cw : smut (mdni), a LOT of angst, overall dickhead energy, hurt w/ no comfort.
wc : 2.1k
he loved you. that's what you told yourself when he called you over to his place just to fuck, or when he asked you to send him nudes. he even told you he loved you too! or, at-least, that's what he told your body when he was busy using it for his own pleasure.
you chose not to acknowledge how he never replied to your texts asking him how his day was, or if he was free or feeling up to hangout. he's just busy, that's what you convinced yourself of despite the fact that your messages were left on read, meaning he was just choosing not to reply.
you repeated it to yourself like a mantra, convinced yourself that this was love, that he was just not great at showing it, because the alternative was acknowledging the fact that he was simply using you for your body, and that was just too painful to think of.
especially when he spoke to you so sweetly every time he started kissing on your neck, hands slithering down your body in calculated movements, prying your thighs open all while he kissed you and whispered gentle nothings into your ear.
" shh.. shh, baby, you're doing so good f'me, yeah? " he cooed, breath warm against your skin as his lips brushed against it, tongue occasionally darting out to press flatly against your neck, as if tasting you.
you let out a quiet moan, your hands pressing against his firm chest, wandering down to his abs as his kisses and kitten licks wandered lower, and lower until his mouth hovered right above your breast, his hot breath making your nipple perk up, tongue slowly extending out to lick around it.
you let out a whimper, back arching just slightly, walls clenching around nothing already just from him kissing and licking your tits. " mnn.. "
" thaaat's it, c'mon, lemme hear those pretty sounds sweetheart. " sweetheart. the name made you melt, the damp spot on your cotton panties growing darker. did he mean it? when he spoke so sweetly to you, when he called you baby? his sweetheart? his pretty girl? you didn't have a lot of time to think about it when you felt him pinch your nipple.
a whine left your throat, goosebumps spreading across your skin as you looked down at him. he huffed. " tsk. eyes on me, this isn't the time to get lost in that pretty little head of yours. " you wanted to protest but before you could even think of something to say his mouth was back on your nipple, giving it a sharp tug with his teeth which elicited a sudden cry from your mouth.
tears welled up in your eyes at the pain before you could even process it. you were such a crybaby, he thought. he cooed, almost condescendingly. " awww, are you cryin' baby? y'know.. nobody likes a crybaby, sweetheart. "
you sniffled, eyelashes batting away the tears. god, stop crying, you're making a fool of yourself. that's what the voice in your head echoed, heart aching at his words. you focused your attention on the feeling of his lips, a whimper leaving you when his hips slotted between yours, one of his hands sliding down, down, down until it rested on your thigh, squishing the soft skin that was there.
he pressed his hips against yours, grinding the bulge in his sweats against you through the layers that separated the two of you. his fingers slithered from your thigh up to the waistband of your shorts, coaxing you to lift your hips up so he could peel them down.
" c'mon, be a good girl, lift your hips. " the words made your clit throb, a needy and breathless moan leaving your throat as you lifted your hips. this was love, it had to be. why else would he be talking to you so sweetly? he needed you. that's what you were trying to convince yourself.
he needed you just like you needed him, he just didn't know it yet. he just didn't know how to express it. that's what you told yourself, over and over and over until you had no choice but to believe it.
you let him use you, let him push his cock into you, let him grope and knead every inch of skin on your body, all while refusing to acknowledge that nothing he did was out of love.
he groaned, eyes squeezing shut as he thrusted shallowly, letting the tip of his dick press against your cervix a few times, hands keeping your legs open, your knees pressed against your chest, your hamstrings stinging from the stretch.
" puh—nnmph!—please.. " you whined, eyes glazed over, pleasure blooming in your lower stomach while heartache continued to fester in your chest, your breath unsteady and shaky.
he chuckled, low and dark. " please what? c'mon, be a big girl, use your words. " he didn't actually want you to talk though, he'd never cared much for conversation during sex, or at all, at-least with you that is. so when you opened your mouth to speak, he cut you off with a rough thrust, pulling half-way out before slamming back in, a wet squelch! filling the air.
" poor baby, cat got your tongue? go ahead, try again, 's okay. " he hummed, but it wasn't soothing. it felt mean, felt humiliating. and yet you still tried, opening your mouth and just barely getting out a syllable of a word before he thrusted into you again.
inside, he was grinning. this is exactly how he liked you, quiet, not doing anything besides making those pretty sounds that made his dick throb, letting him do whatever he wanted to you so long as he sweetened his tone and uttered a few meaningless pet names.
he didn't care about your feelings, didn't care about what you were interested, about your favorite movies or books, didn't care to know what your favorite flowers or most used shoes were, didn't care about what you ate or how your day went, all he wanted was your body. your perfect, squishy body.
your tits were perfect, big enough for him to squeeze and knead and suck on, your cunt was tighter than any other girl he'd fucked, your thighs were soft, like fresh pizza dough. god, and the sounds you made. he loved hearing you moan, loved fucking you dumb and feeling you shake whenever he brought you to an orgasm.
and you were too desperate, too foolish to realize how little he thought of you, to realize how stupid you looked going over to his place anytime he texted, like a dog answering to its owners every beck and call.
" nngh! 's t-too much! " you whimpered, the pain from how harsh his thrusts were mixing in with the pleasure of being fucked, pornographic moans spilling from your lips.
he snorted, shaking his head. " no 's not, you can take it. can't you? you always do, so perfect for me, my perfect little toy. " he grunted, one hand moving to press his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow circles on the nub as he kept his other hand pressed against the back of your knee.
" c'mon, just one more baby, one more. " he panted, coaxing you into your—what was it, third? fourth?—orgasm of the night. your back arched, stars shining behind your eyelids, a loud sob exiting you as your walls fluttered around him, slick dripping out around him as he continued to pound into you, fucking you through your high.
he let out a groan every time your walls clenched around him, his movements growing sloppy and erratic as he grew close to finishing, getting more vocal as he moved his hand away from your clit, using both hands to push your knees harder against your chest, the stretch making your legs burn.
tears flooded your eyes from overstimulation, hands gripping the sheets as you watched him through bleary lenses. " oh fuh-fuck! 'm gonna cum, gonna cum in this perfect pussy, oh fuck, fuck, fuck! mmngh! " his body shook as he plugged himself deep inside of you, balls twitching as strings of creamy, gooey seed began to pour into you, the feeling of it warm. there was so much of it that it started pouring and gushing out around him, dripping onto his balls, a small puddle of slick forming on the bed underneath the two of you as both of your mixed liquids dripped down onto the sheets.
he gave a few more shallow thrusts, focused on the utter bliss of his high for a minute or two before he pulled out, listening to the wet pop! that echoed out into the room. he let go of your legs, muttering to himself under his breath as he watched his cum leak out of your now empty, fluttering hole.
" so fuckin' messy.. god, such a perfect pussy. best fuck ever. " he wrapped a hand around the base of his dick, pumping it a few times so he could watch as spurts of his seed covered your wet, glistening folds.
he didn't bother with aftercare when he plopped down onto the bed next to you, grabbing a few tissues from the box on his bedside table to wipe his dick off.
all the while, you just laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling unbelievably empty, and just as if not more upset than before. you knew it was only a matter of time before he threw your clothes back at you and told you to leave, like he usually did.
you wished he'd just ask you to stay for once. you wished he felt the same connection that you did, the same depraving need to be close to one another. that's when the sound of his voice made you jump out of your thoughts. you hadn't heard him at first, a hazy " huh? " leaving you.
" i said get out, i have friends coming over in an hour 'nd i don't need you here anymore so.. you gotta go. " the words hurt, like they always did, the carelessness and detachment in his tone cutting deep, but you didn't let him see how badly it affected you. how badly he affected you.
so all you did was nod and shuffle down towards the edge of the bed, not bothering to wipe yourself up as you reached down onto the ground to grab your clothes. it was the same cycle over and over again. come over, fuck, leave. repeat.
but you never once complained, never whined or cried, not to him at-least. not in-front of him. your thoughts were a wreck as you slipped back into your outfit, stumbling towards the door with all your stuff in hand despite the weakness in your knees and the wobble in your step.
you didn't complain to him because you knew that he'd just ghost you if you asked him for anything more. you knew, that this was the only thing you'd get out of him. and despite how much it hurt, it'd hurt more to have none of him compared to only having some of him.
so you kept quiet. waited until you got back to your own dorm to let the cracks show, to let the tears fall down your face as you collapsed back against the door, the emptiness in your gut only growing stronger, ignoring the stickiness between your thighs, bringing your knees up to your chest as sobs wracked through your body.
it hurt so badly, and yet the next time he texted you, asking you to come over? you found yourself dressing up nicely, doing your hair, and walking the path to his dorm. a path you knew by heart from how many times you'd followed it.
you wondered sometimes, if this was worth it. if the pain of being used was worth the warmth that blossomed inside of you when he spoke all sweetly once you were in his bed.
but all of those thoughts left your head when he touched you and kissed you like he loved you, like he needed you as much as you needed him. you were weak.
he had you wrapped around his finger, and every time those words of praise and meaningless affection fell from his lips whilst he was on top of you, you knew. you knew you'd never break out of this cycle.
not when he kicked you out of his dorm after treating you like a doll meant only for pleasure, not when he got rough in bed, not when he didn't reply to your texts.
because you loved him. and you were willing to look stupid and desperate if it meant feeling even an ounce of love in return. even if it was fake.
even when the only love he had was for your body.
at-least he loved some part of you.
Summary ◟What do you say when the person you love most gets sent away to the most brutal games of them all.
Warnings ◟mention of the games, angst, crying, not book accurate, authors first language isn't english.
Authors note ◟ I've never written for any of the hunger games characters before so this is interesting, and i'm so nervous 🤭 Aww idk what to say I just hope everyone enjoys reading and requests are ofc open! We need to wake the hunger games fandom on tumblr up again haha.
Not proof read cause i'm a lazy btch
Your heart was beating fast against your chest, fast in a way you didn’t quite understand. Everything was spinning and your vision blurred, and all of a sudden it was just as hard to breathe as to understand.
Haymitch was reaped.
Your Haymitch.
You turned around in panic at the feeling of someone touching your shoulder, your mother. You couldn't see the expression on her face, you could just feel what she was feeling.
Grief.
And the games hadn't even started yet.
Somehow, you felt it too.
The grief, you wanted to scream, cry and run into the woods to never return again.
Ever.
But instead you just stood there, not even noticing the weight of your mothers hand on your shoulder.
But you did notice the way his eyes watered as he made his way to the stage, the way he clenched his fists, as if he wanted to punch someone and then quickly regretted it.
As if he felt all emotions at once.
⠀⠀﹡ ˚ . ༶
The moment you saw him you threw yourself into his arms, burying your face in the crook of his neck as quiet sobs escaped you.
He wrapped his arms around you, gently stroking the back of your head, your hair.
The way he always did.
As if nothing had happened at all, as if he wasn't going to die in the next few weeks.
You pulled away from him, taking a deep breath before speaking.
He was so beautiful, just like usual. Except now he had this heavy energy around him, like a cloud of anxiety threatening to swallow you both.
‐ "I love you" you begun, the sobs quickly returning as you spoke.
He hugged you again, – "I know" he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I love you too."
You pulled away from the hug once again, grabbing his hands, your heart beating faster at every second that passed. Knowing that you soon had to say your goodbyes.
Perhaps you'd never see him again.
It was quiet for a moment, the only sound filling your ears the shaky breaths that left both of your lungs. You forced a smile, he noticed, of course he did. – "Happy birthday" you whispered, not loud enough for anyone else to hear.
His eyes softened at that, as if something inside him absolutely shattered.
– "We'll celebrate you when you get home" you spoke, and your voice cracked. "Please come home." You pressed out, tears running down your face.
He inhaled, as if he was about to say something. And then two men walked in and grabbed you from behind, pulling you towards the door.
– "The time is up" one of them said, his voice strict, stricter than it should be when talking to an absolutely heartbroken girl.
You tried to push them of off you, – "No! No!" You shouted, but their grip was too strong.
The door closed with a thud, and the last thing you saw of Haymitch was the terrified look on his face, and that was it.
You never watched the games, couldn't bring yourself to watch all that gore, real human beings with loved ones waiting for them at home getting crushed to death inside an arena built by the government.
But that was before your Haymitch got reaped, maybe you had to watch the games this once, just to see his face one last time.
A female escort sent by the capitol to keep him company, that's all you really were. It took you forever just to get him to speak in more than slight hums, grunts, or sighs towards you.
You two spend a lot of time talking about what was gonna happen after the tour, the what and why. Small conversations, ones you tried to only have when you two were on the train, or in whatever cheap hotel they let you stay in.
The dinners were long, longer than people might think. The pictures were flashy, sometimes followed by small comments. "Damn, that picture of me must've been horrible." You muttered as you finally walked somewhere without flashing lights, but Haymitch figured it was probably your way of dealing with the situation. In a small way, it reminded him of Maysliee.
A lot of the dinners were spent trying to figure out what was in the food, what you were watching all the rich capitol figures eat while you just stared and picked at it. "What's that green stuff?" You whispered, like Haymitch wasn't barely lucky enough to get one warm bath a week at his house. "Fuck if I know." He shrugged, taking another drink of whatever expensive champagne they served.
Going back to whatever shitty place they gave you and Haymitch staying in, and watching the TV, watching what's happening in the districts while the capitol is busy parading you two around like you're some sort of grand prize that they won from a claw machine. "This is sickening." You finally commented, grabbing the remote to turn off the TV, like you always did, and like always, Haymitch grabbed it first. "You wanna watch this shit?" You raised an eyebrow, which just earned a grunt from him.
In the very few moments that you did get to have fun, it was usually dancing or singing. Some old baird that you heard when you were a covey girl, before you won last year's games. 'Nothing you can take from me.' Watching Haymitch dance around with a drink in his hand, foolishly, but he was having fun nonetheless. Laughing, clapping your hands together while you sing along.
You weren't quite as brave as Haymitch when it came to causing trouble with the capitol. You had already ran that when it was your year, but it was just a little fun watching him do his thing..until it wasn't. "Oh, shit." You whistled, watching Haymitch take one of the capitol men to the ground in a physical altercation. You looked around, taking a drink out of your glass. "He's not with me, he could be walking down the street and I wouldn't know who this young man is." You told Tigris, backing up slightly from the fight.
Bellabear's notes: back to me just clearing out my drafts, so I really don't care if these flop, because it's just my drafts. Also, if you've ever read any of my shit before and notice this one doesn't have NSFW, it's because Haymitch was a minor in this book 💜 @alphabetically-deranged
The noise hits you before you even kill the engine. Multicolored lights bleed from Gaeul’s windows, strobing across the lawn and painting the other parked cars in shifting shades of electric blue and lurid pink. You should be at home, nursing a beer and rewatching a series you’ve already seen a dozen times. Instead, you’re here, on a rescue mission you resent with every fiber of your being.
Taking a deep breath you slide out of the car. The night air is cool, but it does little to combat the wave of humid, sweaty heat that blasts you as you pull open the front door. The party is in full swing. The house is packed wall-to-wall with a writhing mass of pirates, superheroes, and at least three different guys dressed as hot dogs. The combined scent of cheap beer, perfume, and something vaguely like burnt popcorn assaults your senses. Your mission is simple: find Gaeul, fix her crisis, and vanish back into the night before she sees you.
You’re barely two steps inside, trying to squeeze past a vampire and a fairy having a loud argument, when a hand clamps down on your arm.
“There you are! I thought you had crashed your car on the way.”
You turn to find Gaeul, your frantic, desperate friend and the reason you’re in this personal hell. She’s dressed as some kind of celestial witch, a midnight-blue velvet dress that clings to her frame, speckled with tiny, glittering silver stars. More stars are painted around her eyes, which are wide with relief and manic urgency. She looks incredible, but you’re in no mood to appreciate it. She starts pulling you through the crowd without waiting for a response.
“Seriously, what’s the big emergency? Did your Wi-Fi go out?” you ask, raising your pitch to be heard over a song with a truly obscene amount of bass. You stumble after her, trying your best not to step on anyone’s elaborate costume.
“Worse! So much worse. Just… come on!”
She navigates the sea of bodies with an expertise you can only envy, dragging you in her wake. Your eyes dart around reflexively, scanning faces, a frantic search engine running on a single, terrifying keyword: Yujin. Every flash of long, dark hair makes your heart seize. You see a girl with a familiar laugh and nearly go into cardiac arrest before realizing it’s just someone from one of your shared classes. This is torture. You’re a mouse in a maze where the cheese is a conversation you would rather die than have.
Gaeul finally shoves through a beaded curtain and hauls you up the stairs, the music mercifully dulling to a muffled, rhythmic pounding against the floorboards. She leads you into her bedroom and closes the door, plunging the two of you into relative silence. The room is a sanctuary of calm compared to the chaos downstairs. Posters of bands you’ve never heard of cover the walls, and a pile of clothes sits precariously on a desk chair. And there, on her desk, is the source of the emergency: her computer, its screen a cycling nightmare of glitching colors and error messages.
You drop onto her desk chair, which thankfully doesn’t collapse. “Okay, what did you do to it?”
She paces behind you, wringing her hands. The starlight on her dress shimmers with the movement. “I didn’t do anything! I was trying to queue up a new playlist for later, and it just… did that. It’s been restarting itself for an hour.” A dramatic sigh escapes her. “My entire life is on there.”
