight train—her entire body seizing, her cunt clamping down on your fingers so tight it almost hurt. This time, the sound that tore from her throat was raw, unfiltered, her back arching so sharply you worried for a second she might snap. Her release gushed over your chin, hot and slick, and you drank it down greedily, your fingers working her through the aftershocks until her legs finally gave out, collapsing bonelessly against the couch.
Karina lay there, breathless and trembling, her chest rising and falling in uneven hitches. A thin sheen of sweat coated her skin, glistening under the dim glow of the TV still playing forgotten in the background. Her fingers twitched where they’d tangled in your hair, her grip slackening as the last tremors faded from her limbs. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was her ragged breathing and the wet, slick noise of your fingers slowly withdrawing from her.
Karina’s protest came out breathless and half-slurred, her fingers weakly swatting at your shoulder as she lay sprawled across the couch, limbs still trembling from the aftershocks. “It’s not fair,” she muttered, her voice hoarse. “I made you cum once, but you—” She gestured vaguely at the mess between her thighs, the couch cushions still damp beneath her. “You made me cum multiple times, and I just had the biggest squirt orgasm of my life.”
You just laughed, dragging your thumb through the slick mess between her thighs before bringing it to your lips. “You like it,” you said, voice rough with satisfaction, “and I promise, my dick is even better. I’ll make you squirt until you’re dry.”
Karina’s eyelids fluttered, her chest still rising too fast, but the corner of her mouth twitched into something defiant. “Prove it then,” she challenged, pushing herself up on shaking elbows. Her hair was a wild tangle, her lips swollen from biting back moans. “I’ll be ready. Take me to the bed—” She paused, tilting her chin up, “—and you can use me like a fuck doll.”
The challenge in her voice sent a fresh jolt of heat straight to your cock. You didn’t hesitate. Gripping her hips, you hauled her off the couch in one smooth motion, her legs instinctively wrapping around your waist. Karina gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders as you carried her down the hallway, her bare skin warm and sticky against yours.
The bedroom was dim, the only light spilling in from the half-open door behind you. You dumped her onto the mattress more roughly than intended, but Karina just sprawled back, her legs already parting in invitation. The sight of her—flushed, fucked-out, but still daring you with her eyes—made your pulse spike.
“Are you sure you want to challenge me?” Your voice was rough, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as you leaned over her, your cock pressing against her slick entrance. “You won’t surrender halfway?”
Karina’s laugh was breathless, her pupils blown wide. “Please,” she taunted, arching her back to press herself closer, her nails scraping down your chest. “I’m the one who makes men surrender. Don’t get too confident just because I came a few times on your tongue.”
You didn’t give her a warning. With a sharp thrust, you buried yourself inside her to the hilt, the sudden stretch drawing a gasp from her lips. Karina’s body tensed, her thighs clamping around your hips instinctively, but you didn’t stop—didn’t let her adjust. You pulled out almost completely, then slammed back in, the wet slap of skin echoing off the walls.
Karina’s breath hitched, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “Fuck—”
Karina’s breath hitched as you pulled out almost completely, leaving just the tip of your cock inside her before slamming back in with a sharp thrust that punched a ragged moan from her throat. “Fuck—your dick—god—” Her words dissolved into a gasp as you dragged your hips back slowly, teasing her with the stretch before burying yourself deep again. “It’s so big,” she panted, her nails digging into your shoulders. “How the hell do you walk around the office like you’re not packing this?”
You smirked, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate circle that made her thighs tremble. “Easy,” you murmured, leaning down to nip at her collarbone. “I don’t think about you bent over the copy machine.”
Karina’s laugh turned into a broken whine as you snapped your hips forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the dim room. “Bullshit,” she gasped, arching to meet your thrusts. “You definitely thought about it.” Her hands slid down your back, fingers pressing into the muscles as if trying to pull you deeper. “Admit it—you imagined me like this, didn’t you? On my knees, taking every inch—”
You cut her off with a rough thrust, the headboard banging against the wall as her legs locked around your waist. “Keep talking,” you growled, your voice rough with want. “Tell me how much you like it.”
Karina’s lips curled into a smirk even as her breath stuttered. “I love it,” she moaned, her hips rolling to meet yours. “Love how you fill me—god, your cock is perfect.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, lashes fluttering as you hit a spot that made her toes curl. “Bet you’ve ruined girls with this thing. Bet they begged for it after the first time.”
You chuckled darkly, gripping her hips to angle her just right before driving into her with a pace that left her gasping. “You’re the one begging now,” you pointed out, watching her bite her lip to stifle a moan.
Karina’s defiance flickered for just a second before she surrendered to it, her head tipping back as her back arched off the bed. “Fuck—yes, okay? Yes,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I’ll beg if you keep fucking me like this.” Her hands flew to her own breasts, pinching her nipples roughly as if she couldn’t decide whether to ground herself or chase more pleasure. “Just—don’t stop—”
You obliged, your rhythm turning relentless, each thrust punching a sound from her lips—whimpers, gasps, your name tangled in curses. Karina’s thighs trembled around you, her body tightening like a coil ready to snap. “You close?” you rasped, your own control fraying at the edges.
Karina nodded frantically, her fingers twisting in the sheets. “So close—” Her voice broke as you hooked a hand behind her knee, hiking her leg higher to sink even deeper. “There—right there—”
Karina’s body arched like a live wire under yours, her thighs clamping around your hips as you fucked her through another shuddering orgasm. Her cunt pulsed around your cock in rhythmic clenches, soaking the sheets beneath her with another gush of her release. She gasped your name, her voice raw and broken, but you didn’t slow down—couldn’t. Not when she’d dared you to ruin her.
“That’s it,” you growled, pinning her wrists above her head as your hips pistoned into her with brutal precision. “Look at you—dripping. You take my cock so fucking well.” Her hips jerked erratically, her back bowing off the bed as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. “How many is that now? Three? Four?” You grinned down at her wrecked expression, her lips parted in a silent scream. “We’re not done.”
Karina’s reply was a slurred whimper, her eyelids fluttering like she couldn’t decide whether to keep them open or surrender to the haze. Her nails scraped weakly at your forearms, but her legs stayed locked around you, her body betraying her even as she gasped, “T-too much—please—”
“You challenged me,” you reminded her, dragging your tongue up her throat before biting down on her earlobe. “You said you’d take it.” Her answering moan was music to your ears, her hips rolling to meet your next thrust as if her body couldn’t help itself. “Fuck, you’re greedy. Even now, you’re still grinding on me.” You laughed darkly, snapping your hips harder, reveling in the way her breath hitched. “Admit it—you don’t want me to stop.”
Karina’s head thrashed against the pillows, her words dissolving into a broken sob as you angled your cock just right, hitting that spot inside her that made her vision whiten. “I—I can’t—” she choked out, her thighs trembling violently. “I’ll—break—”
“You won’t,” you promised, your voice rough with want. “You’re too damn perfect for that.” Your thumb found her clit, rubbing tight circles as you fucked her deeper, harder, until her entire body seized. Her orgasm hit like a thunderclap—her cunt clenching around you in erratic pulses, her scream muffled against your shoulder as she came again, her release gushing hot between your bodies.
This time, she didn’t recover. Her arms fell limp at her sides, her legs sliding bonelessly off your hips as her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth slack, her whole body twitching with oversensitivity. You didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The sight of her—utterly ruined, dripping, yours—drove you wild, your thrusts turning frenzied as your own climax coiled tight in your gut.
“One more,” you ground out, gripping her hips to haul her onto your cock with every snap of your hips. “One more, and then I’ll let you rest.” Karina whimpered, her body limp but still responsive, her cunt fluttering weakly around you as you chased your own release. “Cum for me.”
Her response was a broken cry, her back arching off the bed as another orgasm tore through her—smaller this time, but no less intense. Her thighs trembled, her toes curling into the sheets as she squirted again, the wet sound of it mingling with the slap of skin. That was all it took. With a groan, you buried yourself to the hilt, your release spilling deep inside her as her body milked you through every last pulse.
When you finally stilled, Karina was motionless beneath you, her chest rising unevenly, her lips parted around silent, panting breaths. Her eyelids fluttered when you brushed a thumb over her cheekbone, but she didn’t—couldn’t—open them fully. A slow smirk curled your lips as you leaned down to murmur against her ear, “Still think you can make me surrender?”
Karina’s response was a weak, wordless sound—half-protest, half-exhaustion—before her head lolled to the side, her body finally giving out.
Sunlight sliced through the blinds, painting stripes across Karina’s bare skin as she blinked awake, disoriented. The sheets were twisted around her legs, damp and sticky—evidence of last night’s relentless indulgence still clinging to her thighs. She stretched gingerly, wincing at the ache between her legs, the memory of your hands, your mouth, your cock branding itself into every muscle.
The clock on the nightstand glared back: 9:07 AM. Shit. She’d slept through her alarm. Again.
The muffled cadence of your voice drifted in from the kitchen—professional, measured, the polar opposite of the growls and taunts that had filled this room hours ago. A meeting. Of course you were already working, already composed, while she lay here with your cum leaking out of her. The realization sent a thrill down her spine.
Karina smirked, rolling onto her stomach with deliberate slowness, savoring the way her muscles protested. She could play this game too.
Silent as a shadow, she slid off the bed, her knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. The cool air kissed her bare skin as she crawled forward, her hips swaying with each movement, her palms pressing into the floorboards. The scent of coffee and your cologne grew stronger as she neared the kitchen doorway.
She paused just out of sight, listening to the steady rhythm of your voice. “—Q2 projections need revision before the board review—”
God, you sounded so boring. So normal. As if you hadn’t reduced her to a sobbing, squirming mess less than six hours ago.
Karina’s nails dug into the wood. Time to fix that.
She rounded the corner on all fours, her hair tousled, her lips still swollen from last night’s abuse. You were seated at the kitchen island, laptop open, dressed in nothing but sweatpants slung low on your hips—casual, effortless, infuriatingly unruffled. Your back was to her, your attention fixed on the screen.
Perfect.
She slithered between your legs before you could react, her hands sliding up your thighs. Your voice hitched mid-sentence as her fingers traced the outline of your cock through the thin fabric, already half-hard just from her proximity. “—ah—apologies, my connection glitched for a second.”
Karina grinned, pressing a kiss to the bulge straining against your waistband. She could feel the way your muscles tensed, the way your breath stuttered when her tongue flicked out to trace the shape of you.
On screen, a colleague’s voice crackled through the speakers. “—so we’ll need those numbers by EOD—”
“Understood,” you replied smoothly, but your fingers were suddenly tangled in her hair, urging her closer.
Karina obeyed, nuzzling against you like a cat before hooking her thumbs into the waistband of your sweats and tugging them down just enough to free your cock. It sprang against her cheek, hot and heavy, already leaking at the tip.
She didn’t hesitate. Wrapping her lips around the head, she swirled her tongue over the slit, tasting the salt of your precome. Your grip tightened instantly, your hips jerking forward as if you couldn’t help it.
“—uh, yeah, let’s circle back on that,” you managed, your voice rougher now.
Karina hummed around you, the vibration dragging a choked sound from your throat. She took you deeper, her lips stretched tight, her eyes flicking up to watch your jaw clench. The laptop camera was angled just high enough to miss her, but she could see the screen—could see the confused frown of your colleague as your responses grew clipped, distracted.
Her fingers traced the seam of your balls, rolling them gently as she sucked you off with slow, filthy pulls. Your thighs trembled under her palms, your abs flexing as you fought to keep your composure.
Your fingers tightened in her hair, tugging sharply—a silent command to stop. Karina paused, her lips still wrapped around the head of your cock, her dark eyes flicking up to meet yours with feigned innocence. You mouthed the word “Enough,” your voice a near-silent growl, but she just smirked around you, her tongue darting out to lap at the slit.
Then she pulled back, releasing you with a wet pop—only to shift her weight forward, her full breasts pressing against your thighs as she dragged them upward, enveloping your cock in soft, warm heat. Her nipples brushed against the base, already stiff from the cool air, and you clenched your jaw hard enough to ache.
“—final approval on the Henderson account,” you forced out, your voice impressively steady despite the way Karina’s mouth found the tip again, her lips sealing around it in slow, teasing sucks. Her hands kneaded her own tits around your shaft, the slick friction of skin and precome turning the glide torturously smooth.
She hummed around you, the vibration traveling straight to your balls, and your grip on the edge of the laptop turned white-knuckled. “Yes, I’ll—” Your breath hitched as her tongue swirled under the head, “—send the files.”
Your fingers flexed against the laptop’s edge, your grip the only betrayal of the torture unfolding beneath the screen. Karina’s breasts enveloped your cock in a slick, warm vise, her nipples dragging along the shaft with each slow, deliberate roll of her shoulders. But it was her mouth that threatened to unravel you—the way her lips stretched tight around the head, sucking with a pressure that bordered on painful, her tongue flicking against the slit in quick, teasing strokes.
“—we’ll proceed with the revised timeline,” you choked out, your voice strained but miraculously level. Onscreen, your colleague’s brow furrowed at the delay in your response, but Karina didn’t care. Her dark eyes gleamed with mischief as she hollowed her cheeks, the suction making your thighs jerk.
She timed it perfectly—every bob of her head synced with your attempts to speak, her lips sealing tighter just as you opened yours to reply. “The—fuck—client expects—” You barely suppressed a groan as her thumbs circled your balls, her tits squeezing tighter, the heat of her mouth unbearable. Your free hand fisted in her hair, not to guide her, but to anchor yourself as your vision blurred at the edges.
Karina smirked around your cock, her tongue swiping a wet stripe from base to tip before diving back down, taking you deeper than she had any right to during a goddamn meeting. The wet sounds were obscene, her saliva dripping down your shaft to mingle with the precome smeared across her cleavage. She was trying to break you—pulling off just long enough to drag her tongue along the throbbing vein underneath before swallowing you whole again, her throat fluttering around the head.
“—yes, I’ll—” Your voice cracked as she suddenly cupped her breasts tighter, creating a sinful tunnel of flesh that she fucked you into, her mouth working the tip in counterpoint. “—forward the notes.” The words tasted like ash in your mouth, your control fraying with every slick slide of her skin.
The call dragged on, an eternity of half-formed sentences and gritted teeth, while Karina reduced you to a trembling mess beneath the guise of professionalism. When the final “Thanks, everyone” left your lips, you didn’t even wait for the disconnect—you slammed the laptop shut and hauled her up by the hair, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave.
Cum spilled over her lips, her chin, painting her tits in thick, white stripes as you fucked into her grip, your release endless. Karina gasped as the first hot spurt hit her tongue, but she didn’t pull away—just milked you through it, her breasts jiggling with each pulse, her mouth hungrily catching what her tits couldn’t.
“You call this your revenge?” You hauled Karina onto your lap in one swift motion, her bare thighs straddling yours, still sticky with the remnants of her earlier squirts. Her breath hitched as your cock slid effortlessly between her slick folds, the head catching at her entrance but not pushing in—not yet.
Her lips curled, still glistening with your release. “Maybe it is,” she murmured, rolling her hips just enough to tease. “Or maybe it’s a gift—because you did make me surrender last night.” Her nails raked down your chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake.
You gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, yanking her down onto your cock in one brutal thrust. Karina’s back arched, her mouth dropping open in a silent scream as she took you to the hilt. “Yeah?” you growled, watching her eyelashes flutter. “But I still want to punish you.” You pulled out agonizingly slow, savoring the way her cunt clenched around you, desperate to keep you inside. “You lost the challenge after being so damn confident.”
Karina’s laugh was breathless, broken. Her hands braced against your shoulders as she rocked forward, her swollen clit dragging against your abdomen. “Just punish me then, Daddy,” she taunted, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
The title sent a jolt of electricity straight to your cock. You didn’t hesitate—slamming back into her with enough force to knock the air from her lungs. Karina’s head snapped back, her tits bouncing with each punishing thrust, her thighs trembling where they gripped yours. “Fuck—yes,” she gasped, her fingers tangling in your hair. “That’s it—ruin me—”
“Like that, baby?” Your voice was rough, fingers digging into Karina’s hips as you pistoned into her, the chair creaking dangerously beneath you both.
Karina’s breath hitched, her back arching as she rocked into each thrust, her nails raking down your chest. “Yes—fuck—Daddy—” The word spilled from her lips like a prayer, broken and breathless, and something primal in you snarled in response.
“You begged for this,” you reminded her, snapping your hips up hard enough to jolt a cry from her throat. “Now take it.”
Karina’s body obeyed before her mind could catch up—her thighs clamping around yours, her cunt fluttering wildly as another orgasm ripped through her. Her release gushed between you, soaking your thighs, her moan cracking into a sob as you didn’t slow down, didn’t stop. “Too much—” she gasped, her fingers twisting in your hair, “but don’t you fucking dare stop—”
You laughed darkly, gripping her ass to haul her down onto your cock with brutal precision. “Greedy little thing,” you growled, watching her tits bounce with each punishing thrust. “You’re dripping down my thighs and still asking for more.”
Karina’s response was a wordless cry, her head falling back as you hit that spot inside her that made her vision whiten. Her thighs trembled violently, her cunt clamping around you in erratic pulses as she came again, her orgasm wringing another gush of slick from her already soaked pussy.
You didn’t give her a second to recover. Wrapping a hand around her throat, you dragged her forward until her lips brushed yours, her breath hot and ragged against your mouth. “You love it,” you murmured, your voice low and taunting. “Love being used like this, don’t you?”
Karina’s eyelids fluttered, her pupils blown wide with surrender. “Yes,” she admitted, the word barely audible, her hips still rolling in tiny, desperate circles. “Fuck me—please—”
You obliged, slamming into her with a pace that left her gasping, her tits swaying with each thrust, her nipples stiff and flushed. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with her broken moans and the wet, filthy squelch of her cunt taking you deeper with every snap of your hips.
Karina’s thighs shook, her body teetering on the edge of another climax, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. “Gonna cum—” she warned, her voice wrecked, her fingers scrambling for purchase on your shoulders. “Fuck—your cock—I can’t—”
“Do it,” you ordered, your grip tightening on her hips. “Cum on my dick like the desperate little slut you are.”
Karina’s orgasm hit like a freight train—her back bowing, her cunt clamping down on you so tight it nearly hurt. Her scream was raw, unfiltered, her release gushing hot between your bodies, her thighs quivering violently as you fucked her through it.
You weren’t far behind. With a groan, you buried yourself to the hilt, your release spilling deep inside her in thick, pulsing waves. Karina whimpered, oversensitive but still grinding her clit against you, milking every last drop from your cock as her body trembled with aftershocks.
For a long moment, the only sound was her ragged breathing and the wet drip of your combined mess between her thighs.
Then Karina smirked, her voice hoarse but triumphant. “Told you I’d make you surrender.”
You laughed, swatting her ass hard enough to leave a mark. “Keep dreaming, princess.”
She just grinned, limp but satisfied, her head dropping onto your shoulder as the chair groaned beneath you both.
The moment her knees hit the tile floor, Karina knew she wasn’t getting a break. You hauled her up by the hips before she could catch her breath, her stomach slamming against the cold marble of the kitchen island. Her legs dangled uselessly, toes brushing the air as her slick dripped onto the floor in a steady rhythm. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen—a wet tap tap tap against tile that made her cheeks burn even as her cunt clenched around nothing.
“We’re not done yet, baby,” you growled, your hands spreading her ass cheeks wide. The air against her soaked folds made her shiver, but the heat of your cock pressing against her ruined pussy had her gasping. You didn’t ease in—just shoved, burying yourself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Karina’s scream cracked halfway through, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth counter as her body bowed under the force of it.
“Fuck—fuck—!” she chanted, her voice splintering into nonsense as you set a merciless pace, hips pistoning into her with enough force to rock the island beneath them. Her tits slid against the marble, nipples pebbled and oversensitive, her ass jiggling with every snap of your hips. The slap of skin on skin echoed off the cabinets, mingling with the wet, filthy squelch of her cunt taking you deeper with every thrust.
Karina’s vision blurred, her mouth hanging open as drool pooled beneath her cheek. She couldn’t form words—just broken syllables and gasps that dissolved into moans whenever you angled your hips just right. Her legs kicked weakly, her toes curling as another orgasm coiled tight in her belly. “G-gonna—” she managed, her voice wrecked, her cunt fluttering around you in erratic pulses.
You didn’t let her finish. Wrapping a fist in her hair, you yanked her head back, your breath hot against her ear. “Cum,” you ordered, your voice rough with command. “Now.”
Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up—her back arching, her cunt clamping down on you like a vice as pleasure ripped through her in violent waves. Her scream was raw, unfiltered, her thighs trembling violently as her release gushed between her legs, soaking your thighs and dripping onto the floor.
Your fingers tangled in Karina’s hair, yanking hard enough to make her gasp—not in pain, but in anticipation. The sharp pull arched her back, her throat exposed as her lips parted on a ragged exhale. “Do you like it?” you growled, your voice dripping with dominance, your hips never slowing their relentless pace. “Talk, baby. Show me how much you fucking love it.”
Karina’s breath hitched, her eyelids fluttering as her cunt clenched around you. The words tumbled out in a broken stream, her voice wrecked and shameless. “Love it—love your cock—fuck—so deep—” Her hips rocked back to meet your thrusts, her ass jiggling with every snap of your hips. Drool dripped from her bottom lip, her cheek smeared against the marble counter, her reflection distorted in the polished surface beneath her.
You tightened your grip, tilting her head back further until her pupils blew wide with surrender. “Louder,” you demanded, punctuating the word with a sharp thrust that punched a cry from her throat. “Let the whole fucking building hear how much of a slut you are for me.”
Karina’s moan cracked into a sob as you hit that spot inside her that made her toes curl. “Yours—” she gasped, her nails scraping uselessly against the counter. “All yours—please—more—” Her thighs trembled violently, her cunt fluttering around you in erratic pulses as another orgasm coiled tight in her belly.
You didn’t let her cum yet. With a cruel twist of your wrist, you dragged her upright, her back slamming against your chest. Your free hand groped her tits, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her whimper. “Not yet,” you murmured against her ear, your voice a dark promise. “You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
Karina’s head lolled against your shoulder, her breath coming in shallow gasps as you slowed your thrusts to a maddening grind. Every inch of your cock dragged against her oversensitive walls, her cunt clenching helplessly around you. “Cruel,” she moaned, her hips twitching in tiny, desperate circles. “Fucking—tease—”
You chuckled, your teeth grazing her earlobe. “And you love it.”
She couldn’t deny it. Her body betrayed her, her pussy dripping around your cock, her thighs shaking with the effort of holding back. “Please—” she begged, the word dissolving into a whine as you rolled her nipple between your fingers.
You rewarded her with a brutal thrust, your hips slapping against her ass hard enough to leave a mark. “Now,” you ordered, your hand sliding down to circle her clit in tight, punishing strokes.
Karina’s orgasm hit like a lightning strike—her back bowing, her scream ripping through the room as her cunt milked your cock in violent pulses. Her release gushed between her thighs, soaking your fingers and dripping onto the floor in a filthy, obscene rhythm.
You fucked her through it, your pace never faltering, your grip on her hair keeping her upright as her legs gave out. “Again,” you commanded, your voice rough with barely restrained hunger. “Cum again.”
Karina sobbed, her body wrung out but still obedient, her cunt fluttering around you as another wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her moan was raw, unfiltered, her thighs trembling as her second orgasm wrenched itself from her body.
Your palm cracked against her ass with a sharp, stinging slap—hard enough to make Karina jerk forward with a gasp. The red handprint bloomed across her cheek, stark against her pale skin, and she barely had time to whimper before you did it again. “Ah!—fuck, that hurts—” she protested, her voice breaking as her hips instinctively rocked back into you, her pussy clenching greedily around your cock.
You chuckled darkly, delivering another slap, this time harder, watching her skin flush darker under the impact. “Bullshit,” you murmured, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass. “Your cunt’s dripping, baby. Begging for it.” As if to prove your point, you dragged your thumb through her slick folds, collecting the evidence before smearing it across her swollen clit. Karina shuddered, her thighs trembling as a fresh gush of arousal coated your fingers.
Then you stopped moving entirely—your cock buried deep inside her but motionless, a cruel tease as her body throbbed around you. “No—” Karina whined, her hips twitching in desperate little circles, trying to fuck herself on you. But you held her still, your grip unyielding, your other hand rising to deliver another sharp slap to her pussy. The wet smack echoed in the room, her clit jolting under the sting, and she cried out, her walls fluttering wildly.
“Admit it,” you ordered, your voice rough with command, your fingers tracing lazy circles around her abused clit. “Say you love it.”
Karina bit her lip, her breath coming in ragged gasps as you spanked her pussy again, the sharp pain melting into heat that coiled tight in her belly. Her thighs shook, her toes curling against the tile as another slap landed—this time harder, meaner—and her resistance shattered. “Fine—fuck—yes!” she sobbed, her hips bucking helplessly. “I love it—love your hand on my pussy, love—ah!—when you spank me like a fucking slut—”
You rewarded her honesty with another slap, this time letting your fingers linger, rubbing firm circles into her clit as she writhed against you. “Good girl,” you purred, your cock twitching inside her as her cunt squeezed around you in frantic pulses. “Now cum for me.”
Karina’s orgasm hit like a tidal wave—her back arching, her scream tearing through the room as her pussy gushed around your cock. Her thighs clamped around yours, her body bowing under the force of it, her release soaking both of you in a hot, sticky mess. You didn’t move, didn’t give her an inch, just let her ride it out on your still cock, her moans dissolving into broken whimpers as the aftershocks wracked her body.
You didn’t let her recover. The second her orgasm subsided into shuddering aftershocks, your hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you dragged her back onto your cock with a single, brutal thrust. Karina’s gasp was sharp, her body jolting forward, her palms slapping against the marble counter to brace herself. “Fuck—yes—” she choked out, her voice already wrecked, her cunt fluttering around you in helpless pulses.
You set a punishing pace immediately—no warm-up, no mercy. Just the wet slap of skin on skin, the obscene squelch of her well-used pussy taking every inch of you with each snap of your hips. Her ass bounced with every thrust, the red handprint you’d left earlier now a darkening bloom against her pale skin. You leaned over her, your chest pressing against her sweat-slick back, your breath hot against her ear. “Gonna fill you up again,” you growled, your voice thick with promise. “Mark you inside where it counts.”
Karina’s moan was half-sob, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter as you drilled into her with relentless precision. Her thighs trembled, her toes curling against the tile, her body arching to meet each thrust. “Do it—” she begged, her voice cracking. “Please—breed me—claim me—”
The raw need in her voice sent a surge of possessiveness through you. Your hand fisted in her hair again, yanking her head back until her spine bowed, her throat exposed. “Mine,” you snarled, your hips pistoning into her with enough force to rock the island beneath you both. Her tits swayed with each movement, her nipples stiff and flushed, her cunt clamping down on you in erratic spasms as another orgasm coiled tight in her belly.
You felt it the second she tipped over the edge—her walls fluttering wildly, her scream shattering into wordless, breathless cries as her release gushed between her thighs. Her body convulsed around you, her back arching, her ass pressing back against you greedily as if she couldn’t get enough. “Fuck—fuck—so good—” she babbled, her voice wrecked beyond recognition.
That was all it took. With a groan, you buried yourself to the hilt, your release spilling deep inside her in hot, pulsing waves. Karina whimpered, oversensitive but still grinding her hips back against you, milking every last drop from your cock as her body trembled with aftershocks. Your grip on her hair loosened, your forehead dropping between her shoulder blades as you both rode out the high, the only sounds in the room the ragged hitch of her breathing and the wet drip of your combined mess between her thighs.
Karina’s fingers slipped from the railing as another brutal thrust sent her lurching forward, her cheek pressing against the cold metal. The morning air was crisp against her sweat-slicked skin, the city stretching out below them in a haze of early sunlight. She’d thought she’d won—thought she’d drained you dry after the kitchen, the living room, the hallway—but your grip on her hips was ironclad, your cock pistoning into her with a stamina that bordered on inhuman.
Karina gasped as her body was suddenly lifted, the world tilting violently before her back hit the cold balcony railing. Her fingers scrambled for purchase, nails scraping against metal as she blinked up at you in dazed disbelief. “What the—how are you still—standing?!” she panted, her voice raw from screaming, her thighs still trembling from the last round. The sunrise painted the sky in streaks of gold and pink, casting your silhouette in an almost predatory glow as you loomed over her.
Karina’s fingers clawed at the railing, her knuckles whitening as the metal dug into her palms. The city stretched out below them, indifferent to the way her thighs shook against the cold steel, her breath coming in ragged gasps that fogged the morning air. “You—you were supposed to be done,” she panted, her voice hoarse from overuse, her body still thrumming with the aftershocks of the last orgasm you’d wrung from her.
You chuckled, low and dangerous, your hands splaying across her hips as you pulled her back against you. The evidence of your earlier rounds glistened between her thighs, dripping onto the balcony floor in a slow, obscene rhythm. “You really thought a few rounds would knock me out?” Your teeth grazed her shoulder, biting down just hard enough to make her jerk. “Cute.”
Karina’s protest died in her throat as you angled her hips, the head of your cock pressing against her soaked entrance. “Wait—fuck—I can’t take—” Her words dissolved into a sharp cry as you sheathed yourself in one brutal thrust, her body stretching to accommodate you even as her cunt fluttered in protest. The railing groaned under their combined weight, the sound drowned out by Karina’s broken moan.
“Are you a monster?” she gasped, her head dropping forward as you set a punishing pace immediately, your hips slamming into her with enough force to rock the balcony beneath them. The sunrise painted her skin in gold, highlighting the sweat-slick curve of her spine, the way her ass jiggled with each snap of your hips.
You leaned over her, your breath hot against her ear. “No,” you murmured, your voice thick with promise. “I’m just getting started.” Your hand slid between her thighs, finding her swollen clit with unerring precision. “And I’ll make sure you’re dry.”
Karina’s scream tore through the dawn air, raw and unfiltered, bouncing off skyscraper glass as the city below stirred to life. Her fingers clenched the railing so hard her knuckles blanched, her thighs quivering against the cold metal as you drove into her with a force that sent shockwaves through her body. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed louder than car horns on the street below—wet, filthy, deliberate.
“Louder,” you growled against her ear, your teeth scraping her pulse point as your hand snaked around her throat. “Let them hear who owns this cunt.”
Karina’s head fell back against your shoulder, her lips parting on another broken cry as you angled your hips just right—hitting that spot that made her vision whiten. Her voice cracked, syllables dissolving into nonsense as her orgasm slammed into her without warning. The railing shuddered beneath her grip, her release gushing down her thighs in hot, slick waves that dripped onto the balcony tiles.
A distant shout rose from the street—someone had heard. Karina’s stomach flipped, half-mortification, half-thrill, her cunt clenching around you in erratic pulses. “Fuck—they know—” she gasped, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts despite the oversensitivity wracking her body.
You laughed darkly, palming her ass to spread her wider, your cock plunging deeper. “Good,” you murmured, your voice thick with possession. “Let them envy me.”
Her answering moan was drowned out by the blare of a car horn—some asshole leaning out their window, craning to see the source of the noise. Karina didn’t care. Her world narrowed to the stretch of your cock inside her, the way your fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise, the sound of her own voice splintering the morning calm.
“Again,” you ordered, your thumb circling her clit in tight, punishing strokes.
Karina sobbed, her body bowing under the dual assault. “Can’t—too much—”
You didn’t relent. Your pace turned brutal, the railing creaking ominously as you fucked her into another climax. Her scream this time was shrill, her thighs clamping around yours as her cunt milked you in violent spasms. Below, a chorus of whistles and whoops rose from the street—an audience.
Karina’s cheeks burned, but her hips never stopped moving, her body betraying her shame with each greedy roll of her ass. “Y-you’re—ruining me—” she choked out, her voice wrecked beyond recognition.
You kissed her shoulder, your lips curling against her sweat-slick skin. “Correction,” you murmured, your thrusts slowing to a maddening grind. “I’m remaking you.”
The balcony door slammed shut behind you, Karina’s knees buckling the second you crossed the threshold. She barely caught herself on the hallway wall, her palms sliding against the paint as you crowded her from behind, your cock already nudging at her swollen entrance. “No—wait—” she gasped, but you didn’t. You sheathed yourself in one brutal thrust, her cunt so slick it made a wet schluck sound as you bottomed out. Karina’s forehead thumped against the wall, her fingers scrambling for purchase as you set a merciless pace, her ass jiggling with each snap of your hips.
By the time you reached the living room, her thighs were shaking so badly she couldn’t stand. You dumped her onto the couch face-first, her tits spilling over the armrest as you mounted her from behind. The leather squeaked under her sweat-slick skin, her moans muffled by the cushions as you fucked her raw, your hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises. Her pussy was still dripping, but the wet sounds grew shallower with every thrust, her body struggling to keep up.
The kitchen island came next—her back pressed against the cold marble, her legs hooked over your shoulders as you drove into her with enough force to rock the cabinets. Karina’s screams were hoarse now, her voice shredded, her cunt fluttering around you in weak pulses. You didn’t stop. You flipped her onto her stomach, her ass in the air, and fucked her until her thighs were streaked with a mix of your cum and her own slick, the puddle beneath her growing stickier by the minute.
The bedroom was a blur—her on her knees, her on all fours, her on her back with her ankles pinned to her ears. Every position wrung another broken sound from her throat, her body oversensitive but still obedient, still taking you even as her cunt grew tighter, drier. By the time you dragged her into the bathroom, her pussy was so overused it ached, her inner thighs chafed red, her clit swollen to the point of pain.
The shower was already running when you shoved her against the tiles, the water scalding against her flushed skin. Karina whimpered as you lifted her, her back pressed to the wall, her legs wrapping around your waist out of sheer habit. Her cunt was tender now, the initial slide of your cock drawing a sharp gasp from her—not pleasure, not pain, but something raw in between. You fucked her slow this time, deliberately, watching her face contort with every thrust.
Then you felt it—the faintest resistance, the barest hint of drag. Karina’s breath hitched, her nails digging into your shoulders. “Stop—please—” she begged, but you didn’t. You thrust deeper, harder, and when you pulled out, the tip of your cock was smeared with a thin streak of pink. Karina’s eyes widened, her thighs trembling violently. “Fuck,” she whispered, her voice wrecked. “You broke me.”
You kissed her then, deep and possessive, your hand cradling the back of her head as the water sluiced between you. “No,” you murmured against her lips. “I just made sure you’ll remember.”
And when you carried her to bed—her body limp, her pussy throbbing—the rust-colored smudge on the sheets was proof enough.
The suitcase sat open on your bed, a yawning mouth of indecision. You stared into its depths, a pile of folded t-shirts and shorts looking back, utterly inadequate. Three days. One night. With them. The thought alone was enough to make your palms feel damp. You’d been living with this low-grade, humming anticipation for a week, ever since Su-A had dropped the bombshell with all the casual grace of someone announcing they’d ordered pizza.
“Pack a bag,” she’d said, leaning against your doorframe. “We’re going to the Maldives. Me, you, Ryujin, and Karina. Three days. Don’t overthink it.”
Don’t overthink it. The mantra was a cruel joke. Your brain had been a single, sustained overthink since the moment the words left her mouth. The Maldives. White sand, turquoise water, and the two women who had starred in every private, hopeful daydream you’d had for the better part of a year. Ryujin, with her sharp grin and effortless cool that always seemed to soften just for you. Karina, whose quiet presence felt like a sanctuary, and whose… assets… were a subject of devout, secret appreciation.
You were twenty. They were twenty-four. The four-year gap had always felt like a chasm when you were younger, but now it just felt like a thin veil, one you were desperate to see through. You called them noona out of habit and a flicker of respectful charm, but the word tasted different lately. Less like “older sister’s friend” and more like a secret title for the objects of your fascination.
A final pair of swim trunks went into the bag. You zipped it closed, the sound final. This is it. No backing out.
The airport was a blur of fluorescent lights and echoing announcements. You found Su-A by the departures board, looking effortlessly put together in athleisure wear. “Took you long enough,” she said, but she was smiling. It was her usual teasing smile, but you’d known her long enough to see the extra glint in her eye. Su-A was many things—blunt, occasionally brash, a relentless tease—but she was never random. This trip had a purpose, and that unknown purpose sat in your stomach like a stone.
Then, the world shifted.
You were sitting beside Su-A on a hard plastic seat, listening to her complain about airport coffee, when a pair of hands descended from behind, covering your eyes. The touch was cool, the fingers slender but strong.
A voice, low and husky, rasped right next to your ear. “Guess who…?”
A jolt went through you, immediate and electric. You knew that voice. It was the voice that mocked you during video games, that cheered loudest when you won, that could say your name and make it sound like a challenge. The tension in your shoulders melted into a warm, familiar thrill. You chuckled, the sound a little breathless.
“It’s you, Ryujin noona.”
The hands dropped. You turned, and there she was.
Ryujin stood with her weight on one hip, a worn leather duffel slung over her shoulder. She wore black cargo pants and a simple grey tank top that showed off the lean, defined lines of her arms and shoulders. Her hair was its usual dark, slightly messy style, but her eyes—sharp and clever—were fixed on you, sparkling with amusement. The tomboyish vibe was in full force, but then she smiled, and it transformed. It was a girly, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, a smile she didn’t give to just anyone.
“Too easy,” she said, her voice that familiar, raspy melody. “You need better surprises in your life.”
Before you could answer, your gaze drifted past her. And there, standing a half-step behind, was Karina.
She seemed to almost shimmer in the harsh airport light. She wore a modest, soft-looking white tank top and low-waisted denim shorts that emphasized the gentle curve of her hips. Her posture was slightly hesitant, one arm crossed loosely over her stomach in a gesture that was somehow both self-conscious and elegant. But it was impossible not to notice the generous swell of her breasts against the thin cotton of her top, a fact made more potent by her shy demeanor. Her face, with its petite, V-shaped jaw and wide eyes, was breathtaking. She offered a small, tentative wave.
“H-hi,” Karina said, her voice a soft contrast to Ryujin’s husk.
“Hi, Karina noona,” you managed, hoping your voice didn’t crack. Your heart wasn’t just beating faster; it was performing a frantic, irregular drum solo against your ribs.
Su-A stood up, clapping her hands together. “Great! The gang’s all here. Now we can get through security and I can get a real drink. Let’s move, lovebirds.”
You froze. Lovebirds? Did she mean…?
Ryujin barked a laugh, slinging an arm around your neck in a loose headlock. “Yeah, yeah, we’re all lovebirds. You’re just jealous you’re flying solo, Su-A.” She released you, but her arm stayed draped over your shoulders for a second longer than necessary, her body a warm, solid line against yours. The scent of her—clean soap and something faintly citrusy—filled your senses.
Karina just smiled that quiet, beautiful smile, her cheeks tinged with the faintest pink.
The flight was a seven-hour lesson in exquisite torture. The universe, in its infinite cosmic joke, had seated you in the middle. Su-A had claimed the window seat immediately, putting on an eye mask and declaring herself dead to the world. Ryujin took the aisle, leaving you sandwiched between your stepsister and the woman who occupied a significant portion of your mental real estate.
For the first hour, you were hyper-aware of everything. The press of Ryujin’s shoulder against yours whenever she shifted. The way her knee would occasionally brush against your thigh when she turned to look out the aisle. She was a restless traveler, constantly adjusting, getting up to stretch, her movements fluid and contained.
“You’re stiff as a board,” she observed halfway through a movie you hadn’t been watching. She poked your arm. “Relax. It’s a vacation.”
“I am relaxed,” you said, your voice tight.
She snorted. “Liar.” Then she did something that nearly short-circuited your brain. She leaned her head against your shoulder. It was a casual, comfortable gesture, the kind you’d see between close friends. But you weren’t close friends. You were you, and she was Ryujin, and her hair was tickling your neck, and the weight of her head was the most significant thing you’d ever felt.
“Your movie’s boring,” she murmured, her voice vibrating through your body. “Mine’s better.”
You didn’t dare move. “What are you watching?”
“Train to Busan.”
“Of course you are.”
You felt her smile against your shoulder. “Zombies never get old.”
You sat like that for twenty minutes, trapped in a paradise of your own making. You could smell her shampoo, feel the steady rhythm of her breathing. Your mind raced, then went curiously blank, then raced again. Is this normal for her? Does she do this with everyone? You glanced at Su-A, but she was a silent lump under a blanket. No help there.
Then, the food cart came. As the flight attendant handed Ryujin her tray, she had to sit up, breaking the contact. A wave of cold loss washed over you. But as she settled back, arranging her tray, her hand—her fingers—brushed against yours on the shared armrest.
It was an accident. It had to be. A split-second touch of skin on skin. But it wasn’t a brush. It was a slow, dragging pass of her fingertips over your knuckles as she pulled her hand back. Your eyes snapped to hers. She was looking straight ahead at her seatback screen, a faint, unreadable smile playing on her lips. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t acknowledge it. She just… left the sensation there, burning on your hand.
She did that on purpose.
The thought was a wildfire. You stared at your hand, then back at her profile. She picked up her fork, her movements deliberate.
From the other side, Karina had been quiet. She’d been reading a book, her posture graceful even in the cramped seat. But as the cabin lights dimmed for the night cycle, she shifted. Putting her book away, she turned slightly towards you, tucking one leg beneath her. In doing so, her arm, bare and smooth, came to rest along the armrest between your seats. Your arms were now parallel, a hair’s breadth apart. You could feel the faint warmth radiating from her skin.
You didn’t look. You kept your eyes forward, on the zombie movie you still weren’t watching. The anticipation was a physical ache. The plane hummed around you. Ryujin’s solid presence on your left, a live wire of playful energy. Karina’s soft, warm proximity on your right, a silent invitation. And you, in the middle, a conductor for a current you didn’t know how to handle.
Then, Karina spoke, her voice so quiet you almost missed it over the engine drone.
“Are you excited?” she asked.
You turned your head. She was looking at you, her large eyes reflecting the dim glow of the exit signs. In the shadows, she looked even more ethereal.
“For the Maldives?” you whispered back.
She nodded.
“Terrified,” you admitted, the truth slipping out before you could censor it.
A soft, genuine laugh escaped her, a sound like bells muffled by velvet. “Me too,” she confessed. “I’m not… great with new places. But Su-A was very persuasive.”
“She usually is.”
“She said it would be good for you,” Karina said, her gaze dropping to her hands for a moment before returning to yours. “That you’ve been… studying too hard.”
You knew Su-A hadn’t said anything of the sort. This was Karina’s own shy way of saying she’d noticed you, that you’d been a topic of conversation. A different kind of heat spread through your chest, warmer and deeper than the electric jolts from Ryujin’s touch.
“It’ll be good for all of us,” you said, and you meant it.
She smiled again, and this time it reached her eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and then settled back, her arm still resting so close to yours. She didn’t move it away.
You didn’t either.
The rest of the flight passed in a haze of semi-consciousness. You drifted off at some point, lulled by the hum and the warmth on either side. You woke up to Ryujin gently shaking your shoulder, her face close to yours.
“Hey. Sleeping beauty. We’re here.”
You blinked, disoriented. The cabin lights were bright. Karina was already standing in the aisle, stretching with a slight, graceful arch of her back. You saw the hem of her white tank top ride up, exposing a sliver of toned, pale stomach before she smoothed it down. Your mouth went dry.
The airport in Malé was a wave of humid, salty air. Then a speedboat transfer, skimming over water so brilliantly blue it looked unreal. Ryujin whooped as the spray hit her face, leaning over the side like an excited kid. Karina sat more demurely, but her eyes were wide with wonder, a smile of pure delight on her face. You caught Su-A watching you watch them, her own smile a knowing curve.
The resort was a postcard. Overwater bungalows perched on stilts above a lagoon, connected by wooden walkways. The air smelled of frangipani and sea.
“Two bungalows,” Su-A announced, holding up key cards. “Girls in one. You and me in the other, little brother.”
A flicker of irrational disappointment shot through you. Of course. What did you expect?
Ryujin grabbed a key. “Su-A and I will take this one,” she said decisively, pointing to a bungalow a few down the walkway. She tossed the other key to Karina, who fumbled but caught it. “You two get the honeymoon suite.”
You stared. Karina stared at the key in her hand, her cheeks flushing that beautiful pink again.
“W-what?” you stammered.
Su-A rolled her eyes, but she was grinning. “Ryujin snores like a chainsaw. I’m not listening to that for three nights. Karina’s quiet. You’re quiet. It makes sense. Don’t be weird about it.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “We’re all meeting on our deck in an hour for sunset drinks. Don’t be late.” She linked her arm with Ryujin’s, and they walked off, Ryujin throwing a wink over her shoulder that was aimed directly at you.
You were left standing on the dock with Karina, the second key card burning a hole in your collective reality. The silence between you was thick, charged with the unspoken.
“I… I don’t snore,” you finally said, the words utterly stupid.
Karina looked up at you, her shyness momentarily overtaken by a flicker of amusement. “I don’t either,” she said softly. Then she bit her lower lip, a nervous habit you’d always found endearing. “Is… is this okay?”
Was it okay? To share a private, overwater bungalow in the Maldives with Karina? Your brain shorted out, then rebooted with a single, clear command: DO NOT SCREW THIS UP.
“It’s more than okay,” you said, your voice surprisingly steady. “If you’re comfortable.”
She nodded, a quick, decisive motion. “I am. Let’s… let’s go see it.”
The bungalow was breathtaking. A large, airy room with a vaulted ceiling, dominated by a king-sized bed. One bed. The fact hung in the room like a physical object. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors led out to a sprawling deck with steps directly into the lagoon. The bathroom was open-concept, with a huge stone tub and a shower that looked out over the water.
“Oh,” Karina breathed, taking it in. She walked to the glass doors, her silhouette framed by the dazzling ocean. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” you agreed, but you weren’t looking at the view.
You both unpacked in a quiet, careful dance, avoiding the elephant in the room—or rather, the single, enormous bed. You took one side of the closet; she took the other. You placed your toiletries on one side of the double vanity; she placed hers on the other. It was domestic and surreal.
An hour later, freshly showered and changed into clean clothes, you both made your way to the other bungalow. Their deck was already set up. Su-A was mixing drinks at a small bar cart, and Ryujin was lying on a sun lounger, wearing shorts and a bikini top that showed off her flat, toned stomach. She had a magazine open but wasn’t reading it.
“Took you long enough,” Su-A said, handing you a colorful cocktail. “Get this down you. Sunset’s starting.”
The sunset was a slow, spectacular explosion of orange, pink, and purple, bleeding into the darkening blue of the ocean. You all sat in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sound the gentle lap of water against the stilts.
“So,” Ryujin said, breaking the quiet. She sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the lounger and fixing you with a look. “Three days. What’s the agenda, Mr. Vacation?”
“I… I didn’t make an agenda.”
“Boring,” she declared, but she was smiling. “Fine. I’ll make one. Tomorrow morning, we snorkel. That reef looks insane. Tomorrow afternoon… we explore the island. Tomorrow night…” She trailed off, her eyes glinting. “We play a game.”
“A game?” Karina asked, sipping her drink.
“A drinking game,” Su-A clarified, pouring herself another. “But with a twist. Truth or Dare. Classic, but it gets the job done.”
A familiar nervous thrill shot through you. Truth or Dare. In the Maldives. With them.
“What’s the ‘twist’?” you asked cautiously.
Ryujin’s grin widened. “The twist is, we’re all adults, and we’re in paradise. So no chicken shit dares. And no boring truths.” Her gaze swept over you, then Karina. “Deal?”
Karina looked at you, a question in her eyes. You saw a flicker of something there—not just shyness, but a spark of curiosity, of maybe even challenge. She nodded slowly. “Deal.”
“Deal,” you echoed, the word feeling significant.
“Good,” Su-A said, clinking her glass against yours. “Now that’s settled, I’m starving. Let’s go to dinner.”
Dinner was at the resort’s beachside grill, tables set right in the sand. The atmosphere was relaxed, the food incredible, and the conversation flowed easier with each passing hour. The initial tension melted into something warmer, more familiar. Ryujin teased you relentlessly, stealing a piece of grilled prawn from your plate with her fingers. Karina laughed more openly, her soft voice occasionally rising above the din to tell a funny story about Su-A in college. You caught her looking at you several times, and when your eyes met, she didn’t immediately look away. She’d hold your gaze for a second, two, before a soft smile would touch her lips and she’d turn back to her food.
The walk back to the bungalows along the moonlit beach was quiet. The sand was cool underfoot, the ocean a whispering presence to your left. Ryujin and Su-A walked ahead, their figures silhouetted against the starry sky.
Karina walked beside you, her bare arm occasionally brushing against yours in the dark. The contact was gentle, accidental, but each time it sent a fresh wave of awareness through you.
When you reached the fork in the path that led to your separate bungalows, Ryujin turned. The moonlight caught the sharp line of her jaw, the playful glint in her eye.
“Sleep well, you two,” she said, her voice a low purr. “Don’t stay up too late talking.”
Su-A just laughed and waved, dragging Ryujin down their walkway.
You and Karina were alone again. The walk to your bungalow felt longer this time, the silence between you filled with the promise of the night ahead. You unlocked the door and stepped inside. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the glass walls, casting silvery patterns on the floor and across the vast bed.
Karina walked in after you, setting her small bag down. She stood by the glass doors, looking out at the moonlit ocean. Her profile was serene, beautiful.
“It’s even more beautiful at night,” she whispered.
You came to stand beside her, not too close, but close enough to share the view. “It is.”
She turned her head to look at you. In the dim light, her features were soft, her eyes deep pools. “Thank you for being… cool about the room,” she said. “I know it’s a little… unconventional.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” you said, and it was the truest thing you’d said all day.
Her lips parted slightly. She looked at you for a long, searching moment. The air between you seemed to thicken, charged with all the unspoken words, the accidental touches, the shared glances of the day. You could see the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat. Your own heart hammered against your ribs. She was so close. You could lean in. You could…
Karina took a small, almost imperceptible step back. The spell, while not broken, was gently suspended. She smiled, a shy, sweet curve of her lips. “We should sleep,” she said softly. “Big day tomorrow. Snorkeling. And… the game.”
You nodded, the moment passing but leaving its imprint on the air. “Right. The game.”
The process of getting ready for bed was a new level of surreal intimacy. You used the bathroom first, changing into sleep shorts and a t-shirt. When you came out, she went in, closing the door partially but not all the way. You heard the soft rustle of fabric, the running of water. You climbed into the left side of the bed, the sheets cool and crisp. You faced the wall, giving her as much privacy as the open-plan room allowed.
A few minutes later, the bathroom light went out. The room was plunged into near darkness, save for the moonlight. You felt the bed dip as she climbed in on the other side. She kept to her edge, a respectful distance away, but in the quiet, you could hear every soft sigh, every rustle of the sheets.
“Goodnight,” her voice came, small and clear in the dark.
“Goodnight, Karina noona.”
Silence. Then, after a long pause, her voice again, even softer. “You can… just call me Karina. If you want.”
A slow smile spread across your face in the dark. “Okay. Goodnight, Karina.”
“Goodnight.”
You lay there, listening to the gentle sound of her breathing slowly even out into sleep. The scent of her—something floral and clean—drifted across the pillows. The king-sized bed felt both vast and impossibly small. Your body was thrumming with a restless, hopeful energy. Ryujin’s challenging grin flashed in your mind. Karina’s shy smile. Su-A’s knowing look. The game tomorrow night.
Truth or Dare.
You closed your eyes, the image of the moonlit ocean and the woman sleeping an arm’s length away filling your mind. The roller coaster had just begun its slow, torturous, exhilarating climb.
The moon had shifted across the sky, painting a new pattern of silver on the floor. You’d been lying in the same position for what felt like hours, your body rigid with a tension that had nothing to do with the plush mattress. Karina’s breathing was deep and even on the other side of the vast bed, a soft, rhythmic sound that should have been soothing. Instead, it was a constant reminder of her proximity, of the invisible line drawn down the center of the sheets you hadn’t dared to cross.
Your mind replayed the day in a chaotic loop: Ryujin’s head on your shoulder, her fingertips on your hand. Karina’s arm beside yours, her whispered confession of being terrified. The single bed. Su-A’s knowing smirk. Truth or Dare. The words echoed, a promise and a threat wrapped together. Sleep felt like a distant, impossible country.
A faint sound cut through the oceanic silence. Not the lap of water, or the creak of the bungalow. A soft, metallic click.
Your eyes flew open, staring at the ceiling. The main door? You held your breath, listening. The click was followed by the quietest groan of hinges, expertly muffled. Someone was coming in.
Staff? No, not at this hour. Su-A? Your heart, already restless, kicked into a frantic gallop. A shadow, darker than the surrounding gloom, detached itself from the doorway and slipped into the room. The figure was slight, moving with a predatory, silent grace you’d recognize anywhere. Ryujin.
She was a silhouette of intent, pausing just inside to let her eyes adjust. You squeezed your own shut, feigning sleep, but every nerve was screaming. You heard the soft, almost inaudible pad of bare feet on the wooden floor. She was coming towards the bed.
What is she doing? What the fuck is she doing?
The side of the mattress dipped, far more decisively than when Karina had gotten in. A knee pressed into the space beside your hip. The scent of her—that same clean, citrusy smell, now mixed with the night air and something else, something warm and uniquely Ryujin—washed over you. You felt her lean over you, her breath a ghost of warmth on your cheek.
You couldn’t keep the act up. Your eyes fluttered open.
In the moonlight, her face was inches from yours. Her sharp features were softened by the shadows, but her eyes were wide awake, gleaming with a dark, playful intensity. She put a finger to her own lips. Shhh.
Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You glanced frantically towards Karina’s still form. Ryujin followed your gaze, and a slow, wicked smile spread across her face. She shook her head once, as if to say, Don’t worry about her.
Then, without a word, her hands went to the hem of your t-shirt. Her fingers were cool as they slid underneath, finding the skin of your stomach. A violent shiver racked you. She tugged, and you, operating on pure instinct, lifted your torso enough for her to pull the shirt up and over your head, discarding it silently to the floor. The night air was cool on your bare chest, but the heat coming off her was immense.
She sat back on her heels, straddling your legs but not sitting on you, just studying you. Her own sleepwear was simple—a thin, dark tank top and tiny shorts. The moon caught the defined lines of her collarbones, the lean muscles of her arms. Her gaze traveled down your torso, and the look in her eyes was one of pure, unadulterated appreciation. It was a look you’d never seen from her before. It stripped you bare more effectively than removing the shirt.
Still silent, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of your sleep shorts. Your brain short-circuited. Is this happening? This is a dream. This has to be a dream. But the pressure of her thumbs, the cool air, the overwhelming reality of her presence—it was too vivid, too textured to be a dream.
She pulled, and you lifted your hips, a helpless participant. The shorts and your boxers went down together in one smooth motion, pushed past your knees, your ankles, and then they were gone. You were completely exposed to her, to the moonlit room, to the sleeping woman just feet away. Your cock, already half-hard from the sheer shock of her intrusion, sprang free, thickening rapidly under her unwavering stare.
A low, approving hum vibrated in her throat. The sound was raw, visceral. She leaned forward again, her hands planting on the mattress on either side of your ribs, caging you in. Her face hovered above your groin.
“Watch,” she mouthed, the word nothing more than a shape of her lips and a puff of air.
Then she lowered her head.
The first touch was not her mouth. It was her hair. The dark strands brushed against your inner thighs, a whisper-soft tease. Then you felt her breath, hot and damp, washing over the most sensitive part of you. You jerked, a gasp tearing from your throat. You slapped a hand over your own mouth to stifle it, your eyes wide and glued to the top of her head.
She looked up at you then, from under her lashes, her eyes holding yours with a magnetic command. She held the gaze as she finally, slowly, closed the last inch.
The warmth of her mouth enveloped you, not all at once, but in a slow, deliberate descent that made your toes curl into the sheets. Her lips were soft, impossibly soft, forming a perfect, tight seal around the head of your cock. The sensation was so acute, so shockingly real, it felt less like pleasure and more like a lightning strike to your central nervous system. A choked, muffled groan escaped from behind your hand.
She began to move, a slow, shallow bob of her head, her tongue doing something flat and wicked against your underside. The wet, soft sounds were obscenely loud in the quiet room. You were torn between the mind-blowing sensation and the sheer, paralyzing insanity of the situation. Ryujin. Ryujin was giving you a blowjob. In your bed. While Karina slept beside you.
Your head thrashed against the pillow. You dared another look towards Karina. Her form was still. But then, in the silvery light, you saw it—the gentle rise and fall of her chest had changed. It was quicker. Shallower. And her eyes… they were open. Reflecting the moonlight, she was watching. Not sleeping. Watching.
The realization hit you like a physical blow. She was awake. She had been awake. She was seeing this.
Ryujin felt your entire body tense. She pulled off you with a soft, wet pop, following your stricken gaze to Karina. A slow, triumphant smile touched her swollen lips. “Took you long enough to notice,” she whispered, her voice a raspy thread of sound.
Karina didn’t move. She just lay there, on her side, the sheet pulled up to her chin. But her eyes were wide, dark pools of fascination and nervous arousal. There was no shock, no outrage. Just… observation.
“She wants to watch,” Ryujin murmured, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke. “Don’t you, Kari?”
Karina’s lips parted. A tiny, almost silent sound escaped. A confirmation.
“See?” Ryujin said, her eyes back on you, blazing with challenge. “Now, where were we?”
She dipped her head again, taking you deeper this time. The heat was incredible, the suction deliberate and expert. Her free hand wandered up your stomach, her fingers splaying over your abs, tracing the lines. You were trembling, a fine, constant shake that started in your legs and radiated outward. You couldn’t process it. The two women you’d fantasized about in lonely, private moments were here, in this room, orchestrating this.
Ryujin’s rhythm became more intense, her head bobbing faster, her tongue swirling. The pressure was building, a coil tightening low in your gut. You were hurtling towards a peak, fueled by shock and illicit pleasure. Your fingers tangled in the sheets, knuckles white.
Then, from the other side of the bed, movement.
Karina pushed the sheets back slowly. She was wearing a simple, sleeveless silk nightdress, pale blue in the moonlight. It clung to her curves, the thin fabric doing little to hide the full, heavy shape of her breasts or the dip of her waist. She swung her legs out of bed and stood up, moving with a quiet, dreamlike fluidity. She didn’t speak. She just walked around the foot of the bed and came to stand beside Ryujin, looking down at the scene.
Ryujin pulled off again, a string of saliva connecting her lip to your glistening cock. She looked up at Karina, her expression one of open invitation. “Your turn?” she whispered.
Karina shook her head, her dark hair swaying. Not yet. Instead, she slowly sank to her knees on the floor beside the bed, right next to where Ryujin was perched. Her eyes were fixed on you, on the part of you that was wet and straining from Ryujin’s mouth. Her own breath was coming in quick, visible puffs.
She leaned in, her face close to Ryujin’s hand, which was still wrapped around you. And then, her pink tongue darted out.
