ONCE | JEONGYEON AND MINA STAN | Author | ACCEPTING KO-FI DONATION HERE: https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE! https://www.tumblr.com/knightyoomyoui/683470363977515008/knights-masterlist-of-one-shot-works?source=share
8.) Chaeyoung x Reader- “The Girl Who Sketch On A Bench”
9.) Tzuyu x Reader- “132″
10.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 1
SET 2
11.) Nayeon x Reader- “When Fantasy Just Got Real”
12.) Jeongyeon x Reader- “The Only Exception”
13.) Momo x Reader- “Nobody’s Love”
14.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 2
15.) Sana x Reader- “My Wonderful Last”
16.) Jihyo x Reader- “Lost”
17.) Mina x Reader- “The Other Side”
18.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 3
19.) Dahyun x Reader- “It Was Always You”
20.) Chaeyoung x Reader- “Stay By My Side”
21.) Tzuyu x Reader- “Since I Found You”
22.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 4
SET 3
23.) Nayeon x Reader- “Out Of Time”
24.) Jeongyeon x Reader- “Until I Found You”
25.) Momo x Reader- “Silent Peach”
26.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 5
27.) Sana x Reader- “The Multiversal Redemption Arc”
28.) Jihyo x Reader- “Push & Pull”
29.) Mina x Reader- "Unconditionally"
30.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 6
31.) Dahyun x Reader - “Soulmate Forever”
32.) Chaeyoung x Reader- “Wish You Were Real”
33.) Tzuyu x Reader- “Die For You”
34.) TWICE x Reader- “Doughnut”: PART 7 (FINALE)
SET 4
35.) Nayeon x M Reader- “In Your Eyes”
36.) Nayeon x F Reader- “Love Countdown”
37.) Jeongyeon x M Reader- “The Joker And The Queen”
38.) Jeongyeon x F Reader- “Dancing With Your Ghost”
39.) Momo x M Reader- “Somebody That I Used To Know”
40.) Momo x F Reader- “The Fight Of Our Lives”
41.) TWICE x M Reader- “Cry For Me”: PART 1
42.) NaMoChaeng (Nayeon, Momo, & Chaeyoung) x M Reader- “Hello”
43.) Sana x M Reader- “Ikaw Pa Rin” (It’s Still You”
44.) Sana x F Reader- “Glimpse Of Us”
45.) [ONE-SHOT SPECIAL] Sana x M & F Reader - “Make It With You”
SET 5
46.) Jihyo x M Reader- “Catching Feelings”
47.) Jihyo x F Reader - “Rewind”
48.) Mina x M Reader - “She Will Be Loved”
49.) Mina x F Reader - “Brave”
50.) [ONE-SHOT SPECIAL] Mina x M & F Reader - “Out Of Goodbyes”
51.) TWICE x M Reader - “Cry For Me” : PART 2
52.) JeongSa (Jeongyeon & Sana) x M & F Reader - “Perfect World”
53.) Dahyun x M Reader - “Everlasting Love”
54.) Dahyun x F Reader - “Rewrite The Stars”
55.) Chaeyoung x M Reader - “Sacrifice”
56.) Chaeyoung x F Reader - “Something Just Like This”
57.) Tzuyu x M/F Reader - “A Depressing Resemblance”
SET 6
58.) Nayeon x M/F Reader - “No Problem”
59.) Jeongyeon x M/F Reader - “Won’t Go Home Without You”
60.) [ONE-SHOT SPECIAL] Jeongyeon x M/F Reader - “You’re Beautiful”
61.) Momo x M Reader - “Crazy Stupid Love”
62.} TWICE x M Reader - “Cry For Me” : PART 3
63.) Sana x M/F Reader - “I Want It That Way”
64.) Jihyo x M/F Reader - “Just A Feeling”
65.) Mina x M/F Reader - “Need You Now”
66.) TWICE x M Reader - “Cry For Me”: PART 4
67.) Dahyun x M/F Reader - “Die With a Smile”
... and more upcoming one- shots.
TWICE: Book Of One-Shots ft. TWICE Ships
1.) 2Yeon (Nayeon x Jeongyeon)- “My Ear’s Candy”
2.) SaiDa (Sana x Dahyun)- “Love Me Like There’s No Tomorrow”
3.) MiChaeng (Mina x Chaeyoung)- “Make Me Go”
4.) MiNayeon (Mina x Nayeon)- “Back To You”
5.) JiTzu (Jihyo x Tzuyu)- “Daylight”
6.) MoChaeng (Momo x Chaeyoung) - “Engraved Within Ourselves”
7.) MiSa/2Na (Mina x Sana)- “Little Miss Perfect”
8.) DubChaeng (Dahyun x Chaeyoung) - “Worlds Apart”
9.) NaMo (Nayeon x Momo) - “Now We’re Even”
10.) JeongMi (Jeongyeon x Mina) - “Wallflower”
11.) SaHyo (Sana x Jihyo) - “Middle Ground”
... and more upcoming one- shots.
TWICE: Anthology Of Smut One-Shots X Male Reader (COMPLETE)
1.) [SMUT] TWICE Nayeon x Male Reader - “Is There Someone Else?”
2.) [SMUT] TWICE Jeongyeon x Male Reader - “Double Fantasy”
- [SMUT COMMISSION] TWICE Jeongyeon x Male Reader - “Just The Way You Are”
3.) [SMUT] TWICE Momo x Male Reader - “A Steamy Post- Action”
4.) [SMUT] TWICE Sana x Male Reader - “You Can Watch, But Do Not Touch... Unless I Consent You So”
5.) [SMUT] TWICE Jihyo x Male Reader - “Eyes On The Prize”
6.) [SMUT] TWICE Mina x Male Reader - “House Of Balloons”
7.) [SMUT] TWICE Dahyun x Male Reader - “Conquered By An Abomination”
8.) [SMUT] TWICE Chaeyoung x Male Reader - “Blessing In Disguise”
9.) [SMUT] TWICE Tzuyu x Male Reader - “First Time”
10.) [SMUT] TWICE x Male Reader - “One Of The Girls”
The 1% Of Chances (TWICE Jeongyeon x Male Reader) : TWICE Fanfic [COMPLETE]
- CHAPTER 1
- CHAPTER 2
- CHAPTER 3
- CHAPTER 4
- CHAPTER 5
- CHAPTER 6
- CHAPTER 7
- CHAPTER 8
- CHAPTER 9
- CHAPTER 10
- CHAPTER 11
- CHAPTER 12 [FINALE]
The Tale Of The Bloodline (TWICE MiSaMo [Mina, Sana and Momo] x Male Reader]: TWICE Fanfic
- CHAPTER 1: “Help Wanted”
- CHAPTER 2: “Defend In Honor”
- CHAPTER 3: “The Honorary Muse”
- CHAPTER 4: “The Bloodline’s Expectations”
- CHAPTER 5: “The Newest Addition”
- CHAPTER 6: “The Fighting Machine”
- CHAPTER 7: “Double Coronation”
- CHAPTER 8: “Authorized For Responsibility”
- CHAPTER 9: “The Reason Why”
- CHAPTER 10 (SPECIAL): “Rise Of The Empire Chief”
- CHAPTER 11: “The Myoui’s Acknowledgment Celebration Goes Wrong”
- CHAPTER 12: “The Mysterious Ally”
- CHAPTER 13: “Chasing Advantage”
... and more upcoming chapters.
K-Pop: Book Of One-Shots x Reader
1.) LE SSERAFIM Chaewon x M & F Reader - “Hardwork Pays Off”
2.) (G)I-DLE Miyeon x M & F Reader - “The Woman Of My Dreams”
3.) NewJeans Hanni x M & F Reader - “What’s Your ETA?”
4.) ITZY Ryujin x M & F Reader - “Misa De Gallo”
... and more upcoming one- shots.
TWICE: Anthology Of Horror One-Shots
1.) Im Nayeon - “Auntie’s Reminiscence”
2.) Yoo Jeongyeon - “Marriage Of Despair”
3.) Hirai Momo - “Sneaky Watcher”
... and more upcoming one- shots.
Living With Vampires: Under The Veil Of Night (TWICE x Male Reader) : TWICE Fanfic [COMMISSION by @nchris00]
- PROLOGUE
- CHAPTER 1: “A Nightmarish First Encounter”
- CHAPTER 2: “Uncanny Nature”
- CHAPTER 3: “Judgment Day”
- CHAPTER 4: “Hero’s Welcome”
... and more upcoming chapters.
Guess who just decided to make their late-night hyperfixations everyone else’s problem?? 🙋♂️
After staring at my ceiling for entirely too long and realizing my brain won't stop generating plotlines, i finally bit the bullet. i made an official fanprose account!
Come validate my questionable writing choices over here before the sheer weight of my unwritten drafts physically crushes me. i will be taking no further questions at this time.
The following is Chapter 12 in the Toy series - but it can (mostly) be read on its own.
This chapter is from the POV of Woody.
11,668 words.
---
My mind in a vice grip
Your legs still wrapped around my head
In that hotel suite
Cigarette ashes on my bed
They stain the sheets - I see you nude, dancing around my room
As if you ain’t a thousand miles back home
But it’s cool I’ll probably see you soon
I can’t go to that thrift store
Without smelling sex in the dressing room
Can’t hear my favorite film score
Without sweet nothings played on loop
It’s kind of rude, won’t let me loose
As if you weren’t a thousand miles back home
But it’s cool I’ll probably see you soon
I can still feel you kiss me
I thought I was ready
to see you off on that flight
I said goodbye - but as the clock, it ticks on by
I realize I’m still holding you close
As if you ain’t a thousand miles back home
But least we got telephones
Whoever said “out of sight, out of mind”
Fucking lied
‘Cause you’re not by, by my side
Still keep me up at night
I can still feel you kiss me
-Holywatr, “Without U”
---
It’s painful, honestly, the way she does it.
She steps into the cafe like she owns it, despite the oversized hoodie and ridiculously short denim shorts that looked worn out and threadbare but are probably designer and worth more than what you make in a month. The cap on her head, the large sunglasses, and the mask cover her - because without them someone might recognize her face as one that’s been on a million screens, a thousand advertisements, all over the world.
She looks, almost, like she doesn’t care. She looks like any other young woman grabbing an overpriced, oversweetened dose of caffeine that she’ll probably snap a picture of for her Instagram story before leaving half-finished on a sidewalk somewhere. She reaches the counter and mutters an order to a barista that doesn’t deign to even look up from the tablet he punches her order into.
Every movement she makes is painful to you. Her nonchalance - her indifference - stings. It’s a sharp spike poised above your ribs, giving you tiny little jabs of bright pain.
She steps aside from the register and saunters to the waiting area. A hand slips into her oversized tote - which, like the rest of her attire, hid a ludicrous price tag beneath its ragged exterior - to produce a phone that she idly scrolls as she waits.
It’s then that she sees you.
Dark glasses turn. The mask hides her expression. You imagine it’s hiding a regretful sigh, or one of disgust at something unpleasant that she’ll have to take care of - like a full trash can that needs to be emptied.
The barista calls her name - not her real one, not here, out in public - and she takes the plastic caffeine container, loaded with an obscene amount of ice and whipped cream and those stupid fucking chocolate sprinkles she loves so much. She walks over to the corner booth where you’re sitting, sits across from you.
The mask drops. The glasses come off.
Minatozaki Sana was many things. Idol, model.
Today she is just a young woman throwing away a toy she’d grown tired of.
---
“You look like you’re doing well,” she says, flatly. Her eyes, often so full of mirth and mischief and something she wanted people to interpret as joy - they look dull and uninterested today, as though she’d had to force herself to be here, to see you.
You don’t know what to say. What could you say? This was one of the most popular woman on earth, one of the most gorgeous, and you’d spent the last few years catering to her every whim. You’d seen her at her highest, supported you through her lowest, fucked her throughout. Those lips had wrapped themselves around your cock, whispered filth against shower tiles as you took her from behind, spilt her hopes and dreams and deepest insecurities on those quiet nights between shows when all you did was hold her in her hotel room while she cried about how she believed everyone around her wanted her just for her looks and not for the girl beneath them ---
And now she was greeting you with the same interest she had given the barista moments earlier.
“I’m good,” you manage, although the words that leave your lips seem to come from a voice that isn’t yours.
“How’s your mom?” she continues, even as she takes her drink and stirs it absently, taking a short sip of the sugar water within.
“She’s good, she’s good,” you answer. The words cost you something to say, because speaking to her isn’t free anymore, not now. “The doctors say she’s responding well to the treatment. They say she’ll be out of the hospital in a few weeks.”
“Good,” she says. Her eyes don’t meet yours. She takes another sip of her drink. “Which hospital is she at?”
“She just got transferred to the Women’s Hospital, the one on 6th street.”
Sana nods, barely, but doesn’t make eye contact.
“How are you?” you ask, because that was how conversations worked, right? She asks how you are, you answer, you ask her how she is, she answers. You don’t have the courage or the brain cells to manage much more than that - not now, not when the woman sitting across from you is who she is.
Silence. It’s only for a few seconds as he stirs her drink with that green paper straw she hated so much. The world thought they knew everything about Minatozaki Sana, but her hatred of paper straws is something only you know about her. It’s an intimate thing, amidst the myriad of other intimate things you know of her.
But none of that knowledge is able to bridge the silence between you. It lasts only a few seconds, but they feel like forever.
“How are the girls?” you add, hoping a simpler question might prompt more conversation, might produce something, anything out of her to fill this painful, terrible silence.
“They’re good. Tour wrapped up. Just the encores in Seoul to go.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you… how was… uh, the cities?”
She looks up at you, finally, at the random words spilling from your mouth in some vain attempt to maintain some semblance of normalcy. She’s stunning - even without an ounce of makeup or the small platoon of makeup artists and hairstylists that make her look the way she does on those screens and advertisements - but today she looks tired, and uninterested, and done with it.
Done with you.
“They were good,” she answers, finally. Her attention returns to her drink to the sugar, water, and caffeine concoction on the table between you, as though it were a third participant in this awful, painful conversation. Silence returns, for too long.
“Sana, I-”
“Listen,” she says, at a volume and with a tone that rattles you. “We both know why we’re here.”
You don’t say anything. How could you?
“We can’t do this anymore,” she says. Her eyes falter for a moment - just a moment - before she wrestles them back in line. “It was fun. But it was a dream. Time to wake up. It’s over.”
Your words fail you. Two years - two years you’d spent with this woman - and they’re all gone, all over, just like that - a dream to be woken up from, a toy to be discarded.
You want to say something. Want to tell her the past few years have been the best of your life, that you’d seen cities and done things and had experiences that you’d long thought only existed in movies or k-dramas or fanfiction - and that she was at the center of all that, the source of it, the only reason why you were able to experience it all and that you will thank her, with every second of the rest of your life, that she picked you out of the thousands of men at that concert two years, eight months, three days and sixteen hours ago---
“Sana-” you begin, but no words follow.
“I don’t need a manager that will just get up and leave me randomly,” she states, the words somehow sharp and cold at the same time. “I need someone I can depend on. Whenever, wherever. You’re not that person. Not anymore.”
She lets the words lie there in the space between you for a moment that felt much longer than it actually was. Something painful flares in your chest.
“The company will send you the rest of your pay,” she continues. “And the non-disclosure agreement, of course.” The glasses and mask come back on, covering up those gorgeous features of hers. Her eyes catch yours before the glasses cover them up and there’s something there that hurts you - the indifference, the nonchalance, the arrogance of this woman for tossing you aside like some unwanted trinket she’d grown bored of.
But it’s fleeting. The lenses are opaque and dark and you wonder if you’ll ever see those eyes this closely again. She gathers her things.
“Bye,” she says, and for a moment you imagine there’s regret, or sadness, or something soft and fragile in her voice - but then you realize it was probably your imagination, your heart protecting itself from being shattered into a million pieces right there on the floor of some fucking chain coffee shop.
She leaves.
Her drink sits on the table, barely-touched, left behind.
---
“We miss you, bro.”
Pikachu was a good guy. He was on the other side of the world, but the wonders of modern technology meant you could still pick out the genuine tone in his words and the worry behind them.
“Thanks, dude. I miss you guys too. How’s Buzz?”
“Aw, you know,” Pikachu answers. “It is what it is. You know she’s… she’s dating someone else now, right?”
You don’t have to ask who he means by ‘she’. It was common knowledge now, and had been plastered all over the k-pop blogs when news of it broke. The ‘ideal couple,’ they were called, because they both looked like marble statues of the fucking Olympians brought to life.
Buzz, on the other hand, was a little short and scrawny; but admittedly, most men looked scrawny next to her new boyfriend.
“Tell him to keep his head up,” you answer. “He’s a good guy. I heard he’s getting into acting after the tour is done?”
“He is,” Pikachu replies. “The other managers want him to stay on, but I think he wants a break from it all. He accepted a role last week. It starts filming at the end of the year.”
There’s a moment of sad silence between you, a melancholy, an acknowledgement that the brotherhood that had formed between the three of you was reaching its natural end, and there was nothing any of you could do to stop it. It was fleeting, momentary - three men brought together under the most ridiculous circumstances - but you treasured it, cherished it all the same. You shared some of the best of years of your life with them, and now that time was coming to an end.
A dream to wake up from.
“How’s your mom?” Pikachu asks, and you answer - she’s doing fine, the doctors have run the tests and prescribed the drugs, but she’ll need a little more time in the hospital to recover. Pikachu is thoughtful and genuine, and makes a promise to come visit her, and you, someday.
“And how’s…” he hesitates for a moment, knowing he was approaching sore, still-bleeding territory. “How are things with you and Sana?”
You gather yourself for a moment. The wound was still fresh. You’re still trying to get over the way she did it, the way she threw you left you behind like that fucking drink she left on the table. Anger flares for a moment. You hide it.
“We’re done,” you answer, and the words leave a lump in your throat as they pass. “She… she broke things off after I came back home for mom. I saw her last week in person on her way back to Seoul. Said she needed someone that wasn’t going to just leave at random times. You know how she is - needy as fuck. Threw me aside like a piece of trash but hey, at least she did it to my face.”
You manage a sad chuckle. Pikachu is supportive. He’s a bro, he knows what to do. He tells you she was a bitch to break things off with you the way she did, when she did. He tells you she’s a spoiled brat, that she’s used to people doting on her 24/7/365 and couldn’t handle someone who had other priorities. He goes off on how needy she always is, and how she’s constantly seeking the attention and approval of everyone around her, and how exhausting that is for everyone.
He says the right things, and you knew him well enough to know that he meant them.
The call nears its end. Pikachu has a team meeting to attend in ten minutes, where the managers and the crew will be discussing the wrap-up of the European leg and begin preparations for the finales in Seoul. He mentions, offhandedly, that Momo and Chaeyoung have been at odds in the past few weeks, and that management wants him to take care of it before the finales start.
For a moment, you consider telling him something - a secret you’d long held. Something he should know.
“Take care of yourself, bro. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” he says, before you can formulate the words.
“Yeah,” you answer. The secret dies on your lips.Talking about her was the last thing you wanted to do. “Soon, bro.”
---
At the hospital, your sister tells you to go home - she’d gotten some time off work and could watch your mom for a while. You often fought with your sister in the way siblings do, but you loved her, and she loved you, and her insistence that you “go home and shower the depression off” was her way of showing it.
Your apartment wasn’t as kind to you as you’d hoped it would be.
Relics of the past few years are everywhere - tour merch, clothes and trinkets and souvenirs from the cities you’d visited on tour, photos of you and some combination of Pikachu or Buzz or even a few of the girls at some bar in Mexico City, a coffee shop in Prague, in front of the Space Needle in Seattle. Nayeon and Jeongyeon looking like an old married couple as they posed in front of the Eiffel Tower. Mina looking ethereal on the foggy streets of Berlin. Chaeyoung in Amsterdam at a thrift shop, smiling brightly at Pikachu, standing next to her with arms full with a pile of clothes she was going to try on.
And then, a framed picture - you and Sana somewhere in Tokyo, before the tour. Chaeyoung had snapped it with one of those silly vintage film cameras of hers, and it’s suitably artsy - a little out of focus, a little more candid than either of you were expecting. But your arm is around her, and you’re both a little tipsy from the half-empty wine bottle on the table beside you, and she’s smiling at you like-
You swear. You grasp the frame and hurl it across the room. You don’t hear the crash it makes as it slams into the wall. You bury your face in your hands.
The shattered glass glitters like stars on your living room carpet.
The past floods back, merciless.
---
“It fucking sucks.”
“I know it does,” you answer. “But they don’t know, Sana. They don’t know.”
She sighs, her breath a warm rush of air against your collarbone. She nuzzles closer into your neck, and her hair fills your nostrils with her scent - she smells like springtime, like something new, something bright.
“It’s all they see,” she continues, her voice weak in a way none of her fans have ever heard. “They see the ads, the fashion shows. I’m just a mannequin. The lipstick. The sports bra. My tits pushed up to my chin on stage-”
“They’re great tits,” you answer, softly, a nervous smile wobbly on your lips - one that you’re relieved to find is mirrored on her own.
“They’re great tits,” she repeats, playfully, and she straightens her back slightly and gives them a little shake. They’re small, modest, and on stage they’re more bra than breast - not that you gave a damn, not when they’re there, in front of you, and they’re naked and bare, nipples still tight and taut. After you’ve looked your fill she settles back against you, wrapping an arm around your torso and a warm, naked thigh over yours. You can feel the heat between her legs, and the neat patch of hair above her cunt on your hip. A trickle of something warm drips onto your hip.
“I just wish they saw more,” she continues.
You lie there with her in a long but not uncomfortable silence. She makes a pillow of your shoulder and chest. Your left hand weaves through her hair, the silken strands falling between your fingers at the end of each stroke.
“I don’t,” you say.
She looks up at you, those doe eyes of hers wide.
“You don’t?” she asks, surprised.
“No,” you answer. Your free hand reaches up to the side of her face, brushing a few strands of hair aside and behind her ear. “I don’t want anyone else to see what I see.”
She scoffs, hisses through her teeth in the way she does when you do something silly, which was often. “You’re just saying that because you’re the one that gets to fuck me, and you’re a selfish shit.”
“Maybe,” you answer, “but I don’t think the whole world needs to see the Sana that I see.”
She props her chin up on your chest. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks full and she looks like something someone drew for a manga.
“I don’t want to the world to see the girl that cries over cheesy slice-of-life animes,” you continue. “I don’t want them to know that you hate olives, or that you think Sailor Venus was the best sailor scout. I don’t want them to know what sound you make when you cum, or the way your forehead wrinkles when you’re thinking too hard.”
Her forehead wrinkles. You reach up and forcefully smooth the skin down, and she smiles.
“You’re a real sweet talker. But you’ve already got me naked and in your arms and I’m dripping your cum on the sheets. You can cut the sweet stuff.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
She kisses you, and her lips are soft and sweet in the way your words try to be.
“Let them see the mannequin,” you say, softly. “Let them see the idol, the model. They don’t need to see what’s beneath. They don’t deserve it.”
Her eyes are glassy, watery. “The important people deserve the real Sana,” you continue. “Save the real Sana for the girls. For your family and friends.”
You almost add ‘for me.’ Two simple words, and they’re right there, right there on the tip of your tongue and it would take just a slight rush of air, a small vibration of your vocal chords and they would be there, out in the open, between you and her - a declaration, a statement, a demand.
But the words don’t come. She’s here, in your arms, and her eyes tell you she’s waiting for them, but they don’t come.
The moment passes. She nuzzles back into your neck and you feel something moist hit your chest beneath her eyes.
“You’re too good to me,” she says, and it’s an accusation and a warning.
You ignore both.
---
You’re angry again when you wake up. Did you dream it all? It was all so vivid, so real, that it felt like you were inhabiting your past self for a few moments.
You can almost feel her warm body on top of yours, almost feel her tears on your chest.
But she’s gone, and you’re alone, and the past doesn’t matter anymore, because the past is past, and she’s still gone, and you’re still alone.
The glass still glitters on your carpet - traitorous, mocking shards of light.
---
She liked to dance. Half-naked. Drunk.
You’re in a hotel room somewhere in Europe, a ridiculously expensive one that had a nightly rate that probably approached half or more of your paycheque. You’re a few weeks removed from that quiet night together, when she confessed her discontent with how she was seen by the world. You’re also a few hours removed from when she was on stage, dancing and singing and looking for all the world like the perfect idol, the perfect model - performing for people that saw her as just that and nothing else.
You’d been ready to call it a night and head to sleep after a long day - concert days were always utterly exhausting - but Sana had called, and you’d heeded it. You always did. The other girls were busy, or off doing their own thing, she’d said, and she was bored and wanted someone to drink with.
You knew for a fact that the girls were either off with Pikachu and/or Buzz, or off having their own after-party at some bar in the city - and that Sana wasn’t invited to either. But you keep that to yourself.
She’s gorgeous, all perfect skin and long limbs and long, flowing hair that’s free and unbound, without hairclips or ties or the myriad of ridiculous sprays and products that her stylists use to have her hair fall just so.
She’s wearing a simple thong that does little to hide the curve of that cute little ass of hers - and a sports bra from that brand she hates, the one that presented her like she was a gym rat when in reality she hated even the idea of working out. It pushes her tits together and up, almost to her chin, the way she hates, but right now she doesn’t care. She’s too busy dancing.
She’s dancing to the group’s latest song, the one about having a strategy. It’s a choreography you’ve seen a hundred times, but not while she’s drunk and has a near-empty bottle of some local beer with a name you can’t pronounce in one hand, not while she’s in her underwear, and certainly not for an audience of one - yourself.
“Step four, got you on the floor
Make you say, “More, more, more!”
She sways and flails her arms around in a mockery of the actual choreography, before giving up altogether and taking a long swig from her bottle that drains it. She wipes her mouth clean with the back of a hand, before giving you a wicked smile.
The song continues in the background, playing in shrill, piercing notes from her phone, but all you hear are the words leaving her mouth - each slowed and slurred by alcohol. The drinks blur the sharp edges of the world, and make her more gorgeous than you’d ever seen her.
“Say it,” she says, the words leaving her mouth in a tipsy mumble. “Say the words.”
From the hotel room couch, you stare at her, puzzled and enraptured all at once.
“What words?”
“From the song. ‘More, more, more.’ Say it.”
You smile at her. She’s swaying - drunk, swaying, more beautiful than she was on stage mere hours before, when she was in front of thousands.
She gently tosses the empty bottle at you, which you catch. Her hands go to the hem of her sports bra.
“Say it,” she says playfully, the cutesy voice snapping back like a mask she’d slipped on - trying and failing to sound threatening, her silly smile and blushing cheeks betraying her futile attempt to seem so. “Say it, and I’ll strip for you.”
“Sana,” you say. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk.”
“Say it!” she says, her voice lower now, closer to a growl, but it’s playful, and not at all threatening.
You slouch on the couch, defeated. Your mouth opens. “More, more, more,” you say, out of tune.
The bra comes off. She pulls it over those small, round breasts of hers, over her head and her long, luxurious hair. She lets it dangle from her fingers, before she tosses it at your face.
Before you can even process it she’s on you - straddling you on the couch, hands in your hair, mouth crushing yours. Her lips are eager and hot and slick and you kiss her back, your tongue finding hers, your hands wrapping themselves around her body. Your fingers claw at her, dig at her soft, warm skin, squeezing a firm ass cheek, caressing the dip of her spine.
“You want me, don’t you?” she says, the words a harsh tumble, a breathy gasp between kisses. She’s kissing you hard, pressing your lips almost painfully against your teeth. “Say you want me,” she says - her tone a demand now, a low tone, a far cry from the cutesy tone of moments before.
“I want you, Sana,” you answer, the words coming from somewhere raw and primal inside you, a place of instinct and old desire.
She breaks the kiss. Her face hovers just a few inches from yours. Her cheeks are flush with the alcohol, but her eyes are clear - bright, shining, glimmering in a way that you’ve seen nowhere else in your life.
“You want me, right? Me. Me.”
“Yes,” you answer, on instinct. “Yes, Sana. You.”
She kisses you again. It’s rough and almost painful as her teeth graze your lips - but she soothes it with a swipe of her tongue. She captures your upper lip between both of hers and sucks. Your hands land on her ass and you squeeze each cheek, making her break the kiss to moan softly into your mouth.
You kiss a trail - down her cute little chin, down that slender, swan-like neck of hers, to her upper chest. Your tongue drags along her collarbone. Then you dip your head, find the tight, taut nipple atop her left breast, and latch onto it with your lips. You suckle.
She gasps. She swears. She writhes.
“Fuck,” she gasps into your ear, the word leaving her lips like a growl, sounding very much unlike the idol, very much unlike the mannequin that brands dress in their clothes and trot out in front of the cameras. “Fuck, it feels so good when you do that.”
Your tongue works its magic on her. Months of fucking this woman have shown you what to do, taught you how to wrest a gasp or moan from those sweet lips of hers. The tip of your tongue swirls around her nipple, first clockwise then counter-clockwise, pressure constant, maintaining suction with your lips.
She’s trembling now, her hands digging painful furrows into your scalp. She’s hot and drunk and bothered and she needs more, so you give it to her.
You switch to her right breast, lathering it with the same attention you gave her first. Your hand leaves her ass to squeeze her free breast, streaked now with your saliva. You capture her nipple between your index finger and thumb and give the tight bud a pinch. She moans and gasps. You grunt, deep and raw, against her nipple as she begins to gyrate atop your painfully hard cock, still trapped beneath your sweats.
“Ohh, you like that, do you?” she hisses in your ear, a question with an obvious answer - one that leaves your mouth in an involuntary groan.
“You like fucking me, don’t you? Love having the hottest, most popular girl in the group - in Korea - on your cock.”
“Fuck, Sana, just-”
“You love knowing the girl from the stage, the girl in all the ads, the girl on everyone’s phone - you love that she’s gonna ride your cock until you fill her with your cum, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sana. I do. Just fucking put it in-”
“What would the fans think? What would they say, if they found out their perfect angel from the MVs and variety shows and makeup ads loves begging for her fucktoy’s cock?”
“Sana-”
“-like a fucking dirty little whore.”
“You’re not, you’re not just a-”
“Say it, Woody,” she says, your pet name leaving her lips in a hot, sexy hiss directly into your ear. “Say it again, toy.”
She grinds on your cock - and you can feel her hot wetness, even through her soaked thong and your moistened sweats - from the base of your cock to its tip.
“More-” you hiss through your teeth. “-more, more.”
One hand grasps the back of your scalp, pulls your head backward so her eyes can look directly into yours. They’re dark, those eyes - half-lidded, dark, filled with something dark and dangerous.
There’s something else in them, too. Something that looks like insecurity. Something that looks like sadness.
The other hand reaches between you. They grasp the waistband of your sweats and pull them down, freeing your painfully stiff cock.
“Such a good little toy,” she spits. “Suck a nice cock for me to fuck myself on. A good fuck. That’s all you want, isn’t it? A good fuck. That’s all you ever wanted from me.”
Silence - for a split second. Something flickers in her eyes.
“Sana-”
She frees your sore scalp from her hand, uses it to reach between you and pull her flimsy little thong aside. With her other hand she guides your tip to her cunt and in that split second before she slides down your shaft you can feel the heat of her on your tip.
A drop of her juices drips from her lips and onto your shaft. She slides down your cock.
The breath leaves your lungs and hers. You’d had this woman probably hundreds of times in the last two years, and this moment never failed to take your breath away - or hers. You’d had her in every way imaginable, in every place, sometimes with other men or women sharing the experience. But you never tired of the excitement, the intensity, and the pleasure of this moment.
She doesn’t waste her time. Not tonight. Not when she was needy and full of your cock and more than a little drunk - on alcohol, on the adoration of her fans, on you.
She rides you. The alcohol lends her passion but takes her coordination in exchange, and she’s sloppy and her rhythm isn’t what it is when she’s sober. It’s rough and messy. Her pace falters, then quickens when she realizes she’s slacking, then slows again when your tip hits a particular spot inside her.
For a few moments you’re paralyzed by the sight and feel of her. She’s gorgeous and naked and sweaty and you watch as a drop of sweat makes its way down her neck and upper chest and onto your tongue, where you lick it off her slick skin. She’s hot and tight and wet. She’s moaning and sighing and gasping. She’s everything and it’s already almost two much, just a few minutes in.
Your hands tighten around her hips as they grind up and down on your lap, taking your cock in and out of her body with each movement. Her own hands brace herself on your shoulders. She’s sober enough to remember what you like. She’s lucid enough to remember that you loved it when she moved her hips in those small little circular motions - a motion that grinds her slick, taut clit against your crotch with each movement.
Those small, round breasts of hers sway in front of you, nipples taut. The sports bra she hated so much left sore red marks on her skin where they confined and shaped her torso into something it wasn’t. You bend and drag your tongue along the horizontal line beneath her breasts that its ribbing left behind. One of her hands grasps the back of your skull again, and pulls it towards her left breast. You suckle from her nipple again.
“Such a good fucking toy for me,” she says, the words leaving her lips in a messy, half-slurred tumble. Your mouth on her nipple draws a gasp from her throat before she continues. “You feel so big inside me, baby.”
You switch to her other breast, taking her nipple between your mouth and sucking hard. She moans in response. Her back arches, giving you more of her. Her pace quickens.
“Fuck, fuck,” she gasps. “Love your- ah - love your mouth on my tits.”
You want to respond, but couldn’t tear your lips away from her sweat-slick nipple long enough to say anything.
“They’re so small,” she says, softer now, a little quieter. “Not - oh, fuck, yeah right there - not as… as big without the bra. The fucking… the fucking fanboys want the big tits, though-”
That’s when your mouth leaves her. Your eyes find hers.
