An ITZY story of love, desire, sisterhood and the struggle of being real in a world that decides who you are
poster by r/DannyFitzy
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Five years of secrets. One weekend in paradise where everything unravels.
A summer vacation on Jeju Island was supposed to be simple - just sun, saltwater, and the same careful dance Minho (OC) and ITZY's Yeji have maintained for years. Instead, their FWB dynamic gets thrust into the chaos of her group vacation, pulling them into memories of the girl he once trained with, the girl he once saved from falling apart, the girl he never really stopped wanting. What begins as their careful dance spirals into something deeper, messier, and far more intimate than either of them are prepared to admit.
Through late-night confessions, impulsive hookups, jealous breakdowns, and tender moments neither knows how to name, the story explores how intimacy becomes a language for people who were never taught how to express their hearts. Each girl's "concept" - Yeji's perfectionism, Yuna's brattiness, Ryujin's rebellion, Chaeryeong's sweetness, Lia's detachment, Karina's pedestal - begins to crack under the weight of being truly seen.
Beneath the heat, beneath the chaos, something tender is trying to emerge. But on Jeju, nothing stays simple - not lust, not love, and definitely not the truth.
Starring OC as Minho
Hwang Yeji as Yeji
Shin Ryujin as Ryujin
Shin Yuna as Yuna
Lee Chaeryeong as Chaeryeong
Choi Jisu as Lia
...and Yu Jimin as Karina
Despite starting its life as a short smut - Jeju Heat is a written pornhwa, a character study exploring hypersexuality as emotional language in K-pop idol culture, where many plot points are influenced by extrapolated versions of real events and real people. Somewhere along the way, it became a smut musical where idols perform through intimacy instead of singing and dancing - because they already do plenty of that at their full-time jobs.
It is inspired by film/cinematic language as well as pornhwa-style storytelling and echoes the core themes of many of my favorite films. These aren't just themes I admire from a distance; they've touched my life in ways both devastating and beautiful. Some of them I've lived through, worn on my skin, carried in my chest until I had to write them down just to breathe. I wrote this story because I needed it to exist, because these characters demanded to be witnessed in all their messy, hungry, heartbreakingly human complexity, told through K-pop smut and through the groups and idols I love and am inspired by deeply, not despite their humanity but because of it. And I hope that, quietly, earnestly, the way you hope for anything that matters - these themes will touch you too. That you'll see yourself somewhere in these pages, in these bodies, in these moments of connection and catastrophe. That you'll feel a little less alone in whatever you're carrying. That's all any story can really hope to do.
I've tried to craft every character choice, every narrative beat, every thematic echo in service of that hope by building the story to carry the importance of what those themes mean to me, and hopefully, what they might mean to you. To honor the cinematic experience, I've also started embedding music into chapters - songs meaningful to both me and the characters, another layer of intentional storytelling woven into the fabric of this world.
If any of this resonates, if you want to dig into the how and why behind the story or want to discuss writing and storytelling in general - my DMs and asks are always open for that.
(Remastered!) Moonlight on water, skin on skin. A space reclaimed, a memory rewritten.
word count: ~19k
Characters: Male Reader (OC: Minho) x ITZY Hwang Yeji
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A/N: Pool, shower cathartic sex. Kdrama coded wetlook romance. Visually inspired by Romeo and Juliet (1996) and Tempted (2018) starring Red Velvet's Joy.
[MINHO]
The pool was the only light left in the villa.
Everything else had gone dark, the kitchen, the living room, the hallway where laughter used to bounce between walls. The fight had turned the whole house off like a switch, room by room, until the only thing still running was the pool and its underwater glow and me standing at the edge of it.
The same pool, twelve hours since dawn. The overcast had burned off hours ago and the sky had opened up obscene with stars, thousands of them, the water catching them and holding them as trembling copies scattered across the surface next to my own reflection.
The filter churned underneath, steady and low.
I’d walked back through the villa past three windows, three snapshots of damage I’d helped cause, Ryujin on the terrace with her arms wrapped around herself, Yuna on the floor with her face doing nothing, Lia at the kitchen counter with knuckles white around a phone she wouldn’t look at. I’d kept walking. Didn’t slow down. Because if I stopped at any one of those windows I’d have to open my mouth and I had nothing in it worth saying yet.
And now the pool again. Show up, be present, stop letting the water decide. I’d told myself that all day and hadn’t managed it once. My feet were in the water, nothing in my hands.
The stone was cold, my legs numb. Somewhere in the villa behind me, doors were closed and music was playing through earbuds and people were sitting with the wreckage of a fight. I’d heard Yeji through the walls, pitched high.
Defending me. Probably.
I wanted to deserve that. Wanted it badly enough that it pulled at me, toward the house, toward her. Except I’d kissed someone else in the dark two nights ago and I still hadn’t figured out how to say it.
Bare feet sounded on tile behind me. The sliding door had opened and closed so quietly I’d missed it, but the walk I knew. Years of practice rooms and hotel hallways, and I could’ve picked it out blindfolded.
She was close.
Her arms came around my torso from behind, both sliding under mine, her hands finding each other against my chest. Her forehead pressed between my shoulder blades, her nose against my spine, and then her breathing went slow and even, settling in. She didn’t say anything, but my body knew this shape, had known it since a practice room floor and a girl who couldn’t stop shaking.
The noise stopped and the three windows went dark. Ryujin’s silhouette, Yuna’s blank face, Lia’s white knuckles, all of it dropped out of my head so fast the quiet rang.
The filter’s churn replaced it, and the water lapped the tile in little even intervals while the night insects threaded the air with sounds so thin and high they needled at my ears. Her breathing came slow and warm against my back, fogging a small patch of skin between my shoulder blades that cooled every time she drew the breath back in.
This. Just this.
I wanted to turn around so bad my neck had already started before I caught it and held still, because turning would wreck whatever she was doing back there with her face hidden against my back so she didn’t have to show me.
So I stayed. My hands found her forearms and held them across my chest.
The pool glowed beneath my feet, the stars trembling on the water. Her back rose fast against me, her arms trembling where they crossed my chest.
Minutes passed, maybe five, maybe fifteen. Her breathing slowed against my back, warm and even, each exhale spreading across my skin. I held her forearms and she held my chest.
“I said things,” she whispered. “To Ryujin. Things I can’t -”
Her fingers tightened on my shirt.
“She said I’ve changed. And she’s right. I HAVE. I changed and I didn’t - I didn’t warn anyone.” She raced faster and faster until she ran out of air and had to gulp it back, her chest heaving against my back. “I didn’t ask if it was okay. I just did it. Because it felt right. Because YOU felt right. And now she’s on the terrace and I’m here and I can’t even fix it.”
Her forehead pressed harder between my shoulder blades. Her hands stopped holding and started gripping. She kept spilling it out.
I let her. Honestly, I would’ve let her scream it. Twelve hours ago I’d been trapped in a nightmare watching a version of her try to scream without making a sound, her jaw trembling around silence while I drowned in it. This? This was the opposite. This was Yeji coming apart, breaking the one damn rule she’d followed since trainee days: don’t burden them.
She was burdening me, finally. I held her arms to my chest and stood steadier than I’d been all day.
“And you’ve been - all day, Minho. All day. I saw it. The pool this morning - you thought I didn’t notice but I noticed EVERYTHING. The way you held my hand at the kitchen counter and your fingers waited before they closed. Do you know I can feel that? I know when you hesitate. I FELT it.”
My jaw went tight. She’d seen it. Of course she’d fucking seen it.
She’d seen it. Of course she’d fucking seen it. The hesitation I’d thought was invisible, and she’d caught it anyway. She’d been reading my smallest tells since before either of us knew what we were doing. Five years of that. I couldn’t hide from her even when I tried.
“And I keep thinking - it’s me. I’m the problem.” She pressed her face harder into my back. “I dragged you here. I put you in the middle of this mess and now there’s a fight and it’s all because I got greedy.”
She stopped. Her breathing had gone ragged.
“I keep reaching for you. You know that, right? All day. Every time. Me reaching. And you catch me every time but I don’t know if you’re catching because you want to or because I’m not giving you a choice -”
My hands tightened reflexively around her wrists.
“It’s not you.” I rasped. “Yeji. It’s not -” The rest died, and I had to try again. “I heard the fight through the walls.”
Her grip loosened a little.
“She’s scared,” I said. “And so are you. That’s it. That’s the whole fight.”
“Neither of those things are your fault, Yeji.”
Quiet settled between us, the pool filling it back in with the filter’s churn, water, insects. “I just -”
She’d run out, and there was nothing left but her breathing and her hands.
I turned my head partway, just enough that she could hear me without seeing the look on my face, and the moment she felt me start to move her arms loosened around me.
She came around me as I turned to her, her hand trailing along my chest the whole way, staying on me while the rest of her moved. Like she needed to keep touching me or I’d disappear. I turned and she drifted the last step over the warm tile and we met somewhere in the middle, face to face at the pool edge, the water glowing beneath us and the sky open above us and the warm Jeju air between us.
I’d seen Yeji under stage spots and practice room fluorescents and the blue glow of her phone.
This wasn’t that.
The pool light hit her from below and sent the shadows falling upward. Her jaw cut sharper and her eyes went dark and wet at the edges.
The cover-up hung translucent on her shoulders, and the teal radiance travelled right through the fabric so her silhouette turned into this surreal, glowing thing: like she was half-visible, half-imagined.
I’d never get used to looking at her.
She’d held it through the fight and through that unbroken pour against my back, and her eyes were dry even now, her jaw locked down so hard I could hear her teeth grinding.
Then she saw my face.
Whatever I’d been wearing - the fear, the tenderness, the trying - it broke something in her, and her chin trembled and then her eyes filled until the first tear spilled over and ran down her cheek, catching the pool light, a bright wet trail that curved along the hollow under her eye and pooled at the corner of her mouth.
My thumb caught it, my hand cupping her jaw before the tear could fall.
Backward tears and empty eyes, nightmare-Yeji’s face laid over this one, transparent and wrong, her tears crawling upward and her mouth open in a soundless scream, and then it blinked away, because this tear was going down. Real gravity, real physics, real girl. Her eyes were full and bright and holding mine, and I had to remind my legs they had one damn job.
She was real, and the tear under my thumb was warm.
Thank fuck.
So I kissed where it fell, following it down her cheekbone and along the wet salt path to the small hollow beneath her eye, where I pressed my mouth and held.
“I missed you.” So soft I almost missed it, her mouth barely moving against my palm.
My hand stayed on her face while her tears kept coming, silent and steady, tracking down over my fingers and wetting the heel of my palm.
“I’ve got you.” I replied.
Her shoulders dropped, along with a shaky exhale.
The pool glowed beside us, light rippling across the stone where we stood, her tears landing on my wrist and then my thumb and then the tile between our feet, while the filter churned and the stars sat exactly where they’d been five years ago, like they’d been waiting the whole time to see how this turned out.
My mouth was still on her cheek, salt on my tongue and her skin warm under it.
Her breath stopped.
Then she turned and her mouth caught the corner of mine, the first kiss soft, just her bottom lip catching mine, until her hand grabbed my jaw and her mouth opened and it got messy fast.
I ran my hands up her back, the cover-up thin and warm under them, and she arched into me and her tongue was in my mouth, salt and heat, her hand fisting on my jaw and yanking me in like the room still left between us pissed her off.
Five years of kissing her and it’d never gone like this. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and tipped her head back to get deeper, and my other hand dropped to her ass and hauled her in a little harder than intended. She gasped into my mouth, and then she moaned right against my mouth, and her fist twisted in my shirt and dragged me back in. I was already hard, my dick stuck between us, and she ground into it once and went still.
She got an arm around my neck and climbed up on her toes until her tits were crushed flat to my chest, her nipples poking me through her bikini. We were both breathing like we’d run somewhere, the wet smack of our mouths the only sound out there.
Then she eased back, and a string of spit stretched between us and snapped against her chin. She put her forehead on mine, her heels coming back down to the cold stone, and I could feel her shaking against me, all that want and nerves and everything she’d just dumped on me tangled up together.
Her eyes opened, wet and reflecting the moon, and the glow turned her gaze into something luminous, alive with the night itself, so for a moment I just stared.
“Do you trust me?” she whispered, staring back.
I’d been asked some version of this before - yesterday, on the beach at golden hour, when it was her heart on the table and I’d held her eyes and lied straight to her face. Now she was asking if I would do the same.
The answer was easy. Honestly, it was the only thing I had that hadn’t been complicated by the last five years.
“I do.”
She smiled against my mouth and leaned back.
Her heels left the stone, before her body started learning over the glowing water while her eyes stayed on mine, inviting me with her.
Stopping her would’ve been easy. All it would’ve taken was pulling back the other way, a firmer grip, a word. My hands were on her waist and the stone was steady under my feet, her hand on my face, her mouth parted, the pool light climbing up to swallow us both. But I wanted to see where she’d take me.
But for some reason, I didn’t hesitate.
Instead, I followed her over the edge.
Her palm cupped my jaw the whole way down - through the tilt, the rush of air, and the impossible stillness before the crash. Her eyes found mine, a smile breaking just as the water surged up to meet us. That was all I had: her touch, her gaze, her grace, and the quiet promise that I wasn’t falling alone before the world went white with sound.
Then the water hit, and the world shattered.
A wall of water erupted where we’d been standing, sheeting outward across the stone deck, slapping the base of the loungers, flooding the cracks between tiles. The sound was enormous, a single percussive BOOM that swallowed our voices and the filter and the insects and every quiet thing the night had been holding, replacing it all with the roar of water shoving air aside, the churning white chaos of two bodies breaking a surface that had been still for hours.
I hoped the splash reached the villa windows. The terrace. The dark rooms where people were trying or pretending to sleep.
Then silence - total silence - underwater.
The world went teal and silver, every sharp edge softened, every surface blurred. Her hair floated upward in slow strands that caught the underwater lights and turned copper, bubbles streaming from our noses and mouths and tumbling toward the surface in silver chains. Her cover-up spread around her in slow motion, the same white wings she’d worn in the Boys Like You video, only real this time.
Her hand stayed on my face, and underwater it felt different, lighter, her fingers gentle against my jaw, holding me in the silence, in the suspended blue-green world where the villa and the fight and the guilt were all above us, on the other side of the surface, belonging to the air.
We broke through gasping.
Her laugh came first, bright and shocked, cracking the pool’s silence wide open and bouncing off the villa walls and the stone deck and the dark sky above us. She coughed water and laughed harder, her hair slicked flat off her forehead, her whole face washed bare where the water had carried the makeup off it, and underneath it was the Yeji I knew, the one I kept coming back to all these years. All cheekbone and jaw and sharp wet eyes and a grin so wide it bunched her cheeks up, and for a second she was that young trainee from before the industry got its hands on her, laughing like it cost her nothing.
I was laughing too, couldn’t help it. It was the shock of the cold after hours of that hot, ugly silence, and it was how ridiculous the whole thing was, the two of us crashing into a pool at midnight still in the same swimwear we’d had on since the afternoon.
She splashed me with the heel of her hand, and the water caught the pool light and scattered across my face, and I grabbed her wrist and she shrieked.
My fingers stayed wrapped around her wrist, and her other hand found my chest underwater, her fingers spreading against my wet shirt. The filter churn pushed us together so our bodies bumped in the swell, her knees brushing my thighs while we treaded water. The pool had plastered her white cover-up translucent against her stomach so the brown bikini beneath burned right through. The pool light caught her from below, making the soaking fabric glow against her skin, spotlighting the string cutting sharp across her ribs and the triangles pressed flat to her chest. Somehow, Yeji through wet cloth and teal water was more explicit than any of the times I’d seen her completely naked.
The light gave her up, every bit of her, the tear tracks still drying on her cheeks, the mascara the water had pulled into faint grey parentheses under her eyes, and as I watched the laughter drain off her face the want came up to take its place, plain as anything.
Her laughter faded to a smile, then the smile fading as her eyes dropped to my mouth before coming back up.
“Hi,” she sputtered with water on her lips, from the laughter and tears and every word she’d spent against my back.
So I went for smooth, to match the pool light and the wet hair and the moment. “Hey.”
Except it came out as a croak. Shit, my voice hadn’t cracked like that since I was a teenager sweating through an audition.
Her mouth twitched, then split open, and she laughed so hard she dipped underwater, came back up sputtering, and the look she gave me when she surfaced - half wrecked, half starving - was the most dangerous thing I’d ever seen on Hwang Yeji’s face.
“Do that again,” she said with her eyes bright.
I laughed too and half-choked on the water still in my throat. She grinned at me, soaked, water dripping off her chin as we treaded the water.
Five years and I could map Yeji’s body in the dark. Every curve, every place that made her breath catch.
But I’d never just looked at her. Not like this. The pool held us both up in the dark and I looked.
Her hair was darker wet, plastered against her skull. It stripped her face down to the sharp jaw and high cheekbones, those cat eyes that usually cut through rooms now soft and wide. Water sat on her eyelashes. The cover-up stuck to her shoulders, and where it gaped at the neck I could see her collarbone and the soft hollow at the base of her throat.
Below that, the water had turned the fabric into a confession. It clung where her body pushed against it and floated loose everywhere else, tight across the firm set of her breasts, the bikini triangles pressed flat, the dark suggestion of her nipples through two layers of soaked cloth, floating at her waist, then catching again at the jut of her hips where the waterline cut across her body. Her stomach showed through the wet fabric, dancer-flat, the ab lines I’d traced with my mouth in hotel rooms now lit translucent white, worse than bare. Water beaded on the skin above her collarbone and rolled down her chest in slow tracks that disappeared into the neckline of the cover-up, and I followed every single one.
She was beautiful. Yeji with eyeliner running and pool water in her ears and a grin still ghosting the corners of her mouth. Yeji being herself again.
“You’re staring,” she said quietly, her eyebrows lifting.
“Yeah.”
“Again.” She smirked. “You did this at the beach.”
She was right. The same brown bikini, underwater now instead of under sunlight. I’d stared then too, stared so openly she’d called me on it while Yuna yapped about sunscreen. That was just a glance before she’d rolled her eyes and the afternoon kept moving. This time I stopped, and stayed.
“I’m staring now.”
Her chin dipped. The faintest flush climbed her neck, visible even in the teal light.
“Stop it.”
“No.”
Her foot found my shin underwater and stayed there, her toes resting against my calf.
“You look different,” I said. “In the water. With the light.”
“Different how?” she asked carefully.
“Like yourself.”
She blinked slowly, her lips pressing together and then releasing as the flush deepened.
“That’s -” she started, and stopped, before trying again. “That’s a stupid thing to say.”
“Probably.”
She watched me for a second. Waiting, maybe, for me to defend it, or qualify it, or soften it into something easier to take.
“I mean it. That’s really dumb.”
I let her circle. The water was patient and so was I.
“Yeah.”
“You can’t just SAY things like that when I’m treading water and can’t -”
Her hand found my forearm underwater, and her fingers wrapped around my wrist, barely holding on, nothing like the grip she’d had against my back.
“Like myself,” she repeated.
The water pushed her toward me, until her knees bumped mine and her hand tightened on my wrist and she was close enough now that I could see the water beaded in the dip above her upper lip, catching the pool light.
“I want to say something,” she said, drifting closer. “And I need you to not make a big deal out of it.”
“...Sure.”
“I mean it. Don’t do the face.”
“What face?”
“The attentive face. The one where you’re LOOKING and I can see you doing it.” She splashed water at me, though weakly. “It makes me want to punch you.”
“I don’t have a face like that.”
“You have a face EXACTLY like that. You’re doing it right now.”
I tried to wipe my face blank. Going by her reaction - a snort, half-submerged - I didn’t manage it.
The snort faded, and the grin went with it, her face going still, her mouth soft. The pool turned us in a slow circle, and the only sound was the water against the tile and the two of us breathing.
Then she took a breath and let it out slowly.
“You’re -” She stopped, then swallowed. “You’re beautiful. Ugh, I hate saying that out loud. It’s actually a problem.”
“A problem?”
“Yeah. Because I look at you and I forget to be mad.”
I didn’t have anything clever for that one, so I kept my mouth shut and let the water lap at our chins.
“Come here,” I said, no croak this time, and I held still and let the water turn us, waiting for her to close the gap.
Except she stubbornly stayed right where she was, just out of reach.
“Make me,” she whispered, her eyes locked on mine.
So I closed it for her, and started drifting forward until my forehead found hers, and her breath caught. Our noses brushed. Her lips were right there, close enough that her breath sat warm on my mouth, mixing with the steam off the pool.
She moved closer in response, grazing her lips on mine as her hand slid up from my wrist to my shoulder.
Her thighs locked around my waist underwater, and the water helped me hold her up so she went light in my arms while hers draped over my shoulders.
We drifted, the slow current carrying us from the shallow end toward the deep, and what the water didn’t hold I caught with an arm hooked under her. Her fingers played in the wet hair at the nape of my neck. Light rippled across both of us and slid along the line of her wet throat.
The deep end found us and my feet left the bottom, and then it was just the two of us floating, her wrapped around me, my arms the only fixed thing in all that water. I put my palm flat on her back, and felt the muscle flex under the wet fabric every time she adjusted her grip on my neck. She had such a beautiful dancer’s back, one I’d painted white on so many occasions.
My hand drifted lower, sliding off the small of her back and down over the curve of her ass, my fingertips trailing the elastic edge of her bikini where it cut across her hip. The water slowed everything. I slipped my fingers under the edge and found skin, the crease where her thigh began.
She exhaled unsteadily against my mouth with a little whimper.
My fingers moved inward, following the fabric. The bikini was a thin triangle of pretty much nothing, the strings cutting across her hips, and where it met between her thighs the water had already pulled it aside. I found the edge and followed it, my knuckles brushing where her thigh met her hip, and then -
It was... different?
The pool water was thin. This was thicker, a slickness that didn’t wash off in the water, clinging tacky to my fingers.
She was soaked, leaking arousal into the pool.
Her hips ground forward into my hand, her thighs tightening on my waist. Her eyes stayed open on me, watching.
“You okay?” I asked.
“I answered you,” she rocked her hips forward again, pressing herself against my fingers. “Before you asked.”
I’d had a raging hard-on since the second she pressed her forehead to mine and locked her thighs around me. But seeing her like this, wet in every way, with lust plastered all over her face, made everything in me pull tight. Her nipples poked through the cover-up and the bikini both, dark circles pushing at the wet cloth every time she breathed. My cock ached against the inside of her thigh, pinned flat between us, and every time she rocked, the underside dragged through the slick mess leaking out of her, thick enough the water couldn’t wash it off, and I couldn’t help but groan.
Reaching between us, she found me through my shorts underwater and wrapped her fingers around my cock like she’d done it a thousand times, which she had. A quick tug at the waistband and the elastic slipped down my hips until her hand was on bare skin, stroking once, her palm sliding through the water and her own wetness mixed in.
Her thumb slid along the underside of my tip and my hips jerked, and she watched my face the whole time.
She pulled the bikini aside with her other hand, one finger hooking it clear. Then she took me and pressed me against her, the head of my cock right at her hole, and she was scalding, her slick heat pouring over my tip. She held me there for a long moment.
She rocked her hips forward, dragging me along her pussy, my tip sliding through her folds, spreading the slickness from her entrance up to her clit and back, twice, each pass slicking me with her wetness, the tip catching her clit on the upstroke and tearing a sharp gasp out of her.
Then she lined me up and sank.
The light from below followed her down, all of it on her face, the crease digging in between her brows.
She slid down slowly, the water dragging it out, taking me at the pace she wanted. The heat took me in stages, her pussy stretching around my tip, then easing enough to swallow the rest. Her walls closed around me, a grip so flush it felt made for me.
She stopped halfway, her forehead pressed to mine, her breathing ragged.
“There,” she breathed, and took the rest in a slow roll of her hips, sinking until she’d taken all of me. The water dragged at us, but she beat it, locking her ankles behind my back and forcing herself down until I bottomed out, the head of my cock pressed up against her womb. She made that wrecked whimper, the one she chased and never admitted to as the clench rolled up her thighs. She always loved being split open like this.
We drifted in the dark water, the only thing holding us together the place where I was buried in her. She clenched around me, each one dragging me deeper. Five years of this and my body still acted like nobody had warned it what was coming. Nothing left in my head but how deep she’d taken me, how stuffed full of my cock she was.
Then my arms slipped.
Thankfully I caught her before she sank too far, but the water had already dragged her down, and she came down onto me hard, my forearms burning from the catch. Her pussy seized around me, clamping down on the only solid thing left in the deep end, her whole body crushing me in one tight hold. It put me so deep in her I couldn’t feel the water at all.
We held there quietly, her body still clenching around me in those deep pulls, each one clearly a shameless attempt to make me blow too early, and I held on out of pure stubbornness, both of us breathing hard into each other’s mouths.
I thrust, or tried to. The water fought me, every push met by the drag of the pool, so what would’ve hit sharp on land came out slow instead. My hips moved and the water moved with them and against them, and the rhythm we found was slower than either of us would’ve chosen. The deep end insisted.
Her arms tightened around my neck and she used the hold to haul herself up and sink back down, her hips doing the real work while I kept us afloat. She was doing most of the moving now, using those rock-hard abs of hers, riding me in a slow roll. Each upstroke she rose until only my tip stayed in her, her walls dragging tight along me, and each downstroke she drove herself all the way back down, deep enough to wring a broken note out of her, nothing like the ones she hit on stage. I was supposed to be the one holding us up. Mostly I was hanging on.
She tipped her head back, her lips parting around a sound that started low in her chest and climbed her throat. Light washed up her throat and gilded the long line of her neck. Then her eyes rolled back as her hips kept moving.
“Fuck,” she moaned towards the starry night.
Her head dropped back and her luminous eyes found mine, water spilling off her chin to hit my chest. I dug my thumbs into her slick waist and shoved up right as she drove herself down. Our wet bodies slapped together, sending a wave surging up her torso that splashed straight into her open mouth.
She choked, sputtering a wet gasp against my jaw.
I locked my hands on her hips and hauled her out of the swell. The pool light hit her from below, turning the water sheeting off her tits a bright, glowing teal as she broke the surface. She sucked in a desperate breath of cold air. Her walls dragged tight up the length of my shaft on the rise, pulling at me so hard my teeth ground together.
The second her lungs filled, I drove her back down.
The dark water swallowed her stomach, rushing up to her collarbone as she bottomed out on my cock. Her scalding pussy stretched to take the blunt hit straight to my balls. She clamped down hard. The underwater glow threw sharp shadows up her throat while she moaned into the night.
Air, then water. I kept hauling her up to breathe and shoving her back into the dark to take me, the waterline bouncing across her ribs with every thrust. The cold pool had nothing on the thick heat inside her.
By the third stroke, she was chasing the drop. She started grinding her hips down on her own, burying my cock deep before I’d even finished pulling her up.
The increasingly frantic rhythm left both of us gasping, and I lost the count along with my breath. We slowed and drifted in the slow current, my cock still buried deep inside her.
I couldn’t help looking down at her wet tits. The sheer cover-up had plastered flat to her chest and the pool light burned straight through the wet fabric, so the bikini triangles underneath and the stiff peaks of her nipples were basically on full display.
She caught me staring, a filthy glint cutting through her ruined makeup. Then her hand disappeared under the dripping hem, hooked the top of the bikini cup, and tried to drag it down.
Maybe she wanted to bare them for me. She always did when we fucked. For someone so proud of her hard-won body everywhere else, her chest was the one thing she actually complained about, always bitching that her tits didn’t fill out her stage outfits enough. But all I ever had to do was grab those perfect handfuls, tell her exactly how much I liked them, and watch how fast it turned her on.
Those were the only times I ever saw her get shy.
Except right now, the wet fabric slipped right off the underside of her tits and snapped back into place.
She glared at the stubborn fabric with a sharp huff, pouting at her own chest. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
“You’re fine,” I mumbled, leaning in to kiss her wet cheek.
She turned her head right before I met it, catching my mouth with hers. We stayed there for a suspended moment, our tongues dancing in the middle of the cold water, arms around each other and our bodies joined at the hip.
She pulled back, a string of saliva stretching between our lips before it snapped against her chin. She dropped her head and buried her face into my shoulder.
“I woke up,” she murmured into my wet skin, holding on steadily, her hips swaying idly with the swell, her body no longer shaking like it did on the deck. I guess the rough fucking had finally burned the panic out of her.
“I woke up and you weren’t there.” Her wet calves clamped against my back. I grabbed her waist and drove up, a slow, heavy shove that buried me to the base.
“And I wanted -” She slipped upward, the water lifting her until her pussy held nothing but the head of my cock. She pressed a wet, quick kiss to my mouth on the rise. “- your arms around me.” Her hips sank down, swallowing my full length all over again. “I wanted to be warm.”
As she rose up again, the bikini string slid back, the fabric edge catching against my shaft. The stupid triangle of cloth was clearly trying to cockblock me, and I wasn’t having it. I reached down with one hand and tried to hook it aside, but the water pulled it back once more.She snorted against my cheek.
“Leave it,” she giggled. “It’ll just -”
In the commotion my hips pulled back too far and I slipped out. The bikini enthusiastically snapped back into place like it’d been waiting all night for the chance, sealing me out before my cock had barely cleared her entrance.
Except my hips were already homeward bound. My next thrust drove straight into taut fabric, the head of my cock shoving the wet cloth inward. Her pussy yielded right behind it, giving just enough to be cruel before the thick elastic snapped tight and bounced me sideways. That tiny fucking scrap of brown swimwear was officially the only participant in this pool - and this villa - that still believed in boundaries.
“Oh, COME on -” Yeji reached between us, hooked the fabric with two fingers, yanked it clear, and guided me back inside with her other hand in one brisk and very annoyed motion.
Being back inside her after five seconds of bikini-imposed exile felt so fucking good it we both just fucking lost it. She laughed first, her body convulsing around me, every laugh jolting through where we were joined. The whole thing was just ridiculous, two people trying to fuck in a pool while a bikini ran interference. Each clench gripped me and I groaned and she laughed harder.
“Stop laughing!”
“YOU stop laughing. You’re the one who - mhhh,” She gasped as I drove my hips drove again, the water slowing the deep thrust, and her laugh broke into a long moan while her fingers tightened in my hair.
I held the bikini aside with one hand and her with the other to find our rhythm again. We took it slower this time, the teal glow flickering under us with every move while ripples chased across her skin wherever the water thinned between our bodies. Neither of us could touch the bottom down here, so we just held each other up and kept moving together.
“I wanted you inside me,” her hips punctuated with a downward roll that took me so deep I saw light at the edges of my vision. “I woke up and that’s where my body went first. Before I opened my eyes. Before I thought about anything else.”
I thrust into her. Long and slow this time, the water dragging against us, her walls pulling at me in that relentless grip, those trained muscles working me, each contraction a small tidal pull that took me deeper than the thrust itself had.
“I love...” She stopped, and paused. “...having you inside me.”
I said nothing and held her, one hand on her hip, the other spread flat between her shoulder blades, feeling her breathe.
“And I wanted you...” She trailed off, her rhythm faltering.
Whatever she wanted to say, she couldn’t get it out, so I gave her the only thing I could. I gripped her hips, holding her up against the water, and drove up. The glide was a thick heavy drag, pool water and her own slick heat, my cock pushing through how tight she clamped on me, opening her up slow until I was all the way in, the wet slosh and slapping of our bodies echoing off the tiles.
“Mh!” she cried out.
The deep push of it forced the air out of her lungs, shoving the rest out with it.
“... to be near me,” she finished, so quiet the pool almost swallowed it.
So I kissed her. Her mouth was there and the things she’d said were there and my body couldn’t answer them so my mouth tried. I kissed her slowly, matching the pace the water had set, and she kissed me back hard and frantic, like she could take back what she’d said with her mouth.
“You weren’t there,” she murmured again, against my mouth. “Why?”
My hips slowed.
The answer was right there, the same one I’d given this morning, the one that had slid out easy and clean and cost nothing. I felt it in my mouth. Said nothing for a breath, maybe two, her eyes steady on mine and her body still holding me and the filter churning below.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She’d let it go this morning. Wrapped around me in the deep end now, she didn’t.
“You keep saying that,” she said, her thumb moving along my jaw. “And I keep not asking because I don’t want to be the person who pushes.”
A thrust, her body tightening around me on the downstroke, and we both exhaled. The rhythm continued at its water-dictated pace.
“But something’s been sitting on you all day,” she said, her dark eyes searching mine, wet at the edges. “Is it about last night?”
“Yeji -”
“Is it about Karina?”
Karina. The threesome. My cock was inside her and she was asking me about another girl, and the tenderness gutted me.
“Because something changed,” she said. “After. With us.” Her hips found a slow grind, barely moving, keeping us connected. “You were ... careful. With me. Like you were handling something breakable. And I’m not -” She swallowed. “I’m not breakable, Minho.”
“I know you’re not.”
Her forehead pressed harder against mine. “You’ve been looking at me different. Since last night.” Her fingernails bit into the back of my wet neck, and underwater, her scalding walls squeezed the absolute fuck out of my shaft. “Like you owe me something.”
And there it was. I swallowed whatever lie almost came out and held completely still, my cock throbbing deep inside her tight hold as we floated.
“The threesome was -” I started, before trying again. “It was supposed to be simple. And then it wasn’t.”
“Since when has anything with us been simple?”
She had me there, and I almost laughed, but her hips rolled down, taking me deep, and the laugh turned into a groan.
“That’s not why I’m asking.”
“Why then?”
Her body stilled around me, her hips stopping, just the steady hold of her around me, her eyes on mine, the light painting us both like we were inside a lantern.
“You didn’t put your arms around me.” Like she’d been waiting all day call me out. “Last night. When you came back to bed. You just -” Her hips stayed still. “You ALWAYS do. Even when I push you away.” She swallowed. “So I know something’s wrong.”
“Even in Busan,” she said, averting my eyes. “In the hotel. After I turned away from you and told you to just sleep.” Her thighs flexed hard around my waist, pulling herself tight against me and driving my cock deeper until the tip kissed her womb and she shuddered.
I slipped a hand between us, my thumb catching her clit, and she jolted so hard she nearly sank. She gasped, her body relaxing before flexing tight again, grinding down against my hand and my cock both. The rhythm turned her breaths sharp while she got the rest out.
“You still put your arms around me.”
Oh, I remembered. The rigid line of her back, the flinch when my arm crossed her waist, her fighting the instinct to lean into it, and I’d held still, barely breathing, giving her the option to pull away. But she hadn’t.
In that Busan hotel her face had been a silhouette against city neon. Now the water lit her from below and everything was visible, the tremor in her chin, the wet shine gathering in her eyes.
“I know,” I said.
“By morning I was holding your hand,” she said, swallowing. “I never told you that.”
No, she hadn’t. I’d woken up with her fingers laced through mine against her stomach, her grip tight even in sleep, and I’d never mentioned it either. Neither of us had. You don’t talk about the thing that kept you alive in the dark.
“I never forgot that,” she said. “The arms. And last night was the first time they weren’t there,” and her breath trembled. “And I was scared of losing -” She swallowed hard. I couldn’t tell if she’d choked on some pool water or if she was fighting a sob. “Losing the person who - the only person who ever made me feel -”
She stopped. All of her at once, even the rhythm. Her eyes stayed on mine, wide open, her chin slightly unsteady.
“Feel what,” I whispered.
Instead of answering, she kissed me hard enough to bruise, tasting of chlorine and salt and the tears she’d cried earlier. She started working her hips again, driving down urgently through the drag of the water, faster each time, her pussy gripping me fiercely me each time she took me deep.
She pulled back just far enough to press her forehead hard against mine, gasping short, uneven breaths against my skin while her hips kept riding me down hard without letting up.
“Real,” she whispered. “You make me feel real.”
The light held her there, her body tightening around me, squeezing me in waves.
My throat went tight.
But she was here. Arms around my neck, body open, legs locked.
“This is me,” she said, steadier now. “This - right now - this is me. Not the leader. Not the persona. Not whatever I am when I’m performing for everyone else.” Her forehead pressed harder against mine. “And I’m scared of losing the only place where I get to be her.”
She swallowed, her eyes on mine and hiding nothing.
“And this isn’t about -” She rolled her hips down slowly and took me deep. “This. Bodies. Sex. We’ve both fucked other people. While being - whatever we are. That’s not what scares me.”
“I kept telling myself it was,” She said quietly, looking down at the water. “Just the sex. For years. Every time. Every morning after. I’d put my leggings on and do my hair and walk out the door and tell myself - that’s all it is. That’s all he is. Just - the sex.”
“It wasn’t just the sex,” she finished, looking back up, her eyes wet and clear and furious with herself. “I don’t think it was ever just the sex.”
And all I could think of was the tile where Yuna had been. The pool edge where Ryujin had spread her legs. Karina’s living room couch where Yeji had watched me fuck another girl and called it permission.
She meant it generally. I was hearing their names. Crimes she didn’t know about. She kept her forehead pressed to mine, eyes closed, clearly not suspecting a thing.
“How is that not what scares you?” I asked.
Her hips answered before her mouth did, her pussy clenching tight as she sank onto me, holding me there, then loosening as she rode back up. She did it a few more times before she spoke, taking her time.
“Because I watched you,” she said, her eyes locked on mine. “Last night. With Karina. I watched your face while you were inside her.”
My stomach dropped.
“And you were -” She swallowed, though her rhythm continued. “You were good. Generous. The way you are with everyone. Which is why I -”
She caught herself.
I felt her breath hitch against my cheek, felt her walls clench around my cock like she was bracing for some kind of impact. She looked away and forced the rest outsideways.
“- what I love about you.”
She rolled her hips again, slower, and fuck, even that almost made me forget what she was saying. The pool light caught the wet shine at her lashes. “But your eyes kept finding me. Every time you touched her, you checked. Like I was the thing you were measuring everything against.”
Her thumb moved over my jaw while her hips kept their slow claim.
“Karina told me something after, when you were in the bathroom.” She exhaled. “She said you were doing it for me. All of it. That you came home the second you could.”
I knew. I’d heard it through the door I’d left cracked open, standing at the sink with water dripping off my hands while Karina said exactly that. To her, the girl I couldn’t stop coming back to. And then Yeji’s long silence that followed, like it’d hit so hard she’d forgotten how to respond. I’d stood there holding my breath, terrified a floorboard would give me away, eavesdropping on the most important conversation of my life through a bathroom door I didn’t have the guts to close.
But hearing it again now, from Yeji’s mouth instead of Karina’s, in the pool instead of through a bathroom door, hit so much harder. The lotus, the forehead press. The way I’d turned back to her the second it was over. Coming home, Karina had called it. She wasn’t wrong.
And she didn’t know about the moments I hadn’t.
“I shouldn’t have listened. Except I did. And it made everything worse and better at the same time.”
“That’s when I understood,” Yeji continued, quiet and certain, “what you are to me.” Her body drew tight around me in one long contraction. “You could fuck every girl on this island and you’d still come home. That’s not what scares me.”
My lungs emptied every pocket of air I’d been holding since dawn, since the nightmare, since the morning I’d fucked Yuna against this pool’s shower wall and set the clock ticking on everything falling apart, in a long exhale that left me hollow against her chest. She held me through it, her arms tightening around my neck. She thought it was the moment getting to me. It wasn’t.
She’d just forgiven me for everything, without knowing there was anything to forgive.
Every girl on this island. She’d said it like a hypothetical.
I was hearing it as a roster.
“It’s about -” She stopped and started again. “You seeing me. The real me. The one I don’t show anyone,” she said, her fingers light on my cheekbone. “You’re where I feel like me.”
Her hips kept going through all of it: the confessions, Busan, the things she couldn’t say and the ones she finally could, as she kept up her slow, rolling claim on mine.There was nowhere for either of us to hide, her eyes open and mine open and her pussy full of me while her mouth spilled things she’d never said out loud.
She pressed her forehead to mine, her hips rolling down one more time, gently taking me all the way.
“Mine,” she murmured.
The first time she’d said it was in a dark Busan hotel, her face hidden by shadows so she couldn’t see what it cost. She’d repeated it until she believed it. The second time, in Karina’s living room, foreheads pressed in lotus, with Karina watching, she’d said it louder, daring anyone to argue.
This time needed nothing. Just her eyes and the light.
A single sob cracked up out of my chest before I could catch it, and I buried it in her neck, my face against the wet skin of her throat.
Her hand found the back of my head and held me there, her fingers caught in my wet hair as her body stayed wrapped around mine and her breath warmed my neck. She didn’t ask why.
We floated gently in the water.
***
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Her pussy held me in idle squeezes. My cock was still inside her, slowly softening. Beyond the villa gates, the tide broke against the shore, and her breath against my neck came in and out with it, each exhale warm on my skin.
The pool light moved with us. Every small drift sent the teal rippling across her shoulders, her collarbones, and the wet plane of her back where my hand rested.
Her fingers moved through my hair while her cheek rested on top of my head, and I felt her jaw move against me when she swallowed.
“This pool is really nice,” she observed all of a sudden and breaking the silence.
That got me. After everything tonight, still plugged on my cock, this was what she had to say, and I nearly laughed into her shoulder.
“I haven’t even used it since we got here,” she said, , her hips resettling, my cock stirring inside her from the movement alone. “This is the first time we’ve actually been in it together.”
My jaw tightened at the thought. The pool, this pool, the shallow end where Yuna had been spread on a lounger with her fingers inside herself and I’d watched when I should’ve turned away. The tile where I’d pressed her against the outdoor shower wall afterward. The deck where Ryujin had strode out naked with The Beast in hand and caught us mid-creampie. She didn’t know any of that. To her it was just a nice pool.
“Yeah, well.” tucked my mouth into her wet hair, trying my best to sound casual. “Yesterday was -”
“I know.” She giggled into my neck. Her hips rolled and she tightened around me and that was enough to make me throb. “Yesterday was a lot of things.”
She was smiling against my skin. Whatever she was remembering, it was making her warm. The beach photos, Karina’s villa and the candlelight and the lotus where she’d pressed her forehead to mine and whispered “mine” while Karina watched on. She was remembering a good day. I’d spent the same hours somewhere she couldn’t see.
She fucked me back to full hardness in three strokes and buried her face deeper into my neck, her breath sharpening as she took me all the way down.
“Mm.“ Her teeth grazed my neck as her thighs locked tighter around my waist. She pulled herself up, dragging the soaked cover-up over my wet shirt, then drove down and squeezed the water trapped between our stomachs over my skin. Her thighs slapped my waist, and the pool threw the sound back at us.
“Ah -“ she breathed into my ear. Her walls clenched at the bottom, and when I groaned, she squeezed tighter and held me there. Her fingers dug into the back of my neck. Each stroke punched an exhale out of her on the drop and dragged another in on the rise.
She threw her head back. Teal light ran up her throat and caught in the wet hair stuck to her neck while her mouth hung open and her eyes slipped half-shut.
“Right there,“ she gasped. “Stay - right -“
I planted my hips and held still while she rode me faster. The water lifted her until my tip caught at her entrance, then her thighs drove her back to the base. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into her ass as she clamped around me hard enough to hurt each time she came down. Water splashed over our shoulders and scattered the teal glow across the deck while her gasps got louder against my ear.
“Fuck - Minho -“ Her forehead pressed hard against mine. Her eyes found mine, close enough that the teal light reflected in her pupils, two tiny pools inside the pools of her irises. Her mouth open. Her breath ragged. “I’m -“
Her face was right there, lit from below, hiding nothing.
And in that moment - with her body wrapped around mine and the pool light turning us both translucent, with five years of practice rooms and hotel ceilings and mornings where I’d woken up beside her and pretended the wanting didn’t eat me alive every day - in that moment where the words I’d swallowed on a Jeju beach at golden hour and buried through two days of guilt and carried through a nightmare that showed me exactly what losing her would look like were rising in my throat, with her eyes on mine and no mask left between us and the truth sitting so close to my tongue I could taste the shape of it - three words that carried everything I’d been too afraid to name out loud because naming it would make it real and real things could be lost and I’d already lost her once by leaving and couldn’t survive losing her again -
“Yeji, I -”
My throat caught, and I locked up around it, fingers biting into her hips as my jaw clenched and my stomach pulled tight. My cock swelled inside her from how close I’d come to saying it.
Her cat-eyes sharpened, the haze clearing, and I watched her read the tension in my arms, the catch in my throat, and how my cock had gone iron-hard inside her all at once.
“Don’t you dare,” leader-Yeji commanded, the one that ended discussions instantaneously. “Not in the pool.”
She unhooked her legs from my waist in one smooth motion, her thighs releasing, her hands sliding from my neck to my chest and pushing me gently backward so the water opened between us. My cock slid free, a gasping wet loss that left me throbbing in the warm water.
She took a breath, held it, and went under.
“Yeji, that’s not what I was going to -”
The surface closed over her head like glass reforming. Her hair fanned out in slow dark ribbons, catching the light in blue-green glints, spreading around her face as she sank. The pool light turned her into something out of a painting, limbs pale and luminous against the deep blue, the bikini a dark interruption, her whole body trusting the water the way she never trusted anything on land. Bubbles trailed from her nose in a silver chain that climbed past my chest toward the surface.
She caught my hips and hooked two fingers into my shorts. One tug took them past my ass, the second sent them drifting off behind her. Then she braced both hands on my thighs and looked up at me through the water while she pulled herself into place.
Looking down through the surface warped her face, the teal light breaking it into moving planes. Her mouth came closer. Through the rippling surface, her eyes stayed on mine with vicarious hunger, close enough to see and too far to touch.
Her mouth closed around my tip.
She worked slowly, the water holding her up while she took me deeper a little at a time. Her tongue pressed languidly the underside of my cock on every stroke, and bubbles slipped from the corners of her mouth, climbing past my stomach through the teal light. I watched her face blur and sharpen beneath the rippling surface. I nearly blew right fucking there.
She surfaced with a quick gasp, one hand still around me. Fat droplets of water poured from her lashes when she blinked and ran down her cheeks, turning the teal light into streaks across her face. She gave me a filthy grin, then went back under.
My hand caught in her hair, wet strands sliding through my fingers. She took me deeper now, her cheeks hollowing as her nails pressed into my thighs. The pool light moved across her face and shoulders while her mouth sucked me toward the edge.
“Yeji - I’m -“ I called her name into the empty deck, but she was under, so I tightened my hand in her hair and just held on.
I came in her mouth with a groan that broke across the water, and fuck, it just kept going and going. The pool took the hard jolt out of it and stretched every pulse through her tongue and tightening throat until my thighs shook. She kept her lips sealed around me, swallowing with her eyes on mine through the teal, then drew back along my full length and surfaced.
She broke through the water gasping, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and pushed her hair off her forehead with the other. The pool light caught her from below and she looked like a myth, wet and glowing and pleased with herself.
“Better?”
I tried to hold it back and couldn’t. She’d solved the wrong problem with the right mouth. I pulled her to me and kissed her, tasting myself on her tongue. She kissed me back lazyily, thoroughly satisfied with herself. Her arms draped around my neck as the two of us drifted in the deep end.
We floated while the pool light held us, the filter churning and the stars wheeling slow overhead, and for a while there was nothing but warm water and her breathing and the taste of her mouth.
The pool settled around us, the surface going still. There was a part of me that knew this was borrowed time.
My arms loosened around her.
“Go rinse off,” she nudged, her fingers softly brushing the back of my neck. “I’m going to float for a bit.”
I pulled myself out, water sheeting off me onto the warm tile. She swam to the ledge, folded her arms on the edge, rested her chin on her forearms, and watched me. The teal light caught her from below, wet hair slicked back, bare shoulders, the dark line of her bikini, her eyes steady and unhurried above her crossed wrists.
I walked toward the outdoor shower. Behind me I heard her push off the wall and drift onto her back.
***
The outdoor shower was built into the dark volcanic stone at the far end of the deck, a tiled cubicle with a slatted door that didn’t lock, as I’d found out the hard way yesterday.
I turned the handle and the water fell lukewarm against the back of my neck while my hands found the tile. I stood there and let it work, washing off the throes of our passion. The sstone was warm under my palms and then - my body remembered other hands on this wall. Smaller hands pressed flat at shoulder height, braced against wet tile for reasons that weren’t related to rinsing off.
This morning I would’ve stood here scrubbing until the water ran cold and my skin turned raw. But now, it was just a rinse.
Behind me, the lazy lap of water against tile gave way to Yeji hauling herself out. Water sheeted off her skin and struck the pool in a scatter of small splashes while the railing creaked under her grip.
I turned.
Yeji pulled herself out of the pool and made sure I watched every second of it.
She put both hands on the railing and hauled herself straight up and out of the water, because apparently the stairs were for people who hadn’t spent a decade in a dance studio. It put her whole back on display, shoulders and lats flexing under wet skin, water sheeting off her in ribbons. She knew exactly what that looked like. You don’t log that many hours in front of a mirror without learning which muscles to show off.
I knew what her back looked like too. I’d mapped it with my hands while she rode me as I filled her deep enough to make her thighs shake. I’d traced the valley of her spine while she came beneath me, her back bowing off the mattress as her pussy clenched around my cock and her nails dragged down my arms. She’d never once performed it for me like this.