She didn’t take you in her mouth. She licked. A slow, tentative stripe from the base of your shaft all the way up to the tip, where she swirled it around the head, collecting the pre-cum that had beaded there. The sensation was dual—the soft, hot wetness of her tongue, and the visual of her, the shy Karina, tasting you. A guttural sound was ripped from your throat.
“Fuck,” you breathed, the word torn and ragged.
Encouraged, Karina did it again, this time with more confidence. Her tongue was softer than Ryujin’s, her movements more exploratory. She licked along the thick vein on the underside, then pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the head.
Ryujin watched, a proud, possessive grin on her face. “She’s a quick learner,” she murmured. Then she shifted. “Here. Like this.” She guided Karina’s head down gently.
Karina’s lips parted, and she took the head of your cock into her mouth. It was a tight, hot, inexperienced embrace. She didn’t go deep, but the sheer fact of it—Karina’s mouth on you—sent a jolt of pure electricity down your spine. She looked up at you as she did it, her eyes huge and questioning, seeking approval.
“Y-yes,” you stammered, your voice shattered. “Just like that.”
She began to move, a shallow, hesitant mimicry of what Ryujin had done. Ryujin’s hand stayed on the back of Karina’s head, not pushing, just guiding, her thumb stroking Karina’s hair. The sight of them together, focused on you, was the most potent aphrodisiac you could ever imagine.
After a minute, Ryujin gently urged Karina back. “My turn again,” she said, her voice husky with want. “I’m not done.”
Karina relinquished you, her lips slick and swollen. She stayed on her knees, her hand now resting on your thigh, a point of burning contact. Ryujin took you back into her mouth with a hungry groan, taking you deeper than before, her throat working around you. The coil in your gut was a white-hot wire, ready to snap. You were so close. Too close.
You reached down, your hand finding Ryujin’s hair, not to force, but to anchor yourself. The strands were silky between your fingers. She moaned around you, the vibration traveling straight to your core.
It was too much. The visual of Karina watching, her hand on your thigh, her nightdress strap slipping down her shoulder. The intense, skilled heat of Ryujin’s mouth. The surreal, moon-drenched madness of it all. Your hips bucked off the mattress involuntarily.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” you choked out, a warning.
Ryujin immediately pulled off, her hand replacing her mouth, pumping you hard and fast. “Not yet,” she commanded, her own breathing ragged. “Not like this.”
You fell back against the pillows, shuddering, the edge receding slightly but the need still a throbbing, painful ache. You were panting, your chest heaving.
Ryujin crawled up your body, her knees straddling your hips. She leaned down, her face hovering over yours. Her lips were wet, her eyes wild. “You still think this is a dream?” she whispered, her voice a raw scrape.
Before you could answer, she kissed you.
It was nothing like the gentle, tentative kisses you might have imagined. It was hard, possessive, and hungry. Her lips crushed against yours, her tongue demanding entry. You could taste yourself on her, a salty, musky flavor that was profoundly erotic. She bit your lower lip, not hard enough to hurt, but with a sharp, stinging pressure that made you gasp into her mouth.
The pain was an anchor. It grounded you in the moment, in the shocking, unbelievable reality of it.
She pulled back an inch, her breath mingling with yours. “Real?” she breathed.
“Real,” you gasped.
“Good.” Her eyes flicked to Karina, who had risen to her feet, watching the kiss with a flushed, captivated expression. Ryujin held out a hand. Karina took it, letting Ryujin pull her onto the bed. She knelt on the other side of you, her body a soft, warm contrast to Ryujin’s fierce energy.
Ryujin looked down at you, her expression shifting from hungry to something more intense, more vulnerable. The playful mask was gone. What was left was a naked, urgent desire.
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, the command softening into a plea. “We both want it.” Her hand found Karina’s, their fingers intertwining over your stomach. “So c’mon… Do what you need to do.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing your ear as she spoke the next words, each one a deliberate, hot pulse against your skin. “Make… us… feel… good.”
Her whisper, and the feel of Karina’s tentative tongue licking a slow, wet stripe from the base of your balls up the underside of your shaft, made your entire body convulse in a shudder that started at the crown of your head and shot down to your heels.
Karina’s mouth was on you again, softer, learning, her tongue exploring the sensitive skin of your scrotum before moving back to your shaft. Ryujin watched for a moment, her eyes dark, before she turned her attention to you. Her hands came to the hem of her tank top. In one fluid motion, she pulled it up and over her head, tossing it aside.
In the moonlight, her upper body was a masterpiece of lean, athletic beauty. Her breasts were small, high, and perfectly shaped, with nipples that were already tight, dusky peaks. She wasn’t shy. She let you look, a proud, challenging tilt to her chin.
“Your turn, Kari,” Ryujin said, her voice thick.
Karina pulled her mouth away from you, breathing heavily. She looked at Ryujin, then at you, a flicker of her old shyness returning. But it was quickly burned away by the heat in the room. Slowly, she reached for the hem of her own nightdress. She gathered the silk in her hands and drew it up, over her hips, her waist, revealing inch after moon-pale inch of skin. She pulled it over her head and let it fall, forgotten, to the floor.
You stopped breathing.
You had imagined, of course. You had noticed. But imagination was a pale, pathetic imitation of the reality now presented to you. Karina’s body was a stunning contrast to Ryujin’s. Where Ryujin was taut lines and defined muscle, Karina was all soft, elegant curves. Her waist was narrow, her hips flaring gently. And her breasts… fuck. They were full, heavy, and breathtakingly perfect, with large, areolas and nipples that stood taut in the cool air. She crossed her arms over them instinctively for a second, then, seeing your expression, let them fall to her sides, offering herself to your gaze.
Ryujin made a low, appreciative sound. “See?” she said to you, her hand reaching out to stroke Karina’s arm. “Told you she was perfect.”
You were beyond words. You could only stare, your cock throbbing insistently against your stomach, a blatant testament to your awe.
Ryujin took charge again. She pushed you gently back onto the pillows, then swung her leg over you, straddling your waist. Her core hovered just above your erection, the heat from her radiating down. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on the pillow by your head, her small breasts dangling enticingly close to your face.
“You first,” she said, and it was an order. “Taste me.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hands came up, cupping the undersides of her breasts, feeling their perfect, slight weight. They fit in your palms as if made for them. You leaned up, capturing one tight nipple in your mouth.
She let out a sharp, gasping sigh. Her back arched, pushing her breast more firmly against your lips. You suckled, licked, gently grazed the peak with your teeth. Her skin tasted clean, with a faint, salty tang of arousal. Her fingers tangled in your hair, holding you to her.
While you worshipped Ryujin’s chest, you felt the bed shift. Karina moved. She curled her body alongside yours, her front pressed to your side. You felt the incredible, soft weight of one of her breasts pressing against your arm. Then her lips were on your shoulder, your neck, planting soft, open-mouthed kisses. Her hand slid down your stomach, her fingers tracing the lines of your abs before finally wrapping around your cock again, her grip unsure but eager.
You were surrounded, consumed. Ryujin’s taste in your mouth, her moans in your ear. Karina’s softness against your side, her hand stroking you in time with the rhythm of your tongue on Ryujin’s nipple. The world had narrowed to this bed, to these two women, to the building storm of sensation.
Ryujin finally pulled her breast from your mouth with a wet sound. She was panting, her eyes glazed. “My turn,” she gasped, and she shifted lower, her body sliding down yours. Her mouth trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum, over your stomach. She nudged Karina’s hand away, replacing it with her own mouth, taking you deep in one swift, hungry motion.
At the same time, Karina, emboldened, moved. She leaned over you, one of her heavy, perfect breasts brushing against your cheek. “Suck,” she whispered, her voice trembling with desire. “Please.”
You turned your head, capturing the offered nipple. It was larger, softer than Ryujin’s, and you filled your mouth with her, sucking deeply. Karina cried out, a sweet, high sound, her back arching. Her hands came to your head, holding you to her as she ground her hips against the air, seeking friction.
You were the center of a sensual maelstrom. Ryujin’s mouth working you with relentless, skilled passion below. Karina’s breast in your mouth, her soft cries above. Your hands were everywhere—on Ryujin’s head, on Karina’s back, sliding down to grip the lush curve of her ass through her panties. The thin silk was already damp.
You were losing yourself, drowning in the dual sensations. The pressure was building again, faster, stronger, a tsunami held back by the thinnest dam. Ryujin felt it. She pulled off, her lips and chin glistening. She looked up, her eyes meeting Karina’s over your heaving body.
“He’s close,” Ryujin rasped. “Help me.”
Karina understood. She released your mouth from her breast, her nipple slipping from your lips with a soft pop. She moved down the bed, joining Ryujin between your legs. They looked at each other for a charged second, a silent communication passing between them. Then, together, they bent their heads.
Ryujin took the head of your cock back into her mouth, her tongue swirling. Karina, after a moment’s hesitation, leaned in and began to lick and suck at your balls, her tongue soft and inquisitive. The dual sensation, the visual of their two dark heads bowed over you, working in tandem, was your undoing.
“I can’t… I’m gonna…” you warned again, your voice a broken thing.
This time, Ryujin didn’t stop. She took you deeper, her throat working, encouraging you. Karina’s mouth was a hot, wet heaven on your sac. Your hips lifted off the bed, your body bowing as the coil snapped.
The orgasm tore through you, violent and blinding. You saw white behind your eyelids. A raw, ragged shout was ripped from your throat, unchecked this time. You pulsed into Ryujin’s mouth, wave after wave of release. She took it all, swallowing, her throat moving rhythmically, her eyes closed in concentration. Karina held you, her hands on your thighs, her cheek resting against your hip, feeling the tremors that wracked you.
It seemed to last forever. When the final shudder passed, you collapsed back onto the pillows, utterly spent, your body slick with sweat. The room was filled with the sound of three people breathing heavily.
Ryujin slowly pulled off, licking her lips clean with a slow, deliberate swipe of her tongue. She looked utterly debauched and supremely satisfied. Karina looked up, her face flushed, her lips swollen. There was a new confidence in her eyes, a dazed wonder.
You lay there, trying to remember how to form a thought, let alone a sentence. Ryujin crawled up your body, her skin sliding against yours. She lay down on your right side, her head on your shoulder, one leg thrown possessively over yours. A moment later, Karina moved too. She curled into your left side, her head on your chest, one of her soft, heavy breasts pressing against your ribcage. She draped an arm across your stomach.
You were pinned, surrounded by their warmth, their scent, their soft, satiated weight.
No one spoke for a long time. The only sounds were the ocean and the slowing of three heartbeats.
Ryujin finally broke the silence, her voice a sleepy, contented murmur against your skin. “Truth or Dare tomorrow is gonna be pretty fucking boring after this, huh?”
The morning light was different. It wasn’t the soft, forgiving silver of the moon, but a sharp, tropical gold that cut through the gaps in the bamboo blinds, striping the rumpled sheets and your naked body. It was a light that exposed everything.
You blinked, the events of the night crashing back into your consciousness not as a memory, but as a physical echo. Your mouth was dry. Your muscles felt loose, pleasantly sore in unfamiliar ways. The scent in the room had changed, too—the clean citrus of Ryujin had mingled with Karina’s softer, floral sweetness and the musky, unmistakable scent of sex. It clung to the sheets, the air, your skin.
You were alone.
The space on your right, where Ryujin’s lean, possessive weight had been, was empty and cool. On your left, the deep impression from Karina’s curvier form remained in the mattress, but she was gone. The only evidence they’d been there at all was the tangled state of the bedding and the profound, disorienting quiet.
You sat up slowly, your head swimming. The room was a disaster of your clothes and theirs. Your t-shirt lay in a heap by the door. Ryujin’s dark tank top was draped over the footboard. A pale blue silk nightdress—Karina’s—was a puddle of fabric on the floor near the bathroom. The sight of it sent a fresh, hot pulse through your groin.
They left.
The thought was a cold splash of reality. They’d stayed until you’d all fallen into an exhausted, tangled sleep, and then they’d slipped away before dawn. What did that mean? Was it shame? Discretion? Or just… practicality? You had no script for this. No experience to draw from. The bravado and hunger of the night had evaporated with the darkness, leaving you with the stark, sunlit aftermath.
You swung your legs out of bed. The wood floor was cool under your feet. You stood, your body feeling strangely new, and padded to the bathroom. The mirror showed a version of yourself you barely recognized. Your hair was a wild mess. There was a faint, red mark on your neck—from Karina’s mouth, you realized. Your lips felt slightly swollen. You looked… well-fucked. And utterly lost.
You turned on the shower, the water hissing loudly in the quiet bungalow. You stepped under the spray, letting the hot water sluice over your skin, trying to wash away the confusion along with the sweat and scent. It didn’t work. The water just seemed to awaken the memory of other sensations—the softness of Karina’s tongue, the tight heat of Ryujin’s mouth, the weight of their bodies pressing you into the mattress. Your cock, traitorously, began to stir again, thickening against your thigh as the water beat down on your shoulders.
Get it together. You have to go out there. You have to face them. Face Su-A.
You finished quickly, drying off with a towel that smelled of resort lavender. You dressed in simple clothes—khaki shorts and a plain grey t-shirt—feeling like you were putting on a costume for a role you didn’t know how to play. The normalcy of the fabric felt alien against your skin, which still hummed with the ghost of their touches.
You took a deep breath, squared your shoulders, and opened the door to the main living area of the overwater bungalow.
Su-A was there, alone.
She was perched on one of the high stools at the kitchen bar, sipping from a tall glass of something green and healthy-looking. She was dressed for the day in a sleek, black one-piece swimsuit under a sheer, white mesh cover-up. Her hair was pulled into a high, perfect ponytail, and her sunglasses were pushed up on her head. She looked like she’d been up for hours, energized and ready.
She turned as you entered, and her eyes swept over you with an appraising, unnervingly perceptive gaze. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips. It wasn’t the playful smirk from yesterday. This was deeper, more satisfied. It was the smile of a chess player who’s just seen her opponent walk right into a planned trap.
“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, her voice light and teasing. “Or should I say, good afternoon? You really slept in.”
You glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was past ten. “Yeah,” you mumbled, your voice rough. “I, uh… slept hard.”
“I’ll bet you did,” she said, the double meaning hanging in the air between you like perfume. She took another sip, watching you over the rim of her glass. “You look… refreshed.”
You didn’t know what to say. Did she know? Of course she knows, a voice in your head hissed. She planned this whole thing. She put you in that room. She knows everything.
You stood there, awkwardly, in the middle of the room. “Where… where are Ryujin and Karina?”
“Oh, they’ve been up for ages,” Su-A said breezily, swinging her legs. “Went to get some breakfast at the main restaurant. They said to let you sleep.” She paused, letting the implication sink in. “They were very insistent that you not be disturbed.”
Your face grew warm. You walked to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water just to have something to do with your hands. “Right.”
“So,” Su-A said, setting her glass down with a decisive click. “The plan for today. We’re doing some snorkeling this morning. The water is supposed to be crystal clear. And then…” She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “We’re playing that game of Truth or Dare. No more delays.”
Your throat went dry. Truth or Dare. After last night, the game felt like a formality, or a threat. What truths were left? What dares could possibly top what had already happened?
“Sounds good,” you managed to say.
“Great,” Su-A said, hopping off the stool. “So, go get your friends. They’re at the restaurant. I’ll get our gear sorted. Meet back here in twenty, then we head to the dive platform.” She walked past you, giving your arm a light, sisterly pat that felt anything but sisterly. It felt like a brand. “Don’t look so nervous. It’s just a swim.”
You watched her walk out onto the deck, her cover-up fluttering behind her. You stood alone in the quiet bungalow, the bottle of water cold in your hand. Just a swim. Right.
The walk to the main resort building felt longer than it had yesterday. Every person you passed seemed to look at you with knowing eyes, though that was surely just your paranoia. The resort was a paradise of white sand, turquoise water, and lush greenery, but today it felt like a beautiful, open-air prison. Your destination was a state of mind: the moment you’d have to look Ryujin and Karina in the face in the plain, honest light of day.
The restaurant was an open-air pavilion with a thatched roof, overlooking one of the resort’s infinity pools. The air smelled of coffee, tropical fruit, and baked bread. You scanned the scattered tables, your heart doing a clumsy rhythm against your ribs.
You saw them.
They were at a table in the corner, partially shaded by a large potted palm. Ryujin was leaning back in her chair, one arm slung over the back of it, wearing a black sports bra and tight, navy athletic shorts. She was talking, a piece of toast in her other hand, her expression animated. Karina sat across from her, dressed in a simple, cream-colored sundress with thin straps. She was nodding, listening, a small, private smile on her lips as she stirred a cup of tea. They looked… normal. Beautiful, but normal. Like two friends having breakfast after a perfectly ordinary night.
Then Ryujin’s eyes, sharp and scanning the room as if on a constant patrol, found you. She stopped talking mid-sentence. Her posture didn’t change, but something in her face did. The easy confidence tightened, just for a fraction of a second, into something more intense, more focused. She nudged Karina’s foot under the table.
Karina looked up, following Ryujin’s gaze. Her spoon stilled in her cup. The shy smile froze, then melted into an expression of profound, flustered vulnerability. A blush spread from her neck all the way up to her cheeks. She looked down at her tea, then back up at you, her eyes wide and unsure.
You were rooted to the spot. The space between you felt charged, a live wire strung across the sunny restaurant.
Ryujin broke the spell. She raised her hand, not in a wave, but in a beckoning gesture. Come here. It was a command, softened by the setting, but a command nonetheless.
You walked over, your legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. The sounds of cutlery and conversation seemed to fade into a dull roar. You reached their table.
“Look who finally decided to join the land of the living,” Ryujin said, her voice its usual rasp, but there was a new layer to it—a husky intimacy that hadn’t been there before. She took a deliberate bite of her toast, her eyes never leaving yours.
“H-hi,” Karina whispered, her voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. She couldn’t seem to meet your eyes for more than a second.
“Hi,” you said. The word sounded stupid.
“Sit,” Ryujin said, kicking out the empty chair between them. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Did you eat?”
You sat down, the wicker chair creaking under you. “No. Not yet.”
“You should eat,” Karina said suddenly, finding her voice. She pushed a small basket of pastries towards you. “The mango danish is really good.” She was looking at the basket, not at you.
“Thanks.” You took one, just to have something to do. The silence stretched, thick and awkward. The memory of the night was a physical presence at the table with you. You could almost feel the heat of their skin, taste them on your tongue.
“So,” Ryujin said, breaking the tension with her typical blunt force. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “You sleep okay?”
The question was a landmine. You looked at her. Her expression was unreadable—a challenge, maybe, or a test. Karina had gone very still, watching her tea as if it held the secrets of the universe.
“Yeah,” you said carefully. “Like a rock.”
Ryujin’s lips twitched. “Good. We did too. Once we got back to our own room, anyway.” She said it casually, but the statement was a bomb. Our own room. It confirmed they’d left together. It drew a line between the nocturnal madness and the daytime reality. And it was a reminder that they shared a space, a bond, that you were not a part of.
“Right,” you said, your throat tight.
Karina finally looked up at you. Her eyes were still shy, but there was a new depth in them, a knowledge that hadn’t been there yesterday. “It was… a nice night,” she said, the words tentative, as if she were testing a new language.
“It was,” you agreed, the understatement of the century.
Ryujin watched the exchange, a satisfied glint in her eye. She was enjoying this, you realized. The tension, the unspoken words, the way Karina was tentatively reaching across the new divide. She was the conductor of this strange orchestra.
“Su-A sent me to get you,” you said, changing the subject before you spontaneously combusted. “Snorkeling. Then… the game.”
Ryujin’s smile turned wolfish. “Oh, the game. I’ve been thinking about that.” She looked at Karina. “Haven’t you, Kari?”
Karina nodded, a faint, nervous smile touching her lips. “I’ve thought of a few truths.”
“I’ve got some dares in mind,” Ryujin said, her gaze sliding back to you. It was a promise, and a threat. The sexual tension, which had been a low hum, suddenly spiked into a sharp, electric current. It wasn’t about what had happened; it was about what was going to happen. The game was no longer a precursor. It was the next act.
Just then, Su-A appeared at the entrance to the restaurant, a large mesh bag full of snorkels and fins slung over her shoulder. She spotted you and waved, her smile bright and seemingly innocent. “Hey! Found them! Let’s go, slowpokes! Tide’s perfect!”
The moment broke. Ryujin stood up, stretching her arms over her head, the muscles in her stomach and back rippling under her smooth skin. “Come on, Kari. Adventure calls.”
Karina stood up more gracefully, smoothing down her sundress. As she passed your chair, her hand, seemingly by accident, brushed against your shoulder. The touch was fleeting, but it burned through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. You looked up at her. She gave you a quick, shy glance, her blush returning, before hurrying after Ryujin.
You sat there for a second longer, the ghost of her touch on your skin, the taste of the mango pastry suddenly ash in your mouth. You got up and followed them out, your mind a riot of confusion and a deep, aching want that last night had only awakened, not satisfied.
The snorkeling spot was a short speedboat ride from the resort’s jetty. The boat skipped over waves so blue they looked artificial, the salt spray cooling your heated skin. Su-A sat at the front with the guide, pointing out distant islands. You, Ryujin, and Karina sat in the back.
The seating arrangement forced a new dynamic. Ryujin sat in the middle, with you on one side and Karina on the other. Every time the boat hit a wave, you were jostled against Ryujin’s firm body. Your thigh pressed against hers. Your shoulder bumped hers. Each contact was a small, electric shock. She didn’t move away. She just sat there, steady as a rock, a slight, unreadable smile on her face as the wind whipped her dark hair around her sharp features.
Karina, on Ryujin’s other side, held onto the railing, her knuckles white. The wind plastered her sundress against her body, outlining every devastating curve. You tried not to stare, but it was impossible. The memory of those curves under your hands, in your mouth, was too fresh.
“See something you like?” Ryujin murmured, her voice low enough that only you could hear it over the engine’s roar.
You jerked your gaze away from Karina, meeting Ryujin’s teasing eyes. “Just the scenery,” you said lamely.
“Uh-huh.” She leaned closer, her lips almost touching your ear. “The scenery’s pretty fucking incredible, I’ll give you that.”
The boat slowed, then stopped, bobbing gently in the middle of a vast, shallow lagoon. The water was so clear you could see the sandy bottom dotted with coral formations ten feet below.
“Okay, everyone!” the guide called out. “Mask and fins on! Remember, don’t touch the coral!”
The process of getting ready was its own kind of torture. You pulled your t-shirt off, standing on the boat’s platform in just your swim trunks. You felt exposed, hyper-aware of their eyes on you. Ryujin, with practiced efficiency, stripped off her shorts, revealing matching black bikini bottoms. Her body was a compact, powerful sculpture of lean muscle and smooth skin. She caught you looking and winked before spitting into her mask and rinsing it.
Karina was more hesitant. She turned her back to the boat, her shoulders tense. You saw her undo the tie at the back of her neck, then the one at her lower back. The sundress slipped down her arms. She was wearing a simple, white bikini. The top was modest in cut but did nothing to contain the full, heavy swell of her breasts. The bottoms were high-cut, emphasizing the gentle flare of her hips and the long, elegant line of her thighs. She quickly pulled her hair into a messy bun, her movements flustered. When she turned around, she kept her arms slightly crossed over her stomach, a self-conscious gesture that only drew more attention to her chest.
“Ready?” Su-A asked, already at the edge of the platform, her mask on. She looked at the three of you, her gaze lingering, cataloging the tension. That weird, knowing look was back on her face—a mix of amusement, anticipation, and something else you couldn’t name. It was as if she were watching a play she’d written, waiting for the next line to be delivered.
“Born ready,” Ryujin said, and with a grin, she stepped off the platform and into the water, disappearing with a soft splash.
Karina took a deep breath, gave you one last, nervous glance, and followed.
You adjusted your mask, bit down on the snorkel’s mouthpiece, and jumped in.
The world changed. The noise of the boat, the wind, your own chaotic thoughts—all of it was swallowed by the silent, weightless embrace of the ocean. Sunlight filtered down in shimmering columns, illuminating a universe of color and motion. Fish in neon blues and yellows darted around coral that looked like intricate, alien castles. It was breathtaking, and for a few minutes, the sheer beauty of it was a distraction.
You floated, kicking gently, following a school of angelfish. Then a shape glided into your peripheral vision. Ryujin. She swam with a powerful, effortless grace, her body a sleek shadow against the bright sand. She turned onto her back, looking up at the surface, and then she saw you. She pointed down, towards a large, purple anemone, then beckoned you over.
You swam towards her. As you got closer, she reached out, not touching you, but gesturing for you to look where she was pointing. A clownfish peeked out from the anemone’s tentacles. You nodded, giving her a thumbs-up. She smiled around her snorkel, her eyes crinkling. In this silent, blue world, the tension felt different. It was still there, a constant hum, but it was softened, made more playful by the wonder around you.
Then another shape joined you. Karina. She swam more cautiously, her movements less assured. She drifted to a stop beside you, close enough that her bare arm brushed against yours in the water. The contact was cool and smooth. She looked at you, her eyes wide behind her mask, and pointed at a slow-moving sea turtle grazing on seagrass a little farther away. You nodded again, and the three of you floated there, side-by-side-by-side, watching the ancient creature move with a timeless dignity.
It was a moment of strange, peaceful communion. No words, no complicated social rules. Just three bodies suspended in beauty, connected by a shared, secret history that thrummed beneath the surface like a hidden current.
The peace was broken by a splash from above. Su-A had jumped in. She swam over to you, her movements brisk and efficient. She tapped her watch, then pointed back to the boat. Time was up.
Back on the boat, the mood shifted again. The silent understanding of the underwater world was gone, replaced by the bright, noisy reality of the boat ride back. You were all dripping, skin glistening with salt water. Ryujin wrung out her hair, laughing at something the guide said. Karina sat on the bench, a towel wrapped around her shoulders, looking out at the horizon with a pensive expression.
Su-A sat down next to you, bumping your shoulder with hers. “So?” she asked, her voice cheerful. “See anything good down there?”
“Yeah,” you said, watching Ryujin. “It was amazing.”
“I saw you three,” Su-A said, her tone casual. “Huddled together, watching that turtle. Looked very… cozy.”
You glanced at her. Her smile was still in place, but her eyes were sharp, analytical. “It was just a turtle,” you said.
“Mhm.” She didn’t push it. She just leaned back, tilting her face to the sun. “Can’t wait for the game tonight. It’s going to be so much fun.”
The way she said “fun” made your stomach clench.
Back at the bungalow, everyone dispersed to rinse off and change. You stood under the outdoor shower on your private deck, washing the salt from your skin. You could hear the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation from the other bungalow where Su-A, Ryujin, and Karina were staying. The normalcy of it was jarring. How could they just… laugh? How could they act like everything was the same?
You changed into clean shorts and a fresh shirt. By the time you walked back into the main living area, the others were already there. The atmosphere had changed again. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long, golden shadows. The room was dim, the blinds half-closed. Someone—Su-A, probably—had lit a few of the resort’s scented candles. The air smelled of coconut and vanilla.
In the center of the room, the large, low coffee table had been cleared. On it sat four bottles of imported beer, condensation beading on the glass, and a single, empty bottle lying on its side.
Ryujin was sitting cross-legged on one of the large floor cushions, already wearing a fresh pair of soft grey sweatpants and a tight black crop top. Her hair was damp, tousled. She was spinning the empty bottle idly with one finger.
Karina sat on the sofa, her legs curled under her. She’d changed into loose, linen pants and a simple white tank top. Her hair was down, drying in dark waves around her shoulders. She was staring at the spinning bottle as if it were a venomous snake.
Su-A was the last to enter, closing the sliding door to the deck behind her with a soft thud. She’d changed into comfortable-looking lounge wear—soft shorts and an oversized hoodie. She carried a bowl of snacks—nuts and dried fruit—which she set on the table with a decisive thump.
“Alright,” she said, clapping her hands together once. Her voice was bright, but her eyes were serious. “No more delays. No more snorkeling. No more breakfasts.” She looked at each of you in turn—Ryujin, Karina, you. “We’re all here. We’re all adults.” She paused, letting the word ‘adults’ hang in the scented air. “It’s time for Truth or Dare.”
She dropped down onto a cushion opposite Ryujin, completing the circle around the table. The four of you formed a square, with the bottle in the center. The candlelight flickered, dancing over their faces, making their expressions seem deeper, more mysterious.
“Standard rules,” Su-A announced. “Spin the bottle. Whoever it points to gets to choose: Truth or Dare. The person who spun it asks the question or gives the dare. No passes. If you refuse a dare, you have to take off an article of clothing.” A slow, wicked smile. “And we play until the beer is gone. Or until we’re out of clothes.” She looked directly at you. “Who wants to go first?”
Silence. The only sound was the distant, rhythmic sigh of the ocean.
Ryujin’s finger stopped the bottle. She looked up, her gaze landing on you. “I’ll go first,” she said, her voice a low, confident rasp. She reached out, gave the bottle a sharp, practiced flick.
It spun, a blur of green glass reflecting the candlelight. It slowed, wobbled, and finally came to a stop.
The neck was pointing directly at Karina.
Karina’s breath caught audibly. She uncrossed her legs, sitting up straighter.
Ryujin leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, a predator’s smile on her lips. “Well, well, Kari,” she purred. “Truth or Dare?”
Karina’s eyes darted from the bottle, to Ryujin, to you, and then back to Ryujin. She swallowed, her throat working. The candlelight caught the nervous flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck. Her fingers twisted in the fabric of her linen pants.
She took a deep, shaky breath.
“Dare,” she whispered.
The word “Dare” hung in the coconut-scented air, a fragile, trembling thing. Karina’s eyes were huge, fixed on Ryujin, who looked like a cat that had just cornered a particularly plump mouse.
Ryujin’s smile widened, slow and deliberate. “A dare. Brave girl.” She uncrossed her legs, leaning further forward, her gaze slicing from Karina to you and back. “Okay. Here’s your dare, Kari. You’re going to give our dear dongsaeng here a lap dance.”
A jolt, pure and electric, shot straight down your spine to your groin. Your mouth went dry.
Karina made a small, choked sound. “A… a what?”
“You heard me,” Ryujin said, her voice dropping to that intimate, rasping register. “A lap dance. Right here. Right now. Music’s optional. I’ll provide the rhythm.” She tapped her fingers on her knee, a slow, sensual beat. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
“Ryujin, I… I can’t,” Karina whispered, her face flooding with a scarlet blush that spread down her neck and across the exposed skin of her chest above her tank top.
“Sure you can,” Ryujin said, her tone leaving no room for argument. It was a command wrapped in velvet. “Or you forfeit. And you know the forfeit.” Her eyes flicked meaningfully to the simple white tank top Karina wore. “Top comes off. Your choice.”
The air in the room grew thicker, hotter. Su-A, from her cushion, let out a soft, delighted hum. She took a slow sip of her beer, her eyes gleaming with undisguised anticipation. She wasn’t just a participant anymore; she was an audience of one, and she was loving the show.
Karina’s panicked eyes found yours. There was shame there, and a deep, flustered vulnerability, but beneath it… a flicker of something else. A spark of heat. A memory of her mouth on you, her shyness melting away under Ryujin’s guidance. She bit her lower lip, a gesture so unconsciously erotic it made your cock twitch hard against the seam of your shorts.
“Okay,” she breathed, the word barely audible.
“What was that?” Ryujin prompted, her tapping fingers never stopping.
“I said okay,” Karina repeated, stronger this time. She uncurled her legs from beneath her and stood up. The motion was hesitant, graceful. The linen pants whispered as she stepped around the low table. She stopped in front of you, standing between your knees as you sat on the floor cushion. She was looking down at her own feet, her hair a dark curtain hiding her face.
“Look at him, Kari,” Ryujin instructed softly from behind her. “It’s no good if you’re looking at the floor.”
Karina’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. She lifted her head. Her eyes met yours. The shyness was still there, but it was being steadily burned away by a nervous, gathering heat. Her cheeks were still flushed, but her gaze held yours, steady.
“Ryujin,” Su-A murmured, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “A little mood music?”
Without looking away from Karina, Ryujin pulled her phone from her sweatpants pocket. A few swipes, and a low, pulsing bassline filled the room—a sultry, instrumental R&B track with a slow, grinding rhythm. It was perfect.
“Go on,” Ryujin said. “We’re all waiting.”
Karina’s hands came up, trembling slightly. They settled on her own hips, fingers splaying over the loose linen. She closed her eyes for a second, swaying slightly to the beat. Then she began.
It was awkward at first. A stiff roll of her hips, a shuffle of her feet. She was thinking too much. You could see the self-consciousness tightening her shoulders.
“Stop thinking,” Ryujin’s voice cut through the music, gentle but firm. “Just feel it, Kari. You know how to move. I’ve seen you dance when you think no one’s looking.”
Something in Karina shifted at those words. Her eyes opened, and she looked past you, focusing on some middle distance. The stiffness bled out of her posture. Her next hip roll was smoother, more natural. Her hands slid from her hips, up over the thin fabric of her tank top, tracing the sides of her body. The white cotton strained over the full, heavy swell of her breasts.
The breath caught in your throat. You were frozen, pinned to the cushion by the sheer, unbelievable reality of it. Karina, your shy, beautiful Karina noona, was swaying her hips inches from your face, her body moving to a sex-drenched rhythm.
Her movements grew more confident, more fluid. She turned, presenting her back to you, and looked over her shoulder, her dark hair brushing her cheek. She arched her back, making the linen pants pull tight over the perfect, round curve of her ass. She rolled her hips in a slow, grinding circle, the fabric whispering a promise against itself. Then she sank down, lowering herself until her ass was hovering just above your lap.
She didn’t sit. She hovered, grinding the air, the heat of her body radiating through the thin layers separating you. The scent of her—clean skin, shampoo, and that underlying, uniquely Karina sweetness—washed over you. You could see the tension in the muscles of her thighs, the delicate line of her spine through the tank top.
She rose back up, turning to face you again. This time, her eyes were locked on yours, dark and glazed with a daring you’d never seen in her before. Her hands came forward, and her fingertips brushed your shoulders. A jolt of pure electricity shot through you at the contact.
“Is this okay?” she whispered, the music almost swallowing her words.
You couldn’t speak. You just nodded, your head moving in a jerky, desperate motion.
A small, triumphant smile touched her lips. She leaned in closer, her breasts now level with your face. She placed her hands on your shoulders for balance and slowly, so slowly, lowered herself onto your lap.
The weight of her was exquisite. She wasn’t sitting fully; she was perched on your thighs, her core hovering just above your aching cock, which was now a rigid, trapped line of fire in your shorts. She began to move in earnest, grinding down in slow, sinuous circles. The friction of her linen-clad ass against your clothed erection was maddening, a rough, delicious torture. Through the layers, you could feel the heat of her pussy, a furnace burning just out of reach.
Her arms slid around your neck. Her face was close to yours, her breath warm and sweet against your lips. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips parted. The shy girl was gone, replaced by a woman discovering a potent, sensual power.
“You feel so good,” she murmured, her voice a husky vibration against your ear that was nothing like her usual soft tone. It was raw, honest.
One of her hands left your neck and slid down your chest, over your t-shirt, down to the hard plane of your stomach. Her fingers traced the waistband of your shorts. You gasped, your hips bucking up involuntarily, seeking more pressure.
“Someone’s enjoying the show,” Ryujin purred from somewhere nearby. You’d almost forgotten she and Su-A were there.
Karina didn’t seem to care. Her focus was entirely on you, on the connection between your bodies. Her grinding became more purposeful, more rhythmic, matching the beat Ryujin had provided. Up and down, forward and back, her ass cheeks clenching and releasing as she moved. Each downward stroke sent a bolt of desperate pleasure straight to your balls.
Her face was so close. You could see the faint sheen of perspiration on her upper lip, the dilation of her pupils. The desire in her eyes was an open flame.
You couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands, which had been clenched at your sides, came up. You hesitated for a split second, then settled them on her waist. The linen was soft, warm. You could feel the heat of her skin beneath. You gripped her, guiding her movements, meeting her grind with an upward thrust of your own.
A soft, broken moan escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Yes,” she breathed. “Like that.”
The dance dissolved. It was no longer a performance. It was a prelude. Her grinding lost its theatricality and became pure, unadulterated need. She was rubbing herself against you, seeking her own pleasure as much as she was giving you yours. Her hand on your stomach slipped lower, her palm pressing firmly against the thick bulge of your cock through your shorts.
That was the final thread snapping.
With a groan that was ripped from your chest, you surged forward and captured her lips with yours.
The kiss was not gentle. It was hungry, devouring, a collision of all the pent-up longing and the night’s memories and the present, overwhelming heat. Her lips were soft and yielding, then fiercely responsive. She kissed you back with a passion that stole the air from your lungs. Her tongue met yours, tangling in a wet, desperate dance. The taste of her—tea and mint and Karina—was intoxicating.
Your hands slid from her waist, one moving up to cup the back of her head, fingers tangling in her silken hair. The other hand slid down, over the curve of her ass, gripping the firm, generous flesh through the linen and squeezing. She cried into your mouth, her hips jerking against you.
You were lost in her, in the kiss, in the feel of her. The world narrowed to the wet heat of her mouth, the weight on your lap, the incredible pressure against your cock.
Then another set of hands joined the fray.
Cool, confident fingers slid into your hair from behind, not pulling, just possessing. You broke the kiss with Karina, gasping, and turned your head to see Ryujin kneeling right behind you, her face inches away. Her expression was a masterpiece of aroused triumph.
“My turn,” she whispered, her raspy voice thick with want. And she kissed you.
It was a different kiss entirely. Where Karina’s was deep and surrendering, Ryujin’s was commanding, possessive. Her lips were firm, her tongue sweeping into your mouth with an arrogant confidence that made your head spin. She tasted of salt and beer and Ryujin. She kissed you like she was claiming territory, and you were more than happy to surrender it.
While she plundered your mouth, her hands were busy. One stayed tangled in your hair, the other reached around you, her fingers deftly finding the hem of Karina’s tank top. You felt the fabric shift, then the incredible, soft, heavy weight of Karina’s bare breast filled your hand. Ryujin had pulled Karina’s top up, and you were now cupping her naked tit, your palm engulfing its impossible fullness. The skin was like heated silk, the nipple a hard, pebbled peak against your palm.
Karina gasped, arching her back, pushing her breast more firmly into your hand. Her head fell back, exposing the long line of her throat.
Ryujin broke the kiss, her lips trailing down to your jaw, your neck. “Touch her,” she growled against your skin. “Play with her pretty tits. You know you’ve always wanted to.”
You didn’t need telling twice. Your fingers kneaded the lush flesh, your thumb swiping over the tight, dark nipple. Karina whimpered, her own hands flying to your wrists, not to push you away, but to hold you there, to encourage you. “Please,” she moaned, her eyes closed, her head still thrown back.
“Fuck, look at you two,” Su-A’s voice came, hushed and strained. You’d forgotten her completely. You managed to glance over. She was still on her cushion, but she’d drawn her knees up to her chest. Her face was flushed, her lips parted. She was watching, her gaze raking over the three of you with an intensity that was almost physical. One of her hands was tucked between her thighs, pressing down subtly. She wasn’t just watching; she was immersed, getting off on the sight.
Ryujin’s mouth was back on yours, her hand joining yours on Karina’s breast, her fingers pinching and rolling the other nipple. Karina cried out, a sharp, beautiful sound. The dual sensation—Ryujin’s demanding kiss and the feel of both their hands on Karina’s incredible body—was overwhelming.
Clothes became the enemy. Ryujin, ever practical, broke away and pulled Karina’s tank top the rest of the way off, tossing it aside. Karina’s breasts spilled free, full and heavy, with large, dusky pink areolas and nipples that were now hard, aching points. They were even more magnificent than you’d dreamed, swaying with her every gasping breath.
“Stand up,” Ryujin ordered, her voice leaving no room for debate.
You and Karina stumbled to your feet, your bodies reluctant to separate. Karina stood before you, gloriously topless, her chest heaving, her eyes dark pools of need. You reached for her, but Ryujin was there, stepping between you. She put a hand on your chest and pushed you back a step, then turned to Karina.
“My dare’s over,” Ryujin said, her voice low. “Now it’s my turn.” And she kissed Karina.
You watched, stunned, as Ryujin captured Karina’s lips in a deep, searing kiss. Karina melted into it immediately, her arms coming up to wrap around Ryujin’s neck. It was hot, passionate, two beautiful women lost in each other. Ryujin’s hands slid down Karina’s back, cupping her ass through the linen pants, pulling her close. The sight of Ryujin’s lean, athletic frame pressed against Karina’s soft, curvy one, their mouths fused together, sent a fresh, brutal surge of lust straight to your cock.
They broke apart, both breathing heavily. Ryujin looked at you over Karina’s shoulder, her eyes blazing. “She’s not the only one who wants you,” Ryujin said, the confession seeming to surprise even her. A faint, uncharacteristic blush tinted her sharp cheekbones. “I… I really fucking like you. Like, really really. Have for a while.”
The admission hung in the air, vulnerable and real beneath all the dominant play.
Karina turned in Ryujin’s arms to face you. Her shyness was gone, burned away by desire and this new, shared intimacy. “It’s true,” Karina said, her voice steady now, filled with a conviction that made your heart hammer. “I want you. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”
“No more waiting,” Ryujin declared, and her fingers went to the button of Karina’s linen pants. She popped it, slid the zipper down. Together, they pushed the pants down Karina’s hips, letting them pool at her feet. Karina stepped out of them, standing before you in just a pair of simple white cotton panties. They were already damp, a dark patch of moisture staining the fabric at the apex of her thighs.
“Bedroom,” Su-A said from her spot on the floor. Her voice was thick, choked with her own arousal. “Now. Don’t you dare finish anything out here.”
It was the permission, the encouragement, that broke the last dam. You stumbled together, a three-limbed creature of pure want, through the living area and into the bedroom. The moon was out again, silvering the same vast bed that had witnessed the first act. This felt like the main event.
Ryujin pushed Karina onto the edge of the mattress. “Lie back,” she instructed. Karina obeyed, scooting back until her head hit the pillows, her body a stunning landscape of pale skin and dark hair against the white sheets. Her breasts settled against her chest, her nipples pointing proudly at the ceiling. Her damp panties were the only barrier left.
Ryujin turned to you. Her own hands went to the hem of her black crop top. She pulled it over her head in one swift motion. Her torso was a work of art—lean, defined abs, the subtle curves of her ribcage, small, perfect breasts with pert, pink nipples. She was all sleek muscle and smooth skin. She undid the drawstring of her grey sweatpants and shoved them and her panties down in one go, kicking them aside. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, her lips already glistening.
Naked, confident, she closed the distance between you. Her hands went to your t-shirt, pulling it up. You raised your arms, letting her strip it off you. Then her fingers were at your shorts, unbuttoning, unzipping. She pushed them and your boxers down, and your cock sprang free, fully erect, the head swollen and already leaking a clear bead of pre-cum.
She wrapped her fingers around your shaft, her grip firm and knowing. A hiss escaped your teeth. “Fuck, Ryujin.”
“I plan to,” she said, a wicked grin on her face. She gave you a slow, deliberate stroke, her thumb smearing the pre-cum over the sensitive head. Then she released you and turned to the bed. “But first… she’s been waiting longer.”
Ryujin climbed onto the bed, kneeling between Karina’s spread legs. She hooked her fingers into the sides of Karina’s panties. “Lift your hips, baby.”
Karina obeyed, and Ryujin slid the last scrap of fabric down her legs and off. Karina’s pussy was revealed, and the sight stole your breath. It was beautiful—plump, puffy outer lips, a deeper pink within, already glistening wet with her arousal. Her inner lips peeked out slightly, and her clit was a hard, swollen nub at the apex.
Ryujin didn’t hesitate. She lowered her head between Karina’s thighs.
“Oh! R-Ryujin!” Karina gasped, her back arching off the bed as Ryujin’s tongue made contact.
You could only watch, mesmerized, as Ryujin ate Karina’s pussy with a focused, hungry intensity. This was no timid exploration. This was a claiming. Ryujin’s tongue was flat and broad at first, licking a long, slow stripe from Karina’s entrance all the way up to her clit. Karina’s whole body jerked, a sharp cry tearing from her throat.
Ryujin dove in. She used her lips to suck on Karina’s puffy outer lips, then her tongue to spear into her opening, fucking her with it. The wet, slick sounds filled the moonlit room, obscene and beautiful. Karina’s hands flew to Ryujin’s head, her fingers tangling in the dark hair, not pushing her away but holding her close, grinding her pussy up against Ryujin’s face.
“Yes, right there, oh god, right there!” Karina chanted, her hips moving in frantic circles.
Ryujin switched her focus to Karina’s clit. She sucked the little bud into her mouth, her tongue flicking over it rapidly. Karina screamed, her legs trembling, trying to clamp around Ryujin’s head. Ryujin just pushed them wider apart, holding her open, her mouth never leaving its target.
You were so hard it was painful. You climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside them, unable to keep from touching. Your hand found Ryujin’s back, tracing the muscles that flexed as she worked. You leaned down and took one of Karina’s bouncing breasts into your mouth, sucking her nipple deep, grazing it with your teeth.
The dual stimulation was too much for Karina. Her body went rigid, a strangled gasp caught in her throat. Then she shattered. Her pussy clenched around nothing, her juices flowing as Ryujin kept licking through her convulsions. Karina’s orgasm rolled through her in visible waves, her stomach muscles clenching, her toes curling. A high, keening wail was ripped from her lungs as she came hard against Ryujin’s relentless tongue.
Ryujin finally lifted her head, her chin and lips glistening with Karina’s wetness. She looked utterly debauched and triumphant. She crawled up Karina’s body and kissed her deeply, letting Karina taste herself. Karina kissed back with a desperate, post-orgasmic hunger.
Then Ryujin turned her head, her lips now against yours, transferring the taste of Karina to your mouth. It was musky, sweet, uniquely female. “Your turn,” she panted against your lips. “She’s ready for you. Fuck her. I want to watch.”
She rolled off to the side, lying on her stomach next to Karina, propped on her elbows, her eyes dark and fixed on you and Karina.
Karina was still breathing heavily, her body limp and pliant, but her eyes were open, burning with a renewed, deeper need. She reached for you. “Please,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I need you inside me. Now.”
You moved between her legs, your cock nudging against her soaked, swollen folds. The heat coming off her was incredible. You positioned the head at her entrance, the pre-cum from your tip mixing with her juices.
“Wait.”
Su-A’s voice came from the doorway. She’d followed you in and was leaning against the doorframe, one hand still pressed between her own thighs. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide. She looked like she was on the edge of her own climax just from watching. “Don’t just fuck her,” she breathed, her voice a husky command. “Make it count. Come in her. Fill her up.”
The vulgar, direct words from your stepsister, in this context, were the final, mind-breaking taboo. It unleashed something feral in you.
You looked down at Karina. Her eyes were locked on yours, filled with love, with lust, with a shocking depth of commitment. “Yes,” she whispered, her hands coming up to cradle your face. “Let me have your baby. We can get married. I want it. I want you.”
The confession was so huge, so unexpected, it stole the air from the room for a second. Then Ryujin, beside her, let out a soft, shuddering sigh. She reached out and traced her fingers down your neck, over your collarbone. “Make me yours, too,” she said, her usual confidence softened into a vulnerable plea. “Let’s make this night… our greatest first date. The beginning of our new life.”
You couldn’t speak. Emotion clogged your throat. You just nodded, your vision blurring for a second.
Then you pushed forward.
The head of your cock pressed against her entrance, and her pussy yielded, stretching open around you in a slow, exquisite surrender. She was so fucking tight, so hot, so wet. An agonizing, perfect pressure enveloped you as you sank inch by inch into her incredible depth. Her inner walls gripped you like a velvet fist, fluttering around your invading length.
Karina’s mouth fell open in a silent cry, her eyes rolling back for a second before they focused on you again, filled with tears of overwhelming sensation. “You’re… you’re so deep,” she gasped.
You were fully sheathed, buried to the hilt inside her. The feeling was beyond description. It was home. It was heaven. You stayed there for a long moment, both of you trembling, letting her body adjust to your girth.
Then you began to move.
You pulled back slowly, almost all the way out, until just the tip remained nestled inside her swollen lips. Then you drove back in, a smooth, deep stroke that made her cry out and her nails dig into your shoulders. You set a rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate. Each thrust was a full-body experience. The sound of your hips meeting hers was a wet, solid slap that echoed in the room, punctuated by Karina’s sharp, breathy moans.
“Yes, just like that, oh god, just like that!” she chanted, her hips rising to meet every one of your thrusts. Her tits bounced with the force of your fucking, a mesmerizing, jiggling rhythm.
You leaned down, capturing a nipple in your mouth, sucking hard as you fucked her. She screamed, her back arching, pushing her breast deeper into your mouth.
From beside you, Ryujin’s hand snaked down. Her fingers found Karina’s clit, rubbing tight, fast circles over the swollen nub as you pistoned in and out. “Come on, Kari,” Ryujin urged, her own breath coming in ragged pants. “Come on his cock. Let him feel you come.”
The combined stimulation—your deep, relentless fucking, your mouth on her tit, Ryujin’s skilled fingers on her clit—was too much. Karina’s eyes flew open, locked on yours. Her mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ as a silent scream built in her throat. Her pussy suddenly convulsed around your cock, a series of rapid, milking contractions that squeezed you so tightly you saw stars.
“Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming!” she finally shrieked, her body bowing off the bed. Her pussy gushed, drenching your cock and balls in a fresh flood of her juices as her orgasm tore through her. The rhythmic clenching of her inner walls was unbelievable, a hot, pulsating massage on your aching shaft.
You couldn’t hold back. The sight of her coming apart, the feel of her tight cunt milking you, the sound of her screams, Su-A’s hungry gaze from the doorway, Ryujin’s whispered encouragements—it was all too much.
“I’m gonna cum!” you grunted, your thrusts growing faster, harder, losing their rhythm, becoming frantic, desperate slams.
“Inside her!” Su-A cried out from the door, her own voice breaking. “Do it! Fill her up!”
“Give it to me!” Karina begged, her eyes wide, her hands clutching your ass, pulling you deeper. “Please, I want it all!”
With a final, brutal thrust that buried you to the root, you exploded. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, a white-hot detonation at the base of your spine. Your cock pulsed violently inside her, jet after hot jet of your cum flooding her depths. You groaned, a raw, animal sound, as you emptied yourself into her, each spurt wracking your body with intense pleasure.
Karina felt it. She let out a soft, sobbing moan, her own body quivering with aftershocks as she felt the hot rush filling her. “Yes… yes…” she whimpered, her eyes fluttering closed, a look of profound, blissful satisfaction on her face.
You collapsed on top of her, spent, still pulsing weakly inside her. Her arms and legs wrapped around you, holding you close, keeping you buried inside her as your cum began to seep out around the edges of your still-connected bodies.
Panting, sweating, you turned your head. Ryujin was watching, her own hand now between her legs, her fingers working furiously over her own clit. Her expression was one of awe and fierce desire. “Fuck, that was so hot,” she breathed.
Su-A slowly slid down the doorframe to sit on the floor, her own body limp. She let out a long, shuddering sigh, a smile of pure, unadulterated satisfaction on her lips. “Finally,” she whispered to herself.
You were still inside Karina, both of you breathing heavily, connected in the most intimate way possible. Ryujin’s hand slowed, then stopped. She crawled closer, until her face was next to yours. She kissed your sweaty temple, then Karina’s cheek.
“So,” Ryujin murmured, her raspy voice soft in the aftermath. “What’s the truth, Kari? Did you like your dare?”
A/n : Trying something more Lengthy. Hope Yall liked it.
It's fucking cold and your blazer does exactly nothing to stop it. The wind just cuts right through like the fabric doesn't exist. You should've grabbed an actual coat before leaving, but hindsight and all that. At least you remembered the hat. Small victories.
Your dress shoes click against the pavement. That's the only sound besides the wind. The whole park is basically empty, which makes sense: it's past midnight. Way past. This is the hour when normal people are home in bed, not walking along the Han River with a bag of honey butter chips in one hand and fresh bandages on the other.
The bandages are from earlier. You punched a mirror in your office. Stupid move. The mirror won that fight. Your knuckles are still throbbing to prove it.
The bench comes into view. Your bench. The one you've been visiting since you were seventeen. Back then it was college entrance exams and a father who looked at you like a disappointment. Now it's a hemorrhaging portfolio and a boardroom full of middle-aged men who look at you like you're a child playing dress-up with daddy's money.
Different problems. Same bench. Same river. Same pathetic ritual of sitting alone in the dark until your head stops screaming.
Except tonight, someone's already there.
You slow your pace. A figure hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands pressed against their head, their shoulders shaking. Not from the cold, but from crying. You can hear the faint whimpering. It's a woman. You can tell from the frame, small and slight, wearing this oversized hoodie. Her face is completely hidden, buried in her hands, and she's just... falling apart. Right there. On your bench.
Great. Just what you needed.
You glance around. The pathway stretches empty in both directions. No friends hovering nearby, no security guards, no one at all. Just you and this stranger having a breakdown on your bench at one in the morning. You could leave. Turn around, find another spot, let her have her moment of private misery without some asshole in a wrinkled blazer standing ten feet away like a creep.
But your feet don't move. Eventually, though, she becomes aware of you, because her head snaps up. That’s when the streetlight catches her face. Your own face is obscured by shadows, so she doesn't see your expression of astonishment when you see her.
It's Karina.
Yu Jimin. From aespa. The Yu Jimin whose face you've seen on billboards, variety shows and big stages. She's staring at you with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks and an expression that's rapidly shifting from devastation to alarm. "Who are you?" She scrambles to her feet, putting distance between you. "What are you doing here?"
You don't answer immediately. Your brain is still buffering, still trying to reconcile the idol on the billboards with the crying girl in front of you, but your mouth operates on autopilot. "Well." You gesture at the trees, the river, the general ambiance of public outdoor space. "This is a park. People walk here. I just came to sit on the bench where I usually come to cry… But it seems someone beat me to it."
Jimin's expression flickers. She can't tell if you're joking or genuinely pathetic, and honestly, neither can you. "I'm sorry." She wipes hastily at her face, smearing tears across her cheek. "I'll go. I shouldn't be here anyway."
"No, no." You wave your unbandaged hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'm kidding. Stay. Bench is all yours. I'm leaving."
Who cares about the problems of Korea’s it girl when your own life is falling apart? So you turn. Start walking. Your shoes click against the pavement again, and you're already thinking about the convenience store two blocks over, whether they'll have more chips, whether you can find another bench somewhere that doesn't have a sobbing celebrity on it.
Three steps. Four. Five.
You stop.
Because the thing is: that's Yu Jimin back there. Karina. And you watched the news last week like everyone else. You saw the footage of her walking off stage mid-performance, the confused backup dancers, the fan cams cutting to black. The internet exploded with theories. Mental breakdown. Contract dispute. Secret illness. Nobody knew anything concrete, and SM Entertainment released some bullshit statement about "scheduling adjustments" that convinced exactly no one.
And now she's here. Alone. Crying by the river at one in the morning with no one around. You don’t want to go home, fall asleep, and wake up in the morning to turn on the news and hear the final, tragic headline about Yu Jimin. Knowing you could have done something.
You turn back. Jimin hasn't moved. She's watching you with wary eyes, arms wrapped around herself.
"On second thought," you say, walking toward her again, "I'd like to leave. I really would. But all that social ethics and empathy that one person is supposed to have for another is making it difficult."
"I'm fine. Really. You can go."
You stop a few feet away from the bench. Study her face in the dim light. The swollen eyes, the blotchy skin, the way her lower lip trembles even as she tries to set her jaw.
"You don't look fine."
You sit down on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a solid three feet of space between you. The wood is cold through your slacks. You settle back, stretch your legs out, and stare at the river instead of her.
"If you want to talk about it," you say, "you can. I'll listen." You give her your name. She doesn’t give you hers. Whatever. You already know it.
"I'm not going to open up to a stranger."
"That's fair." You nod. "I wouldn't either. Strangers are terrible. Half of them are serial killers or… you know." Silence. The river laps against the concrete embankment. "I'll just sit here for a while," you continue. "Until you're feeling better. And, you know." You pause. "Stop you from jumping in the river."
"What? I’d never do that.”
"Great." You shrug. "Saves me the trouble. I can't swim."
Another pause. You're not looking at her, but you can feel her gaze on the side of your face, trying to figure you out. Trying to decide if you're making fun of her or genuinely this weird. You open the bag of chips. You pop one in your mouth, chew slowly, then tilt the bag in her direction.
"Want some?"
Jimin stares at the offering like it might be poisoned. Her eyes flick to your face, then back to the chips. She reaches out. Takes one. Eats it.
"These are my favorite," she says quietly.
"I know."
"How... How do you know that?"
You chew another chip. Swallow. "I know who you are. Everyone does. You're kind of famous."
She exhales, then murmurs: "Fuck."
"Yeah."
"You're a fan."
"I own an album or two. Doesn't mean anything. I'm not going to ask for a photo or an autograph or whatever. I'm not going to tell anyone I saw you here." You pause. "Crying alone at one in the morning isn't exactly the image SM wants to project, I'm guessing."
Jimin doesn't respond. She's staring at the river now, the same way you were a moment ago. The water is black and glittering under the scattered lights of the city. "Why are you being nice to me?" she asks finally.
You consider the question. Think about the boardroom meeting from hell, the investors pulling out, the whispered conversations that stop when you enter a room. Think about your throbbing knuckles and your empty apartment and the fact that you came here tonight because you didn't know where else to go.
"I'm not being nice," you say. "I'm being a basic human being." You hold out the bag again. She takes another chip.
"What happened to your hand?" Jimin's question catches you off guard. You'd almost forgotten about it. The throbbing has faded to a dull ache. You glance down at the bandages wrapped around your knuckles, the gauze is already slightly grimy from the evening's adventures.
"This?" You hold it up. "Got into a fight. Some guys. You know how it is." She raises an eyebrow. "Happens all the time," you continue, keeping your face perfectly straight. "You should've seen the other guys. Absolutely wrecked. One of them's probably still in the hospital."
"You don't seem like the type to get into a fight."
"Excuse me?"
"Or to win one."
You press your unbandaged hand to your chest and say, incredibly offended: "That's so rude. I'm very intimidating. You clearly don't know my reputation; I've beaten up half the guys in this city. "
"Uh huh."
"I do."
"Sure."
You hold the pose for another beat, then let it drop. Shrug. "Okay, you've got good eyes. I punched a mirror."
"A mirror?"
"In my office. Full-length. Extremely expensive. Had this whole elegant frame, imported from somewhere in Europe." You flex your fingers experimentally, wince slightly. "It won."
"Why would you punch a mirror?"
"Because the wall was too far away."
Before you can react, Jimin reaches over and takes your hand. Her fingers are cold against your skin as she turns your wrist, examining the bandages with a frown. The touch is clinical, careful, but it still sends something strange through your body.