“You’re perfect-”
Your words are cut off when her hand finds your scalp again, nails digging deep into your scalp this time. She ceases her movements, leaving you hilt deep inside you. Her eyes find yours. They’re red and glassy - from the beer and the pleasure and something else. She’s angry and upset and somehow fragile, all at the same time.
“Shut the fuck up,” she snaps. “Shut up. Just shut up and fuck me.”
She releases your scalp. She resumes her pace. Your cock slides in and out of her slick, hot little cunt. You want to say something, want to stop, even - but she’s one of the most gorgeous women in the world, quite literally your dream girl, and that stupid, all-consuming, primal need for pleasure overcomes your concern for her wellbeing. The animal part of you wins. It often did.
You grasp her hips instead. That same animal part that renders you unable to think of anything else drives you, gives you that irresistible need to claim her, make her yours. You drive up with your hips as best you can despite your position and her weight on your lap, spearing your cock into her slick cunt, timing each thrust to meet the moment she grinds down on you.
She gasps, moans, screams at one point when you hit a spot inside her that makes her see stars. She whispers filth - about her body, about her ownership of you, about what you’re doing to her cunt.
But you hear none of it. You hear something else - something she’s not saying.
I’m lonely, she says. I’m afraid they love me for my body and for my face and not for my heart.
Her head, which had been thrown back after a particularly deep and throaty moan, bends forward to find yours. Her hair falls around her face, framing it in waves the color of chocolate. Her eyes look for and find and lock on to yours.
“Gonna… fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Do it, Sana. Show me.”
“You want it, don’t you? Want this hot cunt to cum on your cock. Want this fucking whore from the ads to- to-”
“I want you, Sana-”
“Fuck, fuck, oh god, fuck!”
Her body surrenders to something deep and primal within her. Her torso locks up; her thighs quiver as they tighten as best they can around your hips; her spine arches as she throws her head back and lets a broken, throaty moan leave her spit-slick lips. Her cunt squeezes and pulsates around your cock, almost painfully.
It takes her a while to recover. She collapses into your arms, breathing heavily. She’s buried her face in your neck. You stroke her hair with one hand, trace the elegant line of her spine with the other. You feel a trickle of her juices slide down the base of your shaft and down your balls.
Eventually, she gathers herself. She brings her mouth to your ear, and with a voice that is a far cry from the cutesy, airy tone she uses in front of the cameras, she whispers.
“Your turn.”
You grasp her torso, press it to yours, and turn her onto her back on the couch. She lets out a soft little yelp, and her breasts give the most adorable little bounce. Her lips curl into a surprised smile. You smile back. You stay there for a second, on top of her, your cock still buried inside her and a drunk, silly smile on both of your faces. It’s short, fleeting, but it was there.
Then you start fucking her.
She gasps and moans and cries. The same mouth that was making cutesy noises and talking to her fans is swearing now, spilling filth and obscenities with each thrust you make into her tight little cunt.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck me harder, god, just fucking use me-”
Her pleas are cut short when you hook your arms under her knees and push them against her chest. She’s folded in half now, her legs near horizontal against her own chest. She’s defenseless. You start drilling her into the mattress. She can’t do much else than just take each hard, deep thrust - not that she would want to.
You fuck her so hard into the mattress that you’re grunting with each thrust, heavy exhalations of air with each movement, as though you were powering through a set at the gym. She’s quiet now - the voice fucked out of her - her mouth open in a frozen O, her eyes curling towards the back of her head. There’s only the hot, repeated slap of skin, the protests of the couch beneath the two of you, and the slick, wet sound of your cock slamming in and out of Minatozaki Sana’s tight little cunt.
“You like that, Sana?” you manage to spit through gritted teeth. “Like how I fuck you?”
“Y-yes-” she answers, just barely. Her fingers claw at your biceps, seeking something to ground herself amidst the assault your fucking is placing on her body. It’s almost too much, and her body screams at her to beg you to stop - but the thought doesn’t even enter her mind. Not when it’s too good, you’re too deep, and you’re pushing her closer and closer to-
“You’re so fucking tight, Sana,” you spit as you lean down to kiss her deeply. She moans into your mouth. You’re fucking her all the while. Her knees bounce up and down in your peripheral vision, and her feet dangle helplessly above your head. “So fucking tight. I love using this pussy. Love using you-”
You almost regret saying the words as they leave your mouth. It’s almost too much. It reduces her to something less than what she is. It reduces her to a toy. It makes her a-
“Yes! Fuck, fuck yes - ah, oh god - just use me. Use my body. Cum inside me, breed me, just fucking use me!”
You fuck her harder. Your cock pistons in and out of her body and you forget any semblance of care for her or her wellbeing, physical or mental. She’s just a cunt now, just a warm wet hole - one that’s tight and pulsating and squeezing around you and she’s hissing now, begging in your ear, begging to be used just as you currently are, begging to be bred and filled with cum-
“Fuck, Sana I’m cumming, gonna cum inside you-”
“Do it, yes, use me. Use this fucking body. Use this cunt. Cum inside it!”
You bury yourself inside her. Her legs are pressed almost flat against her torso as you drive as deep as you can inside her tight, grasping cunt. You let go, and you fill her with thick, warm cum - long ropes of semen that paint her cunt white.
“Oh fuck, there’s so much - I can feel it. So warm. So thick. You’re filling me up, breeding me, fuck-”
You bury your face into her neck. It takes a long time for your senses to return to a functional state. You breathe deeply. Every inhale carries her scent - sweat, sex, something sweet, something Sana.
You let her legs fall from your arms. She keeps them tight around your hips. You give her small, grinding thrusts with your softening cock as you push your cum as deep inside her as it can go. She lets small whimpers leave her throat with each movement you make. They’re light, airy sounds. Wordless, but passionate.
You eventually gather the strength to raise yourself from her neck. Her face is one you’ll never tire of seeing - blissful, blushed, fucked-out and satisfied.
But her eyes are glassy. They look fragile. There’s something there-
-and it’s gone. A mask - that of the sly, sexy vixen she likes to occasionally wear with you and a select few others - snaps into place.
“Fuck, that was good,” she says, a wicked smile curling her lips - one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You fuck me so good, baby.”
You bend to kiss her. She kisses you back, her lips saying things that her voice never could.
She thinks she has you fooled, thinks you can’t see the version of her that is soft and vulnerable and more than a little insecure with her belief that no one would want to see it. She thinks her masks are too thick, her walls too high, and that all the world wants from Minatozaki Sana is the pretty mask and the pristine wall - but she’s wrong, even if she doesn’t know it.
Tomorrow the two of you will get on a flight to the next tour stop, right along with her group members and the dozens of other crew that are needed for such productions. Tomorrow night she’ll sing and dance and laugh and smile at thousands of fans, and for just a few hours, mask in place, she’ll belong to them.
But the Sana behind the masks and the walls belongs only to you, only if she only appears from behind them for a few seconds at a time.
---
“They don’t know what it is,” your sister says on the phone - six words that no one around the world wants to hear, followed up by three more: “They’re running tests.”
“Jesus Christ,” you swear, running a hand through your hair, damp with sweat. You’re suddenly sick. You hold your hand over your mouth for a moment, as though you were keeping this morning’s breakfast in your stomach.
“She doesn’t… she doesn’t look well,” she continues. “She says she’s fine, tells me not to worry, but-”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“No, it’s fine. For now. You shouldn’t come until we know what it is. Where are you, anyway?”
Your sister knew little about your job - enough to know that you did “backstage work” for some k-pop group and were often travelling, but that was the extent of it.
“Barcelona,” you answer, but it’s irrelevant now. “I’ll… I’ll talk to my boss, get some time off and-”
Your sister says your name. She says it in the tone she uses when she wants you to listen to her - the same one your mother used when she wanted the same.
“It’s fine,” she says. “Really. I’ll let you know as soon as the doctors talk to me. Then you can come visit if you can. But there’s no use in you taking time off work just to come home and realize this is all appendicitis or something stupid like that.”
You let a sigh out through your nose.
“Alright,” you relent, watching as Pikachu and Buzz struggle with a particularly large container of the girls’ stage costumes and other gear. Buzz motions for you to help. “You’ll let me know the second you hear anything?”
“Of course. Take care of yourself, you dipshit.”
“You too, shitface.”
You end the call, tossing your phone into your pocket. You hustle over to the guys and help them with the container. It takes all three of you to successfully heave the large black travel container into the back of the waiting truck.
“Woody!”
Each of your heads snap to the venue door, where Sana has poked her head out. She waves frantically to you, motioning you over. She’d probably lost her phone or her airpods or her camera again and needed help finding it - or rather, needed someone to find it for her.
Pikachu gives you a tap on the shoulder as you turn to head back to Sana.
“Everything good, bud? Call looked serious.”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Nothing crazy. Just some stuff from back home.”
“Need help with anything?” Buzz asks, genuine. You glance over at the venue door. Sana is standing there with arms crossed, foot tapping.
“No, not right now. I’m good. It’s just my mom, she’s going through some health stuff. That was my sister… she said they don’t know what it is yet, but that they’re gonna run some tests-”
“Woody!” she calls, again, a little more impatient this time.
You give Pikachu and Buzz an apologetic look.
“Hope the pussy’s worth it, bro,” Buzz says with a sigh, before turning towards the rest of the containers that were awaiting loading. Pikachu shoots you an apologetic look of his own before joining him.
You hurry over to Sana.
---
A lesser man would have been more distracted. Or would a lesser man have been less distracted? It’s hard to say. Your moral compass had been somewhat warped by the last two years and the ridiculous rollercoaster of events you’d found yourself on.
Moral quandaries aside, you had to admit - you were a little distracted by the news from home, even given what was happening in front of you.
The hot, wet slap of your hips against Sana’s ass was steady and grounding, in a way, giving you something to latch on to amidst the swirl of emotions and worries and general catastrophizing going on in your head. The usual chorus of moans and sighs that accompanied the slap of your hips against her ass was muffled somewhat, replaced by the occasional wet, slick gurgle and gasp that managed to escape her lips past the thick shaft filling her mouth.
You and Pikachu fall into a familiar rhythm as you take Sana from both ends, spitroasting her at a pace that threaded the line between being too rough and being just right. It was far from the first time you’d taken Sana with someone and it spoke of her own familiarity and ease with the arrangement that she was currently taking you both without a hint of discomfort.
“Fuck, she’s so good at this,” Pikachu hisses between gritted teeth. His hand glides through the dark chocolate strands of Sana’s hair, grasping the back of her skull as he thrusts into her mouth. “So good at taking cocks. One of the best in the group at taking more than one, honestly.”
“Yeah,” you agree, after a moment. As much as it shamed you to say it, your mind was elsewhere, despite being balls deep inside one of the most gorgeous women on earth. “She’s… she’s such a good slut for us,” you manage.
The praise sends a shiver down Sana’s spine - and results in her cunt squeezing just a little tighter around your cock as it pumps in and out of her. She lets something like a moan out around Pikachu’s shaft and it wrests a groan of pleasure from his throat, too.
She lets his cock slip from between her lips.
“Fuck,” she hisses. Saliva and pre-cum drip from the corners of her mouth and down that tiny little chin of hers. She nuzzles Pikachu’s cock, slathering her own, spit onto her pretty cheek, making it glisten in the low light of the hotel room. She looks back over her shoulder at you, and the intensity in her eyes grasps your full attention for a moment. “Fuck, you like using me, don’t you, boys?”
A reply forms on your lips. You knew this dance well, knew that she liked being praised for being a dirty little fucktoy even as she’s used like one. But the words don’t come. Thankfully, Pikachu had no such hesitations, nor your preoccupations.
“Fuck yes, Sana,” he snaps. “You’re being such a good fucktoy for us. So good at taking both cocks at once.”
“Then keep fucking me,” Sana sighs, eyes locking onto his. “Fuck me until you both cum inside me.”
She slips his cock back into his mouth. All the while you’re been fucking her, sliding in and out of her tight little cunt. The spitroast continues. The bed protests, singing its own song of squeaking springs and a wobbly frame as it supports the rough movements of the three people atop it.
Sana moans and Pikachu groans and you do your best to fuck her, to keep your mind in the present, but it’s not. Your body responds, though, thankfully, even if your mind and heart didn’t.
“Fuck, gonna cum,” Pikachu spits. He grasps Sana’s head with both hands and his pace quickens. Sana lets a wet gurgle of a moan out of her throat even as Pikachu uses it.
The telltale pleasure at the base of your spine builds. “Me too,” you manage, and for a moment the pleasure is all that exists, all other worry momentarily forced out by the sheer satisfaction of watching this woman, this woman from all the screens and ads and concerts, being used by you and one of your best friends.
“Fuck!” Pikachu hisses, and suddenly he’s holding Sana’s scalp against his crotch as he fills her throat with cum - and the sight of it triggers your own, and your grasping her hips tight enough to leave bruises as you bury yourself inside her cunt and let go.
Sana’s hands fly to Pikachu’s hips, nails digging into his thighs as she’s filled with hot, thick cum from both ends. The sensation of it triggers her own orgasm, and for a few wonderful moments the three of you are locked in a pleasure so deep and all-consuming that it burns away anything else resembling a coherent thought.
Sana eventually wrests her head from Pikachu’s grasp, his slick cock slipping from between her lips. Some of his cum dribbles from her lips, but most of it is still in her mouth and the back of her throat, and you watch as she locks eyes with Pikachu before swallowing it all down.
You pull out of her, slowly, delighting in the sight of her well-fucked cunt quickly dripping your semen, appearing from her lips as a thick white mess before falling in heavy drops onto the ruined sheets.
Sana drops onto her side. Well-fucked, slick with sweat, chest heaving. Cum drips from her cunt and the corner of her mouth.
She locks eyes with you, but the look in her eyes is empty.
---
“You were distracted.”
She’s on her side, facing away from you, sheets drawn up to her chest - something she only did when she was upset with you. Everything about it was an accusation. You reach out and trace an idle pattern on her shoulder. Pikachu had left soon after the fucking had ended, mumbling something about catching up with Chaeyoung, leaving the two of you alone in a Barcelona hotel room that felt heavy with something unsaid.
“I wasn’t,” you lie. “I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Just… I don’t know. I’m tired. Been a long day.”
She finally turns her head to look at you. Brow furrowed, and eyebrows curled in a look of disbelief. She doesn’t say anything, just holds your eyes for a second before turning back to her side.
“Sure,” she says. “Whatever.”
“Sana-”
“You’ve been somewhere else since before the concert tonight,” she says.
It’s quiet for a moment. It was true; your sister’s call and your mother’s condition had been at the very top of your mind, even throughout the entirety of the concert and the post-concert sex that usually followed each event.
“I… just some stuff from back home,” you admit. “I might need to take some time away.”
Even with her back turned, the effect of your words is obvious. She tenses up, curls a little more into her pillow.
“Then go. Leave.”
Her words hit you with a little more force than you were ready for.
“Sana, you don’t understand. I don’t want to leave, it’s just-”
“Just what?” she says, turning onto her back. The sheet slips from her chest, leaving her breasts bare - but she doesn’t move to cover herself. “Now that you’ve fucked me all over the world you don’t need me anymore, is that it?”
“That’s not what I said, Sana.”
“It’s what you want to say,” she says. She turns onto her side again. “Go. Leave. I’ll tell the other managers you quit.”
The word upsets you - the idea that you would willingly leave this life is so ridiculous to you that it takes you a few moments to gather the words for a response.
“Sana, I’m not going to quit. I just need some time away, that’s all.”
“Whatever,” she says. “I can always find another man. Pick another toy out of the next fucking crowd.”
Her words hit hard, cause a lump of something unpleasant to form in your chest.
“Sana, please. You’re being unreasonable.”
“It’s fine. Go, leave. Quit. I’m used to being alone.”
“Alone? You have the girls-”
Sana lets out an indignant breath through her nose. “Please. They all hate me.”
“What?”
“They all hate me,” she repeats. “They barely want to work with me. You must know it by now. All that OT9, friends forever bullshit. Just a fucking act.”
“But … Momo and Mina? Your unit-”
“They hate me the most,” she answers, voice soft and vulnerable in a way you’d never heard it. “They all do. They think I’m some spoiled, attention-seeking brat. Nayeon tolerates me, and that’s because I do what she wants. You’re the only one that-... the only one who-”
She stops herself. She curls a little more into the side of the bed, as though she were protecting herself.
Silence reigns. She was right - the past few years of working with the girls had made it clear that the closeness they showed in front of the camera had been a well-orchestrated act, a perfectly-crafted mask, one put in place by the label to sell albums on the idea of a tight-knit, unbreakable bond between the girls. In truth they were like any other group of people - some got along, some didn’t, some were loved and some were hated.
You want to tell her about the call from your sister. You want to tell her about your mother. But you can’t, because you never could tell Minatozaki Sana the truth. From the moment she extended her hand and pointed at you at that concert two years ago her wish had been your command, and the very thought of upsetting her was anathema to you. The guys and some of the girls had teased you about it - about how you were more whipped than the others, more slave than fucktoy.
The truth was Sana had changed your life two years ago at that concert, and through her you’d been able to experience things that you could’ve never imagined in your wildest dreams - the sex, the travel, the money. The others saw it as slavish devotion, but in truth it was thankfulness. If being at her every beck and call was what you had to do to express even a modicum of the thankfulness she deserved for the life she had given you, then you did it gladly.
Some days, you thought that what you were feeling was something akin to love, and you deluded yourself into thinking that perhaps the great Minatozaki Sana might share in your feelings. You saw it sometimes in the way she nuzzled into your neck after sex, the way she smiled at you as she passed by you in a concert venue, the way she told you things she’d never tell the others - not even the girls. You spent most of your days together. Somedays, your face was the only familiar one she saw. You knew her better than you’d known anyone else in your life.
Your life revolved around her. She was at the center of it all. She was everything. She was, in many ways, the most important person in your world.
Your family was the only thing more important.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you say, because it’s all you can say in that moment.
“No, you won’t,” Sana says. “You’re going to leave me. You’ve spent two years fucking the idol, making her your whore, and you don’t need her anymore.”
“Sana-”
“Leave,” she says, in a way that brooks no argument, even if her voice begins to waver. “Leave. Quit your position, or I’ll tell the managers to fire you. Either way, you’re done with us. With the company. With me.”
She doesn’t turn to face you. Not even when you leave the room.
---
The next week is a blur. The very next day you got a call from someone at the JYP head office, informing you your contract with the company had been terminated at the request of someone in the group. You were on a plane back home the day after that.
Pikachu and Buzz did their best to intervene, but in this company the word of the girls was law. The second Sana expressed a desire to get rid of you, the company moved quickly. Before the week was out the whirlwind of the last two years had suddenly and painfully drawn to a close, and you found yourself back home in an apartment that felt very little like home.
---
The month that followed seemed surreal - in the way that normal life seems when you’d spent the last two years living a high that you still weren’t sure was actually real.
But spending too many hours next to a hospital bed had made everything depressingly, soberingly real.
Sana had spared the time to drop by your home city on her way back to Seoul from the final show in Europe. It was on the way, she’d said, and she had some other business in the city to attend to. Probably some appearance at a fashion show, or some brand hiring her to put on their jewelry or dress and look pretty for a few hours. You had no idea. You weren’t privy to her schedule, not any more.
And so she dropped by, broke your heart in a coffee shop, and left.
Clips from the girls’ European finale concert in London stream on your phone, its tinny speakers and tiny screen a far cry from the deep thump of the music, the rush of coordination between managers and makeup artists and stylists and backup dancers and the rest of the small army it took to put on a show.
You should have been there. You should have been running around with Pikachu to ensure Dahyun’s piano was on stage in the right place in time for her solo. Jihyo always needed reassurance that her mic was in working order and you were one of the few people she trusted enough with her equipment. Jeongyeon had a silly habit of throwing her cowboy hat into the pit between the stage and the crowd with each solo performance, and the task had fallen to you to retrieve it every night.
But you weren’t there, in London, in a packed arena amidst thousands of fans. You were in your home city, next to a hospital bed. You watch on your phone as Sana begins her solo.
She was so far away.
---
Few things in your life could measure to the relief that came when the doctor gave you and your sister your mother’s diagnosis. Her condition could be easily managed with medication, and after some recovery while her body got used to the drugs, her quality of life would be near where it was before her hospital stay. You could almost feel the giant, oppressive weight being lifted from the shoulders of you and your sister, and while you often bickered and fought the way siblings do, you’d both spent a few minutes hugging in the room after the doctor had left.
You’re getting ready for your mother’s discharge from the hospital when you and your sister approach the nursing station to inquire about the bill.
“Your mother’s good to go,” said the nurse, a middle aged woman with kind but tired eyes.
Your sister gives you a look before turning back to the nurse. “Right, so, uh, should we expect the bill in the mail? Or-”
The nurse gives a sigh as she hits a few keys on her keyboard. Something flashes up on the screen.
“No, you’re settled up.”
You stand there in silence for a while.
“I don’t understand,” you say. The nurse gives another tired sigh, not bothering to look up at either you or your sister. Her mind was clearly already on her next patient.
“Your bill’s been paid,” she states, with a tone that one uses when they want to end a conversation. She gets up off her chair, gathers a clipboard, and leaves the nursing station - off to help another patient. “Make sure you don’t leave anything behind in that room. Have a good day, dears.”
---
“Things are good,” Pikachu says between sips of his beer. “And yeah, things are… good with her.”
“That’s awesome, bro. I’m happy for you two.”
“Yeah,” Pikachu says, a small smile perking up the corners of his mouth. “I still have to pinch myself sometimes. The Son Chaeyoung? Wild. I’m living a fucking Tumblr fanfic.”
You raise your own beer in a toast. He taps his against yours and you both take a long sip.
“Bro,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “Now that I’m out of it… I… I hope you figure things out between Chaeyoung and the girls.”
Since you’d left the company, Pikachu had been candid in sharing Chaeyoung’s issues with the rest of the group, Nayeon in particular. The last conversation you’d had with Sana about her tense relationship with the girls was still fresh in your mind, and the last thing you wanted to see was Pikachu getting caught in the group’s internal conflicts.
He sucks air through his teeth. “Yeah,” he admits, “shit’s not great between her and the rest of the group. They all have their little rivalries, their little squabbles. Some more serious than others. The other managers and the company haven't picked up on it yet, but it’s there. They hate each other. Some of them do, anyway. You know how girls are.”
“Yeah,” you agree, taking a long sip from your beer. “I do. But you should know - it goes deeper than you think. Nayeon’s sneaky. I’d watch out for that one. Same with Momo and Mina. They… have ulterior motives, I think. I… might have overheard things about them plotting to break you two up.”
Pikachu doesn’t seem surprised, which is both surprising and worrying. “That doesn’t surprise me. I… I’m going to work through it with Chaeyoung. Hopefully find a way that doesn’t involve the group imploding.”
“Good, good. How’s Buzz?”
Pikachu sighs, steering his gaze out the window of the bar and onto the streets of Hongdae. “He’s… he’s alright. He’s filming his drama, so I don’t see him as often as I used to. He’s good, otherwise. Just busy.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah… anything to distract himself from her, I guess.”
You didn’t need to be told anything further. You wished you’d been there to comfort Buzz the way he’d been there to help you while you dealt with your mother’s hospital stay.
“We need to hang out before I head back home,” you say. “The three of us. I’m here until the end of the week.”
It hadn’t been that long since you’d last been in Seoul - really only two months had passed since you’d left for the European leg of the girls’ tour that had seen Sana get you fired from the company - but it already felt like a homecoming of sorts. With your mother doing much better, you’d finally had the time to head back to gather your things from the Seoul apartment the company had set you up in while you worked for the girls. Pikachu and Buzz had been helpful in getting your stuff packed and in the mail to be sent back home.
She hadn’t contacted you, despite Pikachu and Buzz telling her you were in town. No calls. Not even a text.
“For sure, bro,” Pikachu says. “Maybe we invite some of the girls? You know Jeongyeon’s always down for a drink. Tzuyu’s birthday’s coming up, and you know how wild she gets after a few. Dahyun, maybe? I’ll bring Chaeyoung... I think the other girls might be busy, though…”
No mention of her, though. Pikachu catches on to what you’re thinking.
“Hey man, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and her,” he continues. “She was… she is… she’s a bit of a handful. The things Chaeyoung’s told me about her…”
“Honestly,” you begin, “it’s good that she ended things with me when she did. It forced me to go back to my family. If she hadn’t gotten me fired I would’ve stayed. My mom’s okay now, but it was touch and go there for a little bit. If I hadn’t gone home, and if something shitty happened and I missed it… I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
“It all works out, I guess,” Pikachu says, but his eyes are on his bottle of beer, his fingers picking away at the label, thoughtful.
“Thankfully, the company paid for the hospital bill.”
Pikachu’s eyes shoot up to yours, and his brow furrows. “What?”
“The company. JYP. They paid for my mom’s hospital bill. It was a pretty hefty one too, considering all the tests they ran and the treatment plan they have for her. I’m dropping by the building later to thank the big guy himself, personally.”
Pikachu stares at you for a long moment, before a look of disbelief washes across his features.
“Bro, there’s no way the company’s gonna pay for some random staff member’s family hospital bill. JYP’s not a bad dude, but we’re supposed to be the girls’ secrets, remember? There’s no way JYP would pay for your mom’s hospital bill and risk having it linked back to the girls or the company - let alone go all the way over to your hometown to pay it. How would they even know what hospital your mom was at, anyway?”
“Then who… You? Buzz? You were in Europe with the girls. No one else knew about my mom. Who would-”
The two of you stare at each other for a while. Realization dawns.
The smallest of smiles appears on Pikachu’s lips as he takes another sip of his beer.
---
Just as coming back to Seoul felt like a homecoming of sorts, so too did going to the concert feel like slipping back into a life you thought you’d left behind.
The boom of the music, the staff members and security hustling around in the background and beneath the 360 stage, carrying mics and bottled water and discarded cowboy hats - it all felt intensely familiar.
But you were in the crowd, not behind the barriers. There was no earpiece in your ear with the head manager telling you to fetch a new flat of water, or to find Momo’s mic, or get in place to set up Tzuyu’s bars for her solo performance. There was just the boom of the bass and the shouts and screams of the fans next to you - fans that had no idea that the man next to them had, just a few months ago, lived a life that they would have killed to experience with the girls they were paying to see.
Pikachu had been a real bro and set you up with VIP tickets for the pit, just a few feet from the stage. And there she is - right there, her back turned as the central stage covering rises and the concert begins to thunderous applause. She hasn’t seen you yet.
It doesn’t take long. It happens right at the end of the first song, when the group formation brings her in front of you.
Minatozaki Sana sees you. Her eyes lock onto yours - the same way they did two years ago, when she smiled and pointed at you and quite literally picked you out of the crowd. Her eyes widen in surprise - and then soften. Seconds pass. Her eyes are glassy.
You smile at her. She smiles back. She raises her hand - slowly, tentatively, and points at you.
She picks you again.
---
Author’s Note: That song’s been in my head for years now and I knew I had to write a story around it. And Sana is Sana, so…
…honestly, I probably fumbled a couple of the details with the ongoing Toy storyline. That’s what happens when you go a literal year and a half between entries. I’ve been thinking about wrapping up the story and I think I’ll do that in the next couple of chapters, just so people finally get some closure on this. See you in 2030 for the eventual Toy finale ;)
Thank you all for your ongoing support, despite my now bi-annual fic drops. Kazuha fic still in the works, and maybe more Ryujin.
Be excellent to yourselves and to each other. The world needs it. <3
NOTE: My FINAL work for this year and…. forever lol. Hope yall enjoy my short return.
For my Fanprose account, this is the 30th smut entry of my Smutrathon Special, replacing Hanni's "The Green Underworld" while here in Tumblr, this is just a quick smut one-shot work without being included to any anthology or series of mine.
This is based btw to that deleted TWICE smut I've read from Wattpad which I actually really liked.
DESCRIPTION: Driven by a fierce desire to win a scout competition's rank upgrade and a bonus tropical vacation prize, Jihyo uses a seductive sales menu to tempt a lonely married man into buying out her entire inventory in exchange for her exclusive sexual services he would find impossible to resist.
WORD COUNT: 3527
=== START ===
The late afternoon sun was baking the asphalt of your quiet suburban neighborhood, waves of heat radiating off the pavement. Jihyo barely noticed the stifling humidity. Her posture was rigid, her knuckles white where she gripped the aluminum handle of her heavy plastic wagon.
Her intense, dark eyes were locked onto the digital leaderboard glowing on her smartphone screen, which was clipped neatly to the top of a wooden clipboard.
Her name was currently sitting in second place.
For the average college student, a volunteer drive for a community organization was just a bullet point to pad a resume. But Jihyo wasn’t average. She didn't enter competitions to place; she entered them to dominate. This afternoon, the regional council had upped the stakes entirely, sending out an emergency broadcast to all members: the scout who brought in the single highest sales volume by midnight would be granted an immediate rank promotion to regional coordinator, alongside a fully sponsored, two-week luxury vacation to a tropical resort.
Jihyo could already feel the cool ocean breeze and taste the cocktails, but a rival scout from the neighboring chapter was currently fifty boxes ahead of her, stubbornly holding the top spot.
Her fierce, unyielding competitive streak didn’t just flame; it roared into an absolute wildfire. She looked down at her inventory. The wagon was loaded to the brim with premium, organization-branded goods: artisanal cookie boxes, heavy containers of organic rolled-oat cereal, and glass bottles of fresh, chilled whole milk from the valley dairy drive.
Traditional door-to-door pitches, polite smiles, and asking for neighborly charity weren't going to bridge a fifty-box deficit in a single evening. If she wanted that tropical beach, she needed a radical, completely unorthodox strategy.
Stopping under the shade of a large oak tree on the sidewalk, Jihyo took a deep breath and smoothed down her uniform. The pleated green skirt was already tailored a little shorter than regulation, hugging the tight curve of her thighs. With a steady hand and a calculating smile, she reached up and deliberately unbuttoned the top two buttons of her crisp white collared shirt. She shrugged the fabric back slightly, exposing the smooth, sun-kissed line of her collarbone and the soft, inviting swell of her breasts.
She knew exactly what her most devastating, darkest secret asset was: she possessed an intoxicating, magnetic allure that men found impossible to resist, and she was entirely prepared to weaponize it.
Her eyes swept across the manicured lawns of the cul-de-sac, landing directly on your well-maintained two-story home. Just moments prior, she had watched from a distance as a woman—your wife—loaded a large rolling suitcase into the trunk of her car, exchanged a brief wave toward the front door, and drove away out of the neighborhood. Jihyo glanced toward your driveway. Your sedan was still parked under the carport.
You were home. Completely alone.
Jihyo’s lips curled into a sharp, victorious smile as her resolve hardened. She gripped the wagon handle and began wheeling her heavy cargo up your concrete driveway, ready to present an offer that no red-blooded man could ever turn down.
Inside the house, you let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, rubbing the stiff muscles at the back of your neck. Your wife had just left for a three-day weekend professional conference out of town, and she had left you with a dauntingly long list of household chores, grocery runs, and repair tasks to tackle in her absence. The quiet of the house was almost absolute, broken only by the low hum of the air conditioning.
Suddenly, the sharp chime of the front doorbell echoed through the entryway.
Groaning slightly, you stood up from the couch and made your way to the foyer. You weren't expecting any deliveries, and you certainly weren't in the mood for neighborhood small talk. You unlocked the deadbolt and swung the heavy wooden door open, expecting a mail carrier.
Instead, your eyes locked onto a stunning, ethereal college student standing on your welcome mat. She was breathtaking. She had a bright, dazzling smile, large, expressive eyes that seemed to read you instantly, and a green scout sash draped diagonally across a uniform that was doing absolutely nothing to hide her incredible busty figure.
"Hi there! Good afternoon," Jihyo said, her voice dropping into a sweet, perfectly practiced, melodic rhythm. "I'm Jihyo, and I'm representing the local college scout chapter. We're running our final annual drive to fund our youth community projects. Would you be interested in supporting our cause today?"
You leaned your forearm against the edge of the doorframe, offering her a polite but tired smile, trying your best to keep your eyes firmly on her face rather than the deep, distracting plunge of her unbuttoned shirt. "Oh, wow. Uniform and everything. Look, Jihyo, I appreciate the hustle and it's a great cause, but my wife usually handles all of our grocery shopping and pantry stocking. We're actually pretty set on snacks right now."
"I see," Jihyo murmured, her smile shifting from wholesome fundraiser to something far more predatory and intoxicating. She took a deliberate step forward, crossing your threshold and closing the distance between you until you could smell the faint scent of vanilla and sweat on her skin. The innocent scout demeanor completely evaporated, replaced by a heavy, unblinking gaze that locked tightly onto yours. "But you see, I offer a very special, highly exclusive tier of customer service for my premium buyers."
You blinked, your throat tightening as the atmosphere in the hallway suddenly shifted from a mundane neighborhood interaction to something thick with tension. "Customer service?"
Jihyo let her heavy clipboard rest against the curve of her hip, tilting her head to the side as she tracked your reaction. "I am an incredibly competitive girl. I absolutely must win this sales drive by tonight. And because I'm determined, I'm willing to make a very private bargain. A special menu, if you will… customized just for you, especially while your house is so nice and quiet."
Your breath hitched sharply in your chest. Your mind raced, suddenly acutely aware of the empty house behind you and the quiet street behind her. You looked past her shoulder toward the empty driveway, then back to the intense, burning desire radiating from the girl standing right in your doorway. "What kind of menu are we talking about?"
Jihyo leaned in even closer, her voice dropping to a sultry, confidential whisper that sent a violent shiver of anticipation straight down your spine.