She held still on the deck for a three-count, dripping while one hand settled on her hip and she planted herself on one leg. Then she tipped her face toward the sky and raised her chin, cutting her profile against the pool glow behind her in a pose she’d held under concert lights a thousand times. She knew exactly what it did. She’d built a career on knowing.
From where I stood in the shower she was a silhouette, edges bright, everything between them dark. I could see the shape of her shoulders, her waist, the hand on her hip, the wet hair plastered to her neck; but I couldn’t see her face. She pushed her hair back with both hands, arms raised, back arching, and the water ran off her elbows in streams that flashed as they fell through the glow behind her.
I’d seen her hide inside a silhouette before.
Then she turned to face me, and the pose came with her, the hand still on her hip, still balanced on one leg, except now her chin dropped and her eyes found mine across the deck and the concert pose became a look she’d never given a crowd.
Her bare feet crossed the warm tile at an unhurried pace, every step staged as the Cheshire choreo. She was counting in her head. I could tell from the measured rhythm running beneath each step as it carried her farther from the pool’s backlight and deeper into the open moonlight across the deck. With every step, the silhouette loosened, the brightness at her edges faded, and details appeared where shadow had been.
Her collarbones appeared first, the two lines of silver surfacing above the dark wet cover-up.
Three steps, in she reached for the hem.
She could’ve left it on. The cover-up already clung translucent to her body and revealed more than it concealed, but she crossed her arms, gripped the hem, and peeled it over her stomach and ribs. Wet fabric dragged against her skin with an obscene schlrrp.
She dropped it on the tile without looking and kept her eyes on mine across the deck, making sure I watched.
She kept walking. The moonlight kept arriving.
Her stomach appeared next, the water running down it catching white now instead of teal, every stream visible, every path across her skin legible. Then her throat, the column of it long and wet. Then - somewhere around the midpoint of the deck - her face appeared in the glow.
Her jaw first, silver on wet skin, the line of it set and certain. Her mouth, the lower lip full and catching light along its wet edge. Then her eyes appeared in the glow, unhurried and very much aware of what the light was doing to her.
My hands stopped moving under the shower spray.
The bikini was all that remained and the water had done the rest. Soaked transparent, the brown fabric clung to every contour with the cruelty only wet cloth could manage, more explicit than bare skin because it outlined everything, drew the eye to every detail it was supposed to conceal. Her nipples pressed through the top in sharp relief, hard points visible through material that had given up its job, the moonlight catching them with the same clarity it had caught her face. Pool water ran down her stomach in streams that split at her bikini bottom, following the creases of her hips to disappear beneath fabric that molded taut to her pussy, outlining her freshly fucked lips where the wet material pressed flush.
Nothing was in shadow. She’d walked out of it.
Water dripped from between her thighs in heavy drops, off the soaked bikini, off the seam where the fabric clung tight, each step shaking another loose from fabric too soaked to hold it. She watched me watching and kept her pace.
Every step left a wet footprint on the warm stone. Every step released another drop.
My cock was getting hard just watching her walk, seeing how the wet bikini gave up more than skin ever could, how the water and moonlight mapped her body in paths she was choosing to show me. She saw it and smirked slightly. She’d wanted exactly this.
She stopped at the shower entrance, leaned one shoulder against the frame and made the doorway a stage. Fully lit, the last of the silhouette gone, nothing between her body and the sky. Still dripping, the wet bikini clinging in ways that made breathing visible, every small move of her body legible through the translucent fabric.
She tilted her head. Water dripped from the ends of her hair onto her collarbone and tracked slow between her breasts while she watched me watch it fall.
In the water, she’d been all warmth and wetness.
On the deck, she was only moonlight and memory.
***
“Room for two?” she asked casually, like she wasn’t standing there dripping half-naked under the open sky, having just made me watch her cross the whole deck in a wet bikini that hid nothing, delivering the punchline to a performance she’d been choreographing since she gripped the railing.
I was hard again and she hadn’t touched me.
“Of course.” I stepped back and made room.
She came in and the cubicle halved. Her shoulder brushed mine. The shower spray hit her collarbone and ran down between her breasts, splitting into two streams that followed the edges of the bikini top before merging again at her stomach. She tipped her face up into the water and closed her eyes.
“You know,” she said, “you finished and I didn’t.”
“I know.”
“In my MOUTH.”
“I’m aware.”
She opened one eye. “Seems unfair.”
“Extremely.”
She bumped my hip lightly. “I’m not leaving this shower until that’s fixed.”
She put her hand on my hip, her thumb pressing into the groove.
Then her eyes dragged down my chest and stomach and settled below my waist.
I pulled her in and kissed her in response.
Her hand stayed on my hip, her body just off mine, the shower running in the gap between us, and she kissed me back, our tongues dancing to the spray, like we had all the time in the world.
Then her fingers walked down off my hip to my stomach and found me half-hard, and she wrapped a loose hand around me. Her thumb lazily swept the head, and I breathed in against her mouth.
“Hi,” she murmured into the kiss.
I got my hands on her waist and pulled her in.
She came flush against me, and the wet fabric between us gave up nothing. Her skin burned through it. Her nipples dug into my chest and her perfect wet breasts flattened between us.
I ran my hands down her sides, over her ribs, down to where her waist cut in and her hips flared under the wrap-cut bottom, and I wanted my mouth on all of it.
She arched her back and my mouth went to her neck, as her hand closed around my cock and stroked it slowly, in time with my lips. I kissed down the tendon to the hollow over her collarbone, then to the wet line of the bikini where it crossed her skin.
“Off,” she murmured against my skin. “Please.”
I reached behind her neck.
The tie was a simple knot, but swollen tight from the water, so it took both hands. She kept her fingers moving on me the whole time I picked at it.
The top dropped.
Her perky breasts came bare, high and proud, the nipples dark and stiff from the cold. She sighed as I cupped one.
The bottom was easier.
I hooked my fingers into the wrap-cut and pulled down and the fabric slid over her hips, her thighs, and dropped around her ankles. She stepped out of it, very wet and very much naked.
The pool light came through the slatted door and striped pale teal stripes across her body, her collarbone, the underside of one breast, a line across her stomach, the top of her thigh.
“Cold -” she shivered.
“It’s summer...”
“I’m still cold!” She reached past me and turned the shower handle.
The spray turned from lukewarm to warm. Steam rose between us, the water went thick on our skin, and the heat filled the little box of the cubicle. She stepped into it, into me, wrapped her arms around my waist and put her face against my chest.
The water poured over my shoulders and down my back, ran in warm rivers over her hands where they held me, streamed through her hair and down her spine.
I held her and the water did what I’d been trying to do earlier, washed everything off, including the guilt I’d been hauling around all day.
Last time someone turned on this shower it was Yuna’s hand flailing for balance. Ice-cold water dumped on both of us, then Ryujin was at the door.
Yeji turned it on warm, for us.
I kissed her forehead and she looked up, her eyes heavy-lidded and dark, wide enough to swallow the teal light bleeding through the door slats.
My hand trailed down between us, over her stomach where the carved muscle softened under warm water, past her navel to where my fingertips found her groomed with typical thoroughness, her outer lips full and swollen from an hour of fucking in the pool and no release. She was slicker than shower water could account for. I parted her with my middle finger and she exhaled against my neck.
“Mm.“ Her hips tilted forward, taking my hand deeper.
I found her prominent clit, swollen and firm, peeking out and demanding attention. I circled it slow and steady and she gripped my arms, her forehead dropping to my chest.
“There -“
Her breathing went quick and shallow, warm little clouds against my wet skin. She was already close. The pool had done most of the work, the riding, the friction, an hour of getting filled without getting off. I worked her direct and firm because gentle just frustrated her, my fingers tight on her clit, her hips chasing my hand, her nails biting crescents into my arms.
“Faster -“
So I fucked her faster. Her thighs went tight against mine. The spray ran down between her breasts and over my hand, everything getting slicker and hotter, her clit jumping under my fingertips every time I passed over it.
“Turn around,” I murmured.
She turned and put her hands flat on the tile - the same wall, the same tile - her back to me, her spine bared the whole way down.
I looked at all of it. Her shoulder blades, the dimples over her ass, the tight muscular curve of it pushed back at me.
Water ran down the groove of her spine while the door slats striped her back in bright bars of light.
I pressed against her from behind, my cock fitting against the cleft of her ass, rock hard now. She pushed back into it with a small grind.
My hand came back around her hip from the front. My other arm went across her chest, my palm full of her tits, and pulled her back against me. She was pinned between me and the tile. My fingers found her clit again and her head dropped between her arms.
“Ah -“
I kissed the back of her neck. The water splashed off my shoulders and rained down onto hers. My cock pressed against her from behind, sliding between the tight press of her thighs, and the friction drew a sound from both of us.
She reached back between her legs, found me, lined me up, and pushed her hips back in one fluid sequence.
I slid into her in one long stroke, all the way home.
No water to fight now, nothing holding her up but me. There was only her, tight and slick, all the heat the pool had dulled coming back at full intensity.
“Fuck -“ She moaned at the tile. Her hands pressed flat, fingers spread. I was buried to the root and neither of us moved for a second, just the fullness of it, the heat, the shower raining down on us while my cock throbbed inside her and her walls squeezed around me, slow and deep.
I pulled back. Pushed in. Wet slaps cracked through the cubicle.
The pool had been muffled. The shower was percussive. Every thrust echoed. Every sound she made bounced off the walls and came back louder.
“Ah - ah -“ She wasn’t holding anything back anymore. Her hips pushed back to meet each thrust, the impact sending water spraying off her ass and off my thighs.
I gripped her hip with one hand and braced the other against the wall beside her head. My hips found a deep, steady rhythm, and she matched it. Her ass pressed back into every thrust, taking me deep, and I watched the muscles of her back work beneath the wet skin.
“There - don’t move -“ she gasped.
I held that spot and kept driving into it, each thrust steady while she ground her hips at the bottom of every stroke and pinned me right where she wanted me. She was loud and she didn’t care. Every noise she made made it harder to hold the fuck back.
On pure reflex, my hand left the wall and covered her mouth.
She immediately grabbed my wrist, ripped my hand away, and held it against the tile beside her own.
“No,” she gasped, her eyes wild and wrecked and refusing to look away. “Let them hear.”
“Then tell them.” I drove into her as my hips smacked against her ass, making them ripple. “Tell them whose you are.”
“Yours,” she choked out, her head falling back to expose the long line of her throat. “Fuck - Minho - yours.”
I laced my fingers through hers against the wall and fucked her harder. The shower spray hit my lower back and cascaded over both of us, running down the crease where our bodies met, making everything hotter and slicker. Her forehead pressed against the tile, her mouth open and gasping, her sounds coming in sharp bursts timed to each thrust, like I was beating them out of her.
“Deeper -“
I stepped wider, dropped low, and fucked her deeper. She moaned, and it carried through the cubicle and out into the night air. Her pussy clenched hard on the next thrust with that punishing grip, and I groaned against the back of her neck.
She turned her head. “Face me,” she demanded
I pulled out and she spun before I could reach for her, her back to the tile, one leg already hooked over my hip.
I got my hands under her thighs and lifted, her back sliding up the wet wall until she was high enough, and she wrapped both legs around my waist and locked her ankles, face to face now, her eyes level with mine. The teal light came through the door slats and striped her, collarbone, jaw, the wet shine of her eyes on mine.
I adjusted my grip and she sank onto me slowly, her hips easing down until I was buried in her, and we both exhaled as I filled her. Her forehead found mine.
“Oh -“ Her cunt threw a startled little fit around my cock, clenching like she hadn’t expected me to take up this much space, even though I practically lived there at this point.
I started to move and she worked back to meet me, her legs hauling herself down every time I rose, the pool doing nothing about it anymore. From the front she took me deep, my cock buried all the way, her cunt stretched tight around the base. Every time I drove up into her, the head mashed into the spot that made her twitch and her pussy grabbed for it, squeezing hard and then fluttering in greedy little holds that tried to keep me there. Her mouth fell open on wrecked little ah, ah sounds, hot breath in my face. My arms shook from holding her up and I just locked my hands harder under her ass and bounced her on my cock, letting those rock-hard abs slam into my stomach while she fucked herself on how deep I was. From this close I had a world-class view of where we met, her pussy red and swollen around the thick base of my cock, lips stretched tight and shining every time I lifted her and let her slide back down.
Down and up, down and up. The rhythm built slowly. Her breasts pressed against my chest with each impact as her nipples dragged across my skin. The wet sounds of our bodies were deeper and fuller here, and the slap of her ass against my thighs mixed with the splash of water and her cries.
“Ah - ah - ah -“ Each thrust forced a moan from her, small desperate gasps that she breathed directly into my mouth, and I swallowed every one.
“Hold - right there -“
I held her right there and picked up the pace, dragging her down harder while I fucked up into her. Steam turned the cubicle into white fog. Through the door slats the pool glowed teal, light striping her tits and stomach every time I drove into her, moonlight cutting silver across her face when she tipped her head back, mouth open, taking it.
Her breathing went short and sharp against my lips. Her thighs locked around my waist in that chokehold that turned air into a luxury, and her pussy started doing these greedy squeezes that hauled me deeper and deeper, and before we knew it, we were too far gone.
“I’m close,“ she panted into my mouth. “Don’t stop. Don’t - don’t change anything -“
“Won’t,” I gritted, and kept hammering the spot that made her squirm while my arms locked her down on my cock.
Her eyes stayed on mine, watching every time I bottomed out.
Her pussy locked down so hard my next thrust died inside her.
Her head snapped back on a filthy “ahhh“ as her legs crushed my waist and her arms yanked at my shoulders, hauling me deeper. Her whole body clamped down and milked me so hard I had to plant my feet to stay upright on the wet tile.
“Ah - fuck - Minho -“ She buried her face in my neck as she came, shaking while it tore through her, those waves squeezing so hard my cock started to hurt. I stayed buried and held her up, letting her cum on my cock until the shakes turned into soft little flutters around me.
She was still fluttering when mine snapped on, that tight pull hitting fast. The crush of her orgasm, the heat, the shower pounding our backs, her wrecked noises bouncing off the tile was just too much, and all of it slammed together and yanked me straight over the edge.
“You know where to cum,” she gasped, muffled, against my neck. She locked her legs tighter around my waist and dug her heels in to sure I understood.
Yeah. I definitely understood.
Pressing my forehead to the tile beside her head, I gave her all of it, every spurt dragged out of me and kept, her body milking me like letting go wasn’t a choice. Against the same tile as yesterday morning. Same wall, but the right girl this time, and I felt the memory of that morning start rinsing off me for good, right there, moonlight striping through the slats and laying itself across her bare wet chest while I emptied everything I had into the one place my body ever called home.
The shower ran over us while the steam billowed in white heat. The last aftershock rolled through me as my last spurts squirted into her stretched, filled hole, and she let out a long sigh against my neck, before going slack in my arms.
We stayed like that a long moment. My arms still burned, her back pressed against the wall, and the water kept pouring over us both. I was still inside her, softening, but neither of us was in a hurry to part. Finally, her legs reluctantly unwound from my waist. Her feet found the shower floor and she stood on her own, pressing close.
Her warm hand found my cheek and stroked it gently. She turned my face toward hers and kissed me again slowly, tasting like everything we’d just done.
“Okay,” she said against my mouth. “Now we ACTUALLY need to clean up.”
She pulled back half a step and I slid out of her. Both of us inhaled sharply at the oversensitive separation, and I glanced down at the swollen flesh parting sharp after so long connected.
We stood there face to face, close enough that my cock pressed between her slick thighs, wedged where her legs met, still half-hard and coated in fluids while the shower poured over us both and we slowly caught our breaths together.
The first thick drop of cum slid out of her, hot against my skin where my cock rested between her thighs. More followed in slow drops, thick enough that the shower couldn’t wash it all away fast enough, coating my shaft with what I’d just left inside her.
She looked down between us and watched it happen. Then those cat eyes met mine again, looking thoroughly satisfied and utterly unashamed.
Her hand slid down and closed around my shaft where it sat between her thighs, slowly dragging her palm through cum and her slick both. She lifted her fingers between us and held them up between us, fingers a little apart so my cum and her slick hung in filthy strings between them before the spray started cutting through it.
“Messy,” she remarked matter-of-factly.
“Yeah.”
“I’m not dripping all over the villa floor.”
“Let me?”
I went down to my knees on the warm tile, the spray hitting my shoulders while my face came level with her stomach. From down here it was all abs and hips and then her, trimmed neat above the mess we’d just made. Her pussy was flushed dark and swollen, lips parted and shiny with both of us, my cum leaking out in a slow trickle the water chased toward the drain.
I cupped warm water in my palm and rinsed her thigh, following the streak down her inner leg while she planted one hand on the wall above me and watched.
The next pass slowed down. My fingers followed the crease of her thigh, then the red line where her bikini had cut into her skin. Her stomach tightened.
“Minho.” That warning never meant stop to us.
My hand went higher. My middle finger parted her, sliding through the thick mess the shower hadn’t taken. She was soft after all that fucking, swollen around where I’d filled her, and so tender that the lightest brush over her clit made her hips jump.
“Ah - careful -”
I slowly slid one finger inside her anyway. She opened around me with ease, warm and slick and still full of what I’d left in there. My finger pushed through it on the way in, dragging through both of us, and I watched the white of me disappear into the shine of her, both of us caught there on my skin, inside her body, under warm water.
I looked up to find her eyes half closed, her head back against the tile, shower spray running off her jaw while her chest rose too fast. Water tracked down her breasts and over her nipples, and she looked down at me between them. Cleanup, my ass.
I circled her clit lightly.
“Look at you,” I murmured against the wet skin of her thigh. “Look how ready you still are.”
“Only for you,” she whispered back to the tile. “It’s only ever for you.”
One stroke became two, then became more. She was already close before I’d even properly started curling my fingers and pumping them. My fingers found the spot and circled while my free hand steadied her hip. I pressed a tender kiss to the soft skin below her navel. It tasted of shower water, and under that, us.
Her hand found the back of my head, fingers threading into my wet hair and holding on.
“Don’t stop.“ She whispered.
I kept the same slow circles while her thighs trembled against my shoulders and her breathing went shallow. As I pressed my forehead to her stomach, her abs jumped in little spasms against my skin and her walls clenched around my finger, her whole body pulling tight around the spot I was working.
Her fingers tightened in my hair.
She swallowed a sharp gasp as her hips pressed forward against my hand. Her clit jumped against my fingertip in contractions so small nobody else would’ve felt them, but I’d spent five years learning how to pay attention to her.
Her thighs shook while her hand stayed buried in my hair, and she came against my fingers in long, quiet shudders.
I stayed on my knees until her breathing evened out, my forehead resting against her stomach while her fingers combed through my wet hair in slow passes, each one lighter than the last. The shower poured over both of us while we just breathed into the quiet.
She exhaled slowly, the tension finally leaving her core. “Okay. For REAL this time.”
I stood while my knees voiced their complaints about the tile, which had stamped two matching red ovals into my kneecaps that were going to be visible all night. She turned the shower off and the world went quiet, the white noise dropping out of the night and leaving only the drip from two bodies and the pool filter churning in the distance.
She looked at me inquisitively for a long moment, before reaching for the towel someone had left on the hook beside the shower, and carefully wrapped it around my shoulders.
Her hands smoothed the fabric over my collarbones, adjusted the drape across my chest, fingers running along the edges, while she stood there naked and dripping. She’d just come twice, and the first thing she did after that was to dry me off.
“You’re shivering,” she said, as if she wasn’t standing there doing the same.
“I’m not.”
“Look at you. Goosebumps everywhere.”
“It’s just the wind.”
“You’re such a bad liar. Look at your arms!”
“I’m not!”
She raised one eyebrow with water dripping off it.
“Grab your stuff,” I replied, glancing towards the pool. My shorts were in there somewhere, floating in the deep end where she’d pulled them off my hips an hour ago, and I wasn’t about to walk back to that water naked to fish them out. Not at this hour.
She actually listened and went, which should’ve been my first warning, and walked the three steps to where her top and bottoms were puddled together on the wet tile. She bent slowly at the waist, and there was no chance Hwang Yeji didn’t know exactly what she was showing me when she did it. Her legs stayed straight and slightly parted, the her thighs pulling taut as she reached for the fabric, and from where I stood the view was insane. Her pussy, swollen and flushed and still carrying the evidence of the last hour, a thin line of white cream sitting undisturbed along the seam of her slit, glossy against the pink, visible even in the low light because her body was still holding what the shower hadn’t reached. The line caught the pool’s glow the way the water on her skin had caught it minutes ago, and I selfishly watched just like I’d watched everything tonight, knowing this exact frame - her bent forward, hair dripping, thighs taut, freshly fucked and glowing from it - existed for a handful of seconds and would never line up this way again.
She looked back at me over her shoulder. Her hair fell across one eye while her mouth pulled lazily sideways into a satisfied smirk. She’d seen me looking. She was proud of it, and somewhere in the back of my head: a Busan hotel nightstand. A tissue crumpled too hard. Then she looked back and it was gone.
She held the pose, letting me have it, before she straightened with the bikini bottom hooked on one finger.
She spun it on her finger, letting the wet fabric catch the glow, and walked toward the crumpled cover-up she’d left on the deck. Her bare feet crossed the warm tile while her hips dropped into an easy sway. Those taught muscles in her ass clenched with each step.
She bent again for the cover-up, and this time she took even longer. She wrung it once, flexing her forearms with the twist, then tossed it over her shoulder and turned back with the bikini still spinning on her finger. Her grin hit me before she started walking back.
She closed her hand around the bikini and the little spin stopped dead. When she walked back, the showy sway went with it. Same path across the tile, slower now, her chin lifting as she came in close and kept her eyes on me.
She stopped with her clothes gathered in one hand and her wet chest one breath away from mine.
One breath. That was all it would’ve taken.
She made me take it.
Yeji, who grabbed collars and shoved shoulders and said now and harder and don’t you dare stop like patience was for other people, who would never stand barefoot and quiet in front of a boy and dare him with nothing, stood there barefoot on the wet tile and made me come to her.
My cock stirred against my thigh, and her gaze dipped before her mouth tucked into that tiny smile I never survived well.
I kissed her eyebrow first.
She blinked against my chin when I leaned down and pressed my mouth to the arch of it. Then I kissed her nose, right at the bridge, where she’d once had a cute little mole before she had it removed. Her fingers tightened around the wet clothes in her hand. Her chest lifted once, stopped, and waited.
I went under her thighs and lifted.
Hwang Yeji left the tile with a wet gasp and a noise that probably woke up every dog in Seogwipo.
“MINHO -”
“Hold on.”
“PUT ME -”
“Hold ON.”
I was already walking, naked and barefoot, with the towel sliding off my shoulders and my arms full of naked girl. My cock swung with - honestly - unnecessary enthusiasm for a guy two orgasms deep. She grabbed my neck first, then my shoulder, and when the towel slipped lower, she caught it in one fist. It hit the deck with a wet slap anyway, so she grabbed for something else.
Her hand went down and found my cock and grabbed it.
I stopped walking.
“What are you DOING?”
“I need an anchor!” She argued, clutching even harder and glaring at me like I was the unreasonable one.
“That’s NOT a handle -”
“It’s sturdy and it’s right there!”
“YEJI.”
She adjusted her grip and I was going to lose my mind, carrying a naked girl across the outdoor deck while she held my dick like a subway strap, and somewhere in the dark villa people were trying to sleep while the pool still glowed behind us like a teal crime scene, and I’d never been happier in my life.
I hit the sliding door that was still open from when she’d come through it however many lifetimes ago, and the dark hallway hit us with cool air. We both shivered at the same time.
“Cold cold cold cold -”
“HOLD ON.”
“I AM holding on, that’s the PROBLEM -”
My feet slapped wet prints across the polished floor while hers kicked uselessly in the air. She curled her toes, tucked herself tighter against my chest, and buried her face in my neck while her laugh went silent. Her wet tits pressed flat against me, and every step dragged the slick heat between her thighs against my stomach.
I’d only seen her laugh like that twice in five years, and both times I’d worried she was dying.
She lifted her head from my neck and looked me dead in the eyes.
“If you drop me on these stairs,” she declared, “I will NEVER forgive you.”
“I’ve carried you through worse.”
“When?”
“Trainee dorms, 2018. The night you raided Daehwi’s soju stash.”
“Natty raided it,” she argued, and even Natty wouldn’t have believed her - and Natty believed people as easily as she took her clothes off for them. “I was just supervising.”
“You refused to take the elevator because you said the machine spirit hated you. I carried you up three flights while you sang trot songs.”
“I did not.”
“You called me oppa and threw up in the lobby peace lily.”
“That didn’t happen.”
“Daehwi has video.”
“Daehwi does NOT have -” She pulled back far enough to check my face for the lie and found none. “Oh, I’m going to kill him.”
“After the stairs, okay?”
I took the stairs two at a time as she moved her grip from my cock to my neck, which helped my circulation but endangered my airway. She locked her arms around my neck in a chokehold her personal trainer would’ve admired and wrapped her legs around my waist, so every step bounced her wet body against mine and squashed her tits against my chest.
But as we climbed, the bounce started changing.
At first the bounce just smeared her wetness against a dick that had no business recovering this fast. Then she adjusted her grip in my arms. She arched her lower back and turned the random slide into a grind, locking her pussy against me in a rhythm that suspiciously matched my pace. I couldn’t tell if the agonizing friction was an accident of the stairs or an active attempt to get me inside her while we climbed, but the breathless laugh she pressed into my collarbone gave her away. In doing so, she worked me rock hard again.
“Yeji,” I grunted, my fingers digging into the wet muscle of her thighs as she rolled her hips again, the friction absolute murder.
On the next stair, the head dragged through her wetness and caught against her lips.
On the stair after that, she arched her back to drop her pussy exactly as I lunged up, and because she was so impossibly slick, I slid straight inside her.
We both gasped, and it echoed in the dark stairwell. She shoved her face into my shoulder, her laugh breaking into a wet little moan as she clamped her thighs harder around my waist to try and trap me there. She tried to lock her ankles, tried to ride the carry, but we were just too wet. The very next step, our skin slipped, her hold went, and I slid right back out of her with a wet pop just as my foot hit the top landing.
The stairs, the naked girl, the wet pop, and the immediate betrayal of gravity all made me stop walking. My cock was slick, throbbing, and absolutely furious about the eviction, and the naked girl who had just accidentally fucked me on a staircase was giggling into my neck. Suddenly, the walk down the hallway felt a lot like a countdown.
Agonizingly, I made it past the hallway, then through the bedroom door. Which was open, thankfully.
Then I threw her like a suitcase onto the bed.
She bounced theatrically as the mattress launched her into the air with her limbs splaying, before landing on her back with wet hair fanning across the duvet.
The throw broke her grip. The ball of wet swimwear she’d been clutching the whole way up the stairs launched out of her hand, sailed across the room, and hit the window with a loud, profoundly un-sexy SMACK.
We both froze.
The white coverup and brown bikini momentarily clung to the glass before starting a pathetic slide down the pane, leaving a trail of pool water behind it.
I stared at the bikini bottom that had exiled me in the deep end, watching it peel off the glass and drop into a wet heap on the floor.
“Glad we finally got rid of the cockblocker,” I said.
“Hey.” She pointed a finger at the wet heap, her chest heaving. “I fought that thing in the deep end for you. I won.”
“It put up a hell of a fight.”
“You’re ridiculous,” she gasped, dropping her head back against the mattress.
Her bright laugh echoed around the room. The sound was enormous and the opposite of everything this night had started as with the quiet pool and the careful silence and the tears, this loud and stupid and young, filling the dark bedroom just like the teal light had filled the water.
She settled on her back, breathing hard, as the wet marks kept spreading across white sheets.
I stood at the foot of the bed with my chest heaving, dripping and grinning like an idiot.
Her laughter died and her eyes changed.
Those sharp cat eyes, the ones that made her fancams go viral, went from bright to molten in a flash. Her laughter thinned out, her mouth stayed open, and the joke slipped away while she kept looking at me. I knew that look; Yeji was done being funny. She wanted me, and she wanted it now.
She sat up and reached for my wrist, fingers wrapping around it and tightening.
She pulled.
I fell onto her, and all that wet skin met all that wet skin at once, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, my cock trapped hot along her pussy. She opened her thighs under me and let my length slide into the groove of her slit, slicking the underside of my shaft with her while her body kept pushing out what I’d left inside her. Then she rolled her hips, dragged me through the mess between her legs, and my cock throbbed so hard I made an embarrassing little grunt into her mouth.
Her legs hooked around the backs of my thighs and her arms crossed behind my neck, wrists stacked, fingers digging into opposite elbows. Then she cinched everything tight and pulled me down into her, still breathless from laughing, until there was nowhere left to go.
Her hips rocked up and the head of my cock caught against her entrance. The heat hit me first, then the slick give of her body already opening around me followed.
I braced my forearms on either side of her head to keep from sinking all the way in, the restraint truly costing me everything.
Her hands slid from my neck to my jaw, thumbs on my cheekbones the same way they’d been at the pool edge before she’d pulled us in. Her eyes were all black now, staring vicariously at mine in the dim light while her hips pushed up again and pinned me right there, barely inside her and not allowed to move.
“Hi,” she whispered.
***
[OUTSIDE - THE POOL DECK]
The pool glowed in the dark, and its teal light bled across the tile and the stone and caught the wet trail that ran from the outdoor shower through the villa’s open sliding door and into the hallway beyond.
In the deep end, a pair of swim trunks drifted just beneath the surface and turned patient circles in the filter’s current.
Two sets of footprints told the story. The larger set ran wide and deep and took the corners fast, and the smaller set kept vanishing beside it, toes pointed inward, feet that had spent whole stretches of the run swept up off the ground. Between the prints ran a faint translucent line, thin and broken, catching the pool’s glow where the stone hadn’t drunk it in yet. None of it would survive until dawn, but it was all there now, the trail of something that had leaked and dripped and been cheerfully ignored in favor of the sheer stupid joy of sprinting naked through a house that wasn’t theirs.
The trail ended at the base of the stairs.
The stairs climbed into darkness, and above them one window glowed warm and gold, the last light in the villa the fight had left burning. Two shadows moved behind the sheer curtains, merging and separating and merging again, and the window frame shuddered once when something heavy hit a wall. Laughter spilled down through the open window, high and breathless, and under it came the sound of a bed being asked to do more than it was built for.
Everything else was dark.
The kitchen, the living room, the hallway where laughter had bounced between the walls before the fight killed it, the terrace where Ryujin had wrapped her arms around herself, the guest rooms where Chaeryeong and Yuna and Lia had gone to ground. The whole house had given up on the day except for the two people upstairs who refused to quit it.
The filter churned, steady and low, and the water lapped at the tile. The landscape lights threw long shadows across the hedges and the stone, and they caught a figure standing at the back gate, squared-shouldered and still against the fence.
The gate’s hinges creaked, metal on metal, sharp enough to carry across the water, and the figure came forward once and then again, leaving the fence line and crossing the dark stone.
Ryujin stepped into the light, and the teal glow climbed from her feet to her knees to her chest to her face.
It lit her from below the like it’d lit them, and every shadow on her face fell upward, carving her cheekbones sharp and turning her eyes enormous and dark, and those eyes went to the trail.
She followed it from the trunks in the deep end to the footprints, from the footprints to the line threading between them, and up the dark stairs to the window still burning gold at the top of the house.
The window flickered with movement again, and one shadow crossed the frame and a second followed it. The laughter came again, softer now, and then it faded, and a slow creak started up in its place, long and even.
The filter churned, and the water lapped at the tile. Ryujin stood still in the light they’d swum in, staring up at the glowing window. Every light still burning in the villa belonged to the two of them and nobody else, the gold above and the teal below. She stood on the dark stone in between, and there was none left burning for her.
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index
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Which symbolic inversion from the Yuna arc hit the hardest
The fall into the pool (seduction vs trust)
The underwater BJ (showing off vs leader practicality)
The shower sex (hiding vs revealing)
Turning on the shower (cold vs warmth)
The emotional inversion (corruption vs absolution)
The "washing away the sin" symbolism
Yeji "wanting him" vs Yuna "using him"
Chiaroscuro lighting (fear and hiding in Ch9.5 vs grace and exposure in Ch20
The creampie (wiping it away in Ch9.5 vs putting it on display in Ch20)
Any another inversion that I missed
Voting ended onMar 7
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Author's Note
I put up a poll asking if Yeji should find out about what happened at the pool. The response was overwhelmingly yes, but I’m not doing it, and I want to explain why.
I know what you’re expecting! Yeji finds out, there’s a big confrontation, some coldness, a period of earned suffering, and eventually they make up with groveling, grand gestures, and probably some really emotional makeup sex. It’s a good story. I’ve read it a hundred times and liked it every time. But that makes it fundamentally a Minho story, where the guy messes up, the girl judges him, and forgiveness drives the plot. The women involved just become supporting characters in his redemption arc, or villains in her betrayal arc, or both. Ryujin becomes “the girl who slept with her best friend’s man.” Yuna becomes “the maknae who crossed the line.” Their whole arcs just collapse into what they did to Yeji, turning them into plot devices in someone else’s story instead of main characters in their own.
That bothers me because Jeju Heat was never a Minho story - it’s an ITZY story about five girls and how they love each other and themselves. Minho is the catalyst, but he was never really the point.
I think what gets lost if you look at this like a traditional cheating story is that Yeji and Minho aren’t actually in a relationship. Like I mentioned in ‘Drowning in Air’, there’s no label and no exclusivity. For five years, she’s explicitly refused to define what they are. Yeji’s one real boundary, the one she drew with her whole chest, was “not my members.” And that boundary isn’t about monogamy or owning Minho’s body, but about fear. She’s afraid someone will take away her safe space, the one place she doesn’t have to be Leader Yeji, where she can just be the girl who steals shirts and falls asleep on someone’s chest without her armor on.
To me, the betrayal is less about breaking rules and more about feelings. The story cares more about emotional truth than technicalities, which is exactly why “Drowning in Air” exists. Minho’s subconscious doesn’t check the terms of their arrangement before turning it into a horror movie, and his guilt doesn’t care that technically he didn’t cheat. He knows what Yeji means to him, and he knows what yesterday would do to her. His nightmare IS the discovery scene, it just happens inside the person who actually needs to deal with it instead of the person who’d get hurt by it. I think that’s more honest.
If ‘Drowning in Air’ is the punishment, ‘Moonlight and Memory’ is the absolution, and both only work because Yeji doesn’t know.
The pool where Minho sits at the start of ‘Moonlight and Memory’ is the exact same pool where Yuna straddled him on a lounge chair, where Ryujin pinned him against the tile, and where he came inside two of Yeji’s members in one morning. The outdoor shower is where he and Yuna hid from Ryujin, and where Ryujin caught them mid-creampie. He knows what happened there. Yeji doesn’t. She walks out to the pool, sees moonlight on the water and the boy she’s been wanting all day, and then she accidentally recreates almost every single moment, just softer.
In ‘The Siren’, Minho fell backward into the pool because Yuna pushed him in, chaotic and laughing. In ‘Moonlight and Memory’, Yeji falls backward into the same pool, but she pulls Minho by the face, eyes open the whole way down. One was losing control, the other is trust so complete she doesn’t even brace for impact. Yuna fucked him in the shallow end where she could touch the bottom and leave whenever she wanted. Yeji takes him to the deep end where neither of them can stand, where staying means they have to hold each other. Yuna’s underwater blowjob was a performance meant to be remembered, trying to be someone she’s not to prove her worth. Yeji dives under because she won’t let him cum in the pool, being practical and thinking about cleanup while his brain is still short-circuiting, because even in lust, she gets to be true to herself with him.
And then there’s the shower. She sees warm tile and steam and asks “Room for two?” like it’s the most natural thing in the world, because she simply wants to be close to him. He sees the exact spot where Yuna’s back pressed against the wall, the handle she grabbed, the drain where the evidence washed away. But Yeji is just standing there smiling, and her total lack of baggage starts to overwrite his memories. She’s not reclaiming the space because she doesn’t know there’s anything to reclaim. She’s just being herself, and that’s enough.
Even the smaller moments echo like this. In ‘Shower Thoughts’, Yeji locked Minho out of the bathroom after sex because letting him see her clean up felt too intimate. In ‘Moonlight and Memory’, she lets him stay, lets him help, and leaves the door open. In ‘Skin and Shadows’, she whispered “mine” over and over, frantic and desperate, hiding her face in the shadows. In ‘Moonlight and Memory’, she says it once, looking right at him in the water. It’s not a plea anymore, but a partial declaration of something she’s not quite ready to say.
This is why the secret matters to the story, not just the characters. If Yeji knows what happened in the shower, “Room for two?” becomes a test or a confrontation instead of a simple invitation. If she knows about the pool, pulling him backward becomes a way to reclaim him instead of pure trust. The innocence is what makes it work, since her moving through those spaces with total confidence proves that what happened there doesn’t own them forever. She’s not forgiving him because she doesn’t know there’s anything to forgive, but somehow that matters more.
If Yeji finds out, her arc goes backward, and she has to put her armor back on. The shower door closes again, the walls go back up, and the whole back half of the story becomes about whether she can forgive and trust again. That means we’d just be retreading the same ground the first dozen plus chapters already covered. Her arc was never “girl who forgives.” It was always “girl who learns to love without fear.” Finding out forces a regression that makes the happy ending feel conditional, like it’s built on surviving a crisis instead of two people choosing to be vulnerable.
But the real reason I’m doing this is because of what it means for the people keeping the secret.
Those three people love Yeji deeply. Minho loves her like the first love you’ve been orbiting for five years without the guts to put a label on it. Ryujin loves her like the best friend who made chaos feel like home, where her growing away from you feels like a personal rejection. Yuna loves her the way the youngest loves the oldest, a mix of admiration, competition, and a desperate need to be seen as an equal instead of a baby. All three of them, on their own, for different reasons, come to the exact same conclusion: protect her from what I did. Not because they’re scared of getting caught, but because they love her enough to let her be happy without knowing the cost.
I think that distinction matters. In cheating stories, confessing is almost always framed as brave, the hard but right thing to do, the painful truth that sets everyone free. But confessing is also often really selfish. You just dump your emotional baggage onto the person you hurt, because you make them carry it so you don’t have to anymore. You get the relief of being honest and they get the devastation of knowing, and somehow we call that love? I think choosing to live with it, letting the guilt change you instead of dumping it on someone else, waking up every morning knowing what you did and deciding to be better instead of feeling lighter, that’s arguably the harder road, and it’s the one that lets the person you hurt stay soft.
This choice feels right to me because it matches how I think people actually deal with their mistakes. We all have something we’ve never told someone we love, not because we’re liars or cowards, but because telling them would just transfer the pain without actually fixing anything. We make these calculations all the time, choosing what to absorb and what to pass on, deciding which truths help the person hearing them and which ones only help the person saying them. That kind of math is one of the most complicated, human things we do.
Growing up is partly about learning that some mistakes can’t be undone, you just have to carry them. You don’t always get a clean confrontation, a cathartic resolution, and a redemption arc. Sometimes you just have to live with what you did, let it change you quietly, and hope the person you become is worth more than the person who messed up. It’s less dramatic than a screaming match in a kitchen, but I think it’s also more true.
The dramatic irony is part of the point. You, the reader, know what happened at the pool. You know who was there. And as the story reaches its close, you’ll carry that knowledge right alongside these characters as they make their choices. That gap between what they know and what you know is part of what gives the story its weight.
To be clear, I’m not denying you a confrontation scene because I already gave it to you. It happened in ‘Drowning in Air’, inside Minho’s subconscious, in a looping nightmare that kept escalating. It was worse than any real-life confrontation could ever be because it was built by the person who hates himself most for what happened. The nightmare IS the consequence. What comes after IS the resolution.
Some truths you carry so someone else doesn’t have to. That’s not a cop-out. To me, that’s actually the hardest kind of love there is, and it’s the kind this story believes in.
And for the film/literature nerds: this chapter is meant to be the equivalent of the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet, or if you’ve seen the 1996 movie - the pool scene.
In my opinion, the way that film works is that the pool replaces the balcony as the place where they first actually meet each other, not as a Montague and a Capulet but as people. The balcony scene is about distance - he’s below, she’s above, the gap between them is what makes the conversation possible in the first place. The pool does the opposite. It pulls them under the surface of the ordinary world, somewhere with its own physics and its own quiet, where everything above - the families, the feud, all of it - belongs to the air and can’t follow them down. That’s what the water is for in that scene. Not romance as a backdrop, but submersion as a mechanism. You go under and the world stops being able to reach you, and I’ve tried to describe the sounds of the world under as part of the sensory immersion, too.
‘Moonlight and Memory’ is both scenes at once, and I made sure to research and study them while building it. The pool glowing at night is the balcony - it’s liminal in the truest sense, a threshold that’s neither inside the villa nor outside it, suspended between the fight that just happened and wherever they’re going next, lit from below like something out of a dream. And the fall into the water is the plunge into Luhrmann’s pool, the moment where everything that was happening above the surface goes somewhere unreachable. The line I kept coming back to while writing was the villa and the fight and the guilt were all above us, on the other side of the surface, belonging to the air - which is, as far as I can tell, exactly what Luhrmann was going for, just set in Verona.
What makes the film’s pool scene actually work, though, isn’t the water. It’s what the water makes possible, which is that these two people stop performing. In the pool they’re not their families or their names or whatever role the story needs them to fill - they’re just themselves. And that’s the thing ‘Moonlight and Memory’ is trying to do the whole way through, starting before either of them is even wet. Yeji breaks the rule she’s held since trainee days and says everything she’d been editing for five years. He stares at her and doesn’t apologize for it. She tells him he’s beautiful and then basically wants to be struck by lightning for having said it. He tells her she looks like herself, which is maybe the strangest and most devastating thing you can say to a person who’s spent a decade building a persona, and she has to tread water while she figures out what that does to her. The armor comes off one piece at a time, all of it before they touch.
The film also uses the water to foreshadow the tragedy - drowning love, beautiful and doomed. I wanted to use it as the opposite of that. Going somewhere you can’t stand, where staying means holding onto someone - in a tragedy that’s the setup for disaster. Here it’s just where they want to be.
And yes, I know five years is the opposite of strangers. But I think this is still a first meeting, because the version of Yeji who shows up at that pool has never actually been in the room before. “I haven’t even used it” reads, through the pool’s symbolism, as: I haven’t let myself be in this kind of space. I haven’t been this undefended. This is the first time. The pool at midnight is where she finally walks out. That’s what the scene is, and that’s what it was always going to be.
I'm sure you've all seen those absolutely scandalous pictures of swimsuit-clad ITZY members by the pool during their 'Tunnel Vision' tour stop in Thailand.
In honor of that (just kidding, this predates that but those pics absolutely kept the fire in the pants and the midnight oil burning), your resident pool sex author is thrilled to drop something that's been in the works for some time - a completely remastered version of Moonlight and Memory!
This is one of my absolute favorite chapters and I know many of you feel the same way! Some of the smut beats/choreo has been reworked, while the erotic tension and chiaroscuro pool atmosphere remains at an all-time high. Enjoy (along with the new Yeji pics below to bless your debauched eyes <3)
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index | Read on Fanprose
Previous Chapter
A/N: Welcome to the finale.
A couple notes:
- You may recall me saying that there wouldn't be any more smut after posting 'Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade'. Well, I lied. Hope you brought tissues.
- This is the longest chapter of the series by quite a significant margin. It's basically 3 chapters/short stories rolled into one. I recommend breaking it up into multiple sessions.
- There is a secret post credits scene hidden in a link somewhere on the page. Good luck finding it! (If you find it, please don't spoil!)
[3 MONTHS LATER]
Three months is basically a lifetime in idol years. Whole comebacks happen in three months. People debut, blow up, get a scandal, apologize on camera, and come back wholesome.
So a lot can change. And a lot had.
To see it, you'd have to cross the sea to Osaka. From high enough up, the whole city is just a lit-up grid somebody spilled juice on, all that wet neon bleeding into the canal and the canal bleeding it right back. Osaka was doing what Osaka does, glowing like it was getting paid for every bulb.
And if you came down out of that, past the rooftop bars and the office windows nobody's turned off and the trains stitching the dark together, you'd hit a magical place called Dotonbori. The crowd down there thickens into one big slow animal that breathes takoyaki smoke and barely shuffles forward.
Down another floor into the noise, past the guy selling crab on a stick the size of a forearm, past the screens stacked high running soda commercials and idol faces. Past that Glico man frozen mid-victory-lap over the water like he'd been sprinting since 1935 and nobody had the heart to tell him to stop. Down into the wet electric crush of the street, where izakaya touts shout over the mechanical rattle of gachapon machines.
Cameras everywhere, phones up everywhere, a whole city built just to look at things and be looked at, neon designed to grab you by the eyeballs and not let go.
If you pushed right through the middle of it, slipping past the dizzying strobe of pachinko parlors and the curtained doorways of purikura booths, you'd hit the automatic doors of a Namba arcade. A place designed to assault every earthly sense on purpose. Track inward through the noise, past the rhythm-game players sweating over neon buttons - all the way to the back wall, into the sad blue glow of a UFO catcher.
You'd see an eighth wonder of the world, hiding in plain sight.
Hair dyed cherry red and spilling over bare shoulders. A tiny strapless black corset held shut by nothing but delusion and a criss-cross of laces down an open back, the cords spanning a gap of bare skin from her shoulder blades to the small of her spine, no bra anywhere in sight. It pushed what little she had up into a respectable line of cleavage, and a pair of detached black sleeves bunched at her wrists were the only concession to the fact that it was November in Osaka, since the rest of her was bare from collarbone to the denim sitting illegally low on her hips. You'd see a twenty-one-year-old dressed like an absolute slut, losing her mind over a plush bunny wedged against the glass.
Three months ago she'd been performing goddess on a Jeju pool deck, letting an off-limits man completely wreck her from the inside out, then sobbing into a duvet by next night's end because getting her pussy repeatedly filled to the brim hadn't managed to fill whatever hole she actually needed filled.
Tonight, she was just a girl who wanted the bunny.
"You're gonna break the glass," the boy next to her observed.
Her legs were planted wide, denim riding low enough to expose the twin dimples at the base of her spine, where the corset's laces criss-crossed down to a bow she'd never have been able to tie herself. With her forehead pressed to the glass, her back sloped into a deep curve, thrusting her hips back in a deep doggy-style arch that men enthusiastically paid soapland money for in Tobita Shinchi, a couple districts away, except she was doing it for free, at a claw machine, for a bunny. The boned corset gripped her waist so tightly it made the flare of her ass look even more absurdly round, though up top it sat a little loose on her skinny frame, the cups gaping forward every time she leaned in over the machine.
"I'm literally asking it nicely! It's SO different."
"I don't think it can hear you," he said, and then, quieter, mostly to himself, "though honestly I get why it'd want to help." He went a little red the second it was out, like he hadn't meant to say it where she could hear.
"It TOTALLY does." She pressed her forehead harder against the glass, her huge eyes locked on a pink bunny wedged between a knock-off Pikachu and a deformed cat. "Come on baby, come to mama."
He hovered by the next machine, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. In a fuzzy white fleece over a white tee and black leather pants, he looked ridiculously soft, like a very expensive, very huggable sheep, and he'd been wearing that same shy, helpless grin since she'd dragged him in twenty minutes ago, like he couldn't believe his night was going like this and didn't want it to stop. "You've, um. You've spent like three thousand yen on this."
"That's literally an investment!" She fed another coin into the slot. "Like I'm SO close, I just need -"
"You said that four tries ago." He smiled at his shoes when he said it.
"Okay but this time I actually mean it!"
The claw descended - then grabbed at air. She let out a dramatic whine and smacked both hands flat against the glass, and across the aisle two girls at the photo booth leaned into each other, glanced over, and then looked very hard at their own photo strip instead.
"Maybe, um." He pushed off the machine, hesitating before deciding to put himself in the line of fire. "Maybe let me try?"
"No - wait, I totally have this -"
"Sunbaenim." He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, not quite meeting her eyes, and slid his own coins into the slot. "Just one go. If I lose you can leave me in Japan."
"Oh my gosh, STOP." She smacked his arm. "We've been over this. You can't call me sunbaenim while I'm losing my mind at a claw machine, it's so weird, I will actually -"
"Sorry. Sorry." He fought a grin. "Yuna-sunbae -"
"Woomin."
"...noona," he tried, going pink.
That one she let stand, mostly because of what it did to her stomach and her pussy, which was so rude of him. "Fine. Better." She stepped back, crossing her arms under her tits, squeezing them together and making the corset do heroic work. "But if you drop him, I'm literally leaving you in Japan."
She leaned over the machine to glare at the claw and caught his eyes drop, right down into the gap where the corset hung off her skinny ribs and showed him everything - her small tits swinging free, pale pink nipples already tight from the air conditioning. Then his gaze snapped back to her face, color crawling up his neck. This had been happening all night, every time she bent for a coin: he got the whole show and yanked his eyes away every time, like looking would be rude, like she was a person and not a thing to look at.
It was driving her insane. She found herself getting wet under the denim, which was literally insane because they were in a fucking arcade.