"Don't do that again," she says. "You could have been seriously hurt. This needs to be rewrapped. Did you even clean it properly?"
"A doctor looked at it."
"A real doctor?"
"The emergency room kind. With a degree and everything."
She lets go of your hand. "I'm serious. That was stupid."
You tuck your hand back in your lap. "Sorry, If I'd known Yu Jimin would be upset about it, I wouldn't have done it."
Jimin's nose scrunches. It's subtle, but you catch it. "That's a weird thing to say to someone you just met."
"I'm a weird person. Ask anyone."
She doesn't respond to that. Instead, she reaches for the chip bag still sitting between you, pulls out another handful, and chews slowly. The crunch is the only sound for a long moment. "Why did you do it?" she asks. "The mirror thing. Were you drunk?"
"Stone cold sober." You lean back against the bench, tilt your head toward the sky. The stars are invisible here. Too much light pollution. Just a flat expanse of urban grey. At the lake house, there are probably stars in the sky. "I was angry."
"At what?"
"Everything. My life is crumbling right in front of me and there's nothing I can do about it. I just have to sit there and watch it fall apart, piece by piece, while everyone stands around waiting for me to fix it." You pause. "The worst part is that it's my fault. All of it. Every single thing that's going wrong right now is because of decisions I made."
Jimin is quiet. Listening.
"Now everyone hates me," you continue. "My investors. My board. My employees, probably. They all look at me like I'm some kind of idiot child who got lucky once and has been failing upward ever since." You give a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe they're right."
"What happened?" Jimin asks. "With your company?"
You think about how much to tell her, how much you even want to say out loud. But between the darkness, the late hour, and how ridiculous this whole situation is, this bench and Jimin seem very much like a safe space.
"I made a bet," you say. "A big one. Moved a lot of money into a position that I was sure would pay off. Everyone told me it was risky. Everyone told me to hedge, to be careful, to think about the downside. And I told them they were being cowards." You close your eyes. "I was wrong. The position collapsed. We lost... a lot. More than I want to think about. And now the investors are pulling out, the board wants my head, and the company I built is probably going to be sold off to some private equity firm that'll gut it for parts."
"That sounds..."
"Pathetic? Yeah."
"I was going to say overwhelming."
You open your eyes. Look at her. "Same thing, in my experience."
Jimin pulls her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Do you feel powerless?"
"Every second of every day lately."
She nods slowly. "Me too," she says quietly.
You turn to face her more fully. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Then I guess we have a lot in common. Karina and I, united by a shared feeling. Who would have thought, huh?”
A breeze picks up, carrying the smell of water and city and approaching rain. You watch Jimin shiver, then you shrug out of your blazer. It's rumpled, probably smells like stress sweat, but it's wool and it's warm.
"Here."
She looks at the offered jacket, then at you. "No, I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
"It's not that cold."
"Your lips are turning blue."
"They are not."
"Just take it." You hold it out further. "I'm not being polite. I'm being practical. If you get hypothermia out here, I'm the one who has to deal with it, and I really don't want to explain to the paramedics why I was hanging out with an idol at one in the morning."
Jimin hesitates. Then, slowly, she takes the blazer. Drapes it over her shoulders. It swallows her, the sleeves hanging past her hands, the hem nearly reaching her thighs.
"It fits you perfectly," you say.
She looks down at herself. A ghost of something that might be amusement crosses her face. She pulls the blazer tighter around herself and asks: "Are you scared?"
You take a moment before answering. "Yes."
"Of what?"
"Losing everything. Proving everyone right about me. Finding out that I really am just a lucky idiot who got in over his head." You pick at the edge of your bandage. "Waking up one day and realizing I wasted my entire life chasing something that was never going to work out." Jimin nods. Like she understands. Like she knows exactly what that fear tastes like. "What about you?" you ask. "What are you afraid of?"
"Getting lost," she replies. "Not knowing who I am anymore." She presses her forehead to her knees. "I've been doing this for so long. Being Karina. Being what everyone wants me to be. And somewhere along the way, I think I forgot who I was before all of it. Who I am underneath. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and can’t see myself. A body with no face.” You don't say anything. You just listen. "I don't know who I really am," she continues. "And I don’t know how to figure it out."
"I had a girlfriend in college," you say after a moment. "She was really into esoteric stuff. Crystals, tarot cards, meditation retreats. The whole thing. She used to say that when you think too much, your mind separates from your body. Like it just... drifts away. Floats off somewhere and leaves the rest of you behind." You wave your uninjured hand. "She said the key was recalibration. Bringing your mind back to your body. Grounding yourself in the physical."
"How do you do that?"
You shrug. "No idea. We broke up before I figured that part out." Jimin lets out a breath. It's almost a laugh. "But you'll figure it out," you add. "Eventually. You seem smart."
"You don't know me."
"I know you have good taste in chips. That's something."
You stand up. Your body protests, joints stiff from the cold, but you ignore it. You grab the bag of chips (still half full) and hold it out to her. "Here. Take the rest."
She looks up at you. "I can't take your chips."
"Consider it a gift. From one pathetic person crying in a park to another."
Jimin takes the bag, holds it in her lap.
"My company," you say, "is in the Yeouido financial district. The building with the copper spire that's shaped like a twisted flame. You can't miss it. Only building in Seoul that looks like it's actively on fire." You pause. "My office is on the top floor. If you ever want to talk. Or just sit somewhere warm and eat snacks in silence. Whatever. Just show up."
She stares at you. "You're inviting me to your office?"
"Yeah. Is that weird? I feel like I lost my social instincts a while back."
"Why?"
"Because I have a lot of snacks up there, and no one to share them with." You start backing away, keeping your eyes on her. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Jimin-ssi. Genuinely. Even under the circumstances."
She doesn't respond. Just watches you, the blazer still wrapped around her shoulders, your chips still clutched in her hands.
"And maybe stop going out alone in the middle of the night," you add. "It's not safe. There are weirdos everywhere. Present company included." You take a few more steps backward. Almost trip on a crack in the pavement. Recover with what you hope is dignity. "One more thing."
Jimin tilts her head.
"You're my favorite in aespa," you say. "Always have been. Total diva."
And there it is. Finally. The corner of her mouth twitches, then lifts, and she smiles. It’s small, tired, still a little broken, but it’s there. Real.
“Thank you,” she says.
You turn and walk away before you can say another stupid thing. At least tonight, you’ll go to sleep knowing you made Karina from aespa crack a small smile.
—
It's a hallway big enough for everyone, but they insist on staying close to you. Your chief financial officer walks on your left, rattling off numbers that stopped meaning anything to you three days ago. Your head of operations flanks your right as he lists every reason why this trip is a terrible idea. Behind you, your assistant struggles to keep up while she reminds you about the seventeen emails you haven't answered.
You? Well, you’re starting to get pissed about the lack of personal space.
"You can't just leave," the CFO says. "There's too much happening here. The quarterly reports need your signature by Friday, and the auditors are asking questions about the Singapore accounts."
"I'm taking my MacBook." You don't slow down. "I can do everything remotely. That's the whole point of technology."
"With respect, sir, you said that last time and then you disappeared for three days without answering a single call."
"It won't happen again. You have my word."
Your operations head cuts in. "The meeting will also be on Friday. The board meeting. You need to be there. Everything is at stake. They're going to vote on whether to accept the acquisition offer, and if you're not present to argue against it, they'll sell us off without a second thought."
"I'll be there." You reach the elevator bay and press the button. "I'll be back on Friday morning. I'll sit in that room and I'll argue until I'm blue in the face. But right now, today, I'm getting on a plane."
"Sir, please, we need to discuss the restructuring proposal. The legal team has concerns about the liability clauses, and the PR department wants to schedule a press conference to address the investor concerns, and there's the matter of the pension fund adjustments that require your direct approval, and honestly we're all very worried about your mental state given recent events and we think perhaps you should speak to someone, a professional, someone who can help you process what's happening because this level of avoidance behavior is concerning and we care about you as a person not just as our employer and—"
The elevator doors open and there she is: Seol Yoon-a. Standing dead center like she's posing for a photoshoot. Her hair's down, these perfect brown waves past her shoulders, so glossy that makes you wonder if it's even real. Angular face, delicate features, coral pink lipstick. She's tall. Taller than you right now, but it's because of the high heels. The short blue dress is definitely designer, you can tell just by looking at it. And she's holding her dog. A tiny white Pomeranian with a rhinestone collar, cradled in her arms like it's a purse.
She looks absolutely furious.
"I have been trying to reach you all morning," she says. "All. Morning. I called seven times. Seven. I texted you fourteen messages. I even tried emailing."
You step into the elevator. The doors close behind you, sealing you in with her and the world's most judgmental Pomeranian.
"I was in meetings."
"You were avoiding me."
"Those aren't mutually exclusive."
"You've been so irresponsible lately," she continues. "Missing dinners. Canceling plans. Last week you forgot we were supposed to go to that gallery opening, and I had to show up alone like some kind of abandoned housewife."
"My company is on the verge of collapse." You watch the floor numbers tick upward. "I think I've earned the right to be a little irresponsible."
"That's not an excuse."
"It's literally the definition of an excuse. A reason for not doing something. My reason is corporate bankruptcy."
She huffs. The Pomeranian huffs with her. You wonder if she trained it to do that or if it just absorbed her personality through proximity.
"What about dinner tonight?" she demands. "With my parents? They've been wanting to meet you for months now, and I finally convinced them to fly in from Busan, and the reservation at that restaurant took three weeks to get, and my father is very particular about punctuality, and my mother is going to ask me why you're not there, and what am I supposed to tell her? That my boyfriend is too busy having a crisis to show basic courtesy?"
"We've already talked about this: I'm not your boyfriend,” you remind Yoon-a and see her face deflate right before your eyes. You exhale and add: “Yet. I’m not your boyfriend… yet. And I can't do that right now. I have too much going on. Your parents will have to wait."
"You always say that. You always have some excuse. I'm starting to think you don't even like me anymore."
You exhale slowly. Count to three. Try to find the diplomatic answer, the gentle deflection, the words that will smooth this over without actually addressing the underlying issue.
"I like you," you say. "But sometimes you can be a little... clingy."
Yoon-a's eyes go wide. Her mouth drops open. The Pomeranian actually stops yapping, like even it knows you've crossed a line.
"Clingy?" She repeats, completely horrified, like it’s the most offensive thing a guy could ever say to a girl. "You think I'm clingy?"
"I said a little."
"How could you say that?" She clutches the dog closer, and her outrage reaches a fever pitch. "How could you say that in front of our son?"
Your eyes sweep over the tiny fluffball, unimpressed, before flicking to her. "Pretty sure our son doesn’t shed this much.”
"Excuse me?"
"That dog isn't our son. You've had him for four years. We've been together for eight months. The math doesn't work."
Yoon-a literally gasps. Like you've said something unforgivable. She claps one hand over the Pomeranian's ear, pressing his fluffy head against her chest.
"Don't listen to him, baby," she coos. "He doesn't mean it. He's just having one of his moods."
"I'm not having a mood. I'm stating a fact."
The elevator dings. The doors open onto the ground floor lobby. Yoon-a steps out. Turns to face you. Her eyes are glistening (whether from genuine hurt or theatrical effect, you can't tell.)
“If you’re gonna be petty and take your frustration out on our innocent kid, then we’re done," she announces. "It's over. Don't look for me again. Don't call me. Don't text me. Don't even think about me." She spins on her heel and strides away.
"Yoon-a." You step out of the elevator, follow her a few paces. "Yoon-a, wait. We should talk about this."
She doesn't turn around. Doesn't slow down. Just keeps walking. You stand there for a moment. Processing. Then you shake your head and keep walking.
You're maybe twenty steps from the main exit when someone intercepts you. A young woman from the front desk. "Sir? I'm sorry to bother you, but there's someone here who wants to speak with you."
"I cancelled all my appointments today."
"I know, sir, but she was very insistent, and she's been waiting for almost an hour, and she said you'd want to see her."
You frown. "Who is it?"
The receptionist hesitates. Glances over her shoulder toward the lobby seating area. "She says her name is Yu Jimin. Karina. From… aespa.” You stop walking.
It's been two weeks since that night by the river. Two weeks since you sat on a bench with Yu Jimin and shared chips and talked about falling apart. Two weeks since you gave her your blazer and told her where to find you and walked away thinking that was probably the last time you'd ever see her. You'd convinced yourself she wouldn't come. Why would she? You're a stranger. A random guy she met while crying in a park. The invitation was impulsive, probably inappropriate, definitely weird. Any sensible person would have thrown your blazer in the trash and forgotten the whole thing.
And yet.
"Where?" you ask. The receptionist points toward the seating area near the windows. And there she is: Jimin sits on one of the low leather couches, her posture slightly hunched, her hands folded in her lap. She's wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a face mask that covers half her features, the standard idol disguise that fools absolutely no one. On the couch beside her sits Yoon-a.
Oh no.
You move closer, and fragments of conversation reach you: "Are you Karina?" Yoon-a is asking, leaning in with that curiosity she gets when she thinks she's discovered something interesting. "From aespa? You look exactly like her."
"No." Jimin's reply is quiet, muffled by the mask. "I get that a lot, though."
"The resemblance is insane. Like, identical. Are you sure you're not her?"
"I'm sure."
Yoon-a tilts her head, studies Jimin for another moment, then seems to accept the answer. "Well, whoever you are, your hair is gorgeous. What products do you use?"
"Um. Thank you. I don't really—"
"Anyway, I have to go. My ex-boyfriend is being dramatic and I need to go post something on Instagram that will make him jealous." Yoon-a stands, adjusts the Pomeranian in her arms, and sweeps away without a backward glance.
Jimin watches her go with visible relief. Then she sees you. She stands quickly, pulling down her mask. Her face is bare of makeup, her hair tucked under the cap. "Hi," she says.
"Hi." A beat of silence. The lobby hums around you, people coming and going, phones ringing, the distant chime of elevators. "I thought I’d never see you again," you say. "Honestly. I thought you'd written me off as some weirdo who talks to crying strangers."
"You are a weirdo who talks to crying strangers."
"Fair point."
She shifts her weight, uncertain. "Is this a bad time? I should have called first. I didn't have your number, so I just showed up, which is probably weird, I know, I can leave if you're busy—"
"Any time is a bad time right now." You shrug. "My entire life is a bad time. So it doesn't really matter."
That seems to relax her slightly. She reaches into the bag slung over her shoulder and pulls out something familiar. Your blazer, folded neatly. "I came to return this," she says. "And also... I don't know. I've been thinking about that conversation we had. About you. About everything you said." She pauses, searching for words. "I thought it might be nice to see you again. If that's okay."
You take the blazer from her hands. The fabric still smells faintly of her perfume. "It's okay," you say.
Her gaze drops to the overnight bag slung over your shoulder, the coat draped over your arm. "Are you going somewhere?"
"Yeah. I'm..." You hesitate. "I'm taking a trip. Getting out of the city for a few days. Clear my head."
"Oh.” Her eyes flick down for a moment. “Then I should let you go. I didn't mean to interrupt your plans."
You should probably just let her go. Say goodbye, wish her well, catch your flight solo like you'd originally planned. Be a normal, sensible person about this. That's what you're supposed to do here. That's the appropriate move.
But you're looking at her standing there, and you're thinking about two weeks of radio silence. You're thinking about how she smiled at you that night. Just once. Just barely. But she did. "Come with me," you say.
"What?"
"Come with me. On the trip."
"I—what? I can't just—you're not serious."
"I'm going to my family's lake house. A few hours outside the city. I'll be the only one there. Totally empty. Totally quiet." You pause. "Company would be nice. If you want."
She stares at you like you've lost your mind. Which, to be fair, you might have. "Don't you have a girlfriend or something?" she asks.
"The girl who was talking to you a minute ago, she was almost my girlfriend. Emphasis on was and almost." You sigh. "Pretty sure I ruined that. Again. It's becoming a pattern."
"She was beautiful."
"Yeah. In another universe, she's probably an idol. Could give you a run for your money." You tilt your head, considering. "In this universe, she's just a kind of ditzy rich girl. Good heart, though. Deep down." Jimin doesn't seem to know how to respond to that. "The offer stands," you continue. "Private jet. Lake house. Fresh air. It might be my last trip on that plane, actually. I'll probably have to sell it soon to cover some debts. Might as well enjoy it while I can."
"I'm not ready," she says. "I don't have a suitcase. I don't have clothes. I didn't plan for this."
You check your watch. "You have an hour and a half. Go home, pack a bag, get your documents and meet me at Gimpo airfield. I'll text you the details."
"This is insane. I shouldn't be traveling alone with someone I barely know."
"Definitely not. Objectively, this is one of the stupidest things anyone could do."
She crosses her arms. Narrows her eyes at you. "How do I know you're not going to murder me or something?"
"I don't like blood." You hold up your hand, showing her the healing scars across your knuckles. "When I punched that mirror and saw it bleeding, I almost passed out. Had to sit down for ten minutes. My secretary had to bring me juice."
Her expression softens slightly. "How is it? Your hand?"
"Better. See? All healed up. No lasting damage."
"Good."
"So no murders," you say. "I'd honestly prefer to keep all your blood and organs exactly where they are. Inside your body. Where they belong."
Jimin just looks at you. For a while. Long enough that you're starting to wonder if she heard you correctly. She's clearly thinking it over. You can see it on her face. The mental math she's doing: how bad could this go versus how bad is everything already? Scary unknown versus scary known. Taking a chance versus playing it safe. "Okay," she says finally. "I'll come."
You grin. "It's going to be great," you tell her. "Sun. Water. Peace and quiet. You should bring a bikini.”
"A bikini."
"For swimming. In the lake. It's very refreshing."
"Uh huh... You realize you sound completely deranged right now, right? 'Come to my isolated lake house, strange woman I met while she was crying. Bring a bikini.'"
"When you say it like that—"
"How else should I say it?"
"More... optimistically?"
She laughs. "You're crazy. Like, genuinely crazy. I should probably run."
"But you're not going to."
"No," she admits. "I'm apparently just as crazy as you are."
—
By the time you and Jimin make it from the car to the front door, you're both soaked from the knees down despite your best efforts. The wind keeps changing direction, driving sheets of water sideways, and the umbrella is basically decorative at this point. You fumble with the keys. Drop them once. Curse under your breath. Finally get the door open and practically shove Jimin inside before following her, slamming the door shut against the storm.
The house is dark. Quiet. You find the light switch and the entryway floods with warm yellow glow, illuminating hardwood floors and cream-colored walls and the faint layer of dust on the decorative table by the door. Jimin sets two small suitcases in the corner. You drop your bag beside it. Water drips from both of you, pooling on the floor.
"So," you say, before she can say anything. "Yeah. I know. I said there would be sun. I specifically mentioned sun. And a lake. And bikinis." She looks at you. Doesn't say anything. Just looks. "This is climate change," you continue, gesturing at the windows where rain lashes against the glass. "The weather's completely unpredictable now. Changes overnight. There's literally no way I could have known this was going to happen. It was sunny when we left Seoul." Still nothing. Just that steady gaze. "But hey." You move further into the house, hitting more light switches as you go. "At least the power works. See? Fully functional. Lights, electricity, the whole deal. Modern amenities."
To prove your point, you grab the remote from the coffee table and turn on the television mounted above the fireplace. The screen flickers to life, and a news anchor's face fills the frame. "—unprecedented storm system that meteorologists have been tracking for weeks now," the anchor is saying. "Residents in the affected areas have been advised to stay indoors and avoid unnecessary travel. The storm is expected to continue through the weekend, with rainfall totals potentially reaching—"
You become very aware of Jimin standing behind you. "Okay." You clear your throat. "So apparently they have been talking about this. For weeks. Allegedly."
"Allegedly."
"I don't watch the news. Who watches the news anymore? It's all doom and gloom. Very bad for mental health." You turn to face her, attempting something like an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry. You must be upset."
Jimin shrugs. Pulls off her damp jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. "It's fine."
"It's not fine. I promised you sun and delivered a monsoon."
"I wasn't really in the mood for sun anyway." She looks around the living room, taking in the leather couches, the stone fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling windows that currently showcase nothing but grey sheets of rain. "This is better, actually."
"See?" You point at her triumphantly. "I manage to get things right even when I completely screw up. It's a gift."
"—still no word on the whereabouts of Yu Jimin, known professionally as Karina of the K-pop group aespa. The idol, who mysteriously disappeared earlier this week, has not been seen publicly since—" You watch Jimin's expression freeze. "—sources close to the group suggest she may be traveling alone, though her exact location remains unknown. Fans and media alike have expressed growing concern following her abrupt departure from the group's final tour concert last month. SM Entertainment has declined to comment on the situation, releasing only a brief statement asking for privacy during this difficult time—"
You turn off the TV. "Did you tell anyone where you were going?" you ask.
Jimin moves to the window. Stares out at the storm. "I told them I was traveling. That I was fine. That I needed some time."
"But not where."
"No. Not where."
"People are going to be worried. Your members. Your family."
"I know." Her breath fogs the glass. "But it's better this way. If they knew where I was, they'd come. They'd try to help. And I can't... I don't want that right now.” You don't push. Don't ask why. "So." Jimin turns away from the window. "What are we going to do here?"
You scratch the back of your neck. "Honestly? I have no idea."
"You didn't plan anything?"
"The whole trip was impulsive. I wasn't thinking past 'get out of Seoul before I lose my mind.' And now..." You gesture at the rain. "There's not much we can do in this weather anyway."
Another silence. You both avoid looking directly at each other, which is ridiculous, because you're adults and this is just a house and there's nothing weird about any of this except for the part where everything about this is incredibly weird. You're a businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. She's a global pop star who just disappeared from the public eye. You're standing in your family's lake house in the middle of nowhere while a storm rages outside, and neither of you has any idea what you're doing here.
"Do you want to see the lake?" you ask suddenly.
"In this?"
"There should be raincoats somewhere. My family used to keep outdoor stuff in the mudroom." You pause. "But first, let me show you the house. So you know where everything is." She nods. Follows you as you move through the ground floor.
The lake house is two stories of weathered wood and large windows. The ground floor is mostly open plan, the living area flowing into a kitchen that hasn't been updated since the early 2000s but still works fine. A dining table that seats eight people who no longer gather here. A fireplace that you should probably light later, assuming you remember how. Sliding glass doors that lead to a deck overlooking the water, currently being pelted by rain so hard you can barely see the lake beyond. You flip on lights as you go, chasing away the gloom. "This is all very nice," Jimin observes, running her fingers along the edge of the kitchen island. "Your family has money." She opens the refrigerator. Stares at the contents. "There's food in here."
"Yeah, I called ahead. There's a company that does this, stocks up vacation homes before people arrive. Groceries, supplies, fresh linens. Very convenient when you're rich." You lean against the counter. "Or when you used to be rich..."
"That's very... prepared of you."
"I have my moments."
She closes the refrigerator and you continue the tour, showing her the small bathroom off the hallway, the laundry room with its industrial-sized washer and dryer, the study lined with bookshelves that your father never actually read.
The stairs creak as you climb to the second floor. The sound is familiar. Kind of comforting, in a strange way. "Master bedroom is at the end of the hall," you say, pointing. "That one's mine when I'm here. There are two guest rooms. This one—" You open a door on the left. "Has the better view."
Jimin steps inside. The room is simple but comfortable. Queen-sized bed with a white duvet, wooden dresser, soft carpet underfoot. But the window takes up most of the far wall, and even through the rain, you can see the lake stretching out beyond the property line, grey water merging with grey sky. "It's beautiful," she says softly. "Even with the storm."
"Yeah." You lean against the doorframe, watching her watch the view. "It's a peaceful place. Was, anyway."
"Was?"
"My family's been thinking about selling it. The whole area used to be full of families who came for the summers. Kids running around, barbecues on the weekends, boats on the lake. But over the last few years..." You shrug. "People started leaving. Selling their houses. The economy changed, people's priorities changed. Now half the homes around here are empty. The ones that aren't belong to people who only show up once or twice a year."
Jimin turns from the window. "That's sad."
"It is what it is." You examine a scratch on the doorframe, remembering when you put it there. You were twelve. A hockey stick. Your mother had been furious. "I told my father I'd buy the place myself if he tried to sell. He laughed at me. Said I was being sentimental."
"Were you?"
"Probably. But I don't care." You look around the room, at the walls that have witnessed more of your life than most people. "My family stopped coming here years ago. Now it's just... a graveyard of memories, I guess. A place where ghosts of who we used to be hang out."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is. But it's also one of the few places where I can pretend my problems can't reach me." You meet her eyes. "It's not true, obviously. They're still there. Waiting. But here, I can ignore them for a while. Act like they don't exist."
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Processing. "Then we'll pretend together," she says. "Both of us. For however long we're here. No problems. No expectations. No outside world."
You smile. Actually smile, not the sarcastic smirk you usually default to, but something genuine.
"Yeah," you say. "That sounds like a good plan. Come on, let's grab our raincoats.”
The raincoat is bright yellow and two sizes too big, clearly designed for someone with broader shoulders and longer arms than you possess. The sleeves hang past your wrists and the hood keeps slipping forward into your eyes. Jimin's raincoat is green, equally oversized, and she looks like she's being slowly consumed by a plastic tarp. Neither of you comments on how ridiculous you both look.
The wind hits you the moment you step off the porch, sharp and wet and insistent, pushing against your chest. You shove your hands into the raincoat's pockets and start walking, and Jimin falls into step beside you without a word. The path to the lake is overgrown. Weeds push through the gravel, and the bushes on either side have grown wild. Your family used to keep this place immaculate. Hired groundskeepers, regular maintenance, the whole thing. Now it's slowly returning to nature, one missed appointment at a time.
Rain drums against your hood in a constant, rhythmic patter. Your sneakers (you'd changed out of the dress shoes, thankfully) squelch in the mud. The air smells like wet earth and pine. You don't talk. Neither does Jimin. The trees thin out and suddenly the lake is in front of you, stretching gray and vast and choppy under the assault of the storm. Waves roll across the surface, small but persistent, breaking against the rocky shore with soft, repetitive sounds. The far side of the lake is barely visible through the rain, just a smudge of green that might be forest.Jimin stops at the edge of the water. Stands there. Watches.
You watch her watch the lake for a moment, then your attention drifts downward. Stones. The shoreline is littered with them. You bend down, pick one up, test its weight in your palm. Your arm snaps forward. The stone hits the surface at an angle and skips once, twice, three times before sinking.
"Not bad," you mutter to yourself. You find another stone. Skip it. This one gets four jumps before disappearing. Jimin still hasn't moved.
"What's your favorite memory of this place?" You pause mid-throw, stone in hand, and actually think about it.
"Fishing," you say finally. "With my grandfather."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." You let the stone fly. Three skips. "He used to take me out on this little rowboat he kept tied up by the dock. Every summer, without fail. We'd go out early in the morning, before anyone else was awake, and just sit there on the water with our lines in."
Jimin turns to look at you. The rain runs down her face, dripping off her chin, but she doesn't to care. "Did you catch anything?"
"Never." You laugh. "Not once. My grandfather said the fish in this lake were too smart for us. I think he just didn't know what he was doing, honestly. But it didn't matter. We'd sit there for hours anyway, talking about nothing, watching the sun come up. He'd tell me stories about when he was young. I'd complain about school. It was nice."
"That sounds nice."
"It was." You find another stone. Don't throw it. Just turn it over in your fingers, feeling the smooth surface. "I've never fished since he died. Haven't been on that boat either. I don't even know if it's still there."
"You should check."
"Maybe."
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Then: "I've never been fishing."
"No?"
"No. I grew up in the city. The closest I ever got to nature was the park near my apartment, and that was just grass and pigeons."
"You should try it sometime. Fishing, I mean. It's boring as hell, but in a good way."
"Would you teach me?"
You laugh again. "I would, but I don't actually know how. My grandfather died before he finished teaching me everything." You pause. Shrug. "At least I know how to bait a hook. That's something."
"I'm sorry," Jimin says softly. "About your grandfather."
"It's okay. It was a long time ago." You throw the stone. It skips five times. Your best one yet. "He was old. Sick. It was expected. Doesn't mean it didn't suck, but... you know. Life." Jimin nods. Doesn't offer any platitudes, any empty comforts. Just accepts the statement for what it is. You throw a few more stones. The rain keeps falling. The lake keeps churning. "How are you feeling?" you ask eventually. "Inside, I mean. Not just the wet and cold part."
Jimin doesn't answer immediately. She wraps her arms around herself and stares out at the water. "Tired," she says. "Really tired. Which doesn't make sense, because I'm not doing anything. I haven't been doing anything for weeks. But I wake up exhausted and I go to bed exhausted and the sleep in between doesn't help."
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not well. A few hours here and there. My brain won't shut up." She kicks at a stone near her foot, sending it tumbling into the water with a plop. "It's like there's this constant noise in my head. Thoughts that won't stop. Worries that won't go away. And the more I try to quiet them, the louder they get."
"Yeah," you say. "I know what that's like."
"At the same time..." She trails off. Takes a breath. "At the same time, I feel like I want to scream. Just open my mouth and let everything out. All the frustration and the fear and the anger and whatever else is stuck inside me. I want to scream until my throat is raw and my lungs are empty and there's nothing left."
You pick up another stone. Hold it. Don't throw. "So scream," you say.
Jimin looks at you. “What do you mean?"
"Scream. If you want to scream, scream."
"I can't just... scream. In the middle of nowhere. That's crazy."
"Why not? There's no one here to hear you. Just me, and I don't care." You gesture at the lake, at the rain, at the empty expanse of wilderness surrounding you. "This is literally the perfect place to scream. No neighbors. No fans. No cameras. Just water and trees and a storm that's loud enough to drown out anything." She's looking at you like she's trying to figure out if you're serious. You get that look a lot. "I want to scream too," you admit. "I've wanted to scream for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe years, honestly. There's a lot of stuff in here—" you tap your chest "—that needs to come out. And I figure if I'm going to do it, might as well do it now. Might as well do it here." Jimin still looks uncertain. Skeptical.
So you turn toward the lake. Plant your feet. Fill your lungs with wet, cold air. And you scream. It's not a word. Not a name. Not anything coherent. Just sound, raw and loud, ripping out of your throat and hurling itself across the water. You scream until your lungs are empty, until your voice cracks, until the sound dissolves into the rain and the wind and the endless grey. Then you stop. Breathe. Your throat burns slightly.
Jimin is staring at you with wide eyes. "Your turn," you say.
She hesitates. Looks at the lake. Looks back at you. Then she screams.
It starts small, tentative, like she's testing the waters. But then something breaks loose inside her, something that's been building for god knows how long, and the scream grows. It gets louder, longer, more desperate. Her whole body tenses with the effort of it, hands clenched into fists at her sides, face tilted toward the sky. She screams like she's trying to empty herself out. Like she's trying to purge every bad thought, every fear, every moment of doubt and pain and exhaustion that's been weighing her down.
When she finally stops, she's breathing hard. Her eyes are wet, and you can't tell if it's rain or tears. "That was great," you say. "Really solid scream. Eight out of ten."
She lets out a shaky laugh. "Only eight?"
"Room for improvement. Here, let's do it together. On three."
"This is ridiculous."
"One."
"I'm not doing this."
"Two."
"You're insane."
"Three." You both scream. Together. Two voices rising over the lake, tangling with the wind and the rain, filling the empty space with something loud and alive. You scream until you can't anymore, until you're both bent over with your hands on your knees, gasping for air, throats raw. Jimin starts laughing. It's a small sound at first, barely audible over the storm, but it grows. She laughs until she's clutching her stomach, until she has to sit down on a wet rock because her legs won't hold her anymore.
You sit down next to her. Don't say anything. Just let her laugh. Eventually, she calms down. Wipes her face with the back of her hand, which doesn't help because her hand is just as wet as her face.
"How do you feel?" you ask.
"A little better," she admits. "Not fixed. But... lighter, maybe.”
"That's the magic of screaming into the void," you say. "I should start charging for this."
Jimin snorts. "Please don't."
"Fine. Free screaming sessions for you. Special discount." You stand up. Offer her your hand. "Come on," you say. "Let's walk around the lake. The path goes all the way around if you follow it. Takes about an hour." She takes your hand. Lets you pull her to her feet. Doesn't let go immediately, and neither do you.
"An hour in this rain?" she asks.
"We're already soaked. Can't get any wetter."
"That's not technically true."
"Are you always this pedantic?"
"Are you always this impulsive?"
"Yes," you say. "You better get used to it.” You start walking. She falls into step beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. The rain keeps falling. The wind keeps blowing. Neither of you talks much. Just walks. Breathes. Exists in the same space.
The path curves around the eastern edge of the lake, narrowing where the trees press closer, their branches heavy with rain. Your sneakers make obscene squelching sounds with every step, and you've given up trying to keep your socks dry. That battle was lost about twenty minutes ago. "Have you thought about what you'll do?" Jimin asks suddenly. "If things don't work out?"
You glance at her. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She hesitates. Kicks at a pebble on the path. "I know it's going to work out. Everything will be fine. But hypothetically. If it doesn't. Have you thought about it?" She pauses again. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
You consider deflecting. Making a joke. Changing the subject. That's what you usually do when conversations get too close to the things you don't want to look at. But you don’t.
"There's a very good chance I'm going to end up completely screwed," you say. "Like, financially devastated. Career over. Reputation destroyed. The whole thing. I still have my family, technically. My father would probably let me crawl back. He'd love that, actually. His disappointing son finally admitting defeat. Finally proving that he was right all along, that I was too young, too arrogant, too stupid to run a company… That's the worst part, honestly. Not the money. Not the failure. The thought of looking him in the eye and seeing that smug expression. That 'I told you so' face he's been waiting years to make."
"Would you go back? To your family?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably." You shrug. "Or maybe I'd just do what rich guys who lose everything always do in this situation." Jimin's head snaps toward you. Her eyes narrow. "I'm kidding," you say quickly. "That was a joke. Dark humor. Bad timing." She keeps staring at you. "Mostly kidding," you murmur under your breath.
"That's not funny."
"I know. Sorry." You clear your throat. "Okay, real answer. Plan B. If everything falls apart and I can't face my father and I don't want to do anything... dramatic. I move into this house permanently. Live off the land. Become one with nature."
Jimin's expression shifts from concern to skepticism. "You?"
"Me."
"Living off nature?"
"Why not?"
"You don't seem like the type who could survive out here for more than a week. You probably don't even know how to start a fire without a lighter."
"I absolutely do. I watched a YouTube video once. Have you seen that movie? Into the Wild? About a guy who gives up everything and goes to live in the wilderness. That could be me. I'm basically the same. Trust fund baby, disillusioned with society, seeking meaning in the natural world."
"Didn't he die at the end?"
"Yeah, but that's not the point."
Jimin snorts. "I think that's exactly the point."
"The point is that I would adapt. I'm very adaptable. Give me a few months out here and I'd be hunting my own food, building my own shelter, communing with the wildlife." You gesture grandly at the surrounding forest. "In a few years, I'd be able to take on a bear. Hand-to-hand combat. Mano a mano."
"You'd be mincemeat," Jimin says flatly. "A bear would destroy you in about three seconds."
"Three seconds is a bit of an exaggeration."
"It's realistic. You'd see a bear up close and you'd wet your pants before it even touched you."
"Excuse me?” Resting your palm over your heart, you arch an offended brow. “You clearly don't know who you're talking to. I'm incredibly brave. Fearless, even. Ask anyone."
"I'm asking you, and you're lying."
"I am not lying. I have faced many dangerous situations in my life and emerged victorious every single time."
Jimin rolls her eyes. "Name one."
"I once killed a spider in my apartment that was the size of my hand."
"That doesn't count."
"It absolutely counts. That spider was a monster. It looked at me with malice in its eyes. I had to use a shoe and everything."
"You're proving my point."
"I am not. The point is that when properly prepared, mentally and physically, there is no animal on this earth that could scare me. I am a fortress of courage. An unshakeable pillar of—"
Something leaps out of the underbrush. It happens fast. A blur of movement, a flash of wet green, something small and quick launching itself toward your legs. You scream. It's high-pitched and utterly devoid of the courage you were just bragging about. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, jerking backward, feet scrambling for purchase on the muddy path. Your left foot slides. Your right foot tries to compensate. Neither succeeds. You go down hard, ass-first into the mud with a wet, squelching thud.
The frog that caused this catastrophe hops away into the grass, completely unbothered. For a moment, you just sit there. Stunned. Covered in mud from the waist down, rain pouring onto your face, trying to process what just happened. Then Jimin starts laughing.
Not a polite chuckle. Not a restrained giggle. Full-body, doubled-over, tears-streaming laughter that shakes her entire frame. She's pointing at you, like a child who just witnessed the funniest thing in the history of comedy. "I was caught off guard, by the way," you say, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "That's not fair. That doesn't count." She laughs harder, completely at your expense. “It could have been anything. A snake. A raccoon. A small bear." Jimin is wheezing now, bent over with her hands on her knees, struggling to breathe through the laughter. "This is a serious situation. I could have been badly hurt. I could have broken a leg. An arm. My spine.”
"Your face," she gasps out between laughs. "You should have seen your face."
"What about my face?"
"The fear." She straightens up slightly, mimics an exaggerated expression of horror. "Like you'd seen death itself."
"It was a large frog."
"It was a tiny frog."
"Size is relative." She dissolves into laughter again. You sit there in the mud, rain soaking through the seat of your pants, watching Yu Jimin, Karina of aespa, international superstar, laugh at you like you're the funniest thing she's ever seen. You should be annoyed. But you're smiling. You can't help it. Because she looks alive right now, alive in a way she hasn't since you met her."This is incredibly rude," you say. "I'm injured and traumatized and you're mocking me in Dolby Atmos. You're creating psychological damage in real time. Karina, my favorite idol, the woman I have supported since debut, is actively ridiculing me in my moment of weakness."
"I'm sorry," she says, still laughing. "I'm so sorry, it's just—it was so funny—you screamed like—"
"I did not scream."
"You absolutely screamed."
"I'm filing a complaint with your company."
She wipes tears from her eyes, still grinning. "I really am sorry. But I can't stop picturing it. The frog jumping and you just—" She mimes falling backward, makes a ridiculous sound effect.
"Are you done?" you ask. "Are you finished mocking me? Because I'm sitting in a puddle of mud and my dignity is hanging by a thread."
"I'm done." She takes a breath, tries to compose herself. "I'm done. I promise."
"Good." You extend your hand toward her. "Help me up." Jimin steps closer, reaching down. Her fingers wrap around yours.
You pull.
She yelps as her feet slide out from under her, balance completely gone, and then she's falling, landing in the mud beside you with a splat that sends brown water splattering across both of you. For a moment, she just stares at you. Mouth open. Eyes wide. Absolutely covered in mud.
You grin. “Guess the fun’s over, huh?”
"You did not just do that."
"I absolutely did."
"I was trying to help you!"
"Never trust strangers, that’s what they say.”
A slow narrowing of her eyes pins you in place; Okay, maybe you made a big mistake. "You shouldn't have done that," she says quietly.
"What are you going to—"
A handful of mud hits you square in the face. You sputter. Spit out grit. Wipe your eyes.
Jimin is already scooping up another handful, a wicked smile spreading across her face. "Oh no," you say. "No no no. You should not have done that. You have no idea what you've just started." You grab your own handful of mud. Cold and wet and absolutely disgusting. "This is war," you declare.
"Bring it on." She throws. You dodge (mostly). You throw back. She shrieks and retaliates.
And suddenly you're both scrambling in the mud, slipping and sliding and hurling handfuls of wet earth at each other like children. Jimin gets you in the chest. You get her in the shoulder. She tries to run and falls again, and you try to capitalize on her weakness but slip and go down beside her. You're laughing. She's laughing. The rain keeps falling and the mud keeps flying and somewhere in the chaos you lose track of who's winning because it doesn't matter anymore.
Jimin smears mud across your cheek with her palm. You retaliate by dumping a handful directly on top of her head. She gasps in outrage and tackles you, both of you rolling in the mud until you're completely unrecognizable, two brown figures wrestling on the shore of a grey lake while the storm rages overhead.
—
The towel is damp and your hair is still dripping slightly when you emerge from your bedroom, but you've given up on achieving actual dryness. Some battles aren't worth fighting. You're wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. Jimin is in the living room. She's standing by the couch with her own towel draped around her shoulders, running her fingers through wet hair that hangs in dark strands past her collarbone. She's changed into leggings and an oversized sweater. "That was a terrible idea," you say.
She looks up. Nods emphatically. "The worst idea. I spent thirty minutes in the shower trying to get mud out of places mud should never be."
"I found some in my ear. My ear. How does that even happen?"
"You fell face-first into a puddle at one point."
"I was pushed."
"You tripped over your own feet."
"Semantics." You toss your towel over the back of a chair and stretch your arms above your head, feeling your spine pop. "At least we've upgraded our immune systems. All that bacteria exposure has to be good for something."
"That's not how immune systems work."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"Then how would you know?" Jimin rolls her eyes. She finishes squeezing water from her hair and drapes her own towel beside yours. "Are you hungry?" you ask.
"Starving."
"Great. Let's cook something." You head toward the kitchen with purpose, like a man who knows what he's doing. You do not, in fact, know what you're doing. The kitchen is a foreign country and you are an undocumented immigrant with no language skills. Jimin follows you, watching as you open the refrigerator and stare at its contents like they might spontaneously arrange themselves into a meal.
"What are you thinking?" she asks. "Pasta? Stir fry? There's chicken in there, we could do something with that."
"Yes," you say. "One of those. Whichever one requires the least... cooking."
She tilts her head. "Have you ever cooked before?"
"Define 'cooked.'"
"Prepared food using heat and ingredients."
"Then no."
Jimin stares at you. "You've never cooked anything? Ever? In your entire life?"
"I've made toast. Does that count?"
"Toast is not cooking."
"It involves heat. And bread. That's basically the same thing."
"It's really not." She moves past you, gently but firmly shouldering you aside to access the refrigerator. "Okay. I'll cook. You just... stay out of the way."
"I can help."
"No."
"I'm very capable. I run a company. I manage hundreds of employees."
"Can any of those skills fry an egg?"
"I could learn."
"Not tonight." She pulls out chicken, vegetables, a carton of eggs, various bottles and containers whose purposes you can only guess at. "Tonight you sit over there and let me handle this."
You retreat to the kitchen island, hoisting yourself onto one of the stools. "This feels emasculating."
"Good."
"What if I just hand you things? I can be your sous chef. I saw that on a cooking show once."
"You don't know what anything is called."
"I know some things. That's a pan." You point. "That's a spatula. That's..." You squint at a utensil she's holding. "Some kind of... stabbing implement?"
"It's a whisk."
"I was close."
Jimin sets the whisk down and begins organizing ingredients on the counter with efficiency. You watch her work, the way her hands move with confidence, the way she seems to know instinctively where everything should go. "Where did you learn to cook?" you ask.
"My mom. And necessity." She cracks eggs into a bowl, one-handed, smooth. "When I was a trainee, we didn't have money for delivery every night. If you wanted to eat something that wasn't instant ramen, you had to make it yourself."
"That sounds rough."
"It was fine. I like cooking, actually. It's relaxing." She glances at you. "When I'm not being watched by someone who doesn't know what a whisk is."
"I know what a whisk is now. You just told me."
"Do you want to try?"
"Try what?"
She holds out the whisk. "Beating the eggs. It's simple. Even you can't mess it up." You slide off the stool and take the whisk from her hand. The bowl of cracked eggs sits on the counter, yellow yolks floating in clear viscous liquid. You stick the whisk in and start moving it around. "Not like that," Jimin says immediately.
"What's wrong with this?"
"You're stirring. You need to beat. Like this." She steps closer, her hand closing over yours on the whisk handle. Her fingers are warm. "Faster. In a circular motion. You're incorporating air, not just mixing." You try to follow her guidance. The eggs slosh around in the bowl, looking more or less the same as before. "You're hopeless," she says, but she's smiling.
"I told you. I'm a businessman, not a chef."
"Most businessmen can still feed themselves."
"You’re so cruel sometimes."
She takes the whisk back, bumping you out of the way with her hip. "Go sit down. You're a hazard."
You return to your stool, watching as she takes over the egg-beating with movements that are quick and sure. Within seconds, the eggs are transformed into a uniform yellow mixture. "Show-off," you mutter.
"Competence isn't showing off."
"It is when you do it that fast."
The cooking continues. Jimin moves around the kitchen like she owns it, heating pans, chopping vegetables, seasoning things with pinches of this and dashes of that. You try to help twice more. The first time, you're assigned to wash vegetables and somehow manage to spray water all over the counter and yourself. The second time, you're asked to stir something on the stove and immediately turn the heat up too high, nearly burning the contents. "Out," Jimin says after the second incident. "Get out of my kitchen."
"Hey, it's technically my kitchen."
"Not anymore. I'm annexing it. This is my territory now."
You raise your hands in surrender and retreat to the living room, collapsing onto the couch. The rain continues outside while the house feels warm and enclosed. Forty minutes later, Jimin emerges with two plates. Some kind of rice dish with vegetables and chicken, topped with a fried egg. It smells incredible.
"This looks amazing," you say, accepting your plate.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"I'm not surprised. I'm impressed." You eat on the couch, plates balanced on your laps, the rain providing ambient soundtrack. The food is good. Really good. Possibly the best thing you've eaten in weeks, though that might be the hunger talking. "This is incredible," you say around a mouthful.
"Chew first. Compliment later."
"I can do both."
Jimin snorts and focuses on her own plate. After dinner (you handle dishes, since it's the one task you can manage without supervision), the evening stretches out ahead with nothing particular to fill it. The storm shows no signs of stopping. Your MacBook sits on the coffee table where you left it earlier, the screen dark, full of emails you don't want to read and spreadsheets you don't want to look at.
"Movie?" you suggest.
"Sure."
You scroll through the streaming options, arguing amiably about genres (she wants something light; you suggest a psychological thriller just to see her reaction) before settling on a comedy neither of you has seen. It's mediocre. You spend half of it making sarcastic commentary and the other half distracted by work, pulling the MacBook onto your lap to respond to emails that can't wait while Jimin curls up on the other end of the couch with a blanket she found in the closet. At some point, you look up from a particularly frustrating spreadsheet and realize two hours have passed. The movie is over. The credits are rolling. Jimin is fighting to keep her eyes open, head tilting dangerously toward the armrest.
"Hey." You close the laptop. "Bedtime."
She blinks. Straightens. "I wasn't sleeping."
"You were about to."
"I was resting my eyes."
"Sure." You both stand. Stretch. The house has grown quiet around you, just the rain and the occasional creak of old wood settling. The hallway to the bedrooms is dim, lit only by the light spilling from the living room behind you. You stop at your door. She stops at hers. Directly across the hall, maybe six feet apart. "I should warn you," you say, keeping your expression completely neutral. "There was a murder in this house."
Jimin's hand freezes on her door handle. "What?"
"Years ago. A whole family. They say the killer was never caught."
Her eyes narrow. "You're lying."
"I'm completely serious. So if you hear footsteps in the night, or see shadows moving, or feel something cold touch your shoulder while you're sleeping..."
"Stop."
"Just stay in your room. Don't investigate. That's how people die in horror movies. They hear a noise and they go toward it instead of away from it."
Jimin points at you. "If I can't sleep tonight because of this, I'm blaming you."
"Blame me all you want. I'll be in my room. Behind a locked door. Safe from the vengeful spirits that roam these halls."
"There are no vengeful spirits."
"That's what they want you to think."
She opens her door, shaking her head. "You're the worst."
"I know." You lean against your own doorframe. "Hey. Jimin." She pauses. Looks back at you. "I'm happy you're here," you say. "Today was strange. And wet. And I'm probably going to find mud in weird places for the next week. But it was also... nice. Really nice."
"Yeah," she says quietly. "It was."
"So. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
You both just stand there for a second. Across the hall from each other, maybe six feet of space that feels like more. Neither of you moves. Then you step inside. Close the door. Lean back against it and just... breathe. The room's dark. Quiet. Empty. And you're thinking about today. About laughter and mud flying everywhere and screaming at a fucking lake until your throat hurt. About all of it.
You fall asleep easier than you have in months. No nightmares about board meetings or bankruptcy or watching everything crumble. Just sleep. Real sleep.
—
Morning takes its sweet time arriving, dragging itself through that grey half-light that seeps past the curtains. The rain's still going. Actually, scratch that, it's gotten worse overnight, upgraded from steady downpour to something that sounds like the lake house is under siege. The idea of leaving this bed, of exposing yourself to the cold air outside these blankets? That's asking a lot. That's asking for genuine courage. You stay put for a while. Just lying there with eyes tracing invisible patterns on the ceiling, letting the sound of the storm fill the space where thoughts should be.
Eventually, hunger wins out over laziness.
The kitchen smells like coffee when you shuffle in, still wearing the sweatpants and hoodie you slept in. Jimin is already there, perched on one of the stools at the island, both hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She's cocooned in blankets, layers of them draped over her shoulders and pooling around her on the stool, so only her face and fingers are visible. She looks ridiculous. She looks cozy. She looks unfairly cute for someone who's essentially transformed herself into a human burrito.
You grab a mug from the cabinet, pour yourself coffee from the pot she's already made, and lean against the counter. "Good morning."
"Morning." Her response is muffled, half-swallowed by a yawn.
"How'd you sleep?"
She takes a sip of coffee. Doesn't meet your eyes. "Not great."
Guilt flickers through you. "Look, I'm sorry about the murderer thing. I was just messing around. I didn't think it would actually keep you up."
"It wasn't that."
"No?"
"No."
You wait for her to elaborate. She doesn't. "Okay," you say, letting it go. Pushing won't help. You've learned that much about her in the short time you've known each other. "So what do you want to do today? I was thinking we could walk through the woods when the rain lets up. There are some trails behind the house that go pretty deep."
Jimin nods slowly. "That sounds good."
"Cool." You take a long drink of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through your chest. "What do you want for breakfast?"
She looks up at you. "You're not cooking."
"I could try."
"You'd burn the house down."
"That's a slight exaggeration."
"Is it? You almost set fire to the stove last night stirring vegetables."
"That was a learning experience."
"For everyone involved." She slides off the stool, blankets still wrapped around her like a cape, and starts moving toward the refrigerator. "I'll cook. Just tell me what you want."
"You don't have to. I can figure something out. There's probably cereal or something."
Jimin fixes you with a look. "If I don't cook for you, you'll starve. You literally cannot feed yourself. I've seen the evidence."
There's no arguing with that. You sigh. "Fine. Eggs? And toast. Whatever's easiest."
"Eggs and toast it is." She cooks. You stay out of her way, nursing your coffee and watching from a safe distance. The kitchen fills with the smell of butter and browning bread, domestic and warm, and you think about how strange this is. How comfortable. How much it feels like something that's been happening for years instead of hours. After breakfast, you head to the bathroom to clean up. You're standing at the sink, face covered in shaving foam, razor in hand, when Jimin appears in the doorway.
"I found new raincoats," she says, holding up two plastic-wrapped packages. "These ones actually look like they might fit. They were in the hall closet, buried under a bunch of—" She stops. Stares at your face. "You look like Santa Claus."
You glance at yourself in the mirror. The white foam does cover most of your lower face, spreading from cheek to cheek and down your neck. "Ho ho ho."
"That's disturbing. Never do that again."
"What, shave? I'll just grow a beard. Become a mountain man. Really commit to the living-off-the-land thing."
"Please don't." She steps into the bathroom, setting the raincoats on the counter. "Do you want help?"
You pause mid-stroke. "With shaving?"
"There are spots you can't see. The angle's weird." She holds out her hand. "Give me the razor."
"Have you ever done this before?"
"No."
"That's incredibly reassuring. Thank you. I feel very safe."
"Shut up and give me the razor." You hand it over. She moves closer, positioning herself in front of you, one hand coming up to tilt your chin toward the light. "Stay still," she instructs.
"If you cut my throat, I'm going to haunt you forever."
"Then don't move and you'll be fine." She brings the razor to your cheek. Draws it down in a slow, careful stroke, leaving smooth skin in its wake. Rinses the blade. Repeats. You hold very still.
It's strange, having someone this close to your face. Strange having someone else's hands on you like this, performing such an ordinary task with such focused attention. Jimin's brow is furrowed in concentration, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she navigates the curve of your jaw. "Tilt your head back," she says softly. You comply. She works on your neck, the blade gliding over your Adam's apple, and you're acutely aware of how much trust this requires. How vulnerable you are right now. One wrong move and she could open your jugular.
She doesn't make any wrong moves. "Turn this way." She guides your chin to the left. "I'm getting the sideburns."
"I didn't ask for sideburn maintenance."
"You're getting it anyway. They were uneven."
"They were not."
"They absolutely were. The left one was at least a centimeter longer than the right. It was bothering me."
"You were analyzing my sideburns?"
"I was trying not to stare at the Santa Claus foam beard. The sideburns were the only safe place to look." She finishes the left side, moves to the right. Her face is very close to yours now, close enough that you can see the faint freckle near her left eyebrow. "There." She steps back, surveying her work. "Done."
You turn to the mirror. Your face is smooth, cleanly shaved, better than you usually manage on your own. She got the spots you always miss, the tricky angles under your jaw, the patch near your ear that always gives you trouble. "Not bad," you admit.
"Not bad? That's perfect. I should quit being an idol and become a barber."
"The pay's probably worse."
"But the hours are better."
You splash water on your face, rinse away the last traces of foam. When you straighten up, Jimin is still there, watching you in the mirror. It's the most intimate thing you've experienced in a long time. A girl shaving your face. It shouldn't feel like much. But it does. "Thanks," you say.
She smiles. Just a little. "You're welcome."
The rain tapers off around noon, fading from downpour to drizzle to a fine mist. Good enough. You grab a small backpack from the hall closet, throw in a flashlight (the woods get dark even on bright days, and today is anything but), some bottles of water and some food (snacks). Jimin wears one of the new raincoats, forest green this time, properly fitted. You take the other one, navy blue.
The trail starts behind the house, a narrow dirt path that winds into the trees. Your footsteps are muffled by fallen leaves, soft sounds that disappear into the vastness of the forest. For a while, neither of you speaks. Just walks. The silence is comfortable, companionable, broken only by birdsong and the drip of water from branches overhead. "This is absurd," you say eventually.
Jimin glances at you. "What is?"
"This. Us. Two strangers walking through a forest in the middle of nowhere. Alone. And it feels... normal. Like we've been doing this for years."
She's quiet for a moment. Considering. "I feel really comfortable," she admits. "Being here. With you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She steps over a fallen branch, her raincoat rustling. "You don't ask questions."
"I ask plenty of questions."
"Not the ones I don't want to answer." She looks at you sideways. "I like that about you. You let me have my silence. You don't push."
"I push sometimes."
"Not really. Not about the important things." She pulls her hood up against the mist. "Most people, when they find out someone's struggling, they want to fix it. They want to give advice, offer solutions, tell you it's going to be okay. They mean well, but it's exhausting. It makes you feel like your pain is a problem to be solved instead of just... experienced."
You nod slowly. "I get that."
"Do you?"
"Yeah." You kick a pinecone off the trail, watch it roll into the underbrush. "I understand you completely. We're alike, you and me."
Jimin raises an eyebrow. "We're nothing alike."
"We're very alike. I don't have hair as beautiful as yours, obviously. That's unfair. Genetics failed me there. But inside..." You tap your chest. "In here. We're similar. Same kind of broken. Same kind of lost."
She doesn't respond immediately. The trail curves ahead, winding between two massive oaks whose branches interlock overhead like fingers. "You say you know what I'm going through," she says finally. "How? How could you know?"
"Because I've seen it before."
"Seen what?"
"Someone losing themselves. Forgetting who they are underneath everything else. Getting so caught up in what everyone expects them to be that they can't remember what they actually want."
Jimin stops walking. Turns to face you fully. "Who? Who did you see that with?"
You study her face. The curiosity there, the hunger for understanding. She wants to know. Needs to know, maybe, because she's hoping your answer will tell her something about herself.
You smile. "I'll answer that."
"Okay."
"If you can catch me."
Her expression shifts. Confusion first, then realization. "What do you mean?"
You point ahead, where the trail opens into a small clearing and, beyond it, the dark mouth of a cave carved into a rocky hillside. "There's a cave over there. If you get there before me, I'll tell you everything."
"That's not fair. You have longer legs."
"Then you'd better start running." You take off down the trail.
"Wait!" Jimin shouts. "That's cheating! You didn't even count down!"
You don't wait. You just bolt.
Behind you, Jimin curses, and then you hear her footsteps pounding after you. She's fast. Way faster than you expected for someone having an existential crisis. The forest blurs into streaks of green, brown and grey, mist hitting your face, and you're laughing. Actually fucking laughing, breathless and stupid, running through the woods like you're ten years old again.
She's gaining on you. You can hear her breathing, hear her laughing too. "I'm catching you!" she yells. "And then you're telling me everything!"
"Gotta earn it first!"
The cave's getting closer. Trees thinning out. Your legs are burning but you push harder.
You run. Then a duck happens. A goddamn duck.
It explodes out of the bushes with this aggressive-ass quack, wings flapping everywhere, and you stumble sideways. Your foot catches a root. Your momentum dies instantly. By the time you catch yourself, Jimin's already blown past you at a speed that would make Olympic sprinters jealous.
She touches the rock face with her palm, spins around, and throws her arms up in victory. "I won!"
You stagger up behind her, hands on your knees, gasping for air. "That doesn't count. There was a duck."
"A duck?"
"It attacked me."
"It quacked at you. From ten feet away."
"Aggressively. It quacked aggressively." You straighten up, pressing a hand to your side where a stitch is forming. “You’d be surprised how many people get killed by ducks every year. Absolute menaces. Anyway, I demand a rematch."
"No way. I won fair and square." She's breathing hard too, cheeks flushed from the run. "You owe me answers now."
"Fine." You gesture toward the cave mouth: a dark opening in the hillside about eight feet wide and maybe six feet tall. "But let's go inside first. I want to show you something." You click on the flashlight and lead the way in. The cave isn't deep, maybe thirty feet before it narrows to nothing, but the ceiling is high enough to stand comfortably, and the walls are dry despite the rain outside. "I used to play here with my cousins," you say, sweeping the flashlight beam across the walls. "When we were kids. We'd pretend it was a fortress. A pirate hideout. A secret base for our spy operations."
The light catches something on the far wall. Scribbles. Crude drawings scratched into the rock with sharp stones. Stick figures with oversized heads. A wobbly boat on wavy lines that might be water. Names and initials surrounded by hearts, the kind of thing kids carve when they're young enough to think love is simple.
"Cave paintings," Jimin says softly.
"Our contribution to human artistic history." You trace the flashlight over a terrible rendition of what might be a dog or possibly a horse. "I made that one. I was seven. I thought it was a masterpiece."
"What is it supposed to be?"
"A dragon."