"It's very simple," she purred, her eyes scanning your face. "Buy one box of our premium cookies, and I'll give you a blowjob right here on your knees in the hallway. Buy a box of our organic cereal, and you get to return the favor—oral sex for me, until I am completely satisfied. Buy a bottle of our fresh milk, and you get a chance to take your time, opening my shirt wide open to suck and play with my breasts. And if you decide to hoard the entire wagon? You get to keep me here, having sex with me as much as you can handle for the rest of the afternoon."
Your throat went completely dry, your heart hammering like a trapped bird against your ribs. It was utterly insane. It was a complete betrayal of your marital vows. But looking at Jihyo—the perfect, full curve of her pink lips, the way her short skirt hugged the flare of her hips, and the absolute, unadulterated confidence radiating from her—the temptation was a physical weight crushing your resolve. Your wife wouldn't be back until later in evening. The neighbors were indoors. No one would ever know.
"One box of cookies," you croaked, your voice thick and completely rough with sudden, undeniable arousal. "To start."
Jihyo’s smile widened into a beautiful, victorious grin. She had you hooked. "A wonderful choice, sir. That will be fifteen dollars."
You reached into your back pocket with trembling fingers, pulling out your wallet and throwing a twenty-dollar bill at her, not even caring about the change. Jihyo stepped fully into your house, reaching back to close the heavy wooden door with a solid, definitive click, effectively shutting out the rest of the world and locking the two of you in a private haven.
She set her clipboard down on your entryway table and unbuckled her scout sash, letting it slide carelessly to the hardwood floor. Without a single hint of hesitation or shyness, she dropped down onto her knees directly in front of you.
You stood transfixed, your breath shallow as Jihyo reached up with both hands, her warm, deft fingers undoing your belt buckle. She slipped the leather strap free, unbuttoned your pants, and lowered your zipper with agonizing slowness. The moment her fingers slipped inside your underwear and freed your fully hardened, aching cock into the cool air of the hallway, you let out a low, ragged groan, your hands instinctively hovering over her shoulders.
Jihyo looked up at you through her thick lashes, a playful, wicked spark of dominance in her eyes, before she leaned forward. Her warm lips parted, tasting the very tip of you first. She swirled her wet tongue slowly around the sensitive crown, listening to the way your thighs trembled under her touch. Then, with a smooth, deliberate motion, she slid her mouth all the way down your shaft.
The sensation was absolutely electric. She used one hand to firmly grip and caress the base of your length, pushing it deeper into her throat while her mouth worked with a rhythmic, suffocating heat. You gripped her shoulders tightly, your knuckles turning white as you stared down at this stunning college scout giving you the most incredible, intense oral pleasure you had ever experienced. She sucked tightly, bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, intentionally making wet, messy, uninhibited sounds that echoed loudly off the walls of your quiet hallway.
Just as you felt the intense pressure building in your lower stomach, reaching the absolute point of no return, Jihyo expertly and suddenly pulled back. She swiped a thumb across her glistening lower lip, looking up at your dazed, panting expression with a smug, beautiful smirk.
"That was just the appetizer," she purred smoothly, standing up and gracefully smoothing down the pleats of her green skirt. "What’s next on the menu?"
You were completely breathless, your chest heaving as your body screamed for the completion she had just cruelly denied you. You couldn't let her leave like this. "The cereal. And the milk. Both of them."
"A very healthy breakfast choice," Jihyo teased, her voice dripping with playful mockery. "That will be twenty dollars."
You blindly reached for your wallet again, your hands shaking as you pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and tossed them onto the entryway table next to her clipboard.
Jihyo smiled, taking you firmly by the hand and leading you away from the front door, deeper into the privacy of your living room. Instead of heading for the couch, she walked straight over to your sturdy wooden dining table. With an agile, effortless movement, she hopped up onto the polished edge, pulling her green skirt all the way up to her waist.
Your eyes widened. She wasn't wearing traditional undergarments; instead, a tiny pair of sheer lace panties met your gaze, barely covering her soft, manicured center. She slid them slowly down the length of her long, toned legs, tossing them carelessly onto a nearby chair, before parting her thighs wide open for you.
"Your turn to please me," she whispered, her eyes dark with rising heat.
You didn't need to be told twice. Driven by pure instinct, you dropped to your knees between her parted legs, burying your face directly into her dripping cunt.
Jihyo gasped sharply, her fingers immediately locking tightly into your hair as your tongue found her highly sensitive, swollen core. She tasted incredibly sweet, and she was already deeply slick with her own arousal. You stroked her with long, wet, purposeful laps of your tongue, listening to the breathless, high-pitched whimpers that began to escape her throat.
Her hips began to buck helplessly against your face as you accelerated the pace, your tongue mimicking the hard, localized friction she so desperately craved. Jihyo’s toes curled tightly, her inner thighs clamping around the sides of your head as a sudden, violently intense orgasm rocked through her entire body. She arched her back off the table, letting out a loud, completely uninhibited cry of pure pleasure that echoed off your high ceilings.
As her frantic breathing gradually began to slow, she looked down at you, her chest heaving heavily. With a sultry, inviting grin, she reached up to the remaining buttons of her white shirt, popping them open one by one until the fabric fell away, revealing a lace black bra. She reached between her breasts, unclipping the front clasp and letting her full, heavy, perky breasts swing free into the open air. Her nipples were completely taut, caramel, and flushed from the aftershocks of her climax.
"The milk," she reminded you, her voice a breathless, demanding whisper. “It’ll taste better with the cereal, you should try.”
You leaned up from your knees, wrapping your arms around her waist as you threw a handful of cereal oats to your mouth before you took one turgid, aching nipple entirely into your mouth. You sucked greedily, swirling your tongue hard around the sensitive, bumpy areola as you felt her milk filling your cereal-filled mouth while your free hands cupped, lifted, and heavily kneaded the soft, responsive flesh of her other breast spilling some of her sweet dairy in between your fingers.
"You're right, it's way more delicious." Jihyo whimpered loudly, leaning back on her hands on the table, completely surrendering to the sensation. She guided the back of your head, groaning deeply as you bit gently at the very tips of her nipples, sending frantic sparks of electricity straight back down to her core.
But you were reaching your absolute breaking point. You were fully erect, throbbing, and this agonizingly slow teasing was driving your mind into a frenzy. You pulled your mouth away from her breast, swallowed the breastmilked-flavored cereal before looking up at her with dark, primal, unchecked desire.
"The whole wagon," you said, your voice a raspy, commanding growl that left no room for negotiation. "Fuck it. I want every single thing you have brought. How much for everything?"
Jihyo’s eyes flashed with an absolute, dazzling spark of triumph. She had broken you completely; she had you exactly where she wanted you. "For the rest of the stock? A hundred dollars. And I’m entirely yours for the rest of the afternoon."
You didn't even hesitate for a microsecond. You stood up, walking over to the large decorative ceramic bowl on your kitchen counter where you always kept an emergency stash of household cash. You reached in and pulled out a thick, crisp stack of hundred-dollar bills. Marching back over to the dining table, you pressed the cold cash directly into her open palm.
Jihyo counted the five bills with lightning-fast precision, a genuine thrill of victory running down her spine. The competition was definitively hers. The rank was hers. The tropical vacation was hers.
She carelessly tossed the money onto the clipboard on the entryway table and turned back to you, wrapping her long legs tightly around your waist, pulling her slick, dripping core flush against your aching pants. "Then let's not waste another second."
You lifted her sexy, voluptuous frame up off the table with ease, carrying her over to your large, plush leather living room sofa. You laid her down against the cushions, hovering directly over her as you aligned your aching length with her heat. The moment you guided yourself in and pushed deep inside her, Jihyo let out a sharp, ragged gasp, her eyes widening at the sheer fullness of yourcock stretching her open.
The rest of the afternoon dissolved into a complete, chaotic blur of raw, sweaty heat and intense physical friction. You moved with a desperate, hungry, unbridled pace, fueled by the highly forbidden nature of the act and Jihyo's intoxicating, uninhibited energy.
Jihyo met you stroke for stroke, her manicured nails clawing desperate red lines down your back, her voice filling your empty, hollow house with loud, unvarnished moans of pure pleasure.
You changed positions frantically, pounding her in the center of the living room as both continuously search for deeper satisfaction. You flipped her over, sitting back as she climbed on top of you, controlling the depth, looking down at you like a dominant goddess claiming her rightful prize.
Then, you rolled her onto her hands and knees, driving into her heavily from behind, reaching forward to pull her hair gently to tilt her head back so you could help her watch her expressions and her tits being mashed by your other hand in the living room mirror.
The sofa was then fully occupied with your bodies stacked together, hers aligned in reverse to yours as you ate each other out for a classic 69, then Jihyo sat at your lap, plunging deep into her again as you bounced her rotated naked body onto your cock in reverse cowgirl.
You both rode the waves of intense, breathless pleasure over and over again, completely losing all track of time as the bright afternoon sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting long, dramatic golden shadows across the room. Finally, with one last, desperate, deeply penetrating surge, you cried out at your last orgasm, your entire body seizing up as you collapsed against her damp back, completely filling here with your cum as you spent every last drop of your energy, thoroughly exhausted and deeply satisfied.
An hour later, the sharp click of your front door opening and shutting broke the silence of the house.
Jihyo stepped out onto your concrete front porch, looking completely immaculate and put together once more like as if nothing chaotic just happened. Her green uniform skirt was neatly straightened, her white shirt was perfectly buttoned up to the collar, her sash was aligned, and her long hair was tied back up into a neat, professional ponytail, although with some strand sticking out due to the aggressiveness of your tugging earlier.
The only difference now was the incredibly heavy envelope of cash tucked securely inside her scout canvas bag, and the completely empty plastic wagon sitting idly on your sidewalk.
Inside the house, you lay stretched out flat on your back across the sofa, thoroughly satisfied, physically drained, and staring blankly up at the ceiling with a lazy, content smile plastered across your face. You had a living room full of unwanted cookie boxes and organic cereal to frantically hide before your wife’s return in a few days, but in that exact moment, you didn't care in the slightest. It had been worth every single dollar in that bowl.
"Call me if you'd like to buy again. I'll be your personal retailer from now on. Thanks again for these, daddy." You pushed the contact card she gave you just before she left your household into your pocket.
Jihyo pulled her empty wagon down your concrete driveway, the plastic wheels clicking rhythmically and loudly against the seams. She pulled out her phone, checking the digital leaderboard one last time as she typed in her massive, newly acquired sales totals.
The graph updated instantaneously, shooting her name straight past her rival by an insurmountable margin, solidifying a dominant lead that no one could possibly hope to catch up to before the midnight deadline.
She smiled broadly to herself, basking in the fading warmth of the evening sun. She had won her rank promotion, she had won her dream vacation, and she had proven, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that a true scout always knows exactly how to utilize her resources to get exactly what she wants.
NOTE: Here's my official FINAL work for my TWICE: Book Of One-Shots x Reader. Although, I don't know if this will be REALLY my last fic before I go back to being fully retired, because I have one more in mind as my replacement for the Hanni smut fic that I deleted in my Smutrathon Special anthology on Fanprose.
WORD COUNT: 5993
GENRE: Fluff, Angst
=== START ===
The rooftop air tastes of ozone and expensive champagne. Behind, the bass of the party thumps through the concrete, a rhythmic heartbeat that feels out of sync with your own. You lean against the cold iron railing, the city lights blurring into a smear of amber and violet.
Tzuyu stands beside you. She wears a dress that catches the moonlight, shimmering like fish scales. She holds a glass of sparkling wine, her fingers tracing the rim in slow, hypnotic circles. The silence between you isn't empty; it's heavy, saturated with everything you haven't said for three years.
She turns her head, her eyes glassy and hooded from the alcohol. A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
"You're doing it again."
You blink, shifting your weight. "Doing what?"
"Looking at me like I'm a puzzle you're terrified to solve."
You let out a sharp, nervous breath that clouds in the chilly air. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Tzuyu laughs, a low, melodic sound that vibrates in your chest. She steps closer, the scent of vanilla and fermented grapes clinging to her.
"Please. You've always been a terrible liar. Even in tenth grade, when you tried to tell Mr. Han that the dog ate your geometry proofs, your left eyebrow would twitch. It's twitching right now."
You instinctively touch your forehead. "I'm just tired, Tzuyu. It's your birthday. I'm just… admiring the view."
"The view is the city skyline, and yet you're looking at me."
You look down. You are, indeed, staring at her features. You quickly snap your gaze back to the horizon, the heat climbing up your neck.
"How long did you think you could keep it up?"
The question hits you like a physical blow. You freeze.
"Keep what up?"
Tzuyu sighs, leaning her back against the railing, facing you. She sips her drink, her gaze unwavering.
"The pining. The longing glances. The way you always happen to be standing exactly where I'm walking. The way you remember my favorite coffee order even though I only mentioned it once three years ago. It was exhausting just watching you be so obvious."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You had predicted this — somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew the mask was too thin — but the suddenness of the confrontation leaves you breathless.
"I don't—"
"Stop," she interrupts, her voice softening. "We're tipsy, the stars are out, and I'm officially a graduate of the real world. Let's just be honest for once. You loved me. You still love me, don't you?"
The air leaves your lungs. The pretense collapses. You look at her, really look at her, and the weight of years of silence crashes down.
"W-what? Y-you knew?"
"Right from the start... and some rumors from others, mhm."
"Fuck, I knew it." You lowered your head and shut your eyes. It has come to this moment that you finally got busted for your worst kept secret. And you even bothered to tell your secret to her male friend who was a part of her "circle with brains".
Tzuyu shook her head as she laughs at your humiliation.
"You idiot."
"I know."
"You absolute, complete idiot."
"I've been told." You nodded rapidly, fueled by guilt.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I do." You swallowed hard, the taste of soju suddenly bitter on your tongue. "I, uh—" Your fingers gripped the railing, cool against your palms. "I didn't think you'd notice."
The lie tasted worse than the alcohol. Of course she'd noticed. Tzuyu noticed everything — the way you'd always lingered after class to "coincidentally" walk the same direction, how you'd volunteered for group projects only if she was in them, the time you'd spent thirty minutes reorganizing the department's coffee station just because she'd once mentioned liking hazelnut creamer.
Tzuyu huffed a laugh, but it wasn't unkind. "You left a love letter in my textbook sophomore year."
Your head snapped up. "You found that?" You'd torn it out immediately, panicked — or so you'd thought. Apparently not well enough. Tzuyu's smirk widened, and you groaned, pressing your forehead against the railing. "God. I was hoping you'd think it was just a weirdly passionate note about macroeconomics."
Tzuyu's smirk softened into something warmer, almost nostalgic. "It was a terrible love letter," she admitted, nudging your shoulder with hers. "You spent three paragraphs comparing me to a perfectly balanced supply-demand curve."
You groaned again, louder this time. "I was an econ major. It was the most romantic thing I could think of." The memory burned — sweaty palms, heart hammering, scribbling that godforsaken note at 3 AM before chickening out and shoving it into her textbook like a coward. You'd spent the next week avoiding the library entirely, convinced she'd report you for harassment.
But she hadn't. Instead, she'd just… watched you. Like she was waiting for you to try again.
"And yet," Tzuyu said, swirling the last of her soju in its bottle, "you never tried again."
The words weren't accusatory — just a statement, a fact, like noting the weather. But they settled between them like a stone dropped into still water.
You exhaled sharply, watching the city lights blur as your breath fogged the cool night air. "Would it have changed anything if I did?" The question escaped before you could stop it, raw and too honest. Tzuyu didn't answer immediately, and the silence stretched thin enough to snap.
"Maybe," she said finally, so quiet you almost missed it. "For a little while."
The breeze picked up, carrying the distant echo of drunken laughter from below. Tzuyu turned her face into it, letting the wind tug at her hair. "You remember that time in Professor Kang's class?" she asked, her voice almost lost in the rustling air.
You did. Third year, midterm season. The lecture hall had been packed, and you'd arrived late, scanning the rows for a seat — until you spotted her, waving you over to the empty space beside her. Your heart had nearly exploded. "You saved me a seat," you murmured.
Tzuyu laughed softly. "You were late on the first day. And you always have been." She paused, tracing the rim of her bottle with a fingertip. "And then you spent the entire lecture pretending to take notes, but you were just drawing little nonsense in the margin."
"H-hey, that was just from the first year…"
You couldn't even deny it — your face burned as if Tzuyu had held a lighter to your skin. "B-but you saw that?" you choked out, gripping the railing tighter. The memory flooded back — her perfume lingering in your nose, the way she'd occasionally leaned closer to whisper a question about the lecture, how you'd barely managed to scribble anything coherent before giving up and surrendering to the dumb, lovesick doodles instead. "I thought I erased them all."
"You did," Tzuyu said, tilting her head slightly. "Except for the one you missed on the corner of the page when you handed me your notes after class." She took a slow sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the bottle. "I kept it."
The admission punched the air from your lungs. You stared at her, searching for any hint of mockery, but Tzuyu's expression was unreadable — soft around the edges, but guarded, like she was weighing every word before letting it out. "Why?" you asked, voice rough.
Tzuyu swirled the soju bottle again, the liquid catching the faint glow of the balcony lights. "Because," she said, and for the first time that night, her voice wavered, just slightly. "For a second, I thought maybe you'd actually say something." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter, but the way her fingers tightened around the bottle betrayed her. "But you didn't. You just… kept being you."
The ache in your chest swelled, sharp and familiar. You knew exactly what she meant — the way you'd hovered at the edges of her life, close enough to ache, never close enough to matter. "I was scared," you admitted, the words scraping your throat raw. "Of ruining what little we had."
Tzuyu snorted softly. "We didn't have anything. It was all because we sat beside each other for a year."
"Ouch," you muttered, but the sting was dull, half-hearted. She wasn't wrong. You'd orbited each other for years — close enough to brush shoulders in crowded hallways, never close enough to call it friendship. Just a boy who loved her and a girl who maybe, briefly, considered letting him.
Tzuyu sighed, tipping her head back to watch the sky. The stars were faint here, drowned out by the city's glow, but she squinted anyway, as if searching for something. "Do you ever wonder…," she started, then stopped, reconsidering. "Never mind."
"No, tell me." You nudged her with your elbow, the contact sending a jolt through your arm. Four years of longing, and you still weren't used to the casual warmth of her skin against yours.
"O-okay then, do you ever wonder…," Tzuyu repeated, softer now, "what would've happened if you'd just… said it?" She didn't look at you, her profile outlined by the neon haze of the city below. The bottle dangled loosely from her fingers, empty now except for the ghosts of your confessions.
You exhaled through your nose, counting the pulse points in your throat. "Every day," you admitted, and it was the truest thing you'd said all night. The phantom versions of yourself haunted you — the braver version who'd kissed her after study sessions, the smoother version who'd asked her out properly instead of leaving notes in textbooks like some Regency-era loser.
Tzuyu hummed, a sound that wasn't quite agreement. "I almost said something first," she murmured, so quiet you wondered if she meant for you to hear it at all. Your breath hitched. She continued, eyes still fixed on the skyline. "That day you helped me carry my portfolio across campus in the rain. You were soaked, and your hair kept sticking to your forehead, and you just… laughed when I apologized." A pause. A sip of air. "I thought about it then."
Your heartbeat stuttered — once, twice — like a skipped track on a mixtape. "You—" The word stuck in your throat. Tzuyu had thought about it? About you? The revelation unraveled something in your chest, half euphoria, half agony. You'd spent years wondering if she'd ever looked at you the way you looked at her, and now, with her confession hanging between you, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They curled uselessly at your sides. "Why didn't you?" you managed, voice scraped thin.
Tzuyu shrugged, but the motion was too careful to be casual. "Same reason as you, probably." She glanced at you then, just for a second, before her gaze flicked away again. "Thought it'd make things weird. And then…" She trailed off, twisting the bottle cap between her fingers. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
"And then?" you pressed, though you already knew.
"And then," Tzuyu said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Minho asked me out." The name landed between you like a grenade, its fallout settling in the hollow of your chest. Minho — broad-shouldered, effortlessly charming Minho, who'd slid into your friend group junior year like he'd always belonged there. Of course it was Minho.
You exhaled sharply, the sound ragged at the edges. "Right," you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. "Figures." The words tasted like battery acid. You'd watched it happen in real time — Minho's easy smiles, Tzuyu's gradual softening, the way she'd started laughing louder at his jokes. You'd seen it coming from miles away and still hadn't braced for the impact.
Tzuyu turned the empty bottle in her hands, watching the streetlights refract through the glass. "It wasn't—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind."
"It wasn't what?" you pressed, voice too rough, too desperate. You regretted it immediately — the way Tzuyu's shoulders tensed, the way her fingers tightened around the bottle like she was bracing for impact. But you had to know. Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
Tzuyu exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the cool night air. "It wasn't like this," she said finally, gesturing vaguely between you with the bottle. The glass caught the balcony lights, throwing fractured reflections across her face. "With Minho, it was… easy. Obvious. No notes in textbooks, no supply-demand metaphors." Her lips quirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Just two people who liked each other and said it."
You winced. The words landed like a gut punch — not because they were cruel, but because they were true. Minho hadn't hesitated. Minho hadn't spent four years choking on his own heartbeat every time Tzuyu so much as glanced his way. Minho had just acted, like it was that simple. Maybe it was.
The silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid. Tzuyu's fingers tapped absently against the bottle, the rhythm uneven, like a heartbeat skipping. You studied her profile — the sharp line of her nose, the way her eyelashes cast faint shadows under the balcony lights. You'd memorized her like this years ago, in stolen glances across lecture halls, but now it felt different. Now, she was letting you look.
"You know," Tzuyu said suddenly, her voice quieter than before, "I almost threw it away." She turned the bottle in her hands, avoiding your gaze. "Your note. The one in the textbook."
Your breath caught. "Why didn't you?"
Tzuyu tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting to the distant city lights as if they held the answer. "Because," she said, voice softer now, almost hesitant, "it was the first time someone liked me like that — for no reason at all." She turned the bottle once more, her fingers tracing its ridges absently. "Not because I was the prettiest in class, or the smartest, or whatever. Just… because."
The confession lodged itself in your throat. You'd never considered that — how Tzuyu, effortlessly perfect Tzuyu, might have craved something as simple as being seen.
"You were wrong, though, on that note," she added, a hint of amusement creeping back into her tone. "The supply-demand curve bit was terrible."
You laughed genuinely, despite the ache in your ribs, and the sound startled you both. "Yeah, well," you said, rubbing the back of your neck, "I was desperate." The admission hung in the air, lighter now, like you'd finally stripped the bandage off a wound that had festered too long. Tzuyu's shoulders relaxed slightly, her grip on the bottle loosening.
A burst of laughter erupted from the party below, followed by a drunken chorus of happy birthday. Tzuyu's lips curved reflexively, but her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "I should probably go back down soon," she murmured, though she made no move to leave.
"Yeah," you agreed, just as motionless. The city hummed beneath you, indifferent to the quiet unraveling happening sixteen floors above. You wanted to ask — Why now? Why tell me any of this tonight? — but the question felt too fragile, like it might shatter whatever tentative truce you'd stumbled into.
"Did you ever think about it?" Tzuyu asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the hum of the city below. She still wasn't looking at you, but her fingers had gone still around the bottle. "After. Did you ever think what would've happened if you'd just… tried?"
The question landed like a pebble dropped into a pond — small, but rippling outward in ways you couldn't predict. You swallowed, watching the way the neon signs reflected in her dark eyes. "All the time," you admitted. "Mostly in the shower. Or at 3 AM. You know, when the brain's at its worst."
Tzuyu snorted, nudging you with her elbow. "You're such a mess." But her tone was fond, almost nostalgic.
You grinned despite yourself, rubbing the back of your neck where her elbow had grazed you. The spot tingled. "Yeah, well. You knew that when you dragged me out here."
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose, a half-laugh. "I didn't drag you. You followed me like a lost puppy." She mimed tugging an invisible leash, and you groaned, pressing your forehead against the railing again. "God, I am pathetic."
Tzuyu's laugh was soft, almost swallowed by the wind. "Not pathetic," she corrected, nudging your shoulder again. "Just… you." The words lingered between you, suspended like the city lights reflecting in her eyes. You studied her — really studied her for the first time that night. The way her lipstick had smudged at the corner of her mouth, how her bangs stuck slightly to her forehead from the humidity. She wasn't perfect. She was better.
The balcony door swung open with a burst of noise — someone shouting Tzuyu's name, the thump of bass, a gust of warm air thick with the scent of spilled beer. "Tzuyu-ya! Cake time!" A head popped out — Soojin, her cheeks flushed pink, her grin lopsided from soju. "Oh. Oh." Her eyes darted between you two, widening comically. "Am I interrupting something?"
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but her ears pinked. "No." The lie was obvious, even to you. Soojin's smirk deepened.
Soojin lingered in the doorway, one eyebrow arched like she'd just caught you mid-confession. Tzuyu waved her off with a flick of her wrist, but the damage was done — the moment ruptured, the careful bubble of honesty popped by reality's sharp fingers. "We'll be right there," Tzuyu said, her voice steady despite the pink creeping up her neck. Soojin waggled her eyebrows but retreated, letting the door swing shut behind her with a click that sounded absurdly final.
The silence that followed was thicker now, charged with the unspoken weight of Soojin's interruption. You cleared your throat, suddenly hyperaware of how close you still stood — close enough that you could count the individual lashes framing Tzuyu's downcast eyes. "So," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, "Cake, huh?"
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah. Cake." She toyed with the empty bottle still dangling from her fingers, her nails tapping a restless rhythm against the glass. For a wild second, you imagined her flinging it over the railing, watching it shatter on the pavement sixteen stories below. Instead, she set it down carefully on the balcony ledge, aligning it precisely with the edge.
The bottle clinked softly against the concrete ledge, a punctuation mark to everything left unsaid. Tzuyu straightened, smoothing her dress with hands that betrayed the slightest tremor. "You should come down too," she said, not meeting your eyes. "They'll notice if you don't."
You nodded, though she wasn't looking. The party noise surged through the cracked door — someone butchering the birthday song off-key, the unmistakable sound of Minho's booming laugh. Tzuyu's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly at the sound.
"You never answered," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Tzuyu paused, fingers hovering over the door handle. "Earlier. When I asked if it would've changed anything. If I'd said something."
Tzuyu's fingers stilled on the door handle. For a heartbeat, she didn't move — just stood there, her silhouette framed by the sliver of party light leaking through the gap. The city hummed below you, a low, constant thrum like the pulse of something alive. When she finally turned, her expression was unreadable, the shadows carving her face into something softer and sharper all at once. "Would you believe me," she said slowly, "if I said I don't know?"
You blinked. The honesty of it — the sheer, unvarnished uncertainty — hit you like a sucker punch. Tzuyu, who always had an answer, who mapped her life in straight lines and bold strokes, didn't know. It was almost comforting. "Yeah," you admitted, rubbing your jaw. "Actually, I would."
Tzuyu's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. "It's not—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. The party noise swelled again — Minho's voice, loud and warm, calling her name. Tzuyu's gaze flicked toward the sound reflexively, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's not that simple," she finished, quieter.
You exhaled, watching your breath dissolve into the night. "Nothing ever is with us," you murmured, more to yourself than to her. Tzuyu's fingers twitched against the door handle — a barely-there flinch, but you caught it. The party roared behind her, a living thing demanding her return, but for one suspended second, neither of you moved.
Then Tzuyu tilted her head, her bangs slipping sideways to reveal the faintest smudge of eyeliner under her left eye. "You would've been a terrible boyfriend, I think," she said abruptly, her voice carrying the barest edge of a tease. The words should've stung, but the way her mouth curled at the corners softened the blow.
You barked a laugh, startled. "Wow, just nail me to the cross, why don't you."
Tzuyu's smile deepened, but her fingers tightened on the door handle. "You'd have agonized over every text," she continued, leaning slightly into the tease like it was safer ground. "Would've taken you three days to reply to a 'good morning.'"
"Excuse you," you shot back, pressing a hand to your chest in mock offense, "I'd have crafted those replies. Artisanal texting. Handmade with love."
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased. "And then panicked when I didn't respond in five minutes."
"Probably," you admitted with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of your neck. The ghost of your laughter lingered between you, a fragile bridge over the chasm of everything else. "But seriously, I would give it all to find different ways how to tell you I love you as much as I would show you."
Tzuyu's smile faltered as another burst of Minho's laughter filtered through the door — bright, uncomplicated, the sound of someone who'd never second-guessed a single word sent her way.
Tzuyu's fingers flexed around the door handle, her knuckles whitening for a fleeting second before she forced them loose. "You should've said something," she murmured, so quiet you almost missed it. The words weren't an accusation — just a confession, slipped out like a secret too heavy to keep.
Your chest tightened. "Would it have mattered?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, raw and aching. Tzuyu's breath hitched, just slightly, her lashes fluttering as she stared at the door like it might hold answers.
Tzuyu turned the door handle halfway, then stopped. The neon glow from the party inside striped her face in alternating bands of pink and gold, making her expression impossible to read. "It would've mattered to me," she said finally, the words barely louder than the hum of distant traffic sixteen floors below. "And it could've been more for both of us. You could've been the one staying late in my apartment after my party ends."
Your pulse staggered. Somewhere in the apartment, Minho whooped loudly — probably attempting some drunken party trick. Tzuyu didn't even flinch this time, her gaze fixed on the chipped paint of the doorframe. "It might not be the way you wanted," she continued, tracing a fingernail along the wood grain. "But it would've been nice. To be someone's first choice for once."
The confession landed like a stone in your gut. You'd spent four years convinced Tzuyu had the world at her feet — admiring glances trailing her across campus, study partners tripping over themselves to help her, Minho claiming her effortlessly. The idea that she'd ever felt like anything but chosen felt like discovering gravity worked sideways.
The neon lights from inside streaked across Tzuyu's face, painting her in hues of pink and gold like some flickering silent movie. You wanted to memorize her like this — not the Tzuyu from lecture halls or birthday parties, but this Tzuyu: smudged lipstick, slightly disheveled hair, the way her fingers trembled just enough to betray the weight of her confession.
"First choice?" you repeated, voice cracking like a teenager's. "You were always—" You stopped yourself, biting down on the rest. It was too much, too raw. Tzuyu's eyes flicked to yours, sharp and searching, but you ducked your head, suddenly fascinated by a stray thread on your sleeve.
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "See?" she murmured, nudging your shoe with hers. The pink stain had spread, blending into the fabric like watercolor. "You do this. Get all the way to the edge and then—" She mimed a jump with her fingers, stopping just short of the railing.
The balcony lights flickered overhead — one of those cheap LED bulbs that never quite settled on a color — casting Tzuyu's face in shifting shades of blue and gold. You watched her fingers hover near the door handle, the way her thumb traced the metal edge like she was memorizing its shape. "You know," she said suddenly, her voice steadier now, "I remembered another. Those times you used to pretend not to notice me staring in class."
Your stomach lurched. "What?"
Tzuyu's smirk was small, private. "Third row from the back, left side. You always sat where you could see my profile without turning your head." She mimed taking notes, her free hand scribbling imaginary equations in the air. "Except you weren't writing. You were just… looking. Oh, and they were lots."
You choked on air. Tzuyu's smirk widened — sharp, triumphant, like she'd been waiting years to drop that particular grenade. "You—" Your voice cracked. "You counted it?"
"102 was your most. In just a day," she said without hesitation, tapping her temple. Your jaw dropped. "Like I said. I notice things." The balcony lights flickered again, painting her face in fractured gold. For a dizzying second, you wondered how many other details she'd cataloged — the way you'd always chewed your pen cap when nervous, how your knee bounced during exams, the time you'd shown up to class with your sweater inside out and spent forty minutes trying to subtly fix it.
The party noise swelled behind you — glasses clinking, Minho's voice rising above the din in a boisterous toast. Tzuyu's fingers twitched toward the door handle but didn't grasp it. Instead, she tilted her head, studying you with that unnerving directness. "You really thought I didn't know?"
The neon glow from the party painted Tzuyu's face in jagged streaks of pink and gold, making her expression impossible to read. Your pulse hammered in your throat. "I—" The words tangled on your tongue, caught between the weight of her gaze and the echo of Minho's laughter bleeding through the door. "I thought you were just being polite," you admitted finally, rubbing the back of your neck where the skin burned. "Ignoring it so I wouldn't feel like a total creep."
Tzuyu's lips quirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "You were kind of a creep," she said lightly, nudging your shoe with hers. The cherry soju stain had spread, blending into the fabric like a watercolor bruise. "But so was I." Her voice dropped, barely audible over the distant hum of traffic. "I used to tilt my notebook so you could see my notes better."
The confession punched the air from your lungs. You stared at her, replaying four years of lecture halls in dizzying fast-forward — Tzuyu's elbow always angled just so, the way she'd occasionally slide her notebook toward the edge of her desk during particularly convoluted lectures. You'd assumed it was for space. "You—" Your voice cracked. "That was on purpose?"
Tzuyu's smirk was small and devastating. "Sometimes." She turned the door handle slightly, the click echoing louder than it should have. "Not always. Just… when I thought you might actually need the notes."
The admission hung between you, fragile as the condensation on your abandoned bottles. You exhaled sharply, the sound ragged at the edges. Four years of stolen glances and half-formed daydreams, and she'd known. Not just tolerated — participated. The realization twisted in your chest like a knife.
Below you, the city pulsed with indifferent life — cars honking, neon signs flickering, entirely unaware of the tectonic shift happening sixteen floors above. Tzuyu's fingers tightened on the door handle, her knuckles paling for a fleeting second before she forced them to relax. "You should have seen your face," she murmured, her voice carrying the barest hint of a laugh. "Every time Professor Kim called on me. Like you were personally offended on my behalf."
The balcony door rattled again — another burst of drunken laughter, another off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Tzuyu's fingers flexed on the handle, but she didn't turn it. Instead, she leaned back against the doorframe, her shoulder blades pressing into the wood like she was bracing for impact. "You know," she said quietly, "I kept your stupid supply-demand graph too."