Three months ago she'd have taken that as a challenge and made it her life's mission to crack him. Would've leaned in close enough to make it a problem, found an excuse to touch his arm, made her eyes do that thing they did when she wanted someone to stop thinking clearly.
Tonight she just watched him line up the claw with a tiny, serious furrow between his eyebrows, utterly focused on winning her a cheap toy, and felt a fizzy flutter right between her legs.
***
This was the third time they'd hung out since an acting workshop back in September - JYPapi's idea, wrapped in three polite lies: "just for confidence," "just to broaden your range," "no pressure." There was maybe, possibly, allegedly an office-comedy role coming. Nobody said Park Shin-hye's name out loud, which meant everyone was thinking it. Woomin had been the guy who made her break character during the crying-on-cue exercise by whispering a joke right before her turn.
He'd had an audition in Tokyo yesterday, she'd had three days off, and Osaka was the middle point. She'd texted him "im in japan do u wanna hang??? or is that weird" and he'd replied "im in" within thirty seconds. She'd picked Osaka because she figured she'd be less recognizable here than in Seoul, which was delusional considering ITZY's Japan numbers, but she'd already decided, without consulting facts, that she was right. He'd happily gone along with it, which was either very sweet or very stupid.
Probably both, but, like, who cares?
***
The claw dropped, grabbed the bunny's ear, and lifted.
"Wait - WAIT -" Yuna's hands flew to her mouth.
The bunny swung, held, teetered, and finally dropped into the chute.
She shrieked loud enough to startle a knot of teenage boys two machines over, who'd been mangling a Taiko song for the last five minutes mostly as an excuse to keep half an eye on the redhead bent over the claw machine in the corset and the criminally low jeans, losing the beat every time she arched for a coin. One of them had gone still a while back, leaned into his friend's ear, mouthed something, and then very pointedly gone back to his drums. She was too busy lunging for the prize door and yanking the bunny out and clutching it to her chest like Woomin had handed her a Music Bank trophy instead of a ¥300 stuffed animal made of toxic fluff.
"NO WAY YOU DID IT!" She spun on him, eyes huge. "You literally just - how did you - WAIT!"
"Beginner's luck." He smiled, that shy, unguarded expression pushing the corners of his eyes up into tiny crescents.
She bounced on her toes, squishing the bunny against her corset, on the verge of exploding with ridiculous joy.
And he was looking at her like that was the best thing he'd seen all week.
"He's literally perfect," she gasped, holding the bunny up to examine it. "I'm naming him Osaka."
"Isn't that, um." He scratched the back of his neck. "A little basic?"
"Osaka-chan."
He ducked his head, laughing. "Still basic."
"You're just jealous because Osaka-chan is already literally obsessed with me." She hugged it tighter, grinning at him over the bunny's pink head. "You're literally the best! Like seriously, I was gonna be here all night."
She hooked two fingers into the hem of his fleece and tugged him in, just to see, and there it was - the pink climbing up his neck, his hand opening and closing at his side like it didn't have anywhere to go, the little half-step that wasn't away from her so much as into being basically useless about it. So cute. So freaking CUTE. She wanted to put him in her pocket next to the bunny.
"I know." He reached out, almost touching her fiery red hair, then seemed to think better of it, dropping his hand back to his side. "You had that look."
"Wait, what look?"
"Like you were ready to fight the machine."
"Okay, that's literally SO rude." She narrowed her eyes at him, then immediately ruined it. "Keep going though."
He looked down at his shoes, the tips of his ears going pink. "I just meant it's kind of cute. When you get like that."
A loud honking laugh burst out of her before she could stop it, the snorty ugly one she'd spent years trying to train out of herself for camera. She shoved his arm, gave up on training it, and knocked her forehead into his shoulder, still cackling. He went still, then relaxed, holding his ground while she stayed there, bunny squished between them, racing-game sound effects crashing around them.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
Then again.
Then four more times in rapid succession.
"Oh no." She pulled it out. A wall of texts had piled up in the ITZY group DMs on Instagram, because she'd posted a story of the claw machine at some point and Ryujin had seen it and had opinions.
@iamfinethankyouandryu:is that a DATE 👀
@iamfinethankyouandryu:YUNA IS THAT A DATE
@chaerrry0:OMG WHO IS HE
@lia_loves___:cute bunny
@yezyizhere: Please tell me you're being safe. @iamfinethankyouandry:SAFE???? YEJI THINKS SHES GONNA FUCK HIM 😭
@chaerrry0:In an arcade?!?!? @iamfinethankyouandryu:you don't know what our maknae is capable of
@lia_loves___:she probably already did 💀
Yuna snorted, typing one-handed while Woomin pretended very hard not to be reading over her shoulder.
@igotyuandme: its LITERALLY just arcade games omg calm down
@igotyuandme: hes a friend 🐰
@iamfinethankyouandryu: a FRIEND
@lia_loves___: she said friend like that means something
@yezyizhere: Be good, ok?
@igotyuandme: im ALWAYS good unnie 😇
@iamfinethankyouandryu: thats the funniest thing youve ever typed 😭
She shoved her phone back in her pocket before they could spiral further. Then looked up at Woomin, who'd very obviously been watching her face light up at her phone and very obviously pretended he hadn't the second she caught him.
"Your members?"
"They're literally insane." She hugged Osaka-chan tighter. "Like they think every guy I talk to is automatically my future husband or whatever."
"Oh." He looked at the bunny instead of her. "Is that, um. Is that what they think I am?"
She bumped his shoulder with hers. "You're the guy who won me a bunny. That's literally WAY better than a husband. Like husbands don't win you stuffed animals, they just leave their socks everywhere and act surprised about it."
"That's, um. That's kinda specific? How do you know that?"
"Okay, so my unnie's boyfriend literally does it ALL the time and she loses her MIND about it, she found one in the actual fridge once and almost -"
She cut herself off.
Because the unnie she'd started describing, and her boyfriend and the socks, weren't really hers to make into a fun little arcade anecdote. Old Yuna would've told the whole story with sound effects. New Yuna apparently had standards now, which was honestly so inconvenient.
"Which unnie?" Woomin asked innocently.
"Hm? Oh. You know." She waved Osaka-chan in a vague circle.
"Don't like two or three of your members have boyfriends?" He started counting on his fingers, which was the worst possible thing he could be doing. "So is it the one who -"
"ALL of them," Yuna announced. "All my unnies. Every single boyfriend. Socks literally everywhere. It's an epidemic, it's so sad, you wouldn't get it."
He blinked at her.
"It's a generational thing," she added cheerfully.
"Right." He let it drop, mostly because she was so obviously talking out of her bubble butt that there was nothing to actually call out. "Noted."
They stood there for a second, arcade lights flashing pink and blue across her cherry-red hair, the machine behind them already eating someone else's coins. She looked down at the bunny, then back up at him.
"Wanna get out of here? There's a Uniqlo like two minutes away in Shinsaibashi, I checked, and I need a new top because I packed like a geoji, literally like a BEGGAR, it's so embarrassing."
"Uniqlo?" He blinked. "You want to go to Uniqlo. You."
"What, I can't do fast fashion? I'm literally SO relatable now."
"I, um." He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting a smile. "I saw what you wore to set last week. I didn't think you owned anything that wasn't, like. A whole outfit."
She gasped, clutching Osaka-chan to her chest. "Seriously?! I'm SO down-to-earth!"
"You wore Prada to a convenience store."
"It was CASUAL Prada!"
That got him this time, a surprised chuckle leaking out, his hand coming up too late to cover it. She decided on the spot that she wanted to hear it again, like, a lot, and was already walking backward toward the exit, bunny in one hand and his sleeve in the other, towing him along because she'd decided they were leaving and reality just needed to catch up.
She tucked Osaka-chan under her arm, Woomin half a step behind her. If her pulse was hammering a frantic pop-beat against the boning of her corset, she'd survive. This was just hanging out. With a boy who made her laugh and wouldn't look at her tits even when she made it easy, who won her a stuffed bunny and made being twenty-one and chaotic feel like enough.
The problem was, feelings that big had nowhere to go except the group chat. She had her phone out before she'd realized, thumbs already moving in their puppy-printed case while Woomin studied the recycling bins by the wall like the labels for PET bottles versus burnable trash were the most fascinating thing he'd seen all night.
@igotyuandme: GUYS 🐰🐰🐰
@igotyuandme: ok i KNOW i said it was just arcade games
@igotyuandme: but he won me the bunny i CANT. with the claw. EIGHTH try he would not give up @igotyuandme: like?? boys can do that?? just be CUTE??
@igotyuandme: ALSO we've been hanging out like 3 hrs and he hasnt looked at my boobs once
@igotyuandme:not ONCE
@igotyuandme: is he ok?? is something wrong w him?? 😭
@chaerrry0: YUNA HE LIKES YOU FOR YOU
@chaerrry0: IM GONNA CRY 🦊
@iamfinethankyouandryu: ^ this is the most baby thing shes ever said
@iamfinethankyouandryu: "boys can be cute" bitch last month you sent me a guys nudes and rated his dick out of 10 💀
@igotyuandme: UNNIE YOU LITERALLY TAUGHT ME HOW TO DO THAT
@iamfinethankyouandryu: someone had to after yeji went domestic on us
@iamfinethankyouandryu: needed a new project 🐱
@yezyizhere: ...
@igotyuandme: IM NOT A PROJECT 😭 IM ON A WHOLESOME DATE
@chaerrry0: SHES IN LOVE LEAVE HER ALONE
@lia_loves___: wait who taught her boys could be nice. was it not us
@yezyizhere: Proud of you 🖤
@yezyizhere: If you're going to sleep with him tonight, be safe
@igotyuandme: UNNIE?????? 🙈
@yezyizhere: I'm not judging, just send me and manager-nim the hotel name
@iamfinethankyouandryu: the mom has spoken 🐱
@igotyuandme: 😭😭😭
@yezyizhere: Have fun. Call me if he's weird 🖤
She shoved the phone away before they could spiral, grinning so hard her face hurt.
***
Outside, Dotonbori swallowed them back into its neon current. The Glico man still running his eternal race overhead. Crowds thick enough that nobody was looking at faces, just trying not to get trampled. A girl by the railing lifted her phone as Yuna passed, held it for a second, then lowered it again and went back to her boyfriend like it was none of her business.
Perfect.
She was just towing him through the crush, pulse going crazy, when she saw it glowing pink between a drugstore and a shuttered ramen place: a Life4Cuts, the four-cut booth that lived in every subway station back home in Seoul, somehow transplanted whole into the middle of Osaka.
"OH." She stopped so fast Woomin walked into her shoulder. "Oh my gosh! Come ON."
"Wait, what are we -"
She was already shoving him through the curtain.
These were always tiny, built for one, so one giant skinny girl plus a fully grown boy meant she ended up half on the bench with his hip jammed against hers and nowhere to put her elbow except his thigh. The back of his neck went the pink of the booth light. She was going to be smug about that later.
"Pick a frame," she said, smacking the screen. "Pick a - okay I'll do the frame, you hit the - no, the big green - the START -"
"I'm TRYING -" He poked the touchscreen with one careful finger, except the whole ugly UI was in Japanese neither of them could really read, and the menu lurched somewhere it shouldn't have, flipping to a grid of glossy idol headshots under a banner in English, which wasn't actually more helpful.
"Tay-kuh... photo... wit... yuh-oh bias?" Yuna read off the banner slowly, frowning, mouthing it twice more before it made sense. "Oh. OH! Take a photo with your bias. It's a K-pop one!"
A cheerful chime sounded, then a doll-face dropped into the corner of the preview, soft-focus, airbrushed into next week, posing next to her like they were besties.
It was her, Shin Yuna, ITZY's beloved maknae and visual.
"NO WAY!" She leaned into frame next to herself and giggled. Idol-Yuna beamed back in full stage makeup, cheekbones lit by some studio across the sea, like that one fancam-screenshot face people captioned with thirst emojis. The Yuna actually sitting there had sex hair that didn't come from sex and a stuffed rabbit in her lap. "It's ME! Woomin, it's ME, I'm photobombing myself, this is the best night of my LIFE - okay wait wait wait, serious question -"
She twisted to look at him, which in here resulted in her nose almost hitting his. He stopped breathing.
"Which one's prettier?!" She jabbed a finger at the screen, then at her own cheek, then back. "Idol me, or me me! And you HAVE to answer, no skipping!"
Up in the corner a tinny speaker was leaking the collab playlist, her own breathy lyrics threading through it, you're what I want and I'm not shy, and she bopped her head to it without once even realizing it was her.
His eyes flicked from the screen to her and back to the screen, and his mouth opened around an answer that never came while the pink climbed past his ears.
"That one's - I mean she's - " He waved a hand at idol-Yuna. "That's a really good photo of you?"
"WORST. ANSWER."
"No - wait -"
She planted both fists on her hips and stuck her bottom lip out, which in a box this size mostly meant jamming an elbow into the wall, and gave him the full pout. "You think the FACETUNE is hotter than the real thing?!"
"I didn't say hotter, I said good photo, the real one's - you're -" He ran out of road and just looked at her, ears gone full scarlet, and whatever his face was doing killed the joke right in her mouth.
She turned back and tapped idol-Yuna off the screen.
"Yeah, like, what do we even need fake-ass me for?" She flicked at the little X like it was a bug. "Got the real one right here."
The preview cleared, leaving her and him and the bunny, squished into a glowing pink box in the middle of Osaka.
"Okay, okay, for real this time! Hold him up!" She wedged Osaka-chan up between their faces, a paw in each of their hands. "On three we kiss the baby, ready? One - two -"
They both ducked in and kissed the bunny at the same time, her on one fuzzy cheek, him on the other, close enough over its silly pink head that she felt the warmth coming off his face.
The flash went off and caught all of it.
The rabbit, the two of them folded around it, his eyes cutting up to her at the wrong moment.
The screen flipped to the decorating part, the four shots lined up with a drawing pad and a tray of stickers, and she pounced. She scrawled 오사카 ♡ across the top in lurid pink, stuck a tiny crown on Osaka-chan, then slapped a sparkly heart over Woomin's startled face in the last frame before he could stop her, cackling while he went "hey - HEY -" and fumbled for the stylus too late.
The machine spat the strip out. She snatched it before it finished drying and flapped it in the air to set the ink, and Woomin leaned over her shoulder to see and then just kept hovering, breath on her jaw, and there was suddenly no air left in the box.
"You're -" he started, and didn't finish, and turned his head and kissed her cheek instead, so fast and so soft that her brain only caught up after he'd already pulled back with his whole face on fire.
Her stomach dropped through the floor of the booth.
"Okay," she said, strangled, jamming the strip into her back pocket and grabbing his hand because if she sat in this box one more second she was going to do something unhinged. "Okay we're going. Uniqlo. Right now. Up. Come on -"
Out on the street she had her phone out again one-handed, the other hand still locked around his, thumb flying.
@igotyuandme: GUYS
@igotyuandme: HE KISSED MY CHEEK 😭😭😭😭🐰
@igotyuandme: in the photo booth
@igotyuandme: ON THE CHEEK
@igotyuandme: like a little gentleman?? im DECEASED
@igotyuandme: anyway we're going to uniqlo now
@igotyuandme: to get me a top like NORMAL ppl do
@igotyuandme: soo wholesome. nothing weird. 🐰
@chaerrry0: A GENTLEMAN!!!
@chaerrry0: 🥹🥹🥹
@chaerrry0: IM SCREAMING he likes you SO much
@iamfinethankyouandryu: lmao youre so getting railed tonight
@igotyuandme: WHAT
@igotyuandme: unnie NO. STOP
@igotyuandme: its not even like that omg
@igotyuandme: hes SHY he won't even look at my boobs 🙈
@iamfinethankyouandryu: maknae you showed us your spreadsheet on that island
@iamfinethankyouandryu: the quiet shy ones are ALWAYS the freaks
@iamfinethankyouandryu: ask chaeryeong lmaooo
@chaerrry0: RYUJIN
@chaerrry0: WHY would you say that
@chaerrry0: thats PRIVATE 😳
@iamfinethankyouandryu: so you dont deny it
@chaerrry0: BYE
@lia_loves___: "just getting a top"
@lia_loves___: ok
@lia_loves___: send pics. of the top. and i dont mean u so make sure ur not naked
@igotyuandme: IM NOT
@igotyuandme: ok gtg we're HERE
@igotyuandme: bye love you all DON'T be weird 🐰
@yezyizhere: Yuna please don't blow him in the changing room. If you get caught it will be a whole thing. Save it for the hotel 🖤
She locked the phone and shoved it in her back pocket before the last message finished loading, so she never saw it.
***
Uniqlo late on a Friday was less a store than an LED-lit obstacle course, the white glare making the racks look sharp and endless, twice as much inventory crammed into half the space Seoul would've used. Which meant Yuna kept bumping into Woomin every time she turned around to check another shirt.
The fourth time her elbow hit his ribs, she caught him smiling about it.
"What?"
"Nothing." He stepped back half a step, hands in his jacket pockets. "You're just. You shop like you're being timed."
"I AM being timed, we close in like - " She checked her phone. "Less than half an hour. That's literally nothing."
"Most people would've picked something by now."
"Most people have bad taste." She held up a plain cream scoop-neck with long sleeves, considered it, then immediately put it back. "See? Bad taste. I almost fell for it."
"It looked fine?"
"It looked like a hagwon seonsaengnim, Woomin. I'd disappear. I'd become invisible and die." She moved down the rack, fingers skating over cotton and polyester. "I need something cute but not trying-too-hard cute, you know? Like effortlessly cute."
"You're putting a lot of effort into effortless."
She shot him a look over her shoulder, caught him grinning at his own joke, and had to fight down a smile. "You're SO annoying."
"Sorry."
"No you're not."
"No, I'm not."
She pulled another top off the rack, this one a white off-shoulder crop, frilled puff sleeves and a smocked ruffle bodice with a little cutout at the waist, a soft girly thing that needed a strapless something under it or nothing at all. Which was the whole problem she was trying to solve, considering the corset was actively trying to strangle her and her tits had been making a break for it all night. She held it up against herself, glanced down, then looked at Woomin. "Thoughts?"
His eyes dropped to the shirt, then immediately bounced back up to her face. "It's, um. It's nice?"
"WOW. Truly, your enthusiasm is overwhelming."
"No, I mean - " He rubbed the back of his neck, ears going pink. "I think it'll look good. On you. The color's good."
She squinted at him, then at the shirt, then back at him. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, which meant he was telling the truth and dying about it, and she felt a stupid flutter of victory in her chest.
"Okay." She tucked it over her arm. "I'm trying this on. You - " She pointed at him, then at a bench near the dressing rooms. "Sit there. Don't leave. If I come out and you're gone, I'm stealing Osaka-chan back."
"He's in my jacket."
"I WILL FIGHT YOU."
She didn't wait for an answer, just spun toward the dressing rooms before he could see her grinning like an idiot.
The changing room was the same deal as the rest of the store, efficient to the point of being punishing, a little box with a mirror and a curtain and just enough space to prove the concept of claustrophobia. She hung the white frilly top on the hook and yanked the curtain shut, then reached back to undo the corset.
The knot didn't budge.
She tried again, fingers scrabbling at the ribbon she'd tied way too tight hours ago in the Airbnb because it had looked good and she hadn't thought past that. Her two-inch acrylic nails, excellent as heat-resistant tongs to steal her unnies' cooking straight out of the pan but not so great for untying the sluttiest top in her closet, caught on nothing. The bow had welded itself into a tiny fabric rock at the small of her back, and her long arms weren't built for this kind of flexibility.
"Oh, come ON."
She yanked harder.
Nothing.
Wriggled her shoulders, tried to shimmy the whole thing up over her head. The boning bit down on her ribs harder than any of the dozens of guys who'd ever bent her over and gripped her hips from behind.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
She stood there for a second, still strapped into the corset, breathing hard, glaring at her reflection. Hair wrecked, face flushed, looking nothing like the goddess she'd walked in as. So NOT the vibe.
And Woomin was sitting just outside on a bench, probably scrolling his phone, having no idea she was in here losing a fight to her own clothes.
She could just... ask him for help.
Which was mortifying, because grown women handled their own stuff. She'd gotten herself off in an airplane bathroom a few months ago at thirty thousand feet with nothing but turbulence and her imagination; she could undo one dumb bow. A REAL woman didn't need rescuing from her own corset.
But also the corset was STUCK and she was running out of options and the store was about to close.
She cracked the curtain open and stuck her head out. Woomin glanced up from his phone, eyebrows lifting.
"So, um." She kept the curtain bunched at her side, the corset still clamped around her chest. "Don't freak out, but I need help."
He sat up straighter. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, the knot's just - it's stuck. I can't get it undone."
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "You... want me to -"
"I mean unless you want me to ask the staff?" She peeked over her shoulder at the register, where a teenage girl with highlights was stacking merchandise and absolutely not paying attention to the dressing rooms. "Because I can, but like, that's weird, right? That feels weirder. You're already here."
"I - um. Yeah. Okay." He stood, pocketing his phone, then just stood there looking at the curtain like it might bite him.
"Literally just a knot, Woomin, I'm not asking you to do anything crazy."
"Right. Yeah. Just a knot."
He stepped up to the open curtain and stayed right outside, the two of them facing into the cubicle toward the mirror. He kept his hands up like he was being arrested, locking his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder.
She turned her back to him, gathering her hair up with both hands and twisting it into a ponytail to get it out of the way. The corset gaped open at the top, boning loose against her ribs, the ribbon knotted tight at the small of her back. "It's right there, you just have to - I don't know, pull it or something, I literally can't reach."
"Okay. Okay, I can - " His fingers brushed the knot, feather-light, fumbling at the ribbon. "I think I've got it, just hold on -"
She held still, arms aching from holding her hair up, feeling his breath on the back of her neck. This close, she could smell him, and the curtain was so thin the white glow washed right through it and threw his shadow huge across the wall.
"Is it -"
"Almost, just - wait, I think I -"
There was a tug. Then another. The knot loosened, and she felt the tension in the ribbon give, the corset going slack.
"Oh, you got it! Wait, is it -"
His knuckles grazed the bare skin of her lower back.
He sucked in a sharp breath and snatched his hand back, and the ribbon came with it - the whole bow and the long trailing ends she'd spent all morning threading through the eyelets, all of it ripping free in one go. The corset dropped, boning clattering against itself, cups falling away, and she was still holding her hair up with both hands when the cool air hit her bare tits.
"Oh - "
"Shit - "
Behind Woomin, out in the aisle, a balding, sweaty pachinko uncle in a faded track suit stopped dead with a women's AIRism hoodie in his hands. A plastic convenience store bag crinkled against his leg, a Strong Zero can clinking inside it, as he let out a low, breathy "Egui na..." while staring straight past Woomin's shoulder at her bare tits with Strong Zero shame.
"SSIBAL!" She grabbed Woomin by the front of his fleece and hauled him inside, yanking the curtain shut so hard the rings rattled.
The corset skidded across the floor, sliding toward the gap under the swinging curtain, out toward the ogler's feet. Woomin, who'd fumbled every single thing all night, dropped and snatched it off the tiles a breath before the curtain sealed shut. The one clean move he'd managed all day.
He straightened up clutching the corset, looking like he'd surprised himself.
She shoved him back against the mirror, both of them breathing hard. The dressing room was the size of a closet and he took up half of it, back pressed to the glass, eyes screwed shut, face gone red as tteokbokki.
"Are you -" she started, then looked down and remembered she was topless. Tits fully out, the corset balled up in Woomin's white-knuckled grip.
"Oh."
Woomin's eyes were still closed, but his jaw kept working like he was chewing on something he couldn't swallow, and his free hand pressed flat against the mirror like he didn't trust it anywhere else. "I'm - I didn't mean to - I'm so sorry, I didn't see anything, I swear -"
"You didn't see anything?"
"I mean - I saw - but I'm not looking, I just -"
"You're looking right now."
His eyes flew open, met hers for half a second, dropped straight to her tits, and then snapped up so fast she heard his neck crack. "I mean - sorry - I -"
He whipped around to face the mirror, forehead pressed to the glass, shoulders up around his ears.
Watching him fight that hard to give her privacy went straight to her pussy. His whole body locked up against the glass, and he breathed out a strangled "aish" through his teeth.
She'd spent three months working very hard on not being that girl anymore. The one who treated boys like a game she was good at. Who could flip a switch and turn into someone she wasn't, just because it was easy and it worked and it felt good to be wanted even if it didn't mean anything.
New Yuna was wholesome. New Yuna went on dates to arcades and photo booths. New Yuna let boys win her stuffed animals and kiss her cheek and never once checked to see if they were hard.
Old Yuna dropped the shirt.
***
She lowered her arm from across her tits. Woomin was still facing the mirror, breath fogging the glass, looking like he'd give anything to be somewhere else.
"Hey."
He didn't turn around. "I can - I'll just wait outside, you can get dressed, I won't -"
"Woomin."
"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to mess it up, I just -"
She stepped up behind him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his back through the fleece, and put one hand flat on the mirror next to his head. Her tits brushed his shoulder blade. He went completely still.
"Turn around."
"I don't think that's -"
"Please?"
He turned around slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on her face for approximately two seconds, dropped to her tits, and then flew back up with his ears gone crimson.
She slapped her arm across her chest. "HEY!"
"Sorry! Sorry - you TOLD me to look - I mean turn around - I wasn't trying to -"
His gaze pinged back to the ceiling, the curtain, the hook on the wall, anywhere but her, and she watched him cycle through multiple stages of panic in the span of a breath, like he'd never been this close to a half-naked girl in his life and didn't have a script for what came next.
He looked so cute she could've died.
She lowered her arm slowly, making very sure to drag it out, while watching his face the whole way.
His eyes caught the movement and dropped, following her arm down, and when it fell to her side and left her tits bare his breath stopped in his throat.
"I -" he tried.
She stepped closer, backing him up until his shoulders hit the mirror. The dressing room was so small her jeans brushed his leather pants, her bare tits a breath away from the white fleece hanging open over his chest. His chest rose and fell fast, his hands still pressed flat against the glass on either side of his hips like he didn't trust them.
"You kissed me earlier," she said sweetly.
"I - that was just - your cheek -"
She reached up and touched his face, fingers light on his jaw, tipping his chin down so he had to look at her. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, exactly where he'd kissed hers, soft and quick and chaste.
"There." She pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, her hand still on his face. "Now we're even."
"Noona -" He choked out. "Yuna - your -"
"My what?"
"You're -" He swallowed hard, gaze dropping again before snapping back up. "You're not wearing -"
"Oh." She glanced down, like she'd only just noticed. Her tits were right there, small and pale and soft, nipples already tight from the air conditioning and the way he was looking at her and the absolutely insane thing she was doing right now. "Oh my, you're so right."
She looked back up at him through her lashes, biting her bottom lip, letting her eyes go half-lidded and sultry. This part she knew. This part she'd done a hundred times. Make them want it. Make them think it's their idea.
Except when she tried to hold the look, the memory of lying in her sad-pink bedroom in Jeju with her hand between her legs came back. Her listening through the thin wall while Yeji said her tits looked flat and Minho answered they're perfect, you're perfect, his voice bleeding through the plaster. Yeji had laughed, the sound bright and real, like sex could be funny and desperate at once. And Yuna had frozen in the dark thinking nobody's ever looked at me like that, mine are too small, I'm just something they grade, second to Wonyoung, nice to look at.
"So." She tried to make it come out breathy and sultry but it caught in her throat. Her arms twitched up halfway before she forced them back down to her sides. "What do you think?"
Woomin stared at her. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"I mean - " She glanced down at herself, then tried to look back up at him but her eyes slid to the curtain instead. Her fingers twisted at the rings on her other hand. "I know they're not... like, they're pretty small. I always thought they were too -"
"They're not - " He shook his head, still staring. "They're not too small. They're - " His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to touch them. "I think they're really pretty."
It came out strangled, his eyes locked on hers, and her nipples pulled tight, a hot flush spilling down her throat.
She'd been waiting three whole months for someone to say that about her tits without sounding like they were grading her, and here it was, fumbled out by a boy too nervous to lie.
Whatever sultry thing she'd been holding on her face just dissolved.
Her whole face cracked into that oh-my-god-he-MEANS-it grin, giddy and delighted, like the one she gave Ryujin while she stole food off her plate or Chaeryeong every time she drunkenly revealed too much about her sex life with Sunwoo.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He echoed, firmer this time, and his gaze dropped back to her tits like he couldn't help it. "I mean - yeah. They're - " He made a frustrated noise. "You're perfect."
The grin got wider. She could feel it stretching her cheeks, ruining whatever sexy thing she'd been trying to do. "Okay."
"Okay?"
She bit down on the smile, pulled the sultry look back on, easing back into her practiced rhythm. "Do you wanna touch them?"
His breath hitched.
She took his hand off the mirror, slow and careful, and guided it up to her chest. His palm was warm and a little - actually no, ridiculously - sweaty. She pressed it flat over her left tit, feeling her nipple dig into the center of his palm.
"Oh," he breathed.
"See?" She kept her hand over his, holding it there. "Not that scary. My unnie's like, WAY scarier. She makes boys cry. Boys like you especially. Like every single hookup ends with someone crying like a baby and calling her mommy, it's kind of her whole thing -"
"Wait, which unnie -"
"And she doesn't even feel bad about it, she's like, do I LOOK like your mommy, which is honestly so much worse if you think about -"
"Yuna, you keep saying -" He was doing the counting thing on his free hand again. "Okay but the boyfriends are off the list, so the hookup one would have to be -"
"What? No. NOBODY." She pressed his palm flat against her tit before he could get any further. "It's a group thing. We all make boys cry. It's in the contract. Anyway -"
He made a choked sound that might've been a laugh, and then his thumb moved, brushing over her nipple, and she gasped. He froze.
"Don't stop -"
His other hand came up, cupping her right tit, and then he was touching her for real, both palms warm and careful, thumbs circling her nipples until they went painfully hard. She pressed closer, her chest pushing into his hands, and let out a soft whimper that came out needier than intended.
"Is this - is this okay?"
"More than okay," she moaned, arching into his touch. "Keep going."
He got bolder, rolling her nipples between his fingers, gentle at first and then harder when she moaned. Her jeans were suddenly way too tight. She pressed her thighs together and felt herself soaking right through her panties.
She stepped closer, closing the remaining space between them, her hips brushing his. He was only half a head taller - she'd forgotten how tall she was, how at her height she could look most boys almost in the eye - and when her stomach pressed against his she felt it immediately.
The hard line of his cock straining against his leather pants, pressing right into her hip.
She rolled her hips forward, grinding against it, and he made a wrecked noise into her hair.
"Noona -"
"I can feel that," she whispered against his jaw. "You're so hard."
"I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"
"Don't be sorry." She pulled back just enough to look at him, then let her gaze drag down his body, catching on the obvious bulge tenting his pants. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. "Kinda hot, honestly."
His cock twitched against her hip.
She hooked two fingers into his waistband, tugging him forward, and then sank slowly to her knees. The floor was cold and probably filthy, but she was too fucking horny to care.
"What are you -"
"What do we have here?" She trailed one finger down the front of his pants, tracing the shape of him, root to tip. He shuddered. She popped the button on his leather pants, taking her time with it, watching his face while she slowly pulled the zipper down.
The bulge in his boxers was obscene, straining against thin black cotton, a dark wet spot already blooming where the tip pushed against the fabric. She licked her lips.
"Yuna, you don't have to -"
"I want to, like, so bad." She hooked her fingers into his waistband and tugged. His pants stuck to his thighs, leather clinging, and she had to peel them down painfully slow. His cock was still trapped in his boxers, tenting the fabric, and when she finally got the pants low enough it sprang free so fast it smacked her right in the face.
She reared back with a yelp, one hand flying to her eye. "OW!"
"Shit - are you okay?!"
"I'm FINE - " She was laughing, one eye watering, the other squinted shut. "Oh my gosh, that literally HIT me."
"I'm so sorry - "
"No, it's okay, it's just - " She dissolved into giggles, shoulders shaking. "I like pink, but not pink EYE, you know? I got that once and had to wear an eyepatch to a fansign, it was SO embarrassing, the fans thought I was doing like a pirate concept or something - "
"Wait, you've had that happen before?"
She froze.
His eyebrows were up, confused and maybe a little awed, and she'd just fully told on herself without meaning to.
"I mean - once or twice -" She felt her cheeks heat. "Not like, a lot or anything, just -"
"How many times have you -"
"Not that many!" she said too quickly, waving her hands defensively. She forced herself to take a slow breath, tipping her chin up to look at him through her lashes. "Just like. A few. Barely worth mentioning. Basically a virgin, honestly."
He was giving her a look.
"What?"
"You literally just said you got pink eye from -"
"ANYWAY." She wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, cutting him off, and he choked on whatever he'd been about to say.
She looked at it properly for the first time. He was hard, flushed pink at the tip, not as thick as Minho-oppa but smoother, twitching against her fingers with this eager little jump that made him look sweet and doomed at once.
She pushed him gently back against the mirror and took him in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, sucking him down until he hit the back of her throat. His knees buckled. She pulled off with an obscene pop, then took him deep again, bobbing her head, working every trick she'd learned on a beach in Jeju three months ago - the twist of her wrist at the base, the flutter of her tongue along the vein on the underside, the hum in her throat, the way she let spit pool and drip down his shaft to make it filthy and wet. He groaned, one hand flying up to brace against the mirror, and vicious pride bloomed in her chest.
And then his cock softened in her mouth.
She froze, pulling off so she could stare down at it.
It was wilting, going from hard to half-mast before you could finish saying Yuna is angry, and when she looked up at him his face was bright red.
"I - I'm sorry, I don't know why - I'm just -"
"Wait, are you like, nervous?"
"Maybe? I just - this is a LOT, and -"
She frowned, feigning offense. "Are you saying I'm like, bad at this?"
"NO! No, you're amazing, I just -"
"Mm." She wrapped her hand around the base, giving it a slow pump while her tongue swept across her bottom lip. Her eyes flicked up to his face. "Don't worry, okay? I've literally got the perfect trick for this."
She dragged her tongue up his length from base to tip, keeping the stroke unbearably slow and dripping wet. She reached the head, looked up to lock eyes with him, and planted a soft kiss right on the tip.
Then she whispered, "No Hussey, no life."
His cock sprang back to life so fast it nearly hit her in the face again.
"Aigoo - " He slumped back against the mirror, mouth open, eyes blown wide. "What - where did you - how do you even -"
"Oh, my unnie taught me that." She pumped him slow and steady, eyes flicking up all innocent while pre-cum beaded at the tip. "Works really well on her boyfriend, apparently. She said she learned it from Sana sunbaenim."
"Which unnie?"
"Hm?"
"You said - " He was breathing hard, hips twitching up into her fist. "Which unnie, you have like four -"
"All of them." She leaned in and took him deep again, just long enough to make his knees buckle, then pulled off with an obscene pop. "It's a generational thing."
"That doesn't make any -"
"ANYWAY." She stood up, fingers already working at the button on her jeans. "Maybe I've done this a few times, but like - barely. I'm basically -"
"A virgin?"
"I didn't say THAT." She glared at him, scandalized. "Don't put words in my mouth. I need it for your dick."
"You just had it in there -"
"Shut up and look cute."
She shimmied her jeans and panties down together, got them past her hips, then stopped caring halfway through. The denim bunched around one calf, her panties twisted with it, and she left the whole mess tangled around one leg because Woomin was staring, mouth open, eyes wide and stupid. Her pussy was on full display, smooth and bare, pale pink and glistening wet, lips swollen and slick; she'd soaked right through her panties, the gusset dark and ruined where it clung to the denim at her ankle.
"Wow," he breathed, reaching out, stopping, looking up at her for permission like the world's shyest pervert.
"Go ahead, like - go ahead," she whispered, and his fingers brushed her inner thigh, then higher, sliding through her slick folds carefully enough to make her gasp much too loudly. The curtain swayed. They both froze, stared at the gap, then at each other, and Yuna pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Okay, like, quiet. We are being SO quiet."
"That was you."
"Don't even start." She pushed his hand back between her legs, because apparently public humiliation hadn't fixed a single thing about her. His fingertips came away wet, his whole face going red, and she backed him toward the little bench with her pussy throbbing and her jeans strangling one ankle. "So your fault."
He sat when the bench hit the back of his knees, still staring between her thighs. "Noona, have you done this before?"
"Me? Like, barely." She swung one knee over his lap, fighting the denim still strangling her other leg. "A totally normal amount. A respectable, girl-next-door amount. I'm basically a nun, I don't know what you've heard." He glanced down at the soaked panties twisted around her calf, evidence she hadn't thought this lie through, and she pinched his chin back up before he could build a case. "Eyes up here, detective, that's not for you yet. What about you, hm? Bet you've been thinking about your noona for a while."
"Yeah. Just, um. Never in public?"
"Oh my gosh, same." The lie came out bright and shameless, because Jeju was ancient history and therefore didn't count as public if she decided it didn't. "First time for everything, right? Cute answer."
She reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He flinched so hard his shoulders hit the mirror, an apology already starting, but she softened for the half-second it took to say, "Help me." His hand came down over hers, warm and shaking, and together they guided him forward, her slick coating the head as it slipped through her folds. His fingers tightened over hers when the tip caught at her entrance.
"Ready?"
"Yes. Yeah. I - yes."
She sank down slowly with both of their hands wrapped around him. The head stretched her first, thick enough to pull a sharp breath through her teeth, and then the shaft slid deeper, dragging through all that wet heat until her pussy had him gripped tight. Her thighs shook, one leg trapped by denim and the other braced on the bench, and when she finally sat flush in his lap his balls pressed slick against her ass.
"Oh - " Her head dropped, mouth falling open against his shoulder. "Oh my gosh, you're so deep, that's -"
"Are you okay?"
"So okay, so okay, don't move - " She rolled her hips, grinding her clit against his stomach, and slapped one hand over her own mouth when a moan tried to escape. "Mm - quiet. We gotta be quiet. Hands, Woomin. On me."
His hands hovered, then touched her waist like she might bruise from fingerprints. She grabbed his wrists and planted his palms hard on her bare hips. "No, like - HOLD me, my jeans are literally strangling my ankle, if I eat it in a Uniqlo I'm gonna die and it'll be YOUR fault."
"Like this?"
"Yes! Good. So good."
She started to move, dragging herself up his cock with a slick pull, then sinking back down until her wet lips met his base. The bench creaked under them; they froze, somewhere outside a hanger clicked against a rack, and Yuna leaned forward with her mouth brushing his ear. "If we get caught, I'm blaming you. Your dick started it."
"I don't think that's -"
She cut him off by grinding down, and whatever he was saying broke into a strangled little sound. "Shh, you're like, so loud."
"You're doing that on purpose."
"Doing what?" She blinked at him, wide-eyed, while her hips rolled with expert coordination. "I'm new, like - I don't know things."
He stared at her. She smiled sweetly and bounced once, slow and deep, wet skin slapping loud enough to make both of them wince. "Good boy."
His cock twitched inside her, and the smile slipped right off her face. "Oh. Oh my gosh, okay, you like that."
He could only manage a stuttering nod, and she laughed under her breath, clapping her hand over her mouth before the laugh turned into another moan. Her other hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit with quick, messy strokes. Woomin looked down and his eyes glazed over, because two slick fingertips were circling way too fucking fast and practiced for the innocent act while her hips kept pumping around him.
"Noona," he whispered, stunned.
"Don't say anything, okay?" She kept her palm over her mouth as he tried to thrust up and missed the rhythm, bumping awkwardly under her. "Wait - like this. When I go down, you go up. Match me. And don't make that face."
"What face?"
"The face that says you're about to ask where I learned that."
She clenched around him on purpose, and his mouth snapped shut. "Great, totally learning."
He tried again, thrusting up as she sank down, and this time he caught it. His cock drove in deeper, rubbing her just right, and her eyes fluttered before she could stop them. "There - oh my gosh, right there - yes, yes, don't you dare stop -"
Fortunately for him, he didn't. The awkwardness burned off fast once he had the rhythm, his hands tightening on her hips, pulling her down as he pushed up. Her trapped jeans tugged at one ankle every time she lifted, making each bounce short and hard, her wet pussy pumping down his shaft in slick, noisy strokes while her tits jumped under the LED glare and her arm-warmer sleeves slid down toward her wrists.
She yanked one arm free, then the other, not even slowing her hips as she ripped the stupid things off and flung them on the floor. "So annoying," she hissed under her breath.
She grabbed his shoulders for leverage, throwing her head back so her red hair spilled down her deeply arched spine. Riding him into a furious rhythm, she dragged his shaft up through her dripping wetness until just the flushed head caught at her entrance, then smashed her ass back down to swallow him base-deep. He plunged in and out of her slick pink folds with every violent bounce, the fierce friction stretching her swollen lips tight around his girth and echoing in wet, meaty slaps against his thighs. The wet noises their bodies were making should've terrified her, but the obscene thrill of getting her pussy ruthlessly pounded right on the other side of a thin curtain only fed the adrenaline, making her grind down even harder.
The curtain shifted again and they froze with him buried inside her as a pair of shoes passed by outside, paused, then kept walking. Fear clenched her pussy around him in one vicious squeeze. Woomin's eyes rolled back, his hips twitching up in tiny helpless jerks, and she smacked her palm tighter over her mouth while shaking her head at him. The footsteps faded; she exhaled through her nose and started moving again, faster now, all caution burned away by how good it felt to almost get caught and keep going. Her fingers dove back to her clit, working furiously, slick clicking under her touch.
"Yuna -"
She stopped dead. Noona had vanished; just her name, bare and shaky in his mouth, and the heat that hit her face almost made her dizzy. "Wait, say that again."
"Yuna."
Her hips rolled before she could answer. "Oh - " she breathed, then covered her mouth because the sound came out too loud. "Oh, fuck. Say it - keep saying it -"
Her fingers sped up, and his hands dug into her hips. She rode him with short, frantic pumps, grinding her clit into her own slick fingertips every time she came down, body giving away every lie she'd told about being new: the expert circles, the tight little pulses around his shaft, the way she knew exactly when to press harder and when to ride the high until her thighs started trembling.
"I'm gonna - " She swallowed the rest behind her palm, eyes squeezing shut. "Oh my gosh, Woomin, I'm gonna - don't stop, don't stop, don't you dare -"
Then her pussy clamped down on him so hard she felt it in her bones, her thighs locking around him as slick flooded out around his cock, as she pulsed tight-wet-tight-wet in convulsive clenches, and she was actually coming and coming in a Uniqlo fitting room, her trapped leg jerking against the denim around her calf while her body folded forward. Her hand wasn't enough - a squeal was coming - so she bit down hard on his shoulder through the fleece, teeth sinking in, and Woomin let out a strangled "YAH - " that he barely managed to choke off, his whole body jerking under her while she kept pulsing around him, thighs shaking so hard she thought she might actually pass out, still coming, her whole pussy throbbing wet and desperate and totally out of her control -
Woomin lasted two more thrusts. "Yuna, I can't -"
"Wait!" She blinked through it, still pulsing around him. "Wait, not -"
She'd picked up that no-leaking-in-the-pool sensibility from Yeji-unnie - who apparently never let anyone cum inside her until Minho-oppa came along - somewhere in the last three months. Which was honestly a pretty smart and professional thing to do. She was totally going to spend the whole night at the hotel draining Woomin's balls anyway, he just couldn't know that yet.
He started cumming inside her with a strangled gasp anyway, hips bucking up as his cock surged hot and deep. The first pulses filled her before she could move, his hands locked on her hips, and she pushed herself up fast, but her trapped leg caught and slowed her. "Woomin - my jeans -"
His cock slid out with a wet, obscene pop, still pulsing as the head slipped free. Two thick white spurts landed inside her before she cleared him, and she was already dropping to her knees, getting down to business, one hand catching his shaft as another pulse jumped against her palm. Behind her, unnoticed by both of them, cum leaked from her swollen pussy in a slow white drip, mixing with her clear wetness and running down the inside of her thigh toward the denim bunched around her calf.
"Oh my gosh, you're still - Woomin, you're STILL going."
"I can't - I don't know why -"
"Don't apologize, oh my gosh." She took him into her mouth before the next spurt could hit the floor, swallowing him deep, hand twisting at the base while he kept coming in helpless little pulses. He braced against the mirror, knees shaking as she sucked him through it, messy and loud and much too good for someone who'd allegedly done this a "respectful" amount.
"Yuna - fuck -"
She pulled off with a wet pop, eyes shining, and his cock twitched again, still leaking across her fingers. "Still? Wow, okay, I can like, totally work with that."
She pushed her tits together with both hands and leaned in, trying to trap him between them, chin tipped up like she was about to deliver the hottest finish of his life. His cock slipped straight out, already spurting, painting a hot stripe up between her tits and onto her collarbone. She tried again, squishing harder, but he was too slick now and the head squirted out the top of the squish, smeared a second pulse across her chin, then flopped against her chest and jerked one more time, the last of it landing in a messy ribbon over her cleavage and catching her right under the eye.
"OW! Why is it ALWAYS my eye?"
Woomin made a tiny strangled noise, and she looked down at the failed tit job, at the cum smeared across her collarbone, chin, and cheek, and lost it. The cackle burst out before she could stop it. She clapped a hand over her mouth too late, shoulders shaking, one eye still squinted shut, kneeling bare-chested on the filthy floor with her jeans tangled around one leg and his cream leaking down her thigh.
"I'm sorry," she gasped into her palm. "I thought that was going to be SO hot, like - I was going to be iconic."
Woomin started laughing too, breathless and helpless, his head hitting the mirror behind him. "You are."
"No, I'm literally such a mess."
"You're perfect."
The laughter caught in her throat. He was looking at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world, and the wonder had been thoroughly defaced - a glob cooling on one flushed cheek like a beauty mark that had escaped containment, a fat pearl strung in the dip of her collarbone, a long shining smear roped down between her little tits where her doomed squish had funneled it, one last bead clinging to her nipple like it had picked a favorite. She knelt there decorated head to chest in him, make-up wrecked, one eye still scrunched shut, and he kept staring like he wanted to frame the whole thing, and her whole face went so hot she had to look away first. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you mean it."
"I do though."
She stared at him, then wiped her eye with the heel of her hand and made a face. "Okay, well, romantic timing, but I'm sticky and legally in danger."
A knock rattled the partition wall beside them.
"Sumimasen, daijoubu desu ka?"
They both froze.
Yuna was still on her knees, topless, cum on her face and chest and leaking down her thighs, one leg caught in her jeans. Woomin was sitting on the bench with his leather pants shoved down and his cock softening in the open. The white frilly top lay on the floor beside the fallen hanger. Her corset, shrug, and arm-warmers were scattered near his shoes.
She slapped both hands over her mouth.
Woomin looked ready to leave his body. "What did she say," he breathed, lips barely moving, eyes huge. "Yuna. What does that mean."
"She's asking if I'm okay," Yuna whispered back, which was about the limit of what four years of Japan concerts and the same six MC phrases had left her with. She could say hello, thank you, I love you Osaka, and apparently are you okay, and that was gonna have to be enough.
"Daijoubu desu ka?" the clerk repeated.
Yuna swallowed, plastering on a bright customer-service smile before fumbling an answer in Japanese. "H-Hai! Daijoubu desu! Sorry, sorry, chotto... fuku ga... muzukashii desu!"
The clerk paused.
Yuna stared at Woomin.
Woomin stared back.
The clerk made a polite noise and moved away.
Yuna waited until the footsteps faded before she collapsed forward, forehead almost hitting Woomin's knee, laughing silently so hard she couldn't breathe. "We have to go. Right now."
"You're covered in -"
"I KNOW." She wiped her face with her palm first and made it worse immediately, smearing warm stickiness across her cheek and down her throat. Her tongue darted out, reflexively licking a stray drop off the corner of her lips. "Mmm. Nice. Usually it's way more bitter than -" She froze, her eyes flying wide. Woomin was staring at her. She aggressively scrubbed her own mouth, pivoting violently back into her maidenly panic. "I mean, oh, gross! Oh my gosh. Why is it warm. Why is that worse."
She grabbed her ruined panties from the denim knot around her calf and dragged them over her face and chest, over her collarbone, between her tits, under her chin. The tacky mess spread before it thinned, salt and sweat and him all over her skin, and her pussy clenched again because apparently she'd no shame and even cleanup was turning her on. "Seriously? Now? Nothing. I'm normal."
She shoved the panties into her purse, yanked her jeans up commando, and nearly fell when the trapped leg finally came free. Woomin caught her by the elbow. "See? Teamwork. Very wholesome."
"Wholesome isn't the word I'd use..."
"It is if we do it together." She grabbed the white frilly top off the floor and pulled it over her head, the smocked square neck settling off her shoulders. The fabric stuck immediately to the damp patches on her chest, and she grimaced, tugging it away from her skin. "UGH, that feels disgusting. Cute, though."
Woomin was still dazed, moving on a delay. He pulled up his leather pants, missed the button twice, then crouched and started grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down: the corset, the little shrug. He shoved all of it into his jacket pockets while Yuna finger-combed her now thoroughly-sexed red hair and checked her reflection with one watery eye.
"How bad?"
"Looks... cute?"