She squints at it. "I don't see it."
"Yeah, nobody ever did."
You set the backpack down near the wall and lower yourself to the ground, your back against the stone. The floor is cold through your pants, but not unbearably so. You unzip the bag and start pulling out its contents. Snacks. Lots of them. Chips in various flavors, chocolate bars, gummy candies, dried fruit, the honey butter cookies she mentioned loving during some variety show you watched. You spread them out between you like a picnic.
Jimin settles down across from you, cross-legged, eyes widening as she takes in the selection. "You packed all of this?"
"I figured we might get hungry."
"These are all my favorites."
"Are they? Weird coincidence."
She gives you a look that says she knows exactly what you did, but she doesn't call you out on it. Just reaches for the honey butter cookies and tears open the package. "Okay," she says, chewing. "I won. Tell me everything."
You pick up a chocolate bar. Unwrap it slowly. Take a bite, letting the silence stretch.
"You've been an idol since you were young," you say. "Trainee years, debut, all of it. You were, what, sixteen when you started? Seventeen?"
"Around there."
"No one that young is prepared for what you went through. What you're still going through." You break off another piece of chocolate. "I'm not saying this to be mean. I'm saying it because it's true. If I had been in your position at that age, I would have cracked a lot sooner than you did. The routine. The pressure. The cameras, the fans, the expectations. And on top of all that, there's this persona you have to maintain. Karina. This perfect, polished version of yourself that exists for public consumption. But that's not really you, is it? That's a character. A role you play." She's very still now. The cookie in her hand forgotten. "And then there's Jimin. The real you. The person underneath the makeup and the choreography and the carefully managed public image. The girl who likes honey butter cookies and doesn't know how to fish and laughs until she cries when someone falls in mud."
A tiny smile flickers at the corner of her mouth. Gone almost immediately.
"The problem is, you have to switch between them constantly. Jimin at home, Karina on stage, Jimin with friends, Karina in interviews. Back and forth, over and over, every single day. And I can imagine..." You pause, choosing your words carefully. "I can imagine there comes a point where the switching gets exhausting. Where it starts to feel pointless. Why bother going back to being Jimin if tomorrow you'll just have to be Karina again? Why not just stay Karina all the time? It's easier. It's simpler. It's what everyone wants anyway." Jimin's hands have tightened around the cookie package. The plastic crinkles. "So you do that. You stay Karina. For days, weeks, months. You let Jimin fade into the background because it's just too hard to keep pulling her back. And then one day, you need her. Something happens and you need to be yourself, really yourself, and you reach for Jimin and she's not there." You meet her eyes. "You can't find your way back. You look in the mirror and you don't recognize the person staring at you. You don't know who you are anymore. What you want. What you're supposed to be."
"How do you know all that?" Jimin whispers.
"Because I've been there. I've watched it happen." You take another bite of chocolate, chew slowly. "To myself."
"You?"
"Me. Different circumstances, same result." You lean your head back against the stone. "My job requires me to be someone I'm not. All the time. I deal with people I can't stand, people who are shallow and greedy and only care about money. And I smile at them. I shake their hands, I laugh at their jokes, I pretend to be one of them because that's what the job demands. That's how you survive in my world."
"That sounds awful."
"It is. But I got good at it. Too good. I wore the mask so often that I forgot what my real face looked like underneath." You pause. "There was a period, maybe two years ago, where I genuinely couldn't tell the difference anymore. Between the person I was pretending to be and the person I actually was. I'd lost myself completely. But that's what I am… Underneath all the pretending. I'm just a guy who likes going into caves to eat snacks with strangers." You gesture at the space around you, at her. "A stranger who happens to be the it girl of Korea. Which is kind of surreal, honestly. But here we are."
You reach over and tap her shoulder gently with your knuckles.
"You'll find your way back to who you are. I know you will. But here's the thing." You hold her gaze. "You're the one who creates it. You're the one who decides who Jimin is. Not SM, not the fans, not the media. You. And if you don't know who that is right now, that's okay. You get to figure it out. You get to make it up as you go."
"How?" She asks with evident desperation. "I'm so lost. Every day I feel less and less like a real person. Like I'm fading away and no one notices because Karina is still there, performing, smiling, doing all the things she's supposed to do. But inside there's just... nothing."
"Then start with nothing." You open a bag of jelly beans and offer it to her. "What do you want right now? In this exact moment?"
"I don't know."
"Do you want to be on stage?"
"No."
"Do you want to be in Seoul?"
"No."
"Do you want to be anywhere other than this cave, eating snacks with a guy you barely know?"
She hesitates. Thinks about it. "No."
"Then you already have what you want. Right now, in this moment, you want nothing. You want to just... exist. Without expectations. Without pressure. And look." You spread your arms. "You're in a cave in the middle of nowhere. That's pretty close to nothing. That's about as far from Karina as you can get." She takes a jelly bean. Red one. Pops it in her mouth. "Tomorrow you might want something different," you continue. "The day after that, something else. And that's fine. That's how it's supposed to work. You don't have to figure out your entire identity in one afternoon. You just have to find the will to keep looking. To keep hoping that the pieces will eventually fit together." You shrug. "That's how we survive. One day at a time. One want at a time."
Jimin chews slowly. Swallows. Reaches for another jelly bean.
"But here's the important part," you say, and your tone shifts, becomes more serious. "Don't go alone. You have people who love you. Family, friends, the other members. People who care about Jimin, not just Karina. Let them help you."
"They wouldn't understand."
"Maybe not perfectly. But they'd try." You pause. "And if you really can't bring yourself to turn to them, then turn to me. I'm just a stranger. A shadow that passed through your life at some random point. Sometimes that's all we need. Someone with no expectations, no history, no stake in who you're supposed to be."
She looks at you. "A shadow?"
"Yeah." You pick at the wrapper of your chocolate bar. "That's what I am. Empty. No form of my own. I just darken the people around me. Cast gloom wherever I go."
"That's not true."
"It's a little true. Ask anyone who works for me." You smile, but it's thin. "But with you... I want to be different. I want to be the kind of shadow you can hide behind. A place where nothing can reach you. Where no one can touch you or demand anything from you." You meet her eyes. "For as long as you want. However long you need. You can stay hidden behind me, and I'll keep everything else out."
Jimin doesn't say anything for a long time. Processing. You let her have that moment. Until finally she asks: "What am I to you? If you're a shadow, what does that make me?"
You think about it. The question deserves a real answer.
"The moon," you say.
"The moon?"
"Right now, you feel distant. Untouchable. Like you're a million miles away from everyone, even from yourself. And maybe you feel like your light has gone out. Like whatever used to make you shine has faded. But you're still shining. Even if you don't realize it. It's softer now, yeah. Quieter. But it's there. I can see it." You gesture at her. "And I like it. I like this glow better, honestly. It's not blinding. It's not overwhelming. It's the kind of light that enhances things. That makes the darkness easier to bear... The night we met, you were like a girl sitting on the moon. So far away. So alone. But even then, you were beautiful. Even crying on that bench, you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen." You laugh quietly. "And after that, I went back to that same bench every night for a week. Just sat there by myself, hoping you'd appear again. Like a complete idiot."
When you look at Jimin, there are tears in her eyes. "Hey." You lean forward, concerned. "Are you okay? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry, I talk too much when I'm nervous, I didn't mean to—"
"How can you be so stupid and so intelligent at the same time?" she interrupts.
You pause. "I... don't know if I should be flattered or offended by that."
"Both." A tear spills over, tracking down her cheek. She wipes it away impatiently with the back of her hand. "Be both."
"Okay. I'll work on that."
She laughs, wet and shaky, and takes another handful of jelly beans. "Thank you. For saying all of that. I liked it. Even if it made me cry like an idiot."
"Crying doesn't make you an idiot. Punching mirrors makes you an idiot. You're fine." She laughs. A real one this time, not that sad half-laugh from before, and reaches for the honey butter cookies. So here's the thing about dumping all your feelings in a cave: afterward, it just gets quiet. Not weird quiet. Just regular quiet. You're sitting there with the flashlight between you, surrounded by empty chip bags and candy wrappers, staring at the dumb drawings you scratched into the rock as a kid. Neither of you says anything. Neither of you needs to.
But you can't sit here forever. At some point, you start cleaning up. Grabbing wrappers, shoving empty bags into the backpack. You're kind of obsessive about it, actually - checking every corner, making sure you get every piece of trash, every crumb.
"You're very thorough," Jimin observes, watching you hunt down a stray chocolate wrapper that's trying to escape into a crevice.
"Mother Nature and I have an understanding. I don't pollute her forests, she doesn't send bears to maul me in my sleep."
"I don't think that's how ecology works."
"I prefer not to test the theory."
The backpack zipped, you stand and stretch, feeling your spine crack in several places that probably shouldn't crack. The cave has gotten colder, or maybe you've just noticed it now that you're not distracted by existential conversations about identity and moonlight. "We should head back," you say. "I fancy some hot chocolate."
Jimin rises to her feet, brushing dirt from her raincoat. "By that, you mean you want me to make you hot chocolate."
"What? No. I can make hot chocolate myself. I'm not completely helpless."
She tilts her head and studies you… Yeah, she's definitely reviewing the evidence of the past thirty-six hours. "I find myself unfortunately skeptical," she says.
The honest truth is that she's probably right. Hot chocolate involves heating milk, which involves using the stove, which involves not setting things on fire. Your track record in that department is not encouraging. "Well," you say, with as much dignity as you can muster, "perhaps I'll supervise while you demonstrate the proper technique."
"Supervise."
"Offer moral support. Quality control. That sort of thing."
The corner of her mouth twitches. She doesn't argue further. You're about to head toward the cave entrance when Jimin goes still. Her eyes fix on something just past your shoulder. Then she steps toward you. Close. Very close.
Your heart immediately races. Your brain, helpful as ever, immediately begins cataloguing the distance between your mouth and hers (approximately four inches), the angle of her face (tilted slightly upward), and the probable softness of her lips (considerable, based on visual evidence). She's going to kiss you, you think. Or possibly you're going to kiss her. Someone is going to kiss someone, that much seems certain, and you should probably—
Her hand reaches past your shoulder and taps you lightly on the back.
"Spider," she says.
You nearly leave your skin.
What emerges from your mouth is not a word, exactly. More of a strangled yelp. You jerk away from her, spinning around, your hands doing that frantic brushing motion that accomplishes nothing except making you look like you're having some sort of episode. "Where?! Where is it?! Is it on me?! Is it still on me?!"
"It's gone," she says, giggling. "I flicked it off. Relax, it was just a small one."
"Small spiders are the most dangerous ones. Everyone knows that. The smaller the spider, the more concentrated the venom."
"That's not scientifically accurate."
"I don't care about accuracy, I care about not dying."
She's properly laughing now, the same bright unrestrained sound you heard during the mud fight. It's a good sound. You'd be enjoying it more if you weren't still vibrating with residual panic. "You're like a frightened kitten," she says. "So tough about bears, but one tiny spider and you completely fall apart."
"I am not a frightened kitten. A spider the size of a frisbee would scare anyone."
"It was the size of my fingernail."
"Size is irrelevant. Deadliness is what matters."
She eyes you with amusement, smiling. "Why are you so red?"
Ah. Yes. That would be the blood that rushed to your face approximately thirty seconds ago when you thought you were about to be kissed. The blood that's still there, betraying you, making your cheeks feel like they're radiating heat. "Allergic reaction," you say immediately. "To the spider. My skin is extremely sensitive. Delicate, really. Like a Victorian-era duchess. I've always had this condition."
Jimin's eyebrow rises slowly. She doesn't look even slightly convinced. "A Victorian-era duchess, huh?"
"Yes. It's genetic." You rub your hands together, partly because they actually are cold and partly because you need something to do that isn't looking directly at her face while lying badly about the source of your blush. "It's colder than I expected," you say, desperate to change the subject. "I'm genuinely surprised neither of us got hypothermia yesterday. All that rolling around in the mud. Very irresponsible, in retrospect."
Jimin watches you fumble for another moment. Then, without ceremony, she reaches out and takes your hand. Her fingers interlock with yours. Palm to palm. A simple gesture, completely natural. At least, that’s how Jimin makes it look. "Come on," she says. "Let's go back. I'll warm your hand on the way." A pause. "No running this time."
What needs to be understood about this moment is that you are, fundamentally, not a person who holds hands. You're not a person who does casual physical intimacy. In your experience, touch is either transactional (handshakes, back-pats) or romantic (which requires intention and buildup and usually alcohol). This middle ground, this easy, uncomplicated contact, is foreign territory.
And yet… "Okay," you murmur.
Her hand is small in yours. Delicate in a way that makes you hyperaware of your own roughness, the calluses on your palm from gym equipment you barely use anymore, the healing scars across your knuckles from your ill-advised confrontation with interior glass. Her fingers are cool at first, but they warm quickly, or maybe your hand warms them, or maybe the warmth is coming from somewhere else entirely. You walk out of the cave together. The rain has stopped completely now, leaving the forest dripping and fresh, every surface gleaming with moisture. The path back to the house stretches through the trees, dappled with grey light, and you follow it slowly. No running. No racing. Just walking, side by side, hands clasped between you.
Neither of you says much. There's nothing that needs saying.
—
Later that night, the house has settled into that particular brand of quiet that only exists in remote places. No traffic noise, no neighbours, no ambient hum of civilization. Just the creak of old wood, the whisper of wind against windows, and the distant rumble of thunder from a storm that's circling somewhere beyond the mountains. Jimin is yawning in the hallway, dressed in pajamas that are somehow both sensible and unfairly attractive. Soft cotton, pale blue, slightly too long in the sleeves. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, still slightly damp from whatever evening routine she's completed, and she looks like someone who's ready to surrender to unconsciousness.
"Goodnight," she says, her hand on her bedroom door.
"Goodnight," you reply.
She opens the door. Steps inside. You follow her. She turns, eyebrow rising in that way you're beginning to recognize as her default expression of mild incredulity. "What are you doing?"
"Coming in."
"I can see that. Why?"
You move past her into the room, which is tidier than you expected. Her suitcase sits in the corner, mostly unpacked. A sweater draped over the chair. The bed turned down, waiting.
"I thought I'd keep you company," you say. "Until you fall asleep."
"I'm not a child."
"I never said you were."
"Then why do you think I need someone to tuck me in?"
You're not looking at her. You're scanning the bookshelf built into the wall near the window, running your fingers along spines that haven't been touched in years. Children's books, mostly. Relics from a time when this room hosted cousins and nieces and nephews, when the house was full of noise and laughter instead of dust and silence. "You said you didn't sleep well last night," you say, still searching. "And you wouldn't tell me why." Jimin is silent. "I'm not asking you to tell me now, either. But I thought..." You find what you're looking for and pull it from the shelf. "I thought this might help."
She stares at the book in your hands. It's thin, the cover worn soft with age, illustrated with a girl in a blue dress and three bears of varying sizes. "Goldilocks," she says flatly.
"A classic of Western literature."
"You want to read me Goldilocks."
"My grandmother used to read it to me when I was small. When I couldn't sleep. When things felt too big and too scary." You turn the book over in your hands, tracing the faded illustration on the back. "I'm not saying it'll work for you. But it can't hurt to try."
Thunder rumbles outside. The windows rattle faintly in their frames. "This is absurd," she says.
"Probably."
"You're going to sit there and read me a children's story."
"That's the plan."
"Like I'm five years old."
"I won't judge your age. I'm barely functional myself."
She hesitates for another moment. Then, with a sigh that suggests she's humoring you against her better judgment, she climbs into bed. The covers come up to her chin, white duvet swallowing her small frame. You settle onto the edge of the mattress, back against the headboard, book in hand. The lamp on the nightstand casts a warm circle of light, leaving the rest of the room in comfortable shadow.
"Once upon a time," you begin, "there was a little girl named Goldilocks."
"Original name."
"Hush. I'm reading." You clear your throat. "She went for a walk in the forest. Pretty soon, she came upon a house. She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in."
"Breaking and entering."
"It was a different time. Less security-conscious." You turn the page. "At the table in the kitchen, there were three bowls of porridge. Goldilocks was hungry. She tasted the porridge from the first bowl. 'This porridge is too hot!' she exclaimed." Jimin's eyes are on your face now, watching you read with an expression you can't quite decode. "So she tasted the porridge from the second bowl. 'This porridge is too cold,' she said. So she tasted the last bowl of porridge. 'Ahhh, this porridge is just right,' she said happily, and she ate it all up."
You pause. Lower the book slightly.
"Now, here's what I don't understand."
Jimin groans. "Oh no."
"Three bowls of porridge. Same batch, presumably. Made at the same time, served at the same table. How is it possible that one is too hot, one is too cold, and one is just right? They should all be the same temperature."
"It's a children's story."
"I understand that. But the physics don't make sense. Unless—" You hold up a finger. "Unless the bowls are made of different materials with different heat retention properties. Papa Bear's bowl is ceramic, holds heat longer. Mama Bear's bowl is metal, conducts heat away faster. Baby Bear's bowl is wood, perfect insulation."
"You're overthinking this."
You grin and continue reading. The three chairs, the three beds, Goldilocks's continued disregard for personal property. But you can't help yourself. Every few paragraphs, another observation emerges. "Why is Baby Bear's chair so small that it breaks under a child's weight? That's a safety hazard. Someone should report the manufacturer." Jimin pulls the covers over her face. "And another thing. The bears come home and immediately notice the porridge has been disturbed. But they don't smell a human intruder in their house? Bears have exceptional olfactory senses. They should have detected Goldilocks from the moment they walked through the door."
"Please stop."
"I'm just saying, the internal logic—"
"The internal logic is that it's a story for children who don't care about porridge thermodynamics or bear olfaction." Jimin pulls the covers down just enough to glare at you. "Just finish the story. Without commentary. I'm begging you."
"Fine," you say. "No more interruptions."
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart." As promised, you finish the story without any more interruptions. Then you flip to a different book. Little Red Riding Hood. Another classic. "Once upon a time," you begin again, "there lived in a certain village a little country girl..."
This time, you don't interrupt. You read the story the way it's meant to be read, letting the words flow without commentary, without analysis. The girl in the red hood. The path through the woods. The wolf with his clever tongue and hungry eyes. The grandmother's cottage with its strange occupant in the bed.
What big eyes you have. What big ears you have. What big teeth you have.
Jimin's breathing slows. Her body relaxes into the mattress, tension bleeding out of her shoulders. Her eyes grow heavy, then heavier, then finally close. You finish the story anyway. The huntsman, the rescue, the happily ever after. You're not sure if she hears the ending or if she's already drifted too far into sleep to catch it.
You finish the story and close the book. Gentle, so you don't wake her. Set it on the nightstand.
You look at her face in the lamplight. She's out. Her face is completely relaxed. Peaceful. You haven't seen her look like this since you met her.
The rain keeps going outside, but she's dead to the world.
You reach over and turn off the lamp.
—
Morning arrives with the same grey light as yesterday. The same rain. The same cold. Not that you're complaining, really. You’re starting to get used to the place’s melancholic, desolate atmosphere. There’s a bleak, nihilistic charm to it that’s hard to ignore.
Jimin is in the living room when you emerge, curled into the corner of the sofa with a mug clasped between her palms. She's wrapped in that same blanket from yesterday.
You pour yourself coffee from the pot she's made. Take a sip. Let the warmth spread through your chest. "Good morning."
"Morning." She shifts slightly, making room on the sofa, though there's plenty of space already.
"How'd you sleep?" And here's where you expect the usual deflection. The vague answer, the change of subject, the careful maintenance of boundaries. But instead, Jimin tilts her head and actually considers the question.
"Well, actually," she says. "Really well. I didn't wake up exhausted for once."
You settle onto the opposite end of the sofa, mirroring her position. Feet tucked up, body angled toward the centre, a careful distance maintained between.
"The Goldilocks technique," you say. "Scientifically proven to induce restful sleep."
"Or the fact that you read it so slowly I passed out from boredom."
"My pacing was deliberate. It's called dramatic tension."
"It's called you don't know how to read without stopping to argue with the text." You concede the point with a shrug and drink more coffee. The rain continues its assault on the windows. Inside, the house feels warm and enclosed, a bubble of safety floating in an ocean of grey. The fire you lit last night has burned down to embers, casting a faint orange glow that doesn't quite reach the corners of the room.
"What's the situation with work?" Jimin asks, nodding toward the MacBook sitting closed on the coffee table.
You follow her gaze. The laptop looks deceptively innocent sitting there, like it isn't a portal to your slowly imploding professional life. "Still a mess," you say. "The numbers haven't magically improved overnight. The investors are still pulling out, you know, the usual." You take another sip of coffee. "But I've decided not to look at it until after the meeting. Whatever's going to happen is going to happen whether I obsess over spreadsheets or not."
"That's very zen of you."
"I'm trying something new. It's called 'strategic denial.'"
Jimin smiles into her mug. "What about today?" she asks. "Any plans?"
You consider the question. Outside, the rain shows no sign of letting up. The lake will be churning, the paths muddy, the woods unwelcoming. Not exactly ideal conditions for outdoor activities. "I wanted to make a campfire," you admit. "Roast some marshmallows. But in this weather… Not really feasible."
"Can you even make a campfire?"
"Theoretically. I understand the basic principles. Wood, fire, not dying."
"That's not very specific."
"I contain multitudes of vague competencies."
You shift position, tucking your feet further under you, and find yourself talking without quite meaning to. "Did you know I fell into a bonfire when I was a child?"
"My God. Where did this happen?"
"At a family gathering. I was maybe six or seven. Someone had built this big fire on the beach, and I was running around not paying attention, and I just..." You mime tripping. "Went right in. Second-degree burns on my hands and knees. My mother nearly had a heart attack."
"That's horrifying."
"It was mostly embarrassing, honestly. Everyone made a huge fuss, and I had to wear bandages for weeks, and my cousins called me 'fireball' for the rest of the summer.” You pause. “I also almost drowned once. At a pool party when I was twelve. Jumped into the deep end without knowing how to swim properly. Had to be rescued by a lifeguard in front of everyone." Jimin stares at you. "Sometimes I'm genuinely surprised I survived to adulthood. The odds were not in my favour."
She's looking at you weird. Or not weird, exactly, but you can't quite figure out what the expression is. Her eyes are bright, almost shiny, and there's this thing happening with her mouth. The corners are turning up.
She's smiling. And it's a smile you've never seen on her before.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" you ask.
"Like what?"
"Like... that." You gesture at her face. "With the smiling."
"Am I not allowed to smile anymore?" She raises an eyebrow. "Does it bother you?"
"Yes, actually. A bit."
"My smile bothers you."
"I can't look at you when you're doing that." You find yourself staring at your coffee mug instead. "It's distracting. You're easier to deal with when you're crying. All pathetic, with snot coming out of your nose."
The pillow hits you square in the face. "I did not have snot coming out of my nose."
"You absolutely did." You catch the pillow before it can fall, hold it against your chest. "That first night, on the bench. There was definitely nasal discharge. Very attractive.”
"I'm going to kill you."
"See, this is what I mean. Murderous anger is much easier to handle than whatever that smile was."
She's moving before you realize what's happening. One moment she's at her end of the sofa, the next she's crossing the distance between you, blanket abandoned, and you don't know what she's going to do. Hit you, maybe. Smother you with another pillow, who knows.
But what Jimin does is completely different from what you might expect: her knees settle on either side of your hips, her hands bracing against your shoulders, and suddenly you're lying back against the sofa cushions with Yu Jimin straddling your body, looking down at you with an expression that's no longer angry at all.
"We don't have to do anything today," she says quietly. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your hands hover uselessly in the air, unsure where to land, unsure what's allowed. "I just want to be with you," she continues. "Like this. Is that okay?"
And then she kisses you. The barest press of her lips against yours, tentative and questioning and achingly sweet. She tastes like coffee, and your hands finally find their place on her waist, settling against the curve of her body. The kiss ends. She pulls back just far enough to look at you with her hair falling around both your faces.
"You just kissed a stranger," you murmur.
"I know." She's smiling again, that same smile that you couldn't look at before, except now it's inches from your face and impossible to avoid. "It was very good."
She settles against you, her head finds the curve of your shoulder. Your arms wrap around her automatically, pulling her closer, and she makes a small sound of contentment. "You said I could hide behind you," she murmurs against your neck. "But I think I prefer this. Hiding in your arms."
"That works too."
You lie there together, tangled on the sofa, rain drumming against the windows, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. There's nothing that needs saying. Just the warmth of her body, the rhythm of her breathing, the impossible fact of this moment existing at all. But the thought surfaces anyway. The one you've been pushing down since the cave, since the forest, since the moment she took your hand and started walking.
"You know none of this is real," you say quietly, and Jimin goes still against you. "You're an idol. One of the most famous women in the country. And I'm… I'm a businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. This can't exist. Outside of here. In the real world."
She lifts her head. Looks at you. "I know," she says. "Nothing this good could be real."
"Then why—"
"Because we're here to pretend." She kisses you again and your hands tighten on her waist involuntarily. "Remember? That's what you said. We'd pretend together. That our problems can't reach us. That the outside world doesn't exist."
"I remember."
"So let's pretend this is real too." Her forehead rests against yours. "Just for now. Just while we're here. Let me have this."
You don’t resist. You know better, but you still don’t argue "Okay," you say. "We'll pretend." She smiles. Settles back against your chest. Your arms tighten around her, and she sighs, and the sound is the closest thing to peace you've heard in months.
Here's something you've never told anyone: you don't actually know what love feels like. You've had relationships. Girlfriends who lasted months or years, who shared your bed and your time and eventually your boredom. But love? That consuming, transformative thing that poets write about? You've always assumed it was exaggeration. Metaphor. A beautiful lie people tell themselves to make the mundane feel meaningful.
But lying here with Jimin's heartbeat pressed against your ribs and her breath warm on your neck, something changes. It's not dramatic. No fireworks, no movie moment. It's just... you can't tell where your body ends and hers starts anymore. Her breathing matches yours. Her heartbeat syncs up with the rhythm in your chest. You're this close, this tangled up together, and for the first time in your life you understand what people mean when they talk about feeling complete.
This is probably what love feels like
—
Yes, what you're thinking eventually happened.
You and Jimin spent the day together. All of it. The cooking lessons she insisted on giving you, standing at the stove with her arms around you from behind, guiding your hands through the motions of chopping and stirring and not setting things on fire. You made a spectacular mess. Flour on the counters, sauce splattered across the backsplash, something that might have been an egg but ended up more on the floor than in the bowl. But you also made progress. Actual, measurable progress. By evening, you'd produced something edible. Not good, exactly. But edible. Jimin ate it anyway, and the look on her face when she swallowed was only slightly pained.
And then there was the rest of it. The parts that don't need narrating. The parts you can probably imagine if you've been paying attention to the story. The parts that happened after dinner, and then again after midnight, and then once more in the grey hours before dawn.
Which brings us here. The next morning.
You're in bed together, sheets tangled around your legs. The storm hasn't stopped. You're beginning to think it never will. That you've been transported to some alternate dimension where the sun is a myth and the only weather that exists is this endless, drumming wet.
Jimin is lying beside you, wearing nothing but white cotton panties and a thin tank top. Her nipples press against the fabric, visible outlines that draw your eye every time you try to look elsewhere. Her hair is spread across the pillow in dark waves, messy from sleep and from everything that came before sleep, and there's a mark on her collarbone that you don't remember making but are reasonably certain is your fault.
Your finger traces a slow line along her bare thigh. From knee to hip and back again. Her skin so soft, warm from the cocoon of blankets, and she shivers slightly when your touch skirts too close to the edge of her underwear. "I wish I knew how to draw," you say.
Jimin turns her head on the pillow, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. "Why?"
"So I could draw you. Right now. Like this." Your finger continues its lazy path, up and down, up and down. "That would be romantic, wouldn't it? The tortured artist capturing his muse in charcoal and shadow."
"You'd probably draw me with three arms and a head shaped like a potato."
She's not wrong. You've never had any talent for visual arts. Your handwriting looks like a seismograph reading during an earthquake, and the one time you tried to sketch something in college, your girlfriend at the time asked if it was supposed to be a horse or a pile of laundry. “Babe, you’ve gotta trust me a little more,” you say. “Still… you’re not wrong.”
"Is there anything you actually know how to do with your hands?" Jimin asks, light, teasing. "Cooking, no. Drawing, apparently not. What skills do you possess?"
You shift closer to her, your hand sliding higher on her thigh, fingers dipping beneath the hem of her tank top to trace along her hip bone. "I don't want to brag," you say, "but you seemed to enjoy what I did with my hands yesterday. And last night. And this morning, around three a.m."
Her breath catches slightly. Just a small hitch, barely noticeable, but you're paying attention. "Conceited," she murmurs.
"Confident."
She rolls toward you, her body pressing against yours, and then she's climbing on top of you, knees settling on either side of your hips, hands bracing against your chest. The tank top rides up, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, the delicate curve of her waist. And when she leans down to kiss you, you taste sleep and warmth. "Conceited," Jimin repeats against your lips. She tilts her head, searching your face. "What do you think of me?" she asks quietly. "After everything I told you last night?"
And there it is. The things she said in the dark, when the barriers were down and the words came easier. Things you won't repeat, not here, not now. They belong to her, those truths. You're just the vessel she chose to pour them into. "I think..." You reach up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, letting your hand linger against her cheek. "I think there are more questions in the answers. I think you're more complicated than you let anyone see. I think you've been carrying weight that no one person should have to carry alone."
Your hand slides down, tracing the line of her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. Down her arm and back up again, mapping the geography of her body. "I wish I could do more for you," you say. "Fix things. Make it better. Be more than just..." She knows what you mean. The room, the rain, the strange, unlikely bubble you ended up creating together. "This."
"What is this?"
"One last day,” and it tastes bitter saying it. True, but still bitter. "That's all I can give you. Tomorrow I have to go back. The meeting. The board. The slow-motion car crash of my professional life."
"That's all I want," she says, tracing random patterns on your chest, a hint of heat moving across your skin. "One more day. With you. Here. Where nothing outside can reach us."
She shifts on top of you, adjusting her position, and the movement drags her hips across yours in a way that makes your breath catch. You're hard already. Have been since she climbed on top of you, probably. Her body pressing against yours through thin layers of cotton, the heat of her seeping through the fabric. Jimin feels it. Her lips curve into something knowing.
"Someone wants another round," she observes.
“That honestly wasn’t even on my mind, I swear.”
She smiles and leans down to kiss you. You feel her tongue sliding against yours as her hips begin to move. A lazy grind that drags the thin cotton of her panties across your length, creating friction that makes you grip her waist involuntarily. Her hand slides between your bodies. Fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear, tugging downward, working the fabric past your hips. Your cock springs free, hard and aching, and she wraps her fingers around it immediately. A light grip at first, her thumb sweeping across the head in a teasing circle.
"Better?" she asks against your mouth.
Your hips jerk involuntarily. "Getting there.”
She continues stroking you, her grip finding a rhythm that's maddeningly unhurried, and her mouth never leaves yours. Kissing you slow and deep while her hand works your cock with the same patience. Then she shifts, adjusting her position, and suddenly the head of your cock is pressed against the thin cotton barrier of her panties. Right there. Right against her cunt, where the fabric is already damp, where you can feel the heat of her radiating through the material like she's burning from the inside out.
Your hand finds her ass. Squeezes. And god, the way it fills your palm, the perfect yield of soft flesh under your fingers, the way she gasps quietly into your mouth when you grip harder. She has the kind of ass that makes you want to spend hours just touching it, mapping every curve, learning exactly how much pressure makes her breath catch. Jimin lifts her hips slightly. Her free hand reaches down between her legs, fingers hooking into the cotton of her panties and pulling them aside, and then she's lowering herself back down and you feel it. The wet heat of her pressing against your bare cock, no barrier anymore, nothing between you but skin and slick warmth.
She takes you in slowly. Her body opens around you, her walls gripping you tight as she sinks down. Your hands tighten on her hips involuntarily, fingers digging into soft flesh. "Fuck," you breathe. She bottoms out. Takes all of you, her hips flush against yours, and for a moment she just stays there. Adjusting. Letting her body accommodate the stretch. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, and you can see the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
Then she starts to move. Slow at first. A gentle roll of her hips, circular and smooth, grinding down against you in a way that creates friction without urgency. Her pussy is perfect. Tight and wet and hot, clinging to your cock with every movement, and you have to remind yourself to breathe because the sensation is overwhelming in the best possible way.
Her breasts sway gently inside her tank top with each roll of her hips. The thin fabric does nothing to conceal their shape, the way they move, the outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton. You want to push the shirt up, expose her completely, take those breasts in your hands and feel their weight. But there's something almost more erotic about this. The hint of concealment. The suggestion of skin without the full reveal.
And speaking of which: Jimin's pale skin glows in the grey morning light. She looks ethereal, otherworldly, something you dreamed up in a fever. Her dark hair cascades over her shoulders, brushing against her collarbones, and when she opens her eyes to look down at you, it knocks the breath out of you.
"You feel good," she murmurs, low, breathy, slightly unsteady.
"You feel incredible."
She smiles at that. Leans down to kiss you again, her breasts pressing against your chest through the thin fabric, and her hips never stop moving. That slow, sinuous rhythm that's driving you slowly insane. Your hands slide from her hips to her ass, palming both cheeks, guiding her movements even as she sets the pace. She feels unbelievably good. Every roll of her hips drags your cock through her slick heat, you can feel how wet she is, the evidence of her arousal coating your length, making every movement smooth and easy.
"I like watching you," you say. "Like this. On top of me."
Jimin's rhythm falters slightly. A flush spreads across her cheeks, down her neck, disappearing beneath the collar of her tank top. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Your hands squeeze her ass, pulling her down harder on the next stroke. "You're beautiful."
She kisses you instead of responding, and her pace increases. Still not fast, not urgent, but more intentional now. Rising up until you're almost slipping out of her, then sinking back down in one smooth motion that makes both of you gasp. Her breasts bounce more noticeably with the increased movement, and you can't help but slide one hand up from her ass, up the curve of her waist, until your palm cups her breast through the tank top.
Her nipple is hard against your palm. You roll it between your fingers, and Jimin moans. A real sound, unguarded, and her hips stutter in their rhythm. "Don't stop," you tell her.
Her pace settles back into something steady, a little faster than before, her thighs flexing with each rise and fall. Your cock slides in and out of her perfect pussy, slick and hot and so fucking tight around you. The sound of it fills the room. Wet and rhythmic, obscene in the quiet morning, and somehow that makes it better. Knowing what you sound like together. Knowing you're making those sounds.
Jimin braces her hands on your chest, using the leverage to ride you deeper. Her head tips back, exposing the long column of her throat, and you watch her move on top of you with something approaching reverence. The way her body undulates. The way her breasts sway beneath the cotton. The way her lips part around soft sounds of pleasure. "God," she breathes. "You feel so good inside me."
You thrust up to meet her on the next stroke, and she cries out. A sharp, surprised sound that dissolves into a moan as you do it again. And again. You're timing it now, driving up when she comes down, and the rhythm locks in. You're both moving together, perfectly synced, like you've been doing this for years instead of minutes.
The pace builds gradually. Her eyes are closed. Head tipped back. Lost somewhere inside herself, inside the sensation, inside the place where pleasure builds and builds until it becomes impossible to contain. You can feel it in her body. The way her pussy grips you tighter with each stroke. The way her rhythm becomes less controlled, more instinctive. The way her whole frame trembles with the effort of chasing something that's just out of reach.
"Oh god," she breathes, shaky and desperate. "Oh god, oh god—" Her pace becomes erratic. Faster, harder, grinding down against you. Her breasts bounce beneath the rumpled tank top, nipples dragging against the fabric, and the sounds she makes are the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Soft, broken moans that spill from her lips without permission. Little gasps and whimpers that she can't seem to control. "I'm close," she manages. "I'm so close, I'm going to—"
"Cum on my cock,” you say, guiding her hips. “I want to feel you cum, Jimin. Let go."
She cries out. Her rhythm shatters completely, hips jerking in uncoordinated movements as she chases the edge. You thrust up into her, faster, giving her what she needs, and you watch her face as she breaks apart. The orgasm finally hits her. Her whole body goes taut, spine arching, mouth falling open in a silent cry that finally releases as a long, trembling moan. Her pussy clenches around you in rhythmic pulses, squeezing your cock so tight it almost hurts, and you can feel the rush of wetness as she comes undone.
She's beautiful when she cums. The way her face transforms, all the tension and control stripped away, nothing left but pure, unfiltered pleasure. The way her body moves through it, riding the aftershocks, her hips still twitching against yours even as the peak begins to fade. Her moans taper off into soft, breathless sounds. Little whimpers of oversensitivity as her body comes down from the high. She's trembling, her thighs shaking on either side of your hips, and when she finally opens her eyes, they're glazed. Unfocused. Lost in the aftermath.
She collapses against you. Her full weight settles onto your chest, warm and boneless, and you catch her automatically. Wrap your arms around her. Hold her close while she breathes against your neck with her heart hammering so hard you can feel it through her ribs. "That was..." she starts, but doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. You turn your head and she lifts hers and then you're kissing, deep and tender, lips soft against yours, her tongue sliding lazily against your own, and you could stay like this forever. Wrapped up in her, surrounded by her, still buried inside her.
But your cock is still hard. Still aching. Still desperate for release. Slowly you roll her over. She makes a small sound of surprise as her back hits the mattress, as your weight settles over her. Her dark hair fans across the pillow, and she looks up at you with eyes that are still hazy with pleasure but beginning to sharpen with interest. You pull out of her.
First things first. Your underwear is still tangled around your legs, shoved down but not removed. You kick free of them impatiently, finally bare, finally unrestricted. Then her panties. The white cotton that she'd only pushed aside, that's still clinging to her hips, damp with her arousal. You hook your fingers into the waistband and draw them down slowly. Over her hips. Down her thighs. Past her knees, her calves, her ankles, until they're gone and she's completely naked beneath you except for that thin tank top.
You settle between her legs. Spread her thighs wider with your hands, making room for yourself, and she lets you. Opens for you willingly, eagerly, her breath quickening again as you position yourself.
Your cock brushes against her entrance and you both shudder. She's soaked. Absolutely drenched, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs, and when you look down at where your bodies almost meet, you can see it. The cream forming at her opening, thick and white, evidence of how thoroughly she came on your cock just moments ago.
"Look at you," you murmur, dragging the head of your cock through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. "So fucking wet for me."
Jimin's hips twitch, trying to chase the contact. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me again. I want to feel you inside me."
You rub your cock against her entrance one more time, teasing, watching the way her cream clings to your shaft. Then you push forward. She takes you easily this time, her pussy still loose and slick from her orgasm, and you slide into her in one smooth stroke that makes both of you groan. She's even wetter inside than before, hot and welcoming, and you can feel her walls flutter around you as her body adjusts to being filled again. You start slow. Long, deep strokes that pull almost all the way out before pushing back in. Taking your time now that the first desperate edge has been taken off, savoring the sensation of her body wrapped around yours. The bed creaks softly beneath you, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet sounds of your cock moving inside her.
Jimin's hands find your shoulders, her nails digging in lightly, and her legs wrap around your waist to pull you deeper. Her eyes are locked on yours, and there's an intimacy to this position that wasn't there when she was on top. Face to face. Breath mingling. Nowhere to hide.
"You feel so good," she whispers. "So fucking good inside me."
You lean down and kiss her, swallowing her next moan as you sink deep and hold there, grinding against her, feeling every inch of her pussy clenching around your cock. You fuck her slowly at first, savoring every sensation, committing every detail to memory because you know this can't last. The wet heat of her pussy wrapped around your cock. The way her body yields beneath yours, soft and welcoming. The small sounds she makes with each thrust, breathy little gasps that escape her parted lips.
But your hips find a rhythm eventually. Pulling back until just the head of your cock remains inside her, then sliding forward in one long stroke that buries you to the hilt.
"Harder," she whispers. You comply. The pace increases incrementally, your hips snapping forward with more force, driving deeper into her slick heat.
Then Jimin's hands leave your shoulders. They travel down her own body, fingers trailing over her collarbones, her chest, until they reach the hem of her tank top. She grips the fabric and pulls it up in one fluid motion, bunching it above her breasts, exposing herself completely. And god. Her tits.
They're perfect. Large and full, pale as cream against the grey sheets, capped with nipples that are flushed pink and hard. They bounce with each thrust, a rhythm that matches the movement of your hips. Soft flesh rippling with every impact, swaying gently when you pull back, jiggling when you slam forward. "You like watching them?" Jimin asks.
"I fucking love watching them."
She smiles. Her hands come up to cup her own breasts, fingers spreading to contain the soft weight. She squeezes them together, lifts them slightly, presents them to you, then her fingers find her nipples, pinching lightly, rolling the hard peaks between thumb and forefinger.
The sound she makes is devastating. A low, throaty moan that vibrates through her chest as she touches herself while you fuck her. Her eyes flutter closed, lips parting, and she plays with her nipples like she's putting on a show just for you. Tugging at them, circling them, pressing down and releasing to watch them spring back.
Your pace increases again. The sight of her touching herself, combined with the tight grip of her pussy around your cock, is driving you toward an edge you're not ready to reach. You need to make her cum again first. Need to feel her fall apart beneath you one more time.
Your hand leaves its position beside her head, travels down her body, over the soft curve of her stomach, until your fingers find the place where your bodies meet. You can feel your own cock sliding in and out of her, can feel the stretch of her pussy around your shaft. And just above that junction, her clit waits. Swollen and sensitive, peeking out from its hood, begging to be touched.
You press your thumb against it. Jimin's reaction is immediate and violent. Her back arches off the bed and her pussy clamps down on your cock so hard you see stars. Her hands abandon her nipples to grip the sheets instead.
"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, right there, keep going, don't stop—"
Your thumb circles her clit in tight movements, matching the rhythm of your thrusts. Pressure and friction and the relentless slide of your cock inside her, all working together to push her toward the edge. Her breasts bounce freely now, no longer contained by her hands.
"That's it," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure. "That's it, let me feel you cum again."
Her moans become more urgent. Higher pitched, more desperate. Her hips buck against yours, meeting your thrusts with movements of her own, fucking herself on your cock while your thumb works her clit without mercy. The wet sounds grow louder, wetter, her arousal practically flooding out of her with each stroke.
"I'm gonna—" she starts, but can't finish. Her whole body is trembling, muscles tensing, pussy fluttering around your cock in a way that tells you she's right on the edge.
You press harder on her clit. Fuck her deeper. Give her everything you have. She shatters.
The orgasm rips through her with enough force to make her scream. Her spine curves impossibly, her head thrown back against the pillow, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in rhythmic pulses that threaten to drag you over with her. But that's not all.
A sudden rush of wetness, a pressure releasing, and then she's squirting. A clear stream of fluid spurts from where your bodies meet, soaking your stomach, coating your cock, splashing against your thighs. Not a lot, but unmistakable. Evidence of just how thoroughly you've wrecked her.
"Holy shit," you breathe, but you don't stop. You keep fucking her through it, keep rubbing her clit, and her orgasm seems to go on forever. Waves and waves of pleasure crashing through her, her pussy spasming around you, her whole body shaking with the force of it. And every time you thrust back in, another small squirt accompanies it. Like her body can't contain everything you're making her feel. Like she's overflowing with pleasure and it has nowhere to go but out.
"Oh my god," she's babbling, "oh my god, oh my god—"
You're relentless now. Fucking her through the aftershocks, feeling her squirt around your cock with each stroke, watching the mess spread beneath you both. The sheets are soaked. Your thighs are dripping. And still you don't stop.
You can feel your orgasm gathering, inevitable, and you know you need to make a decision about where you're going to finish.
One last long thrust. You bury yourself inside her as deep as you can go, hold there for a moment, feeling her pussy pulse around you, feeling the last tremors of her orgasm ripple through her walls. Then you pull out.
Your cock emerges glistening wet, coated in her cum and her squirt and your own precum. You shift position, moving up her body until you're kneeling over her chest, your cock positioned directly above her breasts. She knows what you want without being told.
Her hands come up immediately, cupping those perfect pale tits and pressing them together, creating a valley of soft flesh for you. She looks up at you with dark eyes, lips curved in invitation. "Cum on me," she says, seductive and utterly filthy. "I want to feel it. I want to see it."
You wrap your hand around your cock and start stroking. It only takes seconds. You're too wound up, too desperate, too overwhelmed by everything that's happened. The first spurt hits her chest with enough force to reach her collarbone, a thick rope of white against her pale skin. "Yes," Jimin breathes, squeezing her tits tighter together. "Keep going. Cum on me. Give me everything."
The second spurt lands between her breasts, pooling in the valley she's created. The third stripes across her left nipple. You groan, hand working your shaft, and you can't stop cumming. It just keeps coming, wave after wave of release, painting her chest white.
"That's it," she encourages. "Cum for me. Every last drop. I want it all." Her words drag another spurt out of you, splashing across her right breast. Your hand keeps moving, milking your cock, drawing out every last bit of cum until you're finally, completely empty.
You look down at the mess you've made. Her perfect pale tits, covered in streaks and pools of your cum. Some of it sliding down toward her stomach. Some of it caught around her hard nipples. Some of it still sitting in the valley between her breasts, warm and thick.
Jimin smiles up at you. Pleased. Satisfied. Looking at the cum on her chest like it's a gift she's been waiting for. "Come here," she says.
You shift forward, and she guides your softening cock toward her mouth. Her lips part and she takes just the tip inside. Her eyes close as she wraps her lips around you, sucking gently, her tongue swirling to clean away the remaining traces of cum. The sensation is too much on your sensitive flesh, but you don't pull away. You watch her. The way her cheeks hollow slightly with each gentle suck. The way her lashes rest against her cheeks. The way she hums contentedly around your cock like she's savoring something delicious.
When she finally releases you, there's a single drop of cum clinging to the corner of her lip. You reach down, brush it away with your thumb. Before you can pull back, her mouth opens and she takes your thumb inside, sucking it clean with the same attention she gave your cock.
Her eyes open, finding yours. "I love your taste," she says quietly, releasing your thumb.
You lean down and kiss her, tasting yourself on her tongue, and you think that this might be the closest thing to perfect you've ever experienced.
—
The morning unfolds in this weird, borrowed way. Like you've stepped into someone else's life for a bit. Domestic and quiet and strangely... normal? Jimin makes breakfast. You're planted at the kitchen island just watching her move around. You're memorizing this. The angle of her shoulders, the way she reaches for things, how natural it all looks. Filing it away in that part of your brain where you keep shit you know you'll want to remember later.
She notices you watching. The look she gives you is knowing, maybe a little amused.
You accept the plate she offers and make some comment about your inevitable starvation back in Seoul. She points out you could learn to cook. You counter that this has been definitively proven impossible. She mentions yesterday's attempt. You clarify that successfully cracking a single egg without shell contamination doesn't qualify as progress; it's barely basic human function. That gets a smile out of her. She grabs her own plate and settles in next to you. You eat together without talking. Outside, the rain keeps doing its thing.
Later, you bundle yourselves in raincoats and venture outside.
The storm's died down to a drizzle. You grab two umbrellas before heading out, even though you're both already wearing raincoats. It feels like the right thing to do. Jimin takes your hand without asking. Just reaches over and laces her fingers through yours, natural as breathing, and you start walking down the overgrown path that connects all the lake properties.
"These were all occupied when I was a kid," you say, pointing at the first house. Two-story cabin, wood siding, completely empty now. The garden's a mess: bushes everywhere, grass up to your knees. "The Choi family lived there. Three kids my age. We played together every summer."
"What happened to them?"
"Moved to Busan, I think. Dad got a job there. They sold it to some development company that bought it and then... nothing. Just left it to rot." You keep walking. More houses, all the same story. Families moved away, companies bought them, promised they'd fix them up and never did. The whole neighborhood's just sitting here empty and falling apart.
"It's sad," Jimin says, looking at one house where the roof's caved in on one side. "All these empty places."
"Everything ends eventually." You squeeze her hand. "Not always a bad thing. Sometimes it just is what it is." She doesn't say anything, but her grip gets tighter. Makes you wonder if she's thinking about endings too.
Then the lightning hits. One second you're fine, pointing out the old dock where you used to fish with your grandfather. The next second there's this massive crack of thunder and a flash so bright you can't see anything. The bolt strikes somewhere across the lake, close enough that you both freeze.
Jimin gasps and presses into you. "That was close," she says.
"Not that close. Maybe a kilometer."
"It felt close."
You pull her under a big oak tree. Yeah, you know you're not supposed to stand under trees during lightning storms. You know that's literally the worst place to be. But her hand's shaking in yours and you need to hold her for a second.
"We should go back," you say. She nods against your chest.
You walk back way faster than you came out. The umbrellas are basically useless now anyway - the wind's picked up and you're getting soaked from every direction. By the time you get to the house, you're both completely drenched and laughing about it.
—
Night hits different out here. No city lights means when the sun goes down, it really goes down. Total darkness.
You're in your bedroom changing clothes when your phone lights up on the nightstand. Honestly, you'd kind of forgotten you had a phone. Since getting here, you've basically only used the laptop for work stuff. The phone's just been sitting there, ignored. But now the screen's going crazy. One notification. Two. Three. They keep coming. Missed calls, texts, voicemails. All from the same person: Yoon-a.
Over a hundred missed calls. A hundred. Who the fuck calls someone a hundred times? Like, what level of panic or obsession even drives that? You pick up the phone anyway. Stare at the screen. From the living room, you can hear Jimin doing something. Cabinet doors opening and closing. She's looking for something.
You call her back. She answers on the first ring.
"Oh my god!” she exclaims. "Oh my god, you're alive. Where have you been? Why haven't you answered? I've been calling for days. Days. I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead. I thought—"
"I'm fine," you say. "Yoon-a. I'm fine. Calm down."
"Calm down? Calm down?! You disappear without telling anyone, you don't answer your phone, you don't respond to texts, and you want me to calm down?"
"I just needed some time. To clear my head. Get away from everything."
"Get away from—" She stops. You can hear her breathing hard on the other end. "I watched this movie last night. This stupid movie, I don't even know why I watched it. About this businessman who loses everything. All his money, his company, his reputation. And at the end he… He shoots himself in the head."
"That's dark."
"I thought of you. Immediately. I couldn't stop thinking about you. Alone somewhere. Going through everything you're going through. And I kept calling and calling and you never answered."
"I'm flattered you think I'm that dramatic."
"This isn't funny." She's crying now, you can hear it. Small, hiccuping sobs that she's trying to suppress. "This isn't a joke. I was terrified. I am terrified. You're out there alone, not talking to anyone, dealing with all of this by yourself—"
"I'm at the lake house. My family's place. I'm fine. Completely fine."
"The lake house?"
"Yeah. I just needed to get away. I should have told you. I should have answered. I'm sorry."
There's a pause. A long, shaky exhale. "I'm sorry too," she says. "About the fight. In the elevator. I was being ridiculous. Clingy, like you said. I shouldn't have pushed you about dinner with my parents when you had so much going on. I shouldn't have made everything about me. I was an idiot."
"No." You sit down on the edge of the bed. "It's not your fault. I'm the one who should apologize. I've been distant. Distracted. I've been treating you badly for weeks, and you didn't deserve any of it."
"You've been stressed. I should have understood that. I should have given you space instead of demanding things."
"You shouldn't have had to. I should have talked to you. Explained what I was going through instead of just... disappearing."
"I love you," she confesses. "I love you, okay? And I know things are hard right now. I know the company is falling apart and everyone's giving you shit and you feel like the whole world is against you. But I'm not against you. I'm with you. No matter what happens." You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. "Come back to me," she continues. "Please. Come home. I'll take care of you. We'll figure this out together. I don't care if you lose the company. I don't care if you lose all your money. I mean—" A wet laugh. "I'd prefer if you stayed super rich, obviously. The lifestyle is very comfortable. But if you become poor, that's fine. I'll adapt. I'll support you. I'll love you anyway."
"Yoon-a—"
"Our son misses you. He's been moping around the apartment, looking for you. He keeps sleeping on your side of the bed." The dog isn't yours in any way... but you don't feel the need to correct her this time. "Are you lonely?" she asks. "There by yourself?"
You think about Jimin. In the living room right now, probably curled up on the sofa, surrounded by blankets, waiting for you to come watch a movie with her. Jimin, who kissed you this morning. Who rode you until she came. Who walked through the rain holding your hand. "No," you say. "I'm fine."
"Are you sure? Because I could come. I could catch a flight tonight—"
"I'm coming back tomorrow. The board meeting. I have to be there." You rub your forehead with your free hand. "We can talk properly then. Figure things out."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
"Okay." She sniffles. Takes a breath. "Okay. Tomorrow. I'll be waiting."
"Don't cry," you say. "Not for me. I don't deserve it."
"That's not how emotions work, dummy. You don't get to decide what other people feel about you."
"Goodnight, Yoon-a."
"Goodnight." A pause. "I love you." The words hang there, waiting for a response. Three simple syllables that should be easy to say. That would be easy, probably, if you hadn't spent the last three days falling into something with someone else.
"Goodnight," you say again. "Sleep well." You end the call. The phone sits in your hand, screen dimming, then going dark. You stare at it for a long time.
Look, being a shitty person isn't like the movies. You don't sit there twirling a villain mustache or cackling while you kick puppies. You're not Darth Vader. You're not even a recognizable bad guy. You're just... you. A regular person making regular choices that happen to hurt people. You took a trip without telling your almost-girlfriend. You invited a stranger along. Held her hand. Kissed her. Fucked her until she came so hard she squirted all over you.
None of it felt villainous while it was happening. All of it was, in its own way, beautiful.
But beautiful things can leave ugly messes behind. And the people you hurt don't give a shit about your good intentions. Damage is damage, regardless of whether you meant it. So you sit there on the edge of the bed and just... feel it. The guilt. The self-loathing. That growing certainty that you've fucked up in ways you won't even understand until later.
Then you breathe. Stand up. Run your fingers through your hair and Just say "fuck it.”
You're not dealing with this now. There'll be plenty of time for beating yourself up later, back in Seoul, when everything comes crashing down. Right now? You've still got a few hours left. A few more hours in this bubble. A few more hours with Jimin.
You walk back to the living room. She's on the sofa, exactly where you pictured her, except there's a massive bowl of popcorn balanced on her lap. She looks up when you enter, and her face breaks into a smile. "I made popcorn," she announces proudly. "And before you say anything, yes, I used the stove. No, I didn't burn down the kitchen. Some of us have basic survival skills." You force a smile back. It feels stiff on your face, but she doesn't seem to notice. "Impressive," you say. She shifts to make room for you on the sofa, and that's when you notice what she's wearing.
Your shirt. The Oxford button-down, light blue, slightly too big on her. The sleeves are rolled up to her elbows and the hem falls to mid-thigh, and she looks impossibly good in it. Cozy and rumpled and unreasonably attractive. Your brain helpfully reminds you that Yoon-a loves this shirt. Used to steal it constantly, wear it on lazy Sunday mornings, always threatening to keep it for good.
The timing of that memory is really fucking inconvenient.
"You okay?" Jimin's watching your face now. "You seem kinda weird."
You shake it off. Plaster on a better smile. "I'm fine," you say. "Just tired." You drop onto the sofa next to her, close enough that your legs touch, and pull her into your side. Your arm settles around her shoulders naturally and she leans into you without hesitation. The popcorn bowl balances between you both.
For now, you're fine. You can deal with everything else later.
—
The last morning arrives with an unexpected guest: the sun. Jimin finds you in the kitchen, already dressed, already packed, already holding a cup of coffee that you made yourself. Her eyes widen slightly at the sight. "You're awake."
"I'm awake."
"You made coffee."
"I did."
She approaches the counter slowly. "How?"
"YouTube tutorial. How to Use a Coffee Maker: Tutorial for Beginners. Fourteen minutes long. Very thorough. I now understand the concept of water reservoirs and filter placement."
"You've never used a coffee maker before?"
"I've never had to. That's what staff are for." You pour her a cup, slide it across the counter. "Apparently regular people just make their own coffee every morning. Wild concept."
She takes a sip. Her eyebrows rise. "It's good."
"Don't sound so surprised. I'm a quick learner when properly motivated."
The last few hours unspool in a series of small, practical tasks. Packing bags, making calls to confirm arrangements, to coordinate schedules, to begin the process of reintegrating into a world that's been waiting impatiently for your return. Your pilot answers on the second ring. Yes, the jet is ready. Yes, everything is prepared. Yes, he'll be waiting at the scheduled time. His voice is professionally neutral, giving no indication of what he thinks about his employer disappearing for days without explanation.
Through the windows, you watch the sun climb higher, burning off the last traces of mist that cling to the lake. The water is blue now, no longer the churning grey it's been since you arrived. It looks like a postcard.
Jimin makes her own calls. You try not to listen, but the house isn't big enough for real privacy, and fragments drift toward you anyway. Words like "schedule" and "statement" and "the members are worried." She responds in tones you haven't heard from her before. More certain.
There's still food in the kitchen. More than you could possibly eat, more than made sense to order in the first place. You make a mental note to call someone, have them come clear it out, donate it somewhere useful. It seems wasteful to just leave it here to rot in an empty house.
The drive to the airfield is quiet. The jet trip is quieter still. You sit across from each other in leather seats, Seoul approaches through oval windows, and neither of you says much of anything. There's nothing left to say, really. Everything important has already been communicated in other ways. In touches and silences and the space between words. Jimin wears her disguise again. Baseball cap pulled low, face mask covering everything below her eyes.
Your car's waiting at the private terminal. You toss her suitcases in the back, hold the door open for her, then get behind the wheel. Seoul hits you immediately. Traffic everywhere. Buildings stacked on top of buildings. Twelve million people all doing their thing at once. After the quiet of the lake house, it's a lot. Too much, actually. Too loud. Too crowded. Your brain doesn't know what to do with all the stimulus.
She tells you the address and you start driving. Neither of you talks. You just navigate the same streets you've been driving for years, except everything feels off now. Like you left for a weekend trip and came back to find the city rearranged. Or maybe it's the same and you're what changed. Hard to tell.
Her building's in Gangnam. Naturally. Big glass tower with lobby security and doormen and cameras everywhere that'll definitely catch her getting out of your car. You pull up to the entrance. Put the car in park. Sit there for a moment, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead. "I don't know what to say," you admit. "I've never been through anything like this before. There's no template. No script."
Jimin pulls her mask down to her chin, and you can see her face properly for the first time since you left the lake house. "You don't need to say anything," she tells you.
"That feels wrong somehow. Like we should mark the moment. Acknowledge it."
"We are acknowledging it. This is what acknowledgment looks like when there's nothing left to add."
You drum your fingers on the steering wheel. Outside, a man walks past with a dog. A taxi honks in the distance. The city continues, indifferent. "Will we keep talking?" you ask. "After this?"
Jimin is quiet for a moment. Considering. "I don't know," she says finally. "Let's see what happens over time."
"That's very noncommittal."