You blinked. "What?"
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but her voice softened. "The one you drew in the margins during Econ 302. The one where demand was just a stick figure with my face." Her lips quirked. "It was terrible."
The neon lights from the apartment stepped across Tzuyu's face as she turned the doorknob halfway — hesitating, like she'd forgotten something. "You left your jacket," she said abruptly, nodding toward the railing where your crumpled blazer hung, forgotten. You blinked at it, the fabric flapping slightly in the breeze like a surrender flag.
"You kept that too?" you asked before you could stop yourself, half-doing, half-terrified of the answer. Tzuyu's fingers stilled on the door handle.
"No," she said too quickly, then amended, "Not on purpose." A beat. "It just… ended up in my laundry pile after study group once." Her cheeks flushed pink under the shifting balcony lights. "By the time I noticed, it was too awkward to return."
The balcony door groaned as Tzuyu finally pushed it open, letting in a tidal wave of party noise — Minho's booming laughter, the tinny pop of a champagne cork, Soojin screeching about icing on her dress. Tzuyu paused on the threshold, her silhouette haloed by the warm light spilling from inside. For a heartbeat, she didn't move, just stood there with one hand still gripping the doorframe like she might change her mind.
You watched the way her shoulder blades shifted under her dress as she took a shallow breath. "Coming?" she asked over her shoulder, not quite meeting your eyes. The question hung between you, weighted with everything you hadn't said.
"Yeah," you lied, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "Just need a minute." Tzuyu nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line like she didn't believe you but was too polite to call you out.
She pauses for a moment. "By the way," she says, looking back over her shoulder. "All of those things I said, I suppose you could now tell how much you fascinated me, YN."
"Yeah, and it'll remain to be my biggest regret."
Tzuyu faintly chuckled. The door clicked shut behind her with finality, leaving you alone with the hum of the city and the ghost of her cherry lipstick on the rim of the abandoned soju bottle.
The balcony door clicked shut with a softness that felt louder than any slam. You stared at the smudged glass, watching Tzuyu's silhouette dissolve into the party's kaleidoscope of laughter and shifting bodies. Her absence left a vacuum — one you filled by grabbing the abandoned soju bottle and pressing the cool glass to your forehead. The city sprawled below, indifferent to the way your ribs ached.
A flicker of movement caught your eye — Tzuyu's reflection in the sliding door as she paused just inside. You watched, breath held, as she touched her fingertips to her lips, then pressed them briefly to the glass before disappearing into the crowd. The gesture was so quick you might've imagined it.
The bottle slipped from your fingers, clinking against the concrete. You crouched to pick it up, and there, wedged between the railing and the wall, was a slip of paper — folded so small it could've been trash. Unfolding it revealed your own handwriting from two years ago: "Demand: You. Supply: My dignity. Equilibrium: ???" Tzuyu's loopy script beneath it read, "Graph needs work. -Tzu"
The paper trembled in your hands — not from the breeze, but from the sheer impossibility of it. You'd torn this exact note into pieces after Econ 302 finals, scattering them into a library trash can like some dramatic indie film protagonist. Yet here it was, meticulously taped back together along the seams, the creases softened from handling. Tzuyu's addition curled at the bottom like a postscript to a joke you'd never realized you two were sharing.
A burst of laughter erupted from inside — Minho's voice booming above the rest, followed by Tzuyu's distinct melodic chuckle. The sound propelled you upright, the note crumpling slightly in your clenched fist. Through the glass door, you could see the party in snapshots: Soojin attempting to balance a cupcake on her forehead, Minho's arm slung casually over Tzuyu's shoulders as she leaned away with mock exasperation. Normal. Easy. Everything you weren't.
You stared at the note again. Graph needs work. Tzuyu had written that two years ago, back when your biggest problem was whether to use blue or black ink for your crush's hypothetical demand curve. Back before Minho existed as anything more than some faceless future obstacle in your daydreams. Your thumb traced the tape lines — clear, nearly invisible, applied with the same precision Tzuyu used for everything. How many times had she unfolded this? Had she laughed at your terrible doodles alone in her dorm, or shown it to Mina over boba with an eye-roll?
The balcony door swung open again — not with Soojin's drunken energy this time, but with Minho's easy confidence. "There you are," he said, his broad frame filling the doorway. His gaze flickered between the crumpled note in your hand and the abandoned soju bottle, but whatever conclusions he drew stayed tucked behind his practiced smile. "Cake's melting," Minho added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the party. "Tzuyu sent me to fetch you."
Fetch. The word lodged in your throat like a fishbone. You stuffed the note into your pocket, the paper crackling softly. "Yeah," you muttered, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "Be right there."
Minho lingered, one hand braced against the doorframe. For a suspended second, you thought Minho might say something else — might piece together the tension still humming in the air, the way Tzuyu's lipstick smudged the rim of the bottle exactly where your own mouth had been minutes earlier. But Minho just grinned, clapping you on the shoulder with a force that felt like punctuation. "Don't take too long," he said, stepping back inside. "She's weird about birthdays. Likes everyone in the shot."
The balcony door clicked shut behind Minho, leaving you alone with the ghost of Tzuyu's perfume still clinging to the air. You unfolded the crumpled note again, smoothing the creases with trembling fingers. Your own handwriting stared back at you — clumsy, earnest, painfully unaware of how the next two years would unfold.
The party noise hit you like a wall when you finally stepped back inside — a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and off-key singing that made your temples throb. You scanned the room automatically, your gaze snagging on Tzuyu before you could stop yourself. She was perched on the arm of Minho's chair, her legs swinging slightly as she laughed at something Soojin was shrieking. The sight shouldn't have stung as much as it did.
Then, as if sensing your presence, Tzuyu turned her head. Your eyes met across the crowded room, and she smiled.
With that, everybody vanished. What mattered was just you and her sharing the same space together… just like she had four years ago in that fluorescent-lit lecture hall.
Back then, you'd been late to Econ 101, scrambling for a seat when she'd glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the footsteps coming near. Her hair had swung in a perfect arc, catching the overhead lights like a shampoo commercial, and for one heart-stopping second, she'd locked eyes with you.
And back then, she knew this girl would be interesting. However, your only fault was that you kept wondering too much, that you underestimated her.
Now both of you will be forever bound to numerous possibilities that if only one of you broke this horrendous "admiring from the distance" thing, maybe with the gaze you two have been sharing right now… you would have the freedom to let your hearts act for themselves and lead you to what it prefers, creating a different ending that would require you two to be more romantically closer than you both should've been.
NOTE: Here's my official FINAL work for my TWICE: Book Of One-Shots x Reader. Although, I don't know if this will be REALLY my last fic before I go back to being fully retired, because I have one more in mind as my replacement for the Hanni smut fic that I deleted in my Smutrathon Special anthology on Fanprose.
WORD COUNT: 5993
GENRE: Fluff, Angst
=== START ===
The rooftop air tastes of ozone and expensive champagne. Behind, the bass of the party thumps through the concrete, a rhythmic heartbeat that feels out of sync with your own. You lean against the cold iron railing, the city lights blurring into a smear of amber and violet.
Tzuyu stands beside you. She wears a dress that catches the moonlight, shimmering like fish scales. She holds a glass of sparkling wine, her fingers tracing the rim in slow, hypnotic circles. The silence between you isn't empty; it's heavy, saturated with everything you haven't said for three years.
She turns her head, her eyes glassy and hooded from the alcohol. A small, knowing smile tugs at the corner of her lips.
"You're doing it again."
You blink, shifting your weight. "Doing what?"
"Looking at me like I'm a puzzle you're terrified to solve."
You let out a sharp, nervous breath that clouds in the chilly air. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Tzuyu laughs, a low, melodic sound that vibrates in your chest. She steps closer, the scent of vanilla and fermented grapes clinging to her.
"Please. You've always been a terrible liar. Even in tenth grade, when you tried to tell Mr. Han that the dog ate your geometry proofs, your left eyebrow would twitch. It's twitching right now."
You instinctively touch your forehead. "I'm just tired, Tzuyu. It's your birthday. I'm just… admiring the view."
"The view is the city skyline, and yet you're looking at me."
You look down. You are, indeed, staring at her features. You quickly snap your gaze back to the horizon, the heat climbing up your neck.
"How long did you think you could keep it up?"
The question hits you like a physical blow. You freeze.
"Keep what up?"
Tzuyu sighs, leaning her back against the railing, facing you. She sips her drink, her gaze unwavering.
"The pining. The longing glances. The way you always happen to be standing exactly where I'm walking. The way you remember my favorite coffee order even though I only mentioned it once three years ago. It was exhausting just watching you be so obvious."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You had predicted this — somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew the mask was too thin — but the suddenness of the confrontation leaves you breathless.
"I don't—"
"Stop," she interrupts, her voice softening. "We're tipsy, the stars are out, and I'm officially a graduate of the real world. Let's just be honest for once. You loved me. You still love me, don't you?"
The air leaves your lungs. The pretense collapses. You look at her, really look at her, and the weight of years of silence crashes down.
"W-what? Y-you knew?"
"Right from the start... and some rumors from others, mhm."
"Fuck, I knew it." You lowered your head and shut your eyes. It has come to this moment that you finally got busted for your worst kept secret. And you even bothered to tell your secret to her male friend who was a part of her "circle with brains".
Tzuyu shook her head as she laughs at your humiliation.
"You idiot."
"I know."
"You absolute, complete idiot."
"I've been told." You nodded rapidly, fueled by guilt.
"Yeah," you whisper. "I do." You swallowed hard, the taste of soju suddenly bitter on your tongue. "I, uh—" Your fingers gripped the railing, cool against your palms. "I didn't think you'd notice."
The lie tasted worse than the alcohol. Of course she'd noticed. Tzuyu noticed everything — the way you'd always lingered after class to "coincidentally" walk the same direction, how you'd volunteered for group projects only if she was in them, the time you'd spent thirty minutes reorganizing the department's coffee station just because she'd once mentioned liking hazelnut creamer.
Tzuyu huffed a laugh, but it wasn't unkind. "You left a love letter in my textbook sophomore year."
Your head snapped up. "You found that?" You'd torn it out immediately, panicked — or so you'd thought. Apparently not well enough. Tzuyu's smirk widened, and you groaned, pressing your forehead against the railing. "God. I was hoping you'd think it was just a weirdly passionate note about macroeconomics."
Tzuyu's smirk softened into something warmer, almost nostalgic. "It was a terrible love letter," she admitted, nudging your shoulder with hers. "You spent three paragraphs comparing me to a perfectly balanced supply-demand curve."
You groaned again, louder this time. "I was an econ major. It was the most romantic thing I could think of." The memory burned — sweaty palms, heart hammering, scribbling that godforsaken note at 3 AM before chickening out and shoving it into her textbook like a coward. You'd spent the next week avoiding the library entirely, convinced she'd report you for harassment.
But she hadn't. Instead, she'd just… watched you. Like she was waiting for you to try again.
"And yet," Tzuyu said, swirling the last of her soju in its bottle, "you never tried again."
The words weren't accusatory — just a statement, a fact, like noting the weather. But they settled between them like a stone dropped into still water.
You exhaled sharply, watching the city lights blur as your breath fogged the cool night air. "Would it have changed anything if I did?" The question escaped before you could stop it, raw and too honest. Tzuyu didn't answer immediately, and the silence stretched thin enough to snap.
"Maybe," she said finally, so quiet you almost missed it. "For a little while."
The breeze picked up, carrying the distant echo of drunken laughter from below. Tzuyu turned her face into it, letting the wind tug at her hair. "You remember that time in Professor Kang's class?" she asked, her voice almost lost in the rustling air.
You did. Third year, midterm season. The lecture hall had been packed, and you'd arrived late, scanning the rows for a seat — until you spotted her, waving you over to the empty space beside her. Your heart had nearly exploded. "You saved me a seat," you murmured.
Tzuyu laughed softly. "You were late on the first day. And you always have been." She paused, tracing the rim of her bottle with a fingertip. "And then you spent the entire lecture pretending to take notes, but you were just drawing little nonsense in the margin."
"H-hey, that was just from the first year…"
You couldn't even deny it — your face burned as if Tzuyu had held a lighter to your skin. "B-but you saw that?" you choked out, gripping the railing tighter. The memory flooded back — her perfume lingering in your nose, the way she'd occasionally leaned closer to whisper a question about the lecture, how you'd barely managed to scribble anything coherent before giving up and surrendering to the dumb, lovesick doodles instead. "I thought I erased them all."
"You did," Tzuyu said, tilting her head slightly. "Except for the one you missed on the corner of the page when you handed me your notes after class." She took a slow sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the bottle. "I kept it."
The admission punched the air from your lungs. You stared at her, searching for any hint of mockery, but Tzuyu's expression was unreadable — soft around the edges, but guarded, like she was weighing every word before letting it out. "Why?" you asked, voice rough.
Tzuyu swirled the soju bottle again, the liquid catching the faint glow of the balcony lights. "Because," she said, and for the first time that night, her voice wavered, just slightly. "For a second, I thought maybe you'd actually say something." She shrugged, as if it didn't matter, but the way her fingers tightened around the bottle betrayed her. "But you didn't. You just… kept being you."
The ache in your chest swelled, sharp and familiar. You knew exactly what she meant — the way you'd hovered at the edges of her life, close enough to ache, never close enough to matter. "I was scared," you admitted, the words scraping your throat raw. "Of ruining what little we had."
Tzuyu snorted softly. "We didn't have anything. It was all because we sat beside each other for a year."
"Ouch," you muttered, but the sting was dull, half-hearted. She wasn't wrong. You'd orbited each other for years — close enough to brush shoulders in crowded hallways, never close enough to call it friendship. Just a boy who loved her and a girl who maybe, briefly, considered letting him.
Tzuyu sighed, tipping her head back to watch the sky. The stars were faint here, drowned out by the city's glow, but she squinted anyway, as if searching for something. "Do you ever wonder…," she started, then stopped, reconsidering. "Never mind."
"No, tell me." You nudged her with your elbow, the contact sending a jolt through your arm. Four years of longing, and you still weren't used to the casual warmth of her skin against yours.
"O-okay then, do you ever wonder…," Tzuyu repeated, softer now, "what would've happened if you'd just… said it?" She didn't look at you, her profile outlined by the neon haze of the city below. The bottle dangled loosely from her fingers, empty now except for the ghosts of your confessions.
You exhaled through your nose, counting the pulse points in your throat. "Every day," you admitted, and it was the truest thing you'd said all night. The phantom versions of yourself haunted you — the braver version who'd kissed her after study sessions, the smoother version who'd asked her out properly instead of leaving notes in textbooks like some Regency-era loser.
Tzuyu hummed, a sound that wasn't quite agreement. "I almost said something first," she murmured, so quiet you wondered if she meant for you to hear it at all. Your breath hitched. She continued, eyes still fixed on the skyline. "That day you helped me carry my portfolio across campus in the rain. You were soaked, and your hair kept sticking to your forehead, and you just… laughed when I apologized." A pause. A sip of air. "I thought about it then."
Your heartbeat stuttered — once, twice — like a skipped track on a mixtape. "You—" The word stuck in your throat. Tzuyu had thought about it? About you? The revelation unraveled something in your chest, half euphoria, half agony. You'd spent years wondering if she'd ever looked at you the way you looked at her, and now, with her confession hanging between you, you didn't know what to do with your hands. They curled uselessly at your sides. "Why didn't you?" you managed, voice scraped thin.
Tzuyu shrugged, but the motion was too careful to be casual. "Same reason as you, probably." She glanced at you then, just for a second, before her gaze flicked away again. "Thought it'd make things weird. And then…" She trailed off, twisting the bottle cap between her fingers. The silence stretched, taut as a wire.
"And then?" you pressed, though you already knew.
"And then," Tzuyu said, her voice barely above a whisper, "Minho asked me out." The name landed between you like a grenade, its fallout settling in the hollow of your chest. Minho — broad-shouldered, effortlessly charming Minho, who'd slid into your friend group junior year like he'd always belonged there. Of course it was Minho.
You exhaled sharply, the sound ragged at the edges. "Right," you muttered, digging your nails into your palms. "Figures." The words tasted like battery acid. You'd watched it happen in real time — Minho's easy smiles, Tzuyu's gradual softening, the way she'd started laughing louder at his jokes. You'd seen it coming from miles away and still hadn't braced for the impact.
Tzuyu turned the empty bottle in her hands, watching the streetlights refract through the glass. "It wasn't—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "Never mind."
"It wasn't what?" you pressed, voice too rough, too desperate. You regretted it immediately — the way Tzuyu's shoulders tensed, the way her fingers tightened around the bottle like she was bracing for impact. But you had to know. Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
Tzuyu exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the cool night air. "It wasn't like this," she said finally, gesturing vaguely between you with the bottle. The glass caught the balcony lights, throwing fractured reflections across her face. "With Minho, it was… easy. Obvious. No notes in textbooks, no supply-demand metaphors." Her lips quirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Just two people who liked each other and said it."
You winced. The words landed like a gut punch — not because they were cruel, but because they were true. Minho hadn't hesitated. Minho hadn't spent four years choking on his own heartbeat every time Tzuyu so much as glanced his way. Minho had just acted, like it was that simple. Maybe it was.
The silence stretched between you, thick with everything unsaid. Tzuyu's fingers tapped absently against the bottle, the rhythm uneven, like a heartbeat skipping. You studied her profile — the sharp line of her nose, the way her eyelashes cast faint shadows under the balcony lights. You'd memorized her like this years ago, in stolen glances across lecture halls, but now it felt different. Now, she was letting you look.
"You know," Tzuyu said suddenly, her voice quieter than before, "I almost threw it away." She turned the bottle in her hands, avoiding your gaze. "Your note. The one in the textbook."
Your breath caught. "Why didn't you?"
Tzuyu tilted her head slightly, her gaze drifting to the distant city lights as if they held the answer. "Because," she said, voice softer now, almost hesitant, "it was the first time someone liked me like that — for no reason at all." She turned the bottle once more, her fingers tracing its ridges absently. "Not because I was the prettiest in class, or the smartest, or whatever. Just… because."
The confession lodged itself in your throat. You'd never considered that — how Tzuyu, effortlessly perfect Tzuyu, might have craved something as simple as being seen.
"You were wrong, though, on that note," she added, a hint of amusement creeping back into her tone. "The supply-demand curve bit was terrible."
You laughed genuinely, despite the ache in your ribs, and the sound startled you both. "Yeah, well," you said, rubbing the back of your neck, "I was desperate." The admission hung in the air, lighter now, like you'd finally stripped the bandage off a wound that had festered too long. Tzuyu's shoulders relaxed slightly, her grip on the bottle loosening.
A burst of laughter erupted from the party below, followed by a drunken chorus of happy birthday. Tzuyu's lips curved reflexively, but her eyes stayed fixed on the horizon. "I should probably go back down soon," she murmured, though she made no move to leave.
"Yeah," you agreed, just as motionless. The city hummed beneath you, indifferent to the quiet unraveling happening sixteen floors above. You wanted to ask — Why now? Why tell me any of this tonight? — but the question felt too fragile, like it might shatter whatever tentative truce you'd stumbled into.
"Did you ever think about it?" Tzuyu asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the hum of the city below. She still wasn't looking at you, but her fingers had gone still around the bottle. "After. Did you ever think what would've happened if you'd just… tried?"
The question landed like a pebble dropped into a pond — small, but rippling outward in ways you couldn't predict. You swallowed, watching the way the neon signs reflected in her dark eyes. "All the time," you admitted. "Mostly in the shower. Or at 3 AM. You know, when the brain's at its worst."
Tzuyu snorted, nudging you with her elbow. "You're such a mess." But her tone was fond, almost nostalgic.
You grinned despite yourself, rubbing the back of your neck where her elbow had grazed you. The spot tingled. "Yeah, well. You knew that when you dragged me out here."
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose, a half-laugh. "I didn't drag you. You followed me like a lost puppy." She mimed tugging an invisible leash, and you groaned, pressing your forehead against the railing again. "God, I am pathetic."
Tzuyu's laugh was soft, almost swallowed by the wind. "Not pathetic," she corrected, nudging your shoulder again. "Just… you." The words lingered between you, suspended like the city lights reflecting in her eyes. You studied her — really studied her for the first time that night. The way her lipstick had smudged at the corner of her mouth, how her bangs stuck slightly to her forehead from the humidity. She wasn't perfect. She was better.
The balcony door swung open with a burst of noise — someone shouting Tzuyu's name, the thump of bass, a gust of warm air thick with the scent of spilled beer. "Tzuyu-ya! Cake time!" A head popped out — Soojin, her cheeks flushed pink, her grin lopsided from soju. "Oh. Oh." Her eyes darted between you two, widening comically. "Am I interrupting something?"
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but her ears pinked. "No." The lie was obvious, even to you. Soojin's smirk deepened.
Soojin lingered in the doorway, one eyebrow arched like she'd just caught you mid-confession. Tzuyu waved her off with a flick of her wrist, but the damage was done — the moment ruptured, the careful bubble of honesty popped by reality's sharp fingers. "We'll be right there," Tzuyu said, her voice steady despite the pink creeping up her neck. Soojin waggled her eyebrows but retreated, letting the door swing shut behind her with a click that sounded absurdly final.
The silence that followed was thicker now, charged with the unspoken weight of Soojin's interruption. You cleared your throat, suddenly hyperaware of how close you still stood — close enough that you could count the individual lashes framing Tzuyu's downcast eyes. "So," you said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile, "Cake, huh?"
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "Yeah. Cake." She toyed with the empty bottle still dangling from her fingers, her nails tapping a restless rhythm against the glass. For a wild second, you imagined her flinging it over the railing, watching it shatter on the pavement sixteen stories below. Instead, she set it down carefully on the balcony ledge, aligning it precisely with the edge.
The bottle clinked softly against the concrete ledge, a punctuation mark to everything left unsaid. Tzuyu straightened, smoothing her dress with hands that betrayed the slightest tremor. "You should come down too," she said, not meeting your eyes. "They'll notice if you don't."
You nodded, though she wasn't looking. The party noise surged through the cracked door — someone butchering the birthday song off-key, the unmistakable sound of Minho's booming laugh. Tzuyu's shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly at the sound.
"You never answered," you said suddenly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Tzuyu paused, fingers hovering over the door handle. "Earlier. When I asked if it would've changed anything. If I'd said something."
Tzuyu's fingers stilled on the door handle. For a heartbeat, she didn't move — just stood there, her silhouette framed by the sliver of party light leaking through the gap. The city hummed below you, a low, constant thrum like the pulse of something alive. When she finally turned, her expression was unreadable, the shadows carving her face into something softer and sharper all at once. "Would you believe me," she said slowly, "if I said I don't know?"
You blinked. The honesty of it — the sheer, unvarnished uncertainty — hit you like a sucker punch. Tzuyu, who always had an answer, who mapped her life in straight lines and bold strokes, didn't know. It was almost comforting. "Yeah," you admitted, rubbing your jaw. "Actually, I would."
Tzuyu's shoulders relaxed infinitesimally. "It's not—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. The party noise swelled again — Minho's voice, loud and warm, calling her name. Tzuyu's gaze flicked toward the sound reflexively, her lips pressing into a thin line. "It's not that simple," she finished, quieter.
You exhaled, watching your breath dissolve into the night. "Nothing ever is with us," you murmured, more to yourself than to her. Tzuyu's fingers twitched against the door handle — a barely-there flinch, but you caught it. The party roared behind her, a living thing demanding her return, but for one suspended second, neither of you moved.
Then Tzuyu tilted her head, her bangs slipping sideways to reveal the faintest smudge of eyeliner under her left eye. "You would've been a terrible boyfriend, I think," she said abruptly, her voice carrying the barest edge of a tease. The words should've stung, but the way her mouth curled at the corners softened the blow.
You barked a laugh, startled. "Wow, just nail me to the cross, why don't you."
Tzuyu's smile deepened, but her fingers tightened on the door handle. "You'd have agonized over every text," she continued, leaning slightly into the tease like it was safer ground. "Would've taken you three days to reply to a 'good morning.'"
"Excuse you," you shot back, pressing a hand to your chest in mock offense, "I'd have crafted those replies. Artisanal texting. Handmade with love."
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but the tension in her shoulders eased. "And then panicked when I didn't respond in five minutes."
"Probably," you admitted with a sheepish grin, rubbing the back of your neck. The ghost of your laughter lingered between you, a fragile bridge over the chasm of everything else. "But seriously, I would give it all to find different ways how to tell you I love you as much as I would show you."
Tzuyu's smile faltered as another burst of Minho's laughter filtered through the door — bright, uncomplicated, the sound of someone who'd never second-guessed a single word sent her way.
Tzuyu's fingers flexed around the door handle, her knuckles whitening for a fleeting second before she forced them loose. "You should've said something," she murmured, so quiet you almost missed it. The words weren't an accusation — just a confession, slipped out like a secret too heavy to keep.
Your chest tightened. "Would it have mattered?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, raw and aching. Tzuyu's breath hitched, just slightly, her lashes fluttering as she stared at the door like it might hold answers.
Tzuyu turned the door handle halfway, then stopped. The neon glow from the party inside striped her face in alternating bands of pink and gold, making her expression impossible to read. "It would've mattered to me," she said finally, the words barely louder than the hum of distant traffic sixteen floors below. "And it could've been more for both of us. You could've been the one staying late in my apartment after my party ends."
Your pulse staggered. Somewhere in the apartment, Minho whooped loudly — probably attempting some drunken party trick. Tzuyu didn't even flinch this time, her gaze fixed on the chipped paint of the doorframe. "It might not be the way you wanted," she continued, tracing a fingernail along the wood grain. "But it would've been nice. To be someone's first choice for once."
The confession landed like a stone in your gut. You'd spent four years convinced Tzuyu had the world at her feet — admiring glances trailing her across campus, study partners tripping over themselves to help her, Minho claiming her effortlessly. The idea that she'd ever felt like anything but chosen felt like discovering gravity worked sideways.
The neon lights from inside streaked across Tzuyu's face, painting her in hues of pink and gold like some flickering silent movie. You wanted to memorize her like this — not the Tzuyu from lecture halls or birthday parties, but this Tzuyu: smudged lipstick, slightly disheveled hair, the way her fingers trembled just enough to betray the weight of her confession.
"First choice?" you repeated, voice cracking like a teenager's. "You were always—" You stopped yourself, biting down on the rest. It was too much, too raw. Tzuyu's eyes flicked to yours, sharp and searching, but you ducked your head, suddenly fascinated by a stray thread on your sleeve.
Tzuyu exhaled through her nose — not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. "See?" she murmured, nudging your shoe with hers. The pink stain had spread, blending into the fabric like watercolor. "You do this. Get all the way to the edge and then—" She mimed a jump with her fingers, stopping just short of the railing.
The balcony lights flickered overhead — one of those cheap LED bulbs that never quite settled on a color — casting Tzuyu's face in shifting shades of blue and gold. You watched her fingers hover near the door handle, the way her thumb traced the metal edge like she was memorizing its shape. "You know," she said suddenly, her voice steadier now, "I remembered another. Those times you used to pretend not to notice me staring in class."
Your stomach lurched. "What?"
Tzuyu's smirk was small, private. "Third row from the back, left side. You always sat where you could see my profile without turning your head." She mimed taking notes, her free hand scribbling imaginary equations in the air. "Except you weren't writing. You were just… looking. Oh, and they were lots."
You choked on air. Tzuyu's smirk widened — sharp, triumphant, like she'd been waiting years to drop that particular grenade. "You—" Your voice cracked. "You counted it?"
"102 was your most. In just a day," she said without hesitation, tapping her temple. Your jaw dropped. "Like I said. I notice things." The balcony lights flickered again, painting her face in fractured gold. For a dizzying second, you wondered how many other details she'd cataloged — the way you'd always chewed your pen cap when nervous, how your knee bounced during exams, the time you'd shown up to class with your sweater inside out and spent forty minutes trying to subtly fix it.
The party noise swelled behind you — glasses clinking, Minho's voice rising above the din in a boisterous toast. Tzuyu's fingers twitched toward the door handle but didn't grasp it. Instead, she tilted her head, studying you with that unnerving directness. "You really thought I didn't know?"
The neon glow from the party painted Tzuyu's face in jagged streaks of pink and gold, making her expression impossible to read. Your pulse hammered in your throat. "I—" The words tangled on your tongue, caught between the weight of her gaze and the echo of Minho's laughter bleeding through the door. "I thought you were just being polite," you admitted finally, rubbing the back of your neck where the skin burned. "Ignoring it so I wouldn't feel like a total creep."
Tzuyu's lips quirked, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "You were kind of a creep," she said lightly, nudging your shoe with hers. The cherry soju stain had spread, blending into the fabric like a watercolor bruise. "But so was I." Her voice dropped, barely audible over the distant hum of traffic. "I used to tilt my notebook so you could see my notes better."
The confession punched the air from your lungs. You stared at her, replaying four years of lecture halls in dizzying fast-forward — Tzuyu's elbow always angled just so, the way she'd occasionally slide her notebook toward the edge of her desk during particularly convoluted lectures. You'd assumed it was for space. "You—" Your voice cracked. "That was on purpose?"
Tzuyu's smirk was small and devastating. "Sometimes." She turned the door handle slightly, the click echoing louder than it should have. "Not always. Just… when I thought you might actually need the notes."
The admission hung between you, fragile as the condensation on your abandoned bottles. You exhaled sharply, the sound ragged at the edges. Four years of stolen glances and half-formed daydreams, and she'd known. Not just tolerated — participated. The realization twisted in your chest like a knife.
Below you, the city pulsed with indifferent life — cars honking, neon signs flickering, entirely unaware of the tectonic shift happening sixteen floors above. Tzuyu's fingers tightened on the door handle, her knuckles paling for a fleeting second before she forced them to relax. "You should have seen your face," she murmured, her voice carrying the barest hint of a laugh. "Every time Professor Kim called on me. Like you were personally offended on my behalf."
The balcony door rattled again — another burst of drunken laughter, another off-key rendition of Happy Birthday. Tzuyu's fingers flexed on the handle, but she didn't turn it. Instead, she leaned back against the doorframe, her shoulder blades pressing into the wood like she was bracing for impact. "You know," she said quietly, "I kept your stupid supply-demand graph too."
You blinked. "What?"
Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but her voice softened. "The one you drew in the margins during Econ 302. The one where demand was just a stick figure with my face." Her lips quirked. "It was terrible."
The neon lights from the apartment stepped across Tzuyu's face as she turned the doorknob halfway — hesitating, like she'd forgotten something. "You left your jacket," she said abruptly, nodding toward the railing where your crumpled blazer hung, forgotten. You blinked at it, the fabric flapping slightly in the breeze like a surrender flag.
"You kept that too?" you asked before you could stop yourself, half-doing, half-terrified of the answer. Tzuyu's fingers stilled on the door handle.
"No," she said too quickly, then amended, "Not on purpose." A beat. "It just… ended up in my laundry pile after study group once." Her cheeks flushed pink under the shifting balcony lights. "By the time I noticed, it was too awkward to return."
The balcony door groaned as Tzuyu finally pushed it open, letting in a tidal wave of party noise — Minho's booming laughter, the tinny pop of a champagne cork, Soojin screeching about icing on her dress. Tzuyu paused on the threshold, her silhouette haloed by the warm light spilling from inside. For a heartbeat, she didn't move, just stood there with one hand still gripping the doorframe like she might change her mind.
You watched the way her shoulder blades shifted under her dress as she took a shallow breath. "Coming?" she asked over her shoulder, not quite meeting your eyes. The question hung between you, weighted with everything you hadn't said.
"Yeah," you lied, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "Just need a minute." Tzuyu nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line like she didn't believe you but was too polite to call you out.
She pauses for a moment. "By the way," she says, looking back over her shoulder. "All of those things I said, I suppose you could now tell how much you fascinated me, YN."
"Yeah, and it'll remain to be my biggest regret."
Tzuyu faintly chuckled. The door clicked shut behind her with finality, leaving you alone with the hum of the city and the ghost of her cherry lipstick on the rim of the abandoned soju bottle.
The balcony door clicked shut with a softness that felt louder than any slam. You stared at the smudged glass, watching Tzuyu's silhouette dissolve into the party's kaleidoscope of laughter and shifting bodies. Her absence left a vacuum — one you filled by grabbing the abandoned soju bottle and pressing the cool glass to your forehead. The city sprawled below, indifferent to the way your ribs ached.
A flicker of movement caught your eye — Tzuyu's reflection in the sliding door as she paused just inside. You watched, breath held, as she touched her fingertips to her lips, then pressed them briefly to the glass before disappearing into the crowd. The gesture was so quick you might've imagined it.
The bottle slipped from your fingers, clinking against the concrete. You crouched to pick it up, and there, wedged between the railing and the wall, was a slip of paper — folded so small it could've been trash. Unfolding it revealed your own handwriting from two years ago: "Demand: You. Supply: My dignity. Equilibrium: ???" Tzuyu's loopy script beneath it read, "Graph needs work. -Tzu"
The paper trembled in your hands — not from the breeze, but from the sheer impossibility of it. You'd torn this exact note into pieces after Econ 302 finals, scattering them into a library trash can like some dramatic indie film protagonist. Yet here it was, meticulously taped back together along the seams, the creases softened from handling. Tzuyu's addition curled at the bottom like a postscript to a joke you'd never realized you two were sharing.
A burst of laughter erupted from inside — Minho's voice booming above the rest, followed by Tzuyu's distinct melodic chuckle. The sound propelled you upright, the note crumpling slightly in your clenched fist. Through the glass door, you could see the party in snapshots: Soojin attempting to balance a cupcake on her forehead, Minho's arm slung casually over Tzuyu's shoulders as she leaned away with mock exasperation. Normal. Easy. Everything you weren't.