“Your life is not on there, Gaeul. Your meticulously organized collection of shitpost is on there,” you mutter, already tapping at the keyboard, trying to boot it into safe mode. You can fix this. It looks like a corrupted driver, maybe a botched update. Annoying, but not the world-ending catastrophe she’s making it out to be. It gives you something to focus on other than the Yujin-shaped anxiety monster chewing on your insides. “Why is fixing this so important right now? It’s your party.”
“Because I need it. For… stuff. Later stuff.” The explanation is so vague it’s practically transparent. She leans against the edge of her desk, crossing her arms over her chest. The velvet of her dress pulls taut. “So. Glad you could make it.”
“I’m not ‘making it.’ I’m your IT guy. I’m fixing this and then I’m bailing.”
Gaeul is quiet for a moment, watching you work.
Then, she drops the bomb. Casually.
“Yujin’s here, you know.”
Your fingers freeze over the keyboard for a fraction of a second. It’s a small, almost imperceptible hesitation, but you know she sees it. You force yourself to resume typing, your eyes glued to the lines of code appearing on the screen.
“Oh, yeah? Cool.” You make your tone as breezy and unconcerned as possible. It’s a masterful performance, or so you tell yourself.
“Yeah. She was asking where you were.”
Of course she was. You’ve been ignoring her texts for three weeks. You’ve crossed the street to avoid her on campus. You’ve turned a friendly, comfortable, years-long friendship into this… this agonizingly awkward minefield, all because you couldn’t keep your stupid, drunken mouth shut.
“I’ve just been swamped with that programming project,” you lie. “Barely had time to breathe. I’ll track her down and say hi before I head out.”
Gaeul hums, a low, knowing sound that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. She knows you’re full of it. You just don’t know how she knows.
“You should. She looks… honestly? It’s kind of ridiculous how good she looks tonight.”
You don’t respond. You just keep working, focusing on the diagnostic report now running on the screen. Don’t take the bait. Don’t ask. If you ask, you’re admitting you care, and if you admit you care, you’re one step closer to having to face her.
But Gaeul, your wonderful, meddling friend, doesn’t need you to ask.
“She came as a cowgirl,” she continues. “Not, like, a cute, cartoony one. More like a… ‘I’ll ruin your life in the best way possible’ kind of cowgirl. It’s a whole situation.”
An image flashes in your mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Yujin. Tall, confident Yujin, with her impossibly long legs and that smile that always looks like she knows a secret you’re dying to hear. Yujin in a cowgirl outfit. You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck and you pray the dim lighting in the room hides it. You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry.
“Right. Cool.” Your reply is clipped, robotic.
“You’re really not going to stay for a bit?” The question is softer this time. “Come on. Just for one drink. It’s my party. I barely get to see you anymore.”
You finally fix the driver issue. The screen flickers, and the familiar desktop wallpaper of Gaeul’s cat appears, stable and blessedly error-free. You feel a surge of triumph. Your escape route is clear.
You push the chair back and stand up, finally turning to face her. You avoid her gaze, focusing on a poster behind her head.
“I can’t. Seriously. I have to work tomorrow. Not everyone can party like you, Gaeul.” You hate lying to Gaeul, but you’d hate facing Yujin even more.
Gaeul’s face falls. The starlight makeup can’t hide the genuine disappointment in her eyes. She knows you’re lying. You can see it in the slight press of her lips, the way her shoulders slump. But she doesn’t push it.
“Okay,” is all she says.
“Computer’s fixed,” you announce unnecessarily, gesturing toward the screen. “Just don’t download any weird stuff and you should be fine.”
“Thanks. For real. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Anytime.” You start for the door, your entire body humming with the need to be gone. “I’ll just… see myself out.”
“Wait,” she calls out, and you freeze with your hand on the doorknob. “Just… be careful. It’s a jungle out there.”
The comment is strange, but you brush it off as her just being Gaeul. You give her a weak, tight-lipped smile and slip out of the room, leaving her standing alone amidst the faint, glittering stars on her dress. The wall of noise and heat hits you again. Now for the hard part: getting out of the house unseen.
The staircase feels like a descent into the seventh circle of hell. The music gets louder with each step, the air growing thicker and warmer. You squeeze past a couple dressed as Romeo and Juliet who seem to be in the middle of a very dramatic, very public breakup. You offer a sympathetic grimace you don’t feel and keep moving.
Near the kitchen, a guy in a surprisingly realistic Shrek costume claps you on the shoulder.
“Dude! Didn’t think you were coming!”
You give him a tight, one-armed hug, your body angled toward the door the entire time. “Can’t stay long. Just came to drop something off for Gaeul.” Another lie to add to your growing collection for the evening.
“Bummer, man. We were about to start a game of…”
You’re already moving before he can finish the sentence, offering a vague wave over your shoulder. “Next time!”
You can see it now. The beautiful, rectangular outline of the front door. Freedom is ten feet away. Eight feet. Five. A couple of people are blocking the path, laughing loudly, but you see a gap. You can slip through it. You are so close, so incredibly close to making a clean getaway, to getting back to the safety of your car and the solitude of your apartment where you can properly wallow in your own self-inflicted misery.
Your hand is reaching for the doorknob when it happens.
Something coarse and surprisingly heavy snakes around your chest, cinching tight over your arms and pinning them to your sides. You lurch to a halt, pulled back with a force that almost knocks the wind out of you. Your first thought is that it’s some drunk idiot, a prank gone too far. You’re about to whip around and tell them exactly where they can shove their party trick when a sound cuts through the music.
“Yee-haw! Gotcha, partner!”
The exclamation is bright, playful, and so gut-wrenchingly familiar that every drop of blood in your body turns to ice.
No. It can’t be.
You turn around slowly, mechanically, as if your body is no longer under your own control. The rope, a genuine, honest-to-god lasso, is pulled taut. You follow its length to the person holding the other end, and your heart plummets directly into your shoes.
There she is. An Yujin.
Gaeul’s description didn’t do her justice. It wasn’t even in the same universe. She’s planted her feet, one hand holding the rope, the other resting cockily on her hip. She’s wearing a pair of scuffed, dark brown cowboy boots that come up to her mid-calf, showing off the ridiculously toned legs you’ve tried so hard not to stare at for the last three years. Above that is a short, black leather skirt that hugs the curve of her hips perfectly. The main event, though, is the crimson red vest she’s wearing. She has nothing on underneath it. Absolutely nothing. The deep V-neck displays an expanse of smooth, perfect skin and the delicate curve of her collarbones. A crisp white cowboy hat sits tilted on her head, shadowing her eyes just enough to make her look mysterious and dangerous. She is, without a doubt, the most incredible thing you have ever seen, and you have never wanted to be on another planet more than you do in this exact moment.
She’s beaming, a triumphant, brilliant smile that lights up her entire face. She tugs on the rope, pulling you a step closer.
“Well, well, well. Looks like I finally caught the most wanted fugitive in this here county.” The drawl she puts on is ridiculous and charming and you hate it. You hate every single thing about this. “You’ve been a hard one to track down.”
You try to muster a response, but your throat has closed up. Your brain is just a loop of static and panic. You’re trapped. She literally caught you.
You manage a weak, strangled laugh that sounds more like a cough. “Very funny, Yujin. Can you…?” You gesture vaguely with your head toward the rope.
“Now why would I do that?” She takes another step closer, reeling you in like a fish. The scent of her perfume, light and sweet, cuts through the stale party air. “A good sheriff never lets the bad guy go.”
You have to play along. If you don’t play along, the game ends, and the real, terrifying conversation begins.
“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” you manage, finding some semblance of composure. “I’m a law-abiding citizen.”
“Oh yeah? My sources tell me you’ve been avoidin’ your civic duties. Namely, sayin’ hello to your best friend.”
A direct hit. She’s not even trying to be subtle.
“I… was just about to do that,” you lie, knowing how pathetic it sounds.
She tilts her head, and the smile never wavers. “Sure you were. On your way out the door.” She looks you up and down, a slow, deliberate appraisal. “I don’t recognize your costume, though. Who’re you supposed to be?”
You look down at your plain black hoodie and jeans. Your costume is a guy who didn’t want to come to a costume party.
“I’m an average guy. It’s a very meta, very subtle commentary on societal expectations.”
The explanation is so stupid it actually makes her laugh. For weeks, you’ve been starving for that sound while simultaneously running from it.
“An average guy, huh? Well, you’re my prisoner now, average guy.” Her happiness is radiant, and it makes you feel like even more of a heel for avoiding her.
You clear your throat, trying to regain some footing. “Your costume is… cool. Really cool.”
Her smile softens, turning from playful to genuinely pleased. “You think so? I wasn’t sure if it was too much.”
“No, it’s… it’s a whole situation,” you echo Gaeul’s sentiment without realizing it.
“A situation? I’ll take it.” She gives the rope another gentle tug. “So, where were you running off to in such a hurry? The average-guy convention?”
“Ha. No, I just… I have to work in the morning. Early start.” There’s that flimsy excuse again. It feels even more transparent under her direct, knowing gaze.
She raises a single, perfect eyebrow. “Really. Me too. And yet, here I am, at a party, wranglin’ my best friend who’s trying to ghost me.”
“Yujin, I wasn’t…”
“Can we talk?” she cuts you off, her expression shifting completely. The bright, cowgirl persona melts away, leaving just her. Just Yujin. And she looks… sad. “Just for five minutes. Somewhere we don’t have to shout.”
You want to say no. Every self-preservation instinct you possess is screaming at you to make another excuse, to squirm your way out of this and run. But the sight of her looking at you like that, her usual confidence replaced with a quiet, pleading uncertainty, completely undoes you. You’ve never been able to say no to that look.
“Okay. Yeah, okay. But you have to let me go first.”
She grins, a small, relieved twist of her lips. “Deal.”
She expertly shakes her wrist, and the lasso loosens, falling away from your chest. You’re free, but you feel more trapped than ever. As you rub your arms, she begins coiling the rope with a practiced efficiency.
“You’re surprisingly good with that thing,” you observe, desperate to fill the silence.
She laughs, a much quieter, more intimate sound this time. “You have no idea. I’ve been practicing in my backyard all week. Pretty sure my neighbors think I’m insane.” She finishes coiling the rope and hangs it from her belt. “I can almost certainly rope a stationary trash can now. You were my first moving target.”
She came here tonight with a rope and a plan. And you walked right into her trap.
She gestures with her head toward a hallway you hadn't even noticed, tucked away behind the staircase. You nod mutely and follow. It feels like walking the green mile. Every instinct is telling you to turn, to bolt, to make a run for it and never look back. But you can’t. Not when she asked like that. Not when you saw that flicker of hurt in her eyes.
You walk a few paces behind her, your eyes fixed on the coiled rope hanging from her hip. It sways with the confident, easy rhythm of her walk, a walk you know as well as your own heartbeat. As you pass the archway to the main living room, you catch a glimpse of Gaeul across the crowd. She’s talking to someone, but her eyes meet yours for a split second. A slow smile spreads across her face before she gives you a tiny, almost imperceptible thumbs-up.
The pieces click into place with an audible, sickening clang in your mind.
The panicked phone call. The nonsensical, party-ending computer emergency. Her insistence that you come right away. Her casual mention of Yujin. Of course this was a setup. There was never any other way this night was going to go.
Yujin leads you through the hallway and pushes open a door that leads out onto a small, dimly lit back patio. A couple of forgotten folding chairs sit in the corner, but otherwise, it’s empty. The manic energy of the party is muted out here, the bass a dull, distant pulse against the quiet chirp of crickets. The air is cooler, cleaner. There’s nowhere to run.
She doesn't sit. She just turns to face you, leaning back against the brick wall of the house. She pulls the cowboy hat from her head, shaking her dark hair loose. She fidgets with the brim, not looking at you.
“So,” she begins, her focus entirely on the hat in her hands. The silence stretches. She’s waiting for you to say something, but your mind is a blank slate of white-hot panic. “How have you been?”
“Fine.” It’s a colossal lie. You’ve been the opposite of fine. You’ve been a walking ball of anxiety, replaying that one stupid, drunken night on a loop, cringing so hard you’re surprised you haven’t physically imploded.
You feel a pathetic need to fill the silence. “You?”
She finally looks up from the hat, and her eyes find yours in the dim light. “I don’t know, actually.” A small, humorless smile touches her lips. “A little strange, I guess.”
Your heart sinks. Here it comes.
“Strange how?” you ask, even though you know the answer. You’re just delaying the inevitable.
She takes a small breath. “I’ve been feeling confused, mostly.” She takes a step closer, and you have to fight the primal urge to take a step back. “And I guess I just have to ask. Why have you been avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?”
The question is so direct, so devoid of any accusation. It’s just pure, genuine confusion, and it’s a thousand times worse than if she’d been angry. Anger you could handle. This gentle, wounded bewilderment, you cannot.
“What? No.” The denial comes out rushed, forceful. “No, Yujin, of course not. You didn’t do anything.”
“Then I don’t get it.” She gestures vaguely with the hat. “One minute, everything’s normal, and the next, you’re looking at me like I’m about to serve you legal papers. You’re dodging my texts, you’re conveniently busy every single time I suggest we hang out… I just feel like I’m going crazy.”
She pauses, her gaze searching yours for some kind of explanation. “I thought maybe I said something stupid, or I offended you somehow, but I’ve gone over everything, and I just…” She shakes her head, her hair catching the faint light from the house. “I can’t think of anything.”
“It’s not you. I swear,” you insist. “It’s me. I’ve just been… busy. Stressed.”
“That’s the thing, though,” she continues, completely ignoring your weak defense. “Right before you started being so ‘busy,’ I heard something. From Liz. She said some of our friends were talking about you.”
This is it. The point of no return.
“She told me… that you said some things about me.” A real smile, small and shy, appears on her face for the first time since you came outside. It’s a devastatingly beautiful sight. “A lot of really nice things, apparently. Things you’d never say to my face.”
Your entire body tenses up. That stupid, drunken, rambling monologue you’d delivered to your friends. A multi-point presentation on the perfection of An Yujin, complete with footnotes and a gushing bibliography. Oh god.
“When she told me that, I was… really happy,” she confesses, her focus dropping back to the hat in her hands. “It was nice to hear.”
You have to say something. Your silence is a confession in itself.
“Well… it’s true. All of it.”
Her smile widens just a little. She looks up at you again. “Okay. So that’s what I don’t understand.” She takes another small step forward. You could reach out and touch her now if you dared.
“Liz also told me about the end of that conversation,” she says, her tone becoming even softer. “About what you told them after a few too many shots at that party a few weeks ago. That you… that you really liked me.”
She says it so simply, so matter-of-factly. All the air leaves your body in a rush. The secret you’ve been guarding with your life, the one that’s been eating you alive with embarrassment, is just out there now, hanging in the space between you.
“So I’ve been thinking about that,” she continues. “And then I think about how you’ve been treating me like a stranger for the last three weeks. And the two things just don’t add up. You’re sending the most confusing signals I’ve ever gotten in my life.”
She looks at you, her face open and vulnerable and completely wrecking your carefully constructed defenses. All the panic, all the fear, all the weeks of agonizing cringe… it all feels so stupid in the face of her honesty.
“It made me start to wonder,” she says, so quiet you have to strain to hear it over the distant music and the frantic pounding of your own heart. “Those things you said… the compliments, and… the other thing. Were they not true? Did you just say all that because you were drunk?”
Did you just say all that because you were drunk?
This is it. This is your exit ramp. The get-out-of-jail-free card you’ve been praying for. All you have to do is say yes. Yes, it was the booze talking. Yes, you were exaggerating. You can laugh it off, tell her you’re just a sentimental drunk and the embarrassment of it all is why you’ve been acting so weird. She would understand. Dude, she’s Yujin; she’s the most understanding person you know. She would punch you playfully on the arm, call you an idiot, and just like that, the crushing weight would be gone. Things could go back to normal. You could go back to being friends, watching movies, getting takeout, the comfortable, easy rhythm of your life resuming its beat.
But as you look at her, standing there in the dim light of the patio, her cowboy hat clutched in her hands like a sheriff who let the bandit escape, her expression so open and vulnerable, you know you can’t do it. The lie forms on your tongue and dissolves into poison before you can speak it. Lying to her right now would feel like kicking a puppy. It would be a fundamental betrayal of everything your friendship has ever been. And who are you kidding? You haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. A lie this big wouldn’t fix that; it would just haunt you in new and more inventive ways.
You let out a long, slow breath, the kind you make before you jump off a cliff. Your eyes finally meet hers, holding her gaze for the first time all night.
“No. It was all true. Every word of it.”
Her breath hitches. It’s a tiny, almost inaudible sound, but you see the subtle shift in her posture, the way her grip tightens on the brim of her hat. She was prepared for you to lie. She wasn’t prepared for this.
“Then… why?” The question comes out frayed around the edges. “Why didn’t you just… say something? To me?”
A bitter, humorless laugh escapes you. “Say something? What was I supposed to do, Yujin? Walk up to you and be like, ‘Hey, best friend, sorry to interrupt our regularly scheduled programming, but I think I’m in love with you’? You have to know how insane that sounds.” You shove your hands in your hoodie pockets, partly from the chill and partly to keep them from shaking. “You’re my best friend. I didn’t want to… complicate things. To make it weird.”