"Good lie!" She kissed his cheek, fast and messy. "Okay okay okay. We're so normal. We're two normal people who normally went into one dressing room together, super casual, nothing happened, we're CHILL."
"You don't have your -"
"My WHAT - oh. Yeah no that's gone, it's on the floor, leave it, I don't want it back." He opened his mouth, then shut it, one hand pressing over the bulging pocket stuffed with her corset and sleeves. She cracked the curtain and checked the aisle. Empty. "Okay just - just walk normal, why are you walking like that, you look SO guilty, stop it -"
"This isn't casual -"
"Then BE casual!! Casual is a CHOICE, Woomin!"
She grabbed his hand and towed him out of the dressing room, past the bench, toward the front of the store and the glowing exit beyond it.
Woomin slowed first. He tilted his head up at the ceiling, listening, and a slow grin spread over his face.
"What? Why are you - "
Then she heard it too, threading down through the racks at a polite retail volume. Five voices she'd know anywhere, hers stacked in with the others.
"I don't wanna be somebody - just wanna be me, be me -"
The universe, as it turned out, still had a sense of humor.
"I wanna be me, me, me," her tinny voice continued overhead.
"No," she whispered, already shaking her head, already mouthing it at Woomin like he had the intercom remote. "No no no no - "
Two girls by the sock display turned at the commotion, then at her, and their eyes went wide in perfect unison.
One of them grabbed the other's arm.
"Is that - Yuna?!"
Woomin's hand tightened around hers. The drying cum glued her skin to the new top. The photo strip dug into her back pocket.
The girl on the left was already lifting her phone.
"No no no -" Yuna's hands came up on instinct, patting the air, the universal please-be-cool motion that every celebrity about to get made in public did by muscle memory. "Shh, shh, hi, hi - it's okay, just - can we keep it kind of quiet? Please?"
The girl on the right was fumbling with her phone case, hands shaking, nodding way too hard. The first one took a step closer.
"Yuna-ssi! Daebak! Can we - can we get a photo?"
Every cell in Yuna's body screamed run. But her mouth, trained by five years of idol protocol, smiled instead.
"Of course! I love MIDZY!" She smiled brightly through gritted, cum-stained teeth. She felt the tackiness shift under the new top as she moved, a wet patch spreading where his cum had soaked through the cotton and was now smearing across her chest. She kept smiling. "You guys are so sweet!"
The girls rushed over, one on each side. Turn your face. Chin down. Peace sign up. Smile with your eyes. The commands ran through Yuna's head, years of training taking over. Don't think about the cum drying on your chest. Don't think about how your pussy is still throbbing. Don't think about the fact that you're commando under these jeans and you can feel yourself dripping. Wait, did he cum inside?
The first girl's selfie camera flashed.
"Gomawo! I can't believe - we saw you on Music Bank and you were SO good, and - " She was giving a Daesang speech a minute, gesturing wildly. Her friend just stared, starry-eyed and speechless.
"Thank you so much!" Yuna's smile stretched wider, cheeks aching. "That means everything, really!"
She caught Woomin in her peripheral vision. He'd backed up three steps and was now intently studying his shoes, one hand shoved in his fleece pocket where her corset and shrug were stuffed. His ears were red. He looked like he wanted to teleport back to Seoul.
"Are you -" The second girl finally breathed out. "Are you shopping? Here? At Uniqlo?"
"Yeah! Just, like, casual stuff, you know?" Yuna gestured vaguely at the racks around them, praying they wouldn't notice she was wearing a top she clearly hadn't walked in with. "I'm super relatable, I love Uniqlo!"
The first girl's eyes cut to Woomin. Back to Yuna. A knowing smile spread across her face. "Are you - is he your - "
"Friend!" Yuna said, way too fast. "Just a friend! We're just hanging out, super casual, very normal!"
"Uh-huh." The girl was grinning now, clearly not believing a word. "Well, you guys are really cute together."
"We're NOT - I mean - thank you?" The panic climbed her throat. She needed to leave. Now. "This was so nice, but we really have to - "
"One more?" The second girl held up her phone hopefully. "For my sister? She's gonna die when she sees this."
"Sure! Of course!"
They took three more photos. Yuna's smile didn't slip once, even with sweat starting to mix with the cum and her pussy literally aching and Woomin looking like he was praying for a sinkhole to open under his feet.
"Wah, so pretty - look, unnie, look!" The girl spun the phone around to show her, beaming.
And there she was on the little screen, glowing under the store lights, the soft white frill of the borrowed top sitting low and sweet off her shoulders. If you zoomed in - and somewhere a fancam account eventually would - you might catch a faint questionable sheen high on her chest, just above the neckline, exactly where the stylists always dusted her with shimmer before a stage because that was the spot the cameras loved most. It could be highlighter. It photographed identically to highlighter. Only two people in Osaka knew it wasn't, and one of them was pretending very hard to be interested in a sock multipack.
"So pretty," Yuna agreed faintly, looking at the most debauched angel in Japan. "Thank you!"
Finally - FINALLY - the girls thanked her about six more times and drifted toward the registers, already hunched over their phones, probably posting the photos before they'd even paid for their socks.
Which, yeah. That was the thing about phones.
Three aisles over, a little pack of teenage boys looked up from theirs all at the same time, found her, and just sort of stopped working. One made a kettle-like noise and smacked his friend's arm. Another dropped his phone and went down after it without taking his eyes off her, which seemed dangerous. One did a tiny wave. They looked like they might actually cry, which was honestly so cute, and also very much about to become a whole crowd.
And she was out. Done. Her last functioning Japanese was gone from telling a rack of clothes she was okay, and there was no way she was getting through a fresh group of fans on a language she'd been winging all night.
The boys took a collective step forward.
Idol triage took over before she'd decided anything. She grabbed Woomin's hand.
"RUN."
"What - why are we -"
"JUST RUN, GO, GO -"
They sprinted out the store down the street, dodging tourists and salarymen, her hand locked in his, Osaka-chan tucked under her arm. Her jeans chafed without panties. The cum under her top had fully dried now, tacky and tight against her skin, and it pinched with every stride. Behind them, Wannabe was still playing from the Uniqlo speakers, her own track chasing them down the block, and the absurdity of it all hit her so hard she started laughing mid-sprint.
Woomin looked over at her, bewildered and breathless, and then he was laughing too.
They didn't stop running until the canal opened up in front of them, neon bleeding into the black water and the water bleeding it back, and there he was overhead: the Glico man, arms thrown up over the bridge, still mid-victory-lap on the race he'd been running since 1935 that nobody ever had the heart to stop. They stumbled to a halt under him, both of them doubled over and gasping, and Yuna ended up bent with her hands braced on her knees and her hair everywhere, finishing a sprint of her own. When she finally looked up at Woomin, flushed and grinning and totally wrecked, she felt that stupid warm thing in her chest again.
"That was -" she started.
"Insane," he finished.
"Yeah." She was still catching her breath, still grinning. "SO insane."
She looked down at herself. She wore the white frilly top and her denim jeans with absolutely nothing underneath. Woomin's cum was drying sticky against her skin, her hair was a disaster, her makeup almost certainly ruined. She had just had public sex in a changing room, narrowly dodged the retail staff, taken a facial, and posed for fan photos with the evidence still stuck to her body.
Then her eyes caught the little plastic Uniqlo tag still threaded through the hem, and the scratch of the price sticker on the inside of the neckline.
"Oh shit."
"Wait, what?"
"Oh NO." She pinched the tag, holding it up, eyes huge. "Woomin. WOOMIN. I didn't pay for this. We literally RAN. I stole it, oh my gosh, I shoplifted, in JAPAN, they're gonna deport me, they're gonna make my mugshot into a PHOTOCARD -"
He looked at the tag and then at her and folded back over the railing, laughing too hard to say anything.
"It's NOT funny, it's a CRIME, okay, I'll just - I'll go back and give it -" She grabbed the hem and started hauling the top up, and Woomin made a strangled noise and caught her wrists, and only then did she actually look around, at the hundred phones and the bridge and the glowing canal and the giant lit-up landmark hanging right over her head, the most photographed corner in maybe all of Japan, where she'd been about to take her shirt off. She let the hem drop. "...okay. Not here." Then her hands went still for a different reason. "Wait. Where are my clothes?"
"In my pocket."
"WHY are my clothes in your pocket -"
"You told me to -"
"I can't even give it BACK now! I have to keep the crime shirt! This is YOUR fault -"
She was already laughing too hard to mean it. The panic just sort of evaporated, and she hopped up to sit on the canal railing with her feet swinging over the water and the neon wobbling around underneath, and dug out her phone, because if she didn't tell someone immediately she was going to die.
Woomin leaned on the railing next to her, hands in his pockets, watching her thumbs go. She didn't notice. She was kind of busy right now.
@igotyuandme: ok so dont be weird abt this
@igotyuandme: i just fucked him 🐰
@iamfinethankyouandryu: I FUCKING CALLED IT
@iamfinethankyouandryu: scroll up i SAID this while u were in that photobooth. SCROLL UP
@chaerrry0: OUR BABY 🥹🥹🥹
@yezyizhere: ...
@yezyizhere: I specifically told you not blow him in the changing room
@igotyuandme: ok in my defense i didnt JUST blow him in the changing room
@igotyuandme: i blew him AND we fucked sooo 💀
@lia_loves___: "just getting a shirt" 🙄
@igotyuandme: wannabe came on the speakers?? midzy saw me?? i had to do fanservice w sex hair??
@igotyuandme: AND THEN I ACCIDENTALLY STOLE THE SHIRT im wearing it rn im literally a criminal in a foreign country 😭😭😭
@chaerrry0: A CRIMINAL ARC 😭😭
@iamfinethankyouandryu: ok but was he good or did he just lie there
@igotyuandme: ok if im being HONEST honest
@igotyuandme: 6
@igotyuandme: he came in like 4 seconds and the titjob was a disaster
@iamfinethankyouandryu: 6 is brutal lol i raised u right
@igotyuandme: ok wait no
@igotyuandme: bc he also won me the bunny
@igotyuandme: and he wouldnt look at my boobs the WHOLE night like out of respect??
@igotyuandme: and he carried my actual clothes the whole time and didnt even make it weird
@igotyuandme: ok its like an 8
@igotyuandme: no wait its a 10
@iamfinethankyouandryu: 10?? wtf maknae u literally just said 4 SECONDS
@igotyuandme: i KNOW i cant explain it
@yezyizhere: ... Proud of you though 🖤
She left the group chat to erupt without her, thirty unread and climbing, Chaeryeong typing paragraphs and Ryujin firing off voice notes nobody would survive. But there was one more person she had to tell, and it wasn't a group chat kind of thing. She searched @katarinabluu and tapped into their DMs.
@igotyuandme Jimin-unnie!!!
@igotyuandme: unnie u up??
@igotyuandme: remember the golf cart when u asked me whats the fun part
@igotyuandme: ok so this boy wouldnt even LOOK at me all night
@igotyuandme: not in a rude way, like in a he actually likes ME way
@igotyuandme: and it was better than every guy whos ever stared
@igotyuandme: so u were right 🐰
She watched the screen for a moment. No little dots came up under Karina's name. It was late, and Jimin-unnie was probably asleep, and that was okay, because it wasn't really a question. She locked the phone and shoved it back into her back pocket.
When she looked up Woomin was still watching her, leaning on the rail with the Glico man glowing over her shoulder, wearing the same dumb amazed face he'd had on since the arcade.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing." He looked at his shoes, then back up, and lost the fight with himself. "Nothing, I just, you're so -"
"Hot?" She rolled her eyes and kept swinging her feet. "I know. Everyone says it. You're allowed."
"No." His ears went pink under the neon. "I was gonna say fun. You're, um, the most fun person I've ever hung out with."
Fun. Everyone always said hot. Gorgeous, perfect, whatever. In every language. Nobody ever said fun, and fun meant he wanted HER around, cameras off and everything.
She slid off the rail. Osaka-chan squished flat between her sticky chest and his fluffy jacket with the bulging pockets as she crowded into his space and Woomin sort of froze, as she put a hand on his silly pink face and kissed him on the lips with everything she had.
He went stiff for a second and then he melted, his hand finally finding the courage to land on her waist, and all Dotonbori straight up EXPLODED with fireworks. Over the canal, everywhere. The camera whipped a full circle around them and the crowd lost it and her own songs came swelling up underneath like the last ten seconds of a teaser SM would've sold a kidney for, and her leg just kicked up behind her on its own, the full kdrama princess pop that Chaeryeong would be proud of, ten thousand people screaming her name -
She pulled back, breathless, glowing, ready for the applause.
There was no applause.
Just the canal being a canal, some tourist editing around them, and Woomin blinking at her like she'd turned him off and on again. The fireworks were all in her head. The camera too. And the extras. And the backing track. Every bit of it, just her main-character-syndrome whipping up an MV on the spot.
And her leg was still up. She'd actually done the leg thing. In real life. To nobody.
She put it down, slowly, like nobody would notice if she was slow enough.
The real version was better anyway.
"So," she said, already grabbing his sleeve and walking backward toward the lights, bunny swinging from her free hand. "My hotel?"
"Sure?" Woomin nearly tripped over his own feet keeping up. "Yeah. Okay. Yes."
"Cool. My unnie's got the address, so if you murder me they'll find you."
"Wait, which unnie? Is that the sock one, or the mommy -"
"All of them!"
"That's not an answer -"
"COME on."
She towed him off into the crowd, the bunny bouncing against her hip and Woomin still trying to figure out which unnie and still getting nowhere with it, and the two of them got smaller and smaller down the canal until the crowd swallowed them whole and they were gone.
***
[SEOUL - THE NEXT MORNING]
She cracked her eyes open and blinked.
This wasn't her ceiling.
An unfamiliar crack spidered across the plaster above her, her mind bracing against the light. Her bedroom faced east, taking the morning sun hard and white. This light rippled through thin curtains, soft and gold. Across the room, a shelf of battered paperbacks and film canisters sat where her dresser ought to be.
She wasn't in her own bed.
There was an arm draped over her bare waist. A warm hand gone slack against her hip. He'd curled into her back in the night, his knee slotted behind hers, his heartbeat drumming a steady rhythm into her shoulder blades. She was in her underwear and nothing else.
Old Karina would already be reaching for her bra. That routine was practically muscle memory: get up, get dressed, get the Hell out.
Normally she'd be out the door by now. She didn't really have anywhere to be on a weekend like this, but the aftermath was always predictably bleak. Usually she lay there tallying the deficits: he'd finished too fast, or handled her like a slippery trophy, or touched her with that annoyingly reverent, fanboy awe. The creeping fact that she could let a man physically inside her and still leave untouched. It was always better to be fully dressed before the facts caught up. Better to text had fun from the back of a cab, safely out of reach.
But this morning, lying in the gold light with his heat pressing down her back, she waited for the drop and found nothing. There was no inventory to take, only the rise and fall of his breathing against her skin, dust motes swimming in the sun, and the humiliating urge to stay exactly where she was.
God. How embarrassing.
Her phone lay face-down on the rug. She fished it off the floor, lifting his arm ever so slightly to maneuver, easing his wrist back down so he wouldn't stir. She caught herself being careful about it. Months ago, she would've used that stealth to slip out unnoticed. Now, she was using it just to burrow back in.
The screen glowed a rude 7:05 AM. It also offered a cluster of blue notifications from Yuna, fired off in the middle of the night while Karina had been busy getting thoroughly wrecked and enjoying every moment of it. ITZY's maknae had a well-documented talent for broadcasting her 1 AM disasters across group chats, but weaponizing her chaos in a direct message was new. Yuna had apparently decided back on that bonfire in Jeju that they were confidantes now. Karina, too tired to be aloof, hadn't corrected her.
She read the texts lying on her side, cheek mashed into the pillow. By the third message, a wry smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. The girl had clearly survived some kind of night. And then, under the chaos, quieter, the actual point of the message - shy, for Yuna, which was its own small miracle:
so u were right
Of course she was right. She'd told Yuna her truth in a golf cart three months ago, the whole ugly thing - the Yonsei boys gawking at her like a hallucination, the men who wanted the poster and not the girl holding it up. She hadn't said it to teach the kid anything in particular; it was simply true and it'd wrecked her for months, so it was nice to finally get to tell someone young and stupid enough to get it. And the kid had gone off and learned it in three months flat. It was annoying because Karina needed a breakup, a frat house, and then getting annihilated in a threesome with her best friend and her terrifyingly competent man to get there, which meant she was only now, this morning, in a bed that wasn't hers, finally finding out what the other side of it actually felt like.
She could've typed I know, but that was a confession. The man breathing against her back didn't need anything going to his head. Instead, she locked the screen, let the phone drop, and sank backward into his warmth, smiling at no one in particular.
***
His name was Junho.
They met in August not long after they returned from Jeju, on the shoot for UP, which was her first single without the other three and therefore the most exposed she'd ever felt with her clothes on. The first concept boards had been pure aespa, the cyber-goddess gloss she'd worn her whole career - and the director had taken one look and lost it. She still remembered him on his feet, sending the whole stack skidding off the table.
"No. No, no, no. What the FUCK is this?" He'd flung a hand at the renders fanning across the floor. "Too clean. We are NOT - " he'd actually had to stop and breathe " - we are not shooting another fucking Whiplash. The whole country already saw Whiplash. Give me something you could leave out in the rain."
So they'd hired the guy who shot ILLIT's Magnetic, the one who made idols look like they were remembering their own lives instead of selling something, and told him to make her solo an art film.
Junho took the job and quietly walked it somewhere darker than anyone ordered.
The first thing he ever said to her was that she was turning her face wrong. He said it frowning at his monitor, in a studio full of people calling her gorgeous, and explained that she kept giving the lens an angle she'd drilled in front of a mirror at fifteen. He asked if she could just look at the camera like there was someone behind it.
She'd been too surprised to argue, so she did. He tapped the side of his monitor when he got it and moved to the next setup.
They spent the lunch break of the second day sharing bad catering on the fire escape. He sat on the grated metal steps and told her she had two faces. One was flawless and impenetrable, built for the billboards. The other showed up when the director yelled cut and her shoulders dropped. He asked her which one she liked giving to the camera.
She'd caught him filming between takes earlier, when she thought the camera was off. When she'd asked what he was doing, he'd just said he was testing something. But his monitor showed her face in a frame she didn't recognize, catching the exact second her guard slipped to reveal the exhausted human underneath.
"What are you looking for?" she'd asked him on that fire escape.
He considered the question while watching traffic blur past below. "The person carrying the image," he said finally. "Not the image itself."
She hadn't really understood what he'd meant, but it stuck with her. Most cinematographers she'd worked with cared about lighting and composition. He studied the exhaustion she hid from the lens.
He'd apparently gotten the SM contract through Giselle. They'd gone to the same arts high school in Tokyo years ago, and when Giselle ran into him at the resort in Jeju over the summer, she'd spent a whole night "networking" - her word, delivered nonchalantly when she'd returned to the villa looking thoroughly destroyed and extremely satisfied.
Karina had heard the full story at the bonfire the night after. Giselle told it to the whole group with aplomb: the karaoke booth, the golf cart, the hotel rooftop washing machine. Everyone had lost it. Ryujin and Yunjin called it cinema. By the end of the night, Winter still didn't understand what "networking" meant.
Karina hadn't known it was Junho until weeks later, when his name came up in a production meeting and Giselle inhaled her caramel latte down the wrong pipe. She coughed until their manager looked worried, wiped her mouth, and let a wicked grin spread across her face. Then, because Giselle had zero filter and even less shame, she'd leaned over during the coffee break and whispered: "Remember the golf cart guy? That's him."
Karina had stared at her. "You're fucking joking."
"Nope." Giselle had grinned, unrepentant. "Ten out of ten, would recommend. Very attentive. Excellent multitasking skills. Decent driver. And now he's your cinematographer."
So Giselle had spent a whole night in a dress that barely qualified as one, thoroughly evaluating a cinematographer's technical abilities, only for him to take the SM gig and fall for the one girl in the building who hadn't tried at all.
He asked for her number on the last day of the shoot. Said he wanted to show her something about her own face - angles she'd never seen, frames where she looked real instead of perfect. He made it sound like a favor he was doing for science.
She said yes because she was curious. And because his hands were nice, which Giselle had also enthusiastically reviewed.
***
He texted her two days after the shoot wrapped. Said he had the B-roll to show her if she was free.
She picked the first place, which surprised them both. Banpo, the riverside steps under the bridge, golden hour going down over the water while the fountain came alive above them in long arcs of pink and gold. They sat on the wide stone tiers with the rest of Seoul's twenties, couples and convenience-store dinners and someone's bad bluetooth speaker a few steps down, the whole bank lit soft and reverberating with other people's evenings. Nobody looked at her twice. For once she was one more girl by the river with a boy.
He'd stopped at the GS25 on the way and come out with caramel maple corn, her favourite, which she hadn't told him. When she went for her card he waved it off and then went pink about it, like letting her pay would ruin something. She opened the bag her way, ripping a small hole into the dead center with her teeth and pulling it wide into a clean round mouth, and looked up to find him watching her do so with great fascination.
"Do that again," he breathed, half-laughing.
"It's just how you open it."
"That's not how anyone opens it." He was almost laughing, but seemed to feel bad about it. "You opened it like there's a correct way and the rest of the world is wrong."
There WAS a correct way. She held the bag out instead of saying so. He ate a piece watching her, she ate one watching the fountain, and it was the easiest minute she'd had in months.
A cloud was pulling apart over the far bank, and before she could think better of it she pointed up at it.
"That's a brachiosaurus," she said. "The neck's too long for anything else."
He tipped his head back to look, studying it as seriously as he studied everything, then asked if that one was her favourite.
"No, mine's the mosasaurus." She nodded out at the river, where the fountain was throwing its light across the water. "Sea one. It's like a levelled-up version of a shark or crocodile. Looks super cool."
He nodded along like he knew what a mosasaurus was, which he clearly didn't, and somewhere in the middle of pretending his eyes had come back down to her instead of the sky.
She liked his hands when he talked. He gestured the whole time, fingers framing shots in the air, stopping mid-speech to catch a stranger against a lit window or the fountain light moving on the water. He talked about cameras the way she only let herself talk about singing. She leaned in to listen.
A few days later it was his pick: Seonyudo, the old water plant out on the river that someone had let the plants reclaim, concrete gone green, a high arched footbridge out to it. It was a beautiful, broken place a man like him might call a date. He shot the whole walk on film, golden hour pouring through the rusted frames, and he shot her too when he thought she wasn't looking, and she let him point a lens at her without arranging her face for it.
They kept meeting up. Weeks of schedules rearranged, walking until her feet hurt in the good way, learning his face in streetlight and cafe glow. He never suggested coming back to his place, never framed it as anything other than showing her something about light or composition. She didn't name what they were doing either.
Something she'd apparently picked up from a close friend of hers.
But she started noticing his hands more. The snacks he'd buy and pretend weren't gestures. How he'd text her about a sunset and she'd already be thinking about whether he was free.
Then he invited her to see the finished cut.
***
His apartment was in Yeonnam-dong, a fourth-floor walkup with shoes piled by the door and warm incandescent light spilling into the hallway.
Inside were clean lines and wood tones, everything intentional. A mechanical keyboard sat on his desk with custom keycaps in off-white, black and rose gold pink. Film cameras lined up on a shelf like a museum display. A framed In the Mood for Love poster above the couch, Wong Kar-wai's signature color grading making the whole room feel like a still from someone else's memory.
Edison bulbs overhead glowed amber. The whole place felt analog, like he'd built a darkroom for living instead of developing film.
"Sorry about the mess," he said, which was hilarious because there wasn't any.
She'd brought a Dujac from Morey-Saint-Denis, not to make a point, just because it was in the rack and she wasn't going to turn up empty-handed. He poured it into the only two wine glasses he owned, which didn't match, and handed her the better one without seeming to think about it. She sat on his couch and watched him move through his own space, fingers finding the corkscrew without looking.
The footage was from the UP shoot, his cut, not the label's. Her face in angles she'd never seen, half of it dropped into shadow and the other half pulled gold by a single light just out of frame, so she looked like two different girls sharing one jaw. The frames were holding on small things: her hand, the line of her throat, the half-second her chin tipped down between takes.
"You see?" He leaned forward, tapping on the monitor. "Right there. That's the face I was talking about."
On the monitor she was laughing at something off-camera, her guard down and her edges gone soft.
"I look tired," she said.
"No, you look real."
He clicked forward through the timeline until he hit a frame she didn't remember him shooting, where she sat between takes staring at nothing, her mouth neutral and her eyes gone somewhere far off.
"This one," he murmured, eyes still on the screen. "This is what I meant on the fire escape. About the person carrying the image."
She stared at herself on his monitor. The frame caught something she'd spent years learning to hide. It wasn't sadness exactly, but a specific kind of aloneness. Like she'd gotten used to being looked at without being seen.
"You looked lonely," he observed. "I wanted to know why."
The Yonsei boys and everyone else had crowded around her poster, hungry to possess the perfect girl. Junho had pointed his camera at the loneliness behind her face and asked what it needed.
"Do you know Wong Kar-wai?" he asked, and when she shook her head he lit up, which was the first time she'd seen it happen, and then he was off.
He talked about a director who shot people half in light and half in dark on purpose, who never let you see all of a face at once because nobody was all of one thing at once. Chiaroscuro, he called it, an old painting word the films had borrowed, the bright part and the buried part in the same frame so you couldn't pretend the buried part wasn't there. He said most idol work lit the bright part and killed the rest, flattened a girl into a single flawless plane, and it drove him insane, because the whole point of a face was the argument going on across it. He wanted the UP video to do the opposite, film her the way the old films shot women who carried things they couldn't say out loud.
Somewhere in there Karina had ended up with her chin in her palm and her wine going warm in her hand, watching his hands cut shapes out of the air, following maybe half the actual cinematography and giving the other half to the way his whole face changed when he talked about the thing he loved. She'd come up here to see footage but ended up staying for a lecture on shadow, and she was riveted.
Because he wasn't performing any of it for her. He'd have said all of it to an empty room. He just happened to be saying it next to her, about her, and didn't seem to have worked out that I want to film the part of you that you hide was close to the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her face.
She took another sip of wine, warm in her chest now, the last of her careful decorum going with it. He'd pulled his chair close to walk her through the timeline, near enough that his knee rested against hers.
His hand came up to her jaw, fingers gentle, tilting her face toward the light.
"Can I -" He tilted his head, studying her profile with furrowed brows. "The shadow here. I want to see if -"
And against every bit of her better judgment, with his fingers still warm on her jaw and the wine loose and easy in her chest, she turned her head and pressed her lips to his. He froze against her mouth. Then he gave in, his hand sliding from her jaw to fist in her hair, and weeks of careful professionalism dissolved. The kiss turned wet and impatient. Mouths slanted wide, tongues sliding in a slick, careless rush that tasted of the wine they'd shared. He gripped her waist and dragged her flush against his chest, kissing her with a messy urgency that left her chin wet.
When she pulled back to breathe, his eyes were dark and slightly stunned.
"I thought you were never going to -" she started.
"I didn't want to be -" He dropped his gaze to her mouth, swallowing hard. "Every guy you meet probably -"
"Yeah," she said, and kissed him again before he could finish being careful.
His hands stayed polite right up until her back hit the desk, rattling the mechanical keyboard. Then his mouth came down on hers, and polite evaporated into the warm Edison-lit air. She felt him hard against her hip through his slacks and bit his lower lip to hear the noise he'd make, low and startled against her mouth.
After that, everything blurred. Last night's memory would come back in amber slices: his shirt half-unbuttoned by her hands, his fingers unclasping her bra while he kissed her, the room growing hazier every time she blinked. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe he'd arranged a smoke machine because of course a cinematographer with an In the Mood for Love poster over his couch would.
Her bra slid loose, and Junho went still above her. His hand, still caught in the strap, tightened once and let go. He looked down at her for one unguarded second, mouth parted, then pressed his forehead to her collarbone like the sight had knocked the next move out of him.
"Bed," she heard herself saying through the haze.
She walked him backward with the wine glass still in her hand, her palm flat against his chest. The red climbed the inside of the glass with each step. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, she pushed, and he sat down hard enough to drag a breath out of both of them. His hands found her waist. Hers found the waistband of his slacks.
She hadn't had sex since Jeju, since that threesome. Her panties were still on when she got his cock out, still on when she straddled him, when his hand slid between her thighs and found how wet she was through the thin fabric.
"Karina," he breathed.
"Jimin," she corrected.
His hand stopped. Then he nodded, kissed her softer than anyone else ever had, and said, "Jimin," against her mouth.
She couldn't wait any longer, pulling the lace aside instead of taking it off. His laugh broke into a groan when she wrapped her fingers around him and dragged the head through her slick, and then she sank down before either of them could turn careful again. The stretch opened her mouth against his, slow because she made herself go slow, even with the wine glass tilting in her fist and his hand closing over hers to keep it steady.
They made love that night in pieces she could barely hold together afterward. She rode him slow and deep, rolling her hips down to take all of him, then grinding forward so her clit dragged against him with each stroke. She was soaked, slick running down his shaft and pooling where their bodies met, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet apartment. His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight circles while she moved. She gasped against his mouth, sinking down to swallow him whole, her pussy gripping him so tight he groaned into the back of his hand.
The glass passed between them. She'd rock forward with Burgundy warm on her tongue, his thumb still working her clit, then bring the wine to his lips while she ground down on him. His groan echoed through the thin crystal. Wine and salt and the taste of his mouth. She remembered him stretching her out when she arched back to wet her lips with red, her juices slicking his fingers as he rubbed her, the amber light catching her throat. His gaze stayed fixed on her face even when she gave him everything else to look at.
At some point he flipped them over. She remembered the mattress taking her back, the wine glass landing on the floor without breaking, his mouth at her throat while he tried to pull her panties down one thigh and gave up when they caught.
He pushed back inside her and moved slowly now, each thrust deep enough to drag the moans out of her mouth before she could feel embarrassed about it. Her hair stuck to her cheek, the panties pushed aside like an afterthought, her legs open around a guy who kept looking down at her like the bare truth of her was enough.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered.
"I can't."
So she let him. The apartment glowed around them, amber bulbs catching on the wood and the red slash of the poster over the couch, the room hazy in her memory even now. Maybe the smoke machine was real. Maybe the alcohol invented it.
She remembered coming with her face pressed into his neck, one hand buried in his hair while the other gripped the back of his open shirt. He murmured her real name against her throat, and they broke together, like they'd stumbled onto something beautiful neither of them knew how to name. She felt him pulse inside her as her body pulled him deeper, his heat spilling into her while she was still writhing in ecstacy, and it blurred together into one long moment. Shared, for once. Then he stayed there, still hard enough inside her that her pussy kept tightening around him whenever he shifted, and she should've told him to move because disappointment, cleanup and distance usually came next.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around him.
His breathing slowed against her throat until she realized he was falling asleep still inside her. She cradled the back of his neck anyway, fingers sliding into his hair, and stared past his shoulder at the blurred amber bulbs.
Morning would come with a rude phone screen and Yuna's disaster texts. Last night, under the wine-invented haze, Karina let herself hold him.
***
And that was how she ended up in a strange apartment in Yeonnam-dong, feeling more comfortable in a bed that wasn't hers than anywhere she'd ever slept.
She felt him stir, his hand twitching on her waist before going perfectly still while his breathing hitched shallow in his chest. She stayed quiet and waited right up until he jerked his hand away, catching his wrist before he could retreat, closing her fingers over his pulse as his whole body tensed beneath the sheets.
"Karina, I -" He croaked groggily. "Shit. You're still here."
"Mm." She guided his hand back and pressed his palm flat against her hip. "Good morning to you too."
"I didn't mean -" The mattress gave as he shifted to piece the morning together, staring at her like he'd just remembered who he brought home. "Did... did we -"
"We did," she said softly, letting the silence linger until his thumb stroked her hip on its own, his hand remembering what the rest of him was still catching up to.
"I'm not usually -" He stopped and swallowed hard. "This isn't how I - I don't just -"
He sounded anxious, so she rolled over to face him. Pillow creases crossed his cheek, his hair pushed all the way to one side, his shirt collar still hanging open where she'd unbuttoned it last night and never bothered to finish. He looked wrecked and wonderfully human. She leaned in and kissed him, offering a soft press of her mouth that cut off the rest of his panic.
"The only thing that happened last night," she murmured against his lips, "was magic."
His eyes searched her face for a joke or a dismissal, but she just smiled back until he asked, "What are you going to do now?"
She felt the answer pressing hot and urgent against her thigh inside his boxers. She let her fingertips trace the dip of his ribs, slipping a thumb just under the elastic to brush his morning wood beneath.
"I think," she whispered, her mouth hovering a breath from his, "we just pick up where we left off." She worked the last buttons loose and pushed his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the poster.
"Karina -"
"Jimin," she corrected, sliding her body flush until her bare breasts pancaked against his chest. "You earned that last night. Use it."
"We don't have to -"
"I want to." She stroked him gently to draw a strangled noise out of his chest. "Do you?"
He looked at her, and whatever professional barrier he had left simply collapsed.
"I do -"
"Show me."
***
So they made love all morning.
The wine was gone and the sun was up, spilling gold over the rumpled sheets. He dragged her damp panties down her thighs and buried his face between her legs before she could even kick them off, his tongue carefully sweeping her clit to track every gasp and find the spot that made her toes curl and her hands fist in his hair. When she came the first time, it tore through her so hard she screamed his name over and over until the helpless sound echoed through the fourth-floor walkup loud enough to make a door slam somewhere above them.
He lifted his head with a grin. "I think everyone in the building knows my name now."
She hauled him up by the hair to kiss her own taste off his mouth.
They tore the apartment apart in blurred, golden frames. Her palms flat on the desk, the mechanical keyboard clattering under her fingers with every blind thrust driving deep into her from behind. She came with her chin pressed to the wood, his hand fisted in her hip and his fingers slick against her clit while her pussy clenched tight around him. On the couch under the poster, amber light sliding over her arched back, his hands bruising her skin to pin her while she ground her ass back against him, taking him deeper and deeper as they crashed over the edge in a messy, tangling rush. And her thighs slick on the kitchen counter, pussy dripping down the tile while he drove back inside her so fast a coffee mug rolled off to shatter on the floorboards, her voice breaking hoarse and raw in her throat while her whole body shook.
She pushed him down onto the cushions eventually so she could swing her legs over him and gather her tits in both hands.
"I want to try something," she told him.
She'd only done this once before. Jeju, three months ago, offering herself to a man who looked at her like a rare gift, discovering she could actually want it. Junho was looking at her with that identical reverence now, breathless and still, waiting for whatever she decided to give him.
She positioned him between her breasts and pressed them together, starting slow to mix spit and pre-cum into a slick channel before sliding up and down his shaft until the friction turned heavy. Every time the flushed head crowned her cleavage, she dipped her mouth and caught it.
"Jimin -" His hips drove up to push frantically into the vice of her tits. "I can't -"
"You can." She took him deep into her mouth, her tongue circling the ridge while her breasts kept him squeezed tight. "I want you to."
He came in a hot surge, painting her collarbone and the curve of her chest before she swallowed the rest of him down. She kept her mouth sealed around him through it all, milking the last pulses until he shoved weakly at her shoulders to gasp for air.
She pulled off and smiled at him through the mess dripping down her chin.
"Your turn," he breathed.
He bent her over the couch and ate her out until her screams probably taught the whole building her voice, making her cum one more time with his tongue buried inside her and his thumb working her clit in tight circles. Then he dragged her back to the bed. Time dissolved into sunlight and hoarse voices, both of them wrecked and greedy. The last time he finished he was buried deep inside her with her legs locked around his waist, murmuring her real name into the sweat on her throat, staying there to breathe hard against her before he finally rolled away and passed out flat on his back.
She lay there staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, sore and still feeling the aftershocks, discovering she was smiling.
***
Later, when he'd passed out without warning, she understood why. One second he was breathing hard against her throat, the next he went slack on top of her and his breathing evened out into sleep. No breakfast, probably still hungover from last night's wine, and he'd just fucked her through his entire apartment. His body had simply quit.
She waited, his arm pinning her ribs, then carefully slid out from under him. Her phone lay face-down on the rug near the desk where it'd been deposited during the carnage. She stretched her fingers toward it, feeling the pleasant ache in her hips, the rawness between her legs, the tackiness drying on her chest and thighs. When she finally caught the edge and dragged it close, the screen lit up her face.
8:03 AM.
A laugh burst out of her. She slapped her hand over her mouth and turned to look at Junho, dead to the world with one arm thrown over his face, his mouth slightly open. Under an hour. They'd destroyed his apartment and each other in under an hour on empty stomachs.
Her shoulders kept shaking. Junho mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow and rolled onto his side, taking half the sheet with him. She let him have it.
Her thumb hovered over her messages. She wanted - no, needed - to tell someone.
The only person who'd understand.
@katarinabluu: we made magic last night 💙
@yezyizhere: The cinematographer?
@katarinabluu: you were right
@yezyizhere: About what?
@katarinabluu: turns out being seen is way hotter than being worshipped 🥺
@katarinabluu: anyway wyd today?
@yezyizhere: Waiting for mine to wake up
@yezyizhere: Might have to take matters into my own hands 🙄
@yezyizhere: What is this with you two then?
@katarinabluu: no idea
@katarinabluu: but for now is enough 💙
***
[SOMEWHERE ACROSS SEOUL]
The first thing I woke to was warmth.
But it wasn't a warmth somebody else paid for. The villa in Jeju had a private pool, and as luxurious as it was, also had a checkout date. This place had a window facing the wrong direction and a bathroom door that stuck when it rained. The heating came on uneven, the pipes clanged when the building's ancient boiler kicked in at 6 AM, and the subway was ten extra minutes away because she'd toured seven better apartments before pointing at this one and saying she wanted it.
The realtor tried talking her out of it. He pulled up the others on his tablet, walking us back through better layouts and more practical locations, visibly confused why a top-tier idol would pick the worst option. She just smiled sweetly at him, having already decided three buildings ago. "This one's got an electric stove."
We were sitting in that dingy office while she signed the lease, the realtor's pen clicking through paperwork. She leaned over and whispered, "You know I'm gonna burn everything I touch in that kitchen, right?"
"It's fine."
I was fine with it, honestly. We'd been burning ourselves for five years and were now signing a lease for an old apartment with my name on it because she didn't trust herself around fire.
That was a couple months ago. It came back in pieces because my brain was barely awake, still trying to figure out why I was warm. Grey light leaked through the curtains. It was early. Saturday early, when I didn't have anywhere to be and could just lie here half-asleep. Everything was comfortable, more than the villa ever was. I was in our bed, which shouldn't have been weird anymore but still caught me off guard most mornings.
Then I realized the warmth was wet.
I opened my eyes and looked down. A pair of cat eyes stared back at me from between my legs, accompanied by a mouth stretched around my morning wood. Just her head visible above the duvet, hair everywhere, the blanket tucked under her chin like she'd set up camp down there. Her tongue dragged slow up the underside of my shaft and my hips jerked, which made those eyes go all amused and crinkly.
She came off just long enough to mumble something that sounded like "muh-ning, jag-ya" with my cock still in her mouth, all muffled and wet before sinking right back down.
"Morning," I managed, sounding wrecked already. I pushed her hair back and she pressed into my hand, eyes fluttering closed before she got back to work. When she looked up at me again, still sloppily working me with her mouth, her whole face had this beautiful happy glow to it.
Five years we'd been doing this in secret, but the happiness was recent. She used to treat blowjobs like a performance, something choreographed. Now she was doing it on a Saturday morning in the shitty apartment we'd picked together because she'd woken up and apparently decided this was how she wanted to start her weekend.
I'd spent most of my twenties figuring this part wasn't for me, the lazy Saturday part, the part where she does it because she woke up wanting to and nobody's keeping score. So watching the duvet rise and fall with her shoulders while she worked me over, I realized I'd never been this happy in my life. Which is a stupid thing to be thinking with someone's mouth around your cock.
The duvet moved with her head bobbing up and down. She moaned around me and I felt it everywhere, my hips lifting off the mattress before I could stop them. Her tongue circled the tip, catching the pre-cum leaking out, then she hollowed her cheeks and took me deeper. I felt the back of her throat, the wet heat of her mouth sliding down my cock, her lips stretched tight around me. She was getting into it, too, which made it so much hotter.
"Yeji," I groaned, my hand tightening in her hair. "I'm gonna -"
She pulled off with a wet pop. Her mouth was red and slick, and she had the biggest grin on her face.
"I know. I'm not done with you yet -"
Then she shoved the duvet off and got up on her knees.
The blanket slid down her body in slow-motion and I couldn't help but ogle as she emerged from the depths. Her shoulders came first, the muscle there catching the grey morning light, then the dip of her collarbones and the soft hollow of her throat where I'd left a mark last night that she'd kill me for once she saw it in the mirror. The fabric kept going. It uncovered her tits, high and firm, her brown nipples already stiff in the cool apartment air, and then it bared the flat plane of her stomach where the ab lines sat even now, even relaxed, even half asleep with my cock in her mouth.
I'd gladly look at her all morning and forever.
We'd crashed last night after enough rounds that I was honestly worried about the neighbours downstairs and the lease. Living with her was teaching me things about my own stamina I'd never had reason to learn before - mainly that it had a ceiling. Who knew? Jeju was all a fever dream, anyway.
The duvet pooled around her thighs and there she was, bare to the cold air with her neatly trimmed mound on full display, kneeling between my legs because she was about to ruin my morning in the best possible way.
Watching her kneel there, I immediately forgot what those limits were.
The morning light hit her skin. Her hair was tousled, catching on her shoulders, and I watched as she lazily stretched, arching her back like a cat. Five years of that and it still got me the same way every time. The way her tits lifted when she rolled her shoulders back, and I wanted nothing more than my mouth on them.
She knew I was staring. She always knew, and she loved it.
She crawled up my body on her hands and knees, tits swaying under her, and straddled my hips. She reached back, took my cock, and dragged the wet head through her slit before notching it against her hole. Just the tip. She held there, breathing through her nose, making herself wait. Then her thighs gave and she dropped, took all of me at once, her cunt clenching so tight I groaned into her hair and she moaned in response.
"Move with me," she breathed, hands bracing flat against my chest.
She could've eased into it, but five years taught her what we both wanted. She started slamming down on my cock, taking it all at once, and locked into a furious rhythm. Her dancer's body knew exactly how to fuck me into oblivion. I grabbed her waist, thumbs digging into soft skin, and thrust up into her every time she dropped.
The mattress shook. Skin slapped wet and loud in the quiet room. Her cunt swallowed me whole, clamping down hard enough to squeeze the breath out of me.
"Yeji -"
"Shut up and keep up," she panted, her eyes dark as she picked up speed. Her tits bounced with each brutal drop, nipples stiff and begging for my mouth. I sat up and caught one between my lips, sucking hard. She moaned so loud the windows rattled, arching back, pressing her tit deeper into my mouth. Her hands grabbed my hair, holding me there while she ground her clit into me with every drop.
Sweat gleamed on her skin in the morning light. She was fucking me like her life depended on it, gasping for air. Like she did pretty much every day now.
She leaned back, hands bracing on my thighs, taking me so deep I hit bottom. This morning, I was the only audience to her glorious show: her abs flexing, tits bouncing, her pussy stretched around my cock, wet and dripping.
Holy fuck, I couldn't look away.
She caught me staring. That filthy smirk spread across her face, and that sultry tone somehow became sultrier.
"You like that, jagiya?" she breathed, grinding down hard. "Seeing your cock disappear into my pussy?"
"Of course," I groaned, thrusting up deep enough to make her gasp. "It's mine. You're mine."
Hearing that made her miss a bounce, the smirk melting into a sincere smile while the tips of her ears flushed pink. "Oh? Stealing my catchphrases now?"
"You stopped saying it since, I don't know?"
She sank all the way down, burying me deep, and leaned forward until our breath mingled. Her cat eyes locked onto mine, hot and sure.
"I don't need to anymore," she purred.
That was music to my ears.
I quit trying to hold back. She leaned forward to kiss me, as she effortlessly did now, her tongue sliding into my mouth. Her pussy clamped around my cock, milking me as she picked up the pace.
She broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, throwing her head back to expose her throat as she abandoned any pretense of pacing. "Fuck, Minho," she whimpered, grinding down hard. "You always feel so fucking good inside me."
She started bouncing with a frantic, animal urgency. Every heavy drop buried my cock so deep my balls slapped against her wet thighs. Her slick inner walls stretched tight around my girth. The sound of our fucking echoed off the walls, skin slapping wetly against skin, her pussy letting out loud, obscene squelches as a thick lather of our juices foamed between our bodies.
"Don't stop," she panted, chasing her orgasm like she was fucking starving for it. Her face flushed red, twisted in pure ecstasy, her hair whipping wildly around her shoulders.
She hit the edge fast, the climax tearing through her. She screamed my name, her spine snapping into a tight arch that lifted her ass slightly off my thighs. Her cunt started convulsing around my cock, the slick walls squeezing the head in rapid, merciless spasms that pushed my own climax straight to the brink.
I gritted my teeth, gripping her waist to steady her. I stayed sat up, watching her chest heave. "Should I slow down?"
Her eyes snapped open, looking instantly offended. She planted both hands on my chest and shoved me flat against the mattress.
"If you slow down now, I'll kill you," she threatened, breathless and mean. "And don't you even fucking think about making me beg for it."
She backed it up by lifting her hips and slamming down on my cock, burying me so deep our hips cracked together. She rolled her hips, squeezing the absolute fuck out of me.
"Where do you want it?" I groaned, thrusting up to meet her heavy drops.
"You already know the answer, idiot," she panted, grinding her swollen clit against my stomach. "Give me all of it. Fill me up."
That destroyed my last shred of control. I grabbed her hips, my fingers bruising her soft skin, and held her locked down tight against my groin. I let go, pumping my hips up aggressively as the first thick rope of cum shot deep inside her. Lying flat on my back gave me the perfect, filthy view of what we were doing to each other. I thrust up just enough to pull the head out halfway, watching the slick pink lips of her pussy stretch tight around my thick shaft, before slamming back in balls-deep and pumping my hot load into her.
She threw her head back and moaned loudly in response. The messy white cream started bubbling up around my base with every thrust, overflowing from her swollen cunt and spilling down my balls. I kept thrusting, sliding in and out of her dripping slit, slicking our connected skin in foaming semen. I let her convulsing pussy milk every jagged pulse out of me until I was drained.
When I came back to myself, both of us were sweating, panting, and fucking wrecked.
We lay there breathing while we came down. I was still inside her, cock slowly softening while her pussy kept fluttering around me in little aftershocks. She stayed on top of me, warm and sweat-slick, her cheek pressed to my shoulder and her hair stuck damp against my neck.
"Morning," she rasped after a while.
"Morning," I said, kissing the side of her head and stroking her hair.
She turned her head sideways to kiss me back, then laughed against my skin.
Then she started getting to her knees, bracing one hand beside my ribs, trying to lift herself off. My cock slipped halfway out and a hot rush of cum followed it, spilling around me and smearing down between us.
"I need to shower," she murmured.
My hands caught her waist before I had time to pretend I was cool about it. "Stay."
She froze. Her face went soft and private the way it only did for me, and then she sank right back down, taking me in again with a wet little gasp that made us both shudder.
"Baby," she whispered, and melted, both arms wrapping around my shoulders as she dropped back down on top of me, chest to chest, her face burrowing into the side of my neck. Her mouth moved lazy along my jaw, found my ear, closed on it and nibbled. My cock twitched inside her and she felt it and giggled into my cheek.
"See, this is the problem with you," she mumbled. "I had a whole responsible morning planned for us. Shower, breakfast, smoothie, leave on time, be a functional adult. And then I woke up and you were right here, all warm, doing nothing, and now look at me."
"You climbed on me," I shot back.
"Mhm. And I'd do it again, so." She rolled her hips affectionately, and the cum squished warm around where she kept me plugged inside her, some of it sliding down my shaft because there was only so much she could hold after I'd given her all of it. "I love this. I love it so much it's actually embarrassing. Don't tell anyone, yeah?"
I ran my hand up her bare back into her hair and she made a small pleased sound and pressed closer, sinking into me. This got me every time. Five years of wanting her through locked doors and bad timing, and here she was, gone soft against my chest because I'd asked her to stay.
"Stay a bit," I repeated.
"Okay! I'm staying." She kissed the corner of my jaw, then sighed into it. "I really have to go soon, though. Practice."
"It's Saturday."
"It's the new album, that's what Saturday is now." She propped her chin on my chest and looked up at me, and even like this, hair everywhere, both my cock and my cum still inside her, the work crept into her eyes and pulled them sharp. Sex wrecked her voice and ruined her hair, and then the job showed up and Leader Yeji showed up right behind it. "We're going in for concepts. Early. PD-nim wants the whole thing to be about us, the five of us, you know, friendship and girlhood and all that, and every single title he throws out sounds like it belongs on a tote bag. I'm supposed to come back Monday with something good and my brain is empty."
"Yuna doesn't even have to go in, though," I said. "She's still in Japan, right?"