You stared at the note again. Graph needs work. Tzuyu had written that two years ago, back when your biggest problem was whether to use blue or black ink for your crush's hypothetical demand curve. Back before Minho existed as anything more than some faceless future obstacle in your daydreams. Your thumb traced the tape lines — clear, nearly invisible, applied with the same precision Tzuyu used for everything. How many times had she unfolded this? Had she laughed at your terrible doodles alone in her dorm, or shown it to Mina over boba with an eye-roll?
The balcony door swung open again — not with Soojin's drunken energy this time, but with Minho's easy confidence. "There you are," he said, his broad frame filling the doorway. His gaze flickered between the crumpled note in your hand and the abandoned soju bottle, but whatever conclusions he drew stayed tucked behind his practiced smile. "Cake's melting," Minho added, jerking his thumb over his shoulder toward the party. "Tzuyu sent me to fetch you."
Fetch. The word lodged in your throat like a fishbone. You stuffed the note into your pocket, the paper crackling softly. "Yeah," you muttered, rubbing your palms against your thighs. "Be right there."
Minho lingered, one hand braced against the doorframe. For a suspended second, you thought Minho might say something else — might piece together the tension still humming in the air, the way Tzuyu's lipstick smudged the rim of the bottle exactly where your own mouth had been minutes earlier. But Minho just grinned, clapping you on the shoulder with a force that felt like punctuation. "Don't take too long," he said, stepping back inside. "She's weird about birthdays. Likes everyone in the shot."
The balcony door clicked shut behind Minho, leaving you alone with the ghost of Tzuyu's perfume still clinging to the air. You unfolded the crumpled note again, smoothing the creases with trembling fingers. Your own handwriting stared back at you — clumsy, earnest, painfully unaware of how the next two years would unfold.
The party noise hit you like a wall when you finally stepped back inside — a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and off-key singing that made your temples throb. You scanned the room automatically, your gaze snagging on Tzuyu before you could stop yourself. She was perched on the arm of Minho's chair, her legs swinging slightly as she laughed at something Soojin was shrieking. The sight shouldn't have stung as much as it did.
Then, as if sensing your presence, Tzuyu turned her head. Your eyes met across the crowded room, and she smiled.
With that, everybody vanished. What mattered was just you and her sharing the same space together… just like she had four years ago in that fluorescent-lit lecture hall.
Back then, you'd been late to Econ 101, scrambling for a seat when she'd glanced over her shoulder at the sound of the footsteps coming near. Her hair had swung in a perfect arc, catching the overhead lights like a shampoo commercial, and for one heart-stopping second, she'd locked eyes with you.
And back then, she knew this girl would be interesting. However, your only fault was that you kept wondering too much, that you underestimated her.
Now both of you will be forever bound to numerous possibilities that if only one of you broke this horrendous "admiring from the distance" thing, maybe with the gaze you two have been sharing right now… you would have the freedom to let your hearts act for themselves and lead you to what it prefers, creating a different ending that would require you two to be more romantically closer than you both should've been.
NOTE: Uhh... s u r p r i s e?
"But you just said you have quit writing since last December?" Yes, I know and I'm aware of it. Don't celebrate too much, this is just temporary. One and done. This doesn't mean i'm fully back.
I just did this because I noticed my TWICE oneshot book didn't ended well as I wanted it to be. Since it has the book with LOTS of progress, I figured what if I fix the order to finally end it like I want to. Chaeyoung and Tzuyu didn't have an entry for Set 6, so I'm giving them one.
Anyways, here's my last gas I have left in me. I don't want to lie as well, this one including Tzuyu's, I had some help with AI. Still, most of this are entirely by me. Have fun reading still.
WORD COUNT: 12683 (one of the longest in the book.)
=== START ===
The kitchen is a battlefield of aromatic precision. Chaeyoung moves with the rhythmic, practiced efficiency of a woman trying to orchestrate perfection out of chaos. The air is thick with the scent of rosemary-crusted lamb and the reduction of a red wine demi-glace that has been simmered to a glossy, dark intensity.
She checks the oven timer again. Two minutes.
She pulls a silk tablecloth from the drawer, smoothing it over the mahogany surface with a focus that borders on the religious. Every wrinkle is a personal failure; every fold must be aligned. She places the candles—tapered, unscented, elegant—in their silver holders. She isn’t just setting a table; she is building a sanctuary, a desperate, physical manifestation of the home she prays they still have.
Her hands tremble slightly as she adjusts the placement of the silverware. It’s been five years, and yet, the simple act of setting two places feels like a gamble. She catches her reflection in the darkened window above the sink. She looks... festive. She’d spent an hour on her hair, pinning it back with the delicate gold clip you had bought her their second year, back when they still had weekend mornings that didn't start with a frantic scramble for a pager.
She forces a breath, deep and steadying, pressing her palms against the cool granite of the counter. He will be here, she tells herself, the mantra repeating like a heartbeat. He promised. He looked me in the eye this morning and said he would leave the clinic by six. No emergencies, no consults, no interruptions.
She all told this to herself, for the sake of her peace.
She uncorks a bottle of Cabernet, the vintage they’d saved for a special occasion. The sound of the cork sliding free is a small, sharp pop that echoes in the quiet apartment. She pours a glass, then pauses, looking at the empty chair across from her. She quickly pours a second one, placing it precisely to the right of the other setting.
The kitchen clock ticks—a rhythmic, relentless sound that counts down not just seconds, but the fraying threads of her patience. She turns to the oven as the timer pings, a cheerful, metallic sound that feels jarringly out of place in the weighted silence.
She pulls the roast out, the heat radiating against her cheeks. She plates it with the care of a surgeon, drizzling the sauce in a perfect arc, arranging the roasted root vegetables with a precision that makes her chest ache. Everything is ready. Everything is perfect.
She wipes a stray smudge of sauce from the edge of the plate, her movements slowing. She walks over to the living room, smoothing the cushions of the sofa, straightening a stack of medical journals that you had left splayed on the coffee table. She gathers them up, tucking them neatly into a basket. Out of sight, out of mind. Tonight, the medical world—the charts, the sterile white coats, the life-and-death stakes—has to stay behind the front door.
She goes back to the window. The street below is slick with the evening’s drizzle, the headlights of passing cars blurring into streaks of orange and white.
6:15.
She reminds herself that traffic is unpredictable. The city is a beast, especially on a Friday. He’s probably just stuck behind a bus, or maybe there was a light he missed. She paces the length of the kitchen to the dining room, her heels clicking against the hardwood, a sound that feels entirely too loud.
6:30.
She picks up her phone. No notifications. The screen is dark, a black mirror staring back at her. She taps it—the lock screen glows, a photo of them on a beach, both of them laughing, their hair windswept, faces unlined by the exhaustion that now marks every conversation. She studies the image, searching for the people they used to be. They look like strangers who share a past.
She puts the phone down, face up. A deliberate choice. She needs to see it if it lights up. She needs to know the exact second he reaches for her, even if it’s just with a text.
She goes to the stove to check the heat. Everything is staying warm, but the smell of the food, once appetizing, is beginning to feel cloying. It’s too rich, too heavy for a dinner for one. The steam rising from the plates curls into the air, ghost-like.
She walks back to the table and sits. She doesn’t eat. She just watches the candles. The flames flicker, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls. The apartment feels vast, a hollowed-out cavern of expectations. She finds herself rearranging her fork, sliding it an inch to the left, then back again.
"You're late," she whispers to the empty chair. The words catch in her throat, a dry, jagged sensation. “... Again.” She swallows hard, trying to push the rising tide of bile back down.
She picks up the glass of wine and takes a slow, measured sip. It’s good, but it tastes like vinegar. Everything tastes like disappointment tonight. She looks at the front door. It remains shut, indifferent, a heavy piece of oak that guards a life she isn't sure she wants anymore.
Her mind starts to wander, against her will, to all the other nights like this. The birthdays marked by a frantic "Happy Birthday" text sent from a hospital parking lot. The anniversary last year where he’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, his pager chirping like an insect in the dark. She realizes, with a cold, creeping horror, that she has spent half their relationship mourning you while you was still alive.
She pushes the plate away, the ceramic scraping harshly against the table. The sound vibrates through the room, a jagged note of discord. She stares at the empty space where he should be, feeling the weight of the silence press against her ears. It’s not just the absence of his body; it’s the absence of his intention. He isn't here because he didn't try hard enough to be here.
She stands up, her chair legs skidding across the floor. She walks to the window again, pulling back the curtain. The street is empty, save for a stray cat darting between parked cars.
7:00.
The fragile hope she’d spent the day cultivating begins to evaporate, leaving behind a cold, sharp bitterness that settles in her marrow. She isn't angry yet. Anger is too hot, too active. Right now, she is simply hollowed out. She looks at the cooling meal, the beautiful, wasted effort, and feels a wave of nausea.
She picks up her phone again. She taps the screen. Still nothing.
The apartment is perfectly set, perfectly lit, perfectly quiet. And for the first time in five years, she looks at the room not as a home, but as a stage for a play that only she is performing, night after agonizing night, to an audience of none.
The silence in the room had a texture now—thick, like velvet, pressing against her eardrums. Chaeyoung remained seated, her spine unnaturally straight, staring at the steam rising from the risotto in the center of the table. It was a faint, wavering ribbon of gray, a ghost of the effort she’d poured into the evening.
Every tick of the wall clock felt like a physical blow.
7:15…
7:30…
Each minute that passed did more than just age the wine; it stripped away the last remnants of the "Chaeyoung" who believed in miracles.
She reached out, her fingers hovering over the stem of the crystal wine glass across from her. She didn’t touch it. She didn’t want to disturb the perfect, symmetrical misery of the table setting. your napkin was folded with the same precision as hers, a white paper soldier waiting for a general who had abandoned the post.
He’s definitely on surgery as usual, she told herself. It was the mantra. The sacred, impenetrable shield that had protected their relationship from her scrutiny for years. But tonight, the shield didn’t hold. Tonight, the logic felt thin, transparent. Surgery was a variable, but communication was a choice. A quick text at six o’clock would have taken five seconds. A thumb-swipe while walking down a sterile hallway.
She picked up her phone. The screen was a black mirror, reflecting her own eyes that are wide, searching, and exhausted. She scrolled through their messages. The last one was from yesterday: “Can’t wait for tomorrow. 6pm. Love you.”
She pressed her thumb against the text, hard, as if the physical force could somehow jump-start the ghost of the man who wrote it. When nothing happened, she set the phone face-down on the mahogany surface. The small clack of the device against the wood sounded like a gunshot in the stagnant air.
She stood up, the chair scraping sharply against the hardwood—a violent sound in the tomb-like quiet. Her legs felt heavy, unmoored from the floor. She walked to the window, peering out at the city lights. Down below, life moved in a steady, rhythmic pulse. People were laughing on the sidewalk, walking dogs, catching cabs. They were living in a world where time belonged to them.
She walked back over to the table and finally touched the food. It was cold. Not just lukewarm, but lifeless. Her gaze on your untouched place setting, the wine in your glass had oxidized, turning a deep, bruised purple. She reached out, intending to clear the plates, but her hand stalled inches from the porcelain.
The butter had solidified into a pale, congealed ring around the edges of the plate. It was a perfect metaphor for the evening, for the year, for the trajectory of the last five years.
She picked up the fork and poked at the arborio rice. It was hard, stubborn. Then, she stared at the roast, now congealed under a translucent film of fat, its once-inviting aroma turned sour and heavy. It was a monument to a delusion.
She had spent hours preparing this—trimming, basting, curating a playlist of songs that reminded them of their first year—all while convincing herself that tonight, for just a few hours, the hospital would release its grip on you. She had dressed in the silk slip dress he used to trace with his fingertips, feeling a ghost of your touch against her skin before you’d even walk through the door. Now, the dress felt like a costume in a play where the lead actor had forgotten his cues.
If she cleared the table, the night would be over. The fiction that you were "just running late" would evaporate, replaced by the crushing truth of his absence. She didn't want the truth yet. She wanted the quiet, false comfort of waiting, because waiting was still a form of connection. To stop waiting was to admit that she was alone in this house.
The silence wasn't empty; it was oppressive. It hummed with the ghosts of the dinners that had come before this one. The Tuesday-night Thai takeout they ate over their laptops. The birthday dinner cut short by a frantic page. The anniversaries that blurred into a singular, gray smear of apologies and stale pizza.
She pulled her phone from her pocket for the hundredth time. The screen was black—a dark mirror reflecting her own pale, strained face. She pressed the side button. Nothing. No notifications. No "On my way." No "Sorry, long day." Just the time, glowing with mocking precision: 11:42 PM.
Her heart, which had been racing with a jagged, frantic anxiety for hours, suddenly slowed. The panic ebbed, leaving behind a cold, crystalline clarity. It wasn't just that you were late. It was that you hadn't even thought to wonder if she was still sitting here. You lived in a world of emergencies, and she was simply the scenery—the fixed point you expected to find when you finally finished your work, a piece of furniture that would always be waiting in the corner of your life.
She picked up your wine glass. The stem was cold. She walked to the kitchen, the floorboards groaning under her weight, and poured the wine down the drain. It swirled away in a dark, red spiral. She didn't turn on the kitchen light; the streetlamp outside provided just enough of a ghostly glow to see the sink. She covered the cold roast with a foil, the sound of meat hitting it feeling strangely final, like a closing door.
As she stood there, watching the discarded dinner settle away, the weight of the last five years seemed to descend on her shoulders. It wasn't the single missed dinner that broke the foundation; it was the accumulation of a thousand tiny concessions she’d made to keep him. The way she’d learned to dim her own light so she wouldn't outshine his exhaustion. The way she’d folded herself into the gaps of his schedule, a secondary character in their own romance.
As she washed the plates, she felt a shift inside her. The burning anxiety that had clawed at her stomach all afternoon wasn’t dissipating; it was hardening. It was calcifying into something cold and heavy, a weight that settled behind her ribs.
She wiped her hands on a dish towel, her motions precise and devoid of hesitation. She walked back into the living room, but she didn't look at the table again. She didn't look at the candles. She walked past the remnants of the evening toward the bedroom, her footsteps deliberate.
She didn’t eat. Instead, she just cleared the table. Her patience of tolerating all of this about you disappeared with her appetite. With every movement, a sigh escapes. With every clang of plates and utensils, her heart cracks.
She realized then that she wasn't waiting for you anymore. The anticipation, that desperate, fluttering hope, had vanished. In its place was a terrifying, crystalline clarity. She realized that she had been living in a state of perpetual emergency, waiting for the sirens to stop so she could finally speak to the person she loved. But the sirens never stopped.
They were part of you. They were the melody of your life, and she was merely the background noise that you tuned out when the work grew loud.
She turned off the overhead light, leaving only the dim glow of the hallway lamp. She stripped off the silk dress, the fabric sloughing off her skin like a second layer of pretense, and pulled on an oversized cotton shirt. She didn't bother with a nightlight. She crawled into the bed on her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin.
The apartment felt enormous now, but
the darkness here was absolute and suffocating. It felt like a museum of a life that wasn't being lived.
She didn't sleep. She stared at the ceiling, watching the faint, rhythmic pulse of light from a passing emergency vehicle flicker across the plaster. She counted the seconds between the flashes.
She thought about the anniversary she had imagined: the wine, the laughter, the way you looked when you finally relaxed your shoulders. She realized that she hadn't been planning a date; she had been planning an intervention. And the guest of honor hadn't even bothered to show up for his own wake.
A quiet, jagged laugh escaped her throat. It was a brittle sound, lonely and sharp. She closed her eyes, letting her head lean back against the cushions. She wasn't angry anymore. Anger required fire, and she felt like she had been rinsed clean of all her heat. She was just... finished.
She thought about the suitcases in the hall closet. She thought about the lease, the joint bank account, the tangled mess of five years of you and her. How did you unspool a human being from your life when you were so tightly braided together before.
The front door lock clicked—a dull, metallic sound that vibrated through the floorboards.
Chaeyoung didn't move. She didn't stand up. She didn't rush to the hallway to greet you with a smile or a question. She just kept her eyes closed, listening to the familiar, weary rhythm of his footsteps. The drop of keys in the bowl. The sigh of a man shedding a day’s worth of other people’s pain.
The air in the room seemed to change as he moved through it, bringing with you the scent of antiseptic, cold air, and the exhausted hum of a life lived for others.
"Chaeyoung?"
His voice was a gravelly whisper, cautious. You stopped in the doorway, sensing the shifted atmosphere before he even saw her in the dim light.
Chaeyoung finally opened her eyes. She turned her head slowly, looking at you. You looked like a stranger—your tie loosened, your hair disheveled, your eyes bloodshot and rimmed with the exhaustion of a hundred hours of trauma. You looked like you were about to fall apart.
For a heartbeat, that familiar, traitorous empathy flared in her chest. She saw thode lines of stress around your mouth, the way you hovered on the threshold like you were afraid to enter your own home.
But then she remembered the cold risotto. She remembered the empty chair. She remembered the last five years of waiting in the dark.
"You're late," she said. Her voice was steady, void of the tremor she had been carrying all day.
You took a tentative step into the room, your eyes scanning the space, landing on the dark, clean dining table. You saw the absence of the meal, the absence of the celebration. You saw the vacancy in her expression.
"I know," you said, you voice cracking slightly. "I know. The patient in ICU—we lost him, Chae. It was… it was a disaster. I tried to call, but my phone—it died in the scrub room, and I couldn't get away, and—"
You reached for her, a gesture of instinctual comfort, but Chaeyoung pulled the blanket tighter around herself, physically retreating into the corner of the sofa. The movement was small, but to you, it was a barricade.
"Don't," she whispered.
"Chaeyoung, please. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry."
You stopped, your hand hanging in the air, trembling slightly. The silence between them stretched, pulling taut until it hummed. It was the sound of a cliff edge, and for the first time in their relationship, Chaeyoung didn't reach out to pull you back. She simply watched you stand there, a doctor who could save a life in a sterile, bright room, but who had no idea how to heal the one thing that was dying right in front of you.
She wasn't waiting anymore. She was just existing in the space you left behind. And in that stillness, for the first time in years, the crushing weight of her own needs, her own loneliness, rose up to meet her. She realized, with a terrifying, calm certainty, that she didn't want to be the woman who waited anymore.
She was tired of the silence. She was tired of the cold side of the bed. She was tired of being the only one who remembered the things that mattered.
The apartment groaned as the building settled, a sound like a ship straining against its moorings. Chaeyoung closed her eyes, but her mind remained sharp, a needle hovering over a record. The love was still there—a dull, aching throb in her chest—but it was no longer enough to anchor her. She had reached the edge of the world she’d built for them, and for the first time, she was looking down into the dark, and she wasn't afraid of the fall.
The silence of the apartment was no longer just the absence of sound; it was a physical weight, settling into the corners of the room like cooling ash. Chaeyoung sat on the edge of the mattress, the darkness of the bedroom pressing against her skin.
She held her phone in her lap, her thumb hovering over the screen, watching it go dark. She had checked it every three minutes for the last four hours. No texts. No missed calls. No cryptic "be there soon" updates. Just the cold, digital graveyard of their conversation history. A thread of reminders for groceries, requests for his shift schedule, and the lingering echoes of her own unanswered "Thinking of you" messages.
Her patience, a resource she had once thought inexhaustible, had finally hit the bottom of the well. It wasn't a sudden explosion; it was a slow, quiet drainage. The realization felt less like anger and more like clarity.
She stood up, her movements heavy, and walked to the window. She pulled the sheer curtain back just a fraction. Below, the city was alive—cars sliding through the wet streets, people hurrying toward their own destinations, toward lives that existed in tandem with someone else’s. She felt a profound sense of detachment, as if she were a ghost haunting the apartment they had built together.
She walked back to the bed and lay down, staring at the empty pillow beside her. She didn't fluff it. She didn't check the alarm clock. She simply sat, her back straight, her hands folded over her knees. The numbness began to set in, a defensive armor designed to keep the jagged edges of the last few years from cutting any deeper.
She realized then that she really wasn't waiting for him anymore. That was the pivot point. When she heard the low rumble of your car pulling into the driveway, it didn't stir a flutter of excitement in her chest. It didn't make her want to fix her hair or soften her expression. It was just an intrusion.
She turned away from the door, lying down on her side, facing the closet. She pulled the duvet up to her chin, the fabric feeling like a barrier between her and the world. When the front door finally clicked open—a sound that echoed through the hollow apartment like a gunshot—she didn't move. She didn't call out his name.
The heavy, rhythmic thud of your boots on the hardwood floors drew closer, dragging the scent of hospital-grade soap and stale coffee with them. The air in the room seemed to shift as you walked in. She could feel you standing in the doorway, his presence an interruption to the silence she had finally learned to own.
You didn't turn on the light. You hesitated, your breathing ragged and shallow, the way it always was when you came home from a double shift. You hovered there, a shadow in the doorway, perhaps sensing the shift in the air, perhaps realizing that the energy of the room had changed.
"Chaeyoung?"
Your voice was a rasp, stripped of its usual professional resonance. It was the voice of a man who had spent the last fourteen hours speaking to nurses and patients, a man who had left his empathy in the emergency bay.
She remained perfectly still. Her heartbeat didn't accelerate; it remained a steady, rhythmic thrum of resolve.
"I know you're awake," you said, stepping into the room. The floorboards creaked under your weight. "I'm sorry. The shift went over, then there was the intake, and then—"
"Don't," she whispered.
The word wasn't loud, but it cut through the air with a finality that seemed to freeze you in place. She kept her eyes fixed on the closet door, staring at the grain of the wood as if it held the answers to why she had stayed for so long.
"Don't start with the excuses, YN. I’ve heard them all. I’ve cataloged them. I’ve lived them."
You stopped at the foot of the bed. She could feel your gaze, heavy and confused, searching for the woman who usually rushed to meet you, the woman who usually dissolved the tension of your day with a warm meal and a softer touch. You were looking for the safety you took for granted, the harbor that was always supposed to be there.
"It's our anniversary," you said, your voice dropping into that tone of bruised confusion you used when you couldn't grasp why your world was failing.
"Was," she corrected. "It was our anniversary."
She shifted slightly, the movement sharp and deliberate. She wasn't angry anymore—the anger had burned itself out, leaving behind a cold, crystalline certainty. She was exhausted, not by the work of the day, but by the work of the relationship. It had become a full-time job she hadn't applied for: the job of being the one who stood still, the one who held the space, the one who remained in the bed, waiting for a ghost to manifest.
"Chaeyoung, please," you breathed, stepping closer, reaching out as if to touch her shoulder.
She pulled away, inching toward the very edge of the mattress. The physical distance between them felt like an ocean.
"I spent three years waiting for you to walk through that door, YN. I spent three years learning to exist in the margins of your life, between the pages of your medical journals and the rings of your pager. I thought if I was patient enough, if I was understanding enough, eventually, the scale would tip back to center."
She turned her head, finally looking at you. In the faint light, you looked like a stranger—pale, sunken-eyed, your scrubs rumpled and stained. You looked like exactly what you were: a man who gave everything you had to the world, and left absolutely nothing for the woman who loved you.
"I’m done," she said. The words were flat, devoid of theatrics. They were simply the truth. "I’m done being the person who waits. I’m done being the ghost in this apartment. You have your life, YN. You have your patients and your responsibilities and your exhaustion. Keep them. Because I’m not going to be the price of your success anymore."
The silence returned, but this time, it was brittle. You stood there, your hand still suspended in the air, your fingers trembling ever so slightly. The reality of her words began to settle over you, not as a misunderstanding you could correct, but as a permanent tectonic shift.
"You can't mean that," you whispered, your voice cracking. "We're us. You're my… you're the only thing that keeps me grounded."
"Then you’ve been drifting for a long time," she said. She turned back toward the closet, her face once again a mask of stone. "And I’m tired of trying to hold you down."
"I know the life you chose. I know the sacrifices you make for them. I’ve known it for five years. But tonight, I realized something. You never stop to think if you’re sacrificing me in the process."
You blinked, your expression shifting from defensive exhaustion to a jarring, genuine confusion. "Sacrificing you? Chaeyoung, I do this for us. So we have a future. So we can afford—"
"I don't want the life we can afford, YN! I want the life we’re supposed to be living!" She sits up, the movement abrupt. The darkness of the room feels smaller now, the space between them charged with the electricity of a dying connection. "I am always waiting. Always. I wait for you to come home, I wait for you to wake up, I wait for you to stop being a doctor for ten consecutive minutes. I’m not a person to you anymore. I’m a fixture. A piece of furniture you come home to when the shift is over, expecting me to be exactly where you left me, exactly as you left me."
"That's not fair," you started, but your voice broke. You are staring at her, really staring, and for the first time, you aren’t looking through her or past her to the next day’s schedule. You’re seeing the hollowness in her eyes, the way her hands are trembling in her lap.
"Is it?" she asks, her voice rising, losing its icy control. "Tell me one thing about my week, YN. Just one. Tell me what I did yesterday. Tell me if I was happy or if I was sad. You can’t, can you? Because you haven't looked at me. Not truly. You’ve been in that hospital, and I’ve been in this bed, and we haven't been in the same room for a very long time."
You opened your mouth to speak, but the words seem to fail you. You looked down at your hands—the hands that saved lives today, the hands that were too busy to send a text, too busy to care that he was breaking a promise. You began to see it: the birthdays marked by empty chairs, the missed calls, the quiet, hollow space in the apartment that you had conveniently ignored because he was too tired to acknowledge the truth.
"I didn't mean..." you stopped. The weight of your failures hits you, not as a professional critique, but as a personal bereavement. You realized, with a sudden, sickening clarity, that you haven't just been busy. You had been completely absent. You had been failing the one person who anchored you to the world outside the hospital walls.
You reached out again, but this time, you stopped inches away, your fingers curling into the sheets. The bravado, the arrogance of your professional life, crumbles. Your shoulders slump, and you let out a jagged, broken breath that sounds dangerously close to a sob.
"I’m losing you, am I?" he whispers, the realization tearing through him. "Oh God, I’m actually losing you."
You remember the first time you bought this place. You’d carried her over the threshold, laughing about the mortgage and the life you were going to build. You promised her then that this wouldn't be a house where she’d wait alone. You promised her that no matter how many lives you had to save, hers would always be the one that mattered most.
But as the door swung open tonight, the darkness that greeted you was heavy with the weight of all the times you’d been late, all the times you’d called from the nurse's station with a voice crackling with exhaustion to tell her to eat without you.
The air in the foyer was stagnant. It didn't smell like the lavender candles she used to light or the cinnamon she’d bake with on Sundays. It smelled like dust and disappointment. You stood there for a long time, the weight of your medical bag pulling at your shoulder, looking at the coat rack where her jacket hung—a solitary, discarded thing.
You had thought, for a fleeting moment on the drive home, that maybe she would be asleep. Maybe you could slide into bed, press your cold feet against hers, and deal with the fallout in the morning over coffee. But the silence in the house told you otherwise. It wasn't the silence of sleep; it was the silence of a house holding its breath. It was the silence of a woman who had finally stopped listening for the sound of your car in the driveway.
Every step you took toward the kitchen, then the bedroom, it has come to your clarity that it felt like an intrusion. You were a trespasser in your own life, a man who knew the layout of the rooms but had forgotten the soul of the person living within them. The turning of that key hadn't just opened the door; it had unlocked the box where she had been keeping all her resentment, and now, the room was flooding with it.
Chaeyoung looks at you, her heart aching with the familiar, terrible pull of your vulnerability. She wants to reach out, to hold you, to tell you it’s all right, but the armor she’s worn all night won't let her. She is standing on the edge of a cliff, and she is terrifyingly aware that one wrong step will send her tumbling into a life without you.
"You already lost me, YN," she says, her voice barely audible. "Tonight was just the moment I decided to admit it."
She turns away, lying back down, pulling the covers up to her chin. The finality of her movement hits you like a physical blow. You remained frozen on the edge of the bed, the silence of the room now heavy with the weight of everything they haven't said and everything you have destroyed. You looked at her back, a line of silent, stubborn refusal, and you felt the floor disappearing beneath you.
You didn’t move. You can't. The mask of the doctor has fallen, and for the first time in years, you are just a man, terrified and alone, watching the person who defines your world begin to fade into the dark.
"Go, YN. It isn’t working."
Her voice is low, but it cuts through the hum of the air conditioner like a scalpel. She finally looks at you, and her eyes aren't filled with the anger you expected. They are filled with something far more dangerous: resignation.
"Chaeyoung, please," you say, stepping closer to the bed. Your legs feel like lead. "I know I messed up tonight. I know it’s the anniversary. I had every intention of being here by six. I had the flowers in the car—"
"The flowers are probably dead by now," she says, a ghostly smile flickering on her lips. "Just like the ones from my birthday. And the ones from the night I got my promotion. You buy flowers like they’re a ransom to get yourself out of the guilt you feel for not being here."
"That’s not fair!," you snap, the fatigue making your temper fray at the edges. "I don't choose to have patients crash. I don't choose to spend sixteen hours on my feet until my back and hands feels like it's going to numb and snap. I do this for us. For our future."
Chaeyoung stands up then, the silk of her dress clinging to her as she moves toward you. She stops just inches away, and for the first time in months, you are forced to see her—really see her. There’s a smudge of mascara beneath her lower lash line. Her lips are pale. She looks like a woman who has been mourning a living person.
"For us?" she whispers, her voice shaking now. "Which 'us' are you talking about? The 'us' that hasn't had a real conversation in six months? The 'us' where I sleep on one side of a king-sized bed that feels like a desert? You keep saying you do this for our future, but you're killing our present to pay for a tomorrow I’m not sure I want to be a part of anymore."
She reaches out, not to touch you, but to gesture toward the door. "I’ve spent five years being the wife of a great surgeon. I’m done being the wife of an absent man. I can’t do it anymore. I’m hurting so much that I can’t even feel my own heart. I want you to leave. Not just the room. I want you to leave this relationship."
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow. You’ve seen patients receive terminal diagnoses—the way their faces go slack, the way the light leaves their eyes. You recognize that expression because you can feel it settling onto your own features.
"You don't mean that," you say, your voice cracking. "You're just hurt. We're both exhausted."
"No," she says, her voice gaining a terrifying clarity. "I've never been more awake. I've spent the last six hours sitting at that table, watching the candles burn down, and I realized that if I left right now, you wouldn't even notice for three days. That’s not a life, YN. That’s a haunting."
"I told you, it was an emergency. Do you think I wanted to be there? Do you think I enjoy missing our anniversary?" You shifted, your body turning toward her, your movements frantic now, a desperate attempt to bridge the distance. "I’m the one who’s been on my feet for fourteen hours. I’m the one who hasn't had a drop of water since noon. I’m exhausted, Chaeyoung. I’m just... I’m done. Can we please just sleep?"
You tried to shift closer, his knee digging into the mattress, his hand finally finding the fabric of her pajamas.
Chaeyoung reacted with a violence that startled even her. She shoved the duvet off, a sudden, fluid motion that pushed you away, and distanced herself. The movement was sharp, dismissive. She didn't look at you; she looked past you, at the dark space he had occupied for the better part of their five years.
"Sleep?" she echoed, a hollow laugh escaping her throat. "You think this is about one night, YN? You’re making it seem that I’m just here, fuming because of a dinner that went cold?"
"It was never about the dinner," she said, her voice dropping into a register so quiet it forced you to lean in, to hang on every syllable. "It was about the last three years. It was about the birthday you forgot while you were in surgery. It was about my mother’s hospital stay where you never visited once because you were ‘on call.’ It was about the way you walk through that door every single night and expect me to be your recovery room."
You opened your mouth, your jaw working as if you were trying to find the clinical explanation for this, the rational, medical reason for the breakdown of their life. But the words died in your throat. You looked at her, truly looked at her, and for the first time, he seemed to register the absence of the warmth you had always taken for granted.
"I’ve been waiting for you to come home, YN," she continued, her voice trembling now, the dam finally beginning to crack. "But you’re never really here. You’re always in the O.R. You’re always on a consult. You’re always with someone else, fixing someone else’s life while yours—ours—is bleeding out on the floor right behind you."
She stood up then, the sudden absence of her body weight making the bed seem to tilt. She stood tall, though her legs felt like lead.
"I’m done, YN. I’m not waiting for another call. I’m not waiting for another ‘sorry.’ I’m finished."
She walked toward the bedroom door, leaving you sitting there in the dark, the man who knew how to save hearts failing to see the one that had just stopped beating for you. You scrambled off the bed, your movements uncoordinated and frantic, but you stopped when you saw her hand on the doorframe, her knuckles white, her body trembling with a resolve that felt more permanent than death.
"Chaeyoung, stop," you choked out, his professional mask finally splintering, leaving nothing behind but the raw, terrifying face of a man who suddenly realized you were going to be alone in the room. "Don’t walk out. Please. Don’t walk out."
You reached out, your hand hovering in the stagnant air between them, your fingers twitching with an instinct you no longer had the right to act upon. Chaeyoung didn’t flinch, but the way she pulled her shoulder blades back—a defensive armor she’d been forging for years—was enough to make you retract your hand as if burned.
“Get your hands off me!," she yelled. The word wasn't a shout; it was a blade, thin and surgical.
"Chae, please," you stammered. The clinical precision you used to diagnose patients had abandoned you, leaving only a stuttering, desperate mess of a man in scrubs that smelled of stale coffee and harsh, chemical cleaners. "It was an emergency. A trauma case. The kind of thing I—"
"The kind of thing you can't walk away from. I get it, YN. It always has been like that." she finished for him, her voice eerily steady. She turned fully toward him now, the shadows of the room carving deep, hollow lines into her face.