“Did you ever stop to think,” she begins, “that maybe I’d want things to be complicated? That maybe I felt the same way?”
It’s the thought that has kept you up at night even more than the embarrassment. The terrifying ‘what if’ that feels far more perilous than simple, one-sided pining.
“It’s more complicated than that,” you deflect.
“No, dude, it’s not,” she counters immediately, taking another step forward. The front of her boots are nearly touching yours now. “We’re not complicated. You’re making it complicated. Just say what you feel. All of it.”
You look away, your gaze fixing on a crack in the patio concrete. You have to make her understand the fear. “Do you remember… after Wonyoung and I broke up? We stayed up all night talking in your house.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. Parts of it. You drank way too much cheap whiskey.”
“I told you I didn’t want to fall in love again,” you continue. “That it wasn’t worth it. The drama, the fallout… all of it. I told you I was done.” You look back at her. “I was serious, Yujin. And for a while, it worked. I was fine. Happy, even.”
You pause, gathering the courage to say the next part. “And then the worst possible thing happened. My feelings for you… they started to shift. To evolve into something else. One day I woke up and I realized I wasn’t just fine. I was falling for you. And it terrified me.”
Her brow furrows, a flicker of something that looks like offense in her eyes. “The worst possible thing? What’s so terrible about falling in love with me?”
The question is so blunt, so Yujin, that it startles a genuine laugh out of you.
“What?” The knot in her brow deepens. “It’s a valid question. Half the guys in that party haven’t been able to take their eyes off me since I got here.”
“I know that,” you say, the laugh softening into a sad smile. “Trust me, I am acutely aware of that. It has nothing to do with you. You’re… you’re Yujin. You’re incredible. That’s the whole problem. The problem is that you’re my best friend. You’re the one person I can’t lose. A relationship can end. People break up, and they stop talking, and they become strangers who know all of each other’s secrets. I can’t do that with you. I need you around.”
“So let me get this straight,” She puts her hat back on her head, as if that would give her some kind of authority. Maybe it does. “In order to make sure you have me around… you decided to start avoiding me completely. To ignore my texts and run away from me at parties. That doesn’t make much sense, does it?”
She’s right. It’s indefensible. Hearing her lay it out so plainly makes you feel like the world’s biggest idiot.
“Did you and Gaeul plan this whole thing?” you ask, a desperate attempt to change the subject, to get out from under the weight of her flawless logic. “The computer crisis, the rope… this was an ambush, wasn’t it?”
In a swift, fluid motion, she closes the final gap between you. She removes the rope from her belt and lets it fall to the floor, then she puts both of her hands flat on the front of your hoodie, her palms warm against your chest. She’s tall, but with the boots on, she feels imposing. She has you completely and utterly cornered.
“Don’t change the subject,” she commands.
“Easy, cowgirl,” you mutter, your heart hammering against her hands.
“I’m serious.” Her gaze is intense, unwavering. “Stop hiding.”
You look at her, at the genuine concern warring with frustration on her face, and the last of your defenses crumble. The truth comes out, raw and unfiltered.
“I don’t know if I can do it again, Yujin,” you confess. “The whole ‘love’ thing. I think… I think Wonyoung might have broken that part of me. I don’t want to drag you into my emotional mess. You mean too much to me to do that to you. To risk hurting you because I’m… screwed up.”
Her expression softens. Her hands slide from your chest up to your shoulders, her grip gentle but firm.
“But don’t you see? By trying not to hurt me, you’re hurting me anyway. This is worse. Being pushed away by my best friend for reasons I don’t understand? Feeling like I did something wrong? That hurts. A lot.”
She leans in just a little closer, her face inches from yours.
“I’m not asking you to be perfect,” she says, her entreaty a fragile, heartfelt plea. “I’m just asking you not to do this to me. To us. Please. Don’t run away from me anymore.”
You try to form a coherent thought, to say something, anything, that will make sense of the situation, but all that comes out is a raw, frayed whisper. “Yujin, please…”
“Please what?”
Please stop? Please leave you alone? Please kiss you until you forget your own name? She moves even closer, the motion so subtle you barely register it until the tip of her nose brushes against yours. Your breath catches in your throat, trapped. Without thinking, without permission from your panicked brain, your hands find their way to her waist, settling on the warm, bare skin of her back just above the line of her leather skirt. Her skin is unbelievably soft.
You grasp for one last, desperate excuse, the final flimsy shield your cowardice can muster. “You’re drunk.”
A small, knowing smile plays on her lips. She doesn't pull away. “I’m not.” The assertion is confident, steady. “Well. Maybe a little.” She concedes, the smile widening. “But I was sober enough to rope you from ten feet away. My motor skills are clearly intact.”
Your grip on her waist tightens reflexively. “I just… I don’t know if I’m the best guy for you right now. I’m a mess.”
“Good thing that’s not for you to decide,” she murmurs, her warm breath ghosting across your lips.
And then she kisses you.
It’s over. It’s all over, boy. The world narrows to a single point of contact: her mouth on yours. Years of friendship, weeks of agonizing tension, a lifetime of unspoken feelings all combust in a single, silent explosion. Her lips are even softer and fuller than you’d imagined, plump and sweet with a faint taste of the cherry soda she was drinking earlier. It is, without any hint of exaggeration, fucking insane.
She isn't tentative. It’s a kiss of certainty, of relief, a deep and consuming press of her mouth to yours that sends shockwaves down to your toes. You respond on pure instinct, kissing her back with a desperate hunger you didn’t know you possessed. One of her hands slides from your shoulder to cup the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you closer still. The kiss seems to stretch on for an eternity, a perfect, timeless moment where the muffled party music and the chirping crickets and your entire complicated, messy life just cease to exist.
When she finally pulls back, it’s only by an inch. Her eyes, when they open, are shining, impossibly bright in the dim light. Her cheeks are flushed, and as a breathless smile spreads across her face, her famous dimples make an appearance. They’re deeper, more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them, two perfect little craters in her cheeks that you suddenly have the overwhelming urge to trace with your thumb.
You’re the first to break the charged silence. “My hands are shaking.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, the sound like music. “Mine too. See?” She lifts one of her hands from your shoulder, and you can see the faint tremor in her fingers.
That’s all it takes. Seeing her, just as affected, just as overwhelmed as you are, gives you all the courage you need.
“I guess we're fucked then,” you murmur, before leaning in and kissing her again.
This time is different. The first kiss was a question being answered. This one is a statement. You pull her flush against you, closing any remaining space between your bodies. Your hands, no longer hesitant, begin to roam. They slide down from her waist, over the curve of her hips, past the smooth, cool leather of her skirt. You palm her ass, your fingers digging into the full, fleshy curve. It’s even rounder, heavier, more perfect than you’d imagined. So full. A sharp, hitched breath escapes her as you give a firm squeeze, pulling her impossibly closer, letting her feel the hard evidence of just how much you want her pressed against her stomach.
You break the kiss, resting your forehead against hers, both of you breathing hard.
“Everything okay there, sheriff?” you tease.
A mischievous glint enters her eyes. Her lips curve into a wicked smile. Instead of answering, she crashes her mouth against yours again. This time, her tongue immediately slips past your lips, tangling with yours in a wet, searching dance. It’s sloppy and perfect and utterly intoxicating. She kisses you with a raw, demanding passion, ending it by nipping your bottom lip, a sharp, pleasant sting that makes you groan into her mouth.
You’re both panting now, chests heaving.
“We need to do this,” she says, the statement leaving no room for argument. “Right now.”
Your brain struggles to catch up. “Here? You know Gaeul doesn't like it when people have sex at her house.”
“She will never find out. There’s no one around,” she reasons, glancing around the empty patio. She moves you backward until the back of your knees hit a low wooden bench tucked into the darkest corner of the patio. “Sit.”
You do as you’re told, your legs feeling about as steady as newborn fawns. Before you can even get your bearings, she’s pushing your shoulders back, straddling your lap, and settling her weight down on you. The feeling of her, the heat and solid weight of her body through her thin leather skirt, nearly makes you see stars. She wraps her arms around your neck, her crimson vest gaping open, offering an impossible, tantalizing view of the swell of her breasts.
“Okay,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear. “Important question time.” She pulls back just enough to look you in the eye. “Do you have a condom?”
“No,” you admit, a wry smile touching your lips. “I didn’t think I’d need one when I came over to fix Gaeul’s computer.”
She lets out a low, throaty chuckle, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Fair enough.” She leans in again, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. “It’s okay,” she murmurs against your skin, her lips trailing toward your jaw. “I don’t think we’ll need one tonight.”
“Are you… are you sure about that?”
She pulls back to look at you, a confident, almost feral glimmer in her eyes. “Positive.” A sly smirk plays on her lips. “Worst case scenario, I’m on the pill. We’re good.”
As if to punctuate the decision, she shifts her weight and smoothly slides off your lap, her leather skirt whispering against the denim of your jeans. You expect her to sit beside you, to kiss you again, to continue the frantic, heated pace. Instead, she gracefully drops to her knees on the cool flagstones of the patio, right between your legs. She stays there for a moment, looking up at you from under her lashes.
You reach out, your hand slightly trembling, and gently lift the hat from her head, setting it carefully on the bench beside you.
Her gaze never leaves yours as her hands move to the button of your jeans. She works it free with nimble fingers, and the sound of your zipper being pulled down is deafening in the relative quiet. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of your jeans and your boxers, and with a single, fluid motion, pulls them down your legs, the rough denim scraping against your skin. They pool around your ankles, trapping you.
The cool night air hits your bare skin, a shocking, electric sensation that makes you twitch. And then her hands are on you.
“Oh, wow,” a soft gasp escapes her.
Her hands are warm, so incredibly warm, a stark contrast to the chill. They wrap around your cock, which is already painfully hard, throbbing with a desperate, frantic pulse. Her touch is hesitant at first, curious, as if she’s just acquainting herself with the shape and feel of you. Her thumbs stroke over the sensitive head, smearing the slick pre-cum, and a low, involuntary groan rumbles in your chest.
“Yujin…” Your plea is just her name.
“Shhh,” she murmurs, her eyes wide with what looks like genuine awe as she looks down at you in her hands. “Just… wow. It’s perfect.” She begins to stroke you then, a slow, deliberate rhythm, her grip firm and sure. The sensation is incredible, a friction that is both maddeningly slow and overwhelmingly intense. “I can’t believe I’ve been friends with you for this long and I had no idea you were hiding this.”
Before you can fully process the mind-melting reality of her hands on you, she leans forward. You see her intention a second before it happens, and your stomach plummets. She lowers her head, her long, dark hair brushing against your inner thighs, a feather-light touch that makes you shudder.
And then her mouth is on you.
Her lips are wet and impossibly soft as they close over the head of your cock. It’s a gentle, exploratory touch at first, a soft kiss that sends a lightning bolt straight to the base of your spine. Then she makes a soft humming sound, a little murmur of approval, and takes you deeper. The initial shock is so intense your hips jerk off the bench. Her hand comes up to rest on your thigh, a steadying, reassuring pressure.
There is nothing in your life that could have prepared you for this. The feeling of her hot, wet mouth, the gentle suction she creates, the way her tongue traces lazy, tormenting circles around the most sensitive part of you. It’s a sensory overload. You tip your head back against the wall behind the bench, your eyes squeezing shut as you try to process the sheer, overwhelming pleasure of it all.
Your hands, acting on their own accord, find their way into her hair. It’s just as silky as you always imagined. You fist your hands in the dark strands, not pulling, just holding on, anchoring yourself to reality as she sends you spinning into oblivion.
She picks up the pace, her head bobbing in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. Her other hand is still busy, wrapped around the base of your shaft, stroking you in time with the movements of her mouth. She takes you as deep as she can, the back of her throat tickling against your tip, and you let out a choked groan, the sound torn from you against your will. You have to bite down on your lip, hard, to keep from shouting her name.
She seems to sense your struggle, because she slows down, pulling back just enough to look up at you. Her eyes are dark, hooded with lust, her lips plump and shiny. A thin trail of saliva glistens at the corner of her mouth, and the sight is so incredibly, devastatingly hot that you feel yourself twitching in her grasp.
A satisfied smile spreads across her face as she feels it. She doesn't say anything. She just winks at you before lowering her head again, this time with a renewed, more aggressive purpose. She’s not just sucking you now; she’s devouring you. Her tongue works magic, swirling and flicking, finding nerves you didn’t even know you had. She takes all of you, her cheeks hollowing with the effort, the slick, wet sounds of her mouth on you echoing in the quiet night.
She takes you deeper than you thought possible, and a soft, choked gag escapes the back of her throat. The sound, so raw and involuntary, it’s the most obscene, beautiful noise you’ve ever heard. Her eyes, which had been squeezed shut in concentration, flutter open and meet yours. They’re dark, blown wide with effort and pure, feral lust.
Just as you think you’ve adjusted to the overwhelming sensation, she changes tactics. She slides her mouth off you with a wet, sloppy sound, leaving your dick glistening with her spit and painfully exposed to the cool night air. A frustrated groan escapes you. You think she’s stopping, taking a break.
But she’s not stopping. Oh, no. She’s just getting started.
Her gaze drops from your eyes, down your torso, to the base of your cock. Her hot breath ghosts over your balls, making the sensitive skin tighten and prickle with anticipation. And then her mouth is on them.
The sensation is so alien, so unexpected, that a sharp, ragged gasp is torn from your lungs. It’s nothing like the friction on your shaft. This is a gentle, lapping warmth, a soft, suckling pressure that sends a completely different kind of pleasure jolting through your system. Her tongue, warm and wet, laves over you, tracing the delicate seam, and your toes curl so hard in your sneakers you’re surprised you don’t cramp up.
One of her hands remains wrapped firmly around your shaft, her thumb stroking lazy circles around your piss-slit while her mouth works its magic below. She takes one of your balls fully into the heat of her mouth, sucking gently, a low, appreciative hum vibrating from her throat, through her jaw, and directly into your nuts. It’s fucking insane. You have to clench your jaw, your teeth grinding together to keep from screaming her name into the quiet night.
“You taste so good,” she murmurs against your skin. “Salty. Fucking perfect.”
She gives you one last, long lick, like she’s savoring the last bite of a perfect meal, before moving back up. You brace yourself for her to take your whole length again, for that all-consuming friction to return. But Yujin, your clever, cruel Yujin, has other plans.
Her mouth bypasses your shaft entirely. Her lips close only around the very tip of your cock, and then her tongue comes out to play.
It’s torture. It’s the most exquisite form of torture ever devised.
She licks you like a lollipop, slow, deliberate swirls of her tongue around the sensitive corona. The friction is targeted, precise, a million volts of pure electricity zeroing in on the most sensitive nerve endings you possess. You can feel the distinct, rough texture of her tongue, the soft, yielding pressure of her lips. She uses just the very tip of her own tongue to trace the opening of your urethra, and your whole body seizes, a guttural noise ripped from your chest as your hips buck off the bench.
“Like that? You like it when I do this?”
You can’t form words. You just nod dumbly, your head thumping against the brick wall behind you, your hands tightening their grip in her hair.
“Good,” she breathes, and her pace quickens. It’s a relentless, merciless assault on your senses. She sucks and licks and swirls, slobbering all over the head of your dick, her spit acting as a slick, hot lubricant as her lips slide back and forth over the flared ridge. Every now and then, she scrapes her teeth, just a little, a sharp, dangerous thrill that sends another wave of fire through your veins.
The pressure is building, a deep, coiling knot of heat low in your belly. It’s a slow burn, a tormenting climb that feels a thousand miles away from release, yet threatens to consume you at any second.
She pulls away, leaving you panting and aching, your dick slick with her spit and standing at painful attention. You’re a mess, completely undone, but one look at her tells you she’s just as far gone. Her face is flushed a deep red, her chest is heaving, and her dark eyes are glazed over with a thick, heavy coat of pure lust.
“Fuck,” she groans. “That made me so fucking horny. Just… watching you.” She pushes herself up with a fluid, feline grace, standing before you. She reaches down and hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her black leather skirt. “Look,” she commands.
She lifts the skirt slowly, deliberately, revealing a pair of simple, white cotton panties. And right in the center, between her legs, is a dark, spreading wet spot that makes your half-hard cock jolt back to life. It’s not just a little damp; the fabric is soaked, clinging transparently to the swell of her mound and the shape of her pussy lips beneath. Her fingers drift down. She presses her fingertips against the wet fabric, right over her clit, and a shiver visibly racks her body. Her eyes flutter shut for a second.
“This,” she says. “This is what you did to me. Just by being on your knees. Feel how wet you made me.”
Before you can even respond, she lets the skirt drop and moves back to you. She straddles your lap again, settling her weight down, and this time, there’s no hesitation. You can feel the heat of her cunt through her wet panties. She grinds down once, a slow, deliberate circle, and a strangled noise escapes your throat.
With one hand, she reaches down between your bodies, hooking a finger into the side of her panties and pulling the soaked fabric aside. Oh, fuck. You’re about to feel her, the wet, naked heat of her slit pressing against the head of your cock. You instinctively push your hips up, desperate for the contact.
But she stops you. Her hand comes up to your chest, pressing you back against the bench.
“No. Not yet,” she orders, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. “I want to hear you say it first.”
“Say what?” you ask.