"Osaka. Days off between shoots, supposedly." She dragged a hand back through her wrecked hair to get it out of her face, the morning light catching the tangle of it. "By the sound of the group chat she spent them on some actor boy from her classes. Sent us about forty photos last night and then went very quiet, which with Yuna means it went well." Her smile pulled, then flattened, and she bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm really happy for her. She sounds like herself again. Like, finally herself." She poked my chest absently. "And she's flying back this afternoon for our housewarming tonight, so don't even think about cancelling, we've been promising people that party for weeks."
Then she shrugged. "You know me, though. I'll go in even when nobody asks. Especially when nobody asks."
She absently rolled her hips again while she talked, and I had to hold her waist still to keep my head on straight.
"You're doing it again," I said.
"Doing what?" She did it slower, watching my face, and then her gaze dropped to where my cum had pearled at the base of my cock, sliding toward my balls, and her eyes went narrow and amused. "Hey. Up here. Focus. You work in music, this is your job, help me."
She poked me in the side, way fucking harder than she meant to. Her casual touch always came with trainee-room force behind it.
"Ow!" I winced.
Her whole face went soft. "Oh no, did that actually hurt? I'm sorry, jagi, I always forget." Her palm flattened over the spot and rubbed slow circles, fussing over me, and then she remembered herself and pressed her lips flat. "Okay, but you're still helping me. Don't pretend you're not good with words. I've read your session notes, I know how you talk about music. Give me something."
I caught her wrist and kissed the inside of it.
While she kept grinding on me, I tried to think about the question, because she deserved a real answer. The room stayed quiet around us except for a truck reversing outside and the wet squelches she made when she moved.
What came back wasn't really that week in Jeju. Instead my mind went to all of them, with my cock still inside her, except the thing I was thinking wasn't the sex. Or it wasn't only the sex. It was the faces underneath it, the ones none of them ever showed a camera, the versions I'd somehow ended up on the other side of.
Yuna with her bravado spent and her hands gone shy on my thighs, asking if it was okay like the answer mattered more than the act. Ryujin with her forehead dropped against my shoulder, shaking, every weapon she owned laid flat on the deck between us. Jimin on her back staring at the ceiling like she'd just found out she was a person and not a poster. Chaeryeong scowling into Sunwoo's collarbone because Giselle's story hadn't had enough romance in it for her, proof the week hadn't been only the mess I kept making of it. Lia's wink across a crowded kitchen, the one that knew exactly what I'd done and decided, for reasons of her own, to let it go.
And Yeji. The tear at the edge of the pool that went down instead of up, real gravity, real girl. The word she finally let out in the dark, fast asleep, after five years of holding it. The one sitting on my cock right now, dripping around me and squinting like she'd fire me if I didn't come up with an album title, the only one I got to keep.
All of them, messy and loyal and impossible. All of them still there when morning came. And me, somewhere in the middle of all of it, a guy who'd shown up to that villa thinking he was just visiting his secret and walked out three months later with his name on a lease.
"I don't know," I started, and then stopped, because I wasn't sure where it was going yet. "I keep thinking about that week."
"Jeju?" Yeji's hand slowed on my chest. She looked at me quietly, waiting, her hips settling into a slow roll that made it very hard to think and very easy to keep yammering at the same time.
"All of you," I continued. "You fight like there's a medal in being difficult. And then one of you gets hurt and everyone just - moves. Nobody stands around. I don't know how to say it."
"Say it badly," she murmured. "I'll fix it." She slowly rolled her hips again.
"It's just - you're competitive. Protective. Honest when it hurts, a disaster when it matters. You're just girls, and that makes you extraordinary." I heard how dumb it sounded out loud and almost dropped it. "That's the whole thing, though. Girls being girls, and somehow that's the most amazing thing about all of you. I don't know. Maybe that's nothing."
"That week changed you," she said quietly, watching me.
"It changed all of us. You know it did." I tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear. "Me too. Went there one person, came back yours."
She stared at me a long moment, sitting on my cock in the middle of our wrecked bed, doing her best to be leader-nim while her pussy dripped around me, and then her sharp features turned soft.
"Aww, that's so sweet," she cooed. "I hate that it's sweet. It's also a whole-ass paragraph, jagiya! We can't put a paragraph on a poster. The girls-being-girls part, though." She rocked on me again, trying to coax the rest out of me. "Say that part again? But shorter."
"I don't - " I shook my head, fumbling for it. "Girls. Girls being. I don't know how you'd even - " And then it was just there, the way these things are once you stop chasing them.
"Girls will be girls...?"
I didn't even have the balls say it out loud. It came out half under my breath, more to myself than to her.
She went so still I felt her stop breathing.
"...was it that bad?" I asked tentatively.
"No - shut up, say it again." Her hands found mine. "Say it again, the way you just said it."
"Girls will be girls."
"Damn." Her eyes were huge and shining and she was grinning like I'd handed her something profound. "Minho, that's it! That's actually it - everyone gets it instantly and nobody can argue with it because that's just what we are." She grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me hard, laughing into my mouth, kissing me again between words. "I'm putting it in the meeting and watching PD-nim lose his mind and I'm taking all the credit, you understand? None for you, this never happened."
"It happened while I was inside you."
"No witnesses." She kissed me one more time, soft and slow now, gone gooey, and then she eased back with a little wince as my cock poked her womb, and more cum slid out hot around me and ran down toward my balls. She looked down at the mess and made a pleased little sound. "Okay. Okay, I really, really have to shower now, for real, before I change my mind and waste the whole morning on you."
"You could waste the morning on me. It's a good use of a morning."
"You're evil." She was still smiling, both hands flat on my chest. "Right, practice. New album. Four-word title some genius gave me. Have to go be a professional now."
She slowly lifted off me. My cock slipped free, and the cum we'd been keeping plugged inside her finally spilled out in a thick rush, dripping over my shaft and down onto the sheets.
"Minho," she whined, betrayed, like the leaking was a thing I'd done to her on purpose. "Look at this! Look what you do to me. Every fucking time, how do you have this much?"
"You're the one who wanted all of it. Repeatedly and loudly, I might add."
"I know what I wanted." She cupped herself fast, both hands catching the mess before it hit the sheets, and climbed off the bed with her knees pressed together, waddling toward the bathroom.
At the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. Her hair was a disaster. My cum was leaking between her fingers. She looked smug enough to hand herself a daesang. She held my eyes, gave her bare ass a slow little wiggle, that tight muscle flexing once, and bit her lip at me.
Then she stepped inside and started to close the door.
I stared at it.
For one soul-sucking moment, my body remembered Jeju. The locked door. The shower running without me.
Five years I stayed on the wrong side of that door because it was what she needed. The one morning she shut it and sent me off to cool down was the morning everything went sideways - and everything that mattered started. Worst thing she ever did to me. Best thing, too.
The door opened again before it clicked shut. Her head poked out, cat eyes narrowed.
"You coming or what?"
I put my hands behind my head and savored it, just for a moment. We'd taken the long road, but at least we were here.
Then I got up and went, because my whole life was a furious little ball of light standing in a steamed-up bathroom telling me to hurry up, and you go when she calls, before she gets angry and comes to find you.
***
So, yeah. We fucked in the shower again. I'm not gonna pretend we got in there to save on the water bill.
It started out innocent enough. I slid in behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and buried my face in her wet neck. It was nice, up until the moment I looked down at how perfectly her tight little ass was poking out, dripping wet, and just fucking slapped it.
Hard enough to leave it jiggling and mark an angry red handprint on her ass cheek.
"AH! Fuck!" She shrieked, whipping around to glare at me. "Do you have a death wish?!"
"Just checking if it's real."
She kept glaring at me, the steam hanging thick and still around us while she decided exactly how to murder me. Then she lunged, attacking my mouth and slamming me right into the soaking tile.
It escalated instantly into a mess of steam, slapping skin, and filthy noises. I pinned her back against the shower wall, grabbed her hips, and drove straight back into her hot, slick pussy. She hiked one wet leg up and planted her foot flat against the tile to brace us. We'd debuted our brand new three-legged shower stance shortly after signing the lease so we didn't slip and break our necks like we almost did back in Jeju. Three months in, and we'd finally cracked the physics of sliding my cock in and out of her wet cunt in a shower stall without needing a trip to the ER. Living together teaches you things, I suppose. I pounded her until she was screaming my name over the rushing water, unloading deep inside her once more while she wrung every last drop out of me.
After, with the water gone lukewarm and both of us completely wrung out, I worked her shampoo through her hair. I always did this now. She used to wash her own hair her whole life, and somewhere in the last three months she just stopped. Now, the second the bottle clicked open, she stepped right into me.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her wet tits flat against my chest, while my softening cock rested heavy against the tight ridges of her stomach. She dragged her slick hands lazily up and down my spine, pretending to "wash" my back but mostly just holding me close while I massaged the lather into her scalp, keeping her eyes shut. The old Yeji would've filled the silence with a joke. This one just tipped her wet face up to blindly catch my mouth, drawing me into slow, lazy kisses. The steam settled thick around us, her dark tangled hair sliding through my fingers, and there was nowhere in the world either of us had to be before the shower spray washed it away.
***
She sat at the vanity in nothing but her panties and started on her eyeliner, and I stood behind her with the dryer, working it through her hair in sections the way she'd taught me. I kept losing the part I was supposed to be holding, because she was topless in the fogged-up mirror and I am who I am.
She caught me at it in the glass with a smirk. She sat back, lifted both her tits in her hands, and raised an eyebrow at my reflection. "You still think these are perfect?"
She'd made me answer that once before, back in Jeju, when she'd actually needed to hear it. This time she just wanted to watch me agree.
I bent down and kissed the top of her damp head. "Yeah. You are."
I meant all of her, not just the handful she was holding, and she knew it. Her whole face went warm and smug, and she settled back down into the towel, pleased with herself, before she picked the eyeliner up again.
Her phone leaned against the glass, the group chat apparently going since before she woke me up with her mouth. She tipped it toward me without putting down the brush.
@chaerrry0: HOUSEWARMING TONIGHT 🦊🎉 Sunwoo and i are bringing tteokbokki and a plant u are NOT allowed to kill
@chaerrry0: now that u two stopped """""friends""""" 🥹
@iamfinethankyouandryu: FINALLY.gif 🐱
@igotyuandme: omgggg so sorry i went dark last night osaka ate me ALIVE 🙈🙈
@igotyuandme: UNNIE can i bring someone tonight 🐰
@lia_loves___: called this at the busan yacht party btw 🍯
@iamfinethankyouandryu: LMAOOO baby hoe came back from osaka with a fucking SOUVENIR
@igotyuandme: unnieeee 😭😭😭
@yezyizhere: Bring him 🖤
"How long do you think they knew?"
"Since Jeju." She tapped Lia's message with the end of the brush. "Maybe before."
I read it again. "She said Busan? That was nine months ago. That's WAY before Jeju."
"That's the point." She laughed, tipping her head back into the heat of the dryer and my hand. "I guess we were the last two people to figure it out."
"That's embarrassing."
"That's us. Emotionally oblivious until we weren't." She pressed her lips flat to set the colour, watching herself in the glass, and her smile went soft at the corners. "We got there eventually, though."
"We did."
***
I clicked the dryer off when she was dry. She stood, kissed me once, and went to do her thing in the kitchen. I stayed to make the bed.
Back when we were a secret, Yeji was the most disciplined person I knew. She sorted everything. Three months of living together proved she saved that discipline strictly for the company. At home, she was a goblin. She built mug civilizations on the nightstand and left the bed every morning like a crime scene. I made the bed because she knew I'd fix it. People spent her whole life grading her on being immaculate, so with me, she just got to be a disaster. I'd take that trade every single morning for the rest of my life.
By the time I padded out to the kitchen she had her playlist going and was standing at the counter in my hoodie and nothing I could see under it, frothing milk for the chocolate matcha thing she made me every morning. She had a whole ritual now. The little electric whisk, the chocolate going soft in the microwave that she wasn't really authorized to use without adult supervision, the milk worked into a thick pale foam that climbed and bubbled up the sides of the jug, frothing over the rim where she'd overfilled it.
I watched it spill. Without any input from the responsible part of my brain, I realized that it looked exactly like the mess that had foamed up around the base of my cock earlier when she'd ridden me into the mattress, the white of my cum churned thick with her slick, spilling out of her stretched pussy and bubbling down over my balls.
She caught me staring. Her eyes flicked to the jug, then back to my face. She pointed the whisk accusingly.
"No -" she started.
"I didn't say anything."
"You're making the face. Whatever you're thinking, it's not the same. You're gonna drink this and say thank you."
"Thank you," I said, and she narrowed her eyes at me because I'd said it too fast, and then she gave up and laughed, because we were exactly as filthy as each other and always had been.
I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her from behind. She leaned back into my chest. The whisk went quiet. She turned to say something but I kissed it out of her mouth. Her hands were already scrabbling at the waistband of my shorts, and mine were shoving the hoodie up over her hips.
I lifted her onto the table and pulled her panties to the side.
She spread her knees and pulled me in by the back of my neck, and I went down to my knees on the cold tile and put my mouth on her. Three months in, I knew exactly what she liked first thing in the morning. I kept my tongue flat and steady against her clit while furiously pumping two fingers in and out of her tight hole until she ran out of patience. She fisted a hand in my hair, swearing at the ceiling, grinding against my mouth until her thighs shook. When she came, she pulled my hair hard enough to sting. I licked her wet cunt clean, so devoted to her I could've died right there on the floor.
Then I stood up and shoved my cock inside her while she was still coming. She gasped, all the air knocked out of her, wrapping her legs around my waist and locking her ankles tight to trap me deep.
"Harder," she mumbled against my jaw. "And don't even think about pulling out."
"Don't you have practice soon?"
"And?"
"And you're going to leak through your leggings in front of PD-nim."
"That's what tampons are for, silly." She bit my ear, grinding down on me, her slick walls clenching tight. "Besides, I dance better full of you. Hit my marks every time. It's basically a performance enhancer." She rolled her hips, slow and filthy. "So finish what you started and help my career while you're at it."
So I did. I fucked her across our cheap kitchen table. The wood groaned violently under us, exactly the way it did yesterday, walking across the cheap laminate with every thrust.
"We're gonna -" she gasped as I drove in deep, her knuckles turning white on the edge of the table, her whole body arching. "Ahhh - break this thing -"
"It's fine," I grunted.
I buried myself deep enough to make her breath hitch and she shook her head frantically, eyes squeezed shut. The table shrieked against the floorboards.
"It's SPLINTERING, Minho - fuck - we need a new one -"
"Fine," I panted. "We'll go to IKEA - nngh - tomorrow?"
She rolled her hips, squeezing my cock tight. "Casa - ahh - Casamia."
"IKEA." I thrust hard, turning her moan loud and shameless. "Because they have - hrngg - meatballs, and we're not - " I had to stop to catch my breath, as my balls slapped against her meaty lips. "Not spending three million won on a table we're just gonna ruin exactly like this -"
"West Elm -" She dug her heels into my back to drag me deeper. "Ahhh - West Elm, then." Her eyes were glassy, but she was grinning. "And we go - oh fuck yes - in person. Together -"
I knew how much a West Elm dining set cost and my wallet sweat just thinking about it, but I also knew what she was actually asking for. It wasn't really about a sleek wooden table. She wanted an excuse to walk through the front doors of a crowded showroom in broad daylight, hold my hand under the display lighting, and take silly mirror selfies in the bedroom section that were definitely not going on Bubble.
"Fine," I said, leaning down to kiss her. "West Elm it is."
"Good boy."
Then she got too loud for conversation to continue. I pounded her until our neighbours definitely heard, and I stopped pretending I gave a shit about the noise. When I came, I buried myself deep and pinned her flat against the wood as she milked it out of me, her heels digging brutally into my back.
We stayed like that, breathing, my forehead on her shoulder.
Then the smoke detector shrieked.
It took my post-nut brain a moment to realize the shrieking was real. Behind Yeji's shoulder, the microwave was lit up like a small angry sun. The bowl of chocolate had bypassed melting and simply caught fire, as furious streaks of orange light licked the glass while the timer counted down from ten minutes.
"Why is it on for thirteen minutes?" I asked. The math wasn't mathing.
"It is NOT on for - " She twisted to look, still impaled on my cock, and her jaw dropped. "I pressed one-three-zero! One minute thirty! Ssibal, Minho, it's ON FIRE - "
"No shit, I can see that -"
"Don't just stand there, DO SOMETHING!"
"What the fuck do you want me to do?!"
"Use your - " She gestured wildly at my groin, meaning either my cock or the cum dripping out of her. Even mid-crisis, with the smoke detector shrieking and our breakfast blazing across the kitchen, she doubled over laughing and slapped the table. "Put it OUT!"
"I'm NOT putting out a fire with my DICK -"
"I'M JOKING, GET OFF ME!"
***
Living with a girl who can't cook really tests a man's housekeeping abilities. But once I'd performed firefighting heroics that didn't involve questionable use of my dick, Yeji decided to have another crack at the kitchen, cracking three fresh eggs into a pan that was already too hot.
The oil spat at her. She snatched her hand back and set her jaw like the flinch had been her own idea, refusing to admit that a kitchen had hurt her. Then she tipped the eggs in and the pan erupted, oil leaping the rim and splattering the backsplash, the whites turning grey and rubbery before she'd even found the spatula. She had her tongue caught between her teeth and the spatula in a death grip.
Smoke poured off the pan, and right on cue the detector started screaming. I'd already reset it once while dousing the microwave, same as every morning, and here it was earning its keep again before nine. I reached up and killed the noise, then pulled the drawer open. A fresh nine-volt rolled out from our stockpile - we had a dozen packs of them, half still in the shrink-wrap, because you learn to buy in bulk. We'd already gone through a couple packs since we'd moved in. I set it on the counter for later.
She can't say the soft stuff out loud, so she says it in burnt eggs, which is the whole reason I keep the batteries stocked and my plate clean.
She slid the plate in front of me and plopped into the chair across the corner of the table, chin in both hands, watching. I forked up a bite. It tasted like a campfire that had once, at a great distance, met an egg. I chewed it, swallowed it, and pointed my fork at the plate.
"Incredible."
She lit up. She sat up straighter, propped her chin back in her hands, and beamed proudly as she watched me chew, her eyes crinkling, her grin stretching wider with every forkful. I ate all of it, and would gladly do it again.
***
I'd dragged the wobbly chair under the smoke detector and climbed up to put the fresh battery in. I'd barely got the cover open when two arms clamped around my legs.
Yeji had left the ruined pan on the stove, crossed the kitchen, and wrapped herself tightly around my calves. She pressed her cheek to the back of my thigh and held on.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Making sure you don't fall!"
"You're gonna make me fall, you know that?"
"I'm SAVING you!" She squeezed tighter, indignant, her face mashed into the back of my legs, giggling against me before she'd got the words out. "If you fall I'll kill -" She stopped, the threat falling apart since I'd already be on the floor. "- I mean - I'll never forgive you. Hold still."
"I can't move, you've got me in a -"
"GOOD. Stop moving."
I got the battery seated. The little light blinked green, the detector chirped once, and we were armed for the next disaster. She was still wrapped around my legs, grinning up at me, thrilled with herself for saving me from a fall I was only risking because of her.
"You can let go now," I deadpanned.
She didn't. She held on a while longer, cheek warm against my calves, giggling sorry-sorry-sorry into my legs, and I stood up there in the smoke-hazed kitchen and let her keep me safe.
***
Hongsam had been with us a week. He was her parents' dog, technically, a toy poodle the color of red ginseng who lived down in Jeonju and ran the place like a small furious landlord, except Yeji had come back from her last visit carrying him in the crook of her arm like contraband, and nobody back home had put up a fight. Insam, his brother, stayed in Jeonju. Within a day Hongsam had claimed my side of the bed and most of my pillow, and within two he'd worked out that a closed bedroom door meant the morning had started without him, so he spent a good slice of every morning scratching at the wrong side of it and howling his objection to the management. I knew the feeling, having done five years on the wrong side of Yeji's doors myself, so he could survive for however long Yeji got away with keeping him here.
She used to miss both of them from two hours down the KTX line, calling home on the holidays she couldn't get back for, asking her sister to give them a treat from her. Now Hongsam slept against the backs of my knees.
She came out of our bedroom dressed for practice, hair tied back, dance bag over one shoulder, and Hongsam lost his mind, because the bag meant someone was leaving and leaving was the worst thing anyone had ever invented. I scooped him up before he could throw himself at her shins. He weighed nothing and smelled like the HYPONIC shampoo Yeji bought him by the bottle.
"Say bye to your mom," I told him, and held him up.
Her cat eyes went round and helpless. She took his face in both hands, put her nose to his, and gave him the voice she'd sooner die than let the public hear.
"You be good, okay? No attitude, and NO barking at the delivery guy," she scolded, trying to look tough, before going all goo-goo-ga-ga on him. "You're the most handsome boy in Korea, yes you are, I love you, be GOOD -"
That put me third most handsome boy in Korea, behind two poodles, holding the winner up to her face. She gave me a quick peck over the top of his head so I wouldn't feel left out.
"Don't give the whole day to the album," I said, kissing her back on the forehead. "He's only up from Jeonju another couple weeks. Come home early for once and spend it on the stuff that actually loves you back."
"I KNOW." She rolled her eyes, already folding, scratching Hongsam under the chin. "I'll be back by four. We'll take him to the river before people start showing up, and we still have to buy the food, you cannot throw a housewarming on what's in our fridge."
The old Yeji would've taken the late slot and called it discipline. This one had somewhere she'd rather be.
She kissed Hongsam, then kissed me, in that order, which I decided not to take personally, and disappeared through the door.
Except she was back twenty seconds later, the door opening just wide enough for her sheepish face. I'd already pulled her keys off the hook and tossed them at her before she could ask. She caught them without looking.
"Kill it at practice," I said.
"Always do," she grinned. And she was gone, the door clicking shut as the apartment fell quiet. Hongsam went tense in my arms, ears up, staring at the door she'd walked out of, already wriggling to get down and inspect the betrayal.
I put him down to let him get on with his investigation and started cleaning up the kitchen, which was a total war zone. Under the table, I found a sock.
It was hers. They're always hers. People walk into a place this messy and assume there's a messy girl living in it, but Yeji alphabetizes her supplements, and the only place her self-control fails is the ten seconds it takes her to get out of her clothes and onto me. Most nights she manages that the second the door shuts. The socks just go flying. By morning she's forgotten she ever had them on, so when a straggler turns up a day later she holds it up accusingly. I take the blame, because I'm the reason she can't remember undressing. So I pick them up, every morning, all of them, and keep my mouth shut. My reward, I guess, for being very competent at my job.
I find most of them, stuffed in a shoe or behind the books. The one I missed ended up in the fridge - I still don't know how a sock even gets in there - and Yeji found it and lost her mind, holding it out at me like I'd planted it to ruin her life. I took that on the chin too. Which is why, every morning since, I open the fridge to check.
Thankfully, no sock this time. Just the kimchi and last night's leftovers. I let the door swing shut and looked at the gallery of photos she'd stuck all over the front.
Hongsam was scratching at my shins again, done with the door and wanting up, so I hauled him into one arm and turned us both to face the fridge.
"Look," I told him. "That's your mom."
The beach one was held up under a magnet shaped like a tangerine, Yeji sitting between my legs on the sand with her back to my chest and my arms crossed over her, both of us gone soft and golden in the last of the light. She'd carried it in her wallet for three months before it earned a spot up here. She was smiling at the camera, except she'd been smiling at me a second before the shutter and a second after, and I was right there in the frame where I'd always been. I made myself look at it a while, because I'd had a dream once where I wasn't. Hongsam sniffed it and twisted to check the door again.
"Okay, ignore that one. See this one? That's the two of us in the water."
Somebody had caught it from the beach, the first time all day I'd put my arms around her like I meant it, salt at our waists and her leaning into me. You couldn't see our faces. You didn't need to. Hongsam gave it a single thump of his tail, maybe for the water, maybe for nothing.
The breakfast one Chaeryeong took without either of us noticing, Yeji's fingers on my wrist at the table, both of us laughing at some joke I can't even remember now. She'd stuck it dead center.
Hongsam yawned.
"That's your auntie Yuna." Yeji had shot that one herself, Yuna's hair braided down her back, caught mid-preen and pretending she wasn't. His head sank against my arm.
The bonfire one was bigger, printed out properly, the whole drunk lot of us crammed around the last fire in Jeju and yelling at a phone wedged in a soju bottle. I was in it. Took me five years to get into a group photo, and there I was, right in the middle, holding the girl and grinning like an idiot.
Hongsam had stopped looking by then.
He just wanted his mom, and paper photos couldn't help him with that. But I kept going anyway, down to the last one. It was a blurry back-row shot I'd taken of her at the Hulu show on a phone that couldn't handle the dark, just a small bright figure under the lights with a smear of motion where her arm came up. I never told her I took it. She'd found it on my laptop, stolen it, printed it, and stuck it on our fridge like a trophy.
By the time I finished, his eyes had gone to slits, and a second later he was asleep with his chin over my shoulder. I stood there in the messy kitchen, holding a sleeping dog in front of a fridge covered in photos, and held him for a while.
***
When my arm finally went dead I laid Hongsam in the warm dent he'd already claimed on the couch. Without her in it, the apartment felt strange, too quiet for the hour.
My phone buzzed.
Yeji: It's finally done!
Yeji: I wanted you to be the first to hear it 🖤
Yeji: Tell me what you actually think?
She'd guarded that song for weeks. I played it off the speaker she'd left running, and her voice filled the place, rough mix and all, flat in the corner where she'd run out of air.
"I don't need armor, or anything like that,"
Her spare keys were tangled with mine in the bowl by the door and her sneakers were dumped in the middle of the floor, three months of her scattered across an apartment that used to be half mine. This was a girl who once alphabetized her own fridge. My camera gear in the corner was the last thing in the place still only mine, and even that she borrowed.
In the kitchen a post-it in her blocky hand stuck to the fridge said WE NEED EGGS!!!, underlined twice. I laughed in the empty room, because we always needed eggs. Nobody alive went through eggs like a girl who couldn't cook one, and she'd never forgive me if she caught me finding it funny.
"Even invisible thorns are piercing me,"
I bent down and picked one of her hair ties up off the floor and put it in my pocket, the way I did most mornings, without a word.
"In the dark, I set off a new flame,"
The sun had come round to the front of the building, lying in long strips across the floor, her sneakers, the dog, the wall of photographs she'd hung and taped and wedged into every corner of the place.
"I bloom again proudly, as if you can see,"
I stopped at the window.
A tangerine seedling sat on the sill in a pot a few sizes too big for it, three months in the dirt and maybe four leaves tall, leaning furiously at the light.
Ryujin gave me the seeds. Our last morning in Jeju she caught me alone by the pool, took my hand, and tipped a few tangerine pips into my palm like they were illegal.
"She wanted to build a house in the mountains here once," she muttered. "Live here. Grow her own." She closed my fingers over the seeds. "You won't get it, and don't ask her about it. Just grow them, don't let them die." The bravado went out of her for a moment. "And she never finds out it came from me."
I didn't get it. I still mostly don't. But I planted them the week we signed the lease, and the stubborn little thing came up anyway, and every morning it leaned a bit further toward the window.
"I'm fine, no matter how much I'm hurt," "What doesn't kill me makes me stronger,"
Her protein powder crowded my coffee. Our toothbrushes shared one cup. Her skincare had my razor backed into the corner of the shelf. The bed was still wrecked from this morning, and the dishes she'd sworn she'd do were stacked in the sink, all the daily mess of two people living on top of each other.
"The hunnids scars on my heart, that's all me," "I have no regrets about my choice,"
I stood in the middle of all of it and let her tell me the thing she'd never once said to my face.
"Crown on my head," "The only thing that's on my mind, oh,"
The song ran out.
My phone buzzed again.
Yeji: Miss you already 🖤
Minho: you left 20 minutes ago
Yeji: So? Still miss you
Yeji: See you tonight 🖤
I texted her back that she was a menace and to bring home soju, which was the kind of thing we actually said to each other; then took two mugs down out of the cupboard, because by tonight there'd be two of us plus her ITZY family again, and there always would be now.
Months ago, the night I woke up out of the worst dream of my life, she'd said something in her sleep. Half-swallowed, gone before she knew it had left her, the first time in five years, and I'd lain there with my mouth open, sure I hadn't earned the right to say it back and never would.
I looked around at the keys and the sneakers and the sleeping dog and her tangerine reaching for the window.
"Yeah," I said, to the empty room, to the life we'd chosen, the life we'd built, the life we finally had.
"Love you too."
══════════════════════
Loving someone is to see them as they are,
Not as they are expected to be.
This story is dedicated to everyone learning to be seen for who they truly are - and to everyone learning to see the people they love without filters, expectations, or fear.
To everyone who's ever felt too much, needed too hard, or loved too deeply - while somehow still feeling like not enough - and to everyone learning that both were true all along.
And to everyone who picked this up expecting one thing and stayed for something else - thank you for seeing it as it was.
══════════════════════
JEJU HEAT
Brought to you by singaporefriednoodles
2024-2026
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Author's Note:
You may have noticed that Yeji's beloved cinnamon poodle Hongsam (whose name means Red Ginseng) appears in this epilogue.
You may also have heard that Hongsam recently sadly passed away.
The ending scene was rewritten to include him, loved and full of life, as a tribute to what he meant to Yeji and MIDZY.
RIP Hongsam (2017-2026)
P.S. DM me if you need help finding the post credits scene! And be sure leave a comment or send a message to leave your thoughts if this story and its characters resonated with you!
Absolutely incredible ending to something I didn't expect would get me hooked, I read the entire series at the time in 2 days and couldn't wait for whatever next chapter you were making. I actually became emotionally invested in the characters and held back a few choked tears near the end. Awesome work ❤️
For those of you who followed from the beginning and stayed to the end, my gratitude is endless. This project is, by far, the largest and most significant creative undertaking I've embarked on in my life, and honestly, I'm not sure if I'll ever do another like it.
I would love to hear your thoughts on the story and the characters! I have so many questions:
Besides the smut, what was the story REALLY about, to you? (It's so complex and multilayered that even I have a hard time pinning this down)
Which character arc resonated with you the most?
Did I deliver on the character arcs like I promised in the intro?
Which character(s) would you like/have liked to see more of?
Best pairings? Best smut scenes? Best chapters? Best comedy moments? Anything that was memorable to you!
Some of you may be wondering about my future plans. As of right now, I don't plan on doing any other stories or series. The story that became what is now Jeju Heat is heavily influenced by a mixture of both my own life and ITZY's career, mainly spanning the time frame between the Born To Be and Girls Will Be Girls era, and the way all the fiction and realities could be interwoven together to produce this biopic-style storyline was truly a lightning in a bottle endeavor. That being said, the in-story universe was the result of hundreds of hours of detailed ideation, planning, and research, and so if I were to add anything, ITZY or otherwise, it would mostly likely lie in the same canonical timeline!
The main story may be complete, but there is still lots of work to do. Many of the older chapters, which date back to over a year ago, need editing and rewrites (the story won't change). If you follow me on Fanprose, Karina's act (Act IV) has been remastered there. I also plan on finishing the BTS notes for the characters who don't yet have one: Chaeryeong, Lia and Karina.
But more than anything, I'm going to give myself a nice break. It took me everything to get this story over the finish line and right now, there's no bigger relief than to finally not have to think about it for the first time in... nearly two years? This story was genuinely the product of passion-turned-obsession, and if you've read it, you know that it exists as a horny, unhinged but deeply devoted love letter to ITZY, a group of girls who inspire me most through their career journey of sisterhood, survival and self-acceptance.
It is my wish that this story will stay with you for a long, long time, and perhaps, if you see these girls on stage, you will also remember what their fictional counterparts once survived in a villa on a little volcanic island called Jeju during the summer of 2024 and how they came out stronger on the other side.
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index | Read on Fanprose
Previous Chapter
A/N: Welcome to the finale.
A couple notes:
- You may recall me saying that there wouldn't be any more smut after posting 'Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade'. Well, I lied. Hope you brought tissues.
- This is the longest chapter of the series by quite a significant margin. It's basically 3 chapters/short stories rolled into one. I recommend breaking it up into multiple sessions.
- There is a secret post credits scene hidden in a link somewhere on the page. Good luck finding it! (If you find it, please don't spoil!)
[3 MONTHS LATER]
Three months is basically a lifetime in idol years. Whole comebacks happen in three months. People debut, blow up, get a scandal, apologize on camera, and come back wholesome.
So a lot can change. And a lot had.
To see it, you'd have to cross the sea to Osaka. From high enough up, the whole city is just a lit-up grid somebody spilled juice on, all that wet neon bleeding into the canal and the canal bleeding it right back. Osaka was doing what Osaka does, glowing like it was getting paid for every bulb.
And if you came down out of that, past the rooftop bars and the office windows nobody's turned off and the trains stitching the dark together, you'd hit a magical place called Dotonbori. The crowd down there thickens into one big slow animal that breathes takoyaki smoke and barely shuffles forward.
Down another floor into the noise, past the guy selling crab on a stick the size of a forearm, past the screens stacked high running soda commercials and idol faces. Past that Glico man frozen mid-victory-lap over the water like he'd been sprinting since 1935 and nobody had the heart to tell him to stop. Down into the wet electric crush of the street, where izakaya touts shout over the mechanical rattle of gachapon machines.
Cameras everywhere, phones up everywhere, a whole city built just to look at things and be looked at, neon designed to grab you by the eyeballs and not let go.
If you pushed right through the middle of it, slipping past the dizzying strobe of pachinko parlors and the curtained doorways of purikura booths, you'd hit the automatic doors of a Namba arcade. A place designed to assault every earthly sense on purpose. Track inward through the noise, past the rhythm-game players sweating over neon buttons - all the way to the back wall, into the sad blue glow of a UFO catcher.
You'd see an eighth wonder of the world, hiding in plain sight.
Hair dyed cherry red and spilling over bare shoulders. A tiny strapless black corset held shut by nothing but delusion and a criss-cross of laces down an open back, the cords spanning a gap of bare skin from her shoulder blades to the small of her spine, no bra anywhere in sight. It pushed what little she had up into a respectable line of cleavage, and a pair of detached black sleeves bunched at her wrists were the only concession to the fact that it was November in Osaka, since the rest of her was bare from collarbone to the denim sitting illegally low on her hips. You'd see a twenty-one-year-old dressed like an absolute slut, losing her mind over a plush bunny wedged against the glass.
Three months ago she'd been performing goddess on a Jeju pool deck, letting an off-limits man completely wreck her from the inside out, then sobbing into a duvet by next night's end because getting her pussy repeatedly filled to the brim hadn't managed to fill whatever hole she actually needed filled.
Tonight, she was just a girl who wanted the bunny.
"You're gonna break the glass," the boy next to her observed.
Her legs were planted wide, denim riding low enough to expose the twin dimples at the base of her spine, where the corset's laces criss-crossed down to a bow she'd never have been able to tie herself. With her forehead pressed to the glass, her back sloped into a deep curve, thrusting her hips back in a deep doggy-style arch that men enthusiastically paid soapland money for in Tobita Shinchi, a couple districts away, except she was doing it for free, at a claw machine, for a bunny. The boned corset gripped her waist so tightly it made the flare of her ass look even more absurdly round, though up top it sat a little loose on her skinny frame, the cups gaping forward every time she leaned in over the machine.
"I'm literally asking it nicely! It's SO different."
"I don't think it can hear you," he said, and then, quieter, mostly to himself, "though honestly I get why it'd want to help." He went a little red the second it was out, like he hadn't meant to say it where she could hear.
"It TOTALLY does." She pressed her forehead harder against the glass, her huge eyes locked on a pink bunny wedged between a knock-off Pikachu and a deformed cat. "Come on baby, come to mama."
He hovered by the next machine, hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. In a fuzzy white fleece over a white tee and black leather pants, he looked ridiculously soft, like a very expensive, very huggable sheep, and he'd been wearing that same shy, helpless grin since she'd dragged him in twenty minutes ago, like he couldn't believe his night was going like this and didn't want it to stop. "You've, um. You've spent like three thousand yen on this."
"That's literally an investment!" She fed another coin into the slot. "Like I'm SO close, I just need -"
"You said that four tries ago." He smiled at his shoes when he said it.
"Okay but this time I actually mean it!"
The claw descended - then grabbed at air. She let out a dramatic whine and smacked both hands flat against the glass, and across the aisle two girls at the photo booth leaned into each other, glanced over, and then looked very hard at their own photo strip instead.
"Maybe, um." He pushed off the machine, hesitating before deciding to put himself in the line of fire. "Maybe let me try?"
"No - wait, I totally have this -"
"Sunbaenim." He bumped his shoulder gently against hers, not quite meeting her eyes, and slid his own coins into the slot. "Just one go. If I lose you can leave me in Japan."
"Oh my gosh, STOP." She smacked his arm. "We've been over this. You can't call me sunbaenim while I'm losing my mind at a claw machine, it's so weird, I will actually -"
"Sorry. Sorry." He fought a grin. "Yuna-sunbae -"
"Woomin."
"...noona," he tried, going pink.
That one she let stand, mostly because of what it did to her stomach and her pussy, which was so rude of him. "Fine. Better." She stepped back, crossing her arms under her tits, squeezing them together and making the corset do heroic work. "But if you drop him, I'm literally leaving you in Japan."
She leaned over the machine to glare at the claw and caught his eyes drop, right down into the gap where the corset hung off her skinny ribs and showed him everything - her small tits swinging free, pale pink nipples already tight from the air conditioning. Then his gaze snapped back to her face, color crawling up his neck. This had been happening all night, every time she bent for a coin: he got the whole show and yanked his eyes away every time, like looking would be rude, like she was a person and not a thing to look at.
It was driving her insane. She found herself getting wet under the denim, which was literally insane because they were in a fucking arcade.
Three months ago she'd have taken that as a challenge and made it her life's mission to crack him. Would've leaned in close enough to make it a problem, found an excuse to touch his arm, made her eyes do that thing they did when she wanted someone to stop thinking clearly.
Tonight she just watched him line up the claw with a tiny, serious furrow between his eyebrows, utterly focused on winning her a cheap toy, and felt a fizzy flutter right between her legs.
***
This was the third time they'd hung out since an acting workshop back in September - JYPapi's idea, wrapped in three polite lies: "just for confidence," "just to broaden your range," "no pressure." There was maybe, possibly, allegedly an office-comedy role coming. Nobody said Park Shin-hye's name out loud, which meant everyone was thinking it. Woomin had been the guy who made her break character during the crying-on-cue exercise by whispering a joke right before her turn.
He'd had an audition in Tokyo yesterday, she'd had three days off, and Osaka was the middle point. She'd texted him "im in japan do u wanna hang??? or is that weird" and he'd replied "im in" within thirty seconds. She'd picked Osaka because she figured she'd be less recognizable here than in Seoul, which was delusional considering ITZY's Japan numbers, but she'd already decided, without consulting facts, that she was right. He'd happily gone along with it, which was either very sweet or very stupid.
Probably both, but, like, who cares?
***
The claw dropped, grabbed the bunny's ear, and lifted.
"Wait - WAIT -" Yuna's hands flew to her mouth.
The bunny swung, held, teetered, and finally dropped into the chute.
She shrieked loud enough to startle a knot of teenage boys two machines over, who'd been mangling a Taiko song for the last five minutes mostly as an excuse to keep half an eye on the redhead bent over the claw machine in the corset and the criminally low jeans, losing the beat every time she arched for a coin. One of them had gone still a while back, leaned into his friend's ear, mouthed something, and then very pointedly gone back to his drums. She was too busy lunging for the prize door and yanking the bunny out and clutching it to her chest like Woomin had handed her a Music Bank trophy instead of a ¥300 stuffed animal made of toxic fluff.
"NO WAY YOU DID IT!" She spun on him, eyes huge. "You literally just - how did you - WAIT!"
"Beginner's luck." He smiled, that shy, unguarded expression pushing the corners of his eyes up into tiny crescents.
She bounced on her toes, squishing the bunny against her corset, on the verge of exploding with ridiculous joy.
And he was looking at her like that was the best thing he'd seen all week.
"He's literally perfect," she gasped, holding the bunny up to examine it. "I'm naming him Osaka."
"Isn't that, um." He scratched the back of his neck. "A little basic?"
"Osaka-chan."
He ducked his head, laughing. "Still basic."
"You're just jealous because Osaka-chan is already literally obsessed with me." She hugged it tighter, grinning at him over the bunny's pink head. "You're literally the best! Like seriously, I was gonna be here all night."
She hooked two fingers into the hem of his fleece and tugged him in, just to see, and there it was - the pink climbing up his neck, his hand opening and closing at his side like it didn't have anywhere to go, the little half-step that wasn't away from her so much as into being basically useless about it. So cute. So freaking CUTE. She wanted to put him in her pocket next to the bunny.
"I know." He reached out, almost touching her fiery red hair, then seemed to think better of it, dropping his hand back to his side. "You had that look."
"Wait, what look?"
"Like you were ready to fight the machine."
"Okay, that's literally SO rude." She narrowed her eyes at him, then immediately ruined it. "Keep going though."
He looked down at his shoes, the tips of his ears going pink. "I just meant it's kind of cute. When you get like that."
A loud honking laugh burst out of her before she could stop it, the snorty ugly one she'd spent years trying to train out of herself for camera. She shoved his arm, gave up on training it, and knocked her forehead into his shoulder, still cackling. He went still, then relaxed, holding his ground while she stayed there, bunny squished between them, racing-game sound effects crashing around them.
Her phone buzzed in her back pocket.
Then again.
Then four more times in rapid succession.
"Oh no." She pulled it out. A wall of texts had piled up in the ITZY group DMs on Instagram, because she'd posted a story of the claw machine at some point and Ryujin had seen it and had opinions.
@iamfinethankyouandryu:is that a DATE 👀
@iamfinethankyouandryu:YUNA IS THAT A DATE
@chaerrry0:OMG WHO IS HE
@lia_loves___:cute bunny
@yezyizhere: Please tell me you're being safe. @iamfinethankyouandry:SAFE???? YEJI THINKS SHES GONNA FUCK HIM 😭
@chaerrry0:In an arcade?!?!? @iamfinethankyouandryu:you don't know what our maknae is capable of
@lia_loves___:she probably already did 💀
Yuna snorted, typing one-handed while Woomin pretended very hard not to be reading over her shoulder.
@igotyuandme: its LITERALLY just arcade games omg calm down
@igotyuandme: hes a friend 🐰
@iamfinethankyouandryu: a FRIEND
@lia_loves___: she said friend like that means something
@yezyizhere: Be good, ok?
@igotyuandme: im ALWAYS good unnie 😇
@iamfinethankyouandryu: thats the funniest thing youve ever typed 😭
She shoved her phone back in her pocket before they could spiral further. Then looked up at Woomin, who'd very obviously been watching her face light up at her phone and very obviously pretended he hadn't the second she caught him.
"Your members?"
"They're literally insane." She hugged Osaka-chan tighter. "Like they think every guy I talk to is automatically my future husband or whatever."
"Oh." He looked at the bunny instead of her. "Is that, um. Is that what they think I am?"
She bumped his shoulder with hers. "You're the guy who won me a bunny. That's literally WAY better than a husband. Like husbands don't win you stuffed animals, they just leave their socks everywhere and act surprised about it."
"That's, um. That's kinda specific? How do you know that?"
"Okay, so my unnie's boyfriend literally does it ALL the time and she loses her MIND about it, she found one in the actual fridge once and almost -"
She cut herself off.
Because the unnie she'd started describing, and her boyfriend and the socks, weren't really hers to make into a fun little arcade anecdote. Old Yuna would've told the whole story with sound effects. New Yuna apparently had standards now, which was honestly so inconvenient.
"Which unnie?" Woomin asked innocently.
"Hm? Oh. You know." She waved Osaka-chan in a vague circle.
"Don't like two or three of your members have boyfriends?" He started counting on his fingers, which was the worst possible thing he could be doing. "So is it the one who -"
"ALL of them," Yuna announced. "All my unnies. Every single boyfriend. Socks literally everywhere. It's an epidemic, it's so sad, you wouldn't get it."
He blinked at her.
"It's a generational thing," she added cheerfully.
"Right." He let it drop, mostly because she was so obviously talking out of her bubble butt that there was nothing to actually call out. "Noted."
They stood there for a second, arcade lights flashing pink and blue across her cherry-red hair, the machine behind them already eating someone else's coins. She looked down at the bunny, then back up at him.
"Wanna get out of here? There's a Uniqlo like two minutes away in Shinsaibashi, I checked, and I need a new top because I packed like a geoji, literally like a BEGGAR, it's so embarrassing."
"Uniqlo?" He blinked. "You want to go to Uniqlo. You."
"What, I can't do fast fashion? I'm literally SO relatable now."
"I, um." He rubbed the back of his neck, fighting a smile. "I saw what you wore to set last week. I didn't think you owned anything that wasn't, like. A whole outfit."
She gasped, clutching Osaka-chan to her chest. "Seriously?! I'm SO down-to-earth!"
"You wore Prada to a convenience store."
"It was CASUAL Prada!"
That got him this time, a surprised chuckle leaking out, his hand coming up too late to cover it. She decided on the spot that she wanted to hear it again, like, a lot, and was already walking backward toward the exit, bunny in one hand and his sleeve in the other, towing him along because she'd decided they were leaving and reality just needed to catch up.
She tucked Osaka-chan under her arm, Woomin half a step behind her. If her pulse was hammering a frantic pop-beat against the boning of her corset, she'd survive. This was just hanging out. With a boy who made her laugh and wouldn't look at her tits even when she made it easy, who won her a stuffed bunny and made being twenty-one and chaotic feel like enough.
The problem was, feelings that big had nowhere to go except the group chat. She had her phone out before she'd realized, thumbs already moving in their puppy-printed case while Woomin studied the recycling bins by the wall like the labels for PET bottles versus burnable trash were the most fascinating thing he'd seen all night.
@igotyuandme: GUYS 🐰🐰🐰
@igotyuandme: ok i KNOW i said it was just arcade games
@igotyuandme: but he won me the bunny i CANT. with the claw. EIGHTH try he would not give up @igotyuandme: like?? boys can do that?? just be CUTE??
@igotyuandme: ALSO we've been hanging out like 3 hrs and he hasnt looked at my boobs once
@igotyuandme:not ONCE
@igotyuandme: is he ok?? is something wrong w him?? 😭
@chaerrry0: YUNA HE LIKES YOU FOR YOU
@chaerrry0: IM GONNA CRY 🦊
@iamfinethankyouandryu: ^ this is the most baby thing shes ever said
@iamfinethankyouandryu: "boys can be cute" bitch last month you sent me a guys nudes and rated his dick out of 10 💀
@igotyuandme: UNNIE YOU LITERALLY TAUGHT ME HOW TO DO THAT
@iamfinethankyouandryu: someone had to after yeji went domestic on us
@iamfinethankyouandryu: needed a new project 🐱
@yezyizhere: ...
@igotyuandme: IM NOT A PROJECT 😭 IM ON A WHOLESOME DATE
@chaerrry0: SHES IN LOVE LEAVE HER ALONE
@lia_loves___: wait who taught her boys could be nice. was it not us
@yezyizhere: Proud of you 🖤
@yezyizhere: If you're going to sleep with him tonight, be safe
@igotyuandme: UNNIE?????? 🙈
@yezyizhere: I'm not judging, just send me and manager-nim the hotel name
@iamfinethankyouandryu: the mom has spoken 🐱
@igotyuandme: 😭😭😭
@yezyizhere: Have fun. Call me if he's weird 🖤
She shoved the phone away before they could spiral, grinning so hard her face hurt.
***
Outside, Dotonbori swallowed them back into its neon current. The Glico man still running his eternal race overhead. Crowds thick enough that nobody was looking at faces, just trying not to get trampled. A girl by the railing lifted her phone as Yuna passed, held it for a second, then lowered it again and went back to her boyfriend like it was none of her business.
Perfect.
She was just towing him through the crush, pulse going crazy, when she saw it glowing pink between a drugstore and a shuttered ramen place: a Life4Cuts, the four-cut booth that lived in every subway station back home in Seoul, somehow transplanted whole into the middle of Osaka.
"OH." She stopped so fast Woomin walked into her shoulder. "Oh my gosh! Come ON."
"Wait, what are we -"
She was already shoving him through the curtain.
These were always tiny, built for one, so one giant skinny girl plus a fully grown boy meant she ended up half on the bench with his hip jammed against hers and nowhere to put her elbow except his thigh. The back of his neck went the pink of the booth light. She was going to be smug about that later.
"Pick a frame," she said, smacking the screen. "Pick a - okay I'll do the frame, you hit the - no, the big green - the START -"
"I'm TRYING -" He poked the touchscreen with one careful finger, except the whole ugly UI was in Japanese neither of them could really read, and the menu lurched somewhere it shouldn't have, flipping to a grid of glossy idol headshots under a banner in English, which wasn't actually more helpful.
"Tay-kuh... photo... wit... yuh-oh bias?" Yuna read off the banner slowly, frowning, mouthing it twice more before it made sense. "Oh. OH! Take a photo with your bias. It's a K-pop one!"