"I know the script, YN. I’ve heard the monologue for years. The trauma ward, the surgery that ran late, the mentor who wouldn't let you leave. It’s a beautiful story about a hero saving lives. It really is, but it’s getting too repetitive now."
She stepped away from the doorframe, moving toward the dresser, her movements deliberate and terrifyingly graceful. She didn't look at you, but her presence filled the room, heavy with the weight of everything she had swallowed to keep you comfortable.
She walked to the window, staring out at the blurred city lights, the neon glow casting a sickly blue tint over her features. "I spent the afternoon picking out the wine you like. I spent two hours trying to get the roast just right. And for what? So I could sit in the dark, watching the clock tick, feeling my heart harden into something I don’t even recognize anymore?"
"I'm here now," you said, your voice cracking. You felt a sudden, violent vertigo, as if the foundation of his world—the structure he’d leaned on while he climbed his professional ladder—was tilting. "I’m here now, and I’m ready to be present. But c-could you just... just give me a moment to breathe. I haven't sat down in hours."
"That is exactly the problem," Chaeyoung snapped, turning to face him, her hands trembling at her sides. "You’re always just coming from somewhere else. You’re always exhausted, always carrying the weight of the hospital on your shoulders, and you’ve left no room for me to exist in this space with you. I am not a patient, YN. I am not an intern waiting for your feedback or a nurse waiting for your orders. I am the woman who loved you when you were nothing but a student eating ramen alone and depressed on the famous Japanese resto of this neighborhood. And I am the woman you have slowly, systematically erased."
You felt the phantom sting of memories rushing back, unbidden and cruel. The way she’d then stood at the door, smiling, trying to be the supportive partner while you barely remembered to ask how her day had been. You’d seen her sadness as a temporary inconvenience, something that would resolve itself once his career stabilized.
But looking at her now—at the cold, detached set of her jaw—you realized you’d been treating their love like a reservoir you could draw from endlessly without ever refilling.
"I didn't realize," you whispered, the admission tasting like ash. "I thought... I thought you understood. I thought we were a team in this."
"A team?" Chaeyoung moved closer, invading his space, her eyes searching yours for a spark of the man you used to be. "A team supports each other. A team shows up. You haven't shown up frequently, on time… in years! You’ve been a visitor in your own life, and I’ve been the curator of your neglect."
She gestured toward the door, her resolve hardening again. "I’m tired of being an anchor that just drags you down because you’re too busy swimming away. I’m done, YN. Not because I don't love you—God, I wish it were that simple—but because I can't keep disappearing while you’re out there saving everyone else."
You reached out, grabbing her wrist—not with force, but with a desperate, frantic need for contact. When she didn't pull away, you took a half-step closer, his forehead dropping to rest against her shoulder, your breath hitching in a sob you hadn't known was coming.
"Don't go," you rasped, his voice muffled against her skin. "Please. If you walk out that door and leave this bedroom, everything I’ve been working for... it just becomes empty. It’s all noise. It’s all just... cold rooms and paperwork. You’re the only thing that makes any of this worth it. I know I’ve been a shell. I know I’ve been a disaster. But if you leave, I have nothing."
Chaeyoung went rigid. The vulnerability in your voice was a physical blow, worse than your excuses, worse than your silence. It was the naked truth of your brokenness, and for a moment, the room seemed to shrink, the silence pressing in, demanding she decide whether to let you crumble or to reach down and help him up one last time.
She stood there, trapped between the agony of her own resentment through her soft spot on you and the crushing realization that you were quite literally, pleading for your life. She looked down at you—at the man who had been her everything, now bowing beneath the weight of his own hubris—and felt the first, hot prick of tears finally escape.
"You don't get to have me," she whispered, her voice thick with pain, "and have the version of the life you want, YN. It’s not that easy to just be grabbed. You have to choose first."
"I choose you, and always you." You choked out, your grip on her wrist tightening, your hands shaking violently against her skin. "I choose you. I’ll quit the committee. I’ll take a leave. I’ll do anything. Take it, take it all I have. I’ll give it all away just to have you back. Just... look at me. Don't look past me anymore, Chae. Please, look at me."
Chaeyoung let out a shaky breath, her gaze fixing on the wall behind you as she fought the overwhelming urge to pull you close and bury the last five years in an embrace. The room felt suspended in time, the air heavy with the debris of their shared history. She wasn't convinced.
She wasn't even sure if you could finally change. But as you stood there, stripped of every ounce of your professional dignity, she saw the terrifying truth: you were as lost as she was, and neither of them knew how to survive the night.
She tries to flinch as if your touch were fire. The rejection is visceral. For years, your touch was her anchor—the thing that could pull her back from a bad day or a moment of doubt. Now, you are the source of the storm.
“Stop…," she says, stepping back until she’s pressed against the dresser. The jewelry boxes on top rattle with the movement. "Don't try to cling on me and make it okay. That’s your move, isn't it? You come home late, you see I’m upset, and you think a hug or a kiss is going to reset the clock. You think intimacy is a cure for neglect."
"I don't think that," you say, though a part of you knows she’s right. It’s been your shorthand for an apology—the physical closeness to bridge the emotional distance you’ve allowed to grow.
She wraps her hands around as she endures, a defensive posture that makes her look small and fragile. "You use your body to hide the fact that your soul isn't here. When we’re in this bed, you’re present for an hour, and then you’re gone. You’re back at the hospital, thinking about the next surgery, the next patient, the next accolade. I’m just the place where you crash when you can’t run anymore."
The coldness in her eyes is like a frost creeping over a windowpane. You try to step toward her again, to explain the pressure, the sheer volume of lives resting on your shoulders, but she just shakes her head.
"I used to wait for you with the porch light on," she whispers. "I used to get excited when I heard your car. Now, the sound of that car just makes my stomach knot because I know the person who’s walking through the door isn't the man I fell in love with. He’s just a ghost wearing his face."
She turns away from you, staring into the mirror, but she isn't looking at herself. She’s looking at the ghost behind her, clutching at her like she’s his life support.
You laid your head on her shoulder, ignoring the ache in your muscles, the lingering smell of the ICU that usually made him feel important, everything. The exhaustion.
You are there not just to touch her, but to try to bridge the chasm that had opened between them. You can indeed feel the weight of every missed birthday, every skipped dinner, every time she’d reach for your hand in the dark and found it empty. The flashes came thick and fast now—the look on her face when you’d missed their anniversary two years ago, the way she’d sat on the edge of the bed when you’d had to cancel their weekend away, the quiet, resigned way she’d learned to stop asking.
You had convinced himself you were doing this for the two of you. You suddenly realized you had only been doing it for his own ego, your own pursuit of status, convinced that she would always be the anchor, always be the one waiting, always be the one who stayed.
"I’m leaving in the morning," she said, focused at the moon illuminating the glass of the window.. "I just... I needed you to know why. Not because I stopped loving you. That’s the tragedy, isn't it? I still do. But I’ve realized that loving you is costing me my own life."
You started to sob hard, the terrifying finality of her posture hitting you harder than any medical crisis he’d ever faced. The professional 'Dr. LN' was gone. There was only a man who had suddenly, violently, realized your house was on fire, and you were the one who had dropped the match.
The silence that follows is filled with the ghosts of every promise you’ve broken. It’s not just tonight. Tonight was simply the final stone that caused the mountain to slide.
You remember last Christmas. She had planned a trip to a cabin in the mountains, a week of no cell service and only the sound of the wind in the pines. You were halfway there, the car packed with blankets and cocoa, when the call came. A mass casualty event. A bus crash. You’d looked at her, and before you could even say the words, she’d seen it in your eyes. She’d turned the car around without a word, dropping you at the ER entrance and driving home alone to spend the holidays with a pre-cooked turkey and the glow of the television.
Then there was the gallery opening. Her first solo show. She had worked for a year on those paintings, pouring every ounce of her frustration and love into the canvas. You’d promised to be there for the ribbon cutting. You’d even bought a new suit. But a "quick" consultation turned into an emergency bypass, and by the time you arrived, the gallery lights were dimmed and she was sitting on the floor with a bottle of cheap champagne, surrounded by the art you hadn't even bothered to look at yet.
"I remember the look on your face when you finally showed up," Chaeyoung says, her voice breaking the silence, as if she’s reading your mind. "You looked so tired that I couldn't even be mad. That’s the trap you set for me. You work so hard that you make it impossible for me to demand anything from you without feeling selfish."
She counts them off on her fingers, her voice trembling. "The weddings we missed. The funerals I went to alone. The dinners that went cold. The nights I spent crying in the shower so you wouldn't hear me when you finally crawled into bed at 3:00 AM. I’ve spent five years apologizing to everyone else for your absence, but who’s going to apologize to me?"
Each memory is a sharp, jagged piece of glass. You realize now that you haven't been building a career; you’ve been building a wall, brick by brick, missed moment by missed moment. And now, the wall is so high that you can barely see her over the top of it.
"I didn't mean for it to be like this," you say, but the words sound hollow even to you.
"No one ever does," she replies. "But this is what it is."
"I didn't want the world, YN. I wanted you. Just you. Not the doctor. Not the hero of the trauma unit. Just the man who used to make coffee on Sunday mornings before the pager ruined our lives."
You looked at your hands. They were steady hands—hands that had stitched arteries and stabilized hearts. But right now, they felt like clumsy, blood-stained instruments of destruction. You had viewed your life as a ledger where you were always in the black, accumulating success to pay for a future with her. You hadn't realized that the currency you were spending was their present.
The room began to spin. You felt a sudden, suffocating panic, the kind he usually reserved for patients flatlining on the table. But there was no protocol here. There was no crash cart to bring their intimacy back to life.
You thought of your mentor, Jiwon, and her cold, pragmatic advice: ‘Commitment to the craft requires sacrifice, YN. You cannot be a great physician and a soft man simultaneously.’ For years, you had accepted that as gospel. You had worn your exhaustion like a badge of honor, ignoring the woman who was slowly dissolving beside you.
You looked at Chaeyoung, really looked at her, and saw the depth of the crater you had carved into her life. The realization hit you with the force of a physical blow. You weren't the victim of a demanding career; you were the primary architect of your own ruin. You had been so obsessed with being a savior in the halls of the hospital that you had become a spectator to the slow death of your own heart.
"You're right," you whispered, the admission tearing through him. "You're right about all of it. I’ve been living in a dream where my absence was a noble sacrifice. But it wasn't. It was just... it was just me being a coward. I was afraid that if I stopped, if I slowed down, I’d have to look at myself and realize I was terrified of being ordinary again. So I chose the hospital. I chose the noise. And I left you to starve in the silence."
You finally let your hand land on the mattress, not grabbing for her, but resting there, open and vulnerable. You felt small. For the first time in your life, you didn't want to be the man in charge. You wanted to be the man she needed.
"I don't expect you to believe me," you continued, your voice thick with tears you hadn't realized were falling. "I don't expect you to trust the words of a man who has spent years lying to you, even if I was lying to myself first. But I am empty, Chae. I have nothing left to give that hospital with how much responsibilities there are giving me a burden. They’ve taken everything. And if I lose you, I have nothing left at all."
You leaned forward, your forehead coming to rest against her nape. You didn't demand her affection. You didn't ask for a promise. You just waited, trembling, in the dark, bracing yourself for the possibility that the silence would continue—or worse, that she would finally stand up and walk out of the room, leaving you to the ghost of the life you had so carelessly discarded.
The stiffness of her body against yours felt like the only solid thing in a world that had suddenly gone cold. You breathed in the scent of her hair, trying to memorize it, terrified that it might be the last time he’d ever have the chance. The transition from the man he had been—the iron-willed, indispensable doctor—to the broken, pleading man on the bed was complete. The armor was off. And in the freezing air of their bedroom, he felt the true, agonizing chill of reality.
Chaeyoung finally let out a long, shuddering breath. It wasn't a sob, just the sound of a lung finally being allowed to expand after being held under water. She shifted, turning slightly toward him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, glassy in the moonlight, reflecting a mixture of exhaustion and a deep, terrifying residual love.
"You don't get to burn it all down, YN," she said softly. "You worked too hard to become this person. But you do have to decide if that person has any room for me. Because I am tired of living in the margins of your schedule. I am tired of existing in the 'if I have time' gaps between your rounds."
"There are no gaps," you promised, your voice thick with a desperate, sudden intensity. "There is only this. Whatever time I have left, whatever piece of me is still salvageable… it’s yours. It has to be yours. Because if I lose this—if I lose you—then everything I’ve done, every sacrifice, every moment I chose the hospital over our bed… our home, it was all for nothing. I’ll just be a man in a white coat with a hollow chest."
You reached out, cupping her face, your thumb tracing the damp trail of a tear on her cheek. She didn't pull away, though her expression remained guarded, a fortress still under siege.
"I'm not a patient person anymore, YN," she whispered a warning. "The patient person died somewhere between the cold dinner date and the sound of your key in the door tonight."
"Then be the angry person," you pleaded, your forehead pressing against hers. "Be the person who holds me accountable. Be the person who drags me back from the hospital when I try to disappear into it. Just… don’t be the person who is silent. Don't be the person who is already gone."
Her gaze searched yours, looking for the lie, looking for the doctor who was already thinking about your morning charts. She found only a terrifying, raw vacancy, a man stripped of his armor, staring at the ruin he had made of their home.
"I don't know if I can do this," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I don't know if I can wake up tomorrow and pretend that the last five years were just a mistake."
"Don't pretend," you whispered, closing the distance between their lips, not with the hunger of a lover, but with the desperation of a man drowning. "Just stay. Just stay in this bed, for one more hour. Let me show you how to be someone else. Let me show how to be the man you deserve, instead of the doctor you've been stuck with."
She didn't kiss you back immediately, but she didn't push you away. She let out another breath, a broken, shaky thing, and slowly, agonizingly, she closed her eyes, leaning into the warmth of your chest. It wasn't a resolution. It wasn't a promise of a happy ending. It was a surrender to the uncertainty, a thin, fraying thread of connection that both of them were terrified to snap.
You held her, heart hammering against your ribs. Chaeyoung felt the wall she had built—the one made of stone and quiet resentment— is cracking with every beat from you.
It wasn't the promises that reached her; she had heard those before, wrapped in excuses. It was the nakedness of your fear. For the first time in years, you weren't looking through her, analyzing her needs or prioritizing her feelings as a task to be checked off. You were simply existing with her in the wreckage.
Her hand moved of its own accord, coming up to rest over yours. Your pulse was thrumming against her palm, erratic and fast. The room felt suddenly like a pressure cooker, the silence ringing with everything that remained unsaid.
You leaned in, your forehead resting against hers, their breathing synchronization shifting, hitching in unison. It was a surrender. The surgical mask you’d worn for years had been torn away, leaving only the soft, bruised skin of a man who realized you had been starving himself while holding a feast.
Chaeyoung closed her eyes, the bitterness in her throat struggling against the sudden, overwhelming swell of tenderness. It was a violent internal collision—the memory of every missed anniversary, every cold dinner, every lonely night, warring against the warmth of his skin and the genuine, unvarnished terror in his eyes.
She felt your tears now, dampening her temple. You were shaking, a deep, shuddering tremor that moved through you into her. It was the most honest you had been since the day they met, and it was that honesty that terrified her more than your absence ever had. Because if you could be this real, this vulnerable, then she couldn't dismiss you as a monster or a machine.
She had to acknowledge that you were just a human, just as flawed and frightened as she was.
"I’m so tired," she breathed, her voice breaking on the final word.
"I know, me too." he whispered back, his grip tightening as if to keep her from drifting away into the shadows of the room. "Let’s just sleep for now. Just... stay here. Don't look at the clock. Don't look at your phone. Just be here, with me, in this bed. That’s all I’m asking. One more night. One more chance."
You were desperate, a man clinging to the edge of a cliff, and she was the only hand left to hold. Chaeyoung let out a long, shuddering sigh, her body finally sagging into yours. She didn't say yes—she couldn't force the word out, not when the hurt was still so fresh—but she didn't pull away.
She turned into you, her face finding the crook of your neck, the familiar scent of you flooding her senses. It was a compromise, a bridge built over a chasm she wasn't sure could be crossed. As she continues to feel your arms wrap firmly around her, pulling her close as if she were the oxygen you needed to survive, she allowed herself one moment of reprieve.
The battle was far from over. The morning would come, and with it, the cold light of reality, the demands of the hospital, and the jagged pieces of their broken trust. But for this second, in the suffocating, silent dark, she simply breathed. She gave herself permission to stop fighting, to stop guarding the door, and to simply exist in the wreckage, wondering if they were actually capable of building something new from the ash.
She lay there, held by the man who had nearly lost her, she realized that walking away would have been an ending. This—this messy, painful, uncertain reconciliation—was at least a chance to breathe.
She gripped your shirt, her knuckles white, her body finally softening into his. It was a surrender to the depth of her own heart, a choice to stay on the precipice and see if they could truly survive the fall.
"Don't make me lonely again, especially… lie." she breathed, her voice a fragile anchor in the dark. "Don't promise me everything. Just promise me you'll show up. Even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard."
You tightened your hold, a desperate, silent vow etched into the way you held her, as if you were trying to weld their bodies together to stop the world from pulling them apart. "I’m here," you whispered, a promise that sounded more like a prayer. "I’m right here. And I’m not going anywhere."
She was still here, caught in the wreckage of a five-year love, holding on to the one thing she hadn't been able to leave behind. She was terrified of the morning, terrified of the sirens, terrified of the next time the pager might call him away. But for this one moment, as your chest rose and fell against hers, she stayed. She stayed, and she waited for a future that was no longer guaranteed.
The decision isn't a grand gesture or a dramatic declaration. It’s found in the way she finally lets go of her head resting on your shoulder to give you a short passionate kiss on the lips. It’s found in the way she stops pulling away and starts leaning in.
"One more chance," she says, her voice low and steady. "But that’s it, YN. I don't have another 'one more chance' in me. If you walk out that door tomorrow and you don't come back when you say you will, I won't be here when you get home. I can't keep doing this to myself."
The weight of her words is a promise you know you have to keep. This isn't just about tonight; it’s about every tomorrow from here on out. It’s about the hard work of rebuilding trust, brick by brick, moment by moment. It’s about learning to say no to the hospital so you can say yes to the woman in your arms.
"I hear you," you say, kissing her back then at the top of her head. "I promise, Chaeyoung. I’m going to make this right. I’m going to be the husband you deserve."
She nods against you, a small, weary movement. "I want to believe you. I really do."
"I'll give you a reason to," you vow.
The anger that had filled the room earlier has been replaced by a quiet, bittersweet exhaustion. The hurt is still there—you can feel it in the way she still tenses occasionally, in the way she won't quite meet your eyes for more than a second—but the decision to stay has been made. For tonight, the breakup has been averted. For tonight, you are still 'us.'
You lie there in the dark, holding her until her breathing slows and her body goes limp with sleep. You don't close your eyes. You spend the rest of the night watching the shadows move across the ceiling, thinking about the work ahead. You realize that saving a life is easy compared to saving a relationship, but as you feel her warmth against you, you know it’s the only surgery that matters now.
The silence in the room wasn't empty; it was dense, suffocating, and textured with the debris of the last hour. Your chest rose and fell in a jagged rhythm against her back. Your arm, heavy and leaden, was draped over her waist, your fingers curled loosely against her ribs as if you were afraid that if you tightened your grip, she would shatter, and if you let go, she would vanish.
When the first light of dawn begins to filter through the curtains, it doesn't bring the usual sense of dread that comes with another long day at the hospital. Instead, it brings a quiet clarity. The room is no longer bathed in the blue of the lamp, but in the soft, pale gold of a new morning.
Chaeyoung is still asleep, her face peaceful in a way you haven't seen in years. The lines of tension around her mouth have softened, and she looks younger, more like the girl you fell in love with all those years ago. You watch her for a long time, the silence of the morning a gift you haven't allowed yourself to enjoy in a long time.
Your phone vibrates on the nightstand. It’s a text from the hospital—a surgical consult for an elective procedure. In the past, you would have been out of bed and dressed before you even finished reading the message.
This time, you don't even pick up the phone. You reach over and turn it off, the screen going black and silent. It starts today. The world can wait. The hospital can survive without you for a day.
You slide back under the covers, pulling Chaeyoung closer to you. She stirs, her eyes fluttering open as the light hits them. She looks at you, confused for a moment, and then her memory of the night before returns. She sees the phone on the nightstand, dark and silent.
"You're still here," she whispers in amazement, her voice thick with sleep.
"I’m not going anywhere today," you say, and you mean it more than you’ve ever meant anything in your life. "I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be now.
She reaches out, her hand finding your face, her thumb brushing against your cheek before crunched her nose and let out that soft giggle, the sight that you always loved seeing from her whenever she feels… light.
"God, I don't know how to stop loving you," she said, the honesty of it carving a hollow space in her chest. "That’s the most frustrating part. I’m furious at you. I’m hurt. I feel like I’ve been starving for five years, YN. And yet, when you look at me like that, I still want to reach out."
You nodded slowly with a grin, your gaze remains to the beauty in your arms. "You have the time in your hands now, Chae. You can do that everyday and I won’t do anything no more that would make you stop.
Hence, that’s why I’m considering stepping down from my position.."
Chaeyoung blinked, the breath catching in her throat. "You do?
"Yeah, I’ll tell them I’m done with the extra administrative load. It’s a step back, maybe. It’ll make people look at me differently. I can’t be the man they want me to be and be the man you need me to be at the same time.
“I meant it when I say I will always choose you. Even if I’m always late, I come home not because I want to simply rest, I needed my wife. I know that sounds like a line, but I mean it, although I was wrong of the way how I do it.
But now, I’ll take the hit. I’ll take the smaller workload. Whatever it takes to be home by seven, or to actually answer when you call, not six hours later."
You finally reached out, your hand hovering over hers. You didn’t force the contact; you waited. Chaeyoung looked at your hand—the same hand that had held scalpels and saved lives, the same hand that had missed her birthdays and ignored her texts. She felt the tremor in your fingers. You were terrified.
Slowly, she slid her hand into you. Your skin was cool, clammy from the residual stress of his shift, but your grip was iron-clad, desperate.
"Don't do it because you're scared of losing me," she whispered, her eyes searching yours. "Do it because you want to be a person again. If you burn out for me, I’ll end up resenting you for the sacrifice, and we’ll be right back here in six months."
You squeezed her hand, a small, sad smile touching his lips. "I’m not burning out for you this time, Chae. I’m waking up for you. There’s a difference."
The room was getting brighter. The shadows were retreating, revealing the reality of their surroundings—the stack of books on the nightstand, the discarded clothes, the intimate mess of a life shared but neglected. It looked different in the dawn light. It looked salvageable, but only if they were willing to work through the rubble.
Chaeyoung moved closer. The physical distance she had maintained for the last few hours was finally bridged. She pressed her forehead against his shoulder, smelling the faint, sharp scent of his soap—a scent she had once associated with comfort, then with abandonment, and now, with a strange, new beginning.
You didn't pull her into a tight, desperate embrace. Instead, you wrapped your arms around her loosely, a gentle, protective perimeter, a simple note that you’re still here. You rested your chin on the top of her head, your heart beating a steady, rhythmic pulse against her ear.
"I’m going to be a better partner," you murmured into her hair. "Not tomorrow. Not 'once things settle down.' Right now. I’m right here."
Chaeyoung closed her eyes, the first true sigh of the night escaping her. She felt the crushing weight of the previous months begin to settle into something she could carry. She wasn't convinced that the damage was fully undone—she knew, with a painful clarity, that there would be days where an anger would flare again. But for this moment, in the quiet, fragile suspension of the morning, she chose to believe him.
"We have to rebuild," she said, her voice muffled against your shirt. "From the ground up. This isn't just about you doing more. It’s about us actually being a team again."
"Whatever the labor is," You replied, your voice firm, "I’m ready for it. I’m not going anywhere, Chae. Not from this bed, not from this house, not from you."
Chaeyoung lifted her head, looking at you. You looked wrecked, aged by the night's confrontation, but there was a clarity in your gaze she hadn't seen in years. You were present. You were finally, fully, there.
She reached up, her thumb brushing away a stray tear that had tracked through the stubble on your cheek. She didn't know if they would make it through the year. She didn't know if the trust would ever be as solid as it once was. But as she leaned back into him, she felt the anchor of his arm pulling her down, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt safe enough to let go of the vigil.
They lay there in the quiet, the darkness giving way to a gray, uncertain dawn. They didn't speak again for a long time, the weight of the conversation settling between them, a foundation built on confession and the terrifying, beautiful vulnerability of starting over.
There was no grand resolution, no cinematic fade-to-black where the past was magically erased. There was only the bed, the early morning light, and the slow, rhythmic sound of two people breathing in sync, learning how to exist in the same space once again.
The kitchen is still a graveyard of last night’s dinner, but it doesn't feel as desolate as it did when you first walked in. As you and Chaeyoung move through the space together, cleaning up the cold food and the melted wax, there’s a sense of shared purpose that has been missing for a long time.
It’s not perfect. There’s still a distance between you, a caution in your movements as you navigate the space. The hurt hasn't disappeared overnight; it’s still there, a dull ache beneath the surface of your interactions. But the silence is different now. It’s not the silence of neglect; it’s the silence of two people who are learning how to talk to each other again.
"What do you want to do today?" you ask, as you dry the last of the wine glasses.
Chaeyoung looks at you, her expression thoughtful. "I want to go for a walk," she says. "Just a walk. No phones, no talk about work. Just... us."
"I’d like that," you say, and you realize you actually would.
As you leave the house together, the morning air is crisp and clear. You take her hand, and this time, she doesn't flinch. She doesn't pull away. She interlaces her fingers with yours, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re actually moving forward instead of just running in place.
The relationship is fragile, a delicate thing that could still break if you aren't careful. You know there will still be some long nights at the hospital, more emergencies, more times when you’ll be tempted to put your work before her. But as you look at Chaeyoung, her profile silhouetted against the morning sun, you know you’re finally ready to manage it all for her.
You’ve spent your life saving strangers. Now, you’re finally going to save the one person who matters most: her.
She’s a priority that you've turned a blind eye from overworking yourself too much. Your lifeline was her. You need her as much as she does.
You aren't just going to stay in the bed often; you’re staying in the relationship you’ve built together.
And with all certainty, you’ll never gonna leave this life with her.
And fool me three times, and you’ll end up with a bad stomach from food poisoning by looking at your wife.
–
This would be very apparent from the dinner leaving a horrible taste in your mouth. Even with the five-course meal curated by the most fine dry-aged meats, the savory dishes spliced in immaculate presentation, and the fine refreshments of dessert after, you can’t help but feeling-
Sick.
The dinner had been pure, psychological torture from the moment you walked in. In kindness, you’ve excused yourself with a fist in your pocket, reaching for a pack of smokes as a way of coping (or in this case: relapsing). It’s safe to deduce that you’d be better off away from the crowd of people inside and finding solitude outside on the balcony at the long end of a corridor.
While the quick bliss of smoke, corroding your lungs with every puff and pass, it oddly clears your mind while staring out into the distance. It all hits you in quick flickers - flashbacks blinding you in a mixture of regret and wanting of reconciliation: the image of a woman with her hair swept so beautifully, wearing a dress with thin straps that look like they could fall off her shoulders so easily, standing in front of you with your hands wrapped around her hip ever-so slightly.
One cigarette goes, and another comes. You can’t stop your twitching hands. She definitely saw it, even from a distance. Staring at the ground a few floors up and the gentle breeze soothing your mind as the two women glanced at you from across the table - how one of them quickly put it altogether.
Despite how cushy the job was, it was literal hell trying to keep your sanity in check with all these women twisting your mind into a man fucked-
“I take one good look at you and think you’ll just throw yourself off the building,” a voice grabs one ear from behind, seeing the very woman who might as well point the gun at you and fire at your head, her face just as gloriously cold like the night, bare shoulders and thighs exposed beneath the slit of her dress.
For one, you’re leering - though not too much - since it’s best not to ogle and give into the urge to consume her entire look, ‘cause the girl’s close but still so far out of reach. Ripping into your stare before your eyes dart elsewhere. “Why are you here, Dahyun?”
“You look out of it, so I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
Surprisingly, it’s dangerously appreciative of the concern, but you know well her silent anger is enough to kill a world leader if the cards aren’t played right. “Cut the bullshit, babe. I know.”
She blinks, pulls her lips flat. “Okay. Then-”
For the record: you’re an idiot. A complete fucking imbecile at that. Yet it’s in just the general nature for a man like you to give into desires that you shouldn’t be bothered by in the first place-
“How long, hm?”
-to be at an end recuperating such a sinful act. And you’re about to experience Dahyun reaping the absolute benefits of it.
“You have to understand,” you plead. “It wasn’t my fault-”
“Save it,” she says, her tone remaining calm; pitying your sorrows (in mourning for breaking the vow you swore at the altar). Reaching, Dahyun steps forward; not in anger, you think. But rather, willing to get the whole story before she comes to her own verdict of the situation. “First Momo, now Sana’s trying to get a piece of you for herself again. I always knew.”
God, she’s your own grim reaper looking deathly beautiful beneath the shining moon, her dress hugging the curves delicately that you can’t help but surf along them with your eyes. You’ve got this smoky look in your eyes which she notices - and she knows what they could mean, because she can’t break her gaze away.
“What exactly are you defending here, dub?” You mumble, a hurtful plea, just the thought of Dahyun (and Sana) is making you lose your mind more than just being disappointed with yourself, a part of you that wishes to take everything back and fill that craving of her that’s all-consuming.
Dahyun’s got no words to suffice, because it’ll just be a revolving door of the same issues over and over again. She can’t help herself, in the way you look at her and how she reciprocates it, like you’re back to wanting her after being pulled away from other beautiful women that are just as equally whipped for her. They can get you all they want, but Dahyun’s yours at the end of the day, drinking in your eyes; kissing you because she’s yours.
Against red wine and tobacco and you told Dahyun that you’d quit being a chainsmoker, but your tongue slips into hers and she’s falling in love with the very same mouth that did so from the beginning. Your hands grasp around her waist desperately, feigning less care that you’d rip the dress right off of her body; a drastic engulfing as if you’d never want to let her go. Dahyun’s feet then get her pinned against the wall, shrouded away from the world where you’d let your deepest sins rise from the darkness - kiss her until she begs to breathe once more, hushed through slack lips: “Everyone here drives me crazy, including you.”
It was never meant to be this sort of cruel reminder or notion of how things are; no, not even in the slightest. In the end, she’s the one who’s got the ring on her finger and you’re hung up on whether yours should be taken off or not. “I was angry with you once, but not anymore” she whispers, lips stuck in this heated inferno when you descend down the lower parts of her neck.
Kissing her pulse, the tip of your nose brushes her cheek. “We both know that’s a lie and you know it,” you say, “You know it; I know it. Why don’t you confront Sana and see what she says about this.” Since this has been a revolving door of many occurrences and girls falling in and out of your arms; though the one who has always stayed is keeping you right where you are. “What could she say, hm?” You propose, blindly angered.
“What could she say? As if she wasn’t the one to find out about you and Momo in the first place-”
“And you remember when she called me that night,” you grin, “Yeah you scare me sometimes, but I don’t fear you. Not when you’re like this.” A shrug is what you give when your hands claim her wrists, raising them higher above her head. “Everyone wants a piece of me just as much as they want a piece of you.”
Dahyun’s gaze freezes, watching as you make way a familiar path of placing an ear to her breasts. “I get that, but-”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“Even if I were to say something, what difference would it make with the others? When Momo got you-”
“The first time was already rough as it is,” you grumble, “It’s not like I’m being shunned, am I? Besides; they don’t have me. You do.” Your eyes shimmer in hers. “So what if I’m being passed around like a boytoy-”
Dahyun’s shoulders loosen from your gripped wrists. “Maybe this was a mistake,” she sighs. “I shouldn’t have checked on you.” In lieu of saying: you’re fucking inssufferable is what you are - she blinks right through your face.
So: to hell with it. Fuck everything and everyone is the best presumption.
She tries to leave, but you don’t let her, keep her confined to the corner. “What do you think you’re gonna do? Who are you gonna go to? Sana? What would she say?” You ask, eyes narrowed.
“No. But I might if you don’t let-”
“Let go? Wow. I thought you’d stay and watch me wallow in my emotions.” Dahyun scoffs at this, since there've been many ‘disagreements’ before. Even when Jihyo made way to you that other time at an event like this, Dahyun was pissed. Your hands find solace at her hips, rustling fabric to skin. “I’d never let you off that easy.”
You hear her breath shorten as she tries to wriggle out of your touch; drinking in the dark, salacious intent your eyes pool out. “Babe- wait. We can’t, no. Not like this,” she says suddenly, because she knows what’s about to happen - even more humbling and pathetic to her own mind - much less of a plea or surrender in your name. Trying to break free from your hands but you raise hers high; higher actually.
“Didn’t you want to see how I was holding up?” You murmur, breath warm and lavicious. “For the record: I wasn’t doing okay until you came around.” There’s truth to this statement, overshadowed by the sneer in your tone. Your fingers slip in the opening of her dress, at her waist while the other cups her ass. “I could tell it was bothering you the way you slammed your glass on the table.”
“Sana and Tzuyu-” and her groan is the first real break in her act. “Ugh. Those two don’t know when to back the fuck off,” she admits, shaking her head. Turns out she was subjecting herself to her own psychological warfare of the other girls ogling at you from a distance.
You don’t buy her alibi at first, studying her figure as your hand traverses down between her legs: “I did say that you’re even hotter when you’re mad, but you being soaked is another,” you huff, “Look at you, Hyun. You’re dripping.” Normally, you’d take pleasure in finding this out, but it’s overshadowed. “Don’t tell me you’ve thought about Sana on me, too.”