“Everything,” she clarifies, leaning in close, her hot breath puffing against your lips. “I want you to tell me how fucking bad you’ve wanted this. Tell me how hot you think I am. I want to hear you say you’ve been dying to fuck me. Tell me. Now.”
Her eyes search yours, a flicker of something almost vulnerable beneath the lust. “I’ve wanted you since you were still with Wonyoung,” she confesses. “I used to watch you two together and just… think about being the one you were holding. Is that fucked up for me to say?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Fuck it. It’s the truth. I’ve been waiting for this for years.”
Your hands come up to her vest, As your fingers work at the buttons, the words she demanded start pouring out of you, a torrent of filth you’ve held back for years.
Unbuttoned
“I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I met you,” you start. Her eyes immediately glaze over, her pupils dilating. “I think you’re the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. I’ve thought about these tits,” you say, pushing the two sides of the vest open, exposing her perfect, braless breasts to the cool night air. Her nipples are hard, pebbled peaks, begging for your mouth. “I’ve thought about sucking on these nipples until you scream.”
A soft, desperate moan escapes her lips. She’s not just listening; she’s getting off on it, her whole body trembling on your lap.
“I’ve thought about bending you over every piece of furniture in my apartment,” you continue. “I’ve jerked off thinking about this ass,” you say, your hands sliding down to cup the full, heavy weight of it, squeezing hard. “I’ve imagined how fucking tight your pussy would feel wrapped around my cock. How wet you’d get for me.” You lean in, your lips brushing her ear. “I want to ruin you, Yujin. I want to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight for a week.”
You pull back to look at her. She’s a complete wreck. Her face is flushed, her lips are parted, and her eyes are barely focused. She’s panting, grinding her wet, exposed slit against your thigh, chasing a friction that isn’t there yet.
“Is that what you wanted to know, cowgirl?” you ask.
She just nods, unable to speak, her eyes pleading with you.
“Yes,” she finally chokes out.
You grip her hips, guiding her, positioning her. She rises up just slightly, her wet cunt hovering directly over the head of your thick, waiting dick. And then, with a low, satisfied groan, she sits down.
The feeling is absolute heaven. She’s so fucking wet, her slick pussy lips parting easily as she slowly, deliberately, impales herself on you. She’s impossibly hot and tight, her inner walls clenching around you, gripping your cock in a perfect, suffocating embrace as she takes you inch by agonizing inch.
A sharp, loud hiss escapes through her teeth as your thick cockhead pushes past her pussy lips, and you have to bite down on your own tongue to keep from shouting. You feel every ridge, every fold of her cunt as she sinks down, her inner walls clenching and milking you, until you’re buried balls-deep inside her. You’re both completely still for a moment, chests heaving, just processing the overwhelming sensation of being finally, fully connected. Her eyes are wide, locked on yours.
“Oh my god,” she breathes out. “You’re… you’re so big. I can feel you all the way up inside me.”
Then, she moves.
It’s just a slow, tentative rock at first, a slight forward and back motion. A test. The feeling of her wet slit sliding up and down your shaft is so good it’s almost painful. A low, guttural groan is ripped from your chest, and her face breaks into a wide, breathless grin. The dimples are back, deeper than ever.
“Fuck,” she laughs, a giddy, breathless sound. “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”
“On a bench,” you add. “At Gaeul’s party.”
“Gaeul is a goddamn hero,” she declares, and then she starts to really move.
She lifts her hips, pulling your cock almost all the way out of her slick cunt, the head of your dick rubbing against her clit on the way up, and then she slams herself back down, taking all of you in a single, greedy gulp.
“Ah! Fuck, Yujin!” your hips buck up off the bench to meet her thrust.
“You like that?” she moans, her eyes fluttering shut. “Like when I take it all?”
“Yes,” you pant, your hands gripping her hips, your thumbs digging into the soft flesh above her ass. “Don’t stop.”
She doesn’t. She finds a rhythm, a hard, steady pace that has her magnificent, heavy tits bouncing in the dim light. The sound is incredible. The wet, slapping sound of her pussy meeting your groin, a filthy, percussive beat that syncs up with the distant, muffled thud of the party music. It’s the best song you’ve ever heard. You just watch her, completely mesmerized. Her head is thrown back, her long, dark hair trailing down her back, her face a perfect mask of ecstatic pleasure. Her mouth is open, and a steady stream of soft, breathy moans escapes her lips with every downward thrust.
She leans forward, bracing her hands on your shoulders, her face just inches from yours. “Fuck me,” she pants, her forehead slick with a thin sheen of sweat. “Don’t just sit there. Fuck me back.”
You start to move, matching her rhythm, thrusting up hard every time she comes down. It’s not just her riding you anymore; you’re fucking her, your hips slamming into her with a bruising force that makes her gasp.
“Yes! Like that!” she squeals. The force of one particularly hard thrust makes her let out a sound that’s halfway between a moan and a snort.
The ridiculous noise breaks the tension for a split second. A laugh bursts out of you.
“Did you just snort?” you ask, grinning like an idiot.
She glares at you, but there’s no heat in it. Her lips are quirked into a smile. “Shut up and fuck me, you asshole,” she laughs, and then she’s kissing you, a deep, sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that tastes like her and spit and pure horniness.
Slowly, the pace becomes punishing. She’s riding you like she’s trying to break you, her hips a blur of motion. You can feel her pussy walls clenching and spasming around your cock, milking you, trying to pull every last drop of cum from your balls.
“You’re so fucking tight,” you groan, sliding one hand from her hip down between her legs. Her own slickness coats your fingers as you search for her clit. You find the hard little nub hidden beneath her pussy lips and start rubbing, your thumb moving in firm, quick circles that match the frantic rhythm of your fucking.
Her reaction is instantaneous and explosive.
“HOLY FUCK!” she screams, her back arching so hard she almost comes off you. Her cunt clenches down on your dick like a vise, and her eyes roll back in her head. “RIGHT THERE! DON’T STOP!”
You don’t. You keep fucking up into her, your thumb driving her completely insane. Her nails dig into your shoulders, but you barely feel the pain. All you can focus on is the sight of her coming completely undone on top of you, the feeling of her tight, wet pussy clenching around your cock, and the raw, filthy sounds she’s making. The pressure in your own balls is building, a hot, coiling snake of need that’s getting harder and harder to ignore.
She’s right on the edge, her whole body trembling, her inner walls starting to flutter around you in the unmistakable prelude to her orgasm. You give her one more hard, deep thrust, your thumb pressing down hard on her clit.
“WAIT!” she screams, her body going rigid. She stops moving completely, her hands flying from your shoulders to grip your wrists, stilling your hand. “Wait… holy shit. Don’t. Don’t move.”
She throws her head back, panting, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering her entire body. She’s poised on the absolute precipice, the very peak of her orgasm, and she’s holding herself there, refusing to fall, her pussy clenched so tight around your dick you feel like you might just lose your mind.
She hangs there for a second, a beautiful, obscene statue of pure lust, her entire body clenched tight around your dick. You can feel the frantic, fluttering spasms of her pussy walls, her orgasm right there, a millimeter away from spilling over. But with a shuddering, heroic effort of will, she pulls back from the edge. A long, shaky breath escapes her lips.
“No,” she pants, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Not yet. Fuck… it’s too good. I don’t want it to be over yet.” She looks down at you. “We’re not done.”
And then she starts to move again.
The pace is just as relentless, but the quality has changed. It’s no longer a frantic chase; it’s a deep, punishing, claiming rhythm. She grinds her hips, sinking down onto your cock with a heavy, deliberate force that makes you groan, her pussy lips squeezing and milking you with every slow, powerful rotation. Your hands find their way to her ass again, but you’re not just holding on anymore. You’re mauling her. You dig your fingers into the heavy, soft flesh of her cheeks, kneading the muscle, pulling her down even harder onto your dick with every single thrust. You can feel the skin heating up under your palms, and you know you’re going to leave red, angry handprints all over her perfect ass.
“Fuck, yes,” she moans, thick and guttural as she feels your grip tighten. “Leave marks on me. I want to feel this tomorrow.”
You hook your hands under her ass cheeks, lifting her just slightly and then slamming her back down onto your cock with all your strength.
“Like that?” you grunt.
“YES!” she screams, the sound echoing in the quiet night.
It’s not enough. You need more. You need her closer. Gripping her hips, you haul her upper body down towards you. She collapses against your chest, her bare tits pressing into your collarbones. The sight of them is maddening. They’re perfect, full and round, her nipples still hard, pebbled peaks, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. Without another thought, you lower your head and take one into your mouth.
The effect on her is instantaneous.
Her entire body jolts as if struck by lightning. A shocked, high-pitched squeal escapes her lips. “What are you— Oh! Oh, fuck! Yes!”
Her skin is salty from her sweat, and it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. You suck hard, pulling the entire nipple and as much of the areola as you can into the heat of your mouth. You flick your tongue over the sensitive peak, and she just loses it. Her back arches violently, pushing her breast deeper into your mouth, and the rhythm of her riding becomes choppy, erratic, her pussy clenching spasmodically around your dick.
“Please,” she begs. “Oh my god, keep doing that. Suck it. Suck it harder.”
You obey, laving at her nipple like a man starved, occasionally scraping your teeth over the peak, sending fresh waves of shudders through her body. She’s completely gone, her head thrown back, a string of incoherent, whimpering moans falling from her lips as she fucks herself on your cock with a frantic, mindless abandon.
You’re lost in it, lost in the taste of her skin, the feeling of her tight cunt gripping your dick, the sound of her whimpers. You’re so focused that you don’t feel it until it’s too late. As another wave of pleasure from your mouth on her tit crashes through her, she lets out a low, animalistic growl and lunges down, her mouth finding the soft, sensitive spot on your neck where it meets your shoulder.
And then she bites you.
It’s not a playful nip. It’s a hard, possessive, claiming bite. Her teeth sink into your skin, and a sharp, white-hot sting of pain lances through you. The shock of it, the sheer audacity, mixed with the overwhelming pleasure of being buried inside her, is too much. A loud, ragged groan is torn from your throat. She holds on for a second longer, sucking at the spot, before finally releasing you.
She pulls her head back, her eyes feral, her lips slightly smeared with your blood. She looks down at the angry, red teeth marks blooming on your skin.
“Fuck,” you pant, your head spinning. “Yujin, what the hell was that?”
She just smiles, a wicked, triumphant curl of her lips. She leans in and licks the bite mark, her tongue a soothing, hot balm on the stinging skin.
“Mine,” she whispers against your neck. “Just making sure you remember who you belong to tonight.”
You grab her face with a rough palm, thumb dragging across her cheekbone, forcing her wild eyes to meet yours. Her lips are swollen, spit-slick, trembling with a curse that never makes it out before you crush your mouth against hers. The kiss is violent, punishing; your teeth scrape her lip, your tongue ravages, forcing her to submit even as she growls back into your mouth.
When you finally tear away, both of you gasping, your foreheads knock together, your breaths tangling. “Didn’t know you were so fucking possessive,” you rasp, lips brushing hers.
Her eyes glitter dark and sharp, a vicious triumph in her smirk. “I can be,” she purrs, dragging her nails over your chest until you hiss, “when I really, really want something.” The last word is a moan, and then she plants her hands on your shoulders and starts riding you again.
This time it’s not rhythm. It’s demolition. Her hips crash down on your cock with frantic desperation, every thrust an attempt to impale herself deeper, to grind her clit harder against you. Her tits bounce, her head thrown back, her throat bared, every noise she makes rawer, deeper, guttural. Each slap of flesh ricochets through the night air.
“F-fuck! Oh fuck, baby, I’m so close!” she sobs, hair whipping. “I can feel it—I’m right there, oh god!”
You seize her hips, meeting her thrust for thrust, fucking up into her with brutal precision. The bench beneath you creaks, ready to splinter. Your abs burn, your cock feels like it’s about to explode inside her slick, clenching heat. “That’s it,” you grunt, teeth bared, sweat dripping down your temple. “Ride me into the fucking ground. Let it go, Yujin. Cum all over my cock.”
Her moans pitch higher, broken, frantic. “I can’t— I can’t take it anymore! Fuck, it’s too much! I’m gonna— shit, I’m gonna scream so loud!”
You yank her down flush against your chest, your mouth by her ear. “Then scream, baby. Nobody’ll hear you over the music. Scream for me.”
Her eyes flutter back, only the whites showing, and her whole spine bows like a bowstring snapping. Her hands claw into your shoulders so deep it stings, and then it rips out of her - a scream that sounds like it’s being torn from her soul. Not pretty, not polite, but raw, guttural, ragged.
Her pussy clamps down, not a squeeze but a violent seizure, gripping you like a fist, milking you in brutal spasms. Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, her nails gouge your back, her entire body convulses like she’s being electrocuted. She buries her face in the crook of your bitten neck, sobbing your name into your skin, her hot breath and spit soaking you.
Her cunt is chaos around you, fluttering and choking your cock, dragging you toward the edge with every pulse. It feels like lightning storms detonating along your length, wave after wave, her body wringing you dry without mercy.
You can’t help the way your voice tears out, low and rough. “Jesus Christ, Yujin— your pussy’s fucking strangling me. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep milking me like this.”
She’s not even coherent, just babbling against your throat, words broken between sobs and screams. “Ohhh god, it’s so good— it’s too much— I’m shaking— I can’t stop, I can’t stop! Baby, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, fuck!”
Your hands clamp her ass, nails biting into her flesh as you ride out the storm with her, holding her against you while she thrashes and shudders. Her legs spasm around your waist, her whole body trembling like she might fall apart if you let go. Each clench is a dagger of bliss stabbing up your spine, and it takes everything in you not to lose it inside her.
She finally collapses against you, trembling, gasping raggedly, her chest heaving as she twitches through the aftershocks. Her pussy still flutters around your cock, weak little aftershocks that milk you slowly, almost tender now. Her voice is a wreck, broken into hoarse whispers against your ear. “I screamed so fucking loud… oh my god… I couldn’t stop…”
You kiss her sweat-slick cheek, your own jaw clenched from holding back. “That’s exactly what I wanted, baby.”
Her answering moan is a shudder, a wrecked little sound of surrender, as she slumps against you, still impaled, still clinging like you’re the only thing keeping her tethered to earth.
You lean in and kiss her, a soft, gentle press of your lips to hers. A kiss to calm her down, to bring her back to earth after you so thoroughly launched her into orbit. She melts into it, a soft, boneless weight in your lap, completely and totally spent. The only sounds are her soft, hitching breaths as she comes down from the peak, the distant, muffled pulse of the party, and the frantic thumping of your own heart. You’re still buried deep inside her, your cooling cock nestled in the hot, twitching aftermath of her cunt
After a long, comfortable silence, she lets out a deep, contented sigh, her breath warm against the bite mark on your neck.
“It’s true, you know,” she murmurs.
You smooth her hair back from her forehead. “What’s true?”
“What they say,” she clarifies, shifting just enough to look up at you. “That having sex with someone you actually love… it’s a million times more intense. It’s not even in the same league.”
For a second, you can’t speak. You just stare at her, at this incredible, impossible girl who just came apart on your dick and is now handing you her heart.
“You love me?” you finally manage to ask.
A soft smile touches her lips, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Of course I do, you idiot.” She settles her head back into the crook of your neck. “We’ve been through everything together. You’ve seen me at my absolute worst, and you’ve been there for my best. You’re my person.” She pauses, and you can feel her swallow against your skin. “Yeah. I love you.”
The simple, honest declaration hits you harder than her orgasm did. A giddy, bubbling warmth spreads through your chest, so potent it almost feels like you could float away. A disbelieving laugh escapes you.
“I didn’t know the tough-as-nails cowgirl was such a sentimentalist,” you tease.
She lifts her head and playfully smacks your chest. “Oh, shut up.”
You just laugh, pulling her in for another deep, lingering kiss.
“I love you too,” you say against her lips, the words you’ve been running from for months finally tasting like freedom. “So much.”
She pulls back, her expression turning serious again, her gaze searching yours. “So… are you going to stop running away now?”
“Yes,” you answer immediately, without a single shred of doubt. “I think I can now.” You look away for a second, the shame of your recent behavior washing over you. “I’m sorry, Yujin. For being such a fucking coward. For hurting you.”
“It’s okay,” she whispers, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. “I get it.” She holds your gaze for a moment, and then a slow, wicked smirk begins to spread across her face. “But… there is one way you can make it up to me. A way I might be able to accept your apology.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
Her smirk widens, and the look in her eyes is pure filth. “You can cum for me,” she states. “In my mouth. I want to swallow it all.”
“Wow,” you manage. “Okay. The romantic moment ended a little quicker than I expected.”
She just grins, a feral, beautiful thing. She grinds her hips down onto you, and you can feel your cock, which had started to soften, immediately surge back to full, throbbing hardness inside her slick cunt.
“What can I say?” she purrs. “It’s hard to stay in a sentimental mood when I can feel your giant, hard cock pulsing inside my pussy. It’s… distracting.”
And with that, the tender moment is officially over. She pushes herself up, a lithe, powerful motion, and the sound of your dick pulling out of her wet cunt is a loud, obscene slap in the quiet night. She slides off your lap and, without a single shred of hesitation, drops back down to her knees in front of you.
She stays there, looking up at you, her lips parted, her eyes hungry. The message is clear.