A cheerful chime sounded, then a doll-face dropped into the corner of the preview, soft-focus, airbrushed into next week, posing next to her like they were besties.
It was her, Shin Yuna, ITZY's beloved maknae and visual.
"NO WAY!" She leaned into frame next to herself and giggled. Idol-Yuna beamed back in full stage makeup, cheekbones lit by some studio across the sea, like that one fancam-screenshot face people captioned with thirst emojis. The Yuna actually sitting there had sex hair that didn't come from sex and a stuffed rabbit in her lap. "It's ME! Woomin, it's ME, I'm photobombing myself, this is the best night of my LIFE - okay wait wait wait, serious question -"
She twisted to look at him, which in here resulted in her nose almost hitting his. He stopped breathing.
"Which one's prettier?!" She jabbed a finger at the screen, then at her own cheek, then back. "Idol me, or me me! And you HAVE to answer, no skipping!"
Up in the corner a tinny speaker was leaking the collab playlist, her own breathy lyrics threading through it, you're what I want and I'm not shy, and she bopped her head to it without once even realizing it was her.
His eyes flicked from the screen to her and back to the screen, and his mouth opened around an answer that never came while the pink climbed past his ears.
"That one's - I mean she's - " He waved a hand at idol-Yuna. "That's a really good photo of you?"
"WORST. ANSWER."
"No - wait -"
She planted both fists on her hips and stuck her bottom lip out, which in a box this size mostly meant jamming an elbow into the wall, and gave him the full pout. "You think the FACETUNE is hotter than the real thing?!"
"I didn't say hotter, I said good photo, the real one's - you're -" He ran out of road and just looked at her, ears gone full scarlet, and whatever his face was doing killed the joke right in her mouth.
She turned back and tapped idol-Yuna off the screen.
"Yeah, like, what do we even need fake-ass me for?" She flicked at the little X like it was a bug. "Got the real one right here."
The preview cleared, leaving her and him and the bunny, squished into a glowing pink box in the middle of Osaka.
"Okay, okay, for real this time! Hold him up!" She wedged Osaka-chan up between their faces, a paw in each of their hands. "On three we kiss the baby, ready? One - two -"
They both ducked in and kissed the bunny at the same time, her on one fuzzy cheek, him on the other, close enough over its silly pink head that she felt the warmth coming off his face.
The flash went off and caught all of it.
The rabbit, the two of them folded around it, his eyes cutting up to her at the wrong moment.
The screen flipped to the decorating part, the four shots lined up with a drawing pad and a tray of stickers, and she pounced. She scrawled 오사카 ♡ across the top in lurid pink, stuck a tiny crown on Osaka-chan, then slapped a sparkly heart over Woomin's startled face in the last frame before he could stop her, cackling while he went "hey - HEY -" and fumbled for the stylus too late.
The machine spat the strip out. She snatched it before it finished drying and flapped it in the air to set the ink, and Woomin leaned over her shoulder to see and then just kept hovering, breath on her jaw, and there was suddenly no air left in the box.
"You're -" he started, and didn't finish, and turned his head and kissed her cheek instead, so fast and so soft that her brain only caught up after he'd already pulled back with his whole face on fire.
Her stomach dropped through the floor of the booth.
"Okay," she said, strangled, jamming the strip into her back pocket and grabbing his hand because if she sat in this box one more second she was going to do something unhinged. "Okay we're going. Uniqlo. Right now. Up. Come on -"
Out on the street she had her phone out again one-handed, the other hand still locked around his, thumb flying.
@igotyuandme: GUYS
@igotyuandme: HE KISSED MY CHEEK 😭😭😭😭🐰
@igotyuandme: in the photo booth
@igotyuandme: ON THE CHEEK
@igotyuandme: like a little gentleman?? im DECEASED
@igotyuandme: anyway we're going to uniqlo now
@igotyuandme: to get me a top like NORMAL ppl do
@igotyuandme: soo wholesome. nothing weird. 🐰
@chaerrry0: A GENTLEMAN!!!
@chaerrry0: 🥹🥹🥹
@chaerrry0: IM SCREAMING he likes you SO much
@iamfinethankyouandryu: lmao youre so getting railed tonight
@igotyuandme: WHAT
@igotyuandme: unnie NO. STOP
@igotyuandme: its not even like that omg
@igotyuandme: hes SHY he won't even look at my boobs 🙈
@iamfinethankyouandryu: maknae you showed us your spreadsheet on that island
@iamfinethankyouandryu: the quiet shy ones are ALWAYS the freaks
@iamfinethankyouandryu: ask chaeryeong lmaooo
@chaerrry0: RYUJIN
@chaerrry0: WHY would you say that
@chaerrry0: thats PRIVATE 😳
@iamfinethankyouandryu: so you dont deny it
@chaerrry0: BYE
@lia_loves___: "just getting a top"
@lia_loves___: ok
@lia_loves___: send pics. of the top. and i dont mean u so make sure ur not naked
@igotyuandme: IM NOT
@igotyuandme: ok gtg we're HERE
@igotyuandme: bye love you all DON'T be weird 🐰
@yezyizhere: Yuna please don't blow him in the changing room. If you get caught it will be a whole thing. Save it for the hotel 🖤
She locked the phone and shoved it in her back pocket before the last message finished loading, so she never saw it.
***
Uniqlo late on a Friday was less a store than an LED-lit obstacle course, the white glare making the racks look sharp and endless, twice as much inventory crammed into half the space Seoul would've used. Which meant Yuna kept bumping into Woomin every time she turned around to check another shirt.
The fourth time her elbow hit his ribs, she caught him smiling about it.
"What?"
"Nothing." He stepped back half a step, hands in his jacket pockets. "You're just. You shop like you're being timed."
"I AM being timed, we close in like - " She checked her phone. "Less than half an hour. That's literally nothing."
"Most people would've picked something by now."
"Most people have bad taste." She held up a plain cream scoop-neck with long sleeves, considered it, then immediately put it back. "See? Bad taste. I almost fell for it."
"It looked fine?"
"It looked like a hagwon seonsaengnim, Woomin. I'd disappear. I'd become invisible and die." She moved down the rack, fingers skating over cotton and polyester. "I need something cute but not trying-too-hard cute, you know? Like effortlessly cute."
"You're putting a lot of effort into effortless."
She shot him a look over her shoulder, caught him grinning at his own joke, and had to fight down a smile. "You're SO annoying."
"Sorry."
"No you're not."
"No, I'm not."
She pulled another top off the rack, this one a white off-shoulder crop, frilled puff sleeves and a smocked ruffle bodice with a little cutout at the waist, a soft girly thing that needed a strapless something under it or nothing at all. Which was the whole problem she was trying to solve, considering the corset was actively trying to strangle her and her tits had been making a break for it all night. She held it up against herself, glanced down, then looked at Woomin. "Thoughts?"
His eyes dropped to the shirt, then immediately bounced back up to her face. "It's, um. It's nice?"
"WOW. Truly, your enthusiasm is overwhelming."
"No, I mean - " He rubbed the back of his neck, ears going pink. "I think it'll look good. On you. The color's good."
She squinted at him, then at the shirt, then back at him. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, which meant he was telling the truth and dying about it, and she felt a stupid flutter of victory in her chest.
"Okay." She tucked it over her arm. "I'm trying this on. You - " She pointed at him, then at a bench near the dressing rooms. "Sit there. Don't leave. If I come out and you're gone, I'm stealing Osaka-chan back."
"He's in my jacket."
"I WILL FIGHT YOU."
She didn't wait for an answer, just spun toward the dressing rooms before he could see her grinning like an idiot.
The changing room was the same deal as the rest of the store, efficient to the point of being punishing, a little box with a mirror and a curtain and just enough space to prove the concept of claustrophobia. She hung the white frilly top on the hook and yanked the curtain shut, then reached back to undo the corset.
The knot didn't budge.
She tried again, fingers scrabbling at the ribbon she'd tied way too tight hours ago in the Airbnb because it had looked good and she hadn't thought past that. Her two-inch acrylic nails, excellent as heat-resistant tongs to steal her unnies' cooking straight out of the pan but not so great for untying the sluttiest top in her closet, caught on nothing. The bow had welded itself into a tiny fabric rock at the small of her back, and her long arms weren't built for this kind of flexibility.
"Oh, come ON."
She yanked harder.
Nothing.
Wriggled her shoulders, tried to shimmy the whole thing up over her head. The boning bit down on her ribs harder than any of the dozens of guys who'd ever bent her over and gripped her hips from behind.
"You've gotta be kidding me."
She stood there for a second, still strapped into the corset, breathing hard, glaring at her reflection. Hair wrecked, face flushed, looking nothing like the goddess she'd walked in as. So NOT the vibe.
And Woomin was sitting just outside on a bench, probably scrolling his phone, having no idea she was in here losing a fight to her own clothes.
She could just... ask him for help.
Which was mortifying, because grown women handled their own stuff. She'd gotten herself off in an airplane bathroom a few months ago at thirty thousand feet with nothing but turbulence and her imagination; she could undo one dumb bow. A REAL woman didn't need rescuing from her own corset.
But also the corset was STUCK and she was running out of options and the store was about to close.
She cracked the curtain open and stuck her head out. Woomin glanced up from his phone, eyebrows lifting.
"So, um." She kept the curtain bunched at her side, the corset still clamped around her chest. "Don't freak out, but I need help."
He sat up straighter. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, the knot's just - it's stuck. I can't get it undone."
His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "You... want me to -"
"I mean unless you want me to ask the staff?" She peeked over her shoulder at the register, where a teenage girl with highlights was stacking merchandise and SO not paying attention to the dressing rooms. "Because I can, but like, that's weird, right? That feels weirder. You're already here."
"I - um. Yeah. Okay." He stood, pocketing his phone, then just stood there looking at the curtain like it might bite him.
"Literally just a knot, Woomin, I'm not asking you to do anything crazy."
"Right. Yeah. Just a knot."
He stepped up to the open curtain and stayed right outside, the two of them facing into the cubicle toward the mirror. He kept his hands up like he was being arrested, locking his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder.
She turned her back to him, gathering her hair up with both hands and twisting it into a ponytail to get it out of the way. The corset gaped open at the top, boning loose against her ribs, the ribbon knotted tight at the small of her back. "It's right there, you just have to - I don't know, pull it or something, I literally can't reach."
"Okay. Okay, I can - " His fingers brushed the knot, feather-light, fumbling at the ribbon. "I think I've got it, just hold on -"
She held still, arms aching from holding her hair up, feeling his breath on the back of her neck. This close, she could smell him, and the curtain was so thin the white glow washed right through it and threw his shadow huge across the wall.
"Is it -"
"Almost, just - wait, I think I -"
There was a tug. Then another. The knot loosened, and she felt the tension in the ribbon give, the corset going slack.
"Oh, you got it! Wait, is it -"
His knuckles grazed the bare skin of her lower back.
He sucked in a sharp breath and snatched his hand back, and the ribbon came with it - the whole bow and the long trailing ends she'd spent all morning threading through the eyelets, all of it ripping free in one go. The corset dropped, boning clattering against itself, cups falling away, and she was still holding her hair up with both hands when the cool air hit her bare tits.
"Oh - "
"Shit - "
Behind Woomin, out in the aisle, a balding, sweaty pachinko uncle in a faded track suit stopped dead with a women's AIRism hoodie in his hands. A plastic convenience store bag crinkled against his leg, a Strong Zero can clinking inside it, as he let out a low, breathy "Egui na..." while staring straight past Woomin's shoulder at her bare tits with Strong Zero shame.
"SSIBAL!" She grabbed Woomin by the front of his fleece and hauled him inside, yanking the curtain shut so hard the rings rattled.
The corset skidded across the floor, sliding toward the gap under the swinging curtain, out toward the ogler's feet. Woomin, who'd fumbled every single thing all night, dropped and snatched it off the tiles a breath before the curtain sealed shut. The one clean move he'd managed all day.
He straightened up clutching the corset, looking like he'd surprised himself.
She shoved him back against the mirror, both of them breathing hard. The dressing room was the size of a closet and he took up half of it, back pressed to the glass, eyes screwed shut, face gone red as tteokbokki.
"Are you -" she started, then looked down and remembered she was topless. Tits fully out, the corset balled up in Woomin's white-knuckled grip.
"Oh."
Woomin's eyes were still closed, but his jaw kept working like he was chewing on something he couldn't swallow, and his free hand pressed flat against the mirror like he didn't trust it anywhere else. "I'm - I didn't mean to - I'm so sorry, I didn't see anything, I swear -"
"You didn't see anything?"
"I mean - I saw - but I'm not looking, I just -"
"You're looking right now."
His eyes flew open, met hers for half a second, dropped straight to her tits, and then snapped up so fast she heard his neck crack. "I mean - sorry - I -"
He whipped around to face the mirror, forehead pressed to the glass, shoulders up around his ears.
Watching him fight that hard to give her privacy went straight to her pussy. His whole body locked up against the glass, and he breathed out a strangled "aish" through his teeth.
She'd spent three months working very hard on not being that girl anymore. The one who treated boys like a game she was good at. Who could flip a switch and turn into someone she wasn't, just because it was easy and it worked and it felt good to be wanted even if it didn't mean anything.
New Yuna was wholesome. New Yuna went on dates to arcades and photo booths. New Yuna let boys win her stuffed animals and kiss her cheek and never once checked to see if they were hard.
Old Yuna dropped the shirt.
***
She lowered her arm from across her tits. Woomin was still facing the mirror, breath fogging the glass, looking like he'd give anything to be somewhere else.
"Hey."
He didn't turn around. "I can - I'll just wait outside, you can get dressed, I won't -"
"Woomin."
"I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to mess it up, I just -"
She stepped up behind him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his back through the fleece, and put one hand flat on the mirror next to his head. Her tits brushed his shoulder blade. He went completely still.
"Turn around."
"I don't think that's -"
"Please?"
He turned around slowly. His eyes stayed fixed on her face for approximately two seconds, dropped to her tits, and then flew back up with his ears gone crimson.
She slapped her arm across her chest. "HEY!"
"Sorry! Sorry - you TOLD me to look - I mean turn around - I wasn't trying to -"
His gaze pinged back to the ceiling, the curtain, the hook on the wall, anywhere but her, and she watched him cycle through multiple stages of panic in the span of a breath, like he'd never been this close to a half-naked girl in his life and didn't have a script for what came next.
He looked so cute she could've died.
She lowered her arm slowly, making very sure to drag it out, while watching his face the whole way.
His eyes caught the movement and dropped, following her arm down, and when it fell to her side and left her tits bare his breath stopped in his throat.
"I -" he tried.
She stepped closer, backing him up until his shoulders hit the mirror. The dressing room was so small her jeans brushed his leather pants, her bare tits a breath away from the white fleece hanging open over his chest. His chest rose and fell fast, his hands still pressed flat against the glass on either side of his hips like he didn't trust them.
"You kissed me earlier," she said sweetly.
"I - that was just - your cheek -"
She reached up and touched his face, fingers light on his jaw, tipping his chin down so he had to look at her. Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, exactly where he'd kissed hers, soft and quick and chaste.
"There." She pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes, her hand still on his face. "Now we're even."
"Noona -" He choked out. "Yuna - your -"
"My what?"
"You're -" He swallowed hard, gaze dropping again before snapping back up. "You're not wearing -"
"Oh." She glanced down, like she'd only just noticed. Her tits were right there, small and pale and soft, nipples already tight from the air conditioning and the way he was looking at her and the absolutely insane thing she was doing right now. "Oh my, you're so right."
She looked back up at him through her lashes, biting her bottom lip, letting her eyes go half-lidded and sultry. This part she knew. This part she'd done a hundred times. Make them want it. Make them think it's their idea.
Except when she tried to hold the look, the memory of lying in her sad-pink bedroom in Jeju with her hand between her legs came back. Her listening through the thin wall while Yeji said her tits looked flat and Minho answered they're perfect, you're perfect, his voice bleeding through the plaster. Yeji had laughed, the sound bright and real, like sex could be funny and desperate at once. And Yuna had frozen in the dark thinking nobody's ever looked at me like that, mine are too small, I'm just something they grade, second to Wonyoung, nice to look at.
"So." She tried to make it come out breathy and sultry but it caught in her throat. Her arms twitched up halfway before she forced them back down to her sides. "What do you think?"
Woomin stared at her. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"I mean - " She glanced down at herself, then tried to look back up at him but her eyes slid to the curtain instead. Her fingers twisted at the rings on her other hand. "I know they're not... like, they're pretty small. I always thought they were too -"
"They're not - " He shook his head, still staring. "They're not too small. They're - " His hands twitched at his sides like he wanted to touch them. "I think they're really pretty."
It came out strangled, his eyes locked on hers, and her nipples pulled tight, a hot flush spilling down her throat.
She'd been waiting three whole months for someone to say that about her tits without sounding like they were grading her, and here it was, fumbled out by a boy too nervous to lie.
Whatever sultry thing she'd been holding on her face just dissolved.
Her whole face cracked into that oh-my-god-he-MEANS-it grin, giddy and delighted, like the one she gave Ryujin while she stole food off her plate or Chaeryeong every time she drunkenly revealed too much about her sex life with Sunwoo.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He echoed, firmer this time, and his gaze dropped back to her tits like he couldn't help it. "I mean - yeah. They're - " He made a frustrated noise. "You're perfect."
The grin got wider. She could feel it stretching her cheeks, ruining whatever sexy thing she'd been trying to do. "Okay."
"Okay?"
She bit down on the smile, pulled the sultry look back on, easing back into her practiced rhythm. "Do you wanna touch them?"
His breath hitched.
She took his hand off the mirror, slow and careful, and guided it up to her chest. His palm was warm and a little - actually no, ridiculously - sweaty. She pressed it flat over her left tit, feeling her nipple dig into the center of his palm.
"Oh," he breathed.
"See?" She kept her hand over his, holding it there. "Not that scary. My unnie's like, WAY scarier. She makes boys cry. Boys like you especially. Like every single hookup ends with someone crying like a baby and calling her mommy, it's kind of her whole thing -"
"Wait, which unnie -"
"And she doesn't even feel bad about it, she's like, do I LOOK like your mommy, which is honestly so much worse if you think about -"
"Yuna, you keep saying -" He was doing the counting thing on his free hand again. "Okay but the boyfriends are off the list, so the hookup one would have to be -"
"What? No. NOBODY." She pressed his palm flat against her tit before he could get any further. "It's a group thing. We all make boys cry. It's in the contract. Anyway -"
He made a choked sound that might've been a laugh, and then his thumb moved, brushing over her nipple, and she gasped. He froze.
"Don't stop -"
His other hand came up, cupping her right tit, and then he was touching her for real, both palms warm and careful, thumbs circling her nipples until they went painfully hard. She pressed closer, her chest pushing into his hands, and let out a soft whimper that came out needier than intended.
"Is this - is this okay?"
"More than okay," she moaned, arching into his touch. "Keep going."
He got bolder, rolling her nipples between his fingers, gentle at first and then harder when she moaned. Her jeans were suddenly way too tight. She pressed her thighs together and felt herself soaking right through her panties.
She stepped closer, closing the remaining space between them, her hips brushing his. He was only half a head taller - she'd forgotten how tall she was, how at her height she could look most boys almost in the eye - and when her stomach pressed against his she felt it immediately.
The hard line of his cock straining against his leather pants, pressing right into her hip.
She rolled her hips forward, grinding against it, and he made a wrecked noise into her hair.
"Noona -"
"I can feel that," she whispered against his jaw. "You're so hard."
"I - I'm sorry, I didn't mean -"
"Don't be sorry." She pulled back just enough to look at him, then let her gaze drag down his body, catching on the obvious bulge tenting his pants. Her tongue darted out to wet her bottom lip. "Kinda hot, honestly."
His cock twitched against her hip.
She hooked two fingers into his waistband, tugging him forward, and then sank slowly to her knees. The floor was cold and probably filthy, but she was too fucking horny to care.
"What are you -"
"What do we have here?" She trailed one finger down the front of his pants, tracing the shape of him, root to tip. He shuddered. She popped the button on his leather pants, taking her time with it, watching his face while she slowly pulled the zipper down.
The bulge in his boxers was obscene, straining against thin black cotton, a dark wet spot already blooming where the tip pushed against the fabric. She licked her lips.
"Yuna, you don't have to -"
"I want to, like, so bad." She hooked her fingers into his waistband and tugged. His pants stuck to his thighs, leather clinging, and she had to peel them down painfully slow. His cock was still trapped in his boxers, tenting the fabric, and when she finally got the pants low enough it sprang free so fast it smacked her right in the face.
She reared back with a yelp, one hand flying to her eye. "OW!"
"Shit - are you okay?!"
"I'm FINE - " She was laughing, one eye watering, the other squinted shut. "Oh my gosh, that literally HIT me."
"I'm so sorry - "
"No, it's okay, it's just - " She dissolved into giggles, shoulders shaking. "I like pink, but not pink EYE, you know? I got that once and had to wear an eyepatch to a fansign, it was SO embarrassing, the fans thought I was doing like a pirate concept or something - "
"Wait, you've had that happen before?"
She froze.
His eyebrows were up, confused and maybe a little awed, and she'd just fully told on herself without meaning to.
"I mean - once or twice -" She felt her cheeks heat. "Not like, a lot or anything, just -"
"How many times have you -"
"Not that many!" she said too quickly, waving her hands defensively. She forced herself to take a slow breath, tipping her chin up to look at him through her lashes. "Just like. A few. Barely worth mentioning. Basically a virgin, honestly."
He was giving her a look.
"What?"
"You literally just said you got pink eye from -"
"ANYWAY." She wrapped one hand around the base of his cock, cutting him off, and he choked on whatever he'd been about to say.
She looked at it properly for the first time. He was hard, flushed pink at the tip, not as thick as Minho-oppa but smoother, twitching against her fingers with this eager little jump that made him look sweet and doomed at once.
She pushed him gently back against the mirror and took him in her mouth, hollowing her cheeks, sucking him down until he hit the back of her throat. His knees buckled. She pulled off with an obscene pop, then took him deep again, bobbing her head, working every trick she'd weaponized on a pool deck in Jeju three months ago - the twist of her wrist at the base, the flutter of her tongue along the vein on the underside, the hum in her throat, the way she let spit pool and drip down his shaft to make it filthy and wet. He groaned, one hand flying up to brace against the mirror, and vicious pride bloomed in her chest.
And then his cock softened in her mouth.
She froze, pulling off so she could stare down at it.
It was wilting, going from hard to half-mast before you could finish saying Yuna is angry, and when she looked up at him his face was bright red.
"I - I'm sorry, I don't know why - I'm just -"
"Wait, are you like, nervous?"
"Maybe? I just - this is a LOT, and -"
She frowned, feigning offense. "Are you saying I'm like, bad at this?"
"NO! No, you're amazing, I just -"
"Mm." She wrapped her hand around the base, giving it a slow pump while her tongue swept across her bottom lip. Her eyes flicked up to his face. "Don't worry, okay? I've literally got the perfect trick for this."
She dragged her tongue up his length from base to tip, keeping the stroke unbearably slow and dripping wet. She reached the head, looked up to lock eyes with him, and planted a soft kiss right on the tip.
Then she whispered, "No Hussey, no life."
His cock sprang back to life so fast it nearly hit her in the face again.
"Aigoo - " He slumped back against the mirror, mouth open, eyes blown wide. "What - where did you - how do you even -"
"Oh, my unnie taught me that." She pumped him slow and steady, eyes flicking up all innocent while pre-cum beaded at the tip. "Works really well on her boyfriend, apparently. She said she learned it from Sana sunbaenim."
"Which unnie?"
"Hm?"
"You said - " He was breathing hard, hips twitching up into her fist. "Which unnie, you have like four -"
"All of them." She leaned in and took him deep again, just long enough to make his knees buckle, then pulled off with an obscene pop. "It's a generational thing."
"That doesn't make any -"
"ANYWAY." She stood up, fingers already working at the button on her jeans. "Maybe I've done this a few times, but like - barely. I'm basically -"
"A virgin?"
"I didn't say THAT." She glared at him, scandalized. "Don't put words in my mouth. I need it for your dick."
"You just had it in there -"
"Shut up and look cute."
She shimmied her jeans and panties down together, got them past her hips, then stopped caring halfway through. The denim bunched around one calf, her panties twisted with it, and she left the whole mess tangled around one leg because Woomin was staring, mouth open, eyes wide and stupid. Her pussy was on full display, smooth and bare, pale pink and glistening wet, lips swollen and slick; she'd soaked right through her panties, the gusset dark and ruined where it clung to the denim at her ankle.
"Wow," he breathed, reaching out, stopping, looking up at her for permission like the world's shyest pervert.
"Go ahead, like - go ahead," she whispered, and his fingers brushed her inner thigh, then higher, sliding through her slick folds carefully enough to make her gasp much too loudly. The curtain swayed. They both froze, stared at the gap, then at each other, and Yuna pressed her lips together, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Okay, like, quiet. We are being SO quiet."
"That was you."
"Don't even start." She pushed his hand back between her legs, because apparently public humiliation hadn't fixed a single thing about her. His fingertips came away wet, his whole face going red, and she backed him toward the little bench with her pussy throbbing and her jeans strangling one ankle. "So your fault."
He sat when the bench hit the back of his knees, still staring between her thighs. "Noona, have you done this before?"
"Me? Like, barely." She swung one knee over his lap, fighting the denim still strangling her other leg. "A totally normal amount. A respectable, girl-next-door amount. I'm basically a nun, I don't know what you've heard." He glanced down at the soaked panties twisted around her calf, evidence she hadn't thought this lie through, and she pinched his chin back up before he could build a case. "Eyes up here, detective, that's not for you yet. What about you, hm? Bet you've been thinking about your noona for a while."
"Yeah. Just, um. Never in public?"
"Oh my gosh, same." The lie came out bright and shameless, because Jeju was ancient history and therefore didn't count as public if she decided it didn't. "First time for everything, right? Cute answer."
She reached down between them and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He flinched so hard his shoulders hit the mirror, an apology already starting, but she softened for the half-second it took to say, "Help me." His hand came down over hers, warm and shaking, and together they guided him forward, her slick coating the head as it slipped through her folds. His fingers tightened over hers when the tip caught at her entrance.
"Ready?"
"Yes. Yeah. I - yes."
She sank down slowly with both of their hands wrapped around him. The head stretched her first, thick enough to pull a sharp breath through her teeth, and then the shaft slid deeper, dragging through all that wet heat until her pussy had him gripped tight. Her thighs shook, one leg trapped by denim and the other braced on the bench, and when she finally sat flush in his lap his balls pressed slick against her ass.
"Oh - " Her head dropped, mouth falling open against his shoulder. "Oh my gosh, you're so deep, that's -"
"Are you okay?"
"So okay, so okay, don't move - " She rolled her hips, grinding her clit against his stomach, and slapped one hand over her own mouth when a moan tried to escape. "Mm - quiet. We gotta be quiet. Hands, Woomin. On me."
His hands hovered, then touched her waist like she might bruise from fingerprints. She grabbed his wrists and planted his palms hard on her bare hips. "No, like - HOLD me, my jeans are literally strangling my ankle, if I eat it in a Uniqlo I'm gonna die and it'll be YOUR fault."
"Like this?"
"Yes! Good. So good."
She started to move, dragging herself up his cock with a slick pull, then sinking back down until her wet lips met his base. The bench creaked under them; they froze, somewhere outside a hanger clicked against a rack, and Yuna leaned forward with her mouth brushing his ear. "If we get caught, I'm blaming you. Your dick started it."
"I don't think that's -"
She cut him off by grinding down, and whatever he was saying broke into a strangled little sound. "Shh, you're like, so loud."
"You're doing that on purpose."
"Doing what?" She blinked at him, wide-eyed, while her hips rolled with expert coordination. "I'm new, like - I don't know things."
He stared at her. She smiled sweetly and bounced once, slow and deep, wet skin slapping loud enough to make both of them wince. "Good boy."
His cock twitched inside her, and the smile slipped right off her face. "Oh. Oh my gosh, okay, you like that."
He could only manage a stuttering nod, and she laughed under her breath, clapping her hand over her mouth before the laugh turned into another moan. Her other hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit with quick, messy strokes. Woomin looked down and his eyes glazed over, because two slick fingertips were circling way too fucking fast and practiced for the innocent act while her hips kept pumping around him.
"Noona," he whispered, stunned.
"Don't say anything, okay?" She kept her palm over her mouth as he tried to thrust up and missed the rhythm, bumping awkwardly under her. "Wait - like this. When I go down, you go up. Match me. And don't make that face."
"What face?"
"The face that says you're about to ask where I learned that."
She clenched around him on purpose, and his mouth snapped shut. "Great, totally learning."
He tried again, thrusting up as she sank down, and this time he caught it. His cock drove in deeper, rubbing her just right, and her eyes fluttered before she could stop them. "There - oh my gosh, right there - yes, yes, don't you dare stop -"
Fortunately for him, he didn't. The awkwardness burned off fast once he had the rhythm, his hands tightening on her hips, pulling her down as he pushed up. Her trapped jeans tugged at one ankle every time she lifted, making each bounce short and hard, her wet pussy pumping down his shaft in slick, noisy strokes while her tits jumped under the LED glare and her arm-warmer sleeves slid down toward her wrists.
She yanked one arm free, then the other, not even slowing her hips as she ripped the stupid things off and flung them on the floor. "So annoying," she hissed under her breath.
She grabbed his shoulders for leverage, throwing her head back so her red hair spilled down her deeply arched spine. Riding him into a furious rhythm, she dragged his shaft up through her dripping wetness until just the flushed head caught at her entrance, then smashed her ass back down to swallow him base-deep. He plunged in and out of her slick pink folds with every violent bounce, the fierce friction stretching her swollen lips tight around his girth and echoing in wet, meaty slaps against his thighs. The wet noises their bodies were making should've terrified her, but the obscene thrill of getting her pussy ruthlessly pounded right on the other side of a thin curtain only fed the adrenaline, making her grind down even harder.
The curtain shifted again and they froze with him buried inside her as a pair of shoes passed by outside, paused, then kept walking. Fear clenched her pussy around him in one vicious squeeze. Woomin's eyes rolled back, his hips twitching up in tiny helpless jerks, and she smacked her palm tighter over her mouth while shaking her head at him. The footsteps faded; she exhaled through her nose and started moving again, faster now, all caution burned away by how good it felt to almost get caught and keep going. Her fingers dove back to her clit, working furiously, slick clicking under her touch.
"Yuna -"
She stopped dead. Noona had vanished; just her name, bare and shaky in his mouth, and the heat that hit her face almost made her dizzy. "Wait, say that again."
"Yuna."
Her hips rolled before she could answer. "Oh - " she breathed, then covered her mouth because the sound came out too loud. "Oh, fuck. Say it - keep saying it -"
Her fingers sped up, and his hands dug into her hips. She rode him with short, frantic pumps, grinding her clit into her own slick fingertips every time she came down, body giving away every lie she'd told about being new: the expert circles, the tight little pulses around his shaft, the way she knew exactly when to press harder and when to ride the high until her thighs started trembling.
"I'm gonna - " She swallowed the rest behind her palm, eyes squeezing shut. "Oh my gosh, Woomin, I'm gonna - don't stop, don't stop, don't you dare -"
Then her pussy clamped down on him so hard she felt it in her bones, her thighs locking around him as slick flooded out around his cock, as she pulsed tight-wet-tight-wet in convulsive clenches, and she was actually coming and coming in a Uniqlo fitting room, her trapped leg jerking against the denim around her calf while her body folded forward. Her hand wasn't enough - a squeal was coming - so she bit down hard on his shoulder through the fleece, teeth sinking in, and Woomin let out a strangled "YAH - " that he barely managed to choke off, his whole body jerking under her while she kept pulsing around him, thighs shaking so hard she thought she might actually pass out, still coming, her whole pussy throbbing wet and desperate and totally out of her control -
Woomin lasted two more thrusts. "Yuna, I can't -"
"Wait!" She blinked through it, still pulsing around him. "Wait, not -"
She'd picked up that no-leaking-in-the-pool sensibility from Yeji-unnie - who apparently never let anyone cum inside her until Minho-oppa came along - somewhere in the last three months. Which was honestly a pretty smart and professional thing to do. She was totally going to spend the whole night at the hotel draining Woomin's balls anyway, he just couldn't know that yet.
He started cumming inside her with a strangled gasp anyway, hips bucking up as his cock surged hot and deep. The first pulses filled her before she could move, his hands locked on her hips, and she pushed herself up fast, but her trapped leg caught and slowed her. "Woomin - my jeans -"
His cock slid out with a wet, obscene pop, still pulsing as the head slipped free. Two thick white spurts landed inside her before she cleared him, and she was already dropping to her knees, getting down to business, one hand catching his shaft as another pulse jumped against her palm. Behind her, unnoticed by both of them, cum leaked from her swollen pussy in a slow white drip, mixing with her clear wetness and running down the inside of her thigh toward the denim bunched around her calf.
"Oh my gosh, you're still - Woomin, you're STILL going."
"I can't - I don't know why -"
"Don't apologize, oh my gosh." She took him into her mouth before the next spurt could hit the floor, swallowing him deep, hand twisting at the base while he kept coming in helpless little pulses. He braced against the mirror, knees shaking as she sucked him through it, messy and loud and much too good for someone who'd allegedly done this a "respectful" amount.
"Yuna - fuck -"
She pulled off with a wet pop, eyes shining, and his cock twitched again, still leaking across her fingers. "Still? Wow, okay, I can like, totally work with that."
She pushed her tits together with both hands and leaned in, trying to trap him between them, chin tipped up like she was about to deliver the hottest finish of his life. His cock slipped straight out, already spurting, painting a hot stripe up between her tits and onto her collarbone. She tried again, squishing harder, but he was too slick now and the head squirted out the top of the squish, smeared a second pulse across her chin, then flopped against her chest and jerked one more time, the last of it landing in a messy ribbon over her cleavage and catching her right under the eye.
"OW! Why is it ALWAYS my eye?"
Woomin made a tiny strangled noise, and she looked down at the failed tit job, at the cum smeared across her collarbone, chin, and cheek, and lost it. The cackle burst out before she could stop it. She clapped a hand over her mouth too late, shoulders shaking, one eye still squinted shut, kneeling bare-chested on the filthy floor with her jeans tangled around one leg and his cream leaking down her thigh.
"I'm sorry," she gasped into her palm. "I thought that was going to be SO hot, like - I was going to be iconic."
Woomin started laughing too, breathless and helpless, his head hitting the mirror behind him. "You are."
"No, I'm literally such a mess."
"You're perfect."
The laughter caught in her throat. He was looking at her like she was the eighth wonder of the world, and the wonder had been thoroughly defaced - a glob cooling on one flushed cheek like a beauty mark that had escaped containment, a fat pearl strung in the dip of her collarbone, a long shining smear roped down between her little tits where her doomed squish had funneled it, one last bead clinging to her nipple like it had picked a favorite. She knelt there decorated head to chest in him, make-up wrecked, one eye still scrunched shut, and he kept staring like he wanted to frame the whole thing, and her whole face went so hot she had to look away first. "Don't say it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you mean it."
"I do though."
She stared at him, then wiped her eye with the heel of her hand and made a face. "Okay, well, romantic timing, but I'm sticky and legally in danger."
A knock rattled the partition wall beside them.
"Sumimasen, daijoubu desu ka?"
They both froze.
Yuna was still on her knees, topless, cum on her face and chest and leaking down her thighs, one leg caught in her jeans. Woomin was sitting on the bench with his leather pants shoved down and his cock softening in the open. The white frilly top lay on the floor beside the fallen hanger. Her corset, shrug, and arm-warmers were scattered near his shoes.
She slapped both hands over her mouth.
Woomin looked ready to leave his body. "What did she say," he breathed, lips barely moving, eyes huge. "Yuna. What does that mean."
"She's asking if I'm okay," Yuna whispered back, which was about the limit of what four years of Japan concerts and the same six MC phrases had left her with. She could say hello, thank you, I love you Osaka, and apparently are you okay, and that was gonna have to be enough.
"Daijoubu desu ka?" the clerk repeated.
Yuna swallowed, plastering on a bright customer-service smile before fumbling an answer in Japanese. "H-Hai! Daijoubu desu! Sorry, sorry, chotto... fuku ga... muzukashii desu!"
The clerk paused.
Yuna stared at Woomin.
Woomin stared back.
The clerk made a polite noise and moved away.
Yuna waited until the footsteps faded before she collapsed forward, forehead almost hitting Woomin's knee, laughing silently so hard she couldn't breathe. "We have to go. Right now."
"You're covered in -"
"I KNOW." She wiped her face with her palm first and made it worse immediately, smearing warm stickiness across her cheek and down her throat. Her tongue darted out, reflexively licking a stray drop off the corner of her lips. "Mmm. Nice. Usually it's way more bitter than -" She froze, her eyes flying wide. Woomin was staring at her. She aggressively scrubbed her own mouth, pivoting violently back into her maidenly panic. "I mean, oh, gross! Oh my gosh. Why is it warm. Why is that worse."
She grabbed her ruined panties from the denim knot around her calf and dragged them over her face and chest, over her collarbone, between her tits, under her chin. The tacky mess spread before it thinned, salt and sweat and him all over her skin, and her pussy clenched again because apparently she'd no shame and even cleanup was turning her on. "Seriously? Now? Nothing. I'm normal."
She shoved the panties into her purse, yanked her jeans up commando, and nearly fell when the trapped leg finally came free. Woomin caught her by the elbow. "See? Teamwork. Very wholesome."
"Wholesome isn't the word I'd use..."
"It is if we do it together." She grabbed the white frilly top off the floor and pulled it over her head, the smocked square neck settling off her shoulders. The fabric stuck immediately to the damp patches on her chest, and she grimaced, tugging it away from her skin. "UGH, that feels disgusting. Cute, though."
Woomin was still dazed, moving on a delay. He pulled up his leather pants, missed the button twice, then crouched and started grabbing everything that wasn't nailed down: the corset, the little shrug. He shoved all of it into his jacket pockets while Yuna finger-combed her now thoroughly-sexed red hair and checked her reflection with one watery eye.
"How bad?"
"Looks... cute?"
"Good lie!" She kissed his cheek, fast and messy. "Okay okay okay. We're so normal. We're two normal people who normally went into one dressing room together, super casual, nothing happened, we're CHILL."
"You don't have your -"
"My WHAT - oh. Yeah no that's gone, it's on the floor, leave it, I don't want it back." He opened his mouth, then shut it, one hand pressing over the bulging pocket stuffed with her corset and sleeves. She cracked the curtain and checked the aisle. Empty. "Okay just - just walk normal, why are you walking like that, you look SO guilty, stop it -"
"This isn't casual -"
"Then BE casual!! Casual is a CHOICE, Woomin!"
She grabbed his hand and towed him out of the dressing room, past the bench, toward the front of the store and the glowing exit beyond it.
Woomin slowed first. He tilted his head up at the ceiling, listening, and a slow grin spread over his face.
"What? Why are you - "
Then she heard it too, threading down through the racks at a polite retail volume. Five voices she'd know anywhere, hers stacked in with the others.
"I don't wanna be somebody - just wanna be me, be me -"
The universe, as it turned out, still had a sense of humor.
"I wanna be me, me, me," her tinny voice continued overhead.
"No," she whispered, already shaking her head, already mouthing it at Woomin like he had the intercom remote. "No no no no - "
Two girls by the sock display turned at the commotion, then at her, and their eyes went wide in perfect unison.
One of them grabbed the other's arm.
"Is that - Yuna?!"
Woomin's hand tightened around hers. The drying cum glued her skin to the new top. The photo strip dug into her back pocket.
The girl on the left was already lifting her phone.
"No no no -" Yuna's hands came up on instinct, patting the air, the universal please-be-cool motion that every celebrity about to get made in public did by muscle memory. "Shh, shh, hi, hi - it's okay, just - can we keep it kind of quiet? Please?"
The girl on the right was fumbling with her phone case, hands shaking, nodding way too hard. The first one took a step closer.
"Yuna-ssi! Daebak! Can we - can we get a photo?"
Every cell in Yuna's body screamed run. But her mouth, trained by five years of idol protocol, smiled instead.
"Of course! I love MIDZY!" She smiled brightly through gritted, cum-stained teeth. She felt the tackiness shift under the new top as she moved, a wet patch spreading where his cum had soaked through the cotton and was now smearing across her chest. She kept smiling. "You guys are so sweet!"
The girls rushed over, one on each side. Turn your face. Chin down. Peace sign up. Smile with your eyes. The commands ran through Yuna's head, years of training taking over. Don't think about the cum drying on your chest. Don't think about how your pussy is still throbbing. Don't think about the fact that you're commando under these jeans and you can feel yourself dripping. Wait, did he cum inside?
The first girl's selfie camera flashed.
"Gomawo! I can't believe - we saw you on Music Bank and you were SO good, and - " She was giving a Daesang speech a minute, gesturing wildly. Her friend just stared, starry-eyed and speechless.
"Thank you so much!" Yuna's smile stretched wider, cheeks aching. "That means everything, really!"
She caught Woomin in her peripheral vision. He'd backed up three steps and was now intently studying his shoes, one hand shoved in his fleece pocket where her corset and shrug were stuffed. His ears were red. He looked like he wanted to teleport back to Seoul.
"Are you -" The second girl finally breathed out. "Are you shopping? Here? At Uniqlo?"
"Yeah! Just, like, casual stuff, you know?" Yuna gestured vaguely at the racks around them, praying they wouldn't notice she was wearing a top she clearly hadn't walked in with. "I'm super relatable, I love Uniqlo!"
The first girl's eyes cut to Woomin. Back to Yuna. A knowing smile spread across her face. "Are you - is he your - "
"Friend!" Yuna said, way too fast. "Just a friend! We're just hanging out, super casual, very normal!"
"Uh-huh." The girl was grinning now, clearly not believing a word. "Well, you guys are really cute together."
"We're NOT - I mean - thank you?" The panic climbed her throat. She needed to leave. Now. "This was so nice, but we really have to - "
"One more?" The second girl held up her phone hopefully. "For my sister? She's gonna die when she sees this."
"Sure! Of course!"
They took three more photos. Yuna's smile didn't slip once, even with sweat starting to mix with the cum and her pussy literally aching and Woomin looking like he was praying for a sinkhole to open under his feet.
"Wah, so pretty - look, unnie, look!" The girl spun the phone around to show her, beaming.
And there she was on the little screen, glowing under the store lights, the soft white frill of the borrowed top sitting low and sweet off her shoulders. If you zoomed in - and somewhere a fancam account eventually would - you might catch a faint questionable sheen high on her chest, just above the neckline, exactly where the stylists always dusted her with shimmer before a stage because that was the spot the cameras loved most. It could be highlighter. It photographed identically to highlighter. Only two people in Osaka knew it wasn't, and one of them was pretending very hard to be interested in a sock multipack.
"So pretty," Yuna agreed faintly, looking at the most debauched angel in Japan. "Thank you!"
Finally - FINALLY - the girls thanked her about six more times and drifted toward the registers, already hunched over their phones, probably posting the photos before they'd even paid for their socks.
Which, yeah. That was the thing about phones.
Three aisles over, a little pack of teenage boys looked up from theirs all at the same time, found her, and just sort of stopped working. One made a kettle-like noise and smacked his friend's arm. Another dropped his phone and went down after it without taking his eyes off her, which seemed dangerous. One did a tiny wave. They looked like they might actually cry, which was honestly so cute, and also very much about to become a whole crowd.
And she was out. Done. Her last functioning Japanese was gone from telling a rack of clothes she was okay, and there was no way she was getting through a fresh group of fans on a language she'd been winging all night.
The boys took a collective step forward.
Idol triage took over before she'd decided anything. She grabbed Woomin's hand.
"RUN."
"What - why are we -"
"JUST RUN, GO, GO -"
They sprinted out the store down the street, dodging tourists and salarymen, her hand locked in his, Osaka-chan tucked under her arm. Her jeans chafed without panties. The cum under her top had fully dried now, tacky and tight against her skin, and it pinched with every stride. Behind them, Wannabe was still playing from the Uniqlo speakers, her own track chasing them down the block, and the absurdity of it all hit her so hard she started laughing mid-sprint.
Woomin looked over at her, bewildered and breathless, and then he was laughing too.
They didn't stop running until the canal opened up in front of them, neon bleeding into the black water and the water bleeding it back, and there he was overhead: the Glico man, arms thrown up over the bridge, still mid-victory-lap on the race he'd been running since 1935 that nobody ever had the heart to stop. They stumbled to a halt under him, both of them doubled over and gasping, and Yuna ended up bent with her hands braced on her knees and her hair everywhere, finishing a sprint of her own. When she finally looked up at Woomin, flushed and grinning and totally wrecked, she felt that stupid warm thing in her chest again.
"That was -" she started.
"Insane," he finished.
"Yeah." She was still catching her breath, still grinning. "SO insane."
She looked down at herself. She wore the white frilly top and her denim jeans with absolutely nothing underneath. Woomin's cum was drying sticky against her skin, her hair was a disaster, her makeup almost certainly ruined. She had just had public sex in a changing room, narrowly dodged the retail staff, taken a facial, and posed for fan photos with the evidence still stuck to her body.
Then her eyes caught the little plastic Uniqlo tag still threaded through the hem, and the scratch of the price sticker on the inside of the neckline.
"Oh shit."
"Wait, what?"
"Oh NO." She pinched the tag, holding it up, eyes huge. "Woomin. WOOMIN. I didn't pay for this. We literally RAN. I stole it, oh my gosh, I shoplifted, in JAPAN, they're gonna deport me, they're gonna make my mugshot into a PHOTOCARD -"
He looked at the tag and then at her and folded back over the railing, laughing too hard to say anything.
"It's NOT funny, it's a CRIME, okay, I'll just - I'll go back and give it -" She grabbed the hem and started hauling the top up, and Woomin made a strangled noise and caught her wrists, and only then did she actually look around, at the hundred phones and the bridge and the glowing canal and the giant lit-up landmark hanging right over her head, the most photographed corner in maybe all of Japan, where she'd been about to take her shirt off. She let the hem drop. "...okay. Not here." Then her hands went still for a different reason. "Wait. Where are my clothes?"
"In my pocket."
"WHY are my clothes in your pocket -"
"You told me to -"
"I can't even give it BACK now! I have to keep the crime shirt! This is YOUR fault -"
She was already laughing too hard to mean it. The panic just sort of evaporated, and she hopped up to sit on the canal railing with her feet swinging over the water and the neon wobbling around underneath, and dug out her phone, because if she didn't tell someone immediately she was going to die.
Woomin leaned on the railing next to her, hands in his pockets, watching her thumbs go. She didn't notice. She was kind of busy right now.
@igotyuandme: ok so dont be weird abt this
@igotyuandme: i just fucked him 🐰
@iamfinethankyouandryu: I FUCKING CALLED IT
@iamfinethankyouandryu: scroll up i SAID this while u were in that photobooth. SCROLL UP
@chaerrry0: OUR BABY 🥹🥹🥹
@yezyizhere: ...
@yezyizhere: I specifically told you not blow him in the changing room
@igotyuandme: ok in my defense i didnt JUST blow him in the changing room
@igotyuandme: i blew him AND we fucked sooo 💀
@lia_loves___: "just getting a shirt" 🙄
@igotyuandme: wannabe came on the speakers?? midzy saw me?? i had to do fanservice w sex hair??
@igotyuandme: AND THEN I ACCIDENTALLY STOLE THE SHIRT im wearing it rn im literally a criminal in a foreign country 😭😭😭
@chaerrry0: A CRIMINAL ARC 😭😭
@iamfinethankyouandryu: ok but was he good or did he just lie there
@igotyuandme: ok if im being HONEST honest
@igotyuandme: 6
@igotyuandme: he came in like 4 seconds and the titjob was a disaster
@iamfinethankyouandryu: 6 is brutal lol i raised u right
@igotyuandme: ok wait no
@igotyuandme: bc he also won me the bunny
@igotyuandme: and he wouldnt look at my boobs the WHOLE night like out of respect??
@igotyuandme: and he carried my actual clothes the whole time and didnt even make it weird
@igotyuandme: ok its like an 8
@igotyuandme: no wait its a 10
@iamfinethankyouandryu: 10?? wtf maknae u literally just said 4 SECONDS
@igotyuandme: i KNOW i cant explain it
@yezyizhere: ... Proud of you though 🖤
She left the group chat to erupt without her, thirty unread and climbing, Chaeryeong typing paragraphs and Ryujin firing off voice notes nobody would survive. But there was one more person she had to tell, and it wasn't a group chat kind of thing. She searched @katarinabluu and tapped into their DMs.
@igotyuandme Jimin-unnie!!!
@igotyuandme: unnie u up??
@igotyuandme: remember the golf cart when u asked me whats the fun part
@igotyuandme: ok so this boy wouldnt even LOOK at me all night
@igotyuandme: not in a rude way, like in a he actually likes ME way
@igotyuandme: and it was better than every guy whos ever stared
@igotyuandme: so u were right 🐰
She watched the screen for a moment. No little dots came up under Karina's name. It was late, and Jimin-unnie was probably asleep, and that was okay, because it wasn't really a question. She locked the phone and shoved it back into her back pocket.