“Do you really think that lowly of me?” She asks, doing all she can to not notice the press of your thumb on her little clit through the fabric. The assumption alone could be enough to not be on speaking terms, yet it’s very invigorating how frustrated the both of you are. Her head dips - an admission, “It would’ve been so hot, though.”
“Oh?” You say, settling between her legs, rumpling waves of fabric that were a measly barrier between the growing tent right at the seat of your pants, waiting to meet her long-awaited cunt. “What if I told them I’d also do the same thing I’m doing right now?” you gruff, “If that’s what my girl wants. Fine. Have it your way.”
Dahyun shudders at the voice; everything about the way your words are presented are so enunciated and punctual: “I’m going to take this body of yours as mine like it’s supposed to be.”
Her body follows the flow of your mouth and hands, responding to them with their own violation, thighs pressed against each other to sustain the feeling. One knuckle up her cunt wasn’t enough, so there goes another - or two, even - and the fabric between the inevitable crime is only making it worse in the need for more, and rough.
You’re taking it all in, in the sound of her hot mouth funneling in your ear. Utilizing all the friction you can to make her ache before you’ve even sunk your cock into the poor girl. Cumming in no time flat which is a small testament to how you want her to be, and how she wants you desperate to go all the way.
So much for her panties anyway: ripped from her hips and lost into the darkness behind. “Whoops,” you say, unbothered (yet you like it despite the little effort), “Didn’t mean to do that. Just hope you don’t drop anything in front of Sana, or Tzuyu, for that matter.”
(It’ll be an idea for her sometime in the future. Maybe when she’s been riled up enough to get an entire coalition to deal with your insufferable antics - to use you as their own personal servant until they feel like they’re willing to switch the roles around. You hope so, too. Dahyun will never know before the day it happens.)
Just like how she picked the ideal dress that hugged her body, adorned with all the curves and angles perfectly fitting with the intent of making you notice. Because she knew that you wouldn’t stop. She looks over the dim lights shimmering through the small windows, a small clamor of people stepping outside of the ballroom. “Someone could hear us, y’know,” she whispers, biting her lip as she feels the third knuckle bathing in her slick.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you drawl, the gentle groan of your zipper undone. Divide and conquer: work her lips while she gets herself open for you, whimpering at the feeling of your tip pressing hard into her entrance.
Not that it was some form of protest, wrapping a leg around you, pushing her hips forward for the angle where she likes it deep. Dahyun holds you close, to the neck and with fingers in your hair. You, on the other hand, are shameless and gripping her ass as the pace is being found, snapping your hips upward and letting her back hit the concrete behind her.
Dahyun’s body is a map you know all too well. It’s easy, and (always) good. She throws her head back and moans, letting the clenching cunt do its work around your length. “Right there, hon,” you rasp, quietly. “Not too loud. Cover your mouth if you have to.” She nods in reply, neck going slack as she can’t fathom the same spot of her cunt being worked over one thrust in the next - like she’s being transformed to a being that your only purpose is to love her.
For a girl like her-
One that comes off as inviting and prude in a second, to being an unfiltered deity who won’t back down in voicing her demands where she sees fit.
Fuck me.
The dark dress being lifted to reveal more is your own twisted version of a veil.
Harder, babe. Please.
“God, Dahyun-”
“Fuck me like you want me,” she commands, and you have to wonder if she truly wants to get so fucked over and make it the constant reality (which it already should be) to get you apologize with more than your mouth attached with apologies.
“Christ, you fucking tease.” It’s hardly an insult, but rather an affirmation of what’s owed: “You’re the biggest and neediest girl that needs to know where she stands. Insufferably whipped like there’s nothing else than that.”
Dahyun winces in reflex, as noticed by her cunt gripping your length like a vice. Her eyes blown in a hazy black, closing them in humiliation while the arousal continues to out her with every slam and drag back of your hips. Her face is against your neck, gently kissing the pulse; one more thing to worry about that’s clouding the impending edge you’re getting yourself off on.
The preferences in a short amount of time come in quick succession: hosting her up to the moonlight; fucking her fast and painstakingly slow, to the point where she has to slap your face to get your attention, despite that with one more slide down your shaft, she can’t bring herself back to earth as she cums all over your cock.
“You’re-” you choke because her whine was loud enough for someone to notice, but honestly getting caught would be better than being like this. “Absolutely wonderful, my love. Look at you, sopping all over my cock like you can’t help it.
“Fu- it’s so good, it’s too good I can’t fucking stop-”
“Don’t,” you sneer, letting one of her legs back down as she stops halfway, sharply inhaling at the flex of your cock inside her, clearly displeased. “If you don’t stop me, I’m going to fuck you until I cum in your pretty little cunt; we don’t want them to notice it after now, would we?”
The groan slipping out of your fiancé’s lips is pure music, mixed with her climax, but with every upward stroke inside she then realizes what was currently happening. Dahyun pulls your head close, where her mouth is back on your ear, and it’s a siren’s call: “If you really want to show that I’m yours, then you better mark me where everyone can see-”
“An absolute fantasy, baby. Oh my fuck-” you slip here because the idea’s way too rewarding with how the whole thing unfolded. “I bet you’d like the thought of seeing me get off with the others just as much as you are right now.” Because it could happen, and it will; just entirely a matter of when that time comes.
You kiss her, brutally, with teeth and tongue and every mixed emotion of anger and denial and wanting to own up your regrets to take back what’s yours. Dahyun feels it in the rough heat, and she’s hot all over. A bad desire that’s only boiled from the tension prior because you’d much rather have a mattress to fuck her in as opposed to sleeping in shame on the couch. “I’ll make it up to you. Here,” you confess, thumbs pressed to her hips as they hold her in place while you’re pushing the angle a little more deeper. “I’ll fuck you as many times as it takes if it helps you forget what the other girls have done with me; when you’re full and cock drunk and begging for more, then you could at least stop pretending like you’re not mine.”
“Please,” your girl sighs, and she’s begged for your cock multiple times, enough to tattoo it into your skin and bones. It almost makes her feel guilty; it’s in her eyes, and you might’ve both misunderstood each other- maybe. You get yourself off in her, thrusting without any sense of remorse, letting her moans fill your ears until it all becomes white noise-
“Yes, yes, yes, yes-”
You blink right through the simple praise, naturally cumming inside her like she’s meant for it.
It then gets messy, lackadaisical. Your entire body shudders as rope after rope is put inside her hole. Her head nods in approval, rubbed against your cheek. She’s melting in your hands, almost enough to make you worry she’ll slip right through your fingers.
“Fuck,” rasps Dahyun. “You came so fucking much.”
A groan is all you give in response.
She coos as you slip out and see her wobble, sinking to her knees, holding her breast and swiping her tongue to the underside for a quick second. “Think I can make you cum with my mouth in a minute?”
You gaze down to her beady eyes, breath hot on your balls. It makes your cock twitch on impulse. “I have a better idea.”
“Scared?” Dahyun tilts her head in confusion, which also forces her to stand up without you telling her. “What’re you-”
“You can clean up my cock later when we get home,” you say, lifting her leg and place your cock back in her needy entrance, revitalized from her small taunt. A few more thrusts even long after you’re spent, and you’ve came in her again. The tightness squeezing around your cock makes you leak when you pull out and land a little more cum on her inner thighs.
“Oh my god.” says Dahyun. “Fuck- you really couldn’t help yourself-”
“Save it,” you spit, take a moment to stop the shaking in your legs and get your pants right. Dahyun dips a finger to the mess below and has a taste for herself. She looks at you without any care, and your hips feel stiff once more.
“Do you realize how hot you are when you’re angry?” And she acts like the cloth doesn’t cut both ways.
“If you want Sana to know where we’ve been,” you tell her, grabbing her chin and forcing to your height advantage, yet she bites her lip because you know she likes it. “You’d show her yourself what’s under that dress, while also thinking of me.”
Mina commanded you to do the initiative this time, as she's stuck in a busy schedule that prevents her to use you as much as she pleases, while still keeping her full control of you.
"LIVE AND LET LOOSE" [+18] | A TWICE Mina x Male Reader smut fanfic series
CHAPTER 3: "In The Palm Of Her Hands"
WORD COUNT: 3876
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Today was unlike any other, and it couldn't get any stranger since you're already immersed in surrealism.
This marks your first time arriving at work earlier than usual, an hour ahead of the typical schedule. You could say it’s because today is going to be incredibly busy, but Mina specifically called you for another reason: your second purpose on keeping her company.
She asked you to bring your breakfast and share it with her in the office, coming from a woman whose disdain would make it clear she actually desires solitude. However, you complied, especially after hearing that your punctuality would also earn you extra pay for the day.
Now, here you are at the office, with a freshly brewed coffee beside you that you made for both you and Mina. The sandwich on your plate has already been bitten into, as you chew while gazing at the bright sky outside the window.
You let out a soft sound while chewing, not just because the food is tasty, but also due to the pleasure building up in your senses at this moment.
Below, your pants are crumpled around your ankles. Mina is absent from her swivel chair, instead kneeling beside the head of the table, her knees pressed against the carpet. She’s enjoying her own breakfast while you eat, her mouth filled with your cock, which is in its usual impressive state every morning.
You reach for your sandwich, which proves to be a bit challenging as Mina’s head keeps bobbing between your legs. Just as you manage to grab your food, Mina pushes you back to lean in the chair, giving her more space to comfortably continue her blowjob.
You eat, feeling utterly satisfied. The food is indeed delicious, but the sensations are competing with the way Mina skillfully takes your length in and out of her warm mouth. She’s devouring you like a sausage.
YN: "M-Master, your speed… I might not be able to hold on much longer."
Instead of showing mercy, it only fuels Mina’s desire to extract more from you. She used her fists to work you as she sighed in pleasure from being released at your cock. You noticed her gulping and gritting her teeth, clearly invested in this activity.
After all, she enjoys seeing you so entranced, and this is merely the beginning.
YN: "M-master… I’m so close…"
MINA: "Don’t resist it. Let it all go, I’m ready for it."
Mina ran her tongue around your swollen head, intensifying the ticklish sensation that dangerously tempted you to surrender and obey her commands. As soon as your abdomen tightened and Mina pressed her face down to your base one last time, you released a torrent of your seed into her eager mouth.
To ease your exhaustion and anxiety, you covered your mouth with your sandwich to muffle your moans. Mina pulled your cock from her lips and drank your creamy cum just like that.
MINA: "Not too shabby for my first time enjoying a real protein as part of my daily morning routine," Mina smirked before grabbing a tissue to help clean your cock.
YN: "That felt amazing, boss."
MINA: "Of course it did. I’ve trained for this. And I appreciate how much you gave me. It makes me value you even more after what happened yesterday."
She noticed your cock slightly deflating now that the sexual encounter with your boss was coming to an end for a while. Satisfied, Mina stood up and went to get her own food, placing it on the desk.
Leaving you with your pants still undone, your cock now resting after Mina’s oral onslaught. As you cleaned your plates, you put your pants back on while Mina prepared to take her turn with you.
MINA: "Keep that momentum going, YN. Who knows where it might take you."
YN: "Yes, boss. Thank you for the guidance."
MINA: "Oh, you’re definitely going to need it. Because today, I’m about to discover just how much more you can handle."
You suddenly felt a wave of nervousness wash over you at her words, your smile gradually disappearing from your face.
MINA: "I called you here an hour early. I made you cum after almost 30 minutes. I suggest you use the remaining time to rest because I’ll have you moving around this while I attend my meetings. I don’t have free time to use you myself."
YN: "Ok, boss."
You nodded and slowly sank back into the soft cushion as Mina continued to focus on her food. She stole a few glances at your tranquil state, wishing she could appreciate the sight of you looking so untroubled even while awake.
After nearly three minutes into your duty, you left Mina’s room when your alarm went off. Mina was already busy with her work, not even acknowledging your departure. Upon returning to your position, you were taken aback by the number of files sent to you by various clients.
You quickly downloaded them and sent them to yourself so that Mina could see.
Hours later, your lower back and hands were trembling, starting to protest against the pressure you had been putting on yourself to keep up with the influx of emails from different clients.
Just in time, Jiyoung’s invitation to join her for lunch came as a welcome distraction. Before you could join her and indulge in a meal, a phone call interrupted your steps.
YN: "Dan? Hey, man. What’s up?"
DAN: "I’m all good, how about you?"
YN: "Heading for lunch break here at work."
DAN: "Oh, dang, I didn’t know you had a job now. Congrats, mate!"
YN: "Yeah, it was sudden. Anyway, what’s up?"
DAN: "Oh, well I’ll be quick, but I wanted to ask if you’re interested in coming to my birthday celebration this weekend?"
You hesitated, your mouth slightly open as you tried to respond, still a bit shocked that you had forgotten his birthday was approaching.
DAN: "I hope you’re free; the others told me they’d be there. It’s going to be fun."
YN: "I’ll… well, let me think. I can’t give a definite answer just yet, I mean… I have some big plans coming up."
You mentioned that the image of her, along with the deal and conditions she had set, lingered in your thoughts. These are the repercussions you must face in exchange for desperately holding onto this job that offers significantly better pay than any other available.
Even if it means becoming subservient to someone you previously mistreated, all in the name of forgiveness and hope.
DAN: "Alright, just give me a call once you've made your decision. Don’t you want to take a day to cool off?"
You chuckled, recognizing the truth in his words that you couldn’t ignore.
YN: "I do want it, it’s just that I’m not completely certain yet."
DAN: "I appreciate you considering it, YN! I’ll let you get back to your break now."
YN: "Sure, thanks to you too."
The call concluded. You exhaled deeply, pondering whether going there would be a wise choice or just another instance of disappointment like so many before. He does seem persuasive, though. They remember you. They have expectations. They made you feel like you—
JIYOUNG: "Hey, YN! You look like a statue over there. Come on, let’s grab a bite!"
YN: "Oh, uh... I’m on my way!"
Meanwhile, Mina finds herself alone in her office once more, engaged in her usual routine of observing the Seoul skyline, devoid of any curiosity about anything beyond that.
Her thoughts are consumed by the idea of you re-entering her chaotic life. It’s amusing how she constantly seeks freedom and tranquility, yet here she is, bracing for another storm on the long journey to achieve that.
Mina is restless, which is why she chose to subtly disrupt her image, hoping to prevent herself from feeling suffocated by the expectations and standards she must uphold to make her family proud.
She loves her mom and dad without a doubt, but it gets tiring to grant everything they want for her, to the point that she’s losing the rights to handle her own life, all to be masked with the same claims of “for her reputation as a Myoui and building a legacy of her own.” in the industry.
Returning to you, Mina despises how her desperation and eagerness made her appear almost as pathetic as you. Why does it have to be him?, she wonders. There could have been better men, but unfortunately, Mina just couldn’t recognize the standards she’s searching for among the many people introduced to her for potential collaboration .
She even considered hiring a woman to do her a favor, but sadly, they also lacked the necessary skills.
What does this imply, then? Are you truly the perfect one? Your character screams no, yet annoyingly, your cock suggests otherwise. If it weren’t for that thick meat that Mina craves at any time, after having long been fascinated by what a real man’s cock feels like to a lonely woman like her, she would have easily discarded you like trash.
But no, she still has to rely on you until she grows tired and seeks someone she can genuinely be with forever. For you, it’s merely a pastime to fill your leisure hours. Although she misses playing with her own dildo at home, now that she has experienced yours inside her, it has become somewhat difficult for her to resist.
A few hours later, she found herself in her third online meeting with a company that has been in partnership since her father was still running the business. Mina is doing her utmost to convey hospitality, but the ongoing dull business discussions are starting to drain her enthusiasm and energy for the day.
She must endure and survive this situation; otherwise, the company will face a loss, something her father never did before. But how exactly? That's when Mina quickly grabs her phone to send the signal. She then waits, still maintaining a forced smile for the old man who continues to drone on in a tedious manner.
The door to her office swung open, and you stepped inside. Mina simply gazed at you, and without a moment's hesitation, you locked the door and moved towards her desk.
MINA: "Get down there and keep me awake."
You nodded in a panic and cautiously approached her side, preparing to duck under her desk.
MINA: "I’m already unzipped; you can adjust my skirt."
YN: "O-okay..."
With gentle hands, you grasped the hem of her pencil skirt and lifted it until it was bunched around her waist. Your breath caught at the sight of her white panties peeking out from between her legs.
Mina spread her legs wider, granting you better access. You could now see a clearer view of her puffy lips outlined against the fabric.
MINA: "You know what to do."
You looked up at her, interpreting that as the cue to begin your service. You buried your face into her core, your nose brushing against her pussy, causing Mina to let out a soft mewl at the contact. The scent that enveloped you was delightful, lingering as if she had just stepped out of the bath, despite the hours that had passed since her arrival.
MINA: "Make sure to use your hands as well. Don’t leave my legs completely exposed while you do nothing."
Mina shifts her attention back to the monitor, striving to maintain her composure as the sensation of your hands gripping her thighs and lifting them to your shoulders sends shivers down her spine. She addressed the businessman, realizing how her voice could almost fail to mask the intense feelings stirring within her.
You massaged and glided your fingertips along Mina’s silky thighs, and with one final upward motion, you encountered her waistband. Mina could feel every hair on her body stand on end from the goosebumps you had ignited.
Seizing the waistband, you pulled it down as Mina adjusted herself, allowing you to remove her panties completely. Tossing them aside, she opened her legs once more, and to your astonishment, you were granted your first glimpse of Mina’s alluring pussy, which is to think at first, would be an impossible possibility to happen but here you are now as the luckiest bastard of them all.
Mina tensed as she noticed your awestruck gaze fixed on her core, and to your surprise, you saw her begin to release some fluids, forming a puddle on the chair. Not wanting to let any of it go to waste, you lifted her legs back onto your shoulders and pressed your face against her bare cunt once more.
She gasped as your tongue began to explore her wet slit. Mina bit her lip as you lapped at her folds, back and forth.
The businessman keeps showcasing his products and the contributions he anticipates from the company, believing that the CEO is fully attentive. However, Mina's thoughts and feelings tell a different story, overwhelmed by the pleasure of your mouth on her pussy, relishing this first-time experience that is truly worth it.
MINA: "Damn, that mouth is seriously making me so wet. Push it in deeper, yes… nghhh just like that. Right in the spot."
Her fist grips your hair as she urges your face closer, her hips beginning to rock in sync with the rhythm. The older man on the call inquires if Mina is okay, noticing her struggle to remain steady in her seat. She simply replies yes, and they continue.
You slurped at her clit while your fingers began to play a crucial role in stimulating her vaginal walls. Mina could no longer suppress her moans. Luckily, she was on mute because she didn’t want her business partner to hear her being such a noisy mess at the moment.
Her legs wrapped tightly around your head, trying to smother you between her thighs. As she grew more aggressive, you quickened your fingers, wiggling through her folds, causing Mina to slide down a bit in her seat from the surprise.
MINA: "Shit… shit… I’m about to cum! How is that mouth so damn good at eating pussy, fuck!"
With rapid, passionate licks and slurps, the tip of your tongue spread saliva all over her sticky petals, allowing her to finally release the enticing orgasm that had built up from your oral skills. Mina nearly rolled her eyes back, gasping as the intensity of her fluids splashed across your mouth and face, leaving you feeling completely drenched.
The businessman inquired once more if Mina was okay, to which she replied affirmatively without providing further explanation. As the meeting concluded, Mina took a moment to catch her breath before rising from her seat.
MINA: "I have another meeting scheduled, so I’ll turn off my camera. You can have your way with me here in the chair, but I need you to be quick since I can’t remain unseen for too long."
She knelt down and unfastened your pants, leaving you nearly half-naked alongside her. Mina was initially concerned about needing to awaken your cock to its full size, but she was pleasantly surprised by how quickly it responded to her allure, boosting her confidence in the situation.
As she instructed you to sit in the chair, Mina utilized her laptop to generate a meeting link for another client. To your astonishment, her body was bent in front of you, giving a VIP seat to admire her ass that is large, ample, and perfectly rounded, drawing your gaze with an insatiable desire.
You noticed how her outfit highlighted her feminine curves, but you had never truly appreciated how enticing her rear appeared until now. While she busily typed on the keyboard, Mina was startled when she felt your hands on her backside, squeezing it and relishing its firmness.
She then smirked, sensing your growing interest in her rear, which was not uncommon to her. She had received numerous compliments about how her backside accentuated her allure, after all.
MINA: "Do you like it?"
YN: "Absolutely, boss. They’re... just perfect." You replied while continuing to squish them, feeling the skin almost melting between your fingers.
MINA: "Mmm, I love how you handle my ass. Do you want to use it often?"
YN: "I-I would be crazy to say no, boss."
MINA: "At least you understand. But save that for next time, remember what I mentioned yesterday? We’re going to concentrate more on testing how that can fill me up. It was supposed to be on my pussy, but I guess my ass will do for now. You better earn the privilege first."
You felt a twinge of disappointment that you wouldn’t get to play with her ass more today, but inserting yourself into those buns isn’t a bad alternative. As Mina activated the meeting link, she squatted over your lap. You adjusted your cock to aim directly at her hole.
Mina then sank down effortlessly onto your impressive size, letting out whines and moans as her rectum stretched around your girth. You carefully guided Mina to have her ass meet your base.
YN: "A-are you alright, boss?"
Mina didn’t expect you to check on her.
MINA: "I... yeah, oh my God, that cock is no joke. I’ve never been stretched like this, not even my dildo could do it."
Mina closed her eyes as she finally managed to take your cock deep inside her anus. She gripped the armrest for support, remaining like that for a moment to adjust to your size.
Her next clients entered the meeting room, and Mina began to speak. Your reaction was too late; you accidentally thrust inside her, earning a suspicious moan from Mina just as she was about to greet them.
She quickly muted herself and shot you a sharp look.
MINA: "What the hell did I just say?"
YN: "I-I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were going to speak to them."
MINA: "They could’ve caught me there, you idiot!" She raised her voice. Frustrated, her mood shifted instantly. Now, she could only view this fuckbuddy of hers as someone she truly loathed.
MINA: "Forget your excuses. You should’ve been paying attention. You nearly got me in trouble. Now, I expect you to finish inside me quickly, or else you’ll be leaving this office without your pants."
YN: "Mina, wait, I’m sorry—"
Mina harshly bounced on your lap, causing you to groan in pain from the impact on your pelvis.
MINA: "What did I say about how to address me?"
YN: "Boss, I apologize. I should’ve known better."
MINA: "You will, because I’m going to teach you a lesson this time, and you’ll swear you won’t do it again."
She then aggressively bounced on your lap, her tight ring enveloping your shaft, creating intense pressure as she stroked every inch of you. She didn’t even glance at your wincing face. Instead, she remained focused on the meeting, listening casually as if she wasn’t making someone suffer in the depths of her backdoor.
YN: "B-boss… slow down, please!"
MINA: "You should’ve done that when I wasn’t ready a few minutes ago!"
Mina used her feet to tiptoe, giving herself leverage for her bounces against your cock. Her control over her movements was expertly executed; she managed to muffle the skin-slapping sounds every time she opened the mic while still pumping your cock with her ass.
You were left sitting there like a ragdoll, an absolute fucktoy as she said she’d treat you on her chair. The chorus of your and Mina’s grunts and moans, along with the lewd fapping sounds, echoed throughout the room.
You wished you could slap her ass at least, but the way her ass rippled as you pounded her upwards was satisfying enough to keep you entertained. It was then that you became stunned at what Mina did afterwards.
MINA: "Just let it all out already! You can't hold back on me now, YN. I’ll make you cum in just 2 minutes like I want to, but since you want to test my patience, I’ll fucking show you.”
And she was not the kind of woman you’d want to challenge.
Mina showcased her special talent when it comes to anal sex, with only her dildo as a witness to this. Little did you know, the honor of experiencing this within you is entirely justified.
She worked that ass like a pro, twerking on your lap with your cock now slightly angled to slide smoothly against her hole, the way she tossed her rear like a basketball. The rapid rhythm of her ass stroking you, combined with the tightness of her insides and the stunning view of her alluring back during sex, Mina accomplished exactly what she predicted she would.
Your cum erupted inside her ass, and Mina’s astonished reaction captured the overwhelming sensation that washed over her. This is precisely what she always loved to experience, a thick load of sperm filling her plump ass like a cake stuffed with frosting, something her dildo could never achieve due to its silicone nature.
MINA: “Uh yeah… mhmm would you look at that mess you did on me.”
Mina squirmed and bit her lips enticingly as she took her time lifting her hips to pull your now sticky cock out after your orgasm. She stood up from her seat; if only her camera were on, her client would have a perfect view of her clean-shaven pussy.
However, nothing compares to the intimate view of witnessing her asscheeks, slightly flushed from the repeated impacts as they pressed against your lap, while the space between them allows your cum to gradually seep out, overflowing from her well-used hole.
Mina eagerly scooped up some of your cum that was trailing down her thighs, wanting to savor every drop and ensure nothing went to waste.
MINA: "Help me get my panties back."
She commanded. You retrieved the underwear from beneath the desk and handed it to her, watching as she slipped it back on, keeping your cum snugly in place on her backside. You took a moment to clean your cock with the tissue from her desk while Mina adjusted herself back into her seat after putting on her skirt again.
MINA: "You can return to your station now, but remember to check in with me before you head home."
YN: "Understood, boss."
You exited her office, once again astonished by the events that unfolded today in what had transformed into a private sex room. It feels like each day brings new opportunities to discover more of Mina’s body and the wild sexual fantasies she has always harbored.
Mina redirected her attention to the meeting, now fully energized after the playful interlude with you. The truth is, she didn’t feel even a hint of fear when you began to pleasure her without any prior signal.
In fact, it turned her more, driving her to want that cock ramming deep into her ass to see just how much long you can endure.
MINA: "What a sad excuse for a loser he has turned into."
She derisively taunts you for being frightened so easily earlier.
Mina reconsidered; ultimately, it was the best choice to have you as her plaything. The thought thrills her, realizing the extent of control she holds over you, right in the palm of her hands.
============== END OF CHAPTER 3 ==================
YN officially starts his new job as secretary + personal sex companion for his boss and the CEO of the company, Myoui Mina.
WARNING: This chapter as well as the rest of the chapters of this series, contains mature stuff. Readers under 18 aren't allowed.
"LIVE AND LET LOOSE" | A TWICE Mina x Male Reader smut fanfic series.
CHAPTER 2: "Perfect Timing"
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You walked out of Mina’s office, all speechless and lost in trance, like a deer got caught in the headlights. Jiyoung, the assistant who escorted you into this building, was printing some papers when she saw you on the hallway.
The papers can wait, Jiyoung hastily stole your attention. However, it wasn’t effective enough for you to snap back from your senses.
JIYOUNG: “Hey, how’s the meeting with her? You survived?”
You remained silent, not even bothering to look at her. Then, Jiyoung caught something moving at you: your left arm slowly raising to form your hand into a thumbs up in response.
JIYOUNG: “Great! So I take it that you made it?”
As the two of you met the elevator at the end, you unhesitantly turned around as you enter, facing her.
YN: “Y-yeah.”
You just nodded, with a gulp at the end before avoiding her gaze. Jiyoung formed a gasp.
JIYOUNG: “Woahhh! Congrats! Damn, after the streak constantly rejecting applicants-”
The door slowly closed, just as her pace of her words through the end. Jiyoung watched your appearance vanish.
JIYOUNG: “... she finally met the one. I wonder what made him so special than the rest though. He kinda looks petrified….”
She walked back to her printing task and shurgged.
JIYOUNG: “.... eh? I guess that means he still isn’t safe from her antics. She probably just got tired of getting pestered by these desperate people.”
From exiting the building all through your way home, you never broke out from thinking about your sudden reunion with the person whom is considering you as one of her biggest- or probably the most despicable one she has ever met in her entire life, yet still managing to somehow control the doom that was supposed to be already set for you to meet, all because for an insane condition driven by desperation and need not even yourselves would expect this would lead yourselves to be at.
Even at your sleep, you dreamt of this one particular moment few years ago where Mina was once your new transferee classmate. In just few days of being an addition to your class, she already began to impress your professors and most of your teachers with her exceptional brilliance, with some citing her as the ‘best example of what a role-model student should be’.
That had your eyes locked on target at her, not because of fascination due to amazement as well, no. You were different. In the room, it’s just like this one phrase saying that there always be that ‘one bad apple that spoils the bunch.’
As your hands forms into fists dreaming at Mina’s from years ago, you suddenly jolted from your sleep just as when her eyes met yours, expression shifting into something stone cold.
As you ease yourself after getting startled from that nightmare, you couldn’t help to compare the Mina you once knew to what she is now. You felt heavy inside, filled with guilt, knowing you are one of the factors of her recognizable change of personality.
Those past were supposed to be behind you now, but then now you have learned that people are right to say that you can’t keep on running away and avoid the mistakes you’ve done before, especially if the ghost from that past returns to haunt you down.
Determined, you reminded yourself that this could be the biggest accomplishment you can have to finally prove that you’re not that same as the version of you etched in her mind. You’re going to make this reunion with Mina much more meaningful, aside from successfully securing a job and that deal.
Oh, yeah… about that. Speaking of it.
YN: “What’s gotten into her?”
You only can just ask yourself so far in bewilderment. How did this Myoui Mina, the once nerdy, meek, and approachable student suddenly turned into this businesswoman, the CEO of her family’s company, who now possesses defiance, ruthlessness, and power.
That corrupted kind of power in which she can use to make everyone fall under her orders.
That type of ‘whatever she wants, she’ll absolutely get it’.
You can already tell that the following days, months or how long can you hold longer from Mina’s authority with this absurd relationship between a boss and a secretary would be wild, but you’ll try your best to restrain yourself and focus on the most important goal.
Make her believe in you.
The next morning, you wanted to make an impression already on your first day. Mina heard the door opened. She checked the digital clock beside her.
MINA: “You’re in time. As you should be.”
She didn’t even looked at you. Her gaze fixated on the magazine she was reading.
YN: “Good morning, Miss Myoui.”
MINA: “Sit.”
With one commanding word, you obliged. You took one of the vacant visitor seats in front of her.
MINA: “Today’s your first day in my company. Others out there would treat it usually as like, a start-up, to take things slow for the newbies to adapt into the workplace. Well, I’m kinda like them. But it can be so boring. Now I ask you, do you know what that means more to me?”
YN: “I… I suppose it means that someone like md should strive hard immediately to earn your respect for including me here?”
MINA: “Close, but you’d rather take lots of vacations during your time here for me to give you my respect. Or I don’t know, maybe you’ll think of giving up already.
Because you were somewhat wrong at what you just said. If forgiving you isn’t easy enough already for me to do on someone like you, what more could I say with giving respect.
YN: “But you will.”
MINA: “Excuse me?”
She stared at you, almost in disbelief that you interrupted her.
YN: “I’ll do my best to remain here. I’ll show you that I didn’t just put here because of getting… tempted by the condition you gave me. No, I’ll work hard because I deserve this.”
Mina looked at you, pursing her lower lip before amusingly nodding her head, like she’s mocking your determinance.
MINA: “Whatever you say. Let’s just see how long you’ll last.”
She grinned with pure evil.
MINA: “Drained not just at work, but also at our… urgent meet-ups. Don’t you feel sordy for yourself already?”
YN: “If that’s what would make me change your mind about me then so be it.”
Mina fell silent for a moment, she slightly struggled to come up words afted that. Regaining her composure, she flipped the topic to escape the reluctance.
MINA: Enough with the superhero speeches. Time’s running so let’s just get straight ahead on why I called you here first. I want to reiterate two things I expect from you as part of the company being my secretary.
One, you must update me with every progress you’ve done everyday. I will use that as one of my means to monitor your performance. If I find you slacking off or screwing my image as the head of this company, it’s either a warning or I will be the one to drag you out of this place.
And second, the deal. As I said yesterday, your role as a secretary when it comes to assistance will be expanded. Not just at work but even in my private life. That means, you’ll be my personal companion, specifically when I need to let loose from my sudden… sexual urges.”
You gulped again, still baffled that this is all happening with her, or simply the fact that you’re all hearing this out from her directly.
MINA: “I’m a lonely woman, YN. While I take my time looking for a man who meets my standards, you’ll be there to help me control my patience. And just to be clear, I won’t go easy on you.
If I want you to fuck my brains out, you’ll do so.
Call you in the middle of the night to make me moan around the house? I can do that too.
Interrupt your day-off by either barging at your house or sending you into my place to fill my holes? That can happen too.
That’s why I’m telling you, YN. Reconsider your life choices. To lose you would not be a letdown for me, although I won’t deny you have something huge down there between your legs.”
She looked down past her desk to atleast get a glimpse of any bulge present in your pants.
MINA: “I feel pity for you already, YN… but that doesn’t mean I care. Because while you work with me, I’ll be also draining your balls whenever the hell I want to.”
You breathe deeply. Mina watched you contemplate for a moment. Then, you met her eyes again.
YN: “Bring it on then. I already made up my mind yesterday.”
MINA: “Okay. I don’t know if letting you get the chance to fuck a rich sexy woman like me gave you more encouragement to keep the job, but whatever it is… good luck.”
She chuckled before smirking at you, already thinking of many ways she wants you to do for her.
MINA: “Now lift your ass up there and start working. Remember updating me.”
YN: “Yes, Miss Myoui.”
Few hours later, Jiyoung who is helping you get used with organizing the schedules for Mina on your now personal laptop, invited you for a lunch. You accepted without a doubt, to give yourself a break with the overwhelming instructions.
As you and her began munching on your foods, you couldn’t help but to ask her something.
YN: “Jiyoung, is Miss Myoui really like that?”
JIYOUNG: “You mean her attitude. Well, I mean in my 3 years of working here I can say yes. But… there were times where we saw her out of her shell.”
YN: “Out of her shell?”