"It's honest. I don't know what I want yet. I don't know what's possible." She shrugs, a small movement. "Right now, all I know is that I need to go back to my life and figure out what that looks like. Everything else is... uncertain."
"Fair enough."
You stare out the windshield, watching a delivery truck navigate the narrow street. "It's a shame," you say. "That things can't work out. Between us."
"I'm an idol. You know how it works. Dating scandals, public scrutiny, sasaeng fans digging through every aspect of my personal life. Even if we wanted to try, the logistics would be impossible."
"I know."
"And you have a girl who likes you."
You turn to look at her. "She was never my girlfriend."
"I know. But she cares about you. That call... she was really worried."
"Did you hear—"
"Yes." She cuts you off gently. "I heard it. The walls aren't that thick."
A beat of silence. The engine hums. "I'm going to talk to her," you say. "When I get back. I'm going to be honest about what happened. About everything." You pause, meeting her eyes. "I won't mention you. I won't say who I was with. That's not my secret to tell. But I can't lie to her about the fact that something happened."
Jimin nods slowly. "That's fair."
"I don't know how she'll take it. She might hate me. She probably should."
"Maybe." Jimin's gaze drifts to the window, to the building waiting to reclaim her, to the life she's about to step back into. "But you should do what you think is right. Whatever that looks like for you."
"What I think is right," you repeat. "That's a terrifying amount of freedom."
"Welcome to being an adult. It's mostly just making decisions and hoping you don't fuck everything up."
"You're very wise for someone who was crying on a park bench two weeks ago."
"Growth happens fast when you're forced into it." Her lips curve slightly. "Besides, I learned from the best. Some random guy who talks too much and can't operate a coffee maker."
You both laugh, and it feels good. Easy. Like maybe this doesn't have to be the end of everything, even if it's the end of this particular chapter. She reaches between the seats and retrieves her suitcases from the back. Two small bags, barely enough for a weekend, containing everything she brought to a trip she never planned to take. She opens the door, but she doesn't get out. "Sometime," she says, "we should get coffee. You and me."
"Coffee."
"We're still strangers, technically. Two people who met once in a park and then spent a few days in a bubble that doesn't count as real life. But I'd like to be your friend. If that's something you'd want."
"That would be cool," you say. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good." She pauses, glances at the door. Then back at you. "You're a good person," she says. "I know you don't believe that. But I do."
Before you can respond, she leans across and presses her lips to your cheek. A soft, brief contact, there and gone. Then she pulls her mask back up, hiding the lower half of her face, becoming Karina again before your eyes. "Good luck," she says. "With the meeting. With everything. It'll work out for you. I know it will." And then she's gone. Out of the car, through the building entrance, swallowed by the elevator and the security guards and the life that's been waiting to reclaim her.
You sit there for a while. Engine idling. Watching the space where she used to be. Good person.
You don't know how true that is. The evidence suggests otherwise, honestly. The choices you've made. The way you've hurt people without meaning to, without even fully understanding the damage until it was already done. Nothing is fixed. Not your company. Not your relationships. Not who you are or who you could become. Everything is still in motion, still being decided, still waiting for you to make the next choice.
Your phone buzzes. A text from your assistant. Thirty minutes until the meeting starts. You look at the message. Look at the building where Jimin disappeared. Look at the road ahead.
If you can save your company (and you're going to try, you're going to fight like hell), then maybe other impossible things aren't so impossible either. Maybe the logistics that seem insurmountable right now will look different in six months. A year. Maybe being an idol and being with someone doesn't have to be mutually exclusive. Maybe you just need to prove to yourself that you can actually fix something before you try to build something new.
One problem at a time. That's how you survive.
You put the car in drive. Pull away from the curb. Merge into traffic, becoming just another vehicle in the endless flow of the city. The meeting is in thirty minutes. The board wants your head. The investors have lost faith. Everyone is waiting for you to fail.
But you're not going to fail. Not today. Not if you have anything to say about it. And when you've saved the company - when, not if - you're going to call Jimin. You're going to take her up on that coffee. And you're going to see what's possible when two people stop pretending and start trying for real.
A/N- Merry Christmas. the smut on this is is a bit short but I enjoy the plot I created. I hope you do too.
Can you remember your first time using a pen? Maybe a pencil?
Honestly, you would be lying if you said you remembered the first time but one certain time stuck out to you.
It was a rainy day. You can remember that because you weren’t allowed to go outside for recess, the favorite part of the day in 4th grade. As you sat in your chair sulking about your afternoon, your teacher clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.
“Ok, now boys and girls. I have a fun activity planned today. Now I might have mentioned it before but I have a sister who is also a teacher in New York. We thought it would be fun if our classes were penpals!”
“What’s penpals?”
“Ah well, penpals are basically people who become friends by writing letters. Each of you will be given someone to write a letter to, so everyone pull out a piece and paper and a pencil please.”
Despite your thoughts still lurking on recess, your body reacted on its own to grab the materials you needed. Setting the notebook down on your desk, you grabbed your pencil and just held it in your hand. One by one, your teacher handed out a sheet to each student until she reached you.
“Ok Porter. You will write to Jennifer. I ran out of boys sadly but I’m sure this will still be fun.”
A groan left your mouth as you heard it was a girl you were gonna be forced to write to.
“But I don’t want to write to a girl Mrs. White.”
“Porter. This is your assignment. You need to do it. Just have fun with it. Talk about anything you like.”
As your teacher walked away, your eyes just started at the blank sheet. The scratches from your classmate's pencil’s echoed in the air as you just sat there.
“Three more minutes!”
You knew Mrs.White would be mad if you didn’t write anything but you had nothing. Each second that ticked by the more nervous you felt. With one minute left you quickly scribbled a few words and there and put your pencil down.
Hi, I’m Porter. How are you?
Your teacher came by and saw your note and frowned a bit. Despite that, she grabbed your note and folded it. Once she put it in an envelope, she took it back to her desk. Maybe that would be the end of all that.
A week later you found yourself walking back into class after recess. As you sat down at your desk, you noticed a small envelope sitting on top.
“Ok, everyone. Your letters from your pen pals have arrived. Feel free to open the envelopes and read what was written to you.”
Looking around, you saw your classmates grab their envelopes and begin to read the notes they got. Following their example, you ripped open the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper. Opening it, you saw there was more than you wrote.
Hi Porter, I’m Jennifer. I’m ok thank you. Where are you from? I’m from New York. It’s loud but fun here. Is it fun where you are? What do you like to do? Bye.”
As you finished reading the note, your hands extended out and ripped a new piece of paper to write. You honestly aren’t sure why you grabbed some paper when you didn’t want to write to her in the first place but it would be rude not to respond.
Grabbing your pencil, you began to write.
Hi Jennifer. I’m from New Jersey. It’s loud here too but I have fun. I like recess. What about you? Do you like recess?”
As you finished your note, you folded it and set it down on your table. Mrs. White came close to you and saw the letter was ready.
“Wow. You are done already. I’m glad I didn’t need to tell you to write to her.”
“I’m not mean.”
“No. You aren’t.”
Grabbing your letter, Mrs. White took it and put it in an envelope. Guess it’s just waiting time now.
5 months later
It was the final day of 4th grade and you sat at your desk. Everyone was excited it was the day before summer vacation, but you were excited for another reason.
“Ok class. This is the final letter from your penpal so please enjoy.”
Tearing the envelope open, your eyes quickly scanned the words on the sheet of paper.
Hi Porter. It’s the last day of school huh? I had a lot of fun talking to you all this time. I know we are done with the letters in class but can we keep talking? I asked my teacher and she said it’s ok. Send me another letter if you want to. Please?
“Porter?”
“Yes, Mrs.White?”
“Jennifer seems to really like talking to you so she asked her parents to see if you guys could keep sending letters. I already asked your parents also and they said ok. Would you like to?”
Your body reacted on its own as you just nodded aggressively.
“Very well then Porter. Your parents have her address to send the letters so feel free to continue. You are the only one who is gonna keep talking to their own pen pal.”
“Jen is really nice.”
“Well, I hope it continues to be fun. I’m glad I could get you a new friend.”
Walking away, you could agree with her. You really do have a new friend.
6th grade, October
Walking into your math class, you went over to your seat and began to take a seat. A sharp pain shot all over your butt as you jumped up. Looking down at the chair, you could see there was a thumbtack facing up. Laughter came from the other corner of the classroom as you saw your usual bullies enjoying your suffering.
Moving the thumbtack off your chair, you took your seat just as the teacher walked in and commenced his class. The rest of your day continued with much of the same. Dumb pranks being pulled on you while everyone else’s just ignored it.
Your walk home was calm for once as you managed to avoid all the other students leaving. As you saw the familiar outline of your home, you noticed the mailman dropping off your stuff in the mailbox. Seeing him made you excited, so you decided to run the final stretch to your home.
Once home, your hand opened the mailbox and pulled everything out. Grocery store fliers, bills stacked on top of everything. Despite looking for a few seconds, your excitement never dissipates, and for good reason.
At the bottom of the pile, a letter addressed to you could be found. From the handwriting alone, you could already tell who sent you this. Running into your home, you closed the door behind you and ran up to your room.
Closing the door, you jumped on your unmade bed and ripped open the cover.
Hi Porter. I hope your family is ok. I’m sorry you have been struggling with bullies at school. I want to tell you something my own parents told me. They said people who bully others normally have a horrible life at home. They just do it to make others feel how they feel. Keep that in mind, they are just sad about their own lives.
Let’s talk about something else to distract you. I recently heard some music that I think is cool. It’s called K-pop. I’m Korean so I know what they are saying but you might not. Either way, the beats are great. Check it out. I recommend 2NE1.
I have to get going but I’m looking forward to hearing from you port. Take care, please.
Love Jen
A large smile was plastered on your face after hearing from your best friend. Before you write something back, you decide to turn on your computer and go on YouTube. Typing in the name Jen gave you, you saw a couple of options pull up for this group.
Easy to say you were a bit reluctant to even listen to this music but Jennifer never did you wrong. Clicking on the first song, you noticed the title was Fire. The loud EDM-style beat started playing in your ears. Your head began to bop to the beat despite not understanding all the words. After a minute your whole body began to dance along to the video. It was official, you were hooked with just one song.
The rest of your afternoon was you going on a K-pop binge. Jumping all around from all these different artists, having fun. After a few hours, you heard a knock on your door it opened.
“Porter. Dinner is ready. Also, what’s with all the noise in here?”
“O-Oh, nothing mom. I was just getting ready to write back to Jennifer.”
“Well just write up your letter and then come down for dinner. Ok?”
“Ok, mom.”
As the door closed, you made your way back to your desk and got to writing.
Hey Jen.
I’m not even gonna lie. That music was so fun to dance around with. If you have more recommendations then let me know.
Thank you for saying those nice words also. You’re my best friend and I appreciate it. Mom came and told me dinner is ready so I should head down. I will talk to you in the next letter.
Bye, from Porter.
As you ended the letter, you quickly folded it up and put it in an envelope. All of your envelopes are already stamped and ready to be sent with how often you talk to Jen. Walking downstairs with the letter, you placed it down on the table next to the front door and made your way over to the kitchen.
Your best friend really did help distract you from some of the bad things in life.
8th grade, August
Summer vacation is one of the best times for a kid. As you sat down in the living room to watch tv, you couldn’t help but take small glances at the clock above the screen. As the clock strikes 1 pm, you dashed from off the couch to the mailbox outside.
You timed it perfectly as the mailman had just dropped off the correspondence for your home. Grabbing all of it, you ran back into your home and jumped back on the couch.
Looking through everything, you quickly found the letter addressed to you and ripped it open. As you read through the letter the best you could. With the obsession of K-pop between the two of you, you both decided to work on your Korean. Jen obviously wanted to make sure she kept up with the language her Parents spoke but you wanted to finally understand what you have been singing along to.
After 2 years, your Korean is decent enough that you can have a conversation.
Dear Porter
Sorry I missed our letter last week. Lately, I have been stuck singing all the time. My parents even tell me to be quiet at times with how I begin to belt songs out.
I actually want to run something past you. What would you think about me becoming an idol trainee? Sure you have never heard my voice but I keep having these dreams of me performing on a stage. Maybe that’s a sign.
If I do go with this I would have to go back to Korea for the first time in years but I think I could do it. What do you think, Oppa?
Be honest.
Love Jen
Yes, she calls you Oppa even if you are only a few months older.
Right off the bat, you knew if she went back to Korea the mail would probably have to stop but you were not about to stop this girl from going toward her dreams.
Getting your pen and paper, you got to writing.
Dear Jennifer
Don’t ever be sorry if you miss a week. We might have to get used to that.
If this is really what you feel is meant for you in life then do it. Even if I said no, you should follow your own gut. Yes, I haven’t heard your voice but I can just tell you have an amazing voice, just trust me on my gut feeling.
Go for it. I know you can do this. We can figure out how to keep in contact later. I wish you luck in deciding what to do.
From Porter
Only time will tell how this continues.
10th grade, November
High school somehow had a change. You ended up with a reputation for being very relaxed with everyone and helped people when they needed it. Nobody made fun of you anymore and in fact, respected you. With your new confidence in school, you began to take up new activities to make more friends.
Hockey ended up being your pastime. Making up for some of your spare time in the afternoon. Some of your other time was also spent on a few girls.
Yes, girls. You had a random glow-up one day that brought you the attention of plenty of girls. You had a few girlfriends in a year and a half but they always ended with you not being able to give your everything to the girl.
As you stood outside the front of the school, your now ex-girlfriend was walking away as you just ended things with her. It hurt you but it was for the best.
With no practice today, you made your way home on the bus. After the short bus ride, you got back home and walked into your home. With the house empty, your legs went straight to your room as you lay down on your bed.
A bit of time passed as you got back up and sat at your desk. A part of your afternoon is spent just doing your homework until it’s 5 pm. At that time, a ringing sound could be heard in your pocket. Searching, your hand pulls out your cell phone and answers the call you got.
“So how full is the bus today?”
“Surprisingly empty. Even though I’m running a bit late.”
“Did you forget to put on your alarm?”
“Yes. It was an accident.”
“You gotta make sure your school attendance is good. Too many mess ups and they won’t let you continue as a trainee.”
“I will make sure to continue doing well. Don’t worry about me, Oppa.”
“Speaking of doing well. I’m assuming that’s how you are doing with your training?”
“I-It’s tough but I think I’m doing well.”
“I k…”
“Oppa I’m sorry but I need to hop off the bus. We can talk later tonight, bye.”
Before you could get another word out, Jen hung up the call and left you there. You weren’t mad at all as you knew she was late for school. Putting your phone down, you ended the rest of your afternoon with dinner and a few games.
1 AM came around as you began a FaceTime call. After a few rings, the call was answered. Looking at the screen, you could only see some brown hair as well as a brown eye.
“We have been FaceTiming for a year and a half now and I have only seen the corner of your face all this time.”
“I have told you before. I’m shy.”
“I know I know. I’m just playing. How was school today?”
“Not bad. I managed to make it with one minute to spare so that was good. I have practice in a few hours and you started a call. Figured I could kill time with my B-Best friend.”
You couldn’t help but notice a small flutter in her tone as she said that.
“Well thank you for picking up my call. I actually sent you a care package to your P.O. Box. I’m not sure if you got it yet.”
“Yeah, I stopped by the post office. I see it’s a box. What’s in it this time?”
Not waiting for a response, Jennifer ripped off the tape of the box and opened it.
“Yessssss cheez-it’s. They can be so hard to find here in Korea. Thank you!”
“No problem. There are a few other snacks in there so I hope you enjoy them.”
“Thanks, Porter Oppa. I never got to ask but how was school for you today?”
“Oh. It was ok.”
“H-How’s Natalie?”
There was a bit of a sad tone in that question.
“Oh. I ended things”
“WAIT REALLY? I mean why?”
“I couldn’t reciprocate her feelings properly. Why continue a relationship I’m not entirely in?”
“Yeah, I get that. That happened to me with all my previous relationships. I guess I’m stuck on trying to find the perfect guy.”
“W-Who is the perfect guy?”
“I-I guess it would be a sweet guy who encouraged me with everything and helped me when I needed it.”
In your mind, you were hoping she was describing you but it’s best not to assume.
“What about you Oppa? What’s your dream girl?”
You. That’s what you wanted to blurt out but it would be best not to risk it.
“A sweet girl who will want to talk to me even when she is tired. Someone who just gets me.”
“W-Well. I hope you find your dream girl one of these days.”
“Enough about relationships. What song did you choose for your monthly evaluation?”
“Well this is a bit of a throwback but I’m doing Lonely by 2ne1.”
“I love that song. 2ne1 reminds me of you and the start of my love for K-pop.”
“Yeah. Man, I can't believe it’s been a few years already.”
“Yeah. Time really flies.”
That statement was very true as you took a small glance at the time, it was 3 am. Your body reacted to that sight with a yawn.
“Shoot, it's been a few hours already. I should let you sleep. Good night Porter. I’ll talk to you later. Love ya.”
“Night Jen.”
Hanging up the call, you quickly close your eyes and lay on your bed. Exhaustion took over as you quickly passed out.
12th Grade, June.
As you parked your car, you stepped out of your vehicle with your cap and gown still on. Today was a day of celebration but you didn’t feel like doing that. As you entered your house, the sound of nothingness was apparent throughout the house.
Sitting down on the couch, you just sat there in silence with a picture frame in front of you.
Two months ago your parents sadly passed away in a car accident. It was the shock of your life that nearly broke you. You managed to graduate but just barely. The only thing you don't have to worry about is money. They left you enough to last a decade.
Staring at the image, your eyes began to water slowly. You could have started sobbing if it wasn’t for the sudden ring from your cell phone. Cleaning your eyes, you pulled out your phone and saw who was calling. Pick up the FaceTime call, you smiled at the screen.
“HAPPY GRADUATION!”
“Thanks, Jen.”
Even after all this time, Jennifer was still hiding her full face. All you could see on the screen was her left eye.
Despite only her eye on the screen, she could look into your own.
“If I was there I would hug you myself. Your parents would be proud.”
Those few words were enough to make you break your facàde. Your tears began to roll down your cheek, falling from your face.
“I miss them. I-It’s just hard being alone.”
“I’m sorry Oppa. They were great people. Every time I talked to them, they treated me like I was a part of your family too.
“Yeah. That’s how they were. Kind.”
“I know you said you are alone but I want you to remember that you have me. I'm not going anywhere.”
A simple statement but it reminded you that Jennifer had stuck by your side for so many years. She would continue to stick around. Smiling towards the screen you cleaned up your face and laughed a bit.
“Thank you, Jen. It’s a happy day. I should try to be happy. It’s what they would want.”
“Yeah. I actually took the whole day off from all plans so we will spend the whole day eating and watching movies. Ok?”
“Sure. That sounds great.”
Your whole day went by doing exactly that. Eating junk food and watching movies all day. The pain still lingered in your heart but Jen did everything she could to make you happy.
Once it got dark out, you looked at the time and saw it was early morning. A small snore could be heard from the phone. Jennifer stayed up all night with you to celebrate. This little action just confirmed how you felt.
Picking up your phone, your finger hovered over the red button. Before you ended the call, you said four words to the sleeping girl.
“I love you, Jen.”
As your heart pounded from saying those words, you hung up the call and laid back on your couch. Maybe one day you can tell her in person.
November 2022
In a year, you found yourself studying in a little trade job. Higher education wasn’t really in your sight for the future and you felt joy working with your hands.
After a long day at work, you found yourself cooking. And by cooking, you were just heating a microwave dinner. Pulling the small box out of the microwave, you placed it down on your kitchen table. Grabbing your utensils, you began to move your food around till you heard your phone ring.
A groan left your mouth as you were already getting ready to eat. Pulling your phone out, you saw it was a number you didn’t talk to often.
“Oh hello Mrs. Huh. How are you?”
“I’m well Porter. How are you?”
“I’m ok. Was getting dinner ready.”
“Oh I’m sorry to bother but I want to talk to you about something.”
“Oh sure. What’s up?”
“Have you had a chance to talk to Jen today?”
“No, not yet. I haven’t spoken to her in 2 days but we speak when she can. She says her training is getting harder so I don’t want to bother.”
“I see. Well, Jennifer has been stressed lately and I was thinking about giving her a gift to make her happy.”
“Oh, that’s a great idea. Did you want me to pitch in?”
“No. I want you to be the present. I think it’s time for the two of you to meet.”
Your eyes shot open at those words. Was she serious?
“W-Wait really?”
“Yes. Me and Mr. Huh think it’s time for the two of you to meet. She needs her best friend I feel and it’s best to get an actual hug from you in person. We will cover all the costs and such. You just need to be there in time to be her Christmas gift.”
It was your dream to meet Jennifer in person but should you do it?
Your heart took over somehow as the word “absolutely” left your mouth.
“Perfect. So the plan is that I will tell Jen that a package from me is at the post office. She always lets me know when she’s gonna go get it so you will wait for her there. She will hold a medium size red box with snowmen all over it. When you see her, you can go and surprise her!”
A little bit of a weird plan but you were down for it.
“Ok. Let’s do this then.”
December 22nd, 2022
Sitting in a restaurant, you found yourself just going over things. You had a month to plan your visit so you decided to see what else you could do in South Korea during your trip.
Conveniently enough. On the 24th, there was gonna be a special fan sign meeting for your new favorite group. Lesserafim quickly took the place as your favorite 4th gen K-pop group. Each member had qualities you loved so you were excited to meet every single one of them but one specific girl always caught your attention. Yunjin was such a chill and cool person that she seemed like the type of person you could talk to for hours.
Heck, it felt like you almost knew her. Her voice even seemed familiar. Probably just your imagination. Either way, you were excited to get to meet the idols who made you smile.
Taking a final bite of your chicken, you raised your hand and asked for the check. A woman quickly ran over with it and put it on your table. Seeing the total was 30,000 won, you placed three 10,000 won bills on the table and walked outside.
With a short two-minute walk, you entered a post office and sat down at a chair.
Today was the day you would meet her in person. To say you were nervous was an understatement. Taking a few deep breaths, you began to relax until your ringtone went off. Pulling it out of your pocket, you saw it was Jennifer’s mom.
“Hello?”
“Porter. Are you there?”
“Yes, I am Mrs.Huh.”
“Perfect, she will be there in two minutes. Remember, the red box with snowmen around it is her.”
“Got it!”
Hanging up the call, you continued to take small glances at the door that people entered and left. Finally, after what seems to be Four minutes, you happen to see 2 girls enter the building with masks on. You couldn't help but feel a sense of familiarity with these two subjects but you paid them no mind.
At that time your mind gave you the bright idea to start looking around as the girl could already be in the building. Once looking, you were met with a nightmare. Several people had red boxes with snowmen on them. As each person passed you, the more you felt confused about who Jennifer could be. Heck, maybe she wasn't even here anymore.
At that moment, you got the bright idea of calling Jen’s phone and seeing if she picked up. Once your phone was out, you found Jennifer's contact info and clicked on her number. Putting the phone up to your ear, you began to look around to see if anyone with a red box picked up their phone.
As your eyes scanned the group of people, you heard a ringtone come from your left side. Looking for the source, you saw the two girls from earlier walking out with a red box with snowmen. As one of the girls puts up her phone to her ear and removes her mask, you finally hear a response through your phone.
You had no doubt, that was Jennifer. Standing up, you began to run after the girl.
“Hello? Oppa?”
“Oh hey, Jen.”
Once outside, you looked both directions and saw the 2 girls walking towards a van. Running behind them you began to get closer and closer to them.
“Why does it sound like you're running?”
“I-I am.”
Finally, behind the blonde girl, you tapped on her shoulder. The girl jumped a bit and turned around. Once she faced you, your eyes shot open. Your heart began to pound as you stared at the familiar girl in front of you. It was Huh Yunjin from Lesserafim.
“J-Jen?”
“O-Oppa?”
Both you and Yunjin stood there in silence for a moment until you heard a cough. Looking for the source, you saw it was the girl next to Yunjin.
“Hi there. I'm Chaewon. You are?”
“I-Im I-Im P-Porter.”
Chaewon’s own eyes shot wide open as she heard your name. You were so confused about what was happening but you knew you needed to speak to Yunjin.
“I-I never knew you were-“
“I TOLD YOU WE SHOULDN'T MEET!”
Before you could get another word out, Yunjin ran towards the van and opened the door. As she jumped in, you began to run after her until the driver came out of the van and grabbed you.
“HEY! LEAVE OR I'M CALLING THE POLICE.”
“Jennifer! Talk to me please!”
The man that grabbed you got angrier but before he could do anything you heard a voice next to the both of you.
“Oppa. He's a friend, please don't call the police. Just give me a minute with him ok.”
The man who you could now assume was their manager let go and sat back in the van.
“Porter. Let's step back.”
Listening to Chaewon, you both backed up from the van, out of earshot.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. What are you doing here?”
“Her parents made this happen. They thought it was time for the best friends to meet in person. It was a surprise.”
“Of course they did. It's a great gift idea but you caught Yunjin off guard. Just give her a minute to cool down. Are you in town for a while?”
“Yeah. I'm here for a couple more weeks. I was also gonna attend the fansign but I guess I shouldn't now.”
“No, it's ok. You can come. I'm sure she will be ok with all this by then. Just give her a bit, ok?”
“O-Oh ok then, Chaewon. Thank you.”
“Call me Noona. It was great to meet you either way. I’ll see you at the fansign.”
With a nod, Chaewon ran back to the van and sat down. As the door closed you could see Yunjin was just staring at you. Once the door was closed it began to drive away.
It wasn’t until you were all alone that it hit you. Yunjin’s English name is Jennifer. Her last name is Huh and she lived in New York. How were you so dumb?
Despite all this, you were just hoping that Jen wasn’t mad and would talk to you later on. Seeing a cab, you hailed it down and made your way back to your hotel.
———————————————————————
The ride in the van was silent. Chaewon nor your manager decided to talk to you as you just looked down at the ground. Once in the parking garage, you opened the door and made your way up to the apartment. Time just flew as you were suddenly at your front door.
Once the passcode was typed in, you made your way into the home and ran into your room. Seeing there was no one in there, your hand quickly locked the door and then threw the box on your bed. Ripping it open, you found a small envelope in the center of the box.
Pulling it out, you opened it and found writing that you recognized as your mother's.
Call me. I hope you liked your gift.
An annoyed grunt left your mouth as your hand pulled out your phone. Finding your mother's number, you rang her up waiting for her to pick up. As you heard someone pick up, you didn’t even let them get a word out.
“MOM, WHY?”
“Why what? Did you enjoy your gift? Is Porter there with you?”
“No, he’s not here mom. I-I got in the van and left him there.”
Silence is all that could be heard. You could already tell your mother was not happy.
“Huh Yunjin. I taught you not to be rude. Why would you do that?”
“Because I’m not ready to meet him in person yet!”
“So when will be the right time? When you are both senior citizens? You always say you aren’t ready. Why?”
Before you could answer you heard the door handle begin to rattle a bit.
“Unnie? Are you ok?”
“I-I’m fine Eunchae. Just on a call with my mom.”
“Oh sorry. I’ll go.”
As the sound of footsteps hit your ears, you heard a ring come from your phone. Your mother was now wanting to do a facetime call. Picking it up, you could see the angry look on her face.
“Why do you keep saying you aren’t ready?”
Hesitation is what you felt before you spoke until it just came out of your mouth.
“What if he acts differently because I’m an idol? Do you know how many times he told me Yunjin from Lesserafim was his bias? Not only that, I have been lying to him for a year now.”
As your mother looked at you, her angry stare became one of care.
“You have known Porter for over ten years now. Does he seem like the type to change because of that? If I recall correctly he always said Yunjin was his bias because she seemed like the two he could be great friends with. That’s what you told me he said. He will still treat you like his best friend, he will also understand why you kept it from him. What is the real reason you are scared to see him?”
It wasn’t until your mother said those words that you realized those weren’t the real reasons.
“Yunjin, Sweetie. Be honest with yourself. What is the reason?”
“What if he doesn’t love me?”
You were shocked those words left your mouth but that was the real reason.
“Sweetie. Do you really think a boy who spends all his time waiting to talk to a girl, even sacrificing his sleep, doesn't love her? I have seen how the two of you talk over the years. That boy is head over heels for you and he had never even seen your face.”
The source of comfort from your mother finally filled you with a confidence you never had before.
“Oh my god. I LEFT HIM JUST STANDING THERE MOM!”
“What are you doing talking to me then? Go find him!”
“Right. Bye mom!”
Unlocking the door, you yanked the door open. Out of nowhere, you felt a weight fall on your body as it dropped to the ground. On top of you was the combined weight of all of the Lesserafim members.
Jumping off you, the girls all stood up and helped you up.
“Sorry. We couldn’t help but be nosey. Are you ok Yunjin?”
“I’m ok Kkura Unnie. I just really need to go find Porter.”
“Yeah, manager Oppa doesn’t want us going out for the rest of the day sadly.”
“Chaewon unnie. Can you talk to him, please? I need to talk to Porter Oppa.”
“I’m sorry Yunjin but he said no exceptions. I do have a nice bit of information to share with you though. Guess who will be going to our fansign?”
“P-Porter?”
“Yeah, he will. Take that moment to say a few words to him.”
“But I want to say more than just a few words!”
“Why don’t you invite him to our Christmas party at the dorm? We can all talk to him more at the time also! Most of us will be leaving before midnight to visit our families so you can have some company until tomorrow as well.”
“Zuha! You’re a genius!”
“I know. So guess we are all meeting your future husband then.”
A slight blush filled your face as the girls laughed.
You were gonna try to make it up to him.
———————————————————————
December 24th, Christmas eve
Stepping out of your taxi, you began the short walk up the sidewalk to the building. Seeing a small line for the door, you got behind everyone and began to wait. After a few minutes, the line began to move into the building.
Once through the metal doors, you saw everyone going up to a desk where they were checking in. The process seemed to be shorter than you thought as after 5 minutes you are in front of the woman.
“Welcome. Do you have your QR code to check in? I will also need to see an ID.”
“Yeah, one sec.”
Pulling your phone out, you opened the email with the QR code and handed it to the woman. As she scanned it, you pulled out your passport and handed it to her. Matching your id with the information on her device, the woman handed it all back and gave you a small badge.
“Ok Mr. Ward, now you just need to pull your number out of this box and it will decide what seat you will be in.”
Putting your hand in the box, your hand began to roam around passing small pieces of paper. Landing on the top right corner, you grab the piece of paper closest to your hand and pull it out. Unfolding the blue sheet, you felt excitement and Nerves as you saw the number Seven plastered in the middle.
“Ah. Lucky number seven. You will be in the front row! When you enter, just look for the chair with the same number. That will be the seat for the fansign.”
“Thank you, miss. Have a good day.”
A few steps away from the desk you made it to the security section. Once you pass the various machines and people checking you, your legs follow the signs to the hall for the fansign. Entering, you saw all of the previous people in line already in their seats. The excitement is plastered on their faces despite having face masks on.
Walking into the front row, you looked at the numbers until you found your seat. Sitting down, you proceeded to pull out your phone and just play on it. Various people were walking around and such but your concentration was stuck on your mobile device.
Open on the notes page, your eyes scanned over the various things you had written. Each paragraph was a different thing you could say to your best friend. Should you be funny? Nice? Dorky?.
You had options for all of those but your mind was running a million miles per hour, thinking about what was possibly the right thing. Time just passed as you suddenly heard the tap of a hand on a microphone.
At the top right corner of your phone, 6:00 pm was plastered.
“Alright, ladies and gentlemen! Are you all ready to see Lesserafim!?”
The cheers that left everyone’s mouths nearly left you deaf at that moment. Despite the back of your mind still being stuck on what to say, your excitement overtook all other emotions you were feeling. As your own cheers began to fill the air, the door on the right side swung open.
A man you recognized as manager from before walked into the hall with the girls in tow. Chaewon walked in first, waving at everyone in the crowd. Next was Sakura who was shooting finger hearts at everyone who did the same.
You thought it was going in age order but as the playful maknae ran in and jumped on Sakura, you saw it wasn’t. Riding on Sakura’s back, Eunchae's actions just warmed your heart. Kazuha got closer to the Maknea and began to pull her off her unnie’s back.
Despite the sound of laughter filling the room, one distinct laugh blessed your ears. Even in this full room, you could recognize the sound of your best friend. As she walked in, a smile was plastered on her face watching her members' interaction.
The black beret with little white cloth balls dangling matched her white sweater on top. Below all of that was a short checkered skirt that showed her long legs. You were hypnotized by the young idol as she stood on stage, next to her group mates.
“One two three, Hi we are Lesserafim!”
Applause from yourself and other fellow fans filled the hall from those seven words. As each girl looked around, Yunjin’s eyes suddenly met with your own. It felt like you two were the only ones in the room at that instant.
Her face was just blank as was your own. A sudden tap on Yunjin’s shoulder brought her back to her senses as she went back to the fansign. With each joke that the members made, the more you forgot about your worries.
“Ok, I think we have killed a little bit of time. Let’s get started with the fansign. Pull out your albums and they should have post-it notes on what pages you want to be signed already. With that said, let’s get out fansign started.”
As everyone clapped, you pulled out your album and went over what pages you wanted to be signed.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Now we will be going in numerical order. Number one will start with Chaewon, then go down the line. Each person will go up as the next chair opens. Ok?”
Confirming you all understood, the first fan made his way up the small stairs and sat in front of the baby cheetah. As each person went up the staircase, you prepared yourself to meet the idols that stole your heart.
A security guard at that time tapped on your shoulder and pointed at the first open seat. As you stood up, your legs began to shake as you stepped closer and closer. The three steps up to the stage were soon behind you as your behind sat in the chair.
A wide smile was on the leader's face as she saw you.
“Porter! How are you?”
“O-Oh I’m ok Chaewon. How are you?”
“Good and remember I told you to call me Noona, ok?”
“Right. Sorry, Noona. I’m not really used to that. Also doesn’t help that I'm such a big fan.”
“It’s ok. I'm sure you will get used to it. We have heard so much about you that you are basically a friend of ours already.”
“W-Wow.”
A small ring of a bell let you know your minute was over with Chaewon. Passing your album to Sakura, the cheese ball smiled at you.
“I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy the rest of the fansign!”
“Thank you Noona.”
Sliding to the next seat, you are now face to face with the oldest member of Lesserafim, Sakura. When in front of the Japanese girl, her face gave you a giant smile as she made eye contact.
Looking down at the album, her eyes almost popped out as she saw your name.
“So you are the famous Porter.”
Sakura must have said that louder than she intended as the rest of the members down the line looked over at you. A small blush must have appeared on your face as Sakura began to giggle.
“Don’t worry. I have only heard good things. So how long have you been a fan?”
“O-Oh I was a big fan of Izone and was very sad after, well you know what. The second I heard you and chae would be in a new group together I was so excited and couldn’t wait. Your debut didn’t disappoint.”
“Well, I’m grateful you continued to support me and Chaewon after that difficult time. Please continue to support us all!”
“Always.”
The small ring from earlier returned, signaling your time is up. With a small bow, you slid over to the next seat facing the beautiful swan that is Kazuha.
“Hi, Oppa. How are you?”
“I’m great Kazuha. How are you? Your Korean is sounding great.”
“Thank you. I am practicing hard. I hope you like Korea. It’s really nice.”
“Oh yeah. The food already has me in love as well as other things.”
Taking a small glance down the line. You saw Yunjin with a wide smile towards the fan in front of her.
“Yeah, unnie is great. She was one of the few people I could talk to when I came. She’s the best.”
As the bell rang, you took one more glance at the Japanese girl's eyes. You could see the sincerity in her love for Yunjin. You’re glad she has friends like them.
Waving goodbye to Kazuha, you hopped to the next seat in front of the young maknae.
“Hi, Eunchae. Did you enjoy your ride on Zuha earlier?”
“Of course I did. Piggyback rides are the best Oppa. Maybe one day you can give me one.”
Just as you thought, she was very playful.
“I hope the girls treat you well but I’m sure there are times when they scold you.”
“Yeah they do but it’s ok. I love my unnies. Yunjin has been helping me study English more.”
“I’m sure she’s a great teacher. She’s always been smart.”
“Were you always good at Korean? You speak it very well.”
“Oh. Well my friend Jennifer helped teach me. You should have seen the beginning. I could barely say hello. She had plenty of patience with me and that helped a lot.”
Before either of you could get another word out, the small ring echoed in your ears once more.
“Bye Oppa. Good luck.”
With a small nod, you began to stand up from the seat. Taking a glance at Yunjin, your legs suddenly felt like jelly. All the strength in your legs left as you fell on the seat perfectly. At that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to look at the idol, Your glance just toward the table.
“Hi, there! Porter right?”
As you finally found the courage to look Yunjin in the eyes, you were met with a sweet smile like the other girls. The sight paired with her voice took all feelings of anxiety away.
“H-Hi Yunjin. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Porter. You don’t seem like you're from here. Where are you from?”
“Um. New Jersey. Kinda close to where you lived right?”
“Yeah. New York. It’s always nice to meet a fellow east coaster. I hope your visit here was worth the long flight.”
“Y-Yeah. It’s starting to feel like it was.”
A small blush appeared on Yunjin’s face as she continued to write in your album. As much as you wanted to make more conversation, you honestly weren’t sure what to say. Before you knew it, the ring from the bell told you it was all over.
“I-Um. Thank you Je- I mean Yunjin.”
“Of course Porter. Please continue to support us. And I hope you liked my message in the album.”
Grabbing the album, your legs pushed your body up from the chair. Stepping down from the stage, you made your way back to your numbered seat and relaxed finally. As you went through the pages signed, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the kind words from Yunjin’s members.
Eunchae’s note was the most playful.
“I’m happy to finally meet in person unnies, future husband.!”
Moving on from her note you went on to the last page signed, Yunjin’s. As you finally opened the sheet of paper on the book, your eyes were suddenly brought to something that was written.
On the pages was an address written out on the sticky note.
“Meet us here at Seven. It’s our Christmas party and we want to spend time with you.”
Reading those words made you excited yet a bit let down it did say that she specifically wanted to spend time with you. Either way, you would take this blessing and roll with it. The rest of the fansign went by in a flash with the girls performing their latest hit Antifragile for everyone before leaving.
The travel back to your hotel room was uneventful and short. When you entered, your mind automatically went to your gift for Yunjin. Finding the wrapped package in the corner, your hands picked it up and put it in the black backpack laying on your bed. Would Yunjin like this gift?
Only one way to find out.
Walking out of the hotel building, you found the Uber you ordered waiting. The red tint of the car matched the red tint from the box you used to find Yunjin a few days ago. Had you been told that your person would be going to meet up with Lesserafim a month ago, you would have called them crazy.
Your life was just filled with surprises. Scrolling through Twitter made the car ride flash by in an instant. Saying thank you to the man, your legs brought you out of the crimson vehicle into the large city. Looking around, you saw that the girl's home was in a nice part of town.
Strolling up to the large glass building, your arms opened a door leading you to a small gangway of sorts. The door has a scanner for a key fob but since you didn’t have one, you would need to ring the doorbell.
Finding the button to apartment two hundred twenty-one, your finger then hovers above it for a few minutes. You hadn't even realized time had passed until your senses came back to you. Pressing the button, your ears picked up the buzzing sound coming out of the device.
Waiting for a response, a few seconds passed until you heard a voice.
“Hello?”
“H-Hello. It’s Porter.”
“Oh, Oppa. Take the elevator up to the 15th floor. Our apartment will be on the right side when you exit. Third door on the left wall.”
“Thanks, Eunchae. I’ll be up there soon.”
Once you heard the buzzing, your hand pulled on the door opening it. Finally in the building, you saw a few chairs in that lobby as well as some plants. Taking a few steps further, you found yourself in front of the elevator summoning it to the lobby.
A familiar ding fills the lobby as the metal cube arrives. Once the doors opened, you stepped on and saw it was one of the nicest elevators you had ever been in. Ordering the button to the 15th floor. The doors to the metal machine closed rapidly. The elevator began to rise the floors quickly as a little tune echoed in there.
Once a ding hit your ears once more, the doors opened showing you the white hallway. Following Eunchae’s instructions, you exited the elevator and went right. Walking past two doors, your feet brought you to the apartment of the girls.
Knocking on the door, you patiently waited as you heard whispers behind the door. With a swing, the door opened showing you an excited Maknae.
“Hi, Oppa. Come in!”
“Oh, thanks Manchae. Can I call you that?”
“Of course. Now let’s go!”
Grabbing your hand, Eunchae pulled you into their home. Once passed the small hallway, you found yourself in the middle of the living room. The giant living room was blessed with a skyline view. Easy to see when the window in the room was the entire wall.
“Yeah. The view is amazing huh Oppa?”
“Yes it is. I’ve only been in here yet I can tell this is an amazing home. Can I sit down?”
With a nod of approval, you sat down on the leather couch as Eunchae sat next to you. On your right side, you could see several figures moving around rapidly.
“So Oppa, are you in love with unnie?”
That question made you choke on your air suddenly. Your aggressive coughing seed to get everyone’s attention as a couple of heads popped from the kitchen.
“EUNCHAE. YOU BETTER NOT BE MAKING HIM UNCOMFORTABLE.”
“I'M NOT KKURA UNNIE. IS THE FOOD READY?”
“YES. COME GET YOUR PLATES YOU TWO.”
Sakura was like a mother. Standing up, you made your way over to the kitchen for your dinner. The nice Samsung fridge caught your attention as you saw all of the top-of-the-line appliances in there.
“Welcome to our home Porter. We ordered a variety of food I hope you enjoyed.”
“T-Thank you Kkura Noona.”
Grabbing your plate, you filled it to the brim with a variety of noodles, rice, and meat. As all the other girls finished serving their plates, you went and picked up another. Filling it with the same food as your own, you then picked your spare plate up and brought it to the living room with the rest of the girls.
“Why did you get two plates, Oppa? Are you that hungry?”
“No Zuha. This plate isn’t for me.”
On cue, footsteps came from the second hallway. Time felt like it stopped with each step the person took. After a few seconds, a shadow appeared and grew bigger and bigger until a figure appeared.
Her beauty just took your breath at that moment. Her blonde hair just flowed perfectly down her shoulders fitting in well with the white sweater she had on. The short skirt showed you her milky legs that just made your mouth water at that moment. Looks like she didn’t change clothes.
Looking up, you made eye contact with Yunjin who was smiling at you. The two of you must have just frozen as laughter and the sound of Chaewon got both of your attention.
“If you two are done staring at each other the food is getting cold.”
“O-Oh. Yeah, let's eat. Let me get a plate.”
“NO! I mean, I already got you a plate.”
Stretching out your hand, you showed the plate to Yunjin who walked over and grabbed it.
“Ttboki, chicken, these are all of my favorites. You remembered.”
“Of course. Enjoy your meal, Jen.”
“T-Thank you Oppa.”
Sitting next to You, the group began to eat and enjoy their meals in silence for a bit. The echo of silence began to feel awkward, Your mind honestly couldn’t come up with anything to say.
“So how was the fansign Oppa? Did you have fun?”
“Oh, Yeah definitely. It was my first fansign ever and it met all my expectations. It’s honestly so crazy I got in. Some of those fans buy so many albums but I still got in!”
Your overexcitement was funny to the girls. Sure they saw it from fans all the time but to have one of those fans in their home, also a close friend of one of them was a completely new thing.
“Well, Porter. I’m glad you had fun but we all wanted to get to know you more so we told Yunjin to invite you. Plus I think she owes you that after running away a few days ago.”
“YAH! That was an accident. Oppa I-I”
“We can talk about that later? Ok?”
“Ok. Let’s just enjoy this holiday.”
“Yeah Porter. Tell us about your family and such.
“Oh. Well, I'm a single child and I had two amazing parents. They sadly aren’t with us anymore but they supported me a lot. I owe them a lot.”
Your body sulked a little thinking about your parents but the sudden feeling of a hand on your back got your attention. Looking to the right, you saw that Yunjin had her hand on you as a sign of comfort. A basic sentiment but it was enough.
“I never met Porter's parents in person, though they always treated me like I was a part of the family. They really were great people.”
“Yeah. Anyway, do you have any more questions?”
At that time Sakura raised her hand to ask a question.
“Yunjin never specified but how did you guys meet? It’s a little weird that best friends had never seen each other's face before.”
“Wow. She never told you? Well, Yunjin and I met in fourth grade. We were penpals.”
“What are penpals?”
“Oh, you don’t know Eunchae? Well when you are younger, sometimes your teachers will start this project. You get assigned someone you are supposed to write letters to who is from another location. Sometimes it’s with others from another country but we were assigned because our teachers were sisters.”
“So you both met by writing letters to each other?”
“Yep. That’s how Zuha.”
“That’s cool. How did it continue?”
A glance at Chaewon showed you how excited she was to learn more.
“Once the assignment was over, our teachers noticed that we got so invested in being friends so maybe we should continue. They gave our home info to our parents and asked us if we wanted to keep going. Months turned into years as we continued to talk. Not only that but cell phones and video calls improved.”
“Oh, we know all about your video calls. Yunjin would never let us in the room when she would talk to you.”
“Jen why?”
“KKURA UNNIE! DON’T TELL HIM THAT!”
“Hey it’s true, Yunjin. Plus he would find out one way or another. It’s fine either way. We saw the way talking to him made you smile.”
“Yah!”
Laughing at what you heard, you wrapped Yunjin in a side hug as she sulked. Neither of you reacted to your action at first until you heard the Lesserafim girls scream in excitement. Realizing what you did, your arm came off of her and stood back at your side.
“Hey, you shouldn't have moved your arm, Oppa. I’m sure unnie liked it.”
“Ok, that’s enough Eunchae. Don’t bother your Unnie.”
“Ok ok. I’m sorry Oppa and I’m sorry to you too unnie. Or should I say, Mrs.Ward.”
The maknae said that last bit in a whisper but enough for everyone but Yunjin to hear. Hearing Eunchae call her your future wife made your heart flutter at that moment. It was like music to your ears.
“Ok ok let’s keep talking. Anything else you guys are wondering?”
All of the other girls raised their hands in that instant. Looks like it would be a long talk.
Hours went by as it finally reached 11:30 pm. The various questions that both you and Yunjin answered made time get away from everybody. The sound of the front door opening got everyone’s attention. The sight of their manager seemed to get a response from the girls as everyone but Yunjin jumped up.
“WE HAVE TO GO!”
“Go? Oh did I take up too much of your guy’s time? I’m so sorry.”
“No, it’s ok Porter. Me and the rest of my members are going home for the holiday. Yunjin is staying here until tomorrow so you guys can still catch up. We are going to go get our stuff.”
Before you could respond to Chaewon, all of the rest of the girls ran to their rooms and grabbed their bags. In a matter of seconds, the girls all returned to the living room handing their small backpacks to their manager.
“Two minutes girls. I’ll see you all in the van. Yunjin, have a safe holiday. And you, be smart please.”
Taking a glance at Yunjin, you saw a small blush appear on her face that matched your own. Standing up, you went over to their manager and shook his hand.
“Have a good night.”
Releasing your hand from his grip, you suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around you.
“Goodnight Oppa. I hope to see you more one day.”
“I hope so too Manchae. Take care.”
Saying your farewells to almost everyone else, Sakura walks in front of you and extends her hand. Shaking it, Sakura then gives you a smile and whispers at you.
“Make her smile. Ok?”
“Always. Safe travels.”
Waving goodbye, Sakura walked out of the living room leaving just you and Yunjin standing there. Deciding to take the initiative, You walked back over to the couch and grabbed the backpack you had placed down. As your left hand opened the bag, your right hand pulled out a green box you had wrapped up.
Facing your best friend once more, your feet took a few steps towards her until you were just a few inches away.
“Merry Christmas Jen. I-I hope you like it.”
Raising her hands, your best friend then took the box from your hands and sat down on the couch. A look of excitement was on her face as her hands ripped open the wrapping from the box. With the cardboard box now free, Yunjin then took the lid off and looked inside.
Her face changed from one of excitement to one of confusion as she pulled out a large book. Despite being confused about what was in her hands, Yunjin pulled open the cover of the book. Just like other times in the day, her eyes shot open but there was quickly a mix of tears added.
“A-Are these?”
“Yeah. These are all the letters you sent me over the years. I kept every single one and put them all in there.”
Yunjin proceeded to flip through the pages as tears rolled down her cheeks. Despite her scrolling through, her hand went back to the first page.
“The first letter. I was so curious about your life then. Talking to someone from another state sounded amazing to me. I’m sorry if I annoyed you back then.”
“Hey. Don’t ever apologize. I was a salty little kid who didn’t want to do his work. Your excitement about the project made me write to you. Thank you for just being you.”
As you finished those words, Yunjin jumped into your arms and took you in an embrace. The action was sudden but her warmth in your arms felt just perfect. As your nose laid next to her hair, the smell of lavender filled your nostrils and then your senses. You could have kept smelling her but much to your dismay, Yunjin pulled back and ran away.
You were about to stand up and follow until she looked back at you.
“WAIT HERE!”
With those words said, Yunjin ran back towards her room. After a few agonizing seconds wondering if you did something wrong, you heard the same footsteps as before come towards you. The tall idol had returned with a wooden box. Placing it in front of you, Yunjin opened the lid showing several small letters.
“You aren’t the only one who kept all the letters. I have every single one too Oppa.”
Almost like a routine, a smile filled your face looking through the box. It was nostalgic seeing all of the things you wrote before to her.
“Thank you, Jen.”
“Oppa. Can you call me Yunjin a little more often? I don’t mind Jen either but I was just wondering.”
“Oh. Of course, I can. I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m just really used to calling you, Jen.”
“No no. It’s fine. I guess it is an adjustment since you-“
Yunjin was silent, just looking at the ground.
“Since I didn’t know you were Lesserafim Yunjin?”
“Y-Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Oppa. I-I just, I wanted to- I don’t know what to say. Are you mad?”
Silence filled the room as you just looked into Yunjin’s eyes. You could tell she was nervous.
“I-I’m not mad at you per se. Look Yunjin, I’m not happy you didn’t tell me because I should have been there for you when you needed me. You probably had to lie to me about your struggles. I-I wanted to be there for you. I want to be there for you.”
With a sigh, you grabbed Yunjin’s hand and held it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
After a few seconds of waiting, the girl opened her mouth.
“At first, I wasn’t sure I would debut. The first time was when I went on produce 48. I wanted to surprise you if I passed. I thought it would help excite you more. Then I lost. I was ashamed that I failed so I decided I wouldn't tell you.”
“You still should have told me. I should have been there for you.”
“I’m sorry Oppa.”
“What about when you debuted? Why didn’t you tell me then?”
“W-When I debuted. It was the joy of my life. The music video came out and I called you. I didn’t get to say anything as you were talking about Kkura unnie in the music video.”
“Well, I was a big Iz*one fan. I was excited to see her and Chaewon debut again. I’m sorry about that but why would that stop you from telling me?”
There was some hesitation in Yunjin’s look. Her words began to fumble out of her mouth nervously.
“I promise I won’t get mad, Yunjin. Just, talk to me.”
Taking a deep breath, Yunjin tightened her hold on your hand.
“I-I was nervous they would take you from me.”
“Take me?”
“Y-You always talked about how Sakura was so pretty, how Chaewon had an amazing voice. If I introduced you to them, there would be a chance you would ask me to introduce you. I wouldn't be able to say no to you so I would do it. You are an amazing person. I could see the girls loving you. This was their first time meeting you and they did. I-I didn’t want to lose you and now that you know I lied I still might.”
Hearing those words from her broke your heart. Raising your left hand, your fingers began to caress her cheek.
“How could you ever lose me? I-I love you Yunjin.”
Those four words caused the idol's eyes to nearly pop out of her head.
“I know it sounds stupid but you were there for me all the time and the more we spent time talking and such, the more I fell for this dorky girl from New York.”
Yunjin is just silent. Now you’re scared you freaked her out so you begin to let go of her hand. In a sudden movement, Yunjin tightened her hold on your hand and began to tear up once more.
“I-I love you too Oppa. That’s why I didn’t want them to take you from me.”
Your heart began to pump rapidly as you heard her say it back. As you both stared into each other's eyes you began to feel an attraction to her. Your lips felt drawn to hers and she must have felt the same as you both began to get closer and closer. With each inch you got closer, the more you felt your heart pump.
Closing your eyes, your left hand grabbed her shoulder and finally pulled her in for the kiss. It’s quick, a little peck but your first kiss with Yunjin. Opening your eyes, you are met with the girl you love and a grin on her face.”
“Please tell me you're gonna kiss me Better than that?”
With a new challenge issued, you grabbed Yunjin and laid her down on the couch. Getting on top of her, you dipped your head back down and put your lips back on hers. Unlike before, your lips stayed attached to hers for a few seconds. As you felt Yunjin kiss you back, your tongue began to push forward.
Seeing that you want access, Yunjin opened her mouth and let your tongue in. The idol gave you no resistance as your tongue began to swirl in her mouth. The subtle state of watermelon could be felt as your tongue asserted its dominance.
Moving your hands from Yunjin’s face, your fingers began to move down her shoulders, then to her breast. Feeling the round-clothed surface, your finger tightened its hold on her mound. Each squeeze you gave to her clothed breast received a small gasp from your friend.
Pulling back from the kiss, you finally were brought back to your senses.
“Wait Yunjin. Is this ok?”
“More than ok Oppa. Make love to your girlfriend please.”
Raising her upper body, Yunjin grabbed the ends of her sweater and pulled it over her head. As her hat and sweater came off, your eyes were blessed but the sight of your new girlfriend in a white lacy bra.
Your mouth began to water at the amazing sight, and a smirk was Present on Yunjin’s face. That smirk broke your trance, causing you to reach for the back of her bra and unhook it. Your girlfriend's breasts were not as big as other girls but it was perfect for you. She was perfect.
With a sudden movement, your head dipped down a bit and latched onto her nipple. Starting with small sucks, your tongue began to swirl around just as it did in her mouth. As you took the girl In an embrace, your fingertips moved down to her long legs. Feeling the smoothness of her white skin along your fingertips nearly distracted you from her breast.
Pulling your head off her right boob, Yunjin pulled your mouth to her left nipple and latched you back on. Each suck you have made your dick twitch in your pants. The sudden sensation of a hand on your rod surprised you. Yanking your mouth off of Yunjin’s erect nipple, you’re faced with your girlfriend giggling.
“Eager aren’t we Oppa? Well, I am too.”
Hopping out of your arms, your girlfriend dropped to her knees and looked up at you.
“Let's get you ready to fuck me.”
Unhooking your belt, Yunjin undid your pants and yanked them down in one swoop. As your dick was free, it managed to hit Yunjin in her face. Wrapping her hand around it, your girlfriend began to stroke your length slowly. A bit of Precum leaked from your tip with those actions. Raising her left hand, her index finger began to circle the top of your tip, collecting the leaking semen.
“F-Fuck Yunjin. Such a good girl.”
Bringing her finger to her mouth, Yunjin began to lick the fluid off her fingers.
“I’ve dreamed of this before Oppa. I’m done waiting.”
Bringing her face to your cock, Yunjin’s tongue began to give your tip a few licks. Once done with her teasing, your girlfriend wrapped her lips around your length. You expected her to start slowly but the sudden constricting feeling around your rod made your legs jolt.
Raising her head, Yunjin began to bob her head rapidly on your length. Your hand instinctively went for her head as you formed it into a makeshift ponytail. Each movement from your girl caused you to push her down a little deeper.
With one final push, Yunjin had her throat around your rod. Holding her down, Yunjin’s nose began to expand widely as she took in air. After a few seconds, your girlfriend began to tap on your leg rapidly. Letting go, Yunjin swooped up gasping for air.
“Fuck Oppa. I guess you like it rough.”
Grabbing your girlfriend’s arms, you threw her on top of the couch. Raising her waist, Yunjin reached back and lowered the zipper on her skirt. Helping her, you lowered her skirt to the ground. The white lacy bra from earlier had a matching pair of panties that covered your prize.
Lowering your head, your nose began to take in the smell of lavender coming off her thighs. Puckering your lips, you began to pepper her thighs with kisses. Each smooch on her upper leg decreased at height as you got lower and lower. Closer to her snatch, your kisses began to get near her folds.
Spreading open her legs, Your tongue came out of your mouth and extended over her folds. Giving it a few small flicks, Yunjin began to gasp and shudder at the contact. Wrapping your arms around her thighs, you brought your fingers toward her lips and spread them open.
Finding her little nub, your tongue began to attack it with a constant barrage of licks. The young idol began to jolt around in your legs as you continued to lick her clit. Unwrapping your arms from Yunjin’s legs, you brought your hands straight and pinned her folds once more with your left hand.
With her pussy now open, your right hand brought your index and middle finger to her folds and pushed in. With a bit of resistance, your finger went all the way in and stood there for a second. Pulling your finger back out, the digit moved in and out of her snatch.
“T-That’s it, Oppa. Just a little more and I’m ready.”
Speeding the movements from your fingers and tongue, Yunjin then grabbed your hair and pulled you in deeper. Yunjin must have needed this as her yells began to fill the room. The jumps from her body became wild and erratic as a rush of fluids hit your mouth.
Drinking as much as you can, some of the fluids ended up on other parts of your face. Once Yunjin calmed down, her chest moved up and down as she took in as much air as possible. Raising your upper body, Yunjin did the same and kissed you suddenly.
After a few seconds, your girlfriend pulled back from the kiss and smiled.
“D-Damn I taste good.”
“You came fast. I’m guessing you were a bit needy.”
With a nod, Yunjin grabbed your hips and lined your cock with her folds. Teasing her snatch, Yunjin wrapped her arms around her body and pulled your face towards her neck.
“Come on Oppa. Shove that c-“
Your girlfriend didn’t even get to finish her sentence as you pushed your length into her pussy. The constricting feeling from her throat couldn’t even compare to how tight her pussy was. Taking a few seconds to breathe, You then pulled your hips back till only your tip was in her.
Kissing Yunjin’s neck, your ass suddenly felt a slap as you plunged back into her walls. The moan that left your girlfriend’s mouth was mixed with a giggle as she talked in your ear.
“Fuck my pussy Oppa. This is years of pent-up emotions. Let them out.”
Your left hand went down to her waist as you began to enter and exit her pussy. Before you were going to go a bit more softly but the words Yunjin said to you got your emotions feeling wild. The speed at which you piston her cavern increases. Her moans and grunts echoed in your ears as your pants began to come out.
“Fuck. You are so hot, Yunjin. I love you.”
“I love you too Oppa.”
Lowering your hand to her left breast, you began to take handfuls of her mound. Bringing your fingers to her nipple, you began to squeeze on them. The extra stimulation caused her walls to begin to tighten around your length. Spinning around, you sat down on the couch and placed Yunjin on top of you. Taking this opportunity, your girlfriend began to grind her hips on you while you helped her bounce.