When she looked up Woomin was still watching her, leaning on the rail with the Glico man glowing over her shoulder, wearing the same dumb amazed face he'd had on since the arcade.
"What?" she said.
"Nothing." He looked at his shoes, then back up, and lost the fight with himself. "Nothing, I just, you're so -"
"Hot?" She rolled her eyes and kept swinging her feet. "I know. Everyone says it. You're allowed."
"No." His ears went pink under the neon. "I was gonna say fun. You're, um, the most fun person I've ever hung out with."
Fun. Everyone always said hot. Gorgeous, perfect, whatever. In every language. Nobody ever said fun, and fun meant he wanted HER around, cameras off and everything.
She slid off the rail. Osaka-chan squished flat between her sticky chest and his fluffy jacket with the bulging pockets as she crowded into his space and Woomin sort of froze, as she put a hand on his silly pink face and kissed him on the lips with everything she had.
He went stiff for a second and then he melted, his hand finally finding the courage to land on her waist, and all Dotonbori straight up EXPLODED with fireworks. Over the canal, everywhere. The camera whipped a full circle around them and the crowd lost it and her own songs came swelling up underneath like the last ten seconds of a teaser SM would've sold a kidney for, and her leg just kicked up behind her on its own, the full kdrama princess pop that Chaeryeong would be proud of, ten thousand people screaming her name -
She pulled back, breathless, glowing, ready for the applause.
There was no applause.
Just the canal being a canal, some tourist editing around them, and Woomin blinking at her like she'd turned him off and on again. The fireworks were all in her head. The camera too. And the extras. And the backing track. Every bit of it, just her main-character-syndrome whipping up an MV on the spot.
And her leg was still up. She'd actually done the leg thing. In real life. To nobody.
She put it down, slowly, like nobody would notice if she was slow enough.
The real version was better anyway.
"So," she said, already grabbing his sleeve and walking backward toward the lights, bunny swinging from her free hand. "My hotel?"
"Sure?" Woomin nearly tripped over his own feet keeping up. "Yeah. Okay. Yes."
"Cool. My unnie's got the address, so if you murder me they'll find you."
"Wait, which unnie? Is that the sock one, or the mommy -"
"All of them!"
"That's not an answer -"
"COME on."
She towed him off into the crowd, the bunny bouncing against her hip and Woomin still trying to figure out which unnie and still getting nowhere with it, and the two of them got smaller and smaller down the canal until the crowd swallowed them whole and they were gone.
***
[SEOUL - THE NEXT MORNING]
She cracked her eyes open and blinked.
This wasn't her ceiling.
An unfamiliar crack spidered across the plaster above her, her mind bracing against the light. Her bedroom faced east, taking the morning sun hard and white. This light rippled through thin curtains, soft and gold. Across the room, a shelf of battered paperbacks and film canisters sat where her dresser ought to be.
She wasn't in her own bed.
There was an arm draped over her bare waist. A warm hand gone slack against her hip. He'd curled into her back in the night, his knee slotted behind hers, his heartbeat drumming a steady rhythm into her shoulder blades. She was in her underwear and nothing else.
Old Karina would already be reaching for her bra. That routine was practically muscle memory: get up, get dressed, get the Hell out.
Normally she'd be out the door by now. She didn't really have anywhere to be on a weekend like this, but the aftermath was always predictably bleak. Usually she lay there tallying the deficits: he'd finished too fast, or handled her like a slippery trophy, or touched her with that annoyingly reverent, fanboy awe. The creeping fact that she could let a man physically inside her and still leave untouched. It was always better to be fully dressed before the facts caught up. Better to text had fun from the back of a cab, safely out of reach.
But this morning, lying in the gold light with his heat pressing down her back, she waited for the drop and found nothing. There was no inventory to take, only the rise and fall of his breathing against her skin, dust motes swimming in the sun, and the humiliating urge to stay exactly where she was.
God. How embarrassing.
Her phone lay face-down on the rug. She fished it off the floor, lifting his arm ever so slightly to maneuver, easing his wrist back down so he wouldn't stir. She caught herself being careful about it. Months ago, she would've used that stealth to slip out unnoticed. Now, she was using it just to burrow back in.
The screen glowed a rude 7:05 AM. It also offered a cluster of blue notifications from Yuna, fired off in the middle of the night while Karina had been busy getting thoroughly wrecked and enjoying every moment of it. ITZY's maknae had a well-documented talent for broadcasting her 1 AM disasters across group chats, but weaponizing her chaos in a direct message was new. Yuna had apparently decided back on that bonfire in Jeju that they were confidantes now. Karina, too tired to be aloof, hadn't corrected her.
She read the texts lying on her side, cheek mashed into the pillow. By the third message, a wry smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. The girl had clearly survived some kind of night. And then, under the chaos, quieter, the actual point of the message - shy, for Yuna, which was its own small miracle:
so u were right
Of course she was right. She'd told Yuna her truth in a golf cart three months ago, the whole ugly thing - the Yonsei boys gawking at her like a hallucination, the men who wanted the poster and not the girl holding it up. She hadn't said it to teach the kid anything in particular; it was simply true and it'd wrecked her for months, so it was nice to finally get to tell someone young and stupid enough to get it. And the kid had gone off and learned it in three months flat. It was annoying because Karina needed a breakup, a frat house, and then getting annihilated in a threesome with her best friend and her terrifyingly competent man to get there, which meant she was only now, this morning, in a bed that wasn't hers, finally finding out what the other side of it actually felt like.
She could've typed I know, but that was a confession. The man breathing against her back didn't need anything going to his head. Instead, she locked the screen, let the phone drop, and sank backward into his warmth, smiling at no one in particular.
***
His name was Junho.
They met in August not long after they returned from Jeju, on the shoot for UP, which was her first single without the other three and therefore the most exposed she'd ever felt with her clothes on. The first concept boards had been pure aespa, the cyber-goddess gloss she'd worn her whole career - and the director had taken one look and lost it. She still remembered him on his feet, sending the whole stack skidding off the table.
"No. No, no, no. What the FUCK is this?" He'd flung a hand at the renders fanning across the floor. "Too clean. We are NOT - " he'd actually had to stop and breathe " - we are not shooting another fucking Whiplash. The whole country already saw Whiplash. Give me something you could leave out in the rain."
So they'd hired the guy who shot ILLIT's Magnetic, the one who made idols look like they were remembering their own lives instead of selling something, and told him to make her solo an art film.
Junho took the job and quietly walked it somewhere darker than anyone ordered.
The first thing he ever said to her was that she was turning her face wrong. He said it frowning at his monitor, in a studio full of people calling her gorgeous, and explained that she kept giving the lens an angle she'd drilled in front of a mirror at fifteen. He asked if she could just look at the camera like there was someone behind it.
She'd been too surprised to argue, so she did. He tapped the side of his monitor when he got it and moved to the next setup.
They spent the lunch break of the second day sharing bad catering on the fire escape. He sat on the grated metal steps and told her she had two faces. One was flawless and impenetrable, built for the billboards. The other showed up when the director yelled cut and her shoulders dropped. He asked her which one she liked giving to the camera.
She'd caught him filming between takes earlier, when she thought the camera was off. When she'd asked what he was doing, he'd just said he was testing something. But his monitor showed her face in a frame she didn't recognize, catching the exact second her guard slipped to reveal the exhausted human underneath.
"What are you looking for?" she'd asked him on that fire escape.
He considered the question while watching traffic blur past below. "The person carrying the image," he said finally. "Not the image itself."
She hadn't really understood what he'd meant, but it stuck with her. Most cinematographers she'd worked with cared about lighting and composition. He studied the exhaustion she hid from the lens.
He'd apparently gotten the SM contract through Giselle. They'd gone to the same arts high school in Tokyo years ago, and when Giselle ran into him at the resort in Jeju over the summer, she'd spent a whole night "networking" - her word, delivered nonchalantly when she'd returned to the villa looking thoroughly destroyed and extremely satisfied.
Karina had heard the full story at the bonfire the night after. Giselle told it to the whole group with aplomb: the karaoke booth, the golf cart, the hotel rooftop washing machine. Everyone had lost it. Ryujin and Yunjin called it cinema. By the end of the night, Winter still didn't understand what "networking" meant.
Karina hadn't known it was Junho until weeks later, when his name came up in a production meeting and Giselle inhaled her caramel latte down the wrong pipe. She coughed until their manager looked worried, wiped her mouth, and let a wicked grin spread across her face. Then, because Giselle had zero filter and even less shame, she'd leaned over during the coffee break and whispered: "Remember the golf cart guy? That's him."
Karina had stared at her. "You're fucking joking."
"Nope." Giselle had grinned, unrepentant. "Ten out of ten, would recommend. Very attentive. Excellent multitasking skills. Decent driver. And now he's your cinematographer."
So Giselle had spent a whole night in a dress that barely qualified as one, thoroughly evaluating a cinematographer's technical abilities, only for him to take the SM gig and fall for the one girl in the building who hadn't tried at all.
He asked for her number on the last day of the shoot. Said he wanted to show her something about her own face - angles she'd never seen, frames where she looked real instead of perfect. He made it sound like a favor he was doing for science.
She said yes because she was curious. And because his hands were nice, which Giselle had also enthusiastically reviewed.
***
He texted her two days after the shoot wrapped. Said he had the B-roll to show her if she was free.
She picked the first place, which surprised them both. Banpo, the riverside steps under the bridge, golden hour going down over the water while the fountain came alive above them in long arcs of pink and gold. They sat on the wide stone tiers with the rest of Seoul's twenties, couples and convenience-store dinners and someone's bad bluetooth speaker a few steps down, the whole bank lit soft and reverberating with other people's evenings. Nobody looked at her twice. For once she was one more girl by the river with a boy.
He'd stopped at the GS25 on the way and come out with caramel maple corn, her favourite, which she hadn't told him. When she went for her card he waved it off and then went pink about it, like letting her pay would ruin something. She opened the bag her way, ripping a small hole into the dead center with her teeth and pulling it wide into a clean round mouth, and looked up to find him watching her do so with great fascination.
"Do that again," he breathed, half-laughing.
"It's just how you open it."
"That's not how anyone opens it." He was almost laughing, but seemed to feel bad about it. "You opened it like there's a correct way and the rest of the world is wrong."
There WAS a correct way. She held the bag out instead of saying so. He ate a piece watching her, she ate one watching the fountain, and it was the easiest minute she'd had in months.
A cloud was pulling apart over the far bank, and before she could think better of it she pointed up at it.
"That's a brachiosaurus," she said. "The neck's too long for anything else."
He tipped his head back to look, studying it as seriously as he studied everything, then asked if that one was her favourite.
"No, mine's the mosasaurus." She nodded out at the river, where the fountain was throwing its light across the water. "Sea one. It's like a levelled-up version of a shark or crocodile. Looks super cool."
He nodded along like he knew what a mosasaurus was, which he clearly didn't, and somewhere in the middle of pretending his eyes had come back down to her instead of the sky.
She liked his hands when he talked. He gestured the whole time, fingers framing shots in the air, stopping mid-speech to catch a stranger against a lit window or the fountain light moving on the water. He talked about cameras the way she only let herself talk about singing. She leaned in to listen.
A few days later it was his pick: Seonyudo, the old water plant out on the river that someone had let the plants reclaim, concrete gone green, a high arched footbridge out to it. It was a beautiful, broken place a man like him take a beautiful, broken girl on a date. He shot the whole walk on film, golden hour pouring through the rusted frames, and he shot her too when he thought she wasn't looking, and she let him point a lens at her without arranging her face for it.
They kept meeting up. Weeks of schedules rearranged, walking until her feet hurt in the good way, learning his face in streetlight and cafe glow. He never suggested coming back to his place, never framed it as anything other than showing her something about light or composition. She didn't name what they were doing either.
Something she'd apparently picked up from a close friend of hers.
But she started noticing his hands more. The snacks he'd buy and pretend weren't gestures. How he'd text her about a sunset and she'd already be thinking about whether he was free.
Then he invited her to see the finished cut.
***
His apartment was in Yeonnam-dong, a fourth-floor walkup with shoes piled by the door and warm incandescent light spilling into the hallway.
Inside were clean lines and wood tones, everything intentional. A mechanical keyboard sat on his desk with custom keycaps in off-white, black and rose gold pink. Film cameras lined up on a shelf like a museum display. A framed In the Mood for Love poster above the couch, Wong Kar-wai's signature color grading making the whole room feel like a still from someone else's memory.
Edison bulbs overhead glowed amber. The whole place felt analog, like he'd built a darkroom for living instead of developing film.
"Sorry about the mess," he said, which was hilarious because there wasn't any.
She'd brought a Dujac from Morey-Saint-Denis, not to make a point, just because it was in the rack and she wasn't going to turn up empty-handed. He poured it into the only two wine glasses he owned, which didn't match, and handed her the better one without seeming to think about it. She sat on his couch and watched him move through his own space, fingers finding the corkscrew without looking.
The footage was from the UP shoot, his cut, not the label's. Her face in angles she'd never seen, half of it dropped into shadow and the other half pulled gold by a single light just out of frame, so she looked like two different girls sharing one jaw. The frames were holding on small things: her hand, the line of her throat, the half-second her chin tipped down between takes.
"You see?" He leaned forward, tapping on the monitor. "Right there. That's the face I was talking about."
On the monitor she was laughing at something off-camera, her guard down and her edges gone soft.
"I look tired," she said.
"No, you look real."
He clicked forward through the timeline until he hit a frame she didn't remember him shooting, where she sat between takes staring at nothing, her mouth neutral and her eyes gone somewhere far off.
"This one," he murmured, eyes still on the screen. "This is what I meant on the fire escape. About the person carrying the image."
She stared at herself on his monitor. The frame caught something she'd spent years learning to hide. It wasn't sadness exactly, but a specific kind of aloneness. Like she'd gotten used to being looked at without being seen.
"You looked lonely," he observed. "I wanted to know why."
The Yonsei boys and everyone else had crowded around her poster, hungry to possess the perfect girl. Junho had pointed his camera at the loneliness behind her face and asked what it needed.
"Do you know Wong Kar-wai?" he asked, and when she shook her head he lit up, which was the first time she'd seen it happen, and then he was off.
He talked about a director who shot people half in light and half in dark on purpose, who never let you see all of a face at once because nobody was all of one thing at once. Chiaroscuro, he called it, an old painting word the films had borrowed, the bright part and the buried part in the same frame so you couldn't pretend the buried part wasn't there. He said most idol work lit the bright part and killed the rest, flattened a girl into a single flawless plane, and it drove him insane, because the whole point of a face was the argument going on across it. He wanted the UP video to do the opposite, film her the way the old films shot women who carried things they couldn't say out loud.
Somewhere in there Karina had ended up with her chin in her palm and her wine going warm in her hand, watching his hands cut shapes out of the air, following maybe half the actual cinematography and giving the other half to the way his whole face changed when he talked about the thing he loved. She'd come up here to see footage but ended up staying for a lecture on shadow, and she was riveted.
Because he wasn't performing any of it for her. He'd have said all of it to an empty room. He just happened to be saying it next to her, about her, and didn't seem to have worked out that I want to film the part of you that you hide was close to the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her face.
She took another sip of wine, warm in her chest now, the last of her careful decorum going with it. He'd pulled his chair close to walk her through the timeline, near enough that his knee rested against hers.
His hand came up to her jaw, fingers gentle, tilting her face toward the light.
"Can I -" He tilted his head, studying her profile with furrowed brows. "The shadow here. I want to see if -"
And against every bit of her better judgment, with his fingers still warm on her jaw and the wine loose and easy in her chest, she turned her head and pressed her lips to his. He froze against her mouth. Then he gave in, his hand sliding from her jaw to fist in her hair, and weeks of careful professionalism dissolved. The kiss turned wet and impatient. Mouths slanted wide, tongues sliding in a slick, careless rush that tasted of the wine they'd shared. He gripped her waist and dragged her flush against his chest, kissing her with a messy urgency that left her chin wet.
When she pulled back to breathe, his eyes were dark and slightly stunned.
"I thought you were never going to -" she started.
"I didn't want to be -" He dropped his gaze to her mouth, swallowing hard. "Every guy you meet probably -"
"Yeah," she said, and kissed him again before he could finish being careful.
His hands stayed polite right up until her back hit the desk, rattling the mechanical keyboard. Then his mouth came down on hers, and polite evaporated into the warm Edison-lit air. She felt him hard against her hip through his slacks and bit his lower lip to hear the noise he'd make, low and startled against her mouth.
After that, everything blurred. Last night's memory would come back in amber slices: his shirt half-unbuttoned by her hands, his fingers unclasping her bra while he kissed her, the room growing hazier every time she blinked. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe he'd arranged a smoke machine because of course a cinematographer with an In the Mood for Love poster over his couch would.
Her bra slid loose, and Junho went still above her. His hand, still caught in the strap, tightened once and let go. He looked down at her for one unguarded second, mouth parted, then pressed his forehead to her collarbone like the sight had knocked the next move out of him.
"Bed," she heard herself saying through the haze.
She walked him backward with the wine glass still in her hand, her palm flat against his chest. The red climbed the inside of the glass with each step. When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, she pushed, and he sat down hard enough to drag a breath out of both of them. His hands found her waist. Hers found the waistband of his slacks.
She hadn't had sex since Jeju, since that threesome. Her panties were still on when she got his cock out, still on when she straddled him, when his hand slid between her thighs and found how wet she was through the thin fabric.
"Karina," he breathed.
"Jimin," she corrected.
His hand stopped. Then he nodded, kissed her softer than anyone else ever had, and said, "Jimin," against her mouth.
She couldn't wait any longer, pulling the lace aside instead of taking it off. His laugh broke into a groan when she wrapped her fingers around him and dragged the head through her slick, and then she sank down before either of them could turn careful again. The stretch opened her mouth against his, slow because she made herself go slow, even with the wine glass tilting in her fist and his hand closing over hers to keep it steady.
They made love that night in pieces she could barely hold together afterward. She rode him slow and deep, rolling her hips down to take all of him, then grinding forward so her clit dragged against him with each stroke. She was soaked, slick running down his shaft and pooling where their bodies met, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet apartment. His hand slid between them, fingers finding her clit and rubbing tight circles while she moved. She gasped against his mouth, sinking down to swallow him whole, her pussy gripping him so tight he groaned into the back of his hand.
The glass passed between them. She'd rock forward with Burgundy warm on her tongue, his thumb still working her clit, then bring the wine to his lips while she ground down on him. His groan echoed through the thin crystal. Wine and salt and the taste of his mouth. She remembered him stretching her out when she arched back to wet her lips with red, her juices slicking his fingers as he rubbed her, the amber light catching her throat. His gaze stayed fixed on her face even when she gave him everything else to look at.
At some point he flipped them over. She remembered the mattress taking her back, the wine glass landing on the floor without breaking, his mouth at her throat while he tried to pull her panties down one thigh and gave up when they caught.
He pushed back inside her and moved slowly now, each thrust deep enough to drag the moans out of her mouth before she could feel embarrassed about it. Her hair stuck to her cheek, the panties pushed aside like an afterthought, her legs open around a guy who kept looking down at her like the bare truth of her was enough.
"Stop looking at me like that," she whispered.
"I can't."
So she let him. The apartment glowed around them, amber bulbs catching on the wood and the red slash of the poster over the couch, the room hazy in her memory even now. Maybe the smoke machine was real. Maybe the alcohol invented it.
She remembered coming with her face pressed into his neck, one hand buried in his hair while the other gripped the back of his open shirt. He murmured her real name against her throat, and they broke together, like they'd stumbled onto something beautiful neither of them knew how to name. She felt him pulse inside her as her body pulled him deeper, his heat spilling into her while she was still writhing in ecstacy, and it blurred together into one long moment. Shared, for once. Then he stayed there, still hard enough inside her that her pussy kept tightening around him whenever he shifted, and she should've told him to move because disappointment, cleanup and distance usually came next.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around him.
His breathing slowed against her throat until she realized he was falling asleep still inside her. She cradled the back of his neck anyway, fingers sliding into his hair, and stared past his shoulder at the blurred amber bulbs.
Morning would come with a rude phone screen and Yuna's disaster texts. Last night, under the wine-invented haze, Karina let herself hold him.
***
And that was how she ended up in a strange apartment in Yeonnam-dong, feeling more comfortable in a bed that wasn't hers than anywhere she'd ever slept.
She felt him stir, his hand twitching on her waist before going perfectly still while his breathing hitched shallow in his chest. She stayed quiet and waited right up until he jerked his hand away, catching his wrist before he could retreat, closing her fingers over his pulse as his whole body tensed beneath the sheets.
"Karina, I -" He croaked groggily. "Shit. You're still here."
"Mm." She guided his hand back and pressed his palm flat against her hip. "Good morning to you too."
"I didn't mean -" The mattress gave as he shifted to piece the morning together, staring at her like he'd just remembered who he brought home. "Did... did we -"
"We did," she said softly, letting the silence linger until his thumb stroked her hip on its own, his hand remembering what the rest of him was still catching up to.
"I'm not usually -" He stopped and swallowed hard. "This isn't how I - I don't just -"
He sounded anxious, so she rolled over to face him. Pillow creases crossed his cheek, his hair pushed all the way to one side, his shirt collar still hanging open where she'd unbuttoned it last night and never bothered to finish. He looked wrecked and wonderfully human. She leaned in and kissed him, offering a soft press of her mouth that cut off the rest of his panic.
"The only thing that happened last night," she murmured against his lips, "was magic."
His eyes searched her face for a joke or a dismissal, but she just smiled back until he asked, "What are you going to do now?"
She felt the answer pressing hot and urgent against her thigh inside his boxers. She let her fingertips trace the dip of his ribs, slipping a thumb just under the elastic to brush his morning wood beneath.
"I think," she whispered, her mouth hovering a breath from his, "we just pick up where we left off." She worked the last buttons loose and pushed his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it somewhere in the direction of the poster.
"Karina -"
"Jimin," she corrected, sliding her body flush until her bare breasts pancaked against his chest. "You earned that last night. Use it."
"We don't have to -"
"I want to." She stroked him gently to draw a strangled noise out of his chest. "Do you?"
He looked at her, and whatever professional barrier he had left simply collapsed.
"I do -"
"Show me."
***
So they made love all morning.
The wine was gone and the sun was up, spilling gold over the rumpled sheets. He dragged her damp panties down her thighs and buried his face between her legs before she could even kick them off, his tongue carefully sweeping her clit to track every gasp and find the spot that made her toes curl and her hands fist in his hair. When she came the first time, it tore through her so hard she screamed his name over and over until the helpless sound echoed through the fourth-floor walkup loud enough to make a door slam somewhere above them.
He lifted his head with a grin. "I think everyone in the building knows my name now."
She hauled him up by the hair to kiss her own taste off his mouth.
They tore the apartment apart in blurred, golden frames. Her palms flat on the desk, the mechanical keyboard clattering under her fingers with every blind thrust driving deep into her from behind. She came with her chin pressed to the wood, his hand fisted in her hip and his fingers slick against her clit while her pussy clenched tight around him. On the couch under the poster, amber light sliding over her arched back, his hands bruising her skin to pin her while she ground her ass back against him, taking him deeper and deeper as they crashed over the edge in a messy, tangling rush. And her thighs slick on the kitchen counter, pussy dripping down the tile while he drove back inside her so fast a coffee mug rolled off to shatter on the floorboards, her voice breaking hoarse and raw in her throat while her whole body shook.
She pushed him down onto the cushions eventually so she could swing her legs over him and gather her tits in both hands.
"I want to try something," she told him.
She'd only done this once before. Jeju, three months ago, offering herself to a man who looked at her like a rare gift, discovering she could actually want it. Junho was looking at her with that identical reverence now, breathless and still, waiting for whatever she decided to give him.
She positioned him between her breasts and pressed them together, starting slow to mix spit and pre-cum into a slick channel before sliding up and down his shaft until the friction turned heavy. Every time the flushed head crowned her cleavage, she dipped her mouth and caught it.
"Jimin -" His hips drove up to push frantically into the vice of her tits. "I can't -"
"You can." She took him deep into her mouth, her tongue circling the ridge while her breasts kept him squeezed tight. "I want you to."
He came in a hot surge, painting her collarbone and the curve of her chest before she swallowed the rest of him down. She kept her mouth sealed around him through it all, milking the last pulses until he shoved weakly at her shoulders to gasp for air.
She pulled off and smiled at him through the mess dripping down her chin.
"Your turn," he breathed.
He bent her over the couch and ate her out until her screams probably taught the whole building her voice, making her cum one more time with his tongue buried inside her and his thumb working her clit in tight circles. Then he dragged her back to the bed. Time dissolved into sunlight and hoarse voices, both of them wrecked and greedy. The last time he finished he was buried deep inside her with her legs locked around his waist, murmuring her real name into the sweat on her throat, staying there to breathe hard against her before he finally rolled away and passed out flat on his back.
She lay there staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, sore and still feeling the aftershocks, discovering she was smiling.
***
Later, when he'd passed out without warning, she understood why. One second he was breathing hard against her throat, the next he went slack on top of her and his breathing evened out into sleep. No breakfast, probably still hungover from last night's wine, and he'd just fucked her through his entire apartment. His body had simply quit.
She waited, his arm pinning her ribs, then carefully slid out from under him. Her phone lay face-down on the rug near the desk where it'd been deposited during the carnage. She stretched her fingers toward it, feeling the pleasant ache in her hips, the rawness between her legs, the tackiness drying on her chest and thighs. When she finally caught the edge and dragged it close, the screen lit up her face.
8:03 AM.
A laugh burst out of her. She slapped her hand over her mouth and turned to look at Junho, dead to the world with one arm thrown over his face, his mouth slightly open. Under an hour. They'd destroyed his apartment and each other in under an hour on empty stomachs.
Her shoulders kept shaking. Junho mumbled something unintelligible into the pillow and rolled onto his side, taking half the sheet with him. She let him have it.
Her thumb hovered over her messages. She wanted - no, needed - to tell someone.
The only person who'd understand.
@katarinabluu: we made magic last night 💙
@yezyizhere: The cinematographer?
@katarinabluu: you were right
@yezyizhere: About what?
@katarinabluu: turns out being seen is way hotter than being worshipped 🥺
@katarinabluu: anyway wyd today?
@yezyizhere: Waiting for mine to wake up
@yezyizhere: Might have to take matters into my own hands 🙄
@yezyizhere: What is this with you two then?
@katarinabluu: no idea
@katarinabluu: but for now is enough 💙
***
[SOMEWHERE ACROSS SEOUL]
The first thing I woke to was warmth.
But it wasn't a warmth somebody else paid for. The villa in Jeju had a private pool, and as luxurious as it was, also had a checkout date. This place had a window facing the wrong direction and a bathroom door that stuck when it rained. The heating came on uneven, the pipes clanged when the building's ancient boiler kicked in at 6 AM, and the subway was ten extra minutes away because she'd toured seven better apartments before pointing at this one and saying she wanted it.
The realtor tried talking her out of it. He pulled up the others on his tablet, walking us back through better layouts and more practical locations, visibly confused why a top-tier idol would pick the worst option. She just smiled sweetly at him, having already decided three buildings ago. "This one's got an electric stove."
We were sitting in that dingy office while she signed the lease, the realtor's pen clicking through paperwork. She leaned over and whispered, "You know I'm gonna burn everything I touch in that kitchen, right?"
"It's fine."
I was fine with it, honestly. We'd been burning ourselves for five years and were now signing a lease for an old apartment with my name on it because she didn't trust herself around fire.
That was a couple months ago. It came back in pieces because my brain was barely awake, still trying to figure out why I was warm. Grey light leaked through the curtains. It was early. Saturday early, when I didn't have anywhere to be and could just lie here half-asleep. Everything was comfortable, more than the villa ever was. I was in our bed, which shouldn't have been weird anymore but still caught me off guard most mornings.
Then I realized the warmth was wet.
I opened my eyes and looked down. A pair of cat eyes stared back at me from between my legs, accompanied by a mouth stretched around my morning wood. Just her head visible above the duvet, hair everywhere, the blanket tucked under her chin like she'd set up camp down there. Her tongue dragged slow up the underside of my shaft and my hips jerked, which made those eyes go all amused and crinkly.
She came off just long enough to mumble something that sounded like "muh-ning, jag-ya" with my cock still in her mouth, all muffled and wet before sinking right back down.
"Morning," I managed, sounding wrecked already. I pushed her hair back and she pressed into my hand, eyes fluttering closed before she got back to work. When she looked up at me again, still sloppily working me with her mouth, her whole face had this beautiful happy glow to it.
Five years we'd been doing this in secret, but the happiness was recent. She used to treat blowjobs like a performance, something choreographed. Now she was doing it on a Saturday morning in the shitty apartment we'd picked together because she'd woken up and apparently decided this was how she wanted to start her weekend.
I'd spent most of my twenties figuring this part wasn't for me, the lazy Saturday part, the part where she does it because she woke up wanting to and nobody's keeping score. So watching the duvet rise and fall with her shoulders while she worked me over, I realized I'd never been this happy in my life. Which is a stupid thing to be thinking with someone's mouth around your cock.
The duvet moved with her head bobbing up and down. She moaned around me and I felt it everywhere, my hips lifting off the mattress before I could stop them. Her tongue circled the tip, catching the pre-cum leaking out, then she hollowed her cheeks and took me deeper. I felt the back of her throat, the wet heat of her mouth sliding down my cock, her lips stretched tight around me. She was getting into it, too, which made it so much hotter.
"Yeji," I groaned, my hand tightening in her hair. "I'm gonna -"
She pulled off with a wet pop. Her mouth was red and slick, and she had the biggest grin on her face.
"I know. I'm not done with you yet -"
Then she shoved the duvet off and got up on her knees.
The blanket slid down her body in slow-motion and I couldn't help but ogle as she emerged from the depths. Her shoulders came first, the muscle there catching the grey morning light, then the dip of her collarbones and the soft hollow of her throat where I'd left a mark last night that she'd kill me for once she saw it in the mirror. The fabric kept going. It uncovered her tits, high and firm, her brown nipples already stiff in the cool apartment air, and then it bared the flat plane of her stomach where the ab lines sat even now, even relaxed, even half asleep with my cock in her mouth.
I'd gladly look at her all morning and forever.
We'd crashed last night after enough rounds that I was honestly worried about the neighbours downstairs and the lease. Living with her was teaching me things about my own stamina I'd never had reason to learn before - mainly that it had a ceiling. Who knew? Jeju was all a fever dream, anyway.
The duvet pooled around her thighs and there she was, bare to the cold air with her neatly trimmed mound on full display, kneeling between my legs because she was about to ruin my morning in the best possible way.
Watching her kneel there, I immediately forgot what those limits were.
The morning light hit her skin. Her hair was tousled, catching on her shoulders, and I watched as she lazily stretched, arching her back like a cat. Five years of that and it still got me the same way every time. The way her tits lifted when she rolled her shoulders back, and I wanted nothing more than my mouth on them.
She knew I was staring. She always knew, and she loved it.
She crawled up my body on her hands and knees, tits swaying under her, and straddled my hips. She reached back, took my cock, and dragged the wet head through her slit before notching it against her hole. Just the tip. She held there, breathing through her nose, making herself wait. Then her thighs gave and she dropped, took all of me at once, her cunt clenching so tight I groaned into her hair and she moaned in response.
"Move with me," she breathed, hands bracing flat against my chest.
She could've eased into it, but five years taught her what we both wanted. She started slamming down on my cock, taking it all at once, and locked into a furious rhythm. Her dancer's body knew exactly how to fuck me into oblivion. I grabbed her waist, thumbs digging into soft skin, and thrust up into her every time she dropped.
The mattress shook. Skin slapped wet and loud in the quiet room. Her cunt swallowed me whole, clamping down hard enough to squeeze the breath out of me.
"Yeji -"
"Shut up and keep up," she panted, her eyes dark as she picked up speed. Her tits bounced with each brutal drop, nipples stiff and begging for my mouth. I sat up and caught one between my lips, sucking hard. She moaned so loud the windows rattled, arching back, pressing her tit deeper into my mouth. Her hands grabbed my hair, holding me there while she ground her clit into me with every drop.
Sweat gleamed on her skin in the morning light. She was fucking me like her life depended on it, gasping for air. Like she did pretty much every day now.
She leaned back, hands bracing on my thighs, taking me so deep I hit bottom. This morning, I was the only audience to her glorious show: her abs flexing, tits bouncing, her pussy stretched around my cock, wet and dripping.
Holy fuck, I couldn't look away.
She caught me staring. That filthy smirk spread across her face, and that sultry tone somehow became sultrier.
"You like that, jagiya?" she breathed, grinding down hard. "Seeing your cock disappear into my pussy?"
"Of course," I groaned, thrusting up deep enough to make her gasp. "It's mine. You're mine."
Hearing that made her miss a bounce, the smirk melting into a sincere smile while the tips of her ears flushed pink. "Oh? Stealing my catchphrases now?"
"You stopped saying it since, I don't know?"
She sank all the way down, burying me deep, and leaned forward until our breath mingled. Her cat eyes locked onto mine, hot and sure.
"I don't need to anymore," she purred.
That was music to my ears.
I quit trying to hold back. She leaned forward to kiss me, as she effortlessly did now, her tongue sliding into my mouth. Her pussy clamped around my cock, milking me as she picked up the pace.
She broke the kiss with a ragged gasp, throwing her head back to expose her throat as she abandoned any pretense of pacing. "Fuck, Minho," she whimpered, grinding down hard. "You always feel so fucking good inside me."
She started bouncing with a frantic, animal urgency. Every heavy drop buried my cock so deep my balls slapped against her wet thighs. Her slick inner walls stretched tight around my girth. The sound of our fucking echoed off the walls, skin slapping wetly against skin, her pussy letting out loud, obscene squelches as a thick lather of our juices foamed between our bodies.
"Don't stop," she panted, chasing her orgasm like she was fucking starving for it. Her face flushed red, twisted in pure ecstasy, her hair whipping wildly around her shoulders.
She hit the edge fast, the climax tearing through her. She screamed my name, her spine snapping into a tight arch that lifted her ass slightly off my thighs. Her cunt started convulsing around my cock, the slick walls squeezing the head in rapid, merciless spasms that pushed my own climax straight to the brink.
I gritted my teeth, gripping her waist to steady her. I stayed sat up, watching her chest heave. "Should I slow down?"
Her eyes snapped open, looking instantly offended. She planted both hands on my chest and shoved me flat against the mattress.
"If you slow down now, I'll kill you," she threatened, breathless and mean. "And don't you even fucking think about making me beg for it."
She backed it up by lifting her hips and slamming down on my cock, burying me so deep our hips cracked together. She rolled her hips, squeezing the absolute fuck out of me.
"Where do you want it?" I groaned, thrusting up to meet her heavy drops.
"You already know the answer, idiot," she panted, grinding her swollen clit against my stomach. "Give me all of it. Fill me up."
That destroyed my last shred of control. I grabbed her hips, my fingers bruising her soft skin, and held her locked down tight against my groin. I let go, pumping my hips up aggressively as the first thick rope of cum shot deep inside her. Lying flat on my back gave me the perfect, filthy view of what we were doing to each other. I thrust up just enough to pull the head out halfway, watching the slick pink lips of her pussy stretch tight around my thick shaft, before slamming back in balls-deep and pumping my hot load into her.
She threw her head back and moaned loudly in response. The messy white cream started bubbling up around my base with every thrust, overflowing from her swollen cunt and spilling down my balls. I kept thrusting, sliding in and out of her dripping slit, slicking our connected skin in foaming semen. I let her convulsing pussy milk every jagged pulse out of me until I was drained.
When I came back to myself, both of us were sweating, panting, and fucking wrecked.
We lay there breathing while we came down. I was still inside her, cock slowly softening while her pussy kept fluttering around me in little aftershocks. She stayed on top of me, warm and sweat-slick, her cheek pressed to my shoulder and her hair stuck damp against my neck.
"Morning," she rasped after a while.
"Morning," I said, kissing the side of her head and stroking her hair.
She turned her head sideways to kiss me back, then laughed against my skin.
Then she started getting to her knees, bracing one hand beside my ribs, trying to lift herself off. My cock slipped halfway out and a hot rush of cum followed it, spilling around me and smearing down between us.
"I need to shower," she murmured.
My hands caught her waist before I had time to pretend I was cool about it. "Stay."
She froze. Her face went soft and private the way it only did for me, and then she sank right back down, taking me in again with a wet little gasp that made us both shudder.
"Baby," she whispered, and melted, both arms wrapping around my shoulders as she dropped back down on top of me, chest to chest, her face burrowing into the side of my neck. Her mouth moved lazy along my jaw, found my ear, closed on it and nibbled. My cock twitched inside her and she felt it and giggled into my cheek.
"See, this is the problem with you," she mumbled. "I had a whole responsible morning planned for us. Shower, breakfast, smoothie, leave on time, be a functional adult. And then I woke up and you were right here, all warm, doing nothing, and now look at me."
"You climbed on me," I shot back.
"Mhm. And I'd do it again, so." She rolled her hips affectionately, and the cum squished warm around where she kept me plugged inside her, some of it sliding down my shaft because there was only so much she could hold after I'd given her all of it. "I love this. I love it so much it's actually embarrassing. Don't tell anyone, yeah?"
I ran my hand up her bare back into her hair and she made a small pleased sound and pressed closer, sinking into me. This got me every time. Five years of wanting her through locked doors and bad timing, and here she was, gone soft against my chest because I'd asked her to stay.
"Stay a bit," I repeated.
"Okay! I'm staying." She kissed the corner of my jaw, then sighed into it. "I really have to go soon, though. Practice."
"It's Saturday."
"It's the new album, that's what Saturday is now." She propped her chin on my chest and looked up at me, and even like this, hair everywhere, both my cock and my cum still inside her, the work crept into her eyes and pulled them sharp. Sex wrecked her voice and ruined her hair, and then the job showed up and Leader Yeji showed up right behind it. "We're going in for concepts. Early. PD-nim wants the whole thing to be about us, the five of us, you know, friendship and girlhood and all that, and every single title he throws out sounds like it belongs on a tote bag. I'm supposed to come back Monday with something good and my brain is empty."
"Yuna doesn't even have to go in, though," I said. "She's still in Japan, right?"
"Osaka. Days off between shoots, supposedly." She dragged a hand back through her wrecked hair to get it out of her face, the morning light catching the tangle of it. "By the sound of the group chat she spent them on some actor boy from her classes. Sent us about forty photos last night and then went very quiet, which with Yuna means it went well." Her smile pulled, then flattened, and she bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm really happy for her. She sounds like herself again. Like, finally herself." She poked my chest absently. "And she's flying back this afternoon for our housewarming tonight, so don't even think about cancelling, we've been promising people that party for weeks."
Then she shrugged. "You know me, though. I'll go in even when nobody asks. Especially when nobody asks."
She absently rolled her hips again while she talked, and I had to hold her waist still to keep my head on straight.
"You're doing it again," I said.
"Doing what?" She did it slower, watching my face, and then her gaze dropped to where my cum had pearled at the base of my cock, sliding toward my balls, and her eyes went narrow and amused. "Hey. Up here. Focus. You work in music, this is your job, help me."
She poked me in the side, way fucking harder than she meant to. Her casual touch always came with trainee-room force behind it.
"Ow!" I winced.
Her whole face went soft. "Oh no, did that actually hurt? I'm sorry, jagi, I always forget." Her palm flattened over the spot and rubbed slow circles, fussing over me, and then she remembered herself and pressed her lips flat. "Okay, but you're still helping me. Don't pretend you're not good with words. I've read your session notes, I know how you talk about music. Give me something."
I caught her wrist and kissed the inside of it.
While she kept grinding on me, I tried to think about the question, because she deserved a real answer. The room stayed quiet around us except for a truck reversing outside and the wet squelches she made when she moved.
What came back wasn't really that week in Jeju. Instead my mind went to all of them, with my cock still inside her, except the thing I was thinking wasn't the sex. Or it wasn't only the sex. It was the faces underneath it, the ones none of them ever showed a camera, the versions I'd somehow ended up on the other side of.
Yuna with her bravado spent and her hands gone shy on my thighs, asking if it was okay like the answer mattered more than the act. Ryujin with her forehead dropped against my shoulder, shaking, every weapon she owned laid flat on the deck between us. Jimin on her back staring at the ceiling like she'd just found out she was a person and not a poster. Chaeryeong scowling into Sunwoo's collarbone because Giselle's story hadn't had enough romance in it for her, proof the week hadn't been only the mess I kept making of it. Lia's wink across a crowded kitchen, the one that knew exactly what I'd done and decided, for reasons of her own, to let it go.
And Yeji. The tear at the edge of the pool that went down instead of up, real gravity, real girl. The word she finally let out in the dark, fast asleep, after five years of holding it. The one sitting on my cock right now, dripping around me and squinting like she'd fire me if I didn't come up with an album title, the only one I got to keep.
All of them, messy and loyal and impossible. All of them still there when morning came. And me, somewhere in the middle of all of it, a guy who'd shown up to that villa thinking he was just visiting his secret and walked out three months later with his name on a lease.
"I don't know," I started, and then stopped, because I wasn't sure where it was going yet. "I keep thinking about that week."
"Jeju?" Yeji's hand slowed on my chest. She looked at me quietly, waiting, her hips settling into a slow roll that made it very hard to think and very easy to keep yammering at the same time.
"All of you," I continued. "You fight like there's a medal in being difficult. And then one of you gets hurt and everyone just - moves. Nobody stands around. I don't know how to say it."
"Say it badly," she murmured. "I'll fix it." She slowly rolled her hips again.
"It's just - you're competitive. Protective. Honest when it hurts, a disaster when it matters. You're just girls, and that makes you extraordinary." I heard how dumb it sounded out loud and almost dropped it. "That's the whole thing, though. Girls being girls, and somehow that's the most amazing thing about all of you. I don't know. Maybe that's nothing."
"That week changed you," she said quietly, watching me.
"It changed all of us. You know it did." I tucked a piece of damp hair behind her ear. "Me too. Went there one person, came back yours."
She stared at me a long moment, sitting on my cock in the middle of our wrecked bed, doing her best to be leader-nim while her pussy dripped around me, and then her sharp features turned soft.
"Aww, that's so sweet," she cooed. "I hate that it's sweet. It's also a whole-ass paragraph, jagiya! We can't put a paragraph on a poster. The girls-being-girls part, though." She rocked on me again, trying to coax the rest out of me. "Say that part again? But shorter."
"I don't - " I shook my head, fumbling for it. "Girls. Girls being. I don't know how you'd even - " And then it was just there, the way these things are once you stop chasing them.
"Girls will be girls...?"
I didn't even have the balls say it out loud. It came out half under my breath, more to myself than to her.
She went so still I felt her stop breathing.
"...was it that bad?" I asked tentatively.
"No - shut up, say it again." Her hands found mine. "Say it again, the way you just said it."
"Girls will be girls."
"Damn." Her eyes were huge and shining and she was grinning like I'd handed her something profound. "Minho, that's it! That's actually it - everyone gets it instantly and nobody can argue with it because that's just what we are." She grabbed my face in both hands and kissed me hard, laughing into my mouth, kissing me again between words. "I'm putting it in the meeting and watching PD-nim lose his mind and I'm taking all the credit, you understand? None for you, this never happened."
"It happened while I was inside you."
"No witnesses." She kissed me one more time, soft and slow now, gone gooey, and then she eased back with a little wince as my cock poked her womb, and more cum slid out hot around me and ran down toward my balls. She looked down at the mess and made a pleased little sound. "Okay. Okay, I really, really have to shower now, for real, before I change my mind and waste the whole morning on you."
"You could waste the morning on me. It's a good use of a morning."
"You're evil." She was still smiling, both hands flat on my chest. "Right, practice. New album. Four-word title some genius gave me. Have to go be a professional now."
She slowly lifted off me. My cock slipped free, and the cum we'd been keeping plugged inside her finally spilled out in a thick rush, dripping over my shaft and down onto the sheets.
"Minho," she whined, betrayed, like the leaking was a thing I'd done to her on purpose. "Look at this! Look what you do to me. Every fucking time, how do you have this much?"
"You're the one who wanted all of it. Repeatedly and loudly, I might add."
"I know what I wanted." She cupped herself fast, both hands catching the mess before it hit the sheets, and climbed off the bed with her knees pressed together, waddling toward the bathroom.
At the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. Her hair was a disaster. My cum was leaking between her fingers. She looked smug enough to hand herself a daesang. She held my eyes, gave her bare ass a slow little wiggle, that tight muscle flexing once, and bit her lip at me.
Then she stepped inside and started to close the door.
I stared at it.
For one soul-sucking moment, my body remembered Jeju. The locked door. The shower running without me.
Five years I stayed on the wrong side of that door because it was what she needed. The one morning she shut it and sent me off to cool down was the morning everything went sideways - and everything that mattered started. Worst thing she ever did to me. Best thing, too.
The door opened again before it clicked shut. Her head poked out, cat eyes narrowed.
"You coming or what?"
I put my hands behind my head and savored it, just for a moment. We'd taken the long road, but at least we were here.
Then I got up and went, because my whole life was a furious little ball of light standing in a steamed-up bathroom telling me to hurry up, and you go when she calls, before she gets angry and comes to find you.
***
So, yeah. We fucked in the shower again. I'm not gonna pretend we got in there to save on the water bill.
It started out innocent enough. I slid in behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and buried my face in her wet neck. It was nice, up until the moment I looked down at how perfectly her tight little ass was poking out, dripping wet, and just fucking slapped it.
Hard enough to leave it jiggling and mark an angry red handprint on her ass cheek.
"AH! Fuck!" She shrieked, whipping around to glare at me. "Do you have a death wish?!"
"Just checking if it's real."
She kept glaring at me, the steam hanging thick and still around us while she decided exactly how to murder me. Then she lunged, attacking my mouth and slamming me right into the soaking tile.
It escalated instantly into a mess of steam, slapping skin, and filthy noises. I pinned her back against the shower wall, grabbed her hips, and drove straight back into her hot, slick pussy. She hiked one wet leg up and planted her foot flat against the tile to brace us. We'd debuted our brand new three-legged shower stance shortly after signing the lease so we didn't slip and break our necks like we almost did back in Jeju. Three months in, and we'd finally cracked the physics of sliding my cock in and out of her wet cunt in a shower stall without needing a trip to the ER. Living together teaches you things, I suppose. I pounded her until she was screaming my name over the rushing water, unloading deep inside her once more while she wrung every last drop out of me.
After, with the water gone lukewarm and both of us completely wrung out, I worked her shampoo through her hair. I always did this now. She used to wash her own hair her whole life, and somewhere in the last three months she just stopped. Now, the second the bottle clicked open, she stepped right into me.
She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her wet tits flat against my chest, while my softening cock rested heavy against the tight ridges of her stomach. She dragged her slick hands lazily up and down my spine, pretending to "wash" my back but mostly just holding me close while I massaged the lather into her scalp, keeping her eyes shut. The old Yeji would've filled the silence with a joke. This one just tipped her wet face up to blindly catch my mouth, drawing me into slow, lazy kisses. The steam settled thick around us, her dark tangled hair sliding through my fingers, and there was nowhere in the world either of us had to be before the shower spray washed it away.
***
She sat at the vanity in nothing but her panties and started on her eyeliner, and I stood behind her with the dryer, working it through her hair in sections the way she'd taught me. I kept losing the part I was supposed to be holding, because she was topless in the fogged-up mirror and I am who I am.
She caught me at it in the glass with a smirk. She sat back, lifted both her tits in her hands, and raised an eyebrow at my reflection. "You still think these are perfect?"
She'd made me answer that once before, back in Jeju, when she'd actually needed to hear it. This time she just wanted to watch me agree.
I bent down and kissed the top of her damp head. "Yeah. You are."
I meant all of her, not just the handful she was holding, and she knew it. Her whole face went warm and smug, and she settled back down into the towel, pleased with herself, before she picked the eyeliner up again.
Her phone leaned against the glass, the group chat apparently going since before she woke me up with her mouth. She tipped it toward me without putting down the brush.
@chaerrry0: HOUSEWARMING TONIGHT 🦊🎉 Sunwoo and i are bringing tteokbokki and a plant u are NOT allowed to kill
@chaerrry0: now that u two stopped """""friends""""" 🥹
@iamfinethankyouandryu: FINALLY.gif 🐱
@igotyuandme: omgggg so sorry i went dark last night osaka ate me ALIVE 🙈🙈
@igotyuandme: UNNIE can i bring someone tonight 🐰
@lia_loves___: called this at the busan yacht party btw 🍯
@iamfinethankyouandryu: LMAOOO baby hoe came back from osaka with a fucking SOUVENIR
@igotyuandme: unnieeee 😭😭😭
@yezyizhere: Bring him 🖤
"How long do you think they knew?"
"Since Jeju." She tapped Lia's message with the end of the brush. "Maybe before."
I read it again. "She said Busan? That was nine months ago. That's WAY before Jeju."
"That's the point." She laughed, tipping her head back into the heat of the dryer and my hand. "I guess we were the last two people to figure it out."