You push yourself off the bench and stand before her, your jeans and boxers still pooled around your ankles. You are the victor and the supplicant all at once. She holds all the power, even from her knees. You look down at her, at your best friend, the girl you love, kneeling in the dirt, waiting patiently to take your cum.
Her tongue, pink and wet, darts out and slowly, reverently, licks a stripe from the base of your shaft all the way to the piss-slit. It’s a slow, deliberate taste test, and a shiver racks your entire body.
“Mmm,” she hums, her warm breath ghosting over your sensitive cockhead. “I can taste myself on you. You’re covered in me.” She looks up at you, a wicked glint in her eye. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
And then her mouth is on you again.
This time, it’s different. It’s not an exploration, and it’s not a gentle seduction. This is a mission. She takes you into her mouth with a practiced, greedy efficiency, her lips creating a perfect, wet seal. She’s not just sucking; she’s milking you. Her throat opens, and she takes you deeper than before, her hand wrapped firmly around your base, her other hand cupping your aching, heavy balls. She’s a fucking professional, her head bobbing in a relentless, punishing rhythm, her suction strong enough to pull your soul right out through the tip of your dick.
Every single nerve ending in your body is shrieking like live wires burning under your skin. Heat coils viciously low in your gut, pressure swelling, pulsing, dragging you toward an explosion you can’t hold back. Your thighs tremble, knees nearly buckling, hips jerking forward on their own, desperate for friction, desperate for release. Your cock twitches in her mouth, thick veins bulging, the taste of your own pre slicking her throat while your chest heaves with ragged, guttural groans. You’re right there, right fucking there, seconds away from detonating down her throat.
And she knows. She feels it the instant your muscles seize, the instant your jaw clenches and a broken “fuck!” rips out of you. She pulls back at the last second, your cock slipping free of her lips with a wet sound, a string of saliva dangling between her spit-slick lips and your swollen tip. You’re left dangling, twitching, aching, every drop of self-control about to snap.
Her voice is breathless, ruined with hunger. “Not yet,” she pants, licking the mess from her lips, smearing it across her cheek as her hand wraps tighter around your shaft. Her fist pumps you slow at first, then faster, her thumb grinding across your leaking slit. “God, look at you… your cock’s throbbing in my hand. You’re about to cum, aren’t you? You want to blow your load all over me.”
Your eyes roll back, your head tipping, your throat choking on useless gasps. You can’t form a word. All you can do is moan and nod, pre spilling over her knuckles in heavy drops.
“Ohhh, fuck, baby,” she moans like she’s the one unraveling, staring at your cock with worship burning in her eyes. “You’re dripping for me. You’re so fucking hard. You’ve been holding it in so long… I want it so bad. I want you to flood my throat, drown me in your cum.” Her grip tightens, wrist snapping in brutal strokes that make your knees knock. “Please, please cum for me. I’ve been your good girl. I’ve been waiting, aching, dreaming of you using me like this.” She squeezes at the base, smears pre down your shaft, jerking you harder. “Fill me, baby. Don’t you wanna see me choke on it? Don’t you wanna watch me swallow every drop?”
Your chest heaves, lungs tearing at the air. She looks up, lips glistening, eyes wide, pleading. “Cum for me. Cum for your girlfriend.”
That word slams through your skull like a hammer. Girlfriend. Claim, chain, filthy permission; every defense in your body shatters in an instant.
“I’m gonna— Fuck, Yujin!” you roar as your whole body bows like a bowstring snapping. White-hot lightning explodes from your core, your cock swelling to the breaking point.
Instinct takes you. Your hand clamps over hers, stilling her frantic strokes, and you grip yourself with your own slick fist. You angle your cock at her face, her open mouth, lips stretched into a perfect O, tongue out, begging. Her eyes glitter, her chest rising and falling.
And then it erupts.
A thick, blistering rope of cum launches straight into her throat, forcing her to swallow before she even breathes. You thrust hard, stuffing the head between her lips, pumping jet after jet of molten seed down her gullet. Her eyes roll back, her throat bulges with every obscene gulp as you snarl and grind forward, your cock throbbing uncontrollably. More, and more, and more - hot floods pouring out of you until her mouth overflows, leaking down her chin. You’re groaning, growling, animalistic noises clawing out of your chest as your orgasm drags on, hips bucking like you’re trying to bury yourself in her forever. Your balls clench, squeeze, dump everything, leaving nothing behind.
When at last the spasms die, your body collapses, trembling and hollowed. Your cock slips from her lips with a sticky trail, still drooling cum onto her face. She sits back on her heels, throat painted, mouth filled, chin dripping, her chest heaving with triumphant moans. She looks at the mess coating her, then back at you with a wild, blissful grin.
Without breaking that stare, she closes her lips, cheeks bulging, and swallows - one long, obscene gulp. Her throat works, her lips part again, showing her mouth empty. A string of cum slides from her bottom lip to her chin, dripping onto her tits.
Her grin splits wider, smug and radiant. She wipes her chin with two fingers, sucks them clean. “Mmmh,” she moans, licking her lips, “told you I was hungry.”
Before you can even process a response, she leans forward again. She takes the head of your cock back into her mouth, her tongue expertly swirling around the tip, licking away the last few drops of your release, cleaning you with a reverence that is both humbling and incredibly hot. The feeling of her warm mouth on your now hyper-sensitive dick is so good it makes you moan, a low, exhausted sound.
She pulls back, looking up at you from her knees, her job complete.
“Fuck, Yujin,” you breathe out. “You’re going to kill me.”
She just winks, a drop of your cum still glistening at the corner of her mouth. “Don’t worry, baby,” she purrs. “I know how to bring you back to life.”
You look down at the beautiful, completely insane girl kneeling in front of you, her lips still shiny, her eyes sparkling with a triumphant, filthy confidence.
“You’re absolutely out of your mind,” you say.
She just winks up at you. “And you love it.”
It’s not a question. You just shake your head, still smiling, and reach down to offer her a hand. She takes it, and you pull her to her feet. The spell is broken, and the reality of your situation (half-naked on a patio during a house party) comes flooding back.
Yujin immediately gets to work, pulling her leather skirt back down into place, adjusting the unbuttoned vest over her breasts, and smoothing out her panties from where she’d pushed them aside. “Shit, how long were we out here?”
You’re doing the same, fumbling with your own clothes, pulling up your boxers and jeans with clumsy, post-orgasmic fingers. “I have no idea. An hour? A decade?” You finally manage to get your button and zipper sorted. “Hey, stay here for a sec.” You gesture vaguely towards her mouth. “There’s a little… uh… you’ve got something…”
She touches her chin, her fingers coming away with a faint, sticky residue. She doesn’t even blush. She just laughs.
“Yeah, I’m gonna need a clean-up on aisle three,” she quips, before grabbing her cowboy hat from the bench and settling it back on her head.
“I’ll be right back,” you promise. “I’ll get some, uh…”
“Tissues would be fine,” Yujin says, her smile warm and genuine as she buttons her vest. “Thanks.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Such a gentleman.”
The irony makes you snort with laughter. You give her one last, quick kiss and then turn, plunging back into the belly of the beast. The transition from the quiet, intimate bubble of the patio to the full-blown chaos of the party is jarring. The music is louder, the air is hotter, and the sheer number of people seems to have doubled. You navigate the crowd with a new sense of purpose, a goofy, invincible grin plastered on your face.
You make a beeline for the stairs, heading back to the one place you know you can find supplies: Gaeul’s room. You slip inside, the relative quiet a welcome relief. The room is exactly as you left it. You spot a box of tissues on her nightstand and grab a massive, unapologetic handful, hoping she won’t mind the donation to a worthy cause. Mission accomplished. You turn to leave, your mind already back on the patio with Yujin.
You pull the door open and walk straight into a solid object that says, “Oof.”
It’s Gaeul. Of course it is.
“Well, well, well,” she says, taking a step back and crossing her arms. A smug, all-knowing smile is plastered on her face. Her celestial witch costume is a little disheveled now, but her eyes are sharp. “Look who decided to stick around. I was about to file a missing persons report.”
You feel a flush of heat creep up your neck, but you try to play it cool. “Hey. Yeah, sorry. Got held up.”
“‘Held up,’ huh?” Her smile widens. “So I’m guessing my little computer intervention was a success?”
“You could say that,” you admit, a genuine smile breaking through your feigned composure. “We, uh… we talked. Sorted some stuff out.” You can’t help the happiness that bleeds into your statement.
Gaeul’s expression, she lets out a dramatic sigh, placing a hand over her heart. “Oh, thank god. Finally.” She uncrosses her arms. “I was getting so tired of the two of you circling each other like depressed, horny sharks. So, where is she? She’s been MIA for a while now, too.”
“She’s out back. On the patio,” you say, gesturing vaguely with your head.
Gaeul nods, satisfied. Her plan worked. She’s a genius. A master of puppets. Her eyes drift over you, and her smile begins to falter.
“Dude, you’re like… really sweaty,” she observes, her brow furrowing slightly. “Did you run a marathon out there?”
“Uh…” You rub the back of your neck. “It was an intense conversation?”
Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Intense conversation...” Her gaze flicks up and down, lingering on the hickey blazing red on your throat. “That is not a conversation. That is a fucking vampire attack.”
“Okay, relax—”
“No, don’t tell me to relax,” she snaps, stepping closer. “You’re sweaty, your hoodie looks like you wrestled a bear, and—” She suddenly freezes. Her eyes drop to your hand. To the massive wad of tissues you’re clutching. “…What the fuck are those for?”
You glance down at them like you’ve never seen paper products before. “…uh.”
Her head tilts. “Don’t you dare.”
“…Cleaning?”
Her face contorts, horror dawning. “Oh my god. Oh my fucking god.” Her voice cracks into a shriek. “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t! Rule number one — rule NUMBER ONE — no sex at my parents’ house!”
“Technically,” you say, shrugging like an asshole, “it was the patio. And remember: it's all your fault for bringing me here. You set the ambush, now deal with the consequences."
Her jaw drops. Her hands fling into her hair. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! The ambush was for you to talk! TALK. Like words. With your mouths. Not—” she waves her hands frantically—“whatever Pornhub-tier bullshit you pulled on my patio! This is not a P. Diddy party!”
You laugh. “We were discreet.”
She explodes. “DISCREET?! Look at your neck! That’s not discreet, that’s a fucking pepperoni pizza special! What are you, a middle schooler?!”
You smirk. “What can I say? Yujin’s talented.”
She lets out a strangled growl. “Don’t. Don’t even say her name right now. I cannot handle it. Did you at least—” she stops herself, groaning—“god, I don’t even want to ask this, but did you at least not… contaminate the lawn? My dad worships that grass. He trims it with scissors.”
You wave a hand, cool as hell. “Relax. Didn’t cum on the grass.”
Relief floods her face. Shoulders slump. “Thank god.”
“I came in Yujin’s mouth.”
“WHYYYY would you SAY that?! That is not information I need! That is a high-definition IMAX nightmare burned into my brain until the day I die! I can feel my childhood memories being overwritten with this bullshit!”
"Oh, you deserved it. I hope you'll stop being nosy and setting up ambushes now. Consider this a lesson."
She paces, muttering at full volume. “My patio chairs… the handmade wooden bench… they’re innocent… they didn’t deserve this… I hate you. I hate you.”
“C’mon, don’t be dramatic.”
She whirls on you, stabbing a finger into your chest. “Dramatic? Dramatic?! You two turned my patio into a fucking porno set! If this was MTV Cribs, you’d be pointing at the backyard going, ‘yeah, this is where the magic happens.’ I should be charging rent!”
You grin, backing away slowly, tissues still clutched like contraband. “Okay, okay, I’m gonna head back—”
“Yes, go!” she snaps, pointing down the hall like she’s banishing you. “Go to her. Make out. Hold hands. Write sonnets. Just STOP defiling my house like it’s a set for Love Island.”
You salute her. “Not making promises.”
She screams after you, voice cracking through the hall: “IF YOU FUCK ON MY POOL TABLE I’M CUTTING YOU OUT OF MY LIFE!”
You walk back out onto the patio. Yujin is leaning against the railing, her back to you, looking out at the dark lawn. She looks serene, peaceful, a stark contrast to the beautiful, screaming mess she was just a few minutes ago.
She must hear your footsteps, because she turns, a soft, tired smile on her face.
“Took you long enough,” she teases gently. “I was starting to think you’d run away again.”
“Never again,” you promise. You close the distance between you and hold out the tissues. “Here. For the, uh… clean-up.”
She takes them with a grateful nod. You take one yourself and gently cup her chin, tilting her face up. With a tenderness that feels foreign and yet perfectly natural, you carefully wipe away the last traces of your orgasm from the corner of her lips and her chin
When you’re done, she takes the used tissue and balls it up with her own. “So,” she begins. “What time is it, anyway?”
You pull out your phone, the bright screen temporarily blinding you. “Just hit midnight.”
“Midnight Cowgirl,” she muses with a soft chuckle. “Starring An Yujin.” She lets out a long sigh. “Well, I guess a new day, a new… whatever this is.”
“Yeah,” you agree, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “I, uh… I probably really have to go. I have that early shift tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she says, nodding. There’s no disappointment in her expression, just an easy acceptance. “But before you go.” She takes a step closer. “You need to do something.”
“I do?”
“Mhm,” she confirms. “You need to officially ask me out. Because as of right now, you’re my boyfriend, and I’m your girlfriend. And I think that deserves a proper invitation, don’t you?”
You stare at her, completely dumbfounded for a second. Your girlfriend. She just says it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Okay,” you say. “Okay, yeah. An official invitation.”
You take a dramatic step back, clear your throat, and, in a moment of sheer, dorky impulse, you start to drop down onto one knee.
“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” she yelps, lunging forward and grabbing your arm to stop you. “Get up, you idiot! You’re not proposing!”
You let her pull you back to your feet, laughing. “Sorry. My brain isn’t exactly working at full capacity right now. I’m new to this.”
“Clearly,” she says, but she’s smiling, her dimples on full display. “Just… ask me like a normal person.”
You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. You take both of her hands in yours. “Okay. Right. Normal.” You look into her eyes, and all the jokes and teasing just melt away. “An Yujin. Would you, uh… would you want to be my girlfriend? If you’re, you know, interested in that. Or something.”
“Or something? Real smooth.” She squeezes your hands. “Of course I will, you moron.”
And then she’s kissing you again. When she pulls away, you’re reluctant to let her go. “Do you… do you want a ride home?”
“No, it’s okay,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m gonna stay for a little while longer. Find Gaeul and apologize for, well, everything.” She smirks. “I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” you agree.
“And try to get some rest,” she adds, her expression turning sincere.
You let out a short, sharp laugh. “Rest? Yujin, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep for a week after tonight.”
Her only response is an excited, happy little giggle.
“Are you really okay, though?” she asks. “With all this?”
You nod, but a flicker of the old fear, the old insecurity, resurfaces. “Yeah. I am.” You look down at your hands, still holding hers. “I’m just… I’m going to try really, really hard not to mess this up. I don’t want to go wrong with you.”
She reaches up with her free hand and gently touches your cheek, making you look at her. “Hey. We’re going to be great,” she says. “And listen to me. If you ever feel scared or weird or anything, you just have to talk to me. The best friend part of us doesn’t just disappear because you’re my boyfriend now. That’s our foundation. Okay?”
“Okay,” you say. You lean in and kiss her one more time, pouring all the gratitude and relief and overwhelming love you feel into it. “I love you.” She smiles against your lips. You finally let go of her hands. “Okay. I’m really going this time.” You say your goodbyes and turn, taking a step toward the hallway, toward the real world.
You get about five feet before you feel it. That familiar, coarse weight snaking around your chest, cinching tight and pulling you to an abrupt halt. The rope.
You let out a long, theatrical sigh as she reels you back in. You turn to find her beaming, the coiled end of the lasso in her hand. She pulls you right up against her and then wraps her arms around you from behind, her chin resting on your shoulder. She leans around and steals one last, deep kiss.
You just murmur against her mouth. “You really liked that rope trick, huh?”
“It’s really fun,” she says, full of mischief. She finally unwinds the rope and lets you go.
“I hope you’re planning on retiring that thing after tonight,” you say.
She just shrugs, a wicked glint in her eyes as she starts coiling the rope with that practiced efficiency. “I don’t know. I’m already having some pretty creative ideas.” She pauses, her gaze flicking down your body and then back up to your eyes. “They mostly involve this rope, a bed, and you.”
“Okay… Well, In that case, I wouldn’t mind.”
You start backing away for real this time, not wanting to turn your back on her. “Goodnight, cowgirl.”
She leans against the doorframe, the coiled rope hanging from her hip, every inch the midnight hero of this story. “There goes my outlaw,” she calls out. “Running away with my heart.”
You just smile, your own heart so full you think it might burst.
“Don’t worry,” you call back, just before you disappear into the chaos of the party. “I’ll take good care of it.”
Note: Oh you think that Mina one was an anomaly? Nah, we're going angsy with this one.
I had so much fun writing this fr. Special thank you to @kwilquib for hosting the prompt, and @wonyology for being my first victim lmao.
Man, I'm so down bad for Wonyoung wearing this black dress ughhhh...