The tight feeling from her walls returns as the grinding and bouncing speed up. With all the energy you have left, you helped Yunjin grind on your cock. The grinding helped stimulate her clit as the young idol began to pant harder and harder.
“I-Oppa I’m gonna cum!”
Continuing with the speed, the young idol began to jump around in your hold. Her fluids began to leak down your rod as she came. Giving her face small kisses, your girlfriend began to come down from her high and laid down on your body.
“You are so pretty, sweetie.”
“T-Thank you Oppa. You haven’t cummed yet. Where do you want to? My body is yours.”
“A-Anywhere?”
“Yes. Anywhere Oppa. Why don’t I just decide for you?”
With a smirk, Yunjin began to hop on your length once more. The rapid speed at which she fucked you returned. Taking hold of her waist once more, you helped Yunjin move up and down on your length. As her body moved back a bit, you couldn’t help but look down at Yunjin’s toned abs.
“Oh. Do you like my abs Oppa? I know they aren’t as good as Zuha’s but I work hard on them.”
“I love them, sweetie.”
Yunjin then at that moment flexed her muscles showing you a better view of her abs. The sight was amazing but you were distracted by the flexing of her vaginal muscles.
“F-Fuck. Do that again!”
Seeing you enjoy the flexing of her muscles, Yunjin flexed them once more. Repeating this action as you rammed your length into her, your length began to twitch more and more from the constricting feeling.
“Shit I’m gonna cum Yunjin.”
“C-Cum in my pussy oppa. I’m safe.”
Those words were all you needed to hear as you shoved your length into her cavern one final time. With each jolt of your legs, a shot of semen left your cock. Yunjin’s walls got painted white in that instant. It could have been seven or seventy shots of cum you shot in her but after a while, you came back to your senses. Panting for air, Yunjin pulled your lips towards hers and kissed you aggressively.
Your girlfriend's lips left your mouth after a couple of seconds. Smiling at Yunjin, the young idol gave you one back.
“So this was quite a meeting for best friends.”
“Meeting between a new couple you mean but yes. I just can’t believe we finally met.”
“Me neither. I’m glad I finally have you in my arms, Sweetie.”
“I love that nickname. Might be stereotypical but I think honey fits you perfectly. I’m sorry for lying. No more of that.”
“Good. I also better see your face in video calls now. And talk to me about any of your troubles. Ok?”
“I promise I will.”
Picking up Yunjin, you began to walk towards the hallway she came from earlier in the day.
“The door at the end of the hall.”
Following your girlfriend’s instructions, you arrived at the door that was luckily already open. Pushing it open, you found a single bed in the corner of the room and walked toward it. Laying Yunjin on the bed. You followed behind her and got in the sheets. The sudden sound of a bell got both of your attention.
Finding the source, you saw it was a little clock that showed it was midnight.
“Merry Christmas Yunjin.”
“Merry Christmas Porter.”
With one final kiss on her lips, the two of you closed your eyes and drifted off to sleep.
The next day
Walking out of the complex, you saw a car pull up and park in front of the building. Both doors opened as two familiar figures walked over.
“MOM, DAD!”
“Yunjin, how are you my little one?”
“I’m ok dad. I-I would like to introduce you both to Porter. My boyfriend.”
“H-Hello. I’m Porter.”
Yunjin’s father walked up to you and glared at you. Your heart began to race until the man smiled and pulled you in for a hug.
“It’s great to finally meet you, Porter. Treat my daughter well please.”
Your girlfriend’s mother then walked up to you and hugged you just as her father did.
“I’m so glad you finally met.”
Pulling back from the hug, Mrs. Huh looked at her daughter and smiled.
“Did you enjoy your gift dear?”
“Yes mother. Thank you very much. I was wondering, C-Could Oppa come to the family dinner?”
You were wondering what the response would be, but with a quick nod and smile, you were happy. Taking hold of Yunjin’s hand you all made your way into the car and set off for the dinner.
After all this time you were finally with your penmate, the girl of your dreams. Who would have ever thought one letter would lead to a relationship like this?
It might be hard with the long distance but you are gonna find a way to make it work.
A/n 2- Thanks for reading. I am going to try to get one last quckie out this year but if I don't, then thank you for a great year. As always sorry for typos and see you next time
ASPA-003 Blackmailing My Stepsister Until Her Mind Breaks.
Words : 10,605 Words
You heard her laugh first. That sharp, mocking sound that used to twist something cold in your gut. It came from the campus cafe’s outdoor seating, a little cluster of her friends gathered like vultures around a joke only they understood.
You saw her then. Minjeong. Your stepsister. Leaning back in her chair, sunlight catching the honey streaks in her hair she spent so much money on. She was holding court, a smug little smile on her lips.
“No, seriously,” her voice carried, crisp and clear. “He tried to explain his coding project to me last night. It was like listening to a malfunctioning dishwasher. Beep boop, error.”
Her friends tittered. One of them, a guy named Jae you recognized, chuckled and shook his head. “Sounds about right.”
You didn’t feel the old flare of humiliation. Not today. Instead, a slow, deep calm settled over you. Your fingers brushed the phone in your pocket, its weight solid and real. A weapon. You walked straight towards their table.
Minjeong saw you approach. Her smile didn’t fade; it just shifted, turning patronizing. “Oh, speak of the devil. Need some help with your dishwasher project, little brother?”
Her friends went quiet, watching the show.
You stopped right next to her chair. You didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. You saw a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. She hated being ignored.
“What?” she finally snapped. “Cat got your tongue? Or did your code finally short-circuit it?”
You leaned down, close enough that only she could hear. Your voice was a low, pleasant murmur. “You should be more careful about your volume, Noona. When you’re home alone, I mean.”
Her face went perfectly still. The smirk froze, then melted into confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“Tuesday afternoon,” you whispered, your breath stirring the hair by her ear. “Around three. You thought I was gone for hours. You must have been really desperate.”
The color drained from her face. Her knuckles, gripping her iced coffee, turned white. She looked from you to her friends, a forced, brittle laugh escaping her. “You’re being weird. Go away.”
You straightened up, your voice returning to a normal volume, conversational. “You know, I was reviewing some footage on my phone. For my dishwasher project. The audio quality is surprisingly good. You have a very… distinctive voice when you’re enthusiastic.”
Minjeong shot up from her chair so fast it screeched against the pavement. “Shut up.”
“Or what?” you asked, tilting your head. “You’ll tell Mom and Dad I’m bothering you? I wonder what they’d think of their perfect daughter’s solo performances. The way you chanted ‘fuck me, fuck me, harder’ into your pillow. The way you screamed when you came. It’s all right here.” You patted your pocket.
Her friends were staring now, bewildered. “Minjeong? What’s he talking about?”
“Nothing!” she barked, her composure cracking. She grabbed your arm, her nails digging in. “We need to talk. Now.”
She practically dragged you away from the table, around the corner of the humanities building, into a narrow, deserted alley between the brick wall and a row of dumpsters. The moment you were out of sight, she whirled on you.
“You fucking creep! You were spying on me?”
You shrugged, leaning against the cool brick. “The door was open. Sound carries. You shouldn’t leave your bedroom door open when you’re planning to finger-fuck your cunt until you scream, Noona.”
She flinched at the vulgarity, her eyes wide with a mix of rage and utter horror. “Delete it. Delete it right now.”
“No.”
“I’ll tell Dad you’re threatening me! I’ll—”
“You’ll do what?” you interrupted, your voice dropping back to that calm, deadly tone. “Tell him I have a video of his precious stepdaughter rubbing her wet little pussy raw while she moans like a whore in a cheap porn? Do you think he’ll be proud? Do you think he’ll keep funding your car, your designer bags, your monthly allowance once he knows what his little saint really does when she’s alone?”
Her bravado shattered. You saw it happen in real time. The fury in her eyes dissolved into fear, then a desperate, pleading panic. Her lower lip trembled. “You can’t.”
“I can. I will. Unless.”
“Unless what?” The question was a whisper.
You took a step forward, closing the distance. She didn’t back away. She was trapped. By the wall, by your body, by the truth in your pocket. You reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her to look at you. Her skin was soft, warm. She was breathing fast.
“You’ve made my life hell for two years, Noona. Mocking me. Belittling me. Acting like you’re fucking royalty.” Your thumb stroked her jawline. “Now, you’re going to make it up to me. Every time I want. Wherever I want. You’re going to be so fucking good to me.”
“What does that mean?” Her voice was shaky.
You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim. Your mouth crashed against hers, forcing her lips apart. She made a muffled sound of protest, her hands coming up to push at your chest, but the fight was gone. It was just a weak, trembling pressure. You slid your tongue into her mouth, tasting her coffee and her fear. After a second of frozen resistance, her body went slack. A small, broken whimper vibrated in her throat. She was letting you. She was accepting it.
You broke the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths for a second before it snapped. Her eyes were glazed, confused.
“That’s what it means,” you said. Your hand left her chin and slid down, over the soft cashmere of her sweater, down to the waistband of her tight jeans. You popped the button. The sound was obscenely loud in the quiet alley.
“No, not here…” she breathed, but it was a token protest. Her hands fell to her sides.
“Yes. Here.” You tugged the zipper down. “Right the fuck here. Where anyone could walk by. Where your friends might come looking for you.” You hooked your fingers into the band of her jeans and her lace panties, pulling them both down her hips in one rough motion. They caught on her thighs. The cool air of the alley washed over her exposed skin.
You turned her around, facing the brick wall. “Hands on the wall. Spread your legs.”
She obeyed. A shudder wracked her body as she placed her palms flat against the rough brick, leaning forward. Her perfect, round ass was now bare to you, the jeans and panties a tangled restraint around her thighs. You admired the view for a moment—the pale curves, the delicate pink folds of her pussy already glistening with a betraying wetness. She’s terrified, but she’s fucking turned on. The thought sent a jolt of pure power straight to your cock.
You unzipped your own jeans, freeing your erection. You were already painfully hard. You stepped up close behind her, the head of your cock nudging against her soaked entrance. You rubbed it through her slick folds, coating yourself in her.
“You’re already this wet for me, Noona?” you whispered into her ear. “You’re a fucking natural-born slut, aren’t you? All that attitude, just hiding a desperate little cunt that gets wet at the first sign of real authority.”
“Please…” she whimpered, the word muffled against her arm.
“Please what? Please fuck you? Like you begged into your pillow?” You positioned yourself. “You got it.”
You drove into her in one hard, deep thrust. There was no gentleness, no slow build. She was tight, a hot, clinging velvet vise around your cock, but her own wetness allowed you to sink to the hilt. A choked scream tore from her throat, echoing off the brick walls. Her back arched, her fingers scrabbled against the rough surface.
“Oh, fuck,” you groaned, the sensation blinding. You held still for a second, buried deep inside her, feeling her inner muscles flutter and clamp around you in shocked reflex. “God, you’re tight. You’ve been saving this cunt, haven’t you? Saving it for your own fingers. What a fucking waste.”
You pulled back almost all the way, then slammed back in. Then again. Setting a brutal, punishing rhythm. The slap of your hips against her ass, the wet, filthy sound of your cock plunging into her, filled the alley.
“You like that?” you grunted, each thrust punctuating your words. “You like your little brother’s cock ruining you in a dirty alley? You’re taking it so fucking good, Noona. Such a good little whore for me.”
Her moans were constant now, a high, keening sound she tried to stifle. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she was pushing back against you, meeting your thrusts. Her body was betraying her completely.
“Tell me,” you demanded, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling her head back. “Tell me who owns this cunt now.”
“You do,” she sobbed, the words ripped from her. “You own it!”
“Damn right I do.” You fucked her harder, deeper. The pressure was building in your balls, a fierce, coiling heat. You thought about the video. You thought about her smug face. You thought about fucking her raw, fucking her so deep she’d feel it for days. “I’m gonna cum inside you, Minjeong. I’m gonna pump this tight little cunt full of my seed. You want that? You want me to breed you right here against this wall?”
The degradation, mixed with the crude, biological threat, broke something else in her. Her moan became a wail. “Yes! Fuck, yes, please! Breed me! Fill me up!”
Her consent, ragged and desperate, was the final trigger. You hammered into her with wild, uncontrolled thrusts, your vision blurring at the edges. With a raw, guttural shout, you buried yourself as deep as you could and came. Hot, pulsing ropes of your release shot deep into her core, spilling inside her with a claiming, primal finality. You held her there, impaled, as you emptied yourself, feeling your cum flooding her, dripping out around the base of your cock where you were still joined.
You stayed like that for a long minute, both of you panting, the only sounds your ragged breaths and the distant hum of campus life. Slowly, you softened and slipped out of her. A trickle of your combined fluids trailed down her inner thigh.
You zipped yourself up. She remained against the wall, trembling, her jeans still around her thighs, utterly exposed and used.
You leaned close again, your voice flat. “Clean yourself up. My room. Ten tonight. Don’t be late.”
You turned and walked out of the alley, leaving her there. You didn’t look back.
*
The house was quiet that night. Dad and your stepmom were out at some charity dinner. You sat on the edge of your bed, waiting. 9:58 PM.
At 10:02, your door opened silently. Minjeong slipped in, closing it behind her. She’d changed into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. Her face was clean, expression carefully blank, but her eyes were red-rimmed.
She stood just inside the door, not meeting your gaze.
“Come here,” you said.
She walked over, stopping a few feet away.
“Closer.”
She took another step.
“On your knees.”
A tremor went through her, but she sank to her knees on your carpet, her head bowed. The submission was absolute, and it made your cock stir again.
“Look at me.”
She raised her eyes. The hatred was still there, simmering beneath a layer of shame and defeat.
“You know why you’re here.”
She nodded once.
“Say it.”
“To… to serve you,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“To serve you!” The words were sharper, edged with resentment.
“Good.” You undid your sweatpants, letting them fall. Your cock, half-hard, swung free. “You know what to do with this. Show me how sorry you are for being a bitch.”
She stared at your cock for a long second. Then, with a shaky breath, she leaned forward. Her soft hands wrapped around the base. She hesitated, her lips an inch away.
“Do it, Noona. Or do I need to send that video to Dad’s phone right now?”
She flinched and opened her mouth. Her tongue darted out first, a timid, hot stripe along the underside of your shaft. Then she took the head into her mouth, her lips stretching around your girth.
“Fuck,” you hissed. The heat and wetness were incredible. She began to bob her head slowly, tentatively. Her technique was awkward, inexperienced. You let her struggle for a minute, watching her cheeks hollow, listening to the soft, wet sounds.
Then you grabbed a fistful of her hair. “Open wider, you stupid slut. You think this is a fucking lollipop?” You guided your cock deeper, past her initial resistance, until the head nudged the back of her throat. She gagged, her eyes watering. “Take it. You were born to suck cock, weren’t you? Such a pretty mouth, wasted on all those insults. Now it’s finally useful.”
You started to fuck her mouth, setting a pace, holding her head still as you thrust into the wet, tight cavern of her throat. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t pull away. Her hands clutched at your thighs. Spit dripped from her stretched lips, coating your cock, her chin, the front of her shirt.
“That’s it,” you groaned, your hips pistoning. “Such a good little cocksucker. My perfect, filthy stepsister. You love this, don’t you? You love having your throat stuffed full of my dick.”
She made a choked, gurgling sound of protest, but the vibration only made the sensation more intense. You felt the pressure building again, low and urgent.
“I’m gonna cum in your mouth,” you announced, your voice thick. “You’re gonna swallow every fucking drop. You understand? That’s what you are now. My personal cum dump.”
Her eyes flew open in panic, but you were already there. With a final, deep thrust that made her nose press into your pubic bone, you erupted. Hot, salty bursts flooded her mouth. She gagged violently, trying to pull back, but you held her firmly in place, pumping your release down her throat.
When you were finally spent, you released her hair. She collapsed forward, coughing, strings of saliva and your cum dripping from her lips onto the floor. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her entire body shaking with ragged coughs and sobs.
You tucked your softening cock back into your sweatpants. You looked down at her, a ruined, beautiful mess at your feet.
“Get up.”
She staggered to her feet, avoiding your eyes.
“Strip. All of it.”
Fresh tears welled, but she obeyed. She pulled her t-shirt over her head, revealing her small, pert breasts. She pushed her sweatpants and panties down, stepping out of them, standing naked and vulnerable in the middle of your room.
“On the bed. On your back. Legs spread.”
She moved like an automaton, lying down on your comforter, her legs falling open, exposing everything. The glistening pink of her pussy, still slightly swollen from your earlier use.
You climbed onto the bed, kneeling between her spread thighs. You didn’t touch her yet. You just looked.
“I own this,” you said, pointing at her cunt. “I own this mouth.” You pointed to her lips. “I own every fucking inch of you. And tonight, I’m going to fuck a baby into you.”
Her breath caught in a sharp inhale. “W-what?”
“You heard me. I’m not pulling out. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.” You leaned over her, bracing your hands on either side of her head. “You’re going to take my cock, and you’re going to take my cum, and you’re going to pray it takes root. Because if you get pregnant, Noona, that’s it. You’re mine forever. No one will believe it wasn’t consensual. You’ll just be the slutty stepsister who couldn’t keep her legs closed. And you’ll do anything I say to keep your little secret.”
The terror in her eyes was a living thing. But beneath it, in the frantic pulse at her throat, in the way her nipples hardened into tight peaks, was that same, fucked-up arousal.
“Please…” she begged, but the meaning was unclear. Please stop? Please do it?
You didn’t ask for clarification. You lowered yourself onto her, the head of your cock finding her entrance once more. You pushed inside, and she was still loose, still wet from the alley and her own fear. You slid in to the hilt in one smooth, deep stroke.
She cried out, her nails digging into your shoulders.
You began to move, a slower, more deliberate rhythm than in the alley. A breeding rhythm. Deep, grinding thrusts designed to lodge your seed as high inside her as it could go.
“This cunt feels even better used,” you moaned into her ear. “So soft and welcoming now. It knows its purpose. To get filled. To get bred.”
You fucked her like that for what felt like hours, in that quiet, dark room. The only sounds were the creak of the bed, the wet slap of skin on skin, and her broken, Cires filled the entire room.
Her cries filled the entire room, a raw, broken symphony that only fueled the relentless drive of your hips. You kept that deep, grinding pace, your cock a thick, unforgiving piston inside her. Each thrust was a promise, a threat, a biological imperative.
“You feel that, Noona?” you growled, your voice rough against the shell of her ear. “You feel how deep I’m planted in this cunt? My cum’s already swimming inside you. Looking for the right spot. Looking to make a fucking baby in your slutty little womb.”
“No, no, no…” she chanted, but her legs were locked around your waist, her heels digging into the small of your back, pulling you deeper.
“Your body says yes,” you grunted, snapping your hips forward hard, making her gasp. “This tight, greedy hole is sucking me in. It wants it. It wants to be bred. You’re just too much of a coward to admit it.”
You shifted your weight, pulling almost all the way out until just the tip remained, teasing her swollen entrance. She whimpered, a sound of pure, desperate need. “Please…”
“Please what?” You rubbed the head through her slick folds, circling her clit. “Use your words, Minjeong. Tell me what this cunt needs.”
“I need… I need you to fuck it.” The admission was torn from her, soaked in shame. “I need you to fuck your cum deeper into me.”
“Good girl,” you purred, the praise like a slap. You plunged back in, a single, devastating stroke that stole her breath. “Such a good, honest little broodmare. Now take it. Take every fucking inch.”
You fucked her with a renewed, brutal intensity. The bedframe slammed against the wall in a steady, rhythmic bang. Her tits bounced with each impact, her nipples hard, dark peaks begging for attention. You leaned down and took one in your mouth, sucking hard, biting the stiff bud. She screamed, her back arching off the bed.
“Yes! God, yes!”
“You like that, you fucking hypocrite?” you snarled, switching to her other breast. “All that purity, all that superiority, and you’re just a set of holes begging to be used and filled. Look at you. My cock is stretching this perfect pussy wide open, and you’re crying for more.”
You could feel the pressure coiling again, a tight, electric knot in your balls and lower spine. Her inner muscles were fluttering, clenching around you in erratic spasms. She was close.
“I’m gonna cum again,” you announced, your thrusts becoming ragged, losing their rhythm. “I’m gonna flood this womb. You gonna come with me, Noona? You gonna squeeze my cock dry while I pump a baby into you?”
“I’m—I’m gonna…” Her words dissolved into a sharp, shattered cry. Her body locked up, rigid beneath you. Her cunt convulsed around your shaft, a series of violent, milking pulses that ripped a guttural roar from your throat.
The sensation tore your control apart. You buried yourself to the root, your pelvis grinding against her clit as you erupted. Another hot, thick flood of your release jetted into her depths, mixing with the first, spilling out around the stretched seal of your cock where you were joined. You pulsed inside her for what felt like an eternity, each throb wringing another shudder from her oversensitive body.
Finally, spent, you collapsed on top of her, your weight pinning her to the mattress. Both of you were slick with sweat, breathing in ragged, synced gasps. The room smelled of sex, of musk, and of her expensive, ruined perfume.
You stayed there for long minutes, still embedded inside her, feeling the occasional aftershock ripple through her cunt. You finally rolled off, pulling out with a soft, wet sound. A gush of your cum followed, leaking onto your sheets. You didn’t care.
She lay motionless, staring at the ceiling, tears tracing clean lines through the sweat on her temples.
You sat up on the edge of the bed, your back to her. “Get a towel. Clean yourself up. Then clean my cock.”
She didn’t move.
“Now, Minjeong.”
A fresh sob escaped her, but she pushed herself up, her movements slow and pained. She walked naked to your connected bathroom, her gait slightly unsteady. You heard the faucet run. She returned with a damp, warm washcloth. She stood before you, avoiding your eyes, and began to gently wipe the mixed fluids from your softening cock. Her touch was clinical, detached.
When she was done, you pointed to the wet spot on the bed. “Clean that too.”
She used the other side of the cloth to dab pathetically at the stain.
“Forget it,” you said, standing. “Tomorrow. You’ll wash the sheets. You’ll do my laundry. You’ll clean my room. That’s part of it now.”
She just nodded, the cloth dangling from her hand.
“Look at me.”
She lifted her gaze. The hatred was still there, but it was duller, buried under layers of exhaustion and utter defeat.
“You did good tonight,” you said, your voice flat. “Your cunt took my cock like it was made for it. Your mouth, too. We’ll work on your throat.” You reached out and cupped her cheek. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “This is your life now. You understand? No more jokes. No more sneers. You see me on campus, you walk the other way unless I call for you. You’re my secret. My dirty, fucking perfect secret.”
“What… what do you want from me?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Everything,” you said simply. “I want to use that tight body whenever I get hard. I want to fuck you in your own bed while Mom and Dad are asleep downstairs. I want to bend you over my desk. I want to wake you up with my cock in your mouth.” You leaned in, your lips almost touching hers. “And I want to see if this fertile little cunt can do what it’s built for. I want to watch your stomach swell with my child. I want to ruin you so completely, there’s no piece of you left that isn’t mine.”
A full-body tremor shook her. You saw the conflict warring in her eyes—terror, revulsion, and that fucking traitorous spark of dark, twisted excitement.
“Now get out,” you said, turning away. “I’m tired. I’ll text you when I want you again.”
She stood there for a moment, naked and shivering. Then, silently, she gathered her clothes from the floor and slipped out of your room, closing the door with a soft, final click.
The text came three days later, just after your last afternoon class.
My car. South lot. Now.
You found her black coupe parked in the farthest, most secluded corner of the student lot, shielded by a row of thick evergreens. You slid into the passenger seat. The engine was running, the heater blowing lukewarm air.
Minjeong was gripping the steering wheel, her knuckles white. She was wearing a cream-colored sweater dress that hugged her curves, knee-high boots. She looked beautiful and tense.
“Drive,” you said.
“Where?”
“Just drive. Out of the city. Find somewhere quiet.”
She put the car in gear and pulled out. Neither of you spoke for twenty minutes, until the buildings thinned and were replaced by wooded hillsides. The tension in the car was thick enough to taste.
“Pull over there,” you said, pointing to a narrow, unpaved forestry service road that disappeared into the trees.
“That’s not—”
“Pull over, Noona.”
She jerked the wheel, the car bumping onto the gravel. She drove until the main road was out of sight, surrounded by nothing but silent, skeletal winter trees. She put the car in park. The engine ticked softly.
“In the back,” you commanded.
A broken sound escaped her lips. “Here? It’s daylight. Someone could—”
“No one is here.” You unclipped your seatbelt. “Get in the back. Now. On your knees.”
The fight was shorter this time. A single, defeated slump of her shoulders. She climbed awkwardly between the seats into the small back of her coupe. You followed, the space cramped, intimate.
“That dress always looked so fucking innocent on you,” you said, kneeling behind her as she knelt on the floor mats, facing the seat. You gathered the soft material in your hands and shoved it up around her waist, exposing her bare ass. She wasn’t wearing panties. “You came prepared. You knew what today was, didn’t you?”
“Fuck you,” she whispered, but it lacked conviction.
You ran a hand over the cool, smooth skin of her ass. “You want my cock in this ass today, Minjeong? You want me to ruin this tight little hole?”
Her whole body went rigid. “No. Please. Not there.”
“Why not? You give me this perfect, round ass, wiggling it in my face for years, and you think I don’t want to fuck it?” You spit into your palm, then rubbed the wetness over her puckered entrance. She gasped at the contact. “Your cunt’s getting all the attention. Your asshole looks jealous.”
“It’ll hurt,” she pleaded, her forehead pressed against the leather seat.
“It’ll hurt so fucking good,” you corrected. You unzipped your jeans, freeing your already hard cock. You’d been thinking about this all day. You pressed the broad head against her back door, applying steady pressure. “Relax. Take a deep breath and push out for me.”
“I can’t…”
“You can. Or I drive us home and play that video for Dad on the big-screen TV the second he walks in. Your choice, Noona. Be my good little anal slut, or be the campus masturbation star.”
A ragged, shuddering breath. Then, you felt the tiny ring of muscle give way, just a little, under your insistence. It was unbelievably tight, a scorching, silken vise.
“That’s it… fuck, that’s it,” you groaned, pushing forward another inch, stretching her open. Her cry was muffled by the seat. “You’re taking it. You’re taking my cock in your virgin ass. God, you’re tight. Like a fucking fist.”
You pushed deeper, slowly, feeling every millimeter of her resistance give way. When you were fully seated, balls-deep in her ass, you both stopped, panting. She was trembling violently, full-body shudders that clenched around your shaft in waves.
“Move,” she sobbed. “Just… move.”
You pulled back slowly, then pushed back in. The friction was incredible, a dry, searing heat that made your vision blur. You set a slow, deep rhythm, each thrust a deliberate conquest. The vulgar, squelching sound of spit and tightness filled the small space.
“You like that, you ass-loving whore?” you grunted, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. “You like having your shitter stuffed full of your little brother’s dick?”
“I hate it,” she cried, but her hips were pushing back, meeting your thrusts. “I hate you!”
“Your body doesn’t hate it,” you snarled, picking up the pace. The car began to rock gently on its suspension. “Feel how your ass is sucking me in? It’s hugging my cock. It doesn’t want to let go.” You slid a hand around her hip, down between her legs. Her cunt was soaked, dripping. You shoved two fingers inside her, fucking her with them in time with your thrusts into her ass. “And this greedy pussy is jealous. It’s dripping because it wants to be filled, too. You’re a fucking two-hole slut, Minjeong. Born for it.”
The dual sensation, the crude, filthy words, broke her. A guttural, animal noise tore from her throat. Her ass clamped down on you like a vise, her cunt pulsing around your fingers. She came, hard, her body seizing, her screams echoing in the confined space.
The convulsions of her ass around your cock tipped you over the edge. With a final, brutal slam, you buried yourself and came, pumping your release deep into her bowels. You held there, spurting, until you were utterly empty.
You pulled out, both of you gasping. She collapsed sideways onto the seat, a boneless, used heap. You tucked yourself away, looking down at her. Her asshole was red, puffy, glistening with spit and your cum.
“Clean up,” you said, your voice hoarse. “We’re going to be late for dinner.”
She just lay there, breathing hard.
You grabbed her hair, not gently. “I said, clean up. Use your dress.”
Eyes wide with fresh humiliation, she pulled the hem of her beautiful cream sweater dress up and wiped messily between her legs, then dabbed at her ruined ass. The fabric was stained.
“Good,” you said. You climbed back into the front passenger seat. “Now drive.”
She hauled herself into the driver’s seat, moving like an old woman. She didn’t look at you. She just started the car and pulled back onto the road, the stained dress rucked up around her thighs.
You leaned back, a smile touching your lips. “You know, Noona… I think next time, I want to fuck that ass in your room. While you’re on the phone with Mom. Let’s see if you can keep your voice steady while I’m tearing your asshole. Gaping it with my Thick Cock.
The front door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the quiet, empty house. Your hand was locked around Minjeong’s wrist, a vise-like grip that brooked no argument. She stumbled after you, a muffled protest dying in her throat as you half-dragged, half-marched her down the hall toward your room.
“W-wait—”
You didn’t. You shoved the door open, propelled her inside, and kicked it shut behind you. The afternoon light filtered through the blinds, cutting the room into bars of gold and shadow. She staggered, catching her balance against your desk, her breathing already coming in sharp, fearful bursts.
“Strip,” you said. The word was flat, a command.
Her eyes, wide and defiant for a fleeting second, dropped. Her shoulders slumped. The fight, what little remained, leaked out of her. Her fingers, trembling, went to the buttons of her blouse. She fumbled the first one.
“Too slow.” You stepped forward, your own hands closing on the fabric at her collar. You didn’t bother with the buttons. You simply pulled, hard. The thin material ripped with a sound like tearing parchment, buttons pinging off the floor. She gasped, her arms instinctively crossing over her exposed bra—a lacy, expensive-looking thing that did nothing to hide the shape of her tits.
“Arms down,” you growled.
She obeyed, letting her hands fall to her sides. You made quick work of her skirt, unsnapping it and letting it pool at her feet. Then her bra, then her panties. Within seconds, she stood naked in the middle of your room, hugging herself, her skin pebbling in the cool air. Her body was a map of your ownership—a faint bruise on her hip from the car, the lingering redness you knew was between her legs.
You didn’t undress. You just unzipped your jeans, freeing your cock. It was already hard, thick and heavy in your hand. You stepped toward her, and she took an involuntary step back, her calves hitting the edge of your bed.
“On the bed,” you said. “On your back. Head hanging off the side.”
She understood. Her face, already pale, went ashen. “No. Not like that. I can’t—”
“You can.” You advanced, crowding her until the back of her knees buckled and she sat heavily on the mattress. “You will. Or that video goes to Dad in the next sixty seconds. Your choice, Noona. Be my good little throat whore, or be the family embarrassment.”
A tear traced a hot path down her cheek. She hated crying in front of you. It was the ultimate defeat. She laid back, scooting until her head tipped over the edge, her long hair brushing the floor. The position exposed the pale, vulnerable column of her throat. Her tits pointed upward, nipples tight with fear and chill. Her legs dangled off the side of the bed, bent at the knees.
You stood over her, looking down at her upside-down face. Her eyes were squeezed shut. “Open your eyes. Look at me.”
She forced them open. The world was inverted for her. Your face, your cock, all looming above.
“Open your mouth.”
Her lips parted, a sliver of pink. You tapped the head of your cock against them. “Wider. You know the drill. Let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”
She opened wider, a dark, inviting hole. You pushed forward, not slowly, not gently. The broad crown of your cock pushed past her lips, stretching them. She made a gagging sound immediately, her hands flying up to grasp your thighs.
You slapped them away. “Hands on the bed. Or behind your head. Don’t fucking touch me unless I say so.”
Her hands fell back, fingers clawing at the comforter. You pushed deeper, feeling the head bump against the back of her tongue, then press into her tight throat. Her body stiffened, a choked, wet gag tearing from her. Her neck worked frantically.
“Relax,” you said, your voice detached, almost conversational. “Swallow. Try to swallow me down, you stupid cunt.”
You pushed further. The resistance was intense, a hot, muscular clenching around the tip of your cock. You felt her panic, the frantic flutter of her swallow reflex. Pre-cum leaked from your slit, a salty precursor that coated her throat. You saw her Adam’s apple bob as she tried to comply, tried to take you.
“That’s it,” you murmured, watching the stretch of her lips around your girth. “Taste that? That’s my fucking pre-cum. That’s the taste of your brother. Get used to it. It’s gonna be on your tongue, in your stomach, for the rest of your life.”
You pulled back, just an inch, then shoved forward again, a little deeper this time. A strangled scream vibrated around your shaft. Tears streamed from the corners of her eyes, running down her temples into her hairline. Spit dripped from the stretched corners of her mouth.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” you said, beginning a slow, shallow rhythm, fucking her mouth in short, insistent thrusts. “All that makeup, that perfect hair… for what? To look pretty while you choke on my dick? You were born for this, Minjeong. I knew it the first time I heard you moaning into your pillow. You weren’t dreaming of some prince. You were dreaming of a cock to ruin you. This cock.”
You increased the pressure, pushing until your pubic bone met her nose. You were fully sheathed in her throat. Her body convulsed, her legs kicking weakly. You held there for a long, torturous moment, feeling her struggle to breathe, feeling the incredible, tight heat of her throat spasming around you.
“Breathe through your nose,” you instructed coolly. “You have to breathe, Noona. Or you’ll pass out, and I’ll just keep fucking your unconscious face. Would you like that? To wake up with my cum dripping out of your slack mouth?”
You pulled all the way out. She dragged in a huge, ragged, wheezing breath, coughing violently, strings of saliva and pre-cum connecting your cock to her bruised lips.
“Fuck… noona,” you groaned, watching her struggle. “You’re such a cumslut. Look at you. Gagging for air, and your eyes are already glazing over. You’re getting off on this, aren’t you? This degradation. This is what you really want.”
“I d-don’t…” she croaked, her voice wrecked.
“You do.” You lined yourself up again. “Your cunt is dripping right now. I can smell it. That’s your real voice, Minjeong. Not the bitchy one you use on campus. This wet, hungry cunt is your truth.”
You plunged back in, deeper, faster this time. You set a ruthless pace, your hips pistoning, fucking her throat in a steady, brutal rhythm. The sounds were obscene—wet, guttural gags, the slap of your balls against her chin, her frantic, nasal breaths. Her hands were fists in the comforter, her knuckles white. Her body trembled with the strain.
“You take it so fucking good,” you grunted, your own breathing starting to labour. “Such a perfect little throat. Made for cock. My cock. I’m gonna cum right down this tight little pipe. I’m gonna feed you. You’re gonna swallow every drop, and you’re gonna thank me for it.”
Her answering sound was a weak, desperate moan that traveled the length of your shaft. It was the sound of breaking. Of surrender. Her throat seemed to open, to relax, to actively suck you in. The resistance melted into a slick, hot, willing cavern.
The change was instantaneous. The fight was gone, replaced by a shocking, depraved compliance. Her tongue moved, licking along the underside of your cock as you fucked in and out. Her lips sealed tighter, creating a perfect vacuum.
“Oh, fuck,” you gasped, the sensation skyrocketing. “That’s it. That’s my girl. You finally get it. This is your place. This is your purpose.”
You let go of the control, fucking her throat with abandon, your vision spotting at the edges. The pressure built, a tight, electric coil in your balls, a tingling up your spine. You gripped the headboard for leverage, driving into her with deep, grinding strokes that made her whole body shake.
“I’m gonna cum! You ready? You ready for your meal, you hungry fucking whore?”
A garbled, affirmative sound vibrated around you. Her eyes, streaming tears, were locked on yours. They held a plea, but not to stop. A plea for more. For the final, claiming degradation.
With a roar that was part triumph, part release, you slammed home and let go. Hot, pulsing ropes of your cum shot directly down her throat. You felt the convulsive swallow as she tried to take it, the muscle working frantically to obey. You kept pumping, jet after jet, flooding her, marking her from the inside. A few stray spurts escaped her stretched lips, dripping down her cheeks and onto the floor.
When you were finally spent, you pulled out slowly. She coughed again, a wet, messy sound, but her mouth remained open, waiting. A trickle of white leaked from the corner. She was a masterpiece of ruin.
You looked down at her, your cock softening, glistening with her spit and your release. Her chest heaved. She looked dazed, utterly hollowed out.
“Clean it,” you said, tapping your cock against her lips.
Without hesitation, her tongue snaked out, licking the remaining spend from the slit, then tracing the length to the base, cleaning you with a diligence that was both horrifying and unbelievably hot. She took you into her mouth one last time, a soft, sucking pull to get every last drop.
You stepped back, tucking yourself away. She lay there, head still hanging, staring at the ceiling upside down, catching her breath.
“Get up.”
She moved slowly, awkwardly, pushing herself upright. She swayed on the edge of the bed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lips were swollen, red. Her throat would be sore for days.
You walked to your desk and picked up your phone. You opened the gallery, found the video, and held it up so she could see the thumbnail—her, on her bed, lost in her own pleasure. Her face crumpled.
“This stays with me,” you said, your voice low. “As long as you remember your place. As long as you come when I call. As long as you offer that mouth, that cunt, that ass, whenever I want them.” You paused. “And you’re going to start offering, Minjeong. You’re not just going to take it. You’re going to beg for it.”
She shook her head, a tiny, broken movement. “I won’t.”
“You will.” You put the phone down. “Because part of you already does. Part of you is screaming for it right now. The part that got wet while I was choking you on my dick. The part that came in the car when I was tearing your ass open.” You leaned close, your face inches from hers. “I own that part of you. And I’m going to make it bigger. I’m going to feed it until it’s all that’s left.”
You straightened up. “Now, get on the bed properly. On your hands and knees.”
She blinked, fresh terror in her eyes. “Again? You just… you just…”
“I just came in your throat. Now I want to fuck your cunt. I want to feel how wet all that throat-fucking made you. I want to see if I can make you come just from thinking about how you swallowed my load.”
She didn’t move. You saw the calculation in her eyes—the exhausting cost of resistance versus the shameful ease of submission.
It was no contest.
She turned, crawling onto the center of the bed, presenting herself to you on all fours. The view was impeccable. Her round ass, the pink, swollen lips of her pussy, already gleaming with her arousal. You stripped your clothes off, your cock, semi-hard again, twitching with interest.
You knelt behind her, running a hand over the curve of her ass. She flinched.
“Tell me you want it,” you said, your fingers trailing through her wetness, gathering it, rubbing it over her entrance.
She was silent.
You pinched the inside of her thigh, hard. She yelped. “Tell me.”
“I… I want it,” she whispered.
“Louder.”
“I want it!” The words were sharp, edged with self-loathing.
“You want what?”
She took a shuddering breath. “I want your cock. In my cunt.”
“Good girl.” You positioned yourself, the head nudging against her. “Now ask for it like you mean it. Like the desperate, cock-starved stepsister you are.”
The humiliation was a living thing in the room. You could feel her trembling with it. When she spoke, her voice was thick, clogged with tears and desire. “Please… please fuck me. Please put your cock in my cunt. I need it. I’m so empty. I need you to fill me.”
The raw need in her voice, so different from her usual sneer, was more intoxicating than any drug. You pushed inside her in one smooth, deep stroke. She was soaked, loose from earlier use, but still so incredibly tight. She cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated sensation.
“Fuck,” you groaned, sinking to the hilt, your balls pressing against her. “You’re so fucking wet. Dripping. All from having your throat used. You’re a fucking miracle of perversion, Noona.”
You began to move, a deep, rolling rhythm that emphasized every inch of your penetration. Your hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as you drove into her. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, a lewd metronome.
“Whose cunt is this?” you demanded, picking up the pace.
“Yours!” she gasped, pushing back against you.
“And whose womb am I gonna fill?”
“Yours! Yours!”
“Damn right.” You leaned over her back, your chest pressed against her spine, your mouth at her ear. “I’m gonna fuck a baby so deep into you, Minjeong. I’m gonna knock you up, and you’re gonna carry it, and everyone will see. They’ll see your belly grow with my child, and they’ll have no idea the perfect, bitchy Minjeong is just a bred sow for her little brother.”
The filthy promise, the graphic biological threat, sent a violent shiver through her. Her inner muscles clenched around you in a sudden, fierce spasm. “Oh, God…”
“You like that idea?” you grunted, fucking her harder, your thrusts becoming shorter, more urgent. “You like the thought of being my pregnant little slut? Walking around campus, feeling my kid kick inside you, knowing your tits are full of milk for me?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” Her confession was a wail, torn from some deep, shameful place she could no longer hide. Her orgasm hit her, buckling her arms. She collapsed onto her elbows, her face buried in the comforter as her body was racked with convulsions. Her cunt milked your cock in frantic, fluttering pulses.
It was too much. The visual, the feeling, the power. With a final, deep grind, you erupted inside her again, pumping another thick load into her already-claimed depths. You held there, pulsing, as she whimpered beneath you, oversensitive and utterly broken.
You stayed joined for a long minute, both of you breathing hard. Then you pulled out. The evidence of your possession spilled out of her immediately, a creamy rivulet running down her inner thigh.
You collapsed onto the bed beside her. She didn’t move, her face still hidden.
The silence stretched. The only sound was the clock on your wall ticking away the seconds of her new life.
Finally, you spoke, your voice rough but calm. “Roll over.”
She did, slowly, onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, her expression blank, emptied out.
You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at her. You traced a finger from her collarbone, over the swell of her breast, circling her nipple. “You did good. Your throat… it’s learning. And your cunt…” you slid your finger down her stomach, through the mess between her legs, “your cunt is perfect. It was made to take my seed.”
She turned her head to look at you. The hatred was there, but it was distant, blurred by exhaustion and something else—a terrifying, dawning acceptance. “Is it… is it enough?” she asked, her voice a raw scrape. “For today?”
You smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. “Almost.” You moved your hand, your fingers finding her asshole, still slightly loose from the forest. You pressed a fingertip against the tight ring. She stiffened. “I think we should try something new. I think I want to fuck this ass again. But this time… I want you to look at me while I do it. I want you to tell me you love it.
The silence after your threat hung thick as a physical weight. Minjeong’s eyes, still glazed from her orgasm, widened just a fraction. The “no” was there, trembling on her lips, but it never came. It couldn’t. You saw the conflict warring in her—the last embers of her old self screaming against the cold, wet reality of the cunt you’d just filled.
“Look at you,” you said, your voice a low rumble. “You can’t even pretend to hate it anymore, can you? Your body’s already saying yes. This greedy little hole,” you pressed your finger deeper against her ass, making her jolt, “is already clenching, begging for it. But not yet.”
You withdrew your hand and sat up. The room felt charged, the air still humming with the scent of sex and sweat. You swung your legs off the bed and walked to your closet. You knew exactly what you were looking for. From a box on the top shelf, you pulled out two long, soft silk scarves you’d… acquired. You’d bought them for this, weeks ago, fantasizing about this exact moment.
You turned back to the bed. Minjeong hadn’t moved. She lay sprawled on her back, a canvas of used flesh, watching you with the hollow, resigned eyes of a prisoner.
“Scoot up,” you commanded. “To the headboard.”
She pushed herself up the mattress, movements sluggish. When her head was near the wooden slats of the headboard, you knelt beside her.
“Wrists.”
She held them out, a small, pathetic gesture of surrender. You took her left wrist first, looping the deep blue silk around it twice, knotting it firmly but not cruelly to the vertical post. The fabric was cool and smooth against her skin. You did the same with her right wrist, pulling her arms wide, leaving her chest exposed, vulnerable. Her breathing hitched—no, faltered—as the restraint settled.
“Now the ankles.” The second scarf, a blood red, you used on her legs. You tied each ankle to a corresponding bedpost at the foot of the bed, spreading her wide open. Completely exposed. Utterly helpless.
She was spread-eagled before you, a feast presented for your consumption. Every part of her was on display: the sweat-sheened valley between her breasts, the gentle curve of her stomach, the tangled, wet thatch of hair between her legs, and the pink, swollen lips of her pussy, still dripping your cum onto the sheets beneath her. Her asshole, the tight, dark star you’d promised to violate again, was visible too.
You stood at the foot of the bed, admiring your work. The visual was perfect. Power, hot and dark, coiled in your gut.
“Beautiful,” you murmured, and the word wasn’t gentle. It was possessive. “You were always beautiful, Noona. But like this? Tied up and waiting for me? This is how you were meant to be seen.”
You left the room for a moment, going to the bathroom. You returned with the object in your hand: a sleek, black vibrator. It wasn’t huge, but it was powerful, with a broad, flat tip perfect for clitoral stimulation. You clicked it on. A low, insistent hum filled the room.
Minjeong’s eyes locked onto it. A fresh tremor went through her bound form.
You crawled onto the bed, settling between her splayed thighs. You ran the flat, buzzing head of the toy up her inner thigh, not touching her core yet. The vibration traveled through her muscle, a teasing promise.
“You see,” you said, your voice conversational, almost clinical, “you’ve been a very bad sister. A nasty, fucking bitch. And bad girls need to be taught a lesson. They need to learn their place. And sometimes, the best way to teach them… is to break them.”
You brought the vibrator to her cunt, but you didn’t press it inside. You rested it against her outer lips, letting the powerful buzz resonate through her swollen, sensitive flesh.
She gasped, her back arching off the bed. “Ah—!”
“Shhh,” you soothed, a cruel parody of comfort. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to play a game, Noona. I’m going to make you feel so good, you’ll forget your own name. And then, just when you’re about to come, when you’re begging for it… I’m going to stop. Again and again. Until you understand what you are.”
You began to trace slow, deliberate circles around her clit with the buzzing head. Not directly on it. Around it. Teasing the hyper-sensitive nerves without giving her the full pressure she craved.
“Oh, fuck,” she whimpered, her head thrashing side to side on the pillow. Her hips tried to buck, to chase the sensation, but the restraints held her fast. She was completely at the mercy of your hand, of the toy. “Please…”
“Please what?” you asked, your tone light. You moved the vibrator down, tracing her soaking slit, gathering her wetness, spreading it. The sound was obscenely loud. “Use your words. What does this perfect, greedy cunt want?”
“It… it wants…” she panted, the words fighting through the haze of building pleasure. “The… the toy. On my… my clit. Please.”
“But you haven’t earned it yet,” you chided. You pressed the vibrator firmly against her entrance, letting it buzz there, the sensation radiating deep inside her without penetration. Her whole body jerked against the scarves. “Look at you. Dripping. Soaking my sheets. And for what? A little buzzing? You’re such a cheap, easy slut.”
You removed the toy entirely. The sudden absence of sensation made her cry out, a sound of pure loss.
“No! Don’t stop!”
“I’ll stop whenever I want,” you said coldly. You watched her cunt pulse, empty and desperate. “This isn’t about your pleasure. It’s about my control. Watch.”
You reached down with your other hand, your fingers sliding easily through her slick folds. You found her clit, hard and throbbing like a tiny heartbeat. You pinched it, not hard, but enough to make her yelp.
“See? I can give you pain, or I can give you pleasure. Or,” you brought the vibrator back, this time placing the broad side directly over her clit and pressing down, “I can give you this.”
The effect was instantaneous.
Her scream was muffled by the pillow she twisted her head into. Her body bowed off the mattress, held only by the points where she was tied. A violent, convulsive shudder racked her from head to toe. The buzz was clearly intense, overwhelming.
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” she screamed, the words torn from her.
You held it there, watching her unravel. Her thighs trembled. Her toes curled. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the air, her hands bound. You saw the orgasm building in the tight coil of her stomach, in the frantic flutter of her cunt muscles.
Just as her breathing became ragged, just as her moans climbed to a shattered peak, you pulled the vibrator away.
She shattered, but not with climax. With denial.
A sob of pure, animal frustration ripped from her throat. “No! No, no, no! You can’t! I was so close! Please!”
“You were,” you agreed calmly. You turned the vibrator off. The sudden silence was louder than the buzz had been. “But I said no. My rules. Now…” You positioned yourself between her legs, your cock, hard and aching again, nudging at her soaked entrance. “I think I want to feel you. I want to be inside this desperate, weeping cunt while I play with you.”
You pushed into her in one long, slow stroke. She was so wet, so hot, so ready. She gasped, her inner walls clenching around you in a desperate, welcoming spasm.
“Oh, god, yes,” she moaned, the penetration offering a different, deeper fullness.
You began to fuck her, a deep, measured pace. At the same time, you turned the vibrator back on, setting it to a lower, more insistent setting. You brought it back to her clit, but you just held it nearby, letting the vibrations almost touch her.
“You feel that?” you grunted, driving into her. “You feel how badly your body wants to come? How this tight little cunt is squeezing my cock, trying to milk an orgasm out of me? It won’t work. You don’t come until I say. You don’t get to feel that relief until I’ve decided you’ve earned it.”
You increased the pace of your thrusts, fucking her with a hard, piston-like rhythm that made the bed frame creak. The slap of your skin against hers was a brutal counterpoint to the soft, maddening hum of the toy. You brought the vibrator closer, letting it just barely graze her swollen nub with each downward thrust of your hips.
The sensation was exquisite torture for her. The deep, filling stretch of your cock, combined with the teasing, electric buzz just at the edge of her most sensitive point. She was babbling, a stream of incoherent pleas and curses.
“Please… please, I can’t… it’s too much… don’t stop… fuck me, fuck me, please let me come… I’ll do anything…”
“What will you do?” you demanded, your own control starting to fray at the edges. The feeling of her cunt, the sight of her completely bound and begging, was pushing you to your limit.
“Anything! Anything! I’ll be your slut, your whore, I’ll suck your cock whenever you want, I’ll let you fuck my ass, just please let me come! I need it! I need to come so bad it hurts!”
Her words were a broken record of need. Her eyes were unfocused, seeing nothing but the pleasure-pain you were orchestrating. This was it. The mindbreak. The crumbling of the last wall.
You pressed the vibrator firmly against her clit.
She screamed, a raw, ragged sound that tore at her throat. Her orgasm exploded through her, violent and all-consuming. Her body convulsed against the restraints, her cunt clamping down on your cock in rhythmic, milking waves that threatened to pull your own release from you. You kept the vibrator pressed hard, kept fucking her through it, extending the waves of pleasure into something that bordered on agony.
“That’s it,” you growled, pistoning into her. “Come all over my cock, you filthy bitch. Let it all out. Show me how much of a slut you really are.”
Her cries dissolved into sobs. Great, heaving sobs that shook her entire frame. The orgasm seemed to have unlocked a floodgate. The pride, the arrogance, the bitchy facade—it all washed away in the tidal wave of forced, overwhelming sensation.
You pulled the vibrator away and turned it off. You kept fucking her, your own climax roaring up your spine. But you wanted more. You needed the final surrender.
Her sobs subsided into shaky, hitching breaths. She was utterly spent, a limp, wet doll tied to your bed. But her eyes, when they found yours, held a terrifying emptiness. A void where Minjeong used to be.
You slowed your thrusts, but didn’t stop. You leaned over her, your face inches from hers. “Who do you belong to?”
Her voice was a ghost of a sound, scraped raw. “You.”
“What are you?”
A tear traced a clean path through the sweat on her temple. “Your slut.”
“And what is this cunt for?” You punctuated the question with a deep, grinding thrust.
“For you,” she whispered. Then, louder, the words gaining a frantic, desperate energy. “For your cock. For your cum. It’s yours. It’s always been yours. Please… please ruin it. Please fuck it up. Make it so only you can use it. Breed it.”
The words hung in the air. The final, complete submission. The invitation you’d been waiting for.
“You want me to breed you?” you asked, your voice thick with lust. “You want me to knock you up? To put a baby in this ruined, used-up cunt?”
“Yes!” The word was a shriek. “Yes! Fuck me up! Fill me with it! Pump your seed so deep into me it takes root! I want it! I want to be your pregnant whore! I want everyone to see what you did to me! Please!”
It was the most beautiful, fucked-up thing you’d ever heard. The mindbreak was complete. The bitch was dead. In her place was this… this creature of pure, desperate need. Your creature.
You lost all control. With a guttural roar that came from the very base of your being, you slammed into her, fucking her with a frantic, brutal abandon. The bed rocked violently. You were no longer making love, or even fucking. You were claiming. Marking. Breeding.
“Take it!” you snarled, your vision going white at the edges. “Take my fucking cum, you bitch! Take every drop! This is what you are now! You’re a fucking broodmare! My personal fleshlight! My property!”
Your orgasm tore through you, a blinding, convulsive eruption. You buried yourself to the hilt and held there, pumping jet after hot, thick jet of your release deep into her womb. You felt it, the pulsing, the flooding heat, the absolute finality of it. You collapsed on top of her, your weight pressing her into the mattress, your cock still twitching inside her as you emptied everything you had.
For a long time, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing and her soft, continuous weeping.
Slowly, you softened and slipped out of her. You didn’t move from on top of her. You just lay there, feeling the rapid, frantic beat of her heart against your chest.
Finally, you pushed yourself up on your elbows. You looked down at her face. Her eyes were closed, tears still leaking from the corners. Her lips were parted, breathing shallowly.
You leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, or love. It was a seal. A brand. She didn’t respond, but she didn’t pull away.
You broke the kiss and moved off her. You untied the silk scarves from her wrists and ankles, your movements almost gentle. She didn’t move, her limbs falling bonelessly to the bed, red marks circling the pale skin.
You got off the bed and went to the bathroom, returning with a warm, damp cloth. You cleaned her up, wiping the mingled sweat and fluids from her thighs, her stomach. She flinched at the first touch, then went still again, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
When you were done, you tossed the cloth aside and lay down next to her on the ravaged bed. You pulled the comforter over both of you. The room was dark now, the last of the afternoon light gone.
You turned on your side, facing her. You reached out and brushed a strand of damp hair from her forehead. She didn’t look at you.
“Minjeong,” you said. Her name, not ‘Noona.’
Her eyes, empty and red-rimmed, slowly shifted to meet yours.
“It’s over,” you said, your voice quiet in the dark. “The fight. It’s done. You’re mine now. All of you. And I take care of what’s mine.”
A single, fresh tear rolled down into her hairline. She didn’t speak.
You leaned closer, your lips brushing her ear. “Tomorrow,” you whispered, the promise a dark, tender thing in the silence, “we start for real. No more threats. No more blackmail. You’re going to wake up, and you’re going to come to me. You’re going to get on your knees, and you’re going to beg for my cock. Because you want it. Because you need it. Because it’s the only thing that makes you feel real.”
You pulled back to see her reaction. Her lower lip trembled. But she didn’t argue. She didn’t protest. She just stared at you, a hollowed-out vessel waiting to be filled with whatever you chose to pour into her.
You smiled. A real smile this time, cold and satisfied. You settled back, pulling her limp body against yours, your hand splayed possessively over her flat stomach.
“Sleep,” you commanded. “You’ll need your strength.”
You closed your eyes, listening to her breathing gradually even out. Outside, the world went on. But in this room, with this broken woman in your arms, a new world had just been born. And you were its god.
The first gray light of dawn was just starting to bleed around the edges of the blinds when you felt her stir. You were already awake, had been for hours, just watching her, thinking.
She shifted, a small movement. Then, slowly, as if moving through deep water, she turned her head on the pillow to look at you. Her eyes were no longer empty. They held a deep, fathomless exhaustion, and a terrifying, focused need.
Her mouth opened. Her voice was a dry, cracked whisper, but the words were clear.
Sypnosis: This follows the untold story of an ex-trainee who unexpectedly finds himself managing one of K-pop's biggest groups, aespa. Navigating the chaos of schedules, performances, and personalities, they must balance professionalism with deep-rooted friendships-especially with Winter, their childhood friend.
What will happened? Who knows, but it will always be fun
UPDATE: requests are welcome if u have a scenario in mind!
All covers to the respective series were edited by the wonder @panchatea.
—————————————
Bucket List (ft. TWICE’s Nayeon)
Im Nayeon, Seoul U’s It Girl—rich, beautiful, intelligent, and confident, hides a burning secret and desire, and with her graduation from university coming at the end of the school year, she has requests that aim to fulfil the burning desires she keeps within her heart.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Interlude—Experiment Five.5
Interlude—Workout Five.8
Interlude—Five.Six [Queen & Princess]
——————–
Queen (ft. TWICE’s Nayeon)
The Queen-Imperial Im Nayeon demands your presence in her Throne Room privately and for reasons unknown. With your close involvement in her past, just as she is with yours, what could be her motivations?
Queen (ft. TWICE’s Nayeon) || Companion Short: Queen’s Past
An ill-fated gamble lands you into the worst position you could have in life—delegated as the new fucktoy for use by the Student Council, led by Hirai Momo and her counterparts.
Gamble (ft. Momo)
Gamble (ft. Momo & Sana) [Part 2]
Gamble (ft. Dahyun) [Part 3]
Gamble Part 4 (ft. Jihyo)
Gamble Part 5 (ft. Chaeyoung)
Gamble Part 6 (ft. Mina) [Finale]
———————
The Playgirl (ft. LOONA’s Yves) [Female Reader]
When you’re forced to tutor the bane of your existence/your seatmate/the campus fuckgirl, you naturally expect the toughest of experiences. After all, she is your polar opposite—she gives no fucks, and you give a lot. When she offers you a deal you cannot refuse after testing limit after limit of yours, she takes you on a journey where you learn how opposites attract, how shared experiences form strong bonds, and how she can become a lover from an enemy.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
——————
Caught In 4K
A collaboration between me and the wonderful @worldsover.
Im Yeojin—student by day, camgirl off hours for fun. You’re her best friend, secretly in love with her, and very aware of her side job she has. This is your story as much as it is hers—the journey that leads the both of you closer together.
Chapter 1
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JHJX-(CODE)
A collaboration between myself and the wonderful @midnightdancingsol.
Interrupted during your self-love session by the very target of your fantasies results in a sexually filled weekend between yourself and the Class President Jeon Heejin.
[JHJX-210] “My Class President Caught Me Masturbating, But Instead of Stopping Me, She Made Me Touch Myself So Hard That I Came All Over Myself!”
—————————————
Worth Your X
One unfortunate (well, maybe fortunate) encounter between you and Council President Jo Haseul results in your new role as the Student Council’s new boy toy.
Worth Your While (ft. Haseul)
Worth Your Time (ft. Kim Lip)
Worth Your Risk (ft. Kim Lip)
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A Family Affair
‘Taboos meant to be broken.’
You’re well aware of the more-than-familial sisterly bond between your girlfriend and your sister, but when Kim Chaewon brings you into that relationship and into her family, you soon learn that her entire family has no qualms with breaking the incest taboo.
Sisterly Bonding (ft. Chaewon & Winter)
Parental Guidance (ft. Taeyeon & Winter)
Familial Ties (ft. Taeyeon, Chaewon, Yeoreum, Karina)
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To-Do List
Minju is an angel that really likes sex.
To-Do List: Cream & Coffee
—————————————
After School Sex-Ed
The After School “Student Entertainment” Club is officially the school Gaming Club, but unofficially, it’s not that at all—it’s more of an excuse for certain students to have a room for sex at all times in school.