JIYOUNG: “Yup. Like, right now you’re curious if that’s Miss Myoui’s actual personality, but for us, it seems to be not the case. We’ve seen her tone down her attitude when she’s around with her family and friends during special events here in the company.”
YN: “Oh… well that makes sense.”
JIYOUNG: “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe she’s really just leaning into this boss-role that she has all too much. Thankfully though, I haven’t got scolded that much after many circumstances of employees getting fired here.”
You fell silent as gave it a deep thought about Mina’s background.
JIYOUNG: “You found it the same too, I see.”
YN: “Yeah.”
JIYOUNG: “That makes our assumption to be more accurate then. It’s better to not just push her instead from getting out of her character. Sometimes, we just have to understand people like that, maybe there’s a reason why they became like that. For me, this is my way of understanding her. If that’s where she’s comfortable, then fine. Although, I suggest she takes it easy when dealing with some employees. People are bound to make mistakes, yknow.”
You took note of what Jiyoung said about “understanding people’s actions”. Maybe there really is a lore beneath Mina’s character.
For now, it’ll be best not to disturb her too much about getting nosy into her personal life, but now that you have gained an idea to what can you do to make amends with her, you’ll surely find a way to unravel Mina’s true reasons.
Your phone then pop up with a notification as the screen flashed. It was from Mina herself.
“Go to my office. Now.”
YN: “Uhm, Jiyoung. I gotta head back. Boss is calling me.”
JIYOUNG: “Oh yeah sure, no worries.”
You hurriedly went to her office. Mina was there, just finished eating her meal. She looked at you blankly.
MINA: “Report. Now.”
YN: “Okay, so I just learned how to arrange schedules through different platforms and also gain more knowledge on how to use them.
You enumerated all of it to her.
“That’s all I’ve done so far, Miss Myoui. Now I’m after into attempting to receive and entertain some mails and calls by myself if I get any today.”
MINA: “Alright, you can do better than that. Learn more to be hands-on and to approach clients, I don’t want to lose partnerships because of you. Got it?”
YN: “Noted, Miss Myoui.”
MINA: “Okay, well since I called you here and it’s just you and I again in my office.
Perfect timing, I’m fucking horny right now reading some new manhwa. Lock the door.”
Your eyes flickered, frozen in surprise at how sudden Mina is. You clicked the door shut, and right as you were about to turn around, you were astounded to see Mina crawling slowly in all fours at you.
MINA: “I bet you never had a blowjob in your life, haven’t you?”
She asked as she knelt in front of you and began unbuckling your belt.
YN: “N-no.”
MINA: “That’s shocking. I thought you’re the one who do hook-ups with many women with that bastardly character of yours.”
She tugged your pants downwards, revealing your underwear already showing the obvious trace of your cock positioned sideways.
MINA: “So this huge cock of yours is a virgin, that means I get to have all of what’s in here, huh. That’s more like it, I don’t like sharing what’s mine.”
She went with a sneaky squeeze on your balls which startled you. Hooking her fingers at your waistband, she undressed your brief and exposed your now stiff manhood for her eyes to see.
MINA: “This is your first time getting sucked by a hot woman. Don’t worry, all you have to do is to stand there like an obedient companion while I’ll make the experience better, because I made myself that way.”
She lifted your cock whose now on her grasp to unleash a dangerous long lick of her tongue from your testicles up to the frenelum. Mina lets out a snug smile enjoying you shuddering at your stand.
MINA: “You like that, don’t you?”
She then played with your balls using the tip of her tongue, juggling them underneath. Her other hand went into work, slowly pumping your shaft to keep you erect.
YN: “Oh my God, Miss Myoui…”
MINA: “Keep it like that, toy. I always wanted a man moaning like a mess with my mouth on his cock. Makes me want more.”
She kissed and nipped at your testicles before sniffing and rubbing her nose at the scent, effectively making Mina began to form something went underneath.
MINA: “Fuck, look at these balls. So full and heavy. I gotta give it to you, this is a real man’s dick. Although slightly better than my dildo, because yours could fill me with cum.”
She kept on jerking you off, now picking up the pace more. Your breath getting raspy, chest heaving with difficulty as you tried your best to endure Mina’s torturous oral play on your manhood.
MINA: “I kinda feel bad with these bad boys, gonna get worked up everyday because of some naughty woman like me who is thirsty for cum. You won’t mind giving me more, right YN? You don’t want me getting disappointed, betraying your role as my personal fucktoy?”
YN: “I won’t masturbate by myself, Miss Myoui. I have you. I will save more for you.”
MINA: “Now that’s the answer I’d like to hear.”
She kept on making your balls stained with her spit for few more minutes before she decided to call it quits, probably with her tongue now tired from teasing you.
MINA: “Look at me while I suck your cock.”
You lowered your head to find Mina’s seductive demeanor being too close with your large penis.
MINA: “I wish you luck on finding a woman who can blow you better than me, because I’m damn sure already I’m about to give you the best blowjob of your life.”
YN: “Shit.”
MINA: “Time to get a taste.”
She wrapped her lips around your mushroom head first, with hee tongue cleaning all the pre-cum forming on the tip inside her mouth. You gasped at the ticklish yet satisfying feeling of it. Mina then slowly took you more inside, inches and inches disappearing through her.
She began bobbing her head slowly to get accustomed of your size. With yours being bigger than her dildo, she loves to challenge herself if she can exceed more than she can stuffed herself in with a real man’s cock this time.
Mina then reintroduces her fist to stroke you as she blow the first half of your shaft. Her other hand forcefully grabbed yours and placed it in her head.
YN: Holy shit, Mina. That feels so good- ugh!”
Mina bit the thickness of your meat gently but a bit harsh enough to tease you. She slips you out, a long string of saliva bridged from your tip to her talented mouth.
MINA: “Don’t call me casually when you’re under my control. Or even have my family’s name in your whining pathetic mouth.
Instead, I want you to call me master. Got it?”
Stunned at the discovery of one of her kinks, you nodded.
MINA: “Now hurry up, it’s almost an hour now we’ve spent here. I want you to pour me up with that load.”
She quickly went back on her fellatio activity. Thankfully, her room is soundproofed enough to avoid people outside from hearing the boss of the company making sultry wet noises all for the sake of putting your cock entirely into her throat.
YN: “M-master, I’m close…”
MINA: “Good. Don’t fight it. I’m here to catch them, don’t fear it’ll be wasted.”
She held your hips and catched her breath for a second before looking up at you.
MINA: “Use both of your hands and fuck my face until you cum.”
She did the kind move enough to restore your cock back inside her mouth. Following her command, you grabbed the top of her head and drilled at her face with quickening pace, chasing that climax you’ve both been anticipating for.
Mina was just there, kneeling without any energy left, letting you pour out the contagious urge she got you on for getting into this kind of sexual favor. She loves listening to your disheveled grunts, how weak you sound even with your cock all stuck into her tight little mouth.
She noticed the last few strong rams of yours through her face before you did a final push that made Mina almost indulged your entire length and meet your base. Her eyes watery as she contained herself from having her airway restricted just to allow your cum flow down into her throat and into her tummy.
After a few groans and moans, you slowly removed yourself out of Mina’s mouth, who showed you swallow your last load before coughing to gather some air.
MINA: “Not bad. Atleast you taste real good.”
She slurped some fluids of your cum in her fingers before wiping her lips. Grabbing some tissue, she cleaned your cock carefully whilst giving it some few squeeze and stroke, to which in her surprise, made it hard again.
MINA: “Oh, I’m so gonna enjoy playing with this. I wonder if this can still fit into my pussy.”
She smirked before wiping your tip one last time. You gulped and blushed shyly at what she said.
MINA: “That’s for us to figure out soon. For now, fix yourself then go back and continue your work.”
YN: “Yes, Miss Myoui.”
You bowed before returning your underwear and pants back up before leaving her office, strangely became more motivated now on accomplishing the tasks today faster as she told.
---------------------------- END OF CHAPTER 2 ----------------------------
Nayeon and Sana arrives at the location point where the distress signal has lead them to, only to discover that it is more just another typical crime scene.
???: “I really appreciate lending your time today for this. You must’ve been busy, running onto some errands but here you are.”
She clasped her hands, her elbows supporting on the table. She flashed a soft smile on the woman in front of her.
YERI: “Don’t mind it, Director Im. I’m just enjoying my free time today since I don’t have much projects ongoing so far. A short personal meeting won’t hurt… but I suppose this also meand that I have to really make my leisure time worth it considering you and I are about to talk about…
DIRECTOR IM: “Yes, I’ll go straight to the point now since both of us are aware now of the agenda. I want to ask if you are willing to star on my upcoming film?”
YERI: “I’m all ears.”
Director Im spun her laptop around and shown the actress some details about the upcoming project she was tasked to handle.
DIRECTOR IM: “As you can see, this film is going to be more on horror, but with psychological touch in it. Me and my casting team have decided that you are one of the leading candidates for us to pick for the role as we believe that you can make the character resemble with your exceptional acting skills.”
YERI: “Oh, please. I’m flattered.”
Nayeon laughed and blushed at her sudden compliment.
YERI: “This one looks promising. So it’s an adaptation, huh?”
DIRECTOR: “Yes. You will be required to read the source material to help you be guided on exploring everything about the character and what you’re going to expect on the plot.”
YERI: “This can be a challenge for me, but it’s not that it sounds bad to me. Actually, from the synopsis so far and the genre, I can tell this is worth an attempt for me.”
Director Im grinned at the response. The other woman she’s with, who has been sitting on the table just beside them, heard the conversation. Her head turned on the two women conversing and her eyes brightened at what she heard.
YERI: “... since well, not only it’s my first time doing an adaptation but also to act in a horror film.”
DIRECTOR IM: “So, I take it as a yes?”
YERI: “I’m in.”
Director Im clapped and grinned in delight at the good news.
DIRECTOR IM: “Can I request trading contacts so that I can send you the script nce it’s done and for you know, future updates on the pre-production.”
YERI: “Sure, one sec.”
Few minutes later, Director Im and Yeri stood up and exchanged handshakes and grateful bows to each other.
DIRECTOR IM: “Oh, uhm… before you go, my friend here…”
The woman in glasses sporting wavy orange hair and wearing casual polo and leggings minding her business on her laptop and a cup of iced macchiato was taken aback when she heard her friend and saw her hand pointing at her.
DIRECTOR IM: “... is a fan of yours. She has seen some of your dramas and she thought that you are a great actress. She learned that I was going to meet you today so… she came along.”
The woman in glasses gasped and looked at Yeri who has her eyes now on her. She covered her mouth, feeling embarassed by her friend.
YERI: “I didn’t expect that I will have a fan of mine to notice me here.”
She laughed at Nayeon and especially to the shy friend of hers who wants to bury herself already at the cushion of her seat.
YERI: “Well, hello there. Thank you for supporting me.”
She waved her hand at her. Noticing that she already initiated the interaction, she didn’t want to leave her hanging and so she came out from her hiding.
???: “H-Hi, you’re welcome.”
Director Im laughed at her friend’s melting state.
DIRECTOR IM: “Oh uhm, Yeri this is Sana.”
She waved again at Sana and she sheepishly responded.
After the meeting as Director Im watched Yeri walk away, Sana nudged her hard on the arm with a pouting expression.
SANA: “What was that?!”
DIRECTOR IM: “What do you mean?”
SANA: “You could’ve alerted me there. Nayeon!”
DIRECTOR IM: “But you have got to talk her, so you’re welcome!”
SANA: “And yet it was too sudden.”
The director, whose name is Nayeon; laughed at the grumpy mood of her friend.
SANA: “Ugh, I’m so unlucky today. I didn’t even reminded myself I will be the teasing victim by you because I tagged along.”
NAYEON: “I’m sorry, okay? There, I won’t do it again.”
SANA: “Promise?”
NAYEON: “Tell me one thing you want and I’ll buy it for you. That’s how sincere my promise is.”
SANA: “Okay! Deal!”
Nayeon just shook her head in amusement at this bubbly friend she’s with.
SANA: “But also, thank you for helping me to meet her. She’s so kind and very different from the characters she plays in dramas.”
NAYEON: “That’s acting for you, but yeah I agree. I thought she would decline my-”
Nayeon paused as their conversation got interrupted when some bystanders created a noise. It then got added with the sound of grunts and yelling from the men which is the source of the attention.
Nayeon and Sana eavesdropped as they watched how this young guy effortlessly throwing these thugs away from him. They both became interested to observe him more when they thought it’s completely impossible to fight 4 buff men all by himself, especially when he’s just disposing them off like trash.
NAYEON: “You’re getting this, Sana?”
SANA: “Yeah, something seems off.”
As the fight ended, the young guy who impressively defeated and defended himself from the danger around him was caught by some securities from the nearby bar. He then sprinted away as they attempted to get near him.
Nayeon and Sana noticed how the guy just easily disappears from the view in just few steps.
NAYEON: “I’ll go grab the car.”
They drived off and managed to catch the guy who is now walking casually on the sidewalk. They secretly watch him until he finally gets into his place. Nayeon and Sana looked at each other.
SANA: “Could this be?”
NAYEON: “Highly likely, but we’ll find it out ourselves.”
SANA: “If that so then… that’s strange.”
NAYEON: “Yup, and that’s why we have to tell this also to the others.”
END OF FLASHBACK
Back to the present day, Nayeon and Sana drive off once again onto the said location where their leader told them to.
SANA: “Do you think he’ll consider it?”
NAYEON: “I don’t know honestly. He’s skeptical at us and I don’t mind him. But I hope he does. We’ll just try to keep an eye on him if he doesn’t We’ll give him within this week to make up his mind.”
As they getting nearer to the destination, they saw a bunch of policemen and some soldiers gathered in front of a subdivision territory.
SANA: “This one seems serious.”
NAYEON: “Let’s find out what happened here. Get ready.”
They grabbed their suits and wore them. They left their car and approached the policemen who are guarding the media who were now attracted on reporting the current situation right now.
NAYEON: “Sir, may we know what’s going on?”
CAPTAIN: “Oh! The Nation’s Protectors, I’m relieved you two are here. But… where are the others?”
SANA: “Our apologies, They’re currently busy at the moment, sir. Why did you ask?”
CAPTAIN: “Well, I just thought that maybe you two would need some additional back-ups. I mean there’s us but, right now someone has to put control here outside.”
NAYEON: “We’ll definitely appreciate the details before we take action.”
CAPTAIN: “Right, it’s a hostage incideng we’re having right now.”
Nayeon and Sana looked at each other.
CAPTAIN: “... and they are caused by some prisoners who got out of the transport service while they’re being moved. The cause is still being investigated but so far, they came here and terrorized this place for unknown reason. The families are there, gathered and like I said hostaged while those prisoners probably stealing their stuff.”
SANA: “We’ll take it from here, sir.”
CAPTAIN: “Okay, but be careful, some of our men are already hurt. From what we learned, it’s not the prisoners who did it.”
NAYEON: “What do you mean?”
CAPTAIN: “Well, the reason why I asked you two where are the rest is because there must be some superpowered being there who’s commanding these prisoners. And, I’m just concerned at what it might gonna be if you two encounter whoever this is.”
Nayeon and Sana looked again in confusion.
NAYEON: “Thanks for the heads up, captain.”
CAPTAIN: “Alright, be careful.”
Nayeon and Sana entered the subdivision with ease using their superpowers, levitating through the walls. They sneaked onto one of the houses and saw some prisoners enjoying the fridge and collecting stuffs. The captain was right.
NAYEON: “Alright, so we take out these goons first before we find out who’s this mystery person?”
SANA: “What if they got alarmed and harm the residents with no hesitation?”
NAYEON: “I don’t know, but this is the only way I can think of so far. We can’t find them and increase the chance of those people to be saved if we take them out one by one also.
SANA: “So your plan is we eliminate them first?”
NAYEON: “Yes, but no one must found out.”
SANA: “Okay then, here goes nothing.”
As the prisoner eat satisfyingly on the table, his head suddenly got smashed onto the woddened surface, scaring the guy who was putting the stuffs neatly on their bags.
PRISONER: “W-who’s there?!”
Nayeon then jumped from the staircase at the guy, wrapped her thighs around his head and flipped so that the guy goes crashing on the floor. She smacked the lights out of the man as Sana whose body returns from being visible, watched her partner take out an enemy.
NAYEON: “Two down. The officers must get informed about our plan. We still need help here.”
SANA: “I’ll do it.”
Sana disappears again and passes through the wall back to meet the captain again where she told him that they’ll be needing a sneak invasion as they distract the bad guys inside. He copied that and Sana returns to join Nayeon.
Nayeon and Sana continues to take out every prisoner they spot with their powers. Meanwhile, one of the lead culprits got informed by the prisoner who went dashing across after finding out that some were knocked out inside the houses.
???: “Finally.”
She said with a smirk, which then joined by her own partner for today’s crime.
After Nayeon and Sana silenced another prisoner by getting choked mid-air and had him forcefully pull down to the ground with a force field, they searched through the streets and noticed a group of people sitting, looking afraid, crying, and silent.
NAYEON: “It’s them.”
SANA: “Those must be the one’s behind this.”
She referred to the two women standing in front of the crowd as some prisoners guard the hostages.
NAYEON: “Should we attack or confront?”
SANA: “It’s better we just confront them, they might get alerted and might do cruel on them if we suddenly charge.”
NAYEON: “But they don’t want anybody to appear here. They’re taking out the soldiers who dare to enter.”
SANA: “Then what do we do?”
Nayeon went silent, a bit stressed out in this situation. She shook her head as she glance at the poor victims there.
NAYEON: “Screw this, we do both. Use your advantage against those who are uncapable.”
Meanwhile, the two wanted criminals wearing all black attire in cargo pants and long sleeve tight spandex patiently waits for their arrival. They then noticed the shadows of the prisoners with her and the shocked noises of the hostages.
Looking above, they saw the prisoners floating in the air with some visible force fields. Nayeon then suddenly appeared behind them, crashing through the ground with massive impact that created some slight cracks. Sana also became visible, and is now seen to be responsible for making the others suspended above.
NAYEON: “Don’t dare to attempt any stupid move. Surrender and let these innocent people go.”
The two criminals looked at her with a smug expression on their faces. Sana then swayed her arms, throwing all the prisoners aside and send them crashing to the ground, preparing herself to aid Nayeon in case.
???: “Don’t worry, we don’t care about them”
The male criminal spoke up first, glancing at the scared residents for a while.
???: “We have been waiting for you two.”
NAYEON: “Then what is this? What’s the purpose of having them getting involved?!”
???: “A bait.”
???: “Now that you two have showed up. It only ends here, when we finish what we’re told to do.”
Nayeon furrowed her eyebrows at that statement.
???: “Let’s leave it at luck to see if they get saved or not… by coming through us first.”
NAYEON: “Sana, let’s get them!”
The two immediately lunged with their gravity-defying abilities through them, forming their arm and first for a powerful blow.
However, Nayeon and Sana’s faces shifted from aggression to disbelief.
Nayeon’s fist was blocked by the man, while the other blasted a light beam at Sana, sending her crashing through the window of a house.
wazzuppp, mango seedlings! just wanna announce in a speed of flash that the chapter 2 for "The Nation's Protectors" will be moved tomorrow because me and Knight (yes, fun fact we're classmates lmao) have a midterm exam tomorrow so i'm gonna use this day to review hehe
mango's note🥭: another story begins here! again, shoutout to my dawg @knightyoomyoui for requesting me to do this shit as he couldn't do it anymore. yes, the one who gave me more challenge for a newbie like me ffs. lol jk, we cool mate...
... I mean who can't say no to a terrifyingly dominatrix mommy mina? 😏👀🧎♂️
It was a fine Tuesday morning. After you finished your breakfast, you remembered the first thing you’re supposed to accomplish today: laundry. And so, you began preparing all the used clothes in your basket to take them to a nearby laundry shop.
That is, until you got interrupted by the ringing of your cellphone, alerting you that someone is calling. Curiosity pulled you close to peek and grab it, it was from an unknown number. With furrowed eyebrows, you went on to check who is it behind the line.
YN: “Hello? Who is this?”
CALLER: “Hi, good morning! May I know if this is YN LN?”
YN: “Yes, it’s me. Why?”
CALLER: “Hi, sir. I’m Woo Jiyoung from Myoui Health Care Corporation…”
Your eyes went dilated hearing that familiar name. That’s one of the companies you attempted to submit your application in over a week of job hunting with no avail. Your concentration sank more into the conversation you’re having with Jiyoung.
CALLER: “I called your contact sir because I’ve seen that you have sent your application for secretary position, am I correct?”
YN: “Yes, I did.”
CALLER: “I’ve already passed candidates like you to our CEO and I want to inform you that luckily, you are one of the few that she wants to conduct a face to face interview for the position.”
Your heart pounded in bliss, covering your mouth in surprise at the positive news you received this morning. A huge grin and relief plastered on your face.
YN: “Sure, no problem with that.”
CALLER: “May I ask if you are available today, sir?”
YN: “Yes, definitely!”
CALLER: “Okay, does 2PM in the afternoon sounds perfect or do you request some adjustments?”
YN: “I think it sounds nice enough. I’ll be there by 2.”
CALLER: “Precious! Okay, sir. I’m going to end the call now. I wish you good luck at your interview.”
YN: “Thank you so much!”
As the call ended, you threw a fist pump in excitement. You couldn’t almost process what just happened by now, but it is what it is. Staring at your mirror, you breathe deeply and loosened up yourself.
YN: “Come on, self. We can do this. We have to be prepared. It’s now or never. Let’s get that spot!”
With one last strong shrug of shoulders, you hurriedly grabbed your laundry basket and head outside to start washing them.
Hours later, it was 2 in the afternoon. You drove your motorcycle all the way to the location of Myoui Health Care Corporation. The building was intimidatingly tall and it’s beside one of the busiest and well-known roads in Seoul, South Korea, being near the JYP Entertainment building which is famous for training K-Pop idols like NMIXX, ITZY, Stray Kids etc. and the Seoul National Park.
You entered the place and told the receptionist about your purpose for visit.
YN: “I’m here for a job interview. I was told I have to meet a name Woo Jiyoung?”
RECEPTIONIST: “One moment, sir.”
She dialed the number of the name you told. Seemingly receiving a response, she returned looking at you kindly.
RECEPTIONIST: “She’s on her way now here, sir. Please wait for her.”
YN: “Alright, thank you very much.”
Both exchanged respectful bows. You them roamed around the interior and kept some comments about your impression towards the place so far, with them summed up into hopes of you having such a nice work environment like this.
Minutes later, a lady stole your attentioh your phone. She was wearing a simple business formal attire.
JIYOUNG: “Are you Mr. LN?”
YN: “Ms. Woo?”
JIYOUNG: “There you are. Please, follow me. I’ll take you to the CEO’s office.
You nodded. Jiyoung walked through the elevator while you kept on tailing behind her. She took yourselves to the 29th floor, the second to the last level of this building. As the elevator door opens, you were greeted by two rooms from each sides of the hallway and another room in the end.
Jiyoung walked straight to that end and faced you.
JIYOUNG: “Before I inform my boss about you, c-can I have some advice to give? Trust me, you’ll need it.”
YN: “O-okay, sure. That would be appreciated.”
JIYOUNG: “You’ll be stunned at her antics when you get to talk to her, but if ever you get lucky of being accepted here… just know that she’s really just like that. Let’s say… she’s too cold and authoritative. Most people here fear her of her attitude, and that’s what you should be careful of. Don’t attempt to disrespect her and learn how to read the room when she’s around.”
YN: “O-okay…”
JIYOUNG: “Good. Really, I wish you good luck on the interview. You seem like a nice friend to hang out with around here.”
YN: “Thanks, haha.”
JIYOUNG: “Alright. You ready?”
YN: “Let’s do it.”
She nodded. Three knocks, and then Jiyoung entered first. After a while, Jiyoung peeked and looked at you with a signal that you can come in too.
She whispered “fighting!” before exiting and closing the door behind you, leaving you trapped with the notorious CEO of this company. The atmosphere seemed tense and suffocating already, and you tried your best to remain composed as it will affect your performance of impressing her.
You saw the lady standing behind her chair and desk, looking seriously at the view of Seoul outside this large glass pane of the window she has in this room. You were thinking of stealing her attention but then again, remembering Jiyoung’s advice… it has come to your decision that it’s better to just shut up.
After waiting for her to finish admiring the landscape of Seoul, she finally spoke.
MINA: “Get through the seat, we’ll begin your in-”
She was about to finish her words when just as she spun around and sit back to her chair, her eyes landed on your stature near through the door. Mina’s breath hitched and lips parted in astonishment.
Meanwhile, your eyes squinted before slowly widening in shock as well as both of you now sharing the same reaction: recognizing one another’s familiar faces. You stood frozen in your spot, unable to say any words.
Back at Mina, her surprise was suddenly mixed with fuming anger as she suddenly began recalling the past she had with this man, the same little boy who tormented her into moving to another place where she’ll be gone from his presence.
MINA: “Well… well… well… if it wasn’t you. Long time no see, I suppose.”
YN: “Mina?”
Myoui Mina, your former classmate from university who fell victim into your delinquent acts back then. Those were the days you wish to erase from your memory and should’ve never happen. But then, it was inevitable, as you’re here unexpectedly confronting one of the ghost from your past.
And so as she.
MINA: “To be honest, I am completely astounded to see you again as we’re here, just the two of us. Why? Because I thought after all this years you’ll end up to something that will prove everything you think you are before.
Yet it seems… the case is different. Well, why must I be surprised? Karma is a bitch, right?”
You lowered your head in guilt and shame. Mina doesn’t know what happened that led you into this current state of your life right now, but you just took it in willingly. You deserve it, after all.
MINA: “Now here we are, thinking the said loser will fall, is now here standing before you. Oh, my apologies. I haven’t got to reintroduce myself. I’m Myoui Mina, the CEO of this company for 3 years and counting, bestowed upon my parents. The successor. And you… are just going to be one of the poor souls who will be trapped into my personal hell.”
You gulped nervously. Jiyoung was right, Mina has that attitude. But you were also conflicted at the same time. This lady is far from what you once known Mina before.
This one seemed more defiant, fierce and bold.
MINA: “But… consider yourself lucky, because even though I am the devil who’s job is to recruit horrible people like you, I am diffferent. I can’t stand to have you in the same place like me again, nor to breathe the same air. This time, I’m the one who kicks people around.
And you are going to be one of them.”
You furrowed your eyebrows at what that could mean, until Mina shortly gave you to clarification you need.
MINA: “Get out of here. Your application is rejected.”
She dropped her gaze at you and returned to her paperworks, easily forgetting you like a nobody. You tried to keep Jiyoung’s advice effective, but you’re talking about the weeks of unsuccessful applications from all the jobs you tried to applied.
This one, is the only one you won’t tolerate with. Screw the cautions, you have the right to defend yourself anyway.
YN: “Wait, Mina. I know I’ve done you wrong but isn’t this unfair? You haven’t even let me show what I am capable of?
MINA: “Do I even have to? And if you’re talking about chances, I don’t have anything for you. Go out and find others who would be much rather willing to assign your pathetic self.”
YN: “You don’t understand, I need this job. I’ve been searching for weeks and it’s not leading me to any progress, not until… not until I found your company.
MINA: “So what, I’m obliged now to accept you just like that? Oh please. And great, you proved me more just how much you actually suck.”
Mina laughed loud at your struggling situation. You don’t know if you’ll feel even more saddened, frustrated, and offended. It’s just, you can’t throw back at her insults for a reason.
MINA: “It’s really funny seeing where do we led ourselves into with everything we work hard for. To you, well it does make sense after all. You have… nothing.”
YN: “Please, Mina… or Miss Myoui, whatever you want me to call you. I’m begging you…”
You went forward at her desk and knelt, to which her slight surprise.
YN: “... please give me one more chance. I’ll prove to you that I’m changed, and I’m really sorry for what I’ve done in the past. I regret it, I really do. If you aren’t satisfied, just say anything and I’m willing to show how accountable I am. Just please, I need this opportunity, Miss Myoui. I don’t… I don’t know anymore how long I can hold myself.”
Mina just looked down at you with sharp gaze and stoic demeanor. She then smirked at you, finding this sight of you amusing to her, disguising that some of your words, she found them fascinating.
MINA: “I must say… you did pour your heart with that fine speech. This is something new for me… to be convinced by someone who is not on my par.”
She stretched her one leg and pointed the end of her red heels at your chin and pushed them slightly upwards.
MINA: “Look at me.”
You followed. She remained her arms crossed. She breathed deeply and looked back at the window, recalling the reason why she was phased out for a moment before your interaction.
She was again thinking deeply about her life, about how pressured and stressed she was from the constant advice of her parents to look for someone to marry with and keeping the standards they’ve set as leaders of the company, to her friends always expressing their sulking on how frequent she doesn’t get to go out with them, and to the duties she has to finish everyday in which, you add the responsibility she has on making sure the employees don’t fuck up on their tasks.
Everything has been draining for her.
She can’t deny that her parents’ pleads is also something she wants, as well as her friends. It’s just that because of this curse called wealth and success, she has to handle it as a grown up woman and a considerate daughter of the Myoui Family. She always wanted to prove herself too, but she wasn’t aware at first of what the consequences it may bring to her.
Now here she was, alone in her house, with nothing more to entertain her chaotic life other than her lego hobby, beauty care, and that large sized dildo to help her manage the sudden trigger of her kinks and hormones.
She has then realized that she always has been acting like a proper woman that it costs her everything that she truly desires. It has then come into her senses that it’s not too bad to live and let loose.
Then, she thought of an idea that can solve all of this demands she has to carry like a heavy baggage waiting to be opened, and to make this reunion with you worth spent.
MINA: “Fine. You won this time. I’m considering your application”
Your eyes widened at her update.
YN: “A-are you serious?”
MINA: “Do I look like I’m joking?”
She rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue.
MINA: “Yeah, you’re one step away from getting the position. And congrats, you’re a lucky bastard. You don’t have any interview to go through first. In short, you are now officially my secretary.”
YN: “Oh my God… Oh my God, thank you so much, Miss Myoui. Thank you, really! I’ll do ev-”
MINA: “I’m not finished yet.”
She slammed her palm on the desk, making you shut up.
MINA: “Now, if you become my secretary (how unfortunate of me), you know what that means, right? You will be organizing my schedules, answer every annoying businessmen who wants to do something relevant with the company. You even have to attend everywhere I go, meetings, events, even my own damn house if I want to. In short, you will be my personal slave… and what I said about my house, since it’s my personal space where I’m in complete control…”
She stood up in front of you, hands on her waist, forcing you to look up at her.
MINA: “That means I get to do whatever I want, and when we’re there… that means we aren’t doing anything related about business.
Your purpose of being my personal slave, is to be my toy, a plaything to entertain and accompany me with my raw sexual fantasies.”
You were took aback by her remarks. You stared at Mina confusingly, on how she went from this highly professional corporate lady to someone who craves to fulfill her lust, a sexually driven woman, far from the nerdy innocent little girl you’ve known before. And here you thought you’ll be here to suffer in her leadership, but it seems like fate has something more in store for you.
MINA: “That will be your condition for me accepting peasants like you in my company, but a little bit luckier than the rest. You will be one call whenever I need… some stress relief, you hear me?
YN: “Y-yes… but Miss Myoui, I’m afraid this is unethical for us-”
MINA: “About that, don’t you ever let this be known to others. Don’t you think I know that? But too bad, I’m just as desperate as you, although it’s unfortunate that it had to be you out of all options. So, prove me wrong by this.
Stand up.
You complied. Now standing face to face, closer to each other. Mina looked at your frame. Average build with enough muscles, nice looking, and neat apperance.
MINA: “One more thing before you can leave my room. Go lock the door, then take off your pants and show me your cock.”
YN: “B-beg your pardon?”
MINA: “Don’t make me say it twice.”
With that hiss of annoyance on her voice, you didn’t pretend to be deaf anymore and so you continued. After locking the door, unbuckling your belt and unzipping your pants, you dragged them down to pants along with your underwear.
Mina stood there, paused as she marvels at the sight of your softened cock already looking impressive at its calm state. You felt highly awkward at this condition, standing there bottom naked in front of your boss.
She grabbed for some ruler on her cabinet. She pointed it at your shaft, then rubbed it slowly along your skin through your tip that effectively made you twitch and hardened. Mina watched as she made you erect in your full size.
Then, she laid your full length on her ruler and amusingly viewed its measurement. It was 7 inches, bigger and even thicker that the dildo she has on her home.
MINA: “You exceeded my expectations. Don’t get me fooled though by your size, I will still judge your performance everyday on well you will satisfy me with this nice cock of yours. I can still give warnings, but if you continue to fail me… I won’t hesitate to fire you. Got it?”
YN: “Y-yes, Miss Myoui.”
There, she finally have you on the palm of her hands. Smirking in victory and without your awareness, she can use this for her plans of revenge against you, on how to make you feel how its like to become weak and taken for granted.
She wondered if this piece of meat will even fit on her holes, but she’ll never found out if she try. As much as it disappoints her that it has to be you as her personal fucktoy, it get contradicted by your gorgeous looking cock and now, she somehow looks forward of the times she’ll get use it for her personal satisfaction.
MINA: “You’re now accepted. Welcome to Myoui Health Care Corps., Mr. LN.”
She smirked at you before she slowly removed the ruler, having it slip throw your length until your shaft bounce in the air. You shuddered at the feeling before you nodded and bowed your head, once again grateful to her.
As you left the room in fuzzy thoughts, Mina bit her lip and suddenly felt the urge between her legs, something she rarely feel during work hours, especially to an employee… worse, someone she despises.
MINA: “I fucking hate you for this, YN.”
She gritted her teeth and formed a clenched fist as she pressed her thighs together to contain her untimely surge of lust.