Also cover made by me yippee. might keep doing this for future fics
TW: angst, a sht ton of swearing
(7.8k words)
You stare at the cracked ceiling of your room, the kind that peels like old sunburnt skin, while your cracked phone screen glows dimly in your hand. Numbers mock you from the banking app—so small they could fit on a grain of rice. Rent’s coming, tuition’s next, and the electricity bill has a lovely red stamp on it that screams FINAL NOTICE. Your part-time job? Pays you in tips so tiny you could lose them under the fridge.
The math doesn’t add up no matter how many times you punch the calculator app. Subtract rent, minus groceries, minus bills. What’s left is the kind of figure that makes you wonder if air counts as a meal.
$31.08. What the fuck are you going to do with only $31.08?
You roll over on the mattress, staring at the wall like maybe the paint will start peeling out money instead of flakes.
And then your phone vibrates. Ding.
The group chat you muted weeks ago lights up your screen again.
“Party tonight. Big one. Come through.”
“No excuses, man. We’re dragging you if you don’t.”
“You need to stop being depressed and live a little.”
You sigh, tossing your phone onto the bed like it personally wronged you. These obnoxious fucker again. The “friends” you managed to cling onto through sheer luck and timing, the rich kids with wallets heavier than your entire life savings. The kind who use champagne bottles as water guns and laugh about failing a class because they can just retake it next semester with their daddy’s money.
You know how this goes. They’ll invite you, claim it’s all in good fun, then spend the night poking at you like you’re their charity case. The “ordinary” one. Whatever their favourite punchline is.
But before you can type out the usual excuse—work, studying, not feeling well—another message drops. “Relax. We’ll cover your entry. Drinks too.”
Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.
They’ll pay. Free food. Free drink.
For a second, you imagine staying as you are: laying down, maybe getting up to your desk, staring at the blinking cursor on your half-finished assignment, pretending the instant noodles taste better than cardboard. Then you imagine an open bar, food that isn’t from the clearance aisle, and a night where you don’t have to think about overdue notices in exchange for ridicule.
You exhale, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “Screw it.”
Your phone buzzes again, like it’s mocking your surrender. “Knew you’d cave, dumbass. Don’t embarrass us too much.”
You mutter to yourself as you pull the least-wrinkled shirt from your closet, “Yeah, because I’m just here to make you fuckers look good, right?”
Still, you iron it. You button it up. You force your hair with the last spurt of your hair spray into something presentable. Downing that canned coffee you forced yourself to like to stay awake. Because at the end of the day, you don’t have the luxury of saying no.
Not when everything around you is crumbling, and a free night out will at least make you forget about your reality.
-
…maybe rotting at home was better whatever this grand party was.
The moment you step through the grand hotel doors, you feel like you should be working at the back of the kitchen instead. Marble floors, chandeliers dripping crystals, a string quartet in the corner—it’s the kind of environment where even the air feels expensive. Everyone is dressed like they’re either nepo babies or they actually are nepo babies, and you… you’re praying no one notices that your shirt has a frayed cuff or that little stain you couldn’t get rid of.
Your "friends", meanwhile, are already in their element. They throw their jackets at the coat check like it’s a sport, grab champagne flutes from silver trays like it’s water, and slide into the crowd with ease.
“Yo, relax, man,” one of them claps you on the back, nearly knocking the glass out of your hand. “We told you already, tonight’s on us. Just… don’t brood in a corner, alright?”
Remember, free food.
You force a smile and give them an uninterested "sure". But it’s hard to smile when your head keeps on doing mental math the whole time. Rent: $740. Utilities: another $120. Tuition deposit: looming like an execution date. Your brain is buzzing louder than the music, and every time your friends laugh, it feels like you’re sinking deeper into water you can’t swim out of. But you hover beside them anyway, because then you can get it out of the way as soon as this parade is done and bolt straight home.
Although, that’s when you notice her. Damn it, was her name again?
Oh right. Jang Wonyoung.
The room reacts instantly at the clacking of her heels. Heads turn. Voices lower. You’ve heard the name tossed around campus like it’s some kind of brand. The Jang Corporation heiress. Top royalty. Samsung-level of wealth (or probably more). People whisper about her the way they whisper about exam leaks—rare, untouchable, never meant for the likes of you.
And seeing her in person? Yeah, it makes sense.
She’s radiant in a way that makes the room tilt. Every step, every glance, it’s like she was choreographed for perfection. Diamond earrings brush her jawline, her silk dress flows like liquid, and the casual flick of her hair has more grace than your entire existence. Heads turn. Conversations falter. She’s that girl, the one who doesn’t have to try.
Not that it matters. She’s definitely not your type. Too polished, too arrogant, too unreachable. You’ve got bigger problems than pretty girls with a last name that can open multiple estates.
So you stand there, nodding when your friends introduce her in passing. “Ah, Miss Jang, hey! It's been a long time. This is our guy, don’t mind him, he’s shy.” She gives you the briefest glance, a polite nod, then goes back to sipping her wine. Perfect. Easy.
Until it isn’t.
Because suddenly, a crowd of suitors descends on her like moths to a flame.
“Miss Jang, I’ve been meaning to ask, would you care for a drive in my father’s new Maybach?”
“Your dress is stunning tonight. Did you have it tailored in Paris? I could recommend —”
“You know, my family’s hosting a gala next week. You should come. We’d be honoured.”
The voices overlap, desperate, performative. Funny enough, you can see it in her expression: the strain behind her perfect smile, the boredom hiding in her eyes. She doesn’t want this. But they don’t care.
And then she looked at you, as if you two shared the same distaste towards this obnoxious crowd…then moved slowly towards you. Wait, towards you?
You freeze as she closes in, perfume wrapping around you like invisible silk. Her arm slips through yours, firm, warm, and terrifyingly deliberate.
“Babe,” she says smoothly, loud enough for the whole group to hear. Her smile blooms, but now it’s sharp, purposeful. “Sorry I kept you waiting.”
Babe? Who's babe now? Did she forget that she just dismissed you with her eyes only just then?
You blink, brain scrambling for words, but nothing makes it past your throat. The suitors stop mid-sentence, their faces contorting in disbelief.
“Him?” one of them sneers.
Her grip tightens on you, nails grazing your sleeve. She tilts her head, still smiling, but her voice dips just enough to sting. “Yes. Problem?”
No one answers. No one dares. They scatter, muttering half-hearted excuses, their pride leaking out of them like popped balloons.
You, meanwhile, are still processing the fact that her arms are still wrapped around yours. Before you can speak, she tugs you away, heels clicking across the marble. Past the champagne, past the murmur, through a velvet curtain and into a quieter, dimly lit VIP lounge. She finally releases you, her expression cool and unreadable, like nothing just happened.
You blink at her. “What the actual fuck was that?”
“Quiet.” She doesn’t flinch. Too busy to check her black nails than to look at you. “Six months. Pretend to be my boyfriend. I’ll pay you.”
You furrowed your brow. “...What bull shit is this?”
Finally, her eyes flick to yours. They’re sharp, clear, cutting right through you. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Six months. You play the boyfriend role, and you’ll never have to worry about money again.”
You laugh, bitter. “Ok, I don’t know who the hell you think I am, but I’m not some fucking— ”
“Do it or else.” She cuts you off, her tone flat, dismissive. Like you’re already signed, sealed, delivered.
“Or else what?” you snap, more from panic than pride.
Her lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “Or else I tell everyone here that you threatened me to call you babe. And trust me… they’ll believe me.”
Your blood runs cold. “Y-yeah fuck n—“
“What are you gonna do then, broke boy? Waggling your tail behind those three guys? You think I didn't notice?”
You want to cuss her out, walk out, reclaim the last scrap of dignity you have left. But the image of your unpaid rent flashes in your head. The tuition deadline. The electricity bill threatens to snap your life in half. The measly amount of money you have left imprinted in your mind.
$31.08.
This whole thing is a mistake. One big, humiliating, insane mistake. Yet.
“…How much?” you mutter, hating yourself already.
-
The café was too bright for your mood. Floor-to-ceiling windows let the morning light pour in, catching every imperfection of your slouched posture, every shadow under your tired eyes. You picked the corner seat, the one closest to the exit. If this went south, and it already felt like it would, you wanted the fastest escape route.
Because who would believe that event a few nights earlier actually happened?
Wonyoung entered like she owned the place. Not in the cliché way of a girl walking in with confidence, but in the literal sense that everyone working there seemed to straighten the second she stepped in. She wasn’t dressed like the heiress you’d overheard your friends gushing about that night— just jeans and a tucked-in shirt—but the air around her bent differently, like she was gravity and everyone else was debris.
“You’re late,” you muttered when she slid into the seat across from you.
“You’re poor,” she shot back with the sweetest smile. “But we can’t have everything we want, can we?”
You blinked, thrown off, before scowling. “Was that really fucking necessary?”
“It's amusing.” She smoothed the cuff of her sleeve, barely glancing at you. “Now, let’s talk business.”
The way she said business made your stomach twist. Like you weren’t sitting in some café near the subway station, but at the negotiating table of a multi-million-dollar merger.
“I already told you—”
“You already told me nothing,” she interrupted, plucking the coffee menu from the stand and flipping through it like she was at a salon. “You mumbled, cursed, and sulked. That’s not communication.”
Your jaw clenched. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
Her eyes flicked up then, sharp enough to slice. “You did, actually. The second you stayed in that room and asked how much. That is consent, sweetheart. Don’t you know your contract law?”
You leaned back in your chair, muttering under your breath. “What bullshit...”
“Anyway, let’s not waste my time.” She set the menu down and folded her hands neatly. “Let’s establish terms again.”
“Terms?”
“As I said, six months,” she cut in again. “You’re my boyfriend in public, in front of suitors, family, business associates. No exceptions.”
“And private?” you asked flatly.
“Private?” She let the word hang in the air like she was savouring it. Then she smiled, mocking, victorious. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. Separate lives.”
You laughed, bitter. “Great, so I’m just an act.”
“Congratulations, you caught on quick.” She tilted her head, studying you like a lab rat who’d done a trick. “But don’t worry. You won't have to work at Starbucks for cash. You work for me.”
“I don’t like being owned.”
“You’re not owned,” she corrected, sweet as poison. “You’re hired. Big difference.”
That one stung, but you swallowed it down. The rent. The bills. The constant choking fear of falling behind. Those words kept your mouth shut when every bone in your body wanted to stand and leave.
“Anything else?” you muttered.
“Yes. Next, not falling for each other.” She said it so casually, like she was warning you not to step on wet paint.
“Tsk.” You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not my type.”
“Good,” she replied instantly. “And you’re definitely not mine even in my next life. So we agree.”
There was silence for a beat, filled only by the hiss of the espresso machine and the low hum of chatter. You thought maybe that was it until she slid a crisp folder across the table.
You froze. “…What’s this?”
“Your new role.”
You opened it and almost choked. Resumes. Certificates. Company IDs. Bank statements. All meticulously crafted. You weren’t just anyone anymore. According to this file, you were a bright young intern at Samsung, on the path to middle management glory.
“This…” Your voice cracked. “You forged all this?”
“Such an ugly word.” She sipped her iced Americano, perfectly calm. “I prefer… curated.”
“Are you fucked in the head? If anyone finds out —”
“They won’t. I won't get caught.” She leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand, her gaze locking onto yours. “And neither will you, if you’re smart enough to play your part.”
Your hands tightened around the folder. “This is blackmail.”
“This is survival…well for you, I suppose.” She corrected it smoothly. “Unless, of course, you want to go back to your dignity and struggle with rent while I find someone else for the role.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but nothing came out. The images of unpaid bills, of your landlord’s cold eyes, of the suffocating weight of reality… they were louder than your pride.
“Thought so,” she said, victorious, before pulling a sleek pen from her bag and sliding it across to you. “Sign it.”
You stared at the pen like it was a blade pressed against your throat. “You really think you can just…do shits like this?”
Her smile widened, serene and smug. “Oh no. I don’t think. I know.”
Your lips curled into a snarl, but your hand still reached out, almost on its own. You signed. The sound of the pen scratching against paper felt like shackles clamping onto your wrists.
“Good boy,” she said softly, leaning back in her chair as if the deal were sealed with your dignity.
You wanted to argue, to flip the table, to tell her you weren’t anyone’s dog. But all you could do was sit there, staring at the ink drying on the contract, knowing you’d just sold yourself into the most humiliating role of your life.
You leaned back, exhaling through your nose. “…Great. Can’t wait to meet the in-laws.”
Her smirk deepened. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s next week.”
You nearly choked on your own spit. “WHAT THE F—”
-
You had been told to “dress nicely” for tonight, but Wonyoung’s definition of nice was apparently closer to a corporate gala than what you pulled together. A shirt that had seen too many washes, a blazer with one loose thread, and shoes that squeaked if you pressed too hard on the heel.
When you arrived at her family’s mansion, the difference between your world and hers slapped you in the face before you even touched the brass knocker. The gate alone was taller than your apartment building, the hedges trimmed like soldiers in formation. It literally looked like it had been pulled straight out of one of those glossy real estate magazines that you ripped the pages off to cover the mold on your wall.
She opened the door herself, arms crossed, eyes scanning you in a slow, judgmental sweep. “Hm. Passable,” she said flatly, before leaning in close enough for her perfume to brush your skin. “Don’t speak unless spoken to. Smile. And remember, you’re a Samsung intern, not… whatever you usually are.”
“I know,” you muttered, tugging on your sleeves. “You already drilled it into my fucking head five times.”
“Six,” she corrected with a faint smirk. “And it’s still not enough. Also get rid of your foul mouth.”
Inside, her parents sat in a living room large enough to host a wedding reception. Her mother rose first, elegant and poised, while her father looked up from the leather armchair, his expression somewhere between curiosity and suspicion.
“This must be him,” her mother said warmly, extending a hand. “The young man you told us about.”
“Yes, Mom,” Wonyoung replied smoothly, her tone dripping with the practiced sweetness you had never once been privy to in private. She squeezed your arm just hard enough to remind you of your role. “This is my lovely boyfriend. He’s an intern at Samsung’s headquarters.”
That single lie rolled off her tongue like silk, and you had to nod quickly before her parents’ eyes bored through you.
“Yes, ma'am. It’s… an honour,” you said, fumbling slightly, but catching yourself at the last second. You forced a polite smile, praying it didn’t look too strained.
Her father stood behind, brow raised. “Samsung? Which department?”
You froze for a beat, but Wonyoung slipped her hand over yours on the couch, nails biting into your skin under the guise of affection.
“R&D,” you said quickly, voice steady only because you knew she’d dig deeper into your hand if you faltered.
Her father leaned back, studying you. “Impressive. Competitive to get in. You must be very capable.”
You nodded again, feeling your stomach churn. “I… do my best, sir.”
Throughout the dinner, you spoke only when asked, each word carefully filtered through the silent threats in Wonyoung’s sharp glances. She filled in the gaps flawlessly, weaving a story around you as though she had rehearsed every lie for weeks. She laughed at your forced anecdotes, painted you as ambitious, dedicated, dependable—the kind of son-in-law any parent would be proud of. You wanted to sink into the floor. Every compliment was another stone on your chest. But when her father finally nodded in approval, you felt her hand relax ever so slightly over yours.
As soon as the front door closed behind her parents, she let go of you like you were nothing but a used prop. “Not bad,” she said, already beginning to head inside without a glance back. “You didn’t embarrass me. You might actually be useful.”
“Glad to be of the fucking service,” you muttered under your breath.
She paused, half-turning with a smile. “Careful. Props don’t talk back.”
The days that followed turned into a routine, or rather, a performance. Hand in hand, you walked across campus with her, her fingers laced with yours in a grip that felt more like possession than affection. Cameras, phones, whispers, all part of her stage. She leaned close enough to make hearts flutter around you, her laughter spilling like honey into the ears of every spectator.
“Baby” she’d say loudly, brushing her hair back with exaggerated fondness, “walk me to class, please?”
The crowd would melt. You’d play along, smile like a fool, even squeeze her hand. And when the crowd dispersed, when the attention shifted elsewhere, she’d drop your hand like it burned her.
“That’ll be $3000 for you.” she’d say casually, slipping a bill into your pocket like she was tipping a waiter.
"Wow." You clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to swallow your pride. “A fine example of humility, Jang Wonyoung.”
“So what?” she cut in sharply, eyes gleaming. “You agreed to this. Don’t start acting like you’re the victim.”
Another day, she leaned into your shoulder at the campus café, sighing dramatically loud enough for the group at the next table to hear. “You’re so sweet, paying for my coffee again. How did I get so lucky?”
You grinned through your teeth, sliding your own card across the counter, your stomach twisting at the price (even you got paid handsomely). When the last witness turned their head away, she straightened up and shoved a stack of folded bills at you beneath the table.
“Reimbursement,” she whispered, tone dripping with mock kindness. “For being so obedient.”
You wanted to throw it back at her. To stand up, tell everyone it was all bullshit. But then you thought of your empty fridge, the rent overdue notice peeking from under your door. You kept the money, like you always did. Eating away your shame was better than eating nothing.
And she knew it. Every smirk, every command, every choreographed laugh reminded you that she wasn’t your girlfriend—she was your leash-holder. And you were the dog that agreed to wear the collar.
At least your wallet is happier now. But were you?
Were you really?
-
Her room was too clean.
That was your first thought when she waved you in with the laziest flick of her wrist. It was supposed to be another “home date” arranged to keep up appearances for her parents, but tonight was different. For the first time, you properly took in her space.