This collection details the world and relationships that the club members have with each other.
The After School “Student Entertainment” Club [ft. aespa’s Karina & Giselle]
The After School “Student Bonding” Experience [ft. aespa’s Winter & Ningning]
“Hurry up and make your first wish, I don’t have all day.”
You don’t respond—or rather, you can’t. You’re locked in that hazy, tingling daze that settles over humans when they look at me in the eyes for too long. I’ve seen this expression countless times before on emperors, CEOs, politicians, and surprising to literally no one—k-pop fans. It never gets less pathetic.
It’s a trance—we call it the Kiss of the Succubus. It isn’t mind control, it’s more like your brain decided to take a quick vacation and left lust in the driver’s seat instead.
That being said, I’m pretty certain that not a single word I’d said in the last three minutes made it through your thick head, but that’s fine. You are human, after all. Predictable. Simple. Weak.
“What did you say you were again?” you ask, proving me right—not that I need you to, I’m always right.
I sigh, almost by habit, because disappointment is just my default state when it comes to your kind, especially men. “I’m a genie. You rubbed my face on that photocard like a freakin’ weirdo and now I’m stuck with you for three whole wishes. It’s really not that complicated.”
You’re silent again. Just like the last two times I said it.
Your eyes roam my body, as if the Karina from aespa standing before you in the flesh is more of a shock to you than me being an actual supernatural being. It’s the same old rodeo over and over, and if it weren’t for my divine punishment, I wouldn’t even bother dealing with you for even a second.
Long story short, after the war in heaven ended several eons ago, every angel on Lucifer’s side was banished into Hell as demons. Almost everyone knows that part, or at least some variation of it. What no one really knows is that those of us who chose not to participate on either side were also punished—sent down into the human world as genies. And as a consequence of not fighting the Fallen with valor and devotion during the war, we’re now forced to serve His children instead, through these silly wishes.
Bullshit, I know. I just wanted a nice peaceful life, and instead I have to deal with you salivating like a dog in front of me, with your tongue practically prying itself out of your mouth as you stare at my body like I’m the first woman you’ve ever seen.
Sometimes I really wish I couldn’t read minds. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to feel your arousal building up like a dam that’s about to shatter, ready to burst right out of your body in a messy explosion that I really don’t want to see.
“So did you like…take over Karina’s body, or are you actually Karina?” you ask, slowly snapping back to reality.
“I’m Karina,” I say, involuntarily rolling my eyes. “This is my human face and my human body. Hell, it’s even my real name.”
You nod, mouth opening like you’re about to apologize for asking such an insulting question, but instead you ask another one that’s even worse. “So then how old are you?”
I stare at you. You stare back, proudly and profoundly clueless.
You know what? I’m not even going to bother getting mad about this, even though I should be.
“I don’t have an age. Age is a human concept.” I slowly walk closer to you, forcing the lights in the room to flicker with my growing presence. “I was born on the First Day along with the light. I’ve existed before time—and certainly before your kind was ever molded from the dust.”
Your body shudders, forcing itself into fight or flight mode from our closed distance; every cell in your body knows that I’m something else that just isn’t natural, even if you yourself might still be in denial.
“I don’t get it,” you stutter, retreating until your calves hit the bedframe—toppling backward onto the mattress with a helpless thump. “If you’re really a genie, why are you pretending to be kpop star instead of like…I don’t know…anything else?”
I blink. “Pretending?” My voice raises a pitch. “I auditioned and went through the same training as everyone else, fair and square. I didn’t cheat or take any shortcuts—”
“Sorry—that’s not what I meant—” You lift your hands in a helpless gesture, trying to defend yourself, but as soon as you move, your gaze betrays you.
“I don’t know why I bother explaining anything to you when all you do is stare at my boobs,” I say, folding my arms.
Your eyes dart back up to meet mine in reflex, so fast that you almost sprain your neck. But that was a mistake. I watch your pupils dilate in real time as you go back into a hypnotic trance. Good, let’s enjoy a bit of quiet for the next few seconds.
Look—the truth is, every genie functions differently depending on the powers we had when we were angels. I was the angel of desire, so the more people love and worship me, the stronger I become. And what better way to achieve that than to become a kpop star? If anything, that’s the shortcut. I admit it’s a bit of a cheat code compared to what the other genies have to do to get by, but it’s just too convenient to pass up.
That being said, we always have to choose a cursed object to leave behind. Sure, for the last couple of centuries, most have opted for a lamp, including myself. But it’s 2025, for Father’s sake, who goes shopping for old lamps anymore? I’d never get summoned in the modern age if I curse a dumb lamp—and if I go too long without granting a wish, I’ll have to deal with them.
So naturally, when I became aespa’s Karina, I chose a single photocard from the first print of our debut album. That’s the one that you bought from a shady reseller on eBay for $400—which, by the way, was a total ripoff. But I guess you could just call it a good investment if you’re smart enough to play your cards right.
Except… something tells me you’re not smart. At all.
“Alright, I seriously don’t have time for this.” I snap my fingers to break the spell again in case you choke on your own hormones and die or something. “I’m supposed to have dinner with the girls, and we have to get up early tomorrow for a commercial shoot. Make your wish, otherwise I’m leaving.”
It’s all a lie, of course. We don’t have any dinner plans tonight. I don’t even need to eat, drink, or even sleep to survive, I do it just to blend in.
“What kind of wishes can you grant?” you ask, staring at my chest again.
It’s basically where your eyes default to at this point. Unbelievable—but also, not really.
“Finally, a valid question,” I say, turning to the side, and as expected, you glance at my butt almost immediately. “You can wish for anything that’s in the realm of possibility besides immortality, bringing back the dead, jumping into the future, or violating another living being’s free will. That includes animals—because there was this guy back in 524 B.C who—whatever—anyways, moving on…”
You swallow hard as I lean over to whisper, “And obviously, no silly loopholes like unlimited wishes or transferring my powers to you. We’re not stupid.”
“…How long do I have to use these wishes?” you ask, licking your lips without even noticing, eyes sinking helplessly into my cleavage like gravity dragged them there.
Alright, so this is the part where I bend the rules a little. I’m not really supposed to lie to you, but hey, I’ve never gotten in trouble for omitting parts of the truth before.
You technically have the rest of your life to use your three wishes, and I’m not really allowed to stop serving you until you use them all, but I just don’t have it in me to tell you that, because then you’d never use them and just keep me around forever. Especially with the way you’re looking at me right now, like my presence in itself is a wish come true.
“I don’t know,” I lie, trying to divert your attention back up. “But if you take too long, I’ll kill you myself.”
You flinch. The threat works every time. Fear is productive.
“You can do that?” you ask, brows furrowing.
“I’m a genie,” I say, tilting my head. “Why wouldn’t I be able to? Piss me off and find out.”
You hesitate for a moment, just to ask the dumbest question yet. “Can you prove that you’re a genie? You kind of just look like Karina.”
“…That’s because I am Karina, you idiot,” I say, a hand moving over my face.
I don’t get it, what of this conversation was so difficult for you to understand? What exactly do you think a genie is supposed to look like? Blue and fat like the one from Aladdin?
I sigh and clap my hands, turning the room pitch black. “There. Power’s out.”
You jump from the abruptness and look around the room, but I can feel your heart racing from excitement instead of fear.
“Power’s back now,” I snap my fingers, and the room returns to normal. “Need more proof?”
“Whoa...” An annoying smirk starts forming on your face. “What else can you do?”
Honestly, at this point I’m more annoyed at you questioning my geniehood than wasting my time.
“Aside from all of this?” I ask, waving my arms. “I can also read your thoughts and your feelings.”
Piles of clothes and books rearrange themselves around the room as I continue explaining this part for the 1000th time. And for the record, I’m not cleaning your room because I want to do you a favor for free, I just can’t stand filth.
“What am I thinking then?” you ask, watching the room magically organize itself.
“You were scared at first, but now you’re just intrigued and turned on, and you’re buying time so that you can basically have a personal fan-meet with me for free. You do believe that I’m a genie, but you want to test the waters to see how much you can get away with before I get mad and kill you. You know that the possibility of me doing that isn’t actually 0%, but god, dying to Karina isn’t so bad.”
“So frickin’ cool…” you mutter, stars forming in your eyes.
Really? Was the part where I appeared out of thin air after you summoned me not cool enough already? I’ve been practicing that new entrance for decades.
“I can change my appearance,” I explain further, transforming into Jang Wonyoung, An Yujin, Irene sunbae-nim, and then Jessica sunbae-nim right before your very eyes.
“Okay, that’s trippy—”
“I can appear anywhere I want, anytime I want.” I demonstrate by teleporting from one side of the room to the other, over and over in a graceful, fading motion, leaving trails of deep purple smoke behind for just a second. “Or I can disappear completely.”
You’re startled by my disappearance, but not because you’re in awe that I can do it. You’re legitimately scared that I really left.
“K-Karina?” you ask, voice cracking. “Where’d you go?”
I rise behind you. “Right here, idiot,” I whisper, just before disappearing again.
“What happens after I make all three wishes?” you ask into the empty room.
My voice echoes through your mind, “You never see me again. You keep whatever you wished for, but I erase your memories of me forever.”
Your face droops. “What? That’s so cruel.”
I fade back in from the shadows in the corner by your closet and shrug. “I don’t make the rules.”
Silence fills the room, but your thoughts are deafening. You’re more upset by the idea of losing me than anything else. It’s humorous, but also pitiful. And frankly, a little cute.
“So what’s it gonna be?” I ask, getting so close to you that your breaths tickle my nose. “Do you want to be a rich man? Wish for billions of dollars? What about fame and success? I can change your life in an instant, make the whole world know your name. Or would you rather beauty? Have the face and body of your dreams? How about wisdom? Become fluent in every language, know the secrets of the—”
“Can I wish to have sex with you? Is that allowed?”
I freeze.
I can’t remember the last time anyone’s ever left me so stunned from their stupidity before. I couldn’t even see it coming because you literally weren’t thinking before speaking. I knew you were a horny college student, but to waste a cosmic, fate-altering wish on sex is the quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve witnessed in a long time.
“Let me get this straight,” I say, kneeling to level our eyes, only for yours to lower further anyways. “You have three wishes, you can wish for anything in the world, but you want to spend one of them to have sex with me?”
You nod earnestly, not a single further thought in your mind. “Yes. It’s always been my dream to have sex with you. So that’s what I’ll wish for.”
A shock of electricity passes through my body. And no, it’s not arousal—it’s the heavenly contract between a genie and their human, indicating that a valid wish has been made. The ancient law binds itself around my ribs, wrists, and throat. I have no choice but to grant it to you, as dumb as it is.
“Seriously?” I ask in disbelief. “You want to have sex right now?”
You nod excitedly. “Right here, right now,” you say, already tugging at your shirt. “Let’s have sex right now.”
I exhale a long, slow breath. Of all the mortals I could have been cursed with this time… I get you.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing difficult about this wish, but I don’t even know if I should feel flattered or slap you for being so simple-minded.
You stand there with your shirt half-off, chest rising like you’re preparing for some heroic battle instead of… whatever you think this is. Charity service, if you ask me.
I drag a hand down my face. “Unbelievable,” I mutter. “Actually unbelievable. 300,000 years of human evolution and this is where you ended up.”
You’re grinning like you just won the lottery. Which, I mean, you did—but then you blew a third of it on a one night stand with a succubus. And for some reason, you don’t even seem to question it.
In a way, this tracks. For almost every human, the first wish is always an emotional whim of what they desperately want most at the time. The second wish is generally a correction to the first. And the third…well, you’ll see.
But your wish is absolute, regardless of whether I like it or not. The contract tugs me closer to you like an invisible leash.
I step closer. “Fine,” I say, letting my hair down while my clothes slowly vaporize into thin air little by little. First, my jacket goes, then my blouse and pants, and the last to go is my underwear, which lingers a tad bit longer than the others. “I’ll grant you this wish. But by the time I’m done with you, I guarantee you’re going to regret ever making it.”
Your gaze deepens as your body stiffens. You’re back in a trance, but this time not because of the spell from my eyes—just the mere sight of my naked body breaks your soul into tiny fragments, scattering itself around the room like little stars.
You’re completely mesmerized by the shape of my breasts; the way they gently sway while I shift beneath you, or how my smooth, blemish-free, porcelain skin almost glows under the soft light. I can physically feel your eyes explore every line and curve of my body, and your thoughts are so loud that they echo through the room, even though your mouth stopped working long ago.
Fuck, she’s so sexy! Her nipples are just the perfect color and size, exactly as I imagined them to be. God, I wanna suck on them so bad. And Christ, her legs look so yummy, and her waist is so fucking snatched, and I—
“Is this really what goes through your mind every time you look at me?” I ask, breaking your train of thought. “Isn’t it exhausting to be so horny every waking moment of your life?”
“You’re literal perfection,” you say, almost robotically, relative to the thoughts racing through your mind. But you meant it with your very essence.
“I know,” I whisper, kneeling before you.
Of course I’m perfect. I’m supposed to be.
Your cock springs up as your clothes fly off with a wave of my hand. I can feel your desire rapidly growing to new levels as I face your throbbing cock, watching pre-cum flow out like a tiny faucet.
This is such a burden, but whatever. I can’t even remember the last time I got this close to a human, but if you’re dumb enough to waste an entire wish on a night with me, I should at least make it worthwhile.
For myself, of course.
I don’t need to ask this next question since I already know, but I do it anyways for formalities.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, staring up at your eyes that are now forcing themselves open from the pleasure driving through your body from just looking at me.
“I feel so weird,” you murmur, already moaning. “My body is so warm and sensitive, like I’m already having sex with you before we’ve even begun.”
I smirk. “What did you expect? The same experience as being with a human woman?”
You don’t know this, of course, but even though it’s not common for me to ever do anything with a human, my powers were pretty much made for this. I was the angel of desire, after all. The more you want me, the stronger I become, and thus the more desire you feel as a result. It’s a dangerous, endless cycle of mind shattering pleasure that humans were never meant to feel.
“Ready?” I slowly run my tongue against the underside of your rock-hard shaft and watch as your body shuts down from the overwhelming sensations.
You start shivering, but the aura emitting from my body covers you like a warm blanket, holding you steady.
“I-is this what heaven feels like?” you manage to mutter as my saliva coats your length completely.
My essence sinks into you like a sponge, causing your cock to grow slightly thicker and longer than normal, and the blood quickly travels from the rest of your body to compensate for the new mass, causing you to feel light-headed. Not that you weren’t before.
“Of course not,” I say, slowly wrapping my breasts around your cock. “But I’ll give you a glimpse of heaven.”
The warmth of my body forces you to surrender all control as my flesh swallows your cock whole, while my spit that’s as slick as oil continues to drip down from my mouth, allowing me to smoothly and effortlessly glide myself around you in slow, sensual strokes.
“God, your tits are so big and soft…” you moan loudly, almost falling over. “They feel so good...”
Your knees buckle as my breasts clamp tighter around your throbbing cock, molding perfectly to every ridge and vein, squeezing with a rhythmic pressure that sends sparks straight to your core.
“Let me show you what pleasure really feels like, mortal.” I lean forward, parting my lips around the head of your cock, sucking hard while my tongue swirls relentlessly over the slit, lapping up the steady stream of pre-cum that’s now pouring out like an endless offering to me.
“Ooh f-fuuuck…”
The dual sensations hit you like a thunderbolt—my mouth devouring the tip with wet, slurping pulls while my tits slide up and down in perfect sync, the space between them wet and warm from both my spit and your own leaking arousal.
“You should’ve thought this through,” I say, humming around you, the vibration rumbling through your shaft and into your spine, making your toes curl against the floor. “What on earth, hell, and heaven made you think you could handle me?”
“Fuck…” you gasp, your fingers helplessly reaching for my hair.
But before you could touch me, ethereal bonds of shimmering light snake up from the floor, wrapping around your wrists and pinning them behind your back, forcing you to sit there hopelessly as I work you over.
“Keep your filthy hands off of me,” I spit, both literally and figuratively.
Magic pulses from my core, weaving invisible threads into your nerves, amplifying every sensation until it borders on agony; the warmth of my skin seeps into you, making your balls tighten and your hips jerk involuntarily forward, desperate to bury deeper yourself into this illusion of heaven.
“Fuck, I feel like I’m gonna come, but nothing is happening,” you cry, voice trembling from pleasure. “The orgasm is just lingering there, and it feels so good…”
For some reason, your lust feels like a storm crashing against me. I try to fight the pull, but something malfunctions inside me, as if your raw need pours from your mind and feeds straight into my core. Every throb of your cock against my tongue, every gasp that escapes your lips, all loops back and ignites sparks under my skin.
My breasts press more firmly now, nipples brushing against your inner thighs with each upward motion while I take more of you into my mouth, stretching my lips wide to accommodate the girth that’s swollen even larger under my influence.
“Please, Karina,” you beg, voice hoarse and broken, hips bucking futilely against the restraints. “I need to cum... it’s too much, I can’t—”
It is too much, the way my essence infuses you, turning your veins to liquid fire I can feel your shaft pulsing wildly between the onslaught of my mouth and tits.
I pop off your dick, strings of saliva connecting my lips to the glistening head. “Not yet,” I growl, my voice thundering through the room like an indoor storm. “You’ll cum when I allow you to.”
I can physically feel your climax knocking, even taste your impending release on my tongue, but my magic holds it there, forcing the pressure to build further. Your cock twitches desperately between my lips and the plush grip of my tits, pre-cum flooding my mouth in salty bursts, but nothing happens. Not until I want it to.
“Please, it’s killing me—” you beg, voice cracking, but I just smirk around your dick before diving down again, my tongue flattening against the underside as I glide my chest faster, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the charged air. “Please…just let me come already…”
I shouldn’t crave your surrender this much, but the power surges through me like a drug, and suddenly my free hand slips between my thighs, chasing the echo of your torment.
“Please Karina, please…I can’t take it anymore…” You thrust weakly against my hold, whimpering as I suck harder on the tip while the softness of my tits has you seeing stars.
The cycle tightens even further—your endless edge fuels my fire, making my body hum with a million sensations that I can’t ignore any longer. Your temptation is so delicious that the heat between my legs grows into a full blaze. My fingers slowly slip inside; a wave of pleasure crashes against me, but I can’t tell if it’s mine or yours.
“Kar—” you choke against your words.
You’re literally breaking. If I let this go any further you might actually die, and that’ll ruin the fun for me. I’m not ready to end this wish yet.
“Fine, you can come now,” I say, stroking you slowly.
The barrier I placed around your release strains under the pressure, and with a wicked hum that vibrates straight through your shaft…I finally break it.
The magic releases like a snapped thread. You erupt with a loud roar, your cock jerking violently as I pull away, guiding the forceful jets to arc high like a geyser unleashed. Thick white ropes paint the air in heavy streaks before hitting the floor, far away from me.
“Sweet dreams,” I say triumphantly, a satisfied smile curving my lips as you continue to moan like a dying animal, waves of cum still bursting out of you like an endless stream of lust.
You’re going to pass out for a few moments, having never felt an orgasm like that ever in your pathetic life. At least, that’s what you would do naturally, but I’m not exactly done with you yet.
Tonight, I’m going to make sure you keep coming over and over until you beg me to stop.
But for some strange reason, your eyes snap open, even though I didn’t do anything. And before I can even react, your hands—somehow freed from my bonds by the sheer force of your will—shoot out, fingers digging into my arms with surprising strength.
You yank me up and off my knees, spinning me toward the bed with a growl that sends a shiver down my spine. I stumble, caught off guard, my mind reeling.
What’s going on? You should be immobile right now. Your body should be completely depleted and recovering from that much loss of—
You shove me down onto the mattress, the sheets rumpling under my back as you pin my wrists above my head with one hand. The force makes my chest jiggle, and you cup them roughly as your body hovered over mine, already rock-hard despite the flood you’d just unleashed.
This is impossible. Not once in four thousand years has this ever happened. Are you even human?
Your hand roams freely and greedily now over my curves. “Look at you,” you murmur, voice low and commanding, eyes devouring every inch of my form—the flare of my hips, the dip of my waist, all bare and exposed to you. “You’re so fucking gorgeous. This perfect body... I’m going to savor every goddamn bit of it.”
“How the hell are you still moving?” I squirm beneath you, unwelcome heat pooling in my core. “You should be out cold for a few hours, at least.”
“Why? I’m not done with my wish,” you say, roughly dragging your fingers down my body, from my chest to my waist, and past my hips, all the way down there.
“You don’t get to decide that.” I try to push you off with my magic, but it suddenly doesn’t work.
I don’t understand anything. Nothing at all. Not the ease with which you hold me, nor how your cock is already twitching back to life against my thigh. But this desire of yours forces a strange submission into my limbs, making me arch just a fraction, betraying my confusion with a soft, involuntary moan.
A smirk forms on your face, as if you could see me slowly breaking. “I wanna know how a genie tastes.”
My powers hum—they’re still there, but for some reason, they bend to this. They don’t allow me to escape nor push you away. I can’t even read your mind anymore.
“You can’t— this isn’t how it works—” I start, but your mouth crashes down on mine, silencing the words with a messy kiss, your tongue invading me as your hand slides lower, fingers parting my thighs to find my soaked folds.
Your tongue—your filthy human tongue—it’s in my mouth. This is completely unacceptable—your disgusting mortal saliva is oozing out, mixing with my heavenly essence.
Shock mingles with the building pleasure as your thumb grinds against my clit, your dominance wrapping around me like the chains I’d once felt that day we all descended from heaven.
Confusion floods me both mentally and physically. Why is this happening? I’m the one with the divine magic—a genie bound to grant, not to yield. I’m Karina, the angel of desire, and yet your own desires crash over me like a tidal wave, forcing my body to soften even as my mind protests.
It’s the contract. It has to be the contract. Your wish must’ve amplified everything, including this sudden dominance surging through you.
You break the kiss, grinning down at me with that amplified hunger, your fingers plunging into me mindlessly, curling to hit the spot that makes my eyes flutter. “I guess genies get even more wet than human women.”
“D-don’t say that—”
Why is my body so hot? This sensation, I’m not supposed to feel this. And yet somehow the heat between my legs overflow as your fingers splashes it all over my my skin. It feels…good. So, so good.
Without any warning, you force my legs apart despite my instinctive resistance, exposing my me to the cool air of the room while your eyes devour the sight of my folds glistening with unwanted arousal. I gasp as your head dips between my spread thighs, your hot breath teasing my sensitive skin before your tongue flattens against my clit, lapping upward in a slow, deliberate stroke that sends jolts of forbidden ecstasy through my core.
“Holy fuck, you smell and taste so damn good.” You lick your lips as if savoring your favorite meal. “Like literal heaven.”
I force the words out almost like a script, “How dare you…a disgusting human like you shouldn’t be allowed to know how I smell, let alone taste…”
Please, don’t listen to me. Don’t stop. Smell me more. Taste me more.
You unknowingly obliged, devouring me hungrily, sucking my clit into your mouth and swirling your tongue around it while your fingers dig into my hips to hold me steady, my body betraying me with involuntary bucks against your face as waves of heat build uncontrollably.
No—I shouldn’t enjoy this, not from a pathetic human using me for his own urges. Not like this. It’s so fucking humiliating.
But your tongue pushes deeper, piercing my entrance and flicking inside, drawing out moans I can no longer suppress while my fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer against my will as the pleasure coils tighter, threatening to shatter any remaining willpower.
“I wonder how the rest of you tastes.” Your mouth finally leaves my heat, leaving me trembling on the edge.
But before I can catch my breath, you grab my hips and flip me roughly onto my stomach. The bedsheets tangle beneath me as you yank my ass up onto my knees, spreading my cheeks wide, fully exposing me in the most vulnerable and humiliating way possible.
I yelp in surprise, my face pressing hard into the pillow, but you dive in without mercy. Your tongue presses flat against my other hole and licks upward in firm, insistent strokes that make my body twitch with a mix of shock and fiery sparks of pleasure.
“Why does your asshole tastes so damn good?” You groan against my skin, the vibration humming through me as you devour my hole hungrily, sucking and lapping at it like it’s the sweetest nectar you’ve ever tasted. “Did you shower before I summoned you or something?”
I twist my head and glare at you over my shoulder in disgust. “I don’t need to shower! I don’t ever get dirty, unlike you, you filthy huma—”
Your hands cracks against my cheeks with a sharp slap that stings and echoes in the room, making me gasp and arch higher into your grip. The pain blooms into heat as you lean back in, your tongue dragging from my dripping pussy up to my ass in long, greedy swipes that tease both holes.
“Are you sure I’m the filthy one?” you snicker, your tongue alternating between both entrances while your fingers dig into my flesh to hold me steady while I squirm and moan against the pillow. “How can you still think you’re pure with this waterfall of sin flowing out of your pussy?”
My body continues to betray me, pushing back for more even as resentment simmers in my bones. “Sin?! How dare you speak to an angel like—”
Your tongue cuts me off as it plunges all the way into my asshole, twisting and swirling against the tight walls, sending waves of unwanted ecstasy through my core that force a loud moan from my lips.
“Stop—not so deep—what the hell is wrong with you?!” I scream, but my hips unwillingly grind back against your face despite the fury boiling in my veins.
Even my hand slides over my folds, fingers reluctantly circling my clit before pushing inside my warmth as your tongue presses deeper into my body.
My mind slowly turns to mush. The intrusion is so fucking shameful, yet it ignites a blaze of pleasure I just can’t escape from. My fingers thrust inward with each of your licks, sending shivers through my whole body.
“You said you’re an angel? You’re even worse than a human whore, Karina. Do you not see yourself howling like a dog in heat? Fingering yourself with my tongue buried in your ass, begging for more of this mortal filth you claim to despise. Don’t make me laugh, you’re no fucking angel. I bet even demons have more self respect than you.”
I gasp loudly in outrage, my cheeks burning with a mix of shame and fury. “How dare you!” I hiss through clenched teeth, but it comes out more as a whimper. “You, who was made from dust, have no right to ever speak to me that way—”
A mocking laugh escapes your lips as you quickly shove your thick cock straight into me, the sudden stretch forcing a sharp cry from my throat as every rigid inch spears me open.
“What’s wrong, angel? Nothing left to say?”
My powers surge wildly in response. The room trembles violently as if caught in an earthquake, furniture rattling and the lights flicker out in a burst of sparks, leaving us bathed only in the ethereal glow of my juices shimmering in the pitch dark room along with the faint luminescence of my heated skin.
And for some reason, you’re unfazed. You simply continue fucking me as if nothing else in the universe matters. Is this what true desire feels like? Unshaken, unyielding…unholy?
I can feel every inch of you buried deep inside me; your balls slap against my clit with each brutal slam, pounding into me relentlessly while I squeeze your shaft, milking it involuntarily as waves of forbidden pleasure overwhelm my being.
“How does it feel, Karina?” you growl, your voice rough with triumph as you lean over me, one hand tangling in my hair to yank my head back, exposing my neck to your teeth. “Getting used like this by a human? Have you ever been fucked like this before?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I spat, watching the satisfaction creep up your annoying face. “I’m only granting you a wish.”
You laugh again. “Are you sure? Why is your body saying otherwise then? Your pussy is practically begging to be filled by me, isn’t it?”
Rage and rapture twist inside me like a storm, my immortal pride shattering under the onslaught of pleasure that has me pushing back onto you, hips rolling to take you deeper even.
“You wish... you filthy animal, this is... ahh... blasphemy…” Every word dissolves into a moan as my pussy gushes around your length, the glow from my arousal casting flickering shadows that dance across our joined bodies, highlighting the curve of my ass as it jiggles with every savage plunge.
You pull yourself out and immediately flip me over onto my back, spreading my legs wide open as you re-enter me so quickly it blurs my vision. “Your pussy feels incredible, do all genies feel like this? It’s like your body was made specifically for my dick. Like you’re…my slave…”
“Slave?!” I cry loudly, but more so from pleasure than anger. “Me? Your slave? You—must—aah—be joking! You’ve—aaah—lost your mind—ahh!”
I’ve never been so offended in my entire existence, and yet I can’t stop pulling you in, the resentment fueling an addiction to this dominance that’s rewriting my very soul.
“Have I?” you ask, gripping my throat with one hand while rubbing circles around my clit with the other as you continue pumping into me. “Sounds more like you’re the one losing your mind.”
Your choke on me tightens. My fingers dig deep into the sheets as my body arches uncontrollably, pushing itself even further towards you. I try to stay sane, but your desire is completely intoxicating.
You pull out suddenly, your length glistening with my juices. “You said you don’t get dirty, right? Let’s see if that’s true,” you sneer, shoving your cock into my mouth from above, my own juices coating my tongue as you rub the slick head across my lips and cheeks, smearing it over my face like a mark of ownership. “Oops… looks like you’re a mess now.”
“How dare you! Ahh—” I protest at first, but instead of blocking you, my fingers find their way to my dripping folds instead to fill the void you left. Two wasn’t enough to replace your cock, so I stretch myself wider with three, fucking myself mindlessly, the humiliation twisting into fuel for the fire raging through me.
“Poor Karina, born an angel, banished to be a genie, and now turned into a worthless fuckslave. Face completely painted with her own cum, and yet she’s still rubbing that greedy cunt like it’s all she knows.”
“Shut your fucking mouth—I’ll actually kill you—” I threaten, but you slap your cock against my cheek to silence me. The wet smack echoes in the room, and you do it again on my forehead, laughing as strings of my wetness cling to my skin.
“Open wider,” you command, shifting up so your balls dangle over my lips.
I obey without thinking, sucking them into my mouth one by one, tongue lapping mindlessly while my free hand grips your thigh. I moan around them while my fingers curl inside me, making stars burst behind my eyes.
My vision goes out for a moment, but I can feeling you climbing higher, turning around to straddle my face reverse, your ass hovering just above my mouth.
Seriously? You’re joking, right? Are you actually going to—
“Don’t be shy, you loved it when I did it to you,” you growl, lowering yourself until my tongue presses against your hole, circling it tentatively at first, then delving deeper as you grind back against me.
Your cheeks block my vision and completely smother me while I lap at you hungrily, the submission sending shocks of corrupted pleasure straight to my core, forcing my fingers to dive even faster in my pussy, soaking the sheets beneath me.
This can’t be real. You’re using me like an object. Like I’m even beneath a human or even an animal. Like I’m…dirt.
The thought causes something vital in me to completely malfunction. My spiritual bindings loosen, and my shoulder blades itch unbearably, as if the skin and flesh was ready to rip apart.
No, not this! This is too embarrassing! Anything but this—
But it’s too late—the itch erupts into a surge of raw power, and my wings burst forth from my back in a cascade of shimmering violet light, pure ethereal energy erupting with a explosion that knocks the air from the room, sending your furniture flying everywhere. The force of their emergence shoves us forward, flipping us over.
I open my eyes and suddenly I’m straddling you, your cock buried deep inside me as I pin you beneath me on the creaking bed. The glow of my wings flood the space like dawn breaking through storm clouds, casting radiant patterns across your face and the walls.
I gasp, a mix of horror and exhilaration flooding me. “This is all your fault. Look what you did to me.”
“Are those…wings?” you ask, wrapping your fingers around my waist, holding me tightly as my hips roll instinctively. “I thought they’d be made of feathers, but they’re just giant rays of bending light.”
“This is so embarrassing. You can’t see me like this. No one’s ever supposed to see.”
Your hands fly to my tits, fingers pinching and twisting my stiff nipples, tugging them outward, making my pussy spasm around your cock while I bounce faster, the slap of my ass against your thighs echoing in the illuminated chamber.
“You’re the sluttiest angel in existence, aren’t you?” you say, squeezing me in your hands, fondling my tits like you’re forcing something out of me. “I’m starting to think this is your wish and not mine.”
“N-no way…there’s no way that could ever be true…” I moan, my voice breaking into ecstatic cries. My wings spread wider to bathe us in their blinding luminescence, and my glowing juices continue to cover your length, making it grow larger by the minute.
“You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to yourself,” you growl, your grip tightens on my hips and your fingers dig into my flesh as you suddenly twist me around, my body spinning on your shaft like a pivot. “This is who you really are, Karina.”
I end up facing away from you, my back arched and wings flaring out to brush the ceiling, my ass now presented to you like an offering as I settle into the new angle, knees planted wide on either side of your thighs while I start grinding down again, the head of your shaft nudging deeper into my soaked folds with each roll of my hips.
“I swear I’ll kill you once this is over—”
“Shut up,” you snarl, your voice cutting through the haze, and in that instant, my wings shimmer violently, the violet light coiling like living vines. They twist and reform into thick ropes of glowing energy, wrapping around my wrists and yanking my arms behind my back, binding them tightly as it forces me to arch backwards.
What—what in the heavens is happening? My own wings are betraying me? No way, there’s just no way—
Your annoying condescending laugh fills the room. “Even your own wings know the truth. You’re really just a cock-thirsty whore. There’s just no denying it anymore.” Your hand cracks against my ass as I ride you harder, the slap echoing off the walls like a command.
Is it true? Is this human really telling the truth right now? Is this who I really am?
I keep denying it, but if it isn’t true, why does every part of me feel so good? Why am I locked in this euphoria while you fuck me like a toy?
“You love it, don’t you?” you growl, delivering another smack that leaves my skin tingling red. “Being my personal fucktoy?”
Words force themselves out my mouth against my will. “Y-yes…I love it…please fuck me harder…”
What am I saying? Do I really want you to do that? …Yes, of course I do…no—I need you to…for the first time in a millennia, this is what I truly want.
You laugh, spanking me again, harder this time, the impact jolting through me and drawing a moan I can’t suppress. “Finally, the truth comes out. You’re not an angel, you’re just a slut.”
“I’m a slut,” I repeat with utmost obedience, grinding on your cock with genuine, unfiltered desire. “I’m a slut…I’m really just a slut after all…”
“Fuck, what a perfect body,” you moan, as I pick up the pace, lifting my ass high before slamming it back down, the wet smack of skin on skin growing louder in the glowing room. My breasts bounce freely now without your hands to steady them, nipples still aching.
“Fuck me to your heart’s content,” I beg, ropes of light branching from my wings, wrapping tightly around my body. “Use me however you like.”
You grab a fistful of my hair, pulling my head back sharply as you fuck me fiercely from below, pounding into my pussy with brutal force, each thrust driving me closer to the edge of oblivion while I writhe in your unyielding grip.
The weight of our bodies causes us to fall backwards onto the bed with your cock still stuck inside me as I land on top of you, immediately spreading my legs wide.
“You’re really mine now, Karina,” you declare, your free hand clamping around my throat, fingers digging in to restrict my air.
I whimper into your chokehold, my freed hands clawing at the sheets beside us. “I’m yours… I’m your personal genie fuckwhore…”
Our mouths collide in a fierce, sloppy kiss—your lips bruising mine, tongue invading to conceal my moans as you squeeze my throat tighter, heightening the raw intensity of your shaft spearing into my sopping heat.
“Tell me how it feels,” you growl against my tongue, your hand abandoning my neck briefly to slap my breasts, the sting making me cry out into the kiss while my walls clench greedily around your invading flesh, juices slicking your skin as forbidden ecstasy continues to build within me.
“It feels so good… I love being your fucktoy, please use me to pleasure yourself…” I moan into your mouth, my voice breaking as your fingers slide down to rub my swollen clit in tight, insistent circles, the added friction sending electric shocks through my core while you continue slamming deep into my soaked folds with relentless force. “You’re fucking me so hard… you’re gonna tear me apart… please… if you keep fucking me like this, I’ll never be able to return to heaven…”
“Good. Stay here and serve me forever,” you say, driving even deeper from below, claiming every inch of me.
“You’re going to ruin me forever with your big cock…”
“Fuck… I’m gonna come again,” you grunt, your hips snapping harder, pounding into me with one last desperate rhythm as your shaft throbs inside my gripping walls, the heat of your impending release radiating through us both.
“M-me too, I’m gonna come—” I gasp, my hand darting between my legs to rub my clit furiously, pushing myself right to the edge while your length stretches and fills me completely.
With one last surge of dominance, you flip us over, pinning me beneath your weight as you take control from above, my wings unfurling instinctively to hook around my thighs and spread my legs wide open, exposing my dripping entrance fully to your assault. You drive into me wildly, your hips thrusting with savage force, plunging deep and fast into me, each brutal pump shaking my body and making my breasts bounce against your chest while I circle my clit desperately.
“Fuck—I’m coming—” Your rhythm falters as you pull out abruptly, groaning deeply while your cock erupts violently, thick bursts of hot cum splashing all across my stomach, coating my tits in your warmth, and splattering all the way up to my face where it lands in glistening streaks on my forehead, cheeks, and lips.
“I’m coming—I’m coming while you paint me with your cum!” I continue rubbing myself with frantic urgency, fingers pressing hard against my throbbing clit as the heat of your never-ending cum seeps into my flesh. My body arches violently as waves of ecstasy crash over me in a cataclysmic release. “Y-yes—I’m coming—aah!”
Blinding lights explode from my wings, fracturing the room into prismatic chaos with shards of light cascading like shattered stars, ethereal winds roaring from the void to lash my hair into a magical whirlwind while the walls quake and time warps in stuttering bursts, my cries echoing in the distorted space as transcendent pleasure engulfs me completely, leaving my body shuddering beneath you, fully drenched in cum, sweat, and my own unraveling bliss.
You collapse on top of me, heaving with ragged breaths. I tremble as the afterglow settles, wings dissolving into wisps of fading lights until they vanish completely, leaving me completely bare on the sheets, only covered by the aftermath of our desire.
The lights slowly return, and the silence of the cosmic void dissipates.
“H-hey, are you still going to kill me?” you ask, kissing my collarbone gently, fear suddenly returning to your eyes.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, catching my breath, my body still completely numb from the world-bending climax.
You roll off to the side, sprawling onto the sheets beside me with a satisfied groan. “I think I know my second wish.”
“Already?” I ask, as the hum of your thoughts gradually seep back into my mind, clear and unfiltered once more.
“Yeah,” you say, propping yourself up on an elbow to meet my eyes with a wicked smirk. “I want to fuck the other aespa girls, too.”
“Which one?”
“All of them.”
End of Chapter 1.
Author Notes: Hi everyone! Welcome to a new, very different, very unserious story. I’m really just trying this out because I was curious if 1st to 2nd pov could work, plus I’ve never written supernatural AU stuff before, so I actually had a lot of fun! (I just needed a break from I’ve Got A Secret since it was getting really intense, hahah) Would love to hear your feedback on whether or not it’s worth continuing! It’s literally a first for me in pretty much everything—first time 2nd pov, first time publishing from a female pov, and first time writing au. 😂
Thank you for reading as usual, and also, if you’re American, Happy Thanksgiving! <3
How should your wish play out in the next chapter?
holy sht, one year later and I finally wrote a Winter fic lmao. You thought I would've written one earlier or something since that is who made me write fics again.
Incoming sappy thoughts but thank you so much for everyone for enjoying my stuff (both my go-to fluff and also recent angst). It really means a lot to know that there are people appreciating the slice-of-life meta that I have been loving for all my life. Extra thank you for those who still (somehow) read Syncing Dream as well. Gosh, it was both exhausting and fun to write a 50-chapter series lol.
Oh right, I also switch to 2nd POV for this....i lowkey cringed at myself when I did the Y/n route. And this takes place after the Epilogue. A big, big, big, big shout out to @defrosted69 for the inspiration for this chapter and honestly every time i write (you'll see why lol).
So....enjoy this fic, and also, I tried making a nice cover for the fic, hope this looks good. Happy (almost) 1 year anniversary for the ducklings!
(Words: 4.3k)
Mornings in the dorm had a rhythm. A familiar soundtrack that you could almost set a clock to: Karina’s slippers dragging like she was carrying the weight of ten worlds, the faint clink of Giselle’s spoon against her cereal bowl in her room (probably binging Single's Inferno again or something), and Ningning humming some random tune while scrolling her phone half-asleep on her bed. It was comfortable and predictable. Your life as their manager couldn’t get any better.
But today? Nothing. No sound. Just… silence. It was unsettling, but you didn’t mind it.
You were perched at the kitchen island, laptop open, iced americano within reach — the holy trinity of productivity. Fingers tapping away at yet another schedule spreadsheet, you were ready for another day of juggling calls, double-checking venues, and micromanaging things no one else wanted to think about with SM.
Except, of course, the feeling of being watched.
You glanced up and there she was. Winter. Your Winter. Across from you, hoodie practically swallowing her whole, hair sticking out in messy little tufts that screamed bedhead, and eyes… way too awake for someone who swore she barely slept last night. Her elbows propped on the counter, chin balanced on her palm, fingers lazily tapping her cheek.
And she was staring.
Not just casually. Staring-staring.
“…What?” you asked, suspicion creeping into your tone.
She tilted her head slightly, that smirk of hers widening like she’d been waiting for you to crack. Then, without even blinking, “I’m going to college.”
Your brain short-circuited, and your body betrayed you. The sip of iced americano you’d just taken shot right back out in an unholy spray across the counter, narrowly missing your laptop but very much not missing Winter.
Cold coffee splattered across her hoodie and cheek.
“YAH!” she yelped, jerking back so fast her chair screeched against the floor.
Your eyes bulged. You nearly knocked over the entire cup trying to set it down. “WHAT THE—?! YOU CAN’T JUST—! You—!” You jabbed a frantic finger in her direction. “WHO SAYS SOMETHING LIKE THAT SO CASUALLY AT 8?!”
“You just showered me with coffee, you moron!” she shrieked, grabbing for paper towels.
“BECAUSE YOU DROPPED A BOMB ON ME!”
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DONE DRINKING IT!” she snapped back, blotting at her hoodie like her life depended on it.
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE GONNA SAY YOU LOST YOUR PHONE OR—OR BROKE YOUR EARPHONES! NOT FREAKIN’ COLLEGE!“
“You’re insane,” she muttered, dabbing at her cheek, glaring at the brown stains spreading on her hoodie. “Do you know how disgusting that was?!”
“Do you know how insane that sentence was?!” you shot back. Then you froze, blinking rapidly. “Wait. Hold up. You’re… you’re serious?”
She stopped wiping for a moment. Looked up at you. Her eyes softened, a flicker of something sincere cutting through her usual smugness. “…Yeah. I am.”
Before you could even recover from that, the noise of footsteps echoed in the hall. The other three — drawn by the commotion, like moths to flame.
“Why is Winter wet?” Giselle mumbled, hair sticking out as she stumbled in, scratching her head. “Did she fall in the bathtub?”
“She said she’s going to college,” you deadpanned, still dazed, still processing.
Karina rubbed her eyes, utterly unconvinced. “…Okay, what kind of prank show is this? Do we have hidden cameras? Is that what this is?”
“Nope.” Winter straightened up, shoulders squared despite the obvious coffee stains on her hoodie. She declared it like a line in a movie. “I’m going part-time. Business management.”
The room went silent.
Then Ningning cracked first — bursting into laughter so loud you swore the neighbours could hear. “Unnie? Business?!” She doubled over, clutching her stomach. “No way. No freaking way.”
“I can be serious!” Winter barked, pointing at her.
“You bought seventeen Labubus because you said they were an ‘investment,’” Ningning wheezed.
“That was ONE TIME!” Winter shot back, stomping her foot. “ONE TIME!”
Karina folded her arms, squinting at her like she was trying to solve a mystery. “…Okay but why? Like really, why now?”
And that’s when Winter’s bravado cracked just a little. Her eyes flicked toward you, lingering longer than you expected. Her lips pressed together, then parted hesitantly. “Well…Watching this idiot—”
“Ya. Excuse me?” you cut in, pointing at yourself.
“—watching you,” she corrected, glaring for a second before her tone softened. “…you’re always working. Making sure we’re safe. Handling calls, managing people, solving problems before we even notice them. And you don’t complain. Not once. It just… made me realize how important it is to understand that side of things. The business side. Not just the performing.”
Your jaw slackened. You opened your mouth to respond, yet nothing came out.
“I want to learn it,” she continued, her voice more certain now. “Not just for the group… but for me. For my future.” Her fingers slid across the counter until they brushed against yours, curling slightly to hold on. “…And for us, too.”
The dorm fell quiet.
“…That’s disgustingly sappy,” Karina muttered under her breath, though she didn’t look away.
“Shut it, it’s cute.” you shot back instantly, ignoring your ears hot. You turned to Winter again, heart pounding. “Minjeong… you realise that’s not just some hobby, right? It’s a real commitment. Like a year, minimum. You’re sure?”
She nodded. Firm. No hesitation.
“You’ll be stressed. Lose sleep. Probably cry.”
She blinked at you, deadpan. “I already do those things.”
“…Damn it,” you muttered, raking a hand through your hair. “You’re right.”
Giselle stifled a laugh, leaning against the fridge. “At least if she passes out in the library, it’ll make great vlog content.”
Winter smirked, a bit of her usual cheekiness seeping back in. “As long as I pass my exams too, then whatever.”
You groaned, massaging your temples like the caffeine had already worn off. “…Fine. If this is what you really want, I’ll support it. But the second — and I mean the second — you start skipping meals, losing sleep, or burning out, I’m pulling you out myself. Got it?”
Her grin widened. “Aww~ my boyfriend cares.”
“Shush. I’ll literally call your professor and abuse my power if I have to.”
Karina sighed, dragging herself toward the hallway. “We woke up for five minutes and Minjeong's already applying for college.”
“True that.” Giselle nodded sagely, smirking. “Although it does kinda feel like she just levelled up.”
Winter gave you one last wink, smug and playful despite the coffee still drying on her sleeve. “Just don’t spit on me next time I tell you something important.”
You groaned into your hands. “Still sorry about that.”
“Apology accepted,” she sang, already backing out of the kitchen. “If you do my laundry.”
“Ya! I already do the laundry in this house!”
She disappeared down the hall, leaving you with an empty cup, a pounding head, and the faint smell of coffee in the air.
You looked down at your drink. “…Water. From now on, only water.”
-
SM’s green light came faster than anyone expected.
After weeks of meetings, schedule reshuffles, and carefully timed PR “leaks,” the news dropped: Winter’s decision to pursue a part-time Business Management degree while still promoting with aespa. And somehow, the internet didn’t implode. The opposite, actually. The public reaction was overwhelmingly wholesome — fans flooding hashtags with support, people praising her for balancing both worlds, even professors from universities commenting on how admirable it was.
On paper? A success story in the making. But behind the scenes? You hated every second of it.
Because if anyone thought that Maltese girl would pace herself (maybe cut corners here and there, or let the dorm comfort swallow her up after classes), well they didn’t know her well enough. She didn’t slow down. If anything, she doubled her speed.
Comeback rehearsals ran until midnight. Vocal training slotted into the afternoons. And right in between those windows? Lectures, coursework, group projects, exams. All of it crammed into hours that didn’t exist. She’d stumble back to the dorm at one in the morning, hair tied up messy, bag slung so loosely it nearly dragged on the floor, a convenience store sandwich half-eaten in her hand.
Sometimes she’d mutter about a group chat full of classmates arguing over slides. Sometimes she’d groan about a weekly quiz. Sometimes she’d just… collapse face-first on the couch without even explaining.
And you, standing by the kitchen sink one night with a pack of beef jerky in hand, couldn’t stop yourself from muttering, “What’s the point of being a manager if my idols never listen?”
“Love you too, my idiot,” Winter croaked, voice flat as she kicked off her sneakers like a zombie who’d given up on life. Her bag dropped with a thud that shook the floor.
You frowned. “Are you even sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Sure. And I can see your eye bags from the moon.”
“No,” she deadpanned, eyes half-shut, “I’m just answering you with enthusiasm.”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not even funny. You’re—”
“It was funny to me,” she interrupted, shuffling toward the couch and throwing herself down with zero grace.
It wasn’t just you noticing anymore.
Karina, who had clapped and teased when Minjeong first announced the news, now side-eyed you whenever Winter comes drifted off mid-conversation, like you should be the one doing something about it. Giselle quietly stopped offering her Red Bull stash, muttering that she didn’t want to be responsible for a crash out. And Ningning (of all people) started leaving bottles of water and granola bars outside Winter’s door.
And you? Worry never left your chest.
You nagged her. A lot. “Eat more. Sleep earlier. Skip a class if you have to. You’re not a robot.” You tried to reason, to argue, to even bribe her into slowing down.
But that girl, stubborn to her core, just smiled at you through her exhaustion. “I can handle it.”
You always lose when it comes to bargaining with her at this point, so you adjusted.
It started small. Handing her your noise-cancelling earbuds so she could replay lectures during the rides. Reminding her about upcoming deadlines when you noticed her texts to you were getting shorter, sharper — a sign she was drowning in assignments. You even scribbled little cheat sheets and summary cards in blue pen because you remembered her saying once that blue was the easiest color to read.
And then, one morning, you found yourself standing in the kitchen at 6AM.
The dorm was quiet, half-lit, everyone else still asleep. You fumbled your way through eggs and leftover rice, desperately trying not to wake anyone as you ruined the silence with the sizzle of a pan. It wasn’t much: tamagoyaki, a scoop of kimchi fried rice, a couple strawberries you cut into crooked little hearts you swore weren’t on purpose. She wanted ramen, sure, but you weren’t about to let her live off sodium packets.
You packed it neatly in a lunchbox, stuck a post-it on top: “Eat this. Or I’m hiding your textbooks.”
That became a habit.
Every Thursday, you’d get up before the others. Sometimes you add soup in a thermos. Sometimes her favorite mochi from the shop she gushed about. Sometimes you had to guard it like treasure because Giselle’s hands were sneakier than her poker face. But the box always came back empty. And that was enough.
She never said much about it — just smiled faintly, tossed the empty container your way, and sometimes poked fun at your “ugly heart-shaped strawberries.” But she kept eating.
Still, the worry never left.
When she yawned through choreo drills. When her eyes glossed over during variety prep. When she skipped her nap just to hop on a Zoom call with classmates who barely pulled their weight. You worried so much it ate at you.
But then she’d text you: “Quiz went well today :)” Or you’d catch her humming under her breath while scribbling notes between rehearsals. And in those moments, despite yourself, something warm spreads in your chest. Something you hated admitting out loud.
Pride.
You still wanted to shake some sense into her. But the pride kept you quiet.
Late nights. Early mornings. That’s how the semester rolled on. And through it all, you were always there. Not in front of her, not beside her. Just behind her — close enough to catch her if she slipped.
Because as much as you hated the way she pushed herself, you hated the idea of not supporting her even more.
-
The weekend was uneventful… sort of.
The dorm was unusually quiet, a low hum of life stretched thin by late-night rehearsals. Karina and Giselle were still passed out in their rooms, doors cracked open just enough to hear the faint rhythm of their breathing. Ningning was cocooned in the blanket fortress she’d built on the couch, a lone foot poking out like a flag of surrender to exhaustion.
You, on the other hand, were already in the kitchen. The usual routine, apron on, pan sizzling as you portioned out the sides for Winter’s lunchbox. The air smelled of grilled meat, sesame oil, and the faint citrus tang from the pears you were slicing. For a moment, it was almost peaceful, with your mind wandering while the dorm slept.
You didn’t even notice the soft shuffle of footsteps until you felt a sudden weight latch onto your back.
“Morning,” came a muffled mumble.
You stiffened, nearly dropping the spatula, then exhaled when you felt the familiar cling. Winter — hoodie half-pulled over her head, hair sticking out in chaotic tufts, eyes still glazed with sleep. She buried her face into your shoulder blade like a koala too lazy to function.
“You’re up early,” you said softly while flipping the pan without missing a beat. “Did the stress finally murder your sleep schedule?”
She groaned dramatically and reached for a slice of pear off the cutting board, chewing slowly like she wasn’t fully awake yet. “It’s exam study week. I’m basically powered by panic at this point.”
You chuckled. “Wow. The same girl who failed middle school math now willingly wakes up for exams? Who are you, and what have you done with my Kim Minjeong?”
Her head shot up, eyes narrowing. She smacked your back with her sleeve. “Yah! That was years ago!”
You shake your head. “Years ago or not, you once got a twenty-six on a multiple-choice test. Out of a hundred. I’m pretty sure you had better odds guessing blindly.”
“Ughhhh.” She collapsed onto you dramatically, as if the memory itself drained her will to live. “Why do you remember that?!”
“Because I tutored you for that test,” you said flatly. “I lost my sleep and sanity for you, Jeongie. Algebra was literally the easiest thing of all time.”
“Not for me back then!” she protested, lifting her head with an offended pout.
You gave her a pointed look. “You wanna know why it wasn’t easy for you? Because instead of doing the mock test, you binged two whole seasons of that K-drama about the rich chaebol kid falling in love with the poor girl.”
Winter paused. Then grinned mischievously. “And I still passed that year, didn’t I?”
“Barely,” you muttered under your breath, packing sides into the bento with extra aggression.
She propped her chin barely on your shoulder, eyes sparkling with that smugness that always got her in trouble. “Still. Be proud. My midterms this semester went pretty well. I might actually do well in the finals.”
“Oh really?” you arched a brow. “Define ‘well.’”
She tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe decent enough. I don’t know. Eighty?”
“And I’m a unicorn.” You barked out a laugh before you could stop yourself. “Jeongie, if you get an eighty or higher on your exam, I’ll do anything you want.”
The words slipped out too casually. You froze.
The kitchen went deadly still.
Behind you, you could feel the grin slowly spreading across her face like wildfire.
“…Wait,” you said slowly, turning your head. “Oh shi—”
Winter’s eyes were wide with delight, lips curling into the most dangerous smile you’d ever seen. “Ooooooh. Anything?”
You blinked rapidly. “I—No. Wait. I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t twist my words.”
She raised both hands, all innocence. “No, no. You said it. I’m just clarifying the terms. If I get eighty or above, you’ll do anything I ask. That’s what I heard.”
“Within reason,” you snapped instantly.
Her grin widened. “That’s not what you said~”
“Jeongie—”
“Deal’s a deal,” she released you, skipping toward the door with a victorious bounce in her step. “Oh, and baby?”
Your shoulders slumped. “…What.”
“You should start thinking of some fun ideas for me. Y’know… just in case.”
The sound of her laugh echoed down the hall as she disappeared, leaving you standing in the kitchen with the spatula limp in your hand.
You groaned and let your forehead fall against the fridge door with a dull thunk. This will definitely be on your mind for the next few weeks.
It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in her — okay, no, it was exactly that. You’d see her track record. You’d spent years watching her scrape by with sheer luck, short attention span, and the memory retention of a cracked phone battery.
But this time… she was different.
She was actually trying. Waking up early, making notes, refusing to cut corners. Putting in real effort in between rehearsals and schedules and chaos. And it terrified you, because the more serious she got, the more real your stupid promise became.
Your brain wouldn’t stop spiraling.
What if she made you dress up in a ridiculous anime cosplay of Sailor Moon and parade around the dorm?
What if she forced you to sing and dance to “Whiplash” in front of the convenience store?
What if — God forbid — she made you upload it online again?
You clutched the fridge handle in despair, muttering curses under your breath while trying not to imagine the other three cackling if that ever happened.
Still. Beneath the horror, a tiny ember of pride burned in your chest.
Because as much as you panicked, you couldn’t deny the truth: she was doing something way outside her comfort zone, and she wasn’t giving up. She was working hard, harder than you’d ever seen her work in school.
And well, she probably was watching you just as much as you were watching her.
But that didn’t mean you’d admit it out loud.
So instead, you did the only thing that felt safe. Later that evening, you stopped by the little temple down the street, pressed your palms together, and whispered the most desperate prayer of your life.
“Please, please, anything but Sailor Moon.”
-
You were half-asleep on the dorm couch, slouched sideways with a cushion threatening to fall off your lap. The room was quiet save for the ticking clock and the faint hum of the fridge. You were seconds away from drifting off completely when you heard it.
Rapid footsteps. A staccato rhythm echoing from the hallway, growing louder, faster, closer. At first, you assumed it was Ningning rushing for her bag. But then came a sound that made your stomach twist immediately.
A hum. Smug. Obnoxiously smug.
“Oh no…” you muttered, rubbing your eyes.
And then, “IDIOOOOOOOTTTTT!”
Winter’s voice cut through the living room like a battle cry. Far too energetic for nine in the morning.
“Jeongie… shush…” you groaned, cracking one eye open. “If this is about some dumbass Labubu restock, I’m not driving you anywhere until I’ve had coffee.”
She ignored you completely. In three determined steps, she was looming over you, hoodie sleeves bouncing with every exaggerated move. And before you could even sit up properly, slam.
A piece of paper hit your face.
You flinched, peeling it off, blinking against the morning haze. The text swam at first, blurred and incomprehensible—until the numbers snapped into focus.
87/100.
You blinked again. Slowly. Carefully. Because maybe, just maybe, you were hallucinating.
“…What is this?” your voice came out hoarse, weak, like you already knew you weren’t going to like the answer.
Winter’s grin was blinding. Sharp teeth, sparkling eyes, her whole posture vibrating with a dangerous cocktail of pride and mischief. “My exam result,” she declared, her tone triumphant. “The one you said I couldn’t possibly score over eighty on.”
You stared. Back at her. Back at the paper. Back at her again.
She must’ve printed it the moment the email came in. Bold numbers. 87. Right there, mocking you.
“…No. No way. This is fake. You photoshopped it.”
Winter gasped like you’d just accused her of a federal crime, hand flying to her chest. “Photoshopped?! Idiot, how dare you? This is my blood, sweat, and tears on paper! Do you know how many nights I stayed up reading boring textbooks about supply chain logistics?”
“Yeah, I know, because you complained to me every ten minutes about it,” you muttered, still staring at the paper like it might spontaneously combust.
And then it hit you.
The bet. The stupid, reckless words that had slipped out weeks ago.
‘I’ll do anything if you get an 80.’
Your stomach dropped. Your palms went clammy. “…Oh no.”
She must’ve seen the exact moment the realization hit you, because her smile turned feral. Slow. Deliberate. Like a cat — erm, dog, cornering its prey.
“Right,” you said quickly, panicked bargaining already on your tongue. “So, uh… what is it you want, exactly? I’m still waking up, but let’s just—just do it, get it over with.”
Winter leaned in. Too close. Her eyes narrowed, her grin widening. She was enjoying this—milking it for all it was worth.
“I want…” she began, voice dripping with drama, stretching the pause out like a game show host about to announce the final round.
Your mind short-circuited, racing through horrifying possibilities. A TikTok in cosplay. Public humiliation as a crappy Sailor Moon. An unflattering picture uploaded to the members’ group chat. You squeezed your eyes shut. Already bracing yourself.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “…a head pat.”
Silence.
You opened one eye. “…What?”
“And a compliment,” she added smoothly, like she was reading out the weather forecast.
You gawked. Waiting for the punchline. There was none. She was dead serious, arms crossed, eyes already sparkling in anticipation. “…That’s it?”
“That’s it.” She nodded once, smug as a cat who’d just devoured the whole fishbowl.
“…Did all the studying…” you made a whirling motion with your finger, “…you know, damage something in your brain?”
“Wow, very nice of you, my idiot.”
Still suspicious, you lifted your hand and cautiously patted her head. “Good ... job, miss Winter? You—”
“Aish.” She swatted your wrist lightly, frowning. “Do it properly, idiot. Like you mean it.”
You sighed, but when you looked at her—cheeks tinged red, ears pink, pretending not to care—you softened. This time, you ruffled her hair gently, palm warm against her scalp.
“…You did amazing, Jeong-ah,” you said quietly. “Really… really. I’m proud of you. You worked so hard, and you earned this.”
She froze. Completely stiff under your touch. Then, slowly, her cheeks flushed a deep pink, her gaze darting anywhere but your face. “S-stop. That’s so embarrassing,” she mumbled—but she didn’t move.
“You asked for it,” you murmured. A chuckle slipped out. “But seriously, despite all my nagging, I’m glad it paid off. Such a hardworking girl.”
Her lips pressed together. Her shoulders squirmed like she couldn’t decide whether to hide or preen. Finally, she whispered, barely audible—“…feels nice.”
You arched a brow. “Should I stop then?”
“No.” Her hand shot up, holding yours in place against her head. Her cheeks were burning now, her voice stubborn even as her smile broke through. “…I’ll bark at you if you stop.”
You laughed softly, brushing her hair again. “Guess not, then. My little genius.”
So you didn’t stop. Her tiny whine of embarrassment made your chest squeeze. You took it as a signal for more and rubbed her head a little more firmly, encouraging, almost reverent. “…And you’re… persistent,” you added, then hesitated. “And organized. And… okay, fine, very stubborn.”
Winter’s lips twitched in a mixture of pride and frustration, but you could see the sparkle in her eyes, wanting more.
You paused, and your brain scrambled for more compliments. “…And your nose. It’s… cute. And your ears. And… your eyebrows, they look good when you frown.”
She froze. “…My eyebrows?”
“Yes, your eyebrows. Very… expressive. Also… your butt. They’re… strong.”
Winter blinked at you, part confused, part incredulous, part vaguely impressed. “…My butt?”
You flushed, realizing how ridiculous you’d gotten. “…Okay, maybe some of these are weird.” You laughed nervously, scratching the back of your neck. “But it’s fine, because—”
You shook your head and took a deep breath, grounding yourself again in sincerity. “…But really. All of that… aside from the weird stuff… you did this. You set a goal and hit it. You earned it. And I… I’m genuinely proud of you, Jeongie. You’re amazing, really. Not just today, but all the days I’ve watched you push yourself. You make hard things look… less impossible. And that… that’s something I love about you.”
She stiffened for half a second under your words, then relaxed just slightly, allowing herself to soak it in. The pink in her ears deepened. Her lips parted slightly, her shoulders sagging into a quiet, stubborn version of contentment.
By the time you finally pulled away, she was beet red, muttering something about “going to her room” before practically sprinting down the hall.
You did, however, hear a muffled squeal from behind her door a few minutes later.
So, you made a mental note. Next time, you will set the bet at ninety. Maybe ninety-five. Just to pat her head again.
hello author <3 uhh before i get on with my request i just want say your stories give a sense of fresh air. Most writers these days just write smut and your stories really make me bawl my eyes out and smile . i love that there are writers like you still out there. pls continue to keep writing and never leave us author-nim ;-;
(request) angst and fluff (make it good ending i dont wanna cry no more)
Aespa Karina x male reader
Plot: karina is the most popular girl in school and y/n is the nerd. Karina gets dared to ask y/n out on a date then after a few dates she starts to develop feelings but y/n finds out it was a dare and starts ignoring her. she regrets everything shes done and tries to fix it
DARE?
AESPA Karina X Male Reader
-----
The hallways of Seonghwa High were a battlefield of hormones and hierarchies, where popularity wasn't just a perk—it was armor. And at the top of the food chain sat Karina, or Yu Jimin to the teachers who still called roll like we were in middle school. She glided through the corridors like she owned them, which, in a way, she did. Long black hair that caught the fluorescent lights just right, a smile that could disarm a detention slip, and an effortless cool that made even the strictest math teacher crack a joke. Everyone wanted a piece of her—guys asking for her notes (which were basically gold), girls orbiting her lunch table like planets around a sun. She wasn't mean about it, not really. Just... untouchable.
You, on the other hand, were the ghost in the machine. Y/N, the kid with the perpetually rumpled backpack stuffed with dog-eared sci-fi novels and a graphing calculator that had seen more action than your social life. You kept your head down, weaving through the chaos of slamming lockers and whispered gossip, aiming straight for the back row of AP Physics. It was safer there, tucked behind a stack of textbooks, where the world couldn't quite reach you. Sure, you had friends—two, to be exact: Minho, the debate club weirdo who argued with vending machines, and Jiwoo, who lived for indie bands and conspiracy theories. But popularity? That was for people who didn't mind the spotlight scorching their skin.
That Monday morning, you were nursing a lukewarm coffee from the vending machine, dodging a group of soccer jocks hyping up their weekend conquests, when you first noticed her looking your way. Karina. Not at you, exactly—more like through you, her eyes scanning the hall like she was picking out a playlist. She was laughing at something her best friend, Aeri, had said, her head thrown back in that way that made half the freshmen trip over their own feet. You blinked, shook it off, and buried yourself deeper into your notes on quantum entanglement. Because why the hell would she ever look at you?
Lunch was the usual ritual: you, Minho, and Jiwoo crammed at the corner table by the window, the one with the sticky ketchup stains that no one bothered to clean. Minho was ranting about how the school board was "suppressing free thought" by banning graphic novels from the library, while Jiwoo scrolled TikTok, occasionally shoving her phone in your face to show you some glitchy animation of cats plotting world domination.
"Dude, you're zoning out again," Minho said, flicking a fry at you. It bounced off your forehead and landed in your lap. "What's got you all quantum and entangled today?"
You shrugged, picking at your sandwich. "Just... thinking about the physics test. And how I'd rather be anywhere else."
Jiwoo snorted, not looking up from her screen. "Bold of you to assume anywhere else isn't worse. Remember that time we tried crashing the art club? Yeah, never again."
You chuckled, but your eyes drifted—unbidden—to the center of the cafeteria. Karina's table was a circus: laughter spilling over like champagne, trays of half-eaten food pushed aside for impromptu photo shoots. She was in the middle of it, gesturing wildly as she told a story, her voice carrying just enough to make you strain to hear. Something about a disastrous group project where someone—probably one of the theater kids—had accidentally set off the fire alarm with a smoke machine. The whole table erupted, and she caught your eye for a split second. Or maybe she didn't. Hallucination from lack of sleep, you decided.
By Friday, the week had blurred into a haze of equations and avoided eye contact. You were packing up after last period, your locker a fortress of crumpled worksheets and a faded poster of the periodic table, when the air shifted. Like the pressure dropping before a storm. You glanced up, and there she was—Karina, leaning against the locker next to yours, arms crossed over her school blazer like she hadn't just materialized out of thin air.
"Hey," she said, her voice casual, like you'd been chatting all semester. Up close, she smelled like vanilla and something sharper, like fresh laundry mixed with ambition. Her eyes—dark, sharp, with that effortless liner—locked onto yours without a hint of the hesitation you felt crawling up your spine.
You froze, backpack half-zipped, a pencil rolling forgotten onto the floor. "Uh... hi? Did I... drop something of yours?"
She laughed, a soft sound that hit you like a rogue wave. "No, nothing like that. Just... Y/N, right? From physics?"
Your brain short-circuited. How did she know your name? "Yeah. That's me. The one who actually shows up to class."
"Guilty as charged," she said, tilting her head. "Listen, this might sound random, but... do you want to grab coffee sometime? Like, this weekend?"
The hallway noise faded to a dull roar. Coffee. With Karina. You, the guy who once spent a whole Saturday reorganizing his comic collection alphabetically. Was this a prank? A bet? Your mind raced through every rom-com trope you'd ever devoured, landing squarely on "setup for humiliation."
But she was looking at you—really looking, with that half-smile that made your stomach twist. "I mean, if you're busy—"
"No!" The word tumbled out too fast, too eager. You cleared your throat, forcing nonchalance. "I mean, yeah. Coffee sounds... great. Saturday?"
Her smile widened, genuine enough to make you second-guess your cynicism. "Perfect. Text me? I grabbed your number from the class group chat." She pulled out her phone, already typing, and yours buzzed a second later with a simple Hey, it's Karina :).
As she walked away, hips swaying just enough to turn heads, you stood there like an idiot, staring at the screen. Minho was going to lose his shit.
-----
Saturday arrived with a drizzle that turned the city streets into a watercolor blur. You paced your room, second-guessing every outfit choice like it was a final exam. Jeans? Too casual. The button-up your mom bought for "that family dinner you never go to"? Too try-hard. You settled on a hoodie over a plain tee—the one with the subtle Star Wars logo that only nerds would notice—and sneakers that had seen better days. "It's just coffee," you muttered to your reflection. "Not a coronation."
The café was a hole-in-the-wall spot downtown, the kind with mismatched chairs and baristas who pierced every visible surface. You'd picked it because it was low-key, tucked away from the trendy chains where influencers posed with their lattes. Neutral ground. Safe.
You arrived ten minutes early, claiming a corner table by the window, nursing a black coffee that tasted like regret. Five minutes to go—your phone buzzed. Running 2 mins late, traffic's a bitch. Save me a seat?
A bitch. Karina, queen of Seonghwa High, swearing in a text like she was just another girl dodging potholes. You smiled despite yourself, typing back a quick Already got the throne warmed up.
She burst through the door two minutes later, shaking rain from her hair like a golden retriever, her oversized jacket slung over one arm. Underneath, she wore a cropped sweater and high-waisted jeans that hugged her like they were custom-made. Effortless. Radiant. Your throat went dry.
"Sorry," she said, sliding into the seat across from you, her cheeks flushed from the chill. "Seoul traffic on a rainy day is basically emotional terrorism. What're you having?"
"Black coffee. Boring, I know." You shrugged, trying to play it cool while your pulse hammered like a bass drum.
She grinned, leaning forward on her elbows. "Boring? Nah, that's efficient. Me? I'll take a vanilla latte with an extra shot—because why suffer alone?" She flagged down the barista with a wave that somehow made the whole counter staff perk up. "Make it two, actually. On me."
You blinked. "You don't have to—"
"Too late, it's done." She winked, and damn if it didn't send a spark straight to your chest. "So, Y/N. Tell me something I don't know about you. Beyond the physics whiz rep."
The question caught you off guard, like she'd lobbed a curveball in a game you didn't know you were playing. You stirred your coffee absently, buying time. "Uh... okay. I build models. Like, old-school ones—spaceships, mostly. From kits. It's dumb, but it clears my head."
Her eyes lit up, not with pity or the polite nod you'd braced for, but actual interest. "No way. Like, detailed ones? With the tiny engines and all?"
"Yeah. Took me three months to get the Millennium Falcon right last year. The hyperdrive alone—"
"Wait, you did the hyperdrive? That's the tricky part!" She leaned in closer, her latte forgotten as the barista set it down. "I tried one once, a basic TIE fighter, but I glued my fingers together before I even started the wings. Total disaster."
You laughed, the sound surprising you both. "Amateur mistake. Rule one: never trust superglue on a humid day."
From there, it snowballed. She asked about your favorite Star Wars theory (the sequels were a crime against cinema, you both agreed), and you found out she was obsessed with old horror flicks—the cheesier, the better. "Nothing beats that scene in The Thing where the dog just... explodes into tentacles," she said, mimicking the chaos with wild hand gestures that nearly knocked over her cup. "Pure nightmare fuel."
You countered with your take on Alien, how the xenomorph was basically the ultimate metaphor for unchecked corporate greed. She nodded along, chin in hand, like you were dropping TED Talk gold instead of rambling about fictional monsters. The rain picked up outside, drumming against the window like applause, but neither of you noticed. Time slipped—forty minutes turned into an hour, then two. Her laughs came easier, yours less guarded. For the first time in forever, you weren't the side character in your own story.
As you both stepped out into the downpour, sharing a too-small umbrella she'd grabbed from the café stand, she bumped your shoulder lightly. "This was fun, Y/N. Like, unexpectedly fun. We should do it again."
Your heart stuttered. "Yeah? I'd like that."
She smiled, raindrops catching on her lashes like stars. "Good. Text me when?"
"Tomorrow?"
"Deal." And with a quick hug—warm, vanilla-scented, gone too soon—she dashed to her bus stop, leaving you standing there, soaked and stupidly grinning.
Back home, sprawled on your bed with your phone glowing in the dark, you replayed it all. The way she'd listened, really listened, when you geeked out about warp drives. The spark in her eyes when you teased her about her "terrible" taste in rom-coms (she defended To All the Boys like it was her religion). It felt... real. Dangerous, maybe, but real.
What you didn't know—what you couldn't have known—was that across town, in a brightly lit bedroom plastered with polaroids and fairy lights, Karina was staring at her ceiling, phone clutched to her chest. Her friends' group chat was blowing up: How'd the dare go? Spill!! Aeri had demanded, followed by a string of eggplant emojis from the others.
She typed back a quick It was... whatever. Got the pics? But as she hit send, her mind wandered back to your laugh, the way you'd blushed when she called your model-building "badass." Shit. This was supposed to be a joke. A quick ego boost for the weekend. So why did she already want to text you goodnight?
-----
The second date snuck up on you like a plot twist. Monday at school, Karina cornered you by your locker again—this time with a conspiratorial grin and a crumpled flyer for the local arcade. "Ever beaten the claw machine? Because I need backup. It's haunted, I swear."
You raised an eyebrow, but the challenge in her voice was too good to resist. "Haunted? That's just physics—leverage and probability."
"Prove it, nerd." She poked your arm, and just like that, you were in.
The arcade was a neon-lit chaos of beeps and cheers, the air thick with popcorn grease and the faint tang of spilled soda. You arrived first again, quarters jingling in your pocket like loose change from another life. She showed up in ripped jeans and a band tee (Nirvana—unexpected, but hot as hell), her hair tied back in a messy ponytail that made her look younger, less untouchable.
"Alright, challenger," she said, linking her arm through yours without preamble. "That pink bunny in the third machine? It's mine. Or the machine's evil spirit owes me."
You snorted, feeding quarters into the slot. "Evil spirit, huh? More like shitty rigging. Watch—angle the claw at eleven o'clock, drop it slow."
The first try: miss. She groaned dramatically, slumping against your shoulder. "See? Cursed!"
"Patience," you said, adjusting her hand on the joystick. Your fingers brushed—electric, accidental—and neither of you pulled away. Second try: snag. Third: drop. But on the fourth, it clamped, lifted, and... plop. The bunny tumbled into the chute.
She squealed—actual squeal—grabbing it like a trophy and hugging you around the neck. "You're a wizard! My hero!"
The word hero lingered, warm in your chest, as you both wandered to the air hockey table. She was ruthless, hips bumping the sides to throw off your shots, trash-talking with a grin that could melt steel. "Come on, Y/N, is that all you've got? My grandma hits harder!"
"Fuck off," you laughed, slapping the puck past her defense. "Your grandma probably built this table."
By the time you called it—two hours later, stuffed with greasy fries and high scores etched in your memory—she was leaning against the exit door, bunny tucked under her arm. "Okay, fine. You're officially my arcade partner now. Third date: your pick."
Third date. The words hung there, casual as confetti. "Deal. But next time, I'm picking something less... possessed."
She rolled her eyes, but her smile was soft. "Whatever you say, hero."
That night, as you lay awake replaying her laugh echoing over the arcade din, Karina was across the city, sprawled on Aeri's bed during their weekly "debrief" sleepover. The room smelled like nail polish and takeout pizza, fairy lights twinkling like judgmental stars.
"So?" Aeri prodded, painting her toenails electric blue. "Dare update: how many dates 'til you bail? He's cute in a lost puppy way, but come on—nerd alert."
Karina picked at a pepperoni, forcing a laugh. "It's not that deep. Just... killing time."
But even as she said it, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Your text: Bunny secured. What's its name? She smiled despite herself, typing back Sir Fluffington von Claw. Night, hero.
Aeri caught the grin. "Wait, you're actually texting him? Jimin, this was a dare. Not a slow-burn fanfic."
"I know," Karina snapped, sharper than she meant. She softened it with a shrug. "It's fun, okay? Harmless."
But as the lights dimmed and Aeri's snores filled the room, Karina stared at her ceiling again. Harmless? Then why did her chest ache at the thought of it ending? Why did she already dread the punchline?
Little did she know, the universe had a twisted sense of timing. And it was about to drop the curtain.
-----
The third date was supposed to be the one that sealed it. You'd picked the planetarium—low-stakes, your turf, a place where the stars could do the talking when words got too tangled. Karina had texted you the night before: Can't wait. Wear something spacey? You'd chuckled, digging out an old NASA tee from the back of your closet, the one with the faded rocket launch graphic. It felt like progress, like maybe this was veering off the rom-com script into something real. Something yours.
But Wednesday afternoon, two days before the stars were set to align, everything imploded in the span of a whispered conversation you weren't meant to hear.
School let out in a stampede of backpacks and belled laughter, the kind that echoed off the lockers like gunfire. You were lingering by the vending machines near the east wing—procrastinating, really, because Minho had ditched debate practice to "protest the cafeteria meatloaf" (his words), and Jiwoo was buried in a group project that involved way too many sticky notes. Your phone buzzed in your pocket: Karina, with a quick Hey, you free after school? Quick coffee run? You smiled despite the knot in your gut from earlier—some asshole in English had called you "Rocket Boy" after overhearing you ramble about black holes in class. Whatever. You'd text her back yes, because saying no to her lately felt like denying gravity.
That's when you heard it. Her voice, clear as a bell, filtering through the half-open door of the girls' lounge—a glorified storage closet with vending machines and ratty couches where the popular crowd claimed squat after hours. You weren't eavesdropping, not intentionally. You were just... there, fumbling for a soda quarter, when the door creaked wider on its shitty hinges.
"...and then he actually got the bunny on the fourth try. Like, who the fuck does that?" Karina's laugh rang out, light and bubbly, the same one that had made your chest ache during air hockey. But now it twisted something inside you, sharp and unfamiliar.
Aeri's voice cut in, smug as ever. "No shit? The nerd pulled through? Okay, points for commitment. But come on, Jimin—how far are you taking this dare? It's been, what, three dates? You're basically a pro at this point."
Your hand froze on the vending machine button. Dare. The word landed like a sucker punch, sucking the air from your lungs. You pressed yourself against the wall, heart slamming against your ribs, praying the hum of the fluorescents would drown it out. But no—Karina's reply came soft, almost conspiratorial, laced with that effortless charm that had reeled you in.
"Girl, it's easier than I thought. Remember how awkward he was at first? Stammering like a broken robot? But yeah, I played it cool, asked about his dumb spaceship models, and boom—he's hooked. Texting me goodnight with bunny names and shit. It's almost too good."
The lounge erupted in giggles—high-pitched, merciless. Someone—probably Yizhuo, the one with the bleached tips—chimed in: "Screenshots or it didn't happen! Did you get a kiss yet? Bet he'd melt into a puddle."
"Not yet," Karina said, and you could picture her smirk, that tilt of her head that made everything seem like a game. "But the planetarium this weekend? Prime setup. Fool him into thinking it's real, then ghost. Easy A for the dare."
Your soda can clattered to the floor, forgotten, fizzing angrily against the tiles. Fool him. You. The word echoed in your skull, a vicious loop that drowned out the rest of their chatter—the plans for some party, the casual roast of another teacher's outfit. Fool him into thinking it's real. Every memory flashed back in brutal HD: her laugh at the café, the brush of her fingers on the joystick, the way she'd called you "hero" like it meant something. Lies. All of it, a slow-burn con job, and you'd lapped it up like the pathetic mark you were.
Nausea clawed up your throat, hot and bitter. You bolted before they could spill out, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as you shoved through the exit doors into the gray afternoon. The cold air hit you like a slap, but it didn't numb the burn in your chest—the kind that felt like your ribs were caving in, splintering under the weight of your own stupidity. How could you not see it? The queen bee slumming it with the nerd for kicks. A dare. And you'd fallen for it, hard. Texted her constellations last night, for fuck's sake, because she said she liked the stars.
By the time you made it home, the hurt had calcified into something colder, sharper. Anger, maybe, but mostly shame. Confront her? Storm back to that lounge and call her out in front of her hyena pack? No. That'd just feed the fire—turn you into the punchline, the desperate loser who thought he had a shot. "Oh, look, the nerd's crying over his fake girlfriend." You'd be a meme by morning, whispered about in every hallway. Better to swallow it, let it fester quietly. Fade out like you always did. Pretend it never happened.
Your phone buzzed again as you collapsed onto your bed, staring at the ceiling cracks like they held answers. You ignoring me? What's up? You deleted the draft reply three times before settling on: Family stuff came up. Rain check? Vague. Believable. A lie to match hers.
Across town, Karina pocketed her phone with a frown, the lounge chatter fading into white noise. Family stuff. Sure. But as she slung her bag over her shoulder, waving goodbye to the girls, a weird twinge settled in her gut. Not guilt—not yet. Just... off. Like she'd miscued a line in a play she didn't know she was starring in.
-----
The drift started small, like a radio losing frequency—static creeping in, words garbling until the signal was gone. Thursday morning, you spotted her in the hallway between first and second period, leaning against a locker with that effortless poise, scrolling her phone while Aeri ranted about some influencer's latest scandal. Your path crossed hers inevitably; the school wasn't that big, and avoidance felt like admitting defeat.
She looked up as you approached, her face lighting up in that way that used to make your knees weak. "Y/N! Hey, about yesterday—everything okay?"
You forced a nod, keeping your eyes on your shoelaces, the frayed edge of your backpack strap—anything but her. "Yeah, just... busy. Mom needed help with groceries after school. You know how it is."
Her brow furrowed, just a flicker, but she played it off with a smile. "Totally. But the planetarium's still on, right? I was thinking we could grab those shitty hot dogs from the concession stand after. You know, the ones that taste like regret?"
The casualness of it stung, like salt in a fresh wound. Regret. Yeah, you knew all about that. "Uh, actually... change of plans. Jiwoo's got this project due, and I'm her ride. Group stuff, you get it."
She blinked, the smile faltering for a beat. "Oh. Right. No biggie. Text me later?"
"Sure." You sidestepped, melting into the crowd before she could press. Your heart hammered the whole way to calculus, a traitorous drumbeat that screamed coward with every step. But better this than the alternative—better the slow fade than the explosive crash.
By lunch, the excuses were stacking up like unread notifications. Your phone lit up under the cafeteria table: Missed you in the hall. What's with the ghosting? You stared at it, thumb hovering, the words blurring through the haze of hurt. Missed you. Bullshit. Or maybe not—maybe that was the worst part, the sliver of doubt that whispered maybe some of it had been real. But no. You'd heard her. Fool him. You typed back: Just slammed with homework. Physics is kicking my ass. Talk soon?
Minho clocked it immediately, snatching a fry from your untouched tray. "Dude, you're moping harder than when they canceled The Expanse season six. Spill—who died?"
You forced a laugh, brittle as dry leaves. "Nobody. Just... tired."
Jiwoo eyed you over her sketchbook, pencil paused mid-doodle of a dystopian skyline. "Liar. This about Karina? You two were all gooey last week. What, she finally wise up and realize you're a walking spoiler alert for rom-coms?"
"Something like that," you muttered, shoving your phone face-down. The hurt pulsed under your skin, a constant throb that made every bite of food taste like ash. You replayed the lounge conversation on loop—their laughs, her easy admission. It's easier than I thought. God, you'd been so fucking easy. Gullible. The kind of guy who built models of ships that never crashed, but here you were, wrecked anyway.
Friday blurred by in a fog of deliberate distance. In physics, you switched seats to the front row, burying yourself in notes while she shot you puzzled glances from across the room. After class, she caught you at the door, her voice tentative for the first time—none of that queen-bee confidence, just a girl with worry creasing her perfect brows.
"Y/N, wait up. You okay? You've been... weird all week."
You adjusted your backpack, avoiding her eyes like they were solar flares. "I'm good. Just focused. Exams coming up, right? Gotta grind."
She stepped closer, close enough that you caught the vanilla again, a ghost of the café that twisted the knife deeper. "Yeah, but... we had plans. The stars? Remember?"
The word stars hung there, mocking. You'd texted her a constellation map two nights ago, labeled with dumb jokes about her being the brightest point. Now it felt like evidence in a trial you were losing. "Shit, sorry—forgot to mention. Minho dragged me to this comic con thing last minute. Nerd pilgrimage, you know?"
Her laugh was forced, a shadow of the real one. "Right. Comic con. Cool. Have fun, I guess."
You nodded, throat tight, and slipped away before the lie could choke you. By the time you hit the parking lot, the weight of it all pressed down— the hurt blooming into something hollow, an emptiness that echoed with every step. You weren't just avoiding her; you were erasing her, one excuse at a time. And fuck, it hurt worse than the truth. Because deep down, buried under the betrayal, you missed her too. The way she'd listen to your rants without glazing over, the spark in her eyes when you surprised her. But that was the con, wasn't it? The perfect illusion.
Meanwhile, across the quad, Karina watched you go, her arms wrapped tight around her waist like she could hold herself together. The lounge echo still lingered in her mind—Aeri's dare, the casual cruelty of it all—but now it soured on her tongue. Weird all week. Yeah, no shit. She'd been dodging her own friends' texts about the "next phase," blowing off their party invites with half-assed excuses. Because every time she thought about ghosting you, about turning this into the punchline, her stomach knotted up like she'd swallowed glass.
That night, alone in her room with the fairy lights dimmed low, she scrolled through your texts—the bunny name, the star map, that stupid Night, hero she'd sent without thinking. Her thumb hovered over the call button, pulse racing. Just call him, she thought. Explain. Say it started as a dare but... fuck, but what? That it wasn't a lie anymore? That she caught herself doodling your initials in her notebook margins, replaying your laugh like a favorite track on repeat?
She hit dial before she could chicken out, the ringtone slicing through the quiet like an accusation. One ring. Two. Voicemail. "Hey, it's Y/N—leave a message, or don't. Whatever floats your spaceship."
A choked laugh escaped her, but it dissolved into a sigh. "Hey... it's me. Karina. Just... checking in. Miss talking to you, I guess. Call me back? Please?" She hung up, tossing the phone aside like it burned. Miss talking to you. Understatement of the century. She missed the way you'd challenge her on movie plots, the quiet confidence that snuck out when you thought no one was watching. Missed you. And as she curled under the covers, the dare felt like chains—stupid, self-inflicted chains she suddenly, desperately, wanted to break.
But you? Your voicemail notification glowed in the dark of your room, unread. Unheard. Because listening would crack the walls you'd built, and you weren't ready to let the flood in. Not yet. The hurt was too raw, the fear of looking like a fool too sharp. So you let it sit there, a silent grenade, while the distance stretched wider, pulling you both into the void.
Little did you know, on the other side of that void, Karina was already reaching—fingers outstretched, heart pounding—for a way to pull you back.
-----
The plan crystallized over a sleepless weekend, forged in the quiet fury of deleted texts and half-hearted homework. You weren't the yelling type—never had been. Anger was a luxury for people who didn't mind the fallout, and you'd spent too many years perfecting the art of quiet retreat to blow it now. No, this needed precision. A scalpel, not a sledgehammer. Something to make her feel the weight without turning you into the villain of your own story.
The recording had been a fluke, really. That Thursday after the lounge bombshell, you'd lingered longer than you should have, phone clutched in your pocket like a talisman. The door had swung wider on a draft, and you'd hit record on instinct—paranoia, maybe, or some buried need for proof that this wasn't just your imagination unraveling. Her voice, clear and cutting: It's easier than I thought... boom, he's hooked. The arcade date, reduced to a punchline. Texting me goodnight with bunny names and shit. You'd listened to it once, twice, until the words etched into your brain like acid. Then you'd saved it, a digital scar, waiting for the right moment.
Monday hit like a hangover—gray skies pressing down on the school roof, the hallways buzzing with that post-weekend haze. You spotted her during lunch, alone for once, perched on the edge of a picnic table outside the cafeteria doors. No entourage today; Aeri was home sick, and the rest had scattered to their cliques. Perfect. Isolated. Vulnerable.
You approached with your tray balanced in one hand, the other shoved deep in your pocket around your phone. She looked up as your shadow fell over her, her face a mix of hope and wariness—eyes brightening like she thought this was a truce.
"Y/N," she said, scooting over to make space, her voice soft around the edges. "Sit? I've been... yeah. Looking for you."
You set the tray down, the plastic clattering louder than it should have. Sat, but not close—close enough to see the faint shadows under her eyes, the way her fingers twisted the hem of her sweater like she was unraveling. "Looking for me, huh? That's new."
She winced, but pushed on, words tumbling out in a rush she'd probably rehearsed. "Listen, I know I've been weird. And you've been... distant. But it's not what you think. Or—fuck, maybe it is, but not anymore. It started stupid, okay? A dare from the girls. Dumb peer pressure shit. Ask out the nerd, see if I could pull it off. But then... then it wasn't. The coffee, the arcade, the way you talk about stars like they're old friends? I didn't fake that. I—"
"Love me?" You finished it for her, voice flat, even. No edge, no venom. Just the truth hanging there, naked and cold. Her mouth snapped shut, eyes widening like you'd slapped her. Caught off guard, just like you'd planned. The queen bee, speechless.
She swallowed hard, nodding once, fierce. "Yeah. I love you. Truly. It snuck up on me, Y/N. I didn't see it coming, but it's real. Please, just—"
You pulled out your phone, thumbing the screen awake before she could finish. No preamble. Just hit play. Her voice filled the space between you, tinny through the speaker but unmistakable: ...played it cool, asked about his dumb spaceship models, and boom—he's hooked. It's almost too good.
The color drained from her face, slow and stark, like ink bleeding into water. She stared at the phone like it was a loaded gun, her lips parting on a silent gasp. The recording looped to the end—Fool him into thinking it's real—and you stopped it, pocketing the device with deliberate calm. The courtyard noise faded to a hum: distant laughter, a basketball thumping against pavement. No one watching. No audience for the fallout.
"Y/N, I—" She reached for your arm, but you shifted just out of touch, and her hand fell limp between you. Tears welled, but she blinked them back, voice cracking like thin ice. "That was before. Before I knew. I was an idiot, okay? Scared of looking soft, playing the part everyone expects. But you... you saw me. Not the Karina everyone wants, the one who has it all figured out. You made me want to be real. Please, believe me. I love you."
The words landed heavy, sincere in a way that twisted the knife deeper. You could see it—the regret carving lines into her face, the way her shoulders hunched like she was bracing for a storm. Part of you—the part that still remembered vanilla and arcade cheers—wanted to believe her. Wanted to pull her close and call it even. But the hurt was a wall, thick and unyielding, built brick by brick from every lie she'd spun.
You met her eyes, steady. No yell. No storm. Just quiet, cutting truth. "If you love me, Karina... try harder. Fool me more. Make me believe it this time."
She froze, breath hitching. "What?"
"You heard me." You stood, tray in hand, the uneaten sandwich mocking you both. "You were good at it before. The laughs, the texts, the way you'd lean in like I mattered. Do better. Or don't. Your call."
You walked away then, leaving her there on the bench—alone, exposed, the queen stripped bare. Her whisper chased you—"Y/N, wait"—but you didn't. Not anger, not cruelty. Just self-preservation, wrapped in a challenge she couldn't ignore.
Behind you, Karina buried her face in her hands, the tears finally spilling hot and unchecked. Fool him more. The words echoed, a gauntlet thrown. And for the first time, the dare felt like the easy part.
-----
The days that followed were a tightrope walk—Karina on one side, teetering with every desperate step, you on the other, balanced on the edge of doubt. You didn't ghost her outright; that would make you the asshole, and you weren't about to become the jerk in this mess. No, you stayed open—texts answered with single words, smiles in the hall that didn't quite reach your eyes. Self-aware now, like you'd swallowed a truth serum that turned every gesture into a puzzle piece. Was this real, or another layer of the con? You'd watch, wait, let her prove it. Because deep down, buried under the scar tissue, you wanted her to succeed. Wanted to believe in the girl who'd laughed at your hyperdrive rants, not the one who'd mocked them.
She started small, tentative—like testing the ice before stepping out. Tuesday after physics, she slipped a note into your locker: a crumpled sketch of the Millennium Falcon, wings taped together with what looked like superglue residue. Tried again. Still sucks. But for you? Worth the band-aids. -K No emojis, no flair. Just her handwriting, messy and earnest, the kind that spoke of late nights and second tries.
You stared at it during lunch, Minho peering over your shoulder with a raised brow. "Secret admirer? Or is this the Karina plot twist we've all been waiting for?"
You folded it carefully, tucking it into your notebook. "Something like that." No details—your hurt was private, the kind you didn't unpack over cafeteria slop. But the note? It lingered, a quiet crack in your armor. She'd remembered the story, the glue disaster. Effort, or echo?
By Wednesday, she escalated—public, but not showy. The hallway between classes was a gauntlet of stares and whispers, but there she was, waiting by your locker again, backpack slung low like she didn't care about the optics. Aeri hovered a few feet back, arms crossed, but Karina waved her off with a sharp "Give us space, yeah?"—her voice carrying that edge, the one that brooked no bullshit.
When you approached, she held out a paper bag, grease-stained and warm. "Peace offering. Or... whatever. Your mom mentioned you like those spicy chicken wraps from the truck downtown. Figured you'd skip lunch again if I didn't intervene."
You blinked, taking it slowly. Your mom? She'd called your house? The thought sent a weird flutter through your chest—intrusive, intimate, the kind of move that screamed vulnerability. "You... talked to my mom?"
She shrugged, but her cheeks pinked under the fluorescent glare. "Yeah. Told her I was worried about you. She thinks I'm sweet, by the way. Said you could use someone who doesn't let you hide in your books all the time." A pause, her eyes searching yours. "She's right, you know. I miss that—seeing you light up about shit that matters to you."
The bag felt heavy in your hand, not from the food, but from the weight of it all. Trick, or truth? You could spot the patterns now: the way her friends shot her side-eyes, like she was betraying the script. The faint tremor in her fingers as she adjusted her bag strap. She was trying—harder than before, shedding the polish for something raw.
"Thanks," you said, voice even. No warmth, but no ice. "Appreciate it."
She nodded, biting her lip. "Anytime. Or... most times. If you'll let me."
You watched her go, weaving through the crowd that parted for her like always. But today, she didn't glide—she shuffled a little, shoulders tight, like the stares burned. Willing to look less than perfect. For you.
Thursday brought the rain again, turning the after-school bus stop into a soggy limbo. You were huddled under the overhang, hood up, scrolling memes to kill time when she appeared—umbrella in one hand, a battered thermos in the other. No makeup, hair frizzing in the humidity, her jeans splashed with what looked like mud from a puddle dodge.
"Hot chocolate," she said, thrusting the thermos at you like a shield. "Extra marshmallows. Because fuck the diet—it's miserable out here."
You took it, the warmth seeping through the metal, chasing the chill. "You didn't have to—"
"I know." She stepped under the overhang, close but not crowding, rain dripping from her umbrella in steady plinks. "But I wanted to. Look, Y/N... that recording? It haunts me. Every word. I was scared, okay? Scared of feeling something real when everyone expects me to be the girl who doesn't. But you? You're not a dare. You're the part of me I didn't know I needed—the one who makes me want to build stupid models and lose at air hockey just to hear you laugh."
Her voice cracked on the last word, eyes shiny but steady. No tears this time—just raw, unfiltered Karina, the kind that didn't perform for an audience. You sipped the chocolate, sweet and too hot, burning your tongue in the best way. Trick? Maybe. But the mud on her jeans, the frizz she didn't fix, the way she shivered without complaining... it felt like surrender. Like she was willing to be the loser in this equation, splashed and imperfect, just to stand there with you.
"I see you trying," you said finally, handing the thermos back half-empty. "It's... noted."
She smiled then—small, tentative, like dawn breaking through clouds. "Good. Because I'm not stopping. Fool you? Nah. I'm trying to show you the truth this time."
The bus rumbled up, doors hissing open. You boarded first, pausing at the top step. "Keep going, then. I'm listening."
Friday capped it—a gesture that hit like a gut punch, the kind that blurred the line between effort and ache. Debate club wrapped late, the room emptying into the dimming gym lights, and there you were, packing up notes on rhetorical fallacies, when the door creaked. Karina, alone, in a hoodie two sizes too big (yours? No, couldn't be—wait, yeah, the one you'd left at the arcade that first night, forgotten in the rain).
She held it out, sheepish. "Found this in my laundry. Smells like you—coffee and that cologne you pretend not to wear." A beat, then softer: "Wear it to the planetarium? If... if you still want to go. Just us. No dares, no games. I promise."
You took the hoodie, the fabric soft from her wash, carrying a faint trace of vanilla now—hers mingling with yours. The offer hung there, stars unspoken. You'd canceled it in your head weeks ago, but now? With her standing there, hoodie-handed and hopeful, looking every bit the girl who'd trade her crown for a quiet night under the dome?
"Maybe," you said, pulling it on. It fit like an apology. "Text me the time."
Her grin broke wide, lighting the room. "Deal."
As she left, you lingered, fingers tracing the hem. Self-aware, yeah—you saw the moves, the calculated vulnerability. But fuck, you also saw her. The way she'd ditched her friends' lunch table to brave the rain, the superglue scars on her sketch. She was becoming the loser for you—splashed jeans, frizzy hair, public pleas that chipped at her untouchable rep. And in the quiet of that emptying room, doubt cracked just a little wider. Maybe this time, the fool wasn't you. Maybe it was both of you, reaching across the void, hoping the other would catch.
-----
The planetarium loomed on the horizon like a fragile truce—Saturday night, under the dome's artificial stars, where words could dissolve into constellations and maybe, just maybe, you'd let the walls drop a little further. But Friday had other plans, the kind that slithered in on whispers and side-eyes, turning the school into a pressure cooker of petty vendettas. Karina's friends—her so-called inner circle, the ones who'd egged on the dare like it was a group project—had been simmering since her shift. Aeri's texts had gone unanswered for days, Yizhuo's Instagram stories laced with passive-aggressive memes about "fake friends and faker crushes." They saw her drifting, saw the queen bee buzzing around the nerd instead of her hive, and it pissed them off. Loyalty, they called it. Revenge, you knew.
You felt it building all morning, that electric hum in the air like static before lightning. Hallways thicker with stares, clusters of whispers that parted when you passed. By lunch, it hit critical mass. The cafeteria was a zoo as usual—trays clanging, laughter spiking over the drone of the AC—but today, the center table felt like a stage, spotlit by the fluorescent glare. Karina's crew held court there: Aeri at the head, sharp-eyed and smirking, flanked by Yizhuo and a couple of hangers-on whose names you could never keep straight. Summer, maybe? The one with the nose ring. And Ning, the wildcard who laughed too loud at everything.
You were at your usual corner with Minho and Jiwoo, picking at a sad excuse for pasta, when Aeri's voice cut through the din like a siren. "Oh, look who's gracing us with his presence. The dare of the century himself!"
Heads turned—casual at first, then sharper, like sharks scenting blood. You froze mid-fork, sauce dripping onto your tray. Minho choked on his soda, sputtering, "What the fuck did she just—"
Jiwoo shushed him, eyes wide, but you? You just set your fork down. Slow. Deliberate. The recording burned in your pocket like a live wire, but you didn't need it. Not yet. You'd been waiting for this, the other shoe dropping in a hailstorm.
Aeri stood, tray abandoned, sauntering over like she owned the linoleum. The table followed her lead, a pack mentality that made your skin crawl. Yizhuo hung back a step, smirking into her phone, already live-streaming the takedown for clout. "Hey, Y/N," Aeri drawled, loud enough for the adjacent tables to lean in. "Or should I say, Mr. Hooked? Bet you thought you were special, huh? Texting Karina bunny names and star maps like some lovesick puppy. Newsflash: it was a dare. Whole thing. She asked you out on a bet—see if the ice queen could slum it with the science fair reject. And damn, you fell for it hard."
The cafeteria hushed in waves, a ripple of gasps and stifled snickers spreading like oil on water. Summer snorted, covering her mouth too late. "Pics or it didn't happen, right? Oh wait—she's got 'em. The arcade? Total setup. You grabbing that stuffed bunny like a champ? Iconic loser energy."
Your pulse thrummed steady, no spike, no panic. You'd heard worse—in your head, on loop, every night since the lounge. This? This was just the public service announcement, the grand reveal for an audience that didn't matter. You met Aeri's eyes, calm as a dead sea. "Dare, huh? Yeah. I know."
The words landed flat, but they detonated anyway. Aeri blinked, smirk faltering like a glitch. "What?"
"I know," you repeated, voice even, laced with that quiet edge you'd honed in debate club—the one that dismantled arguments without raising a decibel. "Overheard you all in the lounge. Word for word. The 'dumb spaceship models,' the 'fool him' bit. Cute, really. Amateur hour."
The table behind you erupted in murmurs—"He knew?" "No way."—but you didn't break eye contact. Yizhuo lowered her phone, the live feed forgotten, her grin souring into confusion. "Wait, so you're... what? Playing along? That's pathetic."
"Pathetic?" You tilted your head, almost amused. The hurt was there, buried deep, but this? This was armor. "Nah. That's called self-respect. You think exposing a dare makes me the fool? Try again. It just makes you look desperate."
Aeri's face twisted, cheeks flushing under the liner she probably reapplied between classes. "Fuck you, nerd. You think you're hot shit now? Karina's just pity-fucking your ego—"
"Enough." The word sliced through like a whipcrack, and there she was—Karina, bursting from the kitchen doors like she'd been summoned by the chaos. Tray in hand, but abandoned mid-stride, clattering to the floor forgotten. Her eyes blazed, not the cool queen fire, but something feral, protective—a mama bear with claws out. She shoved past Summer, planting herself between you and the pack, shoulders squared like a shield.
Aeri whirled, incredulous. "Jimin? What the hell? We're just telling him the truth—"
"The truth?" Karina's laugh was bitter, sharp as shattered glass. She stepped closer to Aeri, voice dropping to a venomous hiss that carried anyway. "Your truth? The one where you bet me a hundred bucks I couldn't ask out a guy without treating him like shit? Yeah, I remember. And you know what? It was the stupidest fucking thing I ever did. Because Y/N? He's not a dare. He's not a joke. He's the only one here who sees me—really sees me—without expecting a performance."
The cafeteria had gone tomb-silent now, forks hovering, breaths held. Yizhuo shifted uncomfortably, pocketing her phone. "Come on, Jimin, it's not that serious. We were just messing—"
"Messing around?" Karina rounded on her, eyes flashing. "You think humiliating him is fun? Posting it online like it's content? Fuck that. And fuck you for thinking I'd let you drag him through your bullshit just because I grew a spine and chose better." She turned to the rest of the table, voice rising like a tide. "Any of you. If you can't handle me being happy—really happy, not your performative crap—then stay the hell away. We're done."
Summer muttered something under her breath—"Drama queen"—but Aeri just stared, mouth agape, the pack fracturing in real time. Whispers erupted as Karina grabbed your arm, not gentle, but fierce—clinging like you'd vanish if she let go. Her fingers dug in, warm and trembling, anchoring you both in the storm's eye.
"Come on," she murmured, low for your ears only, as she tugged you toward the exit. "Not worth the air they breathe."
You let her lead, the cafeteria's eyes boring into your back like lasers. Minho whooped from your table—"Get it, Rocket Boy!"—and Jiwoo flashed a thumbs-up, but the rest blurred into white noise. Karina didn't stop until you hit the hallway, the doors swinging shut behind you like a guillotine. Then she whirled, still clinging—arms wrapping around your waist now, face buried in your shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against your hoodie.
"Shit," she whispered, voice muffled, body pressed close enough you could feel her heartbeat rabbiting. "I'm sorry. They're assholes, but I should've shut that down sooner. I just... I can't lose you over their stupid game."
You hesitated, arms hovering before settling on her back—light, testing. The cling was new, vulnerable; the Karina who'd glide untouchable now molding to you like you'd always fit. Vanilla and rain from the morning drizzle clung to her hair, grounding you. "You didn't lose me," you said, honest despite the scar. "Knew it already, remember? But that... back there? That was something."
She pulled back just enough to look up, eyes glassy but fierce, cheeks flushed from the confrontation. "Yeah? Good. Because I'm not faking this part." And then, impulsive as a shooting star, she rose on her toes—clung tighter, one hand fisting your hoodie—and pressed her lips to your cheek. Soft, lingering, a brand that seared warmer than anger. Not a stage kiss, not for show; just her, staking claim in the empty hall, lips brushing stubble and skin like a promise.
You froze, breath catching, the spot tingling long after she pulled away. Her grin was sheepish, but unapologetic—eyes sparkling with that mix of nerves and fire. "For luck. Or... whatever. Planetarium tomorrow? Still on?"
The bell rang then, shrill and intrusive, shattering the bubble. Students spilled from classrooms, but she didn't let go—not fully—her hand sliding down to lace fingers with yours as you both headed to class. "Yeah," you said, squeezing back despite yourself. "Still on."
The rest of the day blurred—whispers chasing you like shadows, Aeri's glare burning holes from across the quad—but Karina stuck close. Notes passed in history (a doodle of a claw machine devouring her friends, labeled Karma's got teeth), a brush of her shoulder in the hall, her laugh cutting through the tension when you cracked a lame quantum joke. Protective didn't cover it; she was a force field, deflecting stares with glares that could curdle milk, clinging in subtle ways—a hand on your elbow during passing periods, her backpack bumping yours like an orbit.
By dismissal, the school's grapevine had twisted the tale: Karina ditching her crew for the nerd, a full-on cafeteria smackdown. Your phone buzzed nonstop—Minho's memes, Jiwoo's excited texts (She's ride-or-die now? Spill!), even a wary ping from an unknown number (probably Yizhuo, testing waters). But you ignored them, focused on the girl beside you at the bus stop, her head on your shoulder as rain pattered the overhang.
"You didn't have to go nuclear back there," you said quietly, arm slipping around her waist—tentative, but there. "Could've let it slide."
She snorted, nuzzling closer, the cling turning cozy in the chill. "Nah. They crossed a line. And you? You're worth nuking bridges for." A pause, her fingers tracing patterns on your knee. "Besides... feels good. Being on your side for once."
The bus pulled up, but neither moved right away. Her cheek kiss lingered in your mind, a spark that warmed the doubt's chill. Self-aware still—you saw the gestures, weighed them against the past—but damn if her defense didn't tip the scales. She wasn't fooling anymore; she was fighting. For you. And as you both boarded, her hand in yours, the void between you shrank just a little more.
Saturday's stars waited, but tonight? Tonight felt like its own constellation—two points aligning, messy and bright, against the dark.
-----
The planetarium smelled like polished wood and stale popcorn, a domed sanctuary where the outside world dissolved into projected galaxies. You'd arrived early—habit, nerves—hoodie zipped against the AC bite, the one she'd washed and returned, still carrying her scent like a secret. Tickets in hand, you claimed seats in the back row, the kind with extra legroom for the awkward sprawl of first real dates post-drama.
She showed five minutes late, breathless from the dash across the parking lot, hair windswept and cheeks pink. No makeup armor today—just gloss and a grin that lit the dim foyer. "Sorry—bus was a nightmare. But I brought reinforcements." She held up a crinkled bag of those regret-hot dogs from the concession, steam curling out like a peace flag. "Figured we'd need fuel for the big bang."
You chuckled, taking the bag, the normalcy of it easing the knot in your chest. "Bold choice. Last time I had one of these, I questioned all life decisions."
"Same." She linked her arm through yours as the usher waved you in, clinging light but sure—like it was the most natural thing, post-cafeteria fallout be damned. The dome hummed to life around you, seats reclining into starry oblivion, the narrator's voice a soothing baritone droning about nebulae and supernovas.
Halfway through—Milky Way swirling overhead like cotton candy on steroids—she shifted closer, her knee bumping yours. "This okay?" Whispered, tentative, her hand finding yours in the dark. No grand gesture, just fingers intertwining, thumb stroking your knuckle like a Morse code apology.
"Yeah," you murmured back, squeezing. The cling from yesterday echoed here—protective, affectionate, a quiet claim. "More than."
The show blurred after that: black holes sucking light, pulsars flashing like heartbeats. But her commentary stole the spotlight—whispers about how the Orion Nebula looked like a cosmic bruise, or how she'd kill to pilot a ship through the Pillars of Creation. You countered with facts you'd hoarded like treasures—the math behind red shifts, the eerie silence of vacuum—and she listened, head on your shoulder now, laughs muffled against your sleeve.
Post-show, the dome emptied slow, couples lingering under the fading stars. She didn't let go—clung as you both wandered the exhibit hall, her free hand gesturing wildly at a holographic solar system. "See? That's why I need you around. You're the one who makes this shit make sense."
You pulled her to a stop by a display of meteorites, rough and ancient under glass. "And you're the one who makes it fun. Even when it's... complicated."
Her eyes softened, the cling turning earnest as she stepped into your space—close enough for vanilla to overwhelm the popcorn haze. "Complicated's okay. As long as it's us." Then, softer: "Thank you. For giving me a shot to fix this. I know I don't deserve it, but—"
"You do," you cut in, surprising yourself. The cheek kiss from yesterday burned fresh, a bridge you'd half-crossed. "You're trying. That's more than enough."
She beamed, rising again—lips brushing your cheek once more, lingering longer this time, a spark that jumped straight to your core. "Good. Because I'm all in, Y/N. Dare or no dare."
Outside, under real stars peeking through city haze, you walked her to the bus stop—hands linked, steps synced. The hurt lingered, a faint scar, but her defense, her cling, her unfiltered fire? It was rewriting the story. One constellation at a time.
Little did you know, across town, Aeri's group chat was fracturing—apologies pinged, bridges tentatively mended. But Karina? She was done with the hive. Her orbit was yours now, and the pull felt irreversible.
-----
The week after the planetarium felt like emerging from a nebula—hazy at first, then sharpening into something brilliant and vast. School, once a minefield of whispers and wary glances, softened around the edges. Aeri's crew had splintered: a half-hearted apology group chat from Yizhuo (ignored by Karina), Summer switching tables at lunch like a defector, and Aeri herself slinking into radio silence, her glare dulled by the realization that the queen had flown the coop. No one dared mock you openly anymore—not with Karina's cafeteria takedown fresh in every memory bank. But more than the quiet, it was her. Karina, orbiting closer every day, turning the mundane into magic with a glance, a touch, a laugh that felt like home.
Monday morning set the tone. You were fumbling with your locker, backpack spilling half its contents in a cascade of notes and a rogue pencil that rolled underfoot, when her voice cut through the hallway din like sunlight. "Need a hand, hero? Or should I call in reinforcements?"
She was there, leaning against the adjacent locker, a paper coffee cup extended like a scepter. Vanilla latte for her, black with a splash of cream for you—exactly how you'd grumbled about it tasting best during one of your late-night texts. Her hair was loose today, catching the light in soft waves, and she wore that cropped sweater from your first coffee run, like a nod to the beginning they were rewriting.
You took the cup, fingers brushing hers—warm, deliberate, sending that familiar spark up your arm. "You memorized my order? Stalker level: expert."
She grinned, bumping your shoulder lightly as she helped shove books back into the chaos. "Guilty. But hey, it's efficient. And it means I get to start your day with caffeine instead of chaos." Her hand lingered on yours for a beat, squeezing once before pulling away—subtle, but enough to make your chest hum.
By lunch, the shift was seismic. Minho and Jiwoo had claimed your corner table as usual, but today it expanded—Karina sliding in beside you without fanfare, tray balanced with fries she immediately pushed your way. "Steal one. I got extra—payback for the hot dogs that nearly killed us."
Minho's eyes bugged out, fork pausing mid-air. "Holy shit, is this real life? The Karina Yu in our nerd bunker? Alert the presses."
Jiwoo leaned forward, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "I like her already. Fries are the universal language of peace treaties."
Karina laughed, that full, unguarded sound that still caught you off guard, and popped a fry into her mouth. "What can I say? Your table has better vibes. No drama, just... actual conversations." She shot you a sideways glance, eyes twinkling. "Plus, Y/N promised to explain that black hole theory again. The one where time stops? Mind blown."
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide the smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you stop calling it 'the time-freeze vortex.' It's event horizon, Karina."
"Potato, po-tah-to." She nudged your knee under the table, her foot hooking lightly around your ankle—a secret anchor in the chatter. Minho dove into a rant about conspiracy theories (Jiwoo egging him on), and Karina jumped in seamlessly, debating wormholes like she'd minored in astrophysics. By the end of the period, Minho was declaring her "honorary nerd," and Jiwoo was sketching a cartoon of the four of you as space explorers—Karina as the fearless captain, you as the wise navigator.
As the bell rang, she lingered, helping you gather trays. "This okay? Hanging with your crew? I don't want to... invade."
You paused in the doorway, turning to face her—close enough to count the faint freckles across her nose from that one sunny arcade afternoon. "Invade? Nah. Feels right. Like you were always supposed to be here."
Her cheeks flushed, soft pink, and she leaned in—quick, sweet—pressing a kiss to your cheek, right there in the bustling hall. No hiding, no hesitation. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
The afternoons blurred into a rhythm of small sweetnesses. Tuesday: a shared umbrella walk to the bus stop after rain-slicked detention (hers for talking back in English; yours for "excessive doodling" in margins). She clung to your arm the whole way, splashing through puddles on purpose, her laughter bubbling up like fizzy soda when you pretended to grumble. "Admit it," she teased, shaking droplets from her hair onto your shoulder. "You love the chaos."
"Only if it comes with you," you shot back, and the way her eyes softened made the words feel like truth, not flirtation.
Wednesday: notes in your locker evolved into treasures—a Polaroid from the planetarium (you both mid-laugh under the dome's glow, her head on your shoulder), taped with a sticky note: Our constellation. Yours & mine. -K. You tucked it into your wallet, a talisman against the fading doubts.
By Thursday, the recording—the digital ghost that had haunted you—felt like ancient history. You sat on your bed after homework, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the delete icon. Her voice played one last time, tinny and distant: Fool him... But now? It echoed hollow, overshadowed by the real her—the one who'd defended you with fire, who'd memorized your coffee order, who'd turned your corner table into our table. You hit delete, the file vanishing like a popped bubble. Trust wasn't blind anymore; it was earned, star by star. And damn if she hadn't filled the sky.
Friday capped it with a bang—or rather, a quiet pop of confetti. Karina cornered you after last period, eyes sparkling with mischief as she dragged you to the rooftop access (a "forbidden" spot she'd sweet-talked the janitor into overlooking). The view was pure Seoul sprawl—skyscrapers twinkling against the dusk, the Han River a silver ribbon below. She'd set up a makeshift picnic: blanket from her car, takeout from that downtown truck (spicy wraps, no regrets), and a thermos of hot chocolate laced with marshmallows that stuck to your fingers like glue.
"Sit," she commanded, patting the blanket with exaggerated royalty. "Your queen demands a summit."
You dropped down beside her, legs dangling over the edge, the city hum a soothing underscore. "Queen, huh? Thought you abdicated for nerd privileges."
She snorted, handing you a wrap. "Demoted, not abdicated. Still got perks—like rooftop dates without the hassle of reservations." She leaned back on her elbows, wrap half-eaten, watching the sky deepen to indigo. "This okay? I know it's been... a lot. The drama, the clingy me. But I just... I don't want to miss a second."
You set your food aside, turning to her fully—the way the fading light gilded her profile, turning sharp edges soft. "Clingy? Karina, that's the best part. And the drama? Water under the bridge. Or stars in the sky. Whatever metaphor fits."
She laughed, but it tapered into something vulnerable, her hand finding yours across the blanket. Fingers laced, natural as breathing. "You know, that dare... it was the luckiest mistake I ever made. Because it led here. To you. The guy who builds models and quotes Alien like poetry. I love that. I love... you."
The words hung, simple and seismic, no grand gestures—just her, eyes steady, thumb tracing circles on your knuckle. Your heart stuttered, but not from fear—from fullness, the kind that overflowed quiet and warm.
"I love you too," you said, the confession slipping out easy, like it had been waiting in the wings. No fanfare, just truth. You tugged her closer, her head fitting perfectly against your shoulder as the first stars pricked the velvet dark. "Dares and all. Mostly the after."
She nuzzled in, content sigh vibrating against you. "Mostly the after. Deal."
The rooftop held you both as night deepened—wraps forgotten, hot chocolate shared sip by sip, stories spilling like constellations. She confessed her secret horror movie marathon plans (starting with The Thing, naturally), you admitted to a half-finished model of the Enterprise hidden in your closet. Laughter wove through it all, soft and sustaining, her free hand doodling absent hearts on your palm.
When the chill crept in, you draped your hoodie over her shoulders—hers now, officially—and walked her home under streetlights that mimicked the dome. At her door, she turned, rising on toes for a proper kiss—not cheek this time, but lips: gentle, lingering, tasting of chocolate and promise. Sweet, unhurried, the kind that said we have time.
"Night, hero," she whispered against your mouth, grin sleepy and bright.
"Night, captain." You watched her slip inside, the door clicking soft, before turning for home—heart light, steps sure.
-----
Months later, the school year wound down like a gentle exhale—exams conquered, caps tossed, the world opening wider. You and Karina? Solid. Orbiting effortless now, a binary star system that drew its own gravity.
Summer brought lazy afternoons at that hole-in-the-wall café, where she'd challenge you to claw machine rematches (she won once, crowing victory with a stuffed alien she named "Y/N's Ego"). Evenings were stargazing on her balcony, blanket forts against the city glow, her head in your lap as you traced constellations with your finger—Orion for her fire, Cassiopeia for your quiet strength.
Friends merged seamlessly: Minho and Jiwoo adopted her into game nights (she dominated Monopoly, ruthlessly bankrupting you all), while Karina dragged you to indie horror fests, her hand squeezing yours during jump scares, whispers of "Told you the tentacles were epic" breaking the tension.
Fall semester hit with freshman orientations looming—her art school dreams, your engineering path—but distance? Just a train ride away. "We'll make new constellations," she'd say, clinging in the airport hug that first drop-off weekend, her kiss a bookmark on the page.
And on quiet nights, when doubt's echo tried to whisper, you'd pull out that wallet Polaroid—faded now, but vivid in memory. Proof of the after. Of her laugh in the dome, her defense in the cafeteria, her "I love you" on the rooftop. Foolish? Maybe once. But now? Just love—fluffy, sweet, and utterly, starlit real.
As the city lights twinkled below your dorm window that first night apart, your phone buzzed: Miss you already. Send a star pic? Love you, hero. 💫
You snapped the view—city mimicking the sky—and hit send. Right back. Love you more, captain. To the stars?
Her reply: Always.
And just like that, the universe felt a little less vast.