The desk was ridiculously enormous, covered in a thin stack of papers, a sleek MacBook, and one of those Montblanc pens you’d only ever seen locked behind glass in department stores. But the strangest thing? Despite the money on display, the open workbook in front of her was smeared with pink highlighter and frantic chicken-scratch notes stood out.
Wonyoung was slouched in her chair, hair tied back messily, staring at an Excel sheet like it had personally insulted her.
“Corporate Finance. Week five.” She groaned, stabbing her pen at the screen. “Why is this shit so hard? Discounted cash flow? Net present value? IRR? What the fuck is this...”
So even the glamourous princess could be foul with her tongue. Huh.
You leaned against the desk, peering down at her assignment. The Excel sheet was a disaster: columns misaligned, formulas broken, random cells filled with “???”.
“…Why don’t you just, you know, pay someone to do it?” you asked flatly, because honestly, wasn’t that her whole way of life? Throw money at problems until they disappear.
Her head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “If I could, don’t you think I would’ve already? Daddy said if he catches me outsourcing work again, he’s cutting off my platinum card. No Amex, no driver, no weekend spa trips.” She said this as if it were the cruellest punishment imaginable.
You raised a brow. “So basically… your entire ecosystem of survival. What a fucking cheat.”
She clicked her tongue. “Don’t act like you don’t get it. You’d die without money too. The difference is, you’d just starve. I’d lose my whole lifestyle.”
You wanted to argue, but she wasn’t wrong. Still, you glanced back at her sheet and sighed. “Alright, move over. Let me see this shit.”
Wonyoung blinked. “You? What are you gonna do? Throw some sad, broken-man wisdom at my work?”
“Broke-man wisdom probably has more accuracy than… whatever the fuck this is.” You gestured to her file. “Look, this assignment isn’t that hard. You’re just overcomplicating it.”
She gave you a dubious look but shifted over, chair squeaking as you pulled it toward the desk.
“Okay, so.” You pointed at the problem statement. “They’re asking you to evaluate a project—figure out if it’s worth investing in. First step: you take the projected cash flows—”
"Wait. Cash flow is just… money in and money out, right?”
“Basically. But you need to think in terms of time value of money. A dollar today is worth more than a dollar tomorrow.”
She blinked. “Why?”
“Because of opportunity cost. You could invest that dollar today, earn returns, so by next year it’d be worth more. That’s why you discount future cash flows back to present value.”
“…Okay, fine, professor.” She rolled her eyes but leaned forward anyway, watching as you typed out the formula.
"Not a professor but whatever." You sighed, but continued anyway. "See this? NPV equals the sum of all future cash flows divided by (1 + discount rate)^t. If it’s positive, you take the project. Negative, you reject it."
Her brow furrowed, lips pursing slightly. She scribbled it down on her notebook in messy handwriting.
“And IRR?” she asked quietly.
“Urm…Internal Rate of Return. It’s basically the discount rate that makes your NPV equal zero. Companies like to compare it to their hurdle rate—if IRR’s higher, the investment’s good.”
She actually nodded this time, no sarcasm. “…Okay. That kind of makes sense. Wait, so the discount rate… what even is that?”
“Think of it like…uh…the required rate of return. Usually, it’s tied to the cost of capital. You know, like WACC—Weighted Average Cost of Capital.”
Her nose wrinkled. “That sounds awful.”
“It is…but it matters. A company’s not gonna put money in something unless the return’s higher than the cost of funding it.”
You kept explaining, fingers flying over her Excel sheet on the screen, fixing formulas and formatting. She leaned closer, chin resting on her palm, quietly absorbing.
“See? Clean. NPV is positive, IRR is twelve percent. The project's viable.”
“…You make it look easy,” she muttered, almost grudgingly.
“Shit's not easy. You just panic instead of thinking.”
She gave you a side-eye. “Don’t act all superior. You probably learned this to survive, huh? Counting pennies on your grocery runs.”
“Better than not knowing what the fuck an interest rate is.”
Her mouth fell open. “I do know! It’s… it’s that number the bank slaps on your credit card!”
"Fuck, damn." You snorted. “Revolutionary insight. Harvard Business School is fucking shaking.”
She shoved your shoulder lightly, cheeks puffed. “…Shut up. I’m trying.”
For once, the edge in her voice wasn’t mocking. She was actually… frustrated. Vulnerable, even. You caught yourself staring at the way her brows furrowed as she chewed on the end of her pen, scribbling half-legible notes.
“You’re not that damn bad at this, you know,” you muttered.
Her head tilted. “Don’t fucking lie.”
“Well, I fucking not. You just…” you tapped her notes “…don’t trust yourself enough to think through the steps.”
Silence lingered between you, broken only by the clacking of keys. Finally, she leaned back with a sigh. “…Thanks. I guess.”
-
At first, earning your new role as her impromptu tutor was like dragging a cat into a bathtub. She’d slump back on the leather couch with her legs crossed, diamond earrings swinging, staring at her phone while you were trying to explain the difference between gross margin and net margin.
“Wonyoung, you can’t just—” you sighed, tapping the whiteboard app on your tablet. “Revenue minus cost of goods sold. That's a gross margin. But if you subtract operating expenses, then you get net. Write it down.”
She didn’t even look up, lazily twirling her straw in a pink cocktail. “Mhm. So… if I spend 50k on a Chanel bag showcase and sell it to my friends for 70k, the gross margin is… twenty, right?”
“Not… exactly.” You pinched your nose. “One, you don’t ‘sell’ bag showcases. Two, you’re missing fixed costs. Venue rental, staff, lighting, the security guard who looks like he eats diamonds for breakfast—”
Finally, she looked at you, pouting. “Ugh. Why do you make it sound so boring? Just say yes.”
“Fuck no. Because your professor won’t.”
It was the only time you could afford to be blunt with her, the only arena where her usual intimidation lost ground (it's most likely because she wanted to get her black cards back). She’d glare at you like she was two seconds away from firing you, but instead of snapping back, she’d lower her eyes and quietly jot something down in her notebook.
The sessions became so frequent that you started to notice her picking up your habits without even realizing it. Her notes were no longer scattered scrawls but tidy bullet points, structured exactly like yours. Her readings, once untouched, were now highlighted in the same rhythm you used. And every so often, you’d hear her mutter your exact words under her breath, “...you fucking serious?” in that clipped, annoyed tone that used to be yours alone. Basically, she swore more often just like you.
But it didn’t stop there. One night, around 2 AM, your phone lit up. You groaned, rolled over, and saw her name.
You picked up, voice rough. “What.”
“Explain elasticity again.”
“…You fucking serious?”
“Yes, I am fucking serious. If demand is elastic, price goes down, sales go up, right? But then why did Apple make their phones more expensive and still sell more?”
"You fucking…" You sat up, rubbing your temples. “….Because not everything is elastic. Luxury goods, like the stuff you waste your allowance on, are often inelastic. The higher the price, the more it screams status. People buy it because it’s expensive.”
There was a pause on the other end. Then a quiet laugh. “So I’m a walking case study?”
“Glad you’re self-aware, Jang Wonyoung” you muttered, collapsing back onto your pillow. “Now let me sleep, will you?”
“Mm. Fine. Thanks, babe. Sleep tight.”
You hung up, staring at the ceiling. Wonyoung, of all people, studying at 2 AM? You didn’t know whether to be annoyed or impressed.
Other times, she’d drag you out against your will.
You once had to storm into the VIP lounge of a Gangnam club because she wouldn’t stop spamming your phone. She was waiting with a notebook open among champagne bottles and expensive fruits.
“Sit.” She patted the seat beside her, like you were some kind of dog.
You groaned. “You’re seriously making me teach you here?”
“Yes. I already skipped three classes. You said I was wasting time.” She slid her notebook closer, eyes uncharacteristically big and expectant. “Don’t let me waste it, my shitty boyfriend.”
Her tone was bossy, but her hand was already clutching a pen like she was actually ready to listen. Against your better judgment, you sat and explained how Porter’s Five Forces worked while bass shook the glass walls. She nodded, tapping her nails on the page, lips moving as she whispered the concepts back to herself.
And somewhere along the way, you picked up her habits too.
She had that habit of twirling her pen when she thought, and you caught yourself doing the same when trying to find the right word to explain to her. She'd waved her hand dismissively whenever she rejected an idea, a gesture so effortlessly elegant you slap yourself for accidentally mirroring it when the waiter offered drinks. Worst of all, you just start drinking whatever overpriced she always brought.
But then…her grades began to climb, not spectacularly, but enough to make her happy. Her first decent midterm came back with a solid B+. She shoved the paper into your face before you even stepped into her place.
“Look! I passed!” she beamed. “Do you know how many people thought I was going to fail out? Hah!”
You gave her a once-over. “Not bad. Still not an A though.”
“Excuse you?” She smacked your arm with the rolled-up paper. “This is basically an A for me. You should be honoured. My dad didn’t even believe I wrote the essay myself.”
“…Did you?”
“Yes!” She puffed out her cheeks, glaring at you. “I stayed up all night, typing and deleting. And don’t give me that shitty grin, I only cried twice.”
You chuckled despite telling yourself not to. “Fine. Good job.”
Her eyes widened, then she smiled a little too brightly. “Y-you actually mean that?”
“Why would I waste my damn energy lying to you?”
For a moment, she froze, lips twitching. Then she turned away, suddenly shy. “…Well. Keep complimenting me like that, and maybe I’ll even aim for an A next time.”
-
You thought it was a phase.
Maybe something she did when she was bored, the same way she bought limited-edition heels and forgot about them a week later. But three months in and the pattern stayed.
One evening, you were hunched over your laptop at your tiny dining table, Excel open, cells glowing with endless columns of projected revenue and sponsorship figures. Your wrist ached from typing, but your pen spun absentmindedly between your fingers (three twirls, catch, three twirls, catch) the same nervous tic you’d noticed she’d been doing with her Montblanc pen for weeks now.
The door opened without so much as a knock.
“Again?” you muttered, not even looking up.
Of course, the Jang Wonyoung barged in without asking, as always, a plastic bag of snacks in her hand. She always did that annoying twirl, showing off her favourite Tommy Jeans black dress that hugs her tightly (you never see her wear that outside, though.) Instead of sitting across, she dragged the chair and sat beside you, throwing the bag on the table like she owned the whole room.
“Ya, did you hear the latest about the Han family?” she said, words muffled slightly as she chewed. “Their eldest son got caught cheating in his MBA program. Total fucking scandal. The dean over there is trying to keep it quiet, but everyone knows.”
You didn’t look up. “You sound way too damn happy about someone else’s shit.”
Her grin widened, sharp and satisfied. “Of course I am. He once told me I ‘lacked the work ethic for graduate school’ when we first met. Look how that fucker turned out.” She leaned closer, tilting her head toward your screen. “What are you even doing this time? Looks like hell.”
“Quarterly projections,” you muttered. “Not that you’d care.”
“True,” she said airily, throwing a piece of Haribo into her mouth. “But if you run out of numbers to stare at, I can tell you about which department store CEO just got blacklisted by LVMH for faking luxury collaborations.”
You finally looked at her, brow furrowed. “Why…do you even know these things, Wonyoung?”
She smirked, popping another into her mouth. “Because gossip travels faster in penthouses than it does in classrooms. You wouldn’t understand.”
You shook your head, returning to your spreadsheet, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she slouched in her chair, one elbow propped against the table, scrolling through her phone with idle taps. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Just… there.
Another night, you were sprawled in the lounge, a half-warm can of cheap coffee on the table, a documentary murmuring from the TV. She slid onto the couch beside you, close enough that your shoulders brushed, dropping her bag onto the floor without a care. You didn’t even flinch anymore. She’d been barging into your place too often for it to feel foreign.
“Hye, want to know which dumb rich guys are secretly dating a B-list actress?” she asked suddenly, eyes glittering with mischief.
You gave her a deadpan look. “Not particularly.”
She leaned in anyway, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I won’t tell anyone else. Just you.”
You exhaled, exasperated. “Why me?”
She blinked once, then smirked. “Because you’re boring enough to keep secrets.”
"Rude.”
“Accurate,” she shot back without missing a beat. Then, as if remembering something, she reached over, plucked your can of coffee from the table, and took a swig.
You frowned. “That’s mine.”
“Mhm, fuck that. Your shit, my shit.” she hummed, ignoring you, her long fingers wrapped around the dented aluminum. She tilted her head back, swallowed, then lowered the can with an approving look. “Ugh. I hate that I like this now.”
Your brow arched. “Didn’t you once call it—what was it—‘recycled battery acid’?”
“My point still stands.” She smirked, setting the can back down but keeping it close to her side of the table, as if it was hers now. “But it’s…addictive. And way cheaper than the syrupy shit I used to waste thirty bucks on.”
“Welcome to the commoner’s economy, princess.” you muttered.
“Don’t use that tone on me, mister.” She tapped her nails against the aluminum, a habit that mirrored the way you always fidgeted with your pen. “It’s just… practical. Convenient. Doesn’t come in an obnoxious cup with my name spelled wrong.” She shot you a sideways glance, her grin playful. “Happy? You’ve fucked me up.”
You kept your face straight. “Finally, some good shit I’ve taught you.”
She laughed, leaning into you, the sound bubbling up without her usual effort to control it. “Wow. You’re actually proud. Cute.”
“I do not remember saying that” you dismissed, unknowingly did her usual gesture like it was natural.
“Sure, sure.” She settled more comfortably against your shoulder, like she’d done it a hundred times before. Her hair tickled your arm, her perfume faint but familiar. She lifted the can again, took another sip, then sighed contentedly, her lips quaking into a softer smile this time.
“And because…I guess…urm…” She paused, eyes still on the screen but voice low. “…you actually listen.”
The documentary droned on in the background. Outside, neon lights bled through the blinds, painting the room in shifting pinks and blues. You were itching to push her off. To tell her you weren’t her diary, weren’t her late-night therapist, weren’t her safe little vault for secrets. But you didn’t.
You sat still, feeling the slight weight of her head, the warmth of her shoulder against yours, the soft clink of her nails against the can she stole.
And you realized, somewhere between each impromptu session and whispered gossip under neon lights like this, that the spoiled heiress who once saw you as nothing more than a background actor had started to…warm up.
And maybe you are too…
-
By the fifth month, something had shifted.
You noticed it in the smallest ways. Wonyoung no longer clutched her iced lattes from high-end cafés with gold-leaf foam; instead, you always see her with a dented can of black coffee—the kind you’d been forcing down for years because it was cheap and everywhere. She still wrinkled her nose at the taste, but she drank it anyway. She’d even pick up an extra can for you sometimes, sliding it across the table like it was nothing.
And you, without realizing, had started tapping your pen against notebooks in the same unorthodox rhythm she tapped her nails against glasses. Your head tilted the same way hers did when listening. Sometimes when you walked away from her driver waiting at the curb, you caught yourself dragging your feet just like she did—stretching out those last few seconds like you didn’t want the evening to end either.
At first, you dismissed it as habit, camouflage, a side effect of spending too much time together. But you couldn’t deny the pattern.
She laughed harder at your blunt, unpolished jokes than at any half-hearted punchline from the hordes that kept licking her boots. She didn’t argue back as much during case studies, even when you yelled at her for the fifth time in a week about mixing up fixed costs and variable costs. And sometimes, in the silence after your scolding, while she typed notes furiously into her laptop, her gaze would wander back to you. Not to her “fake boyfriend.” Not to her impromptu tutor. But to something else, something she herself couldn’t seem to name.
And against your better judgment, against all the bitterness you’d buried toward her kind of world, something cracked inside you.
Maybe you were wrong about her. Somehow.
And just as quickly as it appeared, the thought crumbled. Because she pulled away.
No messages.
No heads up.
Nothing.
Then one night you stumbled upon her again online, flashing lights bouncing off champagne towers, her name trending on Instagram stories full of sequins and afterparties. She fit there too perfectly, sliding back into the neon world of heirs and heiresses like the late nights of canned coffee and whispered gossip had been nothing but a detour.
She had vanished from your life like it was nothing. And you felt stupid for letting yourself think otherwise but just a contract.
You dropped whatever flicker of hope had sparked inside you. Snuffed it out before it could grow. Of course she wasn’t different. Of course she was just like the rest of them - throwing you away when you're out of use. You should’ve never expected anything more. It was over for you.
To her however…it wasn’t.
She hated how much she thought about you even after another Long Island. She hated how fake her laugh sounded when another rich kid told a joke, because she could only remember the way hers spilled out wholeheartedly at you, uncaring of your judgement. She hated how she heard your crude voice every time she glanced back at her Macbook.
And she hated most of all that she missed you.
She tried to drown it in neon lights, in alcohol and shallow conversation. But nothing worked. Not for a second.
So when you finally confronted her, it wasn't anything dramatic nor passionate. It was worse.
It was straight up a void.
She came back to the usual café you two had been visiting for months, the starting place of the whole contract, the “set piece” of your little arrangement, the one place that had always seen you both smiling a little too brightly for the sake of appearances.
“You’re late,” you said flatly.
Her lips twitched. “That’s what you’re starting with?”
“You came. I came. Now sit.”
It wasn’t a request. And she hated how obediently she sat down anyway.
For minutes, neither of you bothered with the old charade. No leaning close for show. No playful act for the regulars to whisper about. Just silence, broken only by the clink of your spoon against the espresso cup. The same rhythm you had picked up from her.
Wonyoung hated every second of it. She could see the indifference in your face, the way your eyes wandered off as if you had other things on your mind. And she hated the fact that she could recognise that particular rhythm from the tapping. The hollow laughter or the unfiltered curse would be far better than that constant noise right now.
“So that’s it?” she snapped suddenly. “You don’t care where I’ve been?”
“You’ve been at parties,” you replied, eyes fixed on your drink and stopping the spoon. “Congratulations. Want me to clap?”
Her chest tightened. “You’re heartless. I disappear for fucking weeks and that’s all you have to say?”
“So fucking what?” At last, you looked at her, your gaze sharp enough to cut. “People come and go, Wonyoung. You signed me for six months. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Her throat closed. “So that’s all I am to you? A contract?”
“I was a contract to you too. Mutual transaction, Wonyoung.”
The bluntness hit harder than a slap.
Her nails dug into her palms. “Why do you always do this shit? Pretend you don’t care, like you’re above everything, like nothing fucking touches you—”
“Because none of this shit touches me.” Your tone was steady, too steady. “You don’t get it. You’re spoiled, Wonyoung. You run to me when it’s convenient, then crawl back to your perfect little world the second it scares you. Don’t act like this is more than what it is.”
Her breath hitched, tears threatening, but her pride held. “You really think that’s all I’ve been doing? Using you? Playing with you?”
“Yes,” you said without hesitation.”What else?”
Her chest rose and fell sharply, like she was trying to keep herself from drowning. She bit down on her lip, eyes flashing with something raw. “You think I wanted this? You think I fucking planned to—” she stopped herself, words catching.
You didn’t move.
“I cannot change my feelings for you,” she blurted out. The tremor broke into rawness, eyes wet, hands trembling on the table. “Believe me, I fucking tried.”
Silence fell heavy, the café fading out around you both. For the first time, her mask was gone. No perfect smile, no practiced tone. Just Wonyoung, stripped raw, vulnerable, begging without saying the word. Begging that you would see her properly.
And a part of you wanted to forgive her. Ached to. Because she enjoyed your bitter canned coffee. Because you caught yourself chewing at straws the way she used to. Because she laughed for real with you and let herself listen without pretending she already knew. You wanted to reach across the table. You wanted to tell her you could try, just try.
But you didn’t. You smothered it down, buried it under the weight of everything you knew about her world. You couldn’t afford to believe it. Not from her.
Anymore.
“Well,” you began, soft yet merciless, “I can’t change my despise for you either.”
Her head jerked back as if you’d struck her. “What…?”
“Wonyoung.” You breathed, exhaling all the thoughts that you were bottling up. “I already don’t…like your kind of people, especially those who whine and play around. Being…friends with you was the furthest I could go, and that’s me being generous.
You swallowed, unsure if the word ”friend” rolled off your tongue was sweet or bitter. "But this?” You pushed the expensive coffee cup aside like it was trash. “This was a contract. And you broke it. It’s over.”
Like you were clocking out of a shift.
Her body trembled as the tears finally fell, one after another, slipping down her flawless face. Her voice cracked as she screamed, “You’re really ending it like this?! Just like that?!”
You stood, hands sliding into your pockets. “…Thank you for the past six months, Jang Wonyoung.”
And you got up from your seat.
On the table, beside her untouched latte, you placed a small, neatly wrapped box. Inside was a silver pen — unbranded, practical, the one you’d once caught her admiring when you were scribbling notes beside her. Her birthday was only a few days away. It was the only kindness you allowed yourself.
You didn’t wait to see her reaction. Didn’t dare.
The bell chimed as you walked out, dragging your feet unconsciously — just like her.
Wonyoung could only crumble back into her seat, face buried in her hands, her sobs muffled against the perfect silence of the café. For the first time in her carefully curated life, her heart felt like it had been ripped apart. The first affection she thought might be real, the first person who didn’t look at her like a brand, a name, nor an heiress, was gone.
And you?
You walked into the street, your thumb already scrolling through job postings, your teeth chewing at your fingernail the way she used to chew straws.
A barista gig near the university. A bookstore clerk position. A part-time teaching assistant role if you got lucky. Anything to keep moving. Anything to keep the light on your head and food on the table. Anything to not get back to the time where you only had $31.08 on you. Anything but thinking about the girl crying her heart out behind you.
Because for her, it was never just a contract.
But for you, it had to be. Even if you’d already betrayed yourself by leaving her that gift.
Can you do (platonic) yandere gaang headcanons? You can choose whether or not reader's a bender
Sure! I’ll do my best!! I’m so sorry this took so long! I’ve been in a block :< (also sorry I didn’t write Suki as I don’t really like her that much-)
Yandere! Gaang x Bloodbender! Reader
Synopsis: You found the Gaang one faithful night, which led to the Gaang adorning you as a close friend and sibling, making sure you’re always gonna be in safe hands.
•I wanna say that you probably met the Gaang during season 2(ish) toph was already on the team and Zuko was trying to find himself, they first found you when you were by a simple and small fire, all alone in the woods, your clothes dirty and worn down, Katara approached you, in out of instinct you stood up, preparing to fight but lowered your guard when you saw she was from the water tribe.
•They were all extremely fond of you, even though you were a bloodbender…which is worry some…but they trusted you enough to not do anything.
•Sokka caught the feeling first. He was amazed by your strength and determination to keep everyone safe, your laughter and smile was what drove him to fall as well. He enjoys the time when you first flew on Appa, you clung onto him so tightly, he felt all the blood rush to his cheeks. It was adorable how you got so scared..so easily. He was like an older brother again..
•I wanna say..Katara was next. She tried to help you learn more waterbending techniques, she couldn’t help but feel like a mother teaching her child, no matter how many times you slipped and got soaked with water you got up and continued. Her favorite memory which is what got her to obsess, which was when you two were training, you got seriously injured by a platypus bear, she felt horrible for allowing you to get hurt.. she will make sure it never happens again..
•Aang was next. He started to obsess after Katara, he felt. His body became completely drawn to you, not in a romantic way, but in a sibling way. He wanted to spend more time with you and help Katara teach you water bending to get you out of using blood bending. A memory he constantly day dreams about is the time when you first knocked him down, you were so happy..he’ll make sure that smile never fades.
•Toph was “Last”, she couldn’t see you, but they way your voice echoed and ringed in her ears was like a melody, she loved sparing with you, showing you her newest techniques, showing off and smiling widely at your amazement. The memory that stuck to Toph was the time you read to her, telling her stories from books, as she can’t see, she loves hearing you read.. your voice is a precious gift, she wants to make sure only her and the Gaang hear it.
•Zuko was last. As he was the last to the group. But as soon as he joined he felt an instant sibling connection. With Azula, he thought it was normal for siblings to be so cold and distant, but you..you were different, so soft and caring, he was amazed by your blood bending. He didn’t know that two people in the group had the ability to control bodies. He hasn’t had many memories as he is still new, but he will make sure you don’t distance yourself, he wants to make sure he’s a good brother to you.
Writer's note: Its finally done omg, ill probs be making another part to this except itll be shorter soo keep an eye out for that! :3
Summery: After over a decade of evading the gaang, you finally slip and once again captured by the controlling claws of your obsessive ex-friends.
WARNINGS: Threatening, use of violence, non-con, implied murder, mentions of blood, mentions of weapons, mentions of arson (kinda, something goes up in flames)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
(not my art)
Sand swept past you, some grains of it brushing against your eyelashes while blazing rays of sunlight beamed down on your half covered face, the golden chariot temporarily blinding your vision as your eyes gazed up at the clear sky. The sun was slowing inching west, planning to go into hiding for another night.
Your boots trudged through heavy layers of sand, making their way towards a ostrich-horse. You placed some bottles of water in the carrier sack on the ostrich’s back before hauling yourself up on it. Your eyes wandered towards the sun once more; analysing, calculating.
Your hands quickly pulled at the reins, ushering the animal to begin running. Your heartbeat rose as you rode faster and faster. Running away into the east as if the sun itself would begin chasing you.
For years it seemed as if it was chasing you, for 12 years you had ran. Escaped. Hidden. Looked over your shoulder as if a familiar- controlling hand would pull you back into a nightmare you had struggled so desperately to escape from.
You couldn’t let them find you, so you ran and hid.
Over and over again. Never staying in the same place for too long.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
A FEW WEEKS LATER
Your counterfeit stared back at you from the vivid water you loomed over. Your hands splashed your dehydrated skin with the clear liquid; your eyes glazed over your reflection once more before you stood to you full height.
Your hand gently took hold of leather reins as you walked along the muddy ground, surrounded by colossal trees towering over your figure. You guided your ostrich along the slightly noticeable path etched into the ground; you followed the path until it led you to a small village.
The village sat near the edge of the water, sailors docking on the land while hauling wooden crates filled to the brim with fish. You tied the reins of my companion to a tree not so far from the village before facing this uncharted place by yourself.
It was in the Earth kingdom but was a bit close to the eastern air temple, just to be careful you would only stay for a day or two.
The crunch of tiny stone under your boots filled the air for a brief second before dissipating within the cacophony of voices of the busy street. There were rows of stalls lined along the street, some selling fruits that looked to polished, some selling jewellery that was already rusting. Along the bustling market there were alleyways between the stone buildings, some harbouring shady looking people; their eyes darting around with a glint resembling a predator.
Your hand tightened around the rope dart hanging on your belt, it was mostly hidden by the large cloak that adorned your body. As you eyed the not-so-friendly looking thugs, one man’s piercing gaze met yours. His eyes were a deep shade of green, like an amazon forest; beautiful on the outside, deadly on the inside.
He motioned to his pals, while still maintaining the eye contact, attracting their attention to you as well. Abruptly you took a sharp turn, your body moving hurriedly through an alleyway, a metallic stench hit your nostrils but you chose to ignore it for now. The sound of your steps through small puddles were cut by rushed, hammering strides following closely behind you.
It was those bandits, they were charging right at you. “Get them!”, the seemingly leader barked at his minions. Your breathing hastened, blood pumping faster, adrenaline starting coursing through your blood like an addicting drug that you couldn’t let go of. Your heels swerved around streets, drifting through the village as civilians just moved out of the way, continuing on with their mundane tasks.
Your boots beat against the ground until they caught on a stray pebble, pushing your body into disarray as it stumbled. Before the bandits could cash in their opportunity to catch up- a strong arm pulled you into a building before slamming the door shut.
Darkness reigned over the room accompanied by thin streaks of sunlight ,piercing through tiny crevice in the cobbled wall, they barely allowed your eyes to detect a figure Infront of you, his back facing you. Your ‘saviour’.
From his earlier grasp on you, you could tell from his build that he was a man. Your hand wrapped around your rope dart, waiting for a movement to signal you to pounce on him.
“Whew, those guy were really set on robbing you-“, the sharp glint of your dart was pointed right in his face as he turned to face you.
“I’m not trying to hurt you or kidnap you! So just put the pointy thing down!”, he exclaimed as his hands flew up in surrender.
“Funny your mind thinks that I’m afraid of you hurting me”. You replied, your hand slowly lowering your weapon.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The blazing heat from the sun was replaced with soft glows from the sunset you and currently sat infront of on a ledge. Soft breezes flew past you, allowing a strand of your hair to slip out, you stared at the man sat next to you. You’re “hero” he named himself, his birth name being Renko. He was in his late teens to early twenties, a youthful shine on his face as his silky voice continued rambling on about a time he wrestled a Platypus-bear by himself. Clearly a tall tale judging by his lean figure which would barely hold up in a fight against you.
Your eyes bored into him, as if searching deep inside for something that you lacked. His carefreeness. He spoke without a care in the world, fully expressing the emotion in each word he pronounced.
“Enough about my spectacular adventures, how about you? You’re a traveller no? I’m sure you’ve had some encounters of your own. Though not as awesome as mine I presume.”. He exclaimed with a tone of arrogance, but not one that made you want to claw his face off. He was boastful but, in a way, where it seemed more comedic rather than obnoxious.
“Me? I just…. enjoy seeing new places...”. You lied with a sigh escaping your lips, however an expression of excitement washed over Renko’s face as abruptly sprang to his full height.
“If you enjoy new places, you have got to see the lantern festival!”, he beamed as he tugged at your arm. With another exasperated sigh you allowed him to drag you along.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Small flickering flames were lit inside of the hollow lanterns, people gripped onto them tightly, afraid of accidentally letting go before the right time. Renko was busy arguing with one of the sellers at a lantern stall.
“I told you 2 copper coins for 2! Nothing more”
“Only 2 copper coins?! Son I told you the fixed price is 4 coins for 1 lantern!”
A small chuckle escaped your lips seeing Renko relentlessly negotiating with the vendor. You turned away from the stalls to look at the centre of the village, there were giant origami statues made of paper and some dragon dancers parading around them.
The corner of your lips turned up, a faint smile plastered on your face as you saw children gawk at the dancing dragons breathing fire. The flames filled the air with a warm glow, emitting a sense of solace inside of you.
Maybe you could actually settle down here…
The dancers once again roared flames out of there mouth, the audience breaking out in applause when your eyes caught a flicker of orange light bouncing onto the origami statues.
Before you could fully comprehend the situation, the origami burst into scorching flames, the wind further riled it, it grew larger more violent before spreading its savageness to the other statues. In a matter of second the entire centre, bustling with people was engulfed in flames. Your muscles stilled, your limbs refusing to obey, you stood there motionless as the flames grew nearer and nearer.
Renko grabbed your shoulder, breaking you out of your trance.
“(Name)! We gotta go!”, he yelled over the cacophony of screams and shouts of terrified civilians fleeing from the fire.
Renko had a tight grasp over your arm, pulling you away the scene. You turned your head, glancing at the large mass of fire, its roaring ember flames reaching higher when a large wave of greyish water rose behind the fire, before crashing down on the rampant flames. The orange inferno withered beneath the water’s ambush, its once-ravenous hunger reduced to sizzling whispers of steam.
The water was clearly being bended.
Huh… You didn’t know there was a waterbender in this village…
Your eyes tracked the movement of the water, push and pull, seeing 2 figures in the distance one draped in blue while the other was adorned in orange and beige cloths.
Renko turned to face you.
“(Name)? Are you okay?- is that?.... the avatar!”
Your orbs remained glued to those 2 figures. Those haunting figures. Your muscles tensed up under Renko’s sun kissed hand, you blood no longer rushing, it stilled, waiting for a command. Should you scream? Run? Break down in tears on the floor?
It felt as though a rock had been throttled in your throat, your throat’s walls scarping against its sharp edges, one you could not swallow. While a boulder seemed to press tightly against your chest, pushing your ribcage further towards your lungs. A single tear escaped from the corner of your eye, sliding down your cheek before dangling on the edge of your jaw.
Yet you could not look away. Away from those nightmarish figures who were now surrounded by a crowd of wide-eyed civilians applauding their heroic actions.
If only they knew of their cruelties…
Your eyes bored into the back of Aang’s head, you could almost see the shiver running down the top of his head to his neck and then down his spine before his head snapped in your direction.
Your eyes aligned for a split second before the panic fully set in.
You burst into a full sprint, eyes wide, heart beating wildly against your ribcage. “(Name)? Why are we running now?!”, Renko exclaimed from your side while sprinting to keep up with you.
You kept your gaze forward, continuing to sprint with only one thought.
Run.
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“Okay you’re acting crazy (Name). Why did you run out of the village like that?”, Renko questioned while breathing heavily, exhausted from the sudden sprint.
You didn’t reply, your hands too busy fixing the saddle on the ostrich-horse before turning back to look at the village.
Your eyes gazed longingly, unwilling to look away just yet.
This day, these memories with Renko, you would cherish them deeply, hold them tight to your heart- scared to let go.
“Renko…. I’m sorry but I cannot stay here any longer. I-I cannot explain why but I must leave”. You stepped closer to Renko, now staring deeply into his eyes, tracking his emotions shift from confusion to disappointment to a sort of understanding solace.
“Thank you for today….”. Tears welled up in your eyes, you shut them close, mourning the loss of a chance at happiness.
“I will- “. You began to speak again when a colossal boulder crashed into Renko’s side, barely missing you. Your heart picked up its earlier panic when a pain of heavy hands rested on your waist from behind.
Your breathing stilled.
“(Nickname), I cant believe you would lie and betray us like this…”. Aang’s chilling voice made your body motionless again but your eyes still wandered down to Renko’s body… laying limp on the floor with blood streaks staining his green clothes.
Warm tears flooded out of your eyes, cascading down your cheeks, then splattering over the ground next to pools of velvet blood, until your tears were smoothly waterbended off of your face by Katara.
So pitiful, you couldn’t even cry.
Katara’s warm hands gently cupped you face.
“You’re alive…”, she whispered against your lips before pressing hers against yours, while Aang pressed tender kisses along your neck, his head nestled in the crook.
“You can finally come home my love”, Katara whispered, breaking apart from your lips as more tears washed over your face.
“But first we’ll have to remove this vermin…”, her eyes glaring at Renko’s body passed out unconscious on the floor.
You opened your mouth to protest but was cut off by Katara aggressively smashing her lips against yours while a needle pricked your neck. “N-no..” you whispered as Katara’s face started to blur before your eyes like a half-formed ghost.
Yet again fate somehow managed to drop you right into the den of predators once more.