"That's embarrassing."
"That's us. Emotionally oblivious until we weren't." She pressed her lips flat to set the colour, watching herself in the glass, and her smile went soft at the corners. "We got there eventually, though."
"We did."
***
I clicked the dryer off when she was dry. She stood, kissed me once, and went to do her thing in the kitchen. I stayed to make the bed.
Back when we were a secret, Yeji was the most disciplined person I knew. She sorted everything. Three months of living together proved she saved that discipline strictly for the company. At home, she was a goblin. She built mug civilizations on the nightstand and left the bed every morning like a crime scene. I made the bed because she knew I'd fix it. People spent her whole life grading her on being immaculate, so with me, she just got to be a disaster. I'd take that trade every single morning for the rest of my life.
By the time I padded out to the kitchen she had her playlist going and was standing at the counter in my hoodie and nothing I could see under it, frothing milk for the chocolate matcha thing she made me every morning. She had a whole ritual now. The little electric whisk, the chocolate going soft in the microwave that she wasn't really authorized to use without adult supervision, the milk worked into a thick pale foam that climbed and bubbled up the sides of the jug, frothing over the rim where she'd overfilled it.
I watched it spill. Without any input from the responsible part of my brain, I realized that it looked exactly like the mess that had foamed up around the base of my cock earlier when she'd ridden me into the mattress, the white of my cum churned thick with her slick, spilling out of her stretched pussy and bubbling down over my balls.
She caught me staring. Her eyes flicked to the jug, then back to my face. She pointed the whisk accusingly.
"No -" she started.
"I didn't say anything."
"You're making the face. Whatever you're thinking, it's not the same. You're gonna drink this and say thank you."
"Thank you," I said, and she narrowed her eyes at me because I'd said it too fast, and then she gave up and laughed, because we were exactly as filthy as each other and always had been.
I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my arms around her from behind. She leaned back into my chest. The whisk went quiet. She turned to say something but I kissed it out of her mouth. Her hands were already scrabbling at the waistband of my shorts, and mine were shoving the hoodie up over her hips.
I lifted her onto the table and pulled her panties to the side.
She spread her knees and pulled me in by the back of my neck, and I went down to my knees on the cold tile and put my mouth on her. Three months in, I knew exactly what she liked first thing in the morning. I kept my tongue flat and steady against her clit while furiously pumping two fingers in and out of her tight hole until she ran out of patience. She fisted a hand in my hair, swearing at the ceiling, grinding against my mouth until her thighs shook. When she came, she pulled my hair hard enough to sting. I licked her wet cunt clean, so devoted to her I could've died right there on the floor.
Then I stood up and shoved my cock inside her while she was still coming. She gasped, all the air knocked out of her, wrapping her legs around my waist and locking her ankles tight to trap me deep.
"Harder," she mumbled against my jaw. "And don't even think about pulling out."
"Don't you have practice soon?"
"And?"
"And you're going to leak through your leggings in front of PD-nim."
"That's what tampons are for, silly." She bit my ear, grinding down on me, her slick walls clenching tight. "Besides, I dance better full of you. Hit my marks every time. It's basically a performance enhancer." She rolled her hips, slow and filthy. "So finish what you started and help my career while you're at it."
So I did. I fucked her across our cheap kitchen table. The wood groaned violently under us, exactly the way it did yesterday, walking across the cheap laminate with every thrust.
"We're gonna -" she gasped as I drove in deep, her knuckles turning white on the edge of the table, her whole body arching. "Ahhh - break this thing -"
"It's fine," I grunted.
I buried myself deep enough to make her breath hitch and she shook her head frantically, eyes squeezed shut. The table shrieked against the floorboards.
"It's SPLINTERING, Minho - fuck - we need a new one -"
"Fine," I panted. "We'll go to IKEA - nngh - tomorrow?"
She rolled her hips, squeezing my cock tight. "Casa - ahh - Casamia."
"IKEA." I thrust hard, turning her moan loud and shameless. "Because they have - hrngg - meatballs, and we're not - " I had to stop to catch my breath, as my balls slapped against her meaty cheeks. "Not spending three million won on a table we're just gonna ruin exactly like this -"
"West Elm -" She dug her heels into my back to drag me deeper. "Ahhh - West Elm, then." Her eyes were glassy, but she was grinning. "And we go - oh fuck yes - in person. Together -"
I knew how much a West Elm dining set cost and my wallet sweat just thinking about it, but I also knew what she was actually asking for. It wasn't really about a sleek wooden table. She wanted an excuse to walk through the front doors of a crowded showroom in broad daylight, hold my hand under the display lighting, and take silly mirror selfies in the bedroom section that were definitely not going on Bubble.
"Fine," I said, leaning down to kiss her. "West Elm it is."
"Good boy."
Then she got too loud for conversation to continue. I pounded her until our neighbours definitely heard, and I stopped pretending I gave a shit about the noise. When I came, I buried myself deep and pinned her flat against the wood as she milked it out of me, her heels digging brutally into my back.
We stayed like that, breathing, my forehead on her shoulder.
Then the smoke detector shrieked.
It took my post-nut brain a moment to realize the shrieking was real. Behind Yeji's shoulder, the microwave was lit up like a small angry sun. The bowl of chocolate had bypassed melting and simply caught fire, as furious streaks of orange light licked the glass while the timer counted down from ten minutes.
"Why is it on for thirteen minutes?" I asked. The math wasn't mathing.
"It is NOT on for - " She twisted to look, still impaled on my cock, and her jaw dropped. "I pressed one-three-zero! One minute thirty! Ssibal, Minho, it's ON FIRE - "
"No shit, I can see that -"
"Don't just stand there, DO SOMETHING!"
"What the fuck do you want me to do?!"
"Use your - " She gestured wildly at my groin, meaning either my cock or the cum dripping out of her. Even mid-crisis, with the smoke detector shrieking and our breakfast blazing across the kitchen, she doubled over laughing and slapped the table. "Put it OUT!"
"I'm NOT putting out a fire with my DICK -"
"I'M JOKING, GET OFF ME!"
***
Living with a girl who can't cook really tests a man's housekeeping abilities. But once I'd performed firefighting heroics that didn't involve questionable use of my dick, Yeji decided to have another crack at the kitchen, cracking three fresh eggs into a pan that was already too hot.
The oil spat at her. She snatched her hand back and set her jaw like the flinch had been her own idea, refusing to admit that a kitchen had hurt her. Then she tipped the eggs in and the pan erupted, oil leaping the rim and splattering the backsplash, the whites turning grey and rubbery before she'd even found the spatula. She had her tongue caught between her teeth and the spatula in a death grip.
Smoke poured off the pan, and right on cue the detector started screaming. I'd already reset it once while dousing the microwave, same as every morning, and here it was earning its keep again before nine. I reached up and killed the noise, then pulled the drawer open. A fresh nine-volt rolled out from our stockpile - we had a dozen packs of them, half still in the shrink-wrap, because you learn to buy in bulk. We'd already gone through a couple packs since we'd moved in. I set it on the counter for later.
She can't say the soft stuff out loud, so she says it in burnt eggs, which is the whole reason I keep the batteries stocked and my plate clean.
She slid the plate in front of me and plopped into the chair across the corner of the table, chin in both hands, watching. Under it her bare foot found mine and her toes curled in between my toes, hooking there, holding on the way other people hold hands. She'd started doing it months ago and neither of us had ever said a word about it. I picked up a bite with my chopsticks. It tasted like a campfire that had once, at a great distance, met an egg. I chewed it, swallowed it, and set the chopsticks down.
"Incredible."
She lit up. She sat up straighter, propped her chin back in her hands, and beamed proudly as she watched me chew, her eyes crinkling, her grin stretching wider with every bite, her toes tightening on mine under the table. I ate all of it, and would gladly do it again.
***
I'd dragged the wobbly chair under the smoke detector and climbed up to put the fresh battery in. I'd barely got the cover open when two arms clamped around my legs.
Yeji had left the ruined pan on the stove, crossed the kitchen, and wrapped herself tightly around my calves. She pressed her cheek to the back of my thigh and held on.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Making sure you don't fall!"
"You're gonna make me fall, you know that?"
"I'm SAVING you!" She squeezed tighter, indignant, her face mashed into the back of my legs, giggling against me before she'd got the words out. "If you fall I'll kill -" She stopped, the threat falling apart since I'd already be on the floor. "- I mean - I'll never forgive you. Hold still."
"I can't move, you've got me in a -"
"GOOD. Stop moving."
I got the battery seated. The little light blinked green, the detector chirped once, and we were armed for the next disaster. She was still wrapped around my legs, grinning up at me, thrilled with herself for saving me from a fall I was only risking because of her.
"You can let go now," I deadpanned.
She didn't. She held on a while longer, cheek warm against my calves, giggling sorry-sorry-sorry into my legs, and I stood up there in the smoke-hazed kitchen and let her keep me safe.
***
Hongsam had been with us a week. He was her parents' dog, technically, a toy poodle the color of red ginseng who lived down in Jeonju and ran the place like a small furious landlord, except Yeji had come back from her last visit carrying him in the crook of her arm like contraband, and nobody back home had put up a fight. Insam, his brother, stayed in Jeonju. Within a day Hongsam had claimed my side of the bed and most of my pillow, and within two he'd worked out that a closed bedroom door meant the morning had started without him, so he spent a good slice of every morning scratching at the wrong side of it and howling his objection to the management. I knew the feeling, having done five years on the wrong side of Yeji's doors myself, so he could survive for however long Yeji got away with keeping him here.
She used to miss both of them from two hours down the KTX line, calling home on the holidays she couldn't get back for, asking her sister to give them a treat from her. Now Hongsam slept against the backs of my knees.
She came out of our bedroom dressed for practice, hair tied back, dance bag over one shoulder, and Hongsam lost his mind, because the bag meant someone was leaving and leaving was the worst thing anyone had ever invented. I scooped him up before he could throw himself at her shins. He weighed nothing and smelled like the HYPONIC shampoo Yeji bought him by the bottle.
"Say bye to your mom," I told him, and held him up.
Her cat eyes went round and helpless. She took his face in both hands, put her nose to his, and gave him the voice she'd sooner die than let the public hear.
"You be good, okay? No attitude, and NO barking at the delivery guy," she scolded, trying to look tough, before going all goo-goo-ga-ga on him. "You're the most handsome boy in Korea, yes you are, I love you, be GOOD -"
That put me third most handsome boy in Korea, behind two poodles, holding the winner up to her face. She gave me a quick peck over the top of his head so I wouldn't feel left out.
"Don't give the whole day to the album," I said, kissing her back on the forehead. "He's only up from Jeonju another couple weeks. Come home early for once and spend it on the stuff that actually loves you back."
"I KNOW." She rolled her eyes, already folding, scratching Hongsam under the chin. "I'll be back by four. We'll take him to the river before people start showing up, and we still have to buy the food, you cannot throw a housewarming on what's in our fridge."
The old Yeji would've taken the late slot and called it discipline. This one had somewhere she'd rather be.
She kissed Hongsam, then kissed me, in that order, which I decided not to take personally, and disappeared through the door.
Except she was back twenty seconds later, the door opening just wide enough for her sheepish face. I'd already pulled her keys off the hook and tossed them at her before she could ask. She caught them without looking.
"Kill it at practice," I said.
"Always do," she grinned. And she was gone, the door clicking shut as the apartment fell quiet. Hongsam went tense in my arms, ears up, staring at the door she'd walked out of, already wriggling to get down and inspect the betrayal.
I put him down to let him get on with his investigation and started cleaning up the kitchen, which was a total war zone. Under the table, I found a sock.
It was hers. They're always hers. People walk into a place this messy and assume there's a messy girl living in it, but Yeji alphabetizes her supplements, and the only place her self-control fails is the ten seconds it takes her to get out of her clothes and onto me. Most nights she manages that the second the door shuts. The socks just go flying. By morning she's forgotten she ever had them on, so when a straggler turns up a day later she holds it up accusingly. I take the blame, because I'm the reason she can't remember undressing. So I pick them up, every morning, all of them, and keep my mouth shut. My reward, I guess, for being very competent at my job.
I find most of them, stuffed in a shoe or behind the books. The one I missed ended up in the fridge - I still don't know how a sock even gets in there - and Yeji found it and lost her mind, holding it out at me like I'd planted it to ruin her life. I took that on the chin too. Which is why, every morning since, I open the fridge to check.
Thankfully, no sock this time. Just the kimchi and last night's leftovers. I let the door swing shut and looked at the gallery of photos she'd stuck all over the front.
Hongsam was scratching at my shins again, done with the door and wanting up, so I hauled him into one arm and turned us both to face the fridge.
"Look," I told him. "That's your mom."
The beach one was held up under a magnet shaped like a tangerine, Yeji sitting between my legs on the sand with her back to my chest and my arms crossed over her, both of us gone soft and golden in the last of the light. She'd carried it in her wallet for three months before it earned a spot up here. She was smiling at the camera, except she'd been smiling at me a second before the shutter and a second after, and I was right there in the frame where I'd always been. I made myself look at it a while, because I'd had a dream once where I wasn't. Hongsam sniffed it and twisted to check the door again.
"Okay, ignore that one. See this one? That's the two of us in the water."
Somebody had caught it from the beach, the first time all day I'd put my arms around her like I meant it, salt at our waists and her leaning into me. You couldn't see our faces. You didn't need to. Hongsam gave it a single thump of his tail, maybe for the water, maybe for nothing.
The breakfast one Chaeryeong took without either of us noticing, Yeji's fingers on my wrist at the table, both of us laughing at some joke I can't even remember now. She'd stuck it dead center.
Hongsam yawned.
"That's your imo Yuna." Yeji had shot that one herself, Yuna's hair braided down her back, caught mid-preen and pretending she wasn't. His head sank against my arm.
The bonfire one was bigger, printed out properly, the whole drunk lot of us crammed around the last fire in Jeju and yelling at a phone wedged in a soju bottle. I was in it. Took me five years to get into a group photo, and there I was, right in the middle, holding the girl and grinning like an idiot.
Hongsam had stopped looking by then.
He just wanted his mom, and paper photos couldn't help him with that. But I kept going anyway, down to the last one. It was a blurry back-row shot I'd taken of her at the Hulu show on a phone that couldn't handle the dark, just a small bright figure under the lights with a smear of motion where her arm came up. I never told her I took it. She'd found it on my laptop, stolen it, printed it, and stuck it on our fridge like a trophy.
By the time I finished, his eyes had gone to slits, and a second later he was asleep with his chin over my shoulder. I stood there in the messy kitchen, holding a sleeping dog in front of a fridge covered in photos, and held him for a while.
***
When my arm finally went dead I laid Hongsam in the warm dent he'd already claimed on the couch. Without her in it, the apartment felt strange, too quiet for the hour.
My phone buzzed.
Yeji: It's finally done!
Yeji: I wanted you to be the first to hear it 🖤
Yeji: Tell me what you actually think?
Yeji: crown.mp4
She'd guarded that song for months. I played it off the speaker she'd left running, and her voice filled the place, rough mix and all, flat in the corner where she'd run out of air.
"I don't need armor, or anything like that,"
Her spare keys were tangled with mine in the bowl by the door and her sneakers were dumped in the middle of the floor, three months of her scattered across an apartment that used to be half mine. This was a girl who once alphabetized her own fridge. My camera gear in the corner was the last thing in the place still only mine, and even that she borrowed.
In the kitchen a post-it in her blocky hand stuck to the fridge said WE NEED EGGS!!!, underlined twice. I laughed in the empty room, because we always needed eggs. Nobody alive went through eggs like a girl who couldn't cook one, and she'd never forgive me if she caught me finding it funny.
"Even invisible thorns are piercing me,"
I bent down and picked one of her hair ties up off the floor and put it in my pocket, the way I did most mornings, without a word.
"In the dark, I set off a new flame,"
The sun had come round to the front of the building, lying in long strips across the floor, her sneakers, the dog, the wall of photographs she'd hung and taped and wedged into every corner of the place.
"I bloom again proudly, as if you can see,"
I stopped at the window.
A tangerine seedling sat on the sill in a pot a few sizes too big for it, three months in the dirt and maybe four leaves tall, leaning furiously at the light.
Ryujin gave me the seeds. Our last morning in Jeju she caught me alone by the pool, took my hand, and tipped a few tangerine pips into my palm like they were illegal.
"She wanted to build a house in the mountains here once," she muttered. "Live here. Grow her own." She closed my fingers over the seeds. "You won't get it, and don't ask her about it. Just grow them, don't let them die." The bravado went out of her for a moment. "And she never finds out it came from me."
I didn't get it. I still mostly don't. But I planted them the week we signed the lease, and the stubborn little thing came up anyway, and every morning it leaned a bit further toward the window.
"I'm fine, no matter how much I'm hurt, what doesn't kill me makes me stronger,"
Her protein powder crowded my coffee. Our toothbrushes shared one cup. Her skincare had my razor backed into the corner of the shelf. The bed was still wrecked from this morning, and the dishes she'd sworn she'd do were stacked in the sink, all the daily mess of two people living on top of each other.
"The hunnids scars on my heart, that's all me, I have no regrets about my choice,"
I stood in the middle of all of it and let her tell me the thing she'd never once said to my face.
"Crown on my head, the only thing that's on my mind."
The song ran out.
My phone buzzed again.
Yeji: Miss you already 🖤
Minho: you left 20 minutes ago
Yeji: So? Still miss you
Yeji: See you tonight 🖤
I texted her back that she was a menace and to bring home soju, which was the kind of thing we actually said to each other; then took two mugs down out of the cupboard, because by tonight there'd be two of us plus her ITZY family again, and there always would be now.
Months ago, the night I woke up out of the worst dream of my life, she'd said something in her sleep. Half-swallowed, gone before she knew it had left her, the first time in five years, and I'd lain there with my mouth open, sure I hadn't earned the right to say it back and never would.
I looked around at the keys and the sneakers and the sleeping dog and her tangerine reaching for the window.
Miss you already.
"Yeah," I said, to the empty room, to the life we'd chosen, the life we'd built, the life we’d finally let ourselves have.
"Love you too."
══════════════════════
Loving someone is to see them as they are,
Not as they are expected to be.
This story is dedicated to everyone learning to be seen for who they truly are - and to everyone learning to see the people they love without filters, expectations, or fear.
To everyone who's ever felt too much, needed too hard, or loved too deeply - while somehow still feeling like not enough - and to everyone learning that both were true all along.
And to everyone who picked this up expecting one thing and stayed for something else - thank you for seeing it as it was.
══════════════════════
JEJU HEAT
STARRING
Hwang Ye-ji as Yeji
Choi Ji-su as Lia
Shin Ryu-jin as Ryujin
Lee Chae-ryeong as Chaeryeong
Shin Yu-na as Yuna
...and Yu Ji-min as Karina
WITH SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCES BY
Mim Min-jeong as Winter
Uchinaga Aeri as Giselle
Ning Yizhuo as Ningning
Im Na-yeon as Nayeon
Hirai Momo as Momo
Minatozaki Sana as Sana
Park Ji-hyo as Jihyo
Myoi Mina as Mina
Kim Da-hyun as Dahyun
Son Chae-young as Chaeyoung
Chou Tzuyu as Tzuyu
Huh Yun-jin (Jennifer) as Yunjin
Brought to you by noodles
2024-2026
══════════════════════
Author's Note:
You may have noticed that Yeji's beloved cinnamon poodle Hongsam (whose name means Red Ginseng) appears in this epilogue.
You may also have heard that Hongsam recently sadly passed away.
The ending scene was rewritten to include him, loved and full of life, as a tribute to what he meant to Yeji and MIDZY.
RIP Hongsam (2017-2026)
P.S. DM me if you need help finding the post credits scene! And be sure leave a comment or send a message to leave your thoughts if this story and its characters resonated with you!
A star rewritten, two hearts fated, three days painting a thousand nights across one unbroken sky.
word count: ~8.3k
Characters: Male Reader (OC: Minho) x ITZY Hwang Yeji
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index | Read on Fanprose
Previous Chapter | Epilogue
[YEJI'S POV]
The stars shone bright, but they didn't sparkle.
Which was fucking annoying, because she'd just used them as her exit strategy.
Minutes ago, she'd waved her phone at the massive bonfire circle, claiming she needed pristine starlight shots to make up for her Bubble radio silence.
Every MIDZY knew she was the group's relentless photo spammer on Bubble, but she hadn't posted a single thing since they landed in Jeju. Her camera roll was basically useless right now. The golden hour sunset photos from two days ago were gorgeous, except Minho had taken them, and her face in every shot was a fucking liability.
So the Bubble update was a pretty bulletproof excuse. Nobody questioned content creation.
They'd pushed Minho to sing, then shoved her until she joined him, and the moment his voice slid effortlessly with hers, her chest dragged tight. It sounded too good, too right. She couldn't even finish the song before the panic hit her throat.
I want this. I just want to sit in the fucking sand and sing dumb songs with him for the rest of my life.
That drove her straight out of the firelight. Since when did she want anything but winning that badly?
The sky out here was nice and clear, even if the bonfire smoke kept drifting in ugly grey patches across the beach, and her phone camera had a night mode that was supposed to make this look professional. She just needed ONE clean shot to prove her alibi before Yuna started posing with Winter's failed s'mores, or Ryujin heaved an entire log into the flames just to make a spark explosion. She'd been on dangerous levels of watch this energy all night because Yunjin kept laughing.
Standing near the edge of the basalt drop, Yeji locked her shoulders back and kept her chin high. Her default response to panic - well, to everything, really - was to just brace like she was waiting for a spotlight. The Pacific beat itself white against the lava blocks below. The racer back crop top had been more than fine near the fire, but out here, the wind slid under the hem and spiked goosebumps along her ribs. She ignored the cold, tilting her head awkwardly backward to shove the phone high into the dark, and tapped the moon icon on the screen.
The first photo came out blurry.
"Ah, jinjja," she muttered. Seriously?
She wiped the lens against the cleanest part of her crop top and tried again. The second shot caught a smear of orange from the bonfire, and the third turned the stars into little white scratches like dust on a mirror. On the next try, the wind shoved her hair across her face right as the shutter opened.
Fucking amateur.
Hwang Yeji didn't do amateur. Hwang Yeji trained mistakes out of her body before debut.
Shoving the loose hair behind her ear, her fingers brushed the collar of the crop top. Her hand stopped there against her neck, pressing flat over the tender, swollen mark Minho had sucked into the side of her throat that morning.
They’d ended up on the living room couch under the duvet after absolutely demolishing their bedroom last night. Waking up in the morning light, she'd simply pulled her panties aside, guided him back inside her, too tired for a real round but needing him stretching her out. He’d slid in slow, steadying her hips with one hand while his thumb held firm against her clit to keep her quiet. Every time she rolled her hips, she had to bite his arm and let him suck her throat muffle-tight so she wouldn't make a sound as he filled her up deep, taking the greedy, shameless thrill of his hot load inside her while her members made matcha steps away.
They’d been dead quiet. He'd kept her locked down under the blanket, so they’d gotten away with it. Sure, Ryujin had aggressively slammed the fridge door twice, Lia had kicked the leg of the couch on her way to the sink, Chaeryeong had dropped three whole strawberries into the matcha, and Yuna had walked in, seen the couch, walked right back out, then returned with a much louder "Good morning!" before asking, "Unnie, are you cold?" while staring directly at the duvet until Yeji nearly bit through Minho's arm, but nobody had said a word. They DEFINITELY hadn't suspected a thing.
Focus.
She lowered the phone, annoyed with herself, then raised it again.
Was it ever just the sex?
She waited for the usual shrug to settle into her shoulders, but her skin stayed cold. The phone pulsed in and out of focus, searching and searching stars it couldn't understand, and for a split second the black screen reflected her own face back at her. Wind-raw cheeks and hair in her mouth.
She turned the screen away.
Just take the fucking picture, Hwang Yeji.
The camera struggled to find light. The screen dissolved into noisy gray static, just like that memory from Practice Room B, five years ago.
Cold linoleum pressed against her cheek. The rough edges of the crumpled vocal evaluation sheet bit into her fist. The red D on the paper glared back at her until her head spun.
When Minho had shoved the door open looking for an empty mirror to drill choreo, she hated him for catching her. Except he'd skipped the bullshit trainee platitudes, dropping his bag to sit close enough for their shoulders to touch, and rested his warm hand on the back of her neck to steady her.
She'd sobbed into his shoulder and whispered for him to stay, and minutes later they were fucking on the scuffed floor as she begged him to keep the mess inside so she wouldn't get it on her clothes.
From that night on, it became the fix. Every time the schedule choked her out, every time the pressure made her head hurt, she dragged him into locked vocal booths, empty dorms, and after he quit, his modest apartment in Seongnae-dong, minutes away from the JYP building. Obviously, she loved the sex. It didn't help that he had a stupidly good cock and knew exactly how to pound her pussy until her head shut up.
She also taught him to stop counting steps, because he'd taught her how to stay.
Just sex. Right.
The phone slipped a little in her freezing fingers. Down the beach, Yuna's loud laugh rattled through a high-pitched scream. She should probably go back before someone set a sleeve on fire on the beach.
She held her ground on the rock.
She dragged her thumb down to kill the exposure, forcing the digital sky pitch black until the stars sharpened into clean white points.
The second the stage lights died at her debut showcase, her eyes swept the aisle seats in rows six and seven. She caught nothing but a bulky staff camera and someone's eomma waving a lightstick.
Not him.
Fine. He'd quit. People quit. She didn't.
After that, there'd been more seats to search. Nine days after debut, they broke the industry record for the fastest girl group win. The M Countdown trophy hit her hands, her fingers shaking so badly she almost dropped the acrylic while floor directors shoved them toward their encore marks. DALLA DALLA kept winning. ICY kept winning. By winter, rookie awards had piled up until managers were telling her to switch arms before broadcasts caught her trembling under the bouquets and gold edges.
And every single time the confetti cannons fired, her chin snapped up. Scanning the VIP pits. The sponsor tables. The camera risers. The suffocating crush of staff clogging the wings.
Not him.
Then WANNABE blew up so hard everybody knew the shoulder move. Their practice room mirrors fogged from sweat, Ryujin's shoulders became everyone's business, and Yeji kept smiling through encore stages with tape biting under her costume because being the top girl group of their generation meant they didn't get to look tired. LOCO took them higher. Billboard screenshots appeared in the group chat at insane hours, while hotel curtains opened in foreign cities she only saw through van windows and stage entrances.
She looked there, too. Raking the balcony tiers. Hunting through the catwalks. Squinting past the lighting desks. Staring dead into the absolute black drop past the pyrotechnics.
Not him.
And the bigger the numbers got, the faster the public took their cut, until less and less of her actually belonged to her. CHECKMATE made them million-sellers while everyone argued about SNEAKERS. CHESHIRE sold anyway, but they never performed it after the initial promotions because it'd taken a toll on their vocal cords. CAKE sold anyway, but the comment sections still chewed through them, and when Lia finally stepped back, Yeji read the statement once, blamed herself by the second line, and drove her heels into the next rehearsal floor until the junior staff stopped talking. When the label screamed or the internet turned, she'd gone numb and fixed it. Sang harder. Danced harder.
The world kept handing her proof that she'd made it, but her eyes kept checking the room anyway.
Not him.
Her thumb dragged too far across the screen, and KakaoTalk opened instead of the camera roll.
Of course it did.
His name sat at the top of the list because she'd sent him a photo of Chaeryeong's terrible grilled abalone earlier, which was normal. Sharing evidence of food crimes was normal. Keeping the thread open for no reason was also normal if nobody asked.
Having him pinned was normal too. She had needs. He always answered.
A week ago, in the dorm, she'd lain on her bed with her phone face down on her stomach and typed
Yeji: come to Jeju with me 🖤
before her ears burned up and she deleted it so fast her nails slipped on the glass. The black heart had been hers for so long that MIDZY treated it like official branding, which was annoying because Minho had picked it first, years ago when she'd refused to use red hearts because they looked needy. After one practice where she'd terrorized Lia for blaming a missed count on a slippery floor, he'd texted
Minho: scary girl 🖤
like that was a compliment. When she'd demanded to know why black, he'd said,
Minho: because it's your favorite color
Which, unfortunately, was true.
How the fuck did he know that, anyway?
Then he'd added that red looked too harmless for a girl who smiled like she was about to win a knife fight.
She'd told him to shut up.
Then she'd used it once. Fans loved it. The company noticed. The stupid thing became hers.
Which meant she could send it to millions of strangers after a selfie, but not to him. Not when he knew exactly where it came from. Also, who the fuck sends hearts to their fuck buddy? Too much. Weird. Unnecessary. They weren't that.
She'd tried again the day before they went.
Yeji: I'm going to Jeju with the girls tomorrow.
Yeji: Five days.
Minho: oh
Minho: that's a long time
Yeji: We haven't fucked in three weeks.
Minho: yeah
Minho: i know
Minho: do you want me there?
Yeji: Bring sunscreen.
Minho: ok
Minho: what flight should i take?
Yeji: Figure it out.
Yeji: There's a 21:40 from Gimpo after you get off work.
Yeji: I'll ask manager-nim to pick you up.
Yeji: Aewol Beach Resort. We're renting a villa.
She let her hand drop to the mattress, ready to lock the screen and be done with it. Except not even a second later, she pulled the phone back up.
Yeji: Text me when you land, ok?
She tossed the device face down on the sheets and rolled onto her side, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth until her jaw stopped aching. He'd taken the demand at face value, accepting five days in Jeju alongside her members - even though he'd never met them properly since the Busan calamity - as a given and jumping straight to flight logistics, leaving her alone with a stomach churning so hard she thought she might puke.
The next evening, after his shift, he got on a plane anyway, still wearing his blue dress shirt.
He showed up with a single backpack and tired eyes, and the new bottle of sunscreen was shoved right into a side mesh pocket so she could see the label. He never actually used it, though. Yesterday, Yuna had snatched the bottle first and rubbed it all over Yeji's shoulders on the beach with both hands, frantic enough to leave white streaks along her collarbone.
Yah, that was weird.
She stared at the old Kakao messages until the screen drifted into gray, and the moment her reflection rose over his name, she clicked the lock button and turned her thumb back to the camera app. She only needed one clean photo. One aesthetic shot to prove her fake Bubble alibi, so she could walk back to the fire and pretend everything was fine.
She lifted the phone and held her breath during the three-second countdown of the lens shutter.
Fuck, still blurry.
Her hands had jumped before the first sound of footsteps even hit the basalt path behind her.
She stared out at the ocean, though her rigid shoulders finally dropped. She slid the phone into her back pocket and stepped straight to the edge of the black columns. The stars burned bright and stubborn over the Pacific. Still unsparkling. Still useless.
***
[MINHO'S POV]
The bonfire had burned down to a low orange flicker on the beach behind me, leaving the wind to drag the last sounds of laughter away until the ocean swallowed the rest of the night.
Yeji had slipped away from the fire a while ago. Ryujin had noticed first, of course. She'd eventually caught my eye across the sand, giving me a look that casually promised murder before jerking her chin out toward the dark.
I found Yeji standing near the edge of the black lava columns in just that thin crop top, her shoulders tight against the cold as the coastal wind whipped across her bare arms. The basalt dropped away in broken steps beneath her sneakers, tidewater flashing white between the cracks below. A fall from this height would break bones. I kept my eyes off the freezing tide sliding into the black pockets to keep my balance steady.
I stopped a step behind her and dropped my hoodie over her shoulders to cut the chill. Without turning to check who it was, she smoothly slid her arms backward into the sleeves while I guided the heavy fabric down. She braided her arms across her middle and stared down the sharp drop beyond her sneakers, looking tiny against the Pacific now that she was swallowed by the oversized fleece. Her hair blew loose across her cheek under the Jeju stars.
We just stood there while the wind and the tide crashed below us, until her breathing finally slowed down.
"You're hovering," she murmured, barely loud enough to clear the surf. She threw a familiar dry glare at the Pacific under her feet.
"I'm making sure you don't fall off a cliff."
She stared straight out at the drop. "You wouldn't even see me hit. The ocean is pitch black, idiot."
"Wasn't looking at the water."
She let out a short breath that caught somewhere near a laugh, dropping her chin into the collar of the hoodie. "That was terrible."
"Worked, though."
Her cheek shifted. She was hiding a smile.
The way she stood now, with her chin tucked, arms crossed tight, dragged me back to all the post-evaluation nights in the mirror-lined JYP studio. Years ago, sure. But Yeji never stood still without a fight.
I stepped up right beside her on the uneven rock. The starlight caught a silver edge along her damp lashes.
"You okay?" I asked quietly.
Her shoulders dropped. "No." She turned her attention back to the black water. "But I want to be."
That worked for me.
I dropped my hand, letting my knuckles rest lightly against the back of hers to press my warm skin over her freezing joints. It was small enough for her to brush off as an accident. Her fingers twitched against mine. I braced for her to pull away, but instead, her hand turned under mine. Her palm opened upward, and our fingers slid together, catching perfectly like we'd been doing this for years instead of just since the day before on the beach.
That grip dragged me straight back to the basement studios from our first summer. Dead AC, squeaking sneakers on scuffed laminate, and Yeji hating early partner drills with her whole face. She despised holding hands with anyone. She claimed it ruined her timing, snapping at me that my hold was too loose, then too tight, then just generally annoying. But before long, she could grab my hand blind on cue while staring dead ahead into the mirror.
She squeezed my fingers once.
I dragged my thumb slowly over the sharp ridge of her knuckle in response.
"Remember the blue room?" I asked her.
Her eyes stayed anchored on the violent surf, but the tense line of her mouth softened up. "The one with the blown-out speaker?"
"And the aircon making that awful dying sound in the corner."
"You swore it was humming in B-flat."
"It definitely was."
"It was a C, you deaf bastard."
"It was B-flat," I said. "You were just mad I could hear it."
She let out a small scoffing breath, shaking her head. "You were miserable in there."
"You kept bitching at me to fix the speaker."
"You were the only one tall enough to reach the plug!"
"Being tall didn't make me your personal fucking handyman, Yeji."
"You tried anyway."
"I was trying to impress you so you'd stop yelling at me."
She finally looked at me, her sharp jaw cutting across the sky.
"You were?"
The stiff line of her mouth just vanished. "You were scary. Of course I was trying to impress you."
"I was focused," she argued, squaring her shoulders. "Not scary."
"You made that poor trainee cry because she missed the pre-chorus."
"She missed it six fucking times in a row, Minho."
"Scary."
"She needed the timing!"
"See?"
She laughed brightly, the sound whipping away into the wind.
The laugh faded into the rush of the ocean below us. Yeji looked back up at the sky, phone forgotten in her pocket, my hoodie hanging off one shoulder where the wind kept attacking it.
"You were supposed to be there," she said.
For one dumb second, my brain stayed in the blue room.
"In the studio?"
"No." Her fingers tightened around mine. "After. All of it. Debut showcase, first music show win, rookie awards, first tour. Rows six and seven at showcase. Back wall during music shows. Camera pits. The wings at award shows. Hotels. Airports. All the places you had no reason to be."
The surf hit the black rock below us hard enough to spray cold mist through the cracks. She watched the water fall back into the dark and kept her jaw locked.
"I looked for you every time," she said. "So pathetic, right? I would finish a stage, smile at the camera, bow to the staff, do all the shit I was supposed to do, and then my eyes would go searching before I could stop myself. Not him. Not him. Not him."
I couldn't move even if I'd wanted to. She had her hand locked around mine so hard my knuckles had gone pale.
"Yeji -"
"Don't." She lifted our joined hands ever so slightly, and the apology my mouth had started reaching for died right there. "If you say sorry, then I have to say it wasn't your fault. And it wasn't. So then where does it go?"
I looked down at our hands and had no answer worth giving her.
"I don't know," I said.
"Exactly." She swallowed and turned her face back to the sky. "You didn't do anything wrong. I didn't do anything wrong. You left before it killed you. I stayed because you sat on that floor with me until I could. Then I debuted, and everyone kept telling me I won."
Her thumb dragged once across my knuckle, then stopped.
"I did win," she continued. "I worked for it. My members earned it. I know that. But you were there first, before people said I was the leader, before stages, before anyone called me 'JYP's secret weapon' or whatever and meant it in public. You saw me on the floor with a D grade and talked to me like the paper was unqualified. Not me."
The old practice room came back too fast: scuffed linoleum, fluorescent glare, the red letter crushed in her fist, her shoulders shaking under my palm.
"You were never unqualified," I stated simply.
"I know that now." She wiped under one eye with the sleeve of my hoodie, hard enough to leave the skin flushed. "I didn't know it then. I thought every mistake was proof. Then you came in and acted like failing one evaluation was the dumbest reason in the world to quit, and I hated how easy you made it sound. I wanted to shove every win in your face after that - turn around and go, look. See? You were right. I did it. I fucking did it."
"You did," I said. "But don't give me too much credit. I said one true thing on a shitty floor. You built the rest."
"But you weren't there."
"No -"
"And I hated you for it," she talked over me, still looking away. "Then I missed you, and I hated that more. Then I fucked you again and told myself that solved the problem because sex has rules. You come over. Or I come over. We fuck. You leave. Easy."
She finally turned her head toward me.
"It was never easy. Obviously. Keep up."
That almost broke a laugh out of me. I held it in because she was still standing open in front of me, and I wasn't going to make her close back up just because the truth scared me.
She looked back at the sky, her grip on my hand loosening slightly.
"You know, I used to go to the JYP roof after you quit," she said softly, almost wistfully. "Above the old practice building, before we moved to the new one. Remember the door by the vending machines? The lock was broken for months. The machine made the whole stairwell blue, and I would sit by the rail after practice staring up until my neck hurt. I couldn't even see stars through the Seoul smog most nights, but just looking up at how massive and empty the sky was... it helped. It made whatever mistake I made in rehearsal feel incredibly small."
The wind pushed her dark hair across her face.
"Lia wasn't lying the other day," she murmured. "Zero light pollution. I always wanted to see what it looked like with you."
"You never told me about the roof," I said quietly.
She slowly lowered her chin to look at me, her dark eyes staring into mine. "You weren't there to tell."
Yeah, I'd earned that one.
"I - I didn't leave you," I mumbled.
She hooked her fingers into the front of my hoodie and pulled it tighter across her chest.
"I left JYP," I said. "The company. The trainee lists. The rooms with no windows. Trainers counting mistakes like they were collecting proof we didn't belong there. By the end, I hated dance. Music too. Mirrors. My own face in practice footage. I couldn't stay in it anymore."
"I know." She pressed the hoodie sleeve under her eye again, slower this time. "I knew then. You had that look. One more trainer said your name and you were going straight through the studio glass. I knew why you left."
She folded both hands around mine, trapping my fingers between her palms.
"It still felt the same."
I closed my other hand over hers.
"I think about it too," I said.
Her shoulders hitched once under the hoodie.
"The what-ifs?"
"Yeah. Bad dorm coffee. You yelling at me in stage makeup. Me pretending I wasn't staring at you in every practice clip." I watched her mouth tremble, then steady. "I thought about you on stage before you even debuted. After I quit, I couldn't listen to music for a while without feeling sick. Then your DALLA DALLA teaser dropped, and I watched it at two in the morning on my laptop with the volume low so my roommate wouldn't wake up."
She stared at me.
"Of course I watched," I said before she could ask. "I watched everything. At first because I missed you. Then because you were impossible not to watch. Then because it was easier to call it supporting an old friend than admit I was waiting for thirty seconds of fancam like a loser with a schedule."
Her mouth pulled sideways through the tears. "You never said."
"Neither did you."
"I was busy becoming famous."
"Yeah," I said, dragging my thumb over her knuckles until her grip loosened enough for blood to come back into my fingers. "You were."
She let the joke die there. For a while, there was only the ocean.
"Sometimes I pictured you in the company van," she said. "Sleeping with your mouth open, neck bent all wrong, complaining about my hairspray, stealing my heat pack. I pictured you backstage too. At awards, music shows - I pictured you beside me so many times that when it wasn't real, it pissed me off."
Below us, the waves kept time against the black rock, like it was counting down a future that had already passed.
"Do you think it would've been better?" she asked after a while.
I looked past her shoulder at the bonfire, far enough away now to be a small orange blur against the beach.
"No," I said.
Her brows drew together.
"I wanted it," I said, before she could argue. "I still want it. I... I see those backstage clips and it makes me sick how much I want to be the guy stealing your shrimp chips in the van. Or holding your jacket. Just the stupid, boring shit, you know? But if I hadn't quit, I would've dragged you down. You would've made it your project to fix my head, and I would've hated you for handling everything better than me. We would've wrecked each other."
She pulled one hand free and held it against her cheek.
"You don't know that."
I shifted closer, turning my shoulder into the wind to block a little of it from hitting her face. "I know what I was like when I left. Jealous of everyone still standing in those rooms. Even you. Especially you. You could take the hit and come back meaner. I took the hit and started flinching before anyone raised a hand."
"You were eighteen," she said.
"So were you."
"I was insane."
"Yeah." I squeezed her hand before she could turn that into a joke. "You were insane. Brilliant. You scared the shit out of me."
Her eyes stayed on mine.
"You already said that."
"I know."
She looked back up at the stars. The fight slowly went out of her shoulders.
"I don't want to keep checking rooms," she said. "I don't want to... every time we go somewhere new, I hate that my first instinct is still to look up. I get mad at myself every single time, because obviously you aren't going to be sitting in the third row of some random stadium, but I look anyway. And then I get pissed off that you aren't there."
She turned her face toward me again. The tears were drying cold against her cheeks, and this time, she let them stay.
"I want to be here," she murmured. "And know you're here."
Five years gone. The life we didn't get, gone too. But her hand was warm in mine, and the rock under us was solid.
I lifted our joined hands higher, near her neck, and used a slow pull to turn her around until she faced me.
Her eyes dropped to our hands. "Here?"
"Here."
"On a pile of cursed lava blocks."
"I've seen you dance on worse."
"It's a cliff edge, Minho."
"Scared?"
Her gaze snapped back up to my face, her dark eyes narrowing under the starlight.
"I'm going to make you look like an idiot," she warned.
"You always do."
She stepped in first, finding a flat face of basalt under one sneaker while my body slid right into place. My free hand swung up to catch her narrow waist. Hers found my shoulder, resting lightly at first before pressing down the second my stance locked. We stayed still chest to chest under the stars for one long breath. Her fingers tightened hard into my shoulder, pressing right over my pulse.
I took a step forward, but her muscles were already locked down hard to drive the motion on a strict downbeat.
The most powerful hip hop dancer in Seoul didn't know how to yield a count.
So I held my ground, keeping my hand steady against her waist while I waited. She stayed rigid against my hold, her breath trapped in her throat while her body fought the violent instinct to take the choreography over. Then her shoulders dropped. Her ribs softened under my hand.
That was when I knew I wasn't holding idol Yeji anymore.
She exhaled hard, let herself settle into my grasp, and allowed me to pull her into the next step.
Her eyes flicked up to my face.
"Better," I told her.
"Keep your fucking dance critiques to yourself," she muttered, though she stayed still against my chest.
"I just praised your adjustment."
"You corrected my texture."
"Your texture corrected itself."
"Still annoying."
Her fingers were tapping a silent, desperate count against the back of my shoulder.
"You're in your head, Yeji," I shot back. "After you spent months fucking that exact habit out of me so I'd learn to feel the beat and stop counting."
Her mouth fell open in the dark because I had her pinned.
I grinned down at her.
She rolled her eyes hard, but the tapping stopped.
I yielded the lead, letting my hand drag loose across her waist while our joined fingers cut a slow arc through the freezing night air. The stars smeared white across my vision as she pulled me through the turn, the whole sky tilting over her shoulder for one dizzying swing before the black Pacific snapped back behind her.
She took the space instantly, pushing off my palm to spin outward into the cold wind with her back snapping straight. The oversized hoodie flared open against the black backdrop of the Pacific, leaving her suspended on one leg with her dominant arm stretched back taut into my grip.
I yanked my arm hard and dragged her back toward the jagged rock.
She refused to soften the catch, hitting my chest on the count with a breathless gasp and giving me every bit of the step.
I crossed my arms instantly over her waist, locking her bare hands secure against her stomach before we could tumble backward toward the drop.
***
The first time we'd practiced lifts, she'd kept landing wrong on a swollen ankle she swore was fine, throwing herself backward exactly like this and banking on my arms snapping shut before she hit the floor. I'd locked my grip around her then, staring at her exhausted reflection in the studio mirror.
By the time they put cameras in her face, she'd already mastered hiding it without the mirrors.
She was eighteen when they put her on The Fan, two months shy of her debut and three since I'd quit, watching exactly 197 votes flash on the board - which meant three people didn't, shoving her straight onto the chopping block. Three weeks later, her back seized up so bad during rehearsal she had to go to the hospital. Straight out of the ER, she shot "New Rules" and danced like her spine wasn't locked down tight. The tears didn't drop until 224 flashed on the screen to say she survived, and even then, she smiled right through them to thank the whole country for forgiving her mistakes. I watched that broadcast and realized the girl who used to curse at her own swollen ankles in the JYPE building was gone. She'd figured out the job.
Hurt on your own time. Win first.
***
She nudged her head back against my shoulder in the dark, breathing slowly against my collarbone until she started to sing.
"Thinkin' about ya, my hand in a fist," she sang softly, her fingers tightening around mine on the last word.
I locked my grip tight around her waist. From every track in an industry built to say 'don't need you,' she sang the one that begged to be held. The low, warm catch of her voice hit my throat before she even pushed the words into the cold air. I knew exactly where that breath started. I'd spent hours in a sealed practice room trying to teach her how to drop air deep into her lungs when she was eighteen, blown out, and ready to quit. I taught her how to pull that breath, and then walked away before I got to hear what she did with it.
"A night I suffered alone."
She sang the next line right into my shirt, leaving me nowhere to put my hands except tighter around her back. I'd heard that track blaring out of arena speakers for years, but none of it sounded like this.
I rotated her inside my arms to face me under the moonlight. Her voice bent when our chests slammed together, then steadied as my hand slid down her waist to brace her lower back.
"You are here," she hummed softly.
"Here by my side," I came in under her, rough and late.
She twitched her mouth into a smile before dragging in air for the next line. Of course she heard me.
"Hold me tight, hold me tight."
I pressed my palm harder into her back. "You know I'm holding up when I see you."
She steadied herself against my shoulder as we tracked every step over the uneven basalt, shoes catching on slick edges where the columns broke toward the water. Her knee brushed against mine, pulled away, and brushed back again.
I backed us blindly toward the drop, watching a spray of loose gravel slip under my heel. Her eyes flicked from my face to the sheer edge. The old Yeji would have slammed her feet wider and taken over the step to keep us safe.
She let herself fall toward me instead.
"You and I, we ain't falling," she sang, stepping back and giving our joined hands a sharp downward pull.
"We'll go through it together," I replied.
She followed the cue instantly. Hip hop dancers fall into freezes by controlling their own descent and their own timing, but tonight, she broke that rule. Her spine went completely slack across my forearm to hand me the count. One hand locked tight in mine, and the other fell loose until her fingertips grazed the air above the dark water.
"Talkin' about ya, talkin' about us."
I dug my palm harder into her spine, sinking into my stance as she arched violently backward over my forearm. The oversized hoodie slid off one bare shoulder, leaving her suspended in a breathless backbend. Her throat bared to the cold wind, the rigid line of her flat stomach snapping tight the second she stopped trying to catch herself.
"You and I got the same feeling," I sang back.
She hitched a breathless laugh into the cold air, hanging reckless in my arms.
I shoved my sneakers down into the ground, locking my arm tighter around her back. The coastal wind tore at her dangling hair, dragging the loose neck of the hoodie down far enough to expose the athletic line of her collarbone.
She looked up at me from her lopsided pose in the dark, flashing the same fierce trust from those late-night practice rooms before her debut.
I dragged her back up, pulling her slowly with everything I had.
She rose in a smooth arc with her hair swinging forward, breaking on the tiniest laugh when her face snapped level with mine before grabbing hard onto the back of my neck.
I caught her bare jaw on pure reflex, my thumb sliding under the sharp ridge of her cheekbone.
"Hold me, you're doing well," she breathed.
"Hold me, please trust me," I answered against her mouth.
She gasped out a startled laugh that cracked the silence as my lungs emptied out.
I locked both hands around her waist, dug my heels in, and hoisted her clear off the stone, leaving her suspended over the edge of the Pacific while I stared up at her with the freezing surf roaring against the jagged rock somewhere way down in the dark.
She scrambled for my shoulders for a split second, but the moment she looked down into the black drop, a shaky breath broke out of her and she completely unspooled. Every rigid muscle went slack against my palms as she let go, pulling her hands away to spread her arms wide into the coastal wind instead of bracing for a fall. Her spine arched in a reckless curve over the ocean, leaving my hands the only thing keeping her from the drop.
I pushed my thumbs deep into her waist, holding her through the wind until her shaking ribs settled under my grip.
She pulled her chin back down, looking at me through the loose hair whipping across her face as she pushed the final outro into the night.
"We ain't falling like a domino."
I lowered her slowly, letting her slide down the length of my chest until the soles of her shoes hit the rock.
She stayed pressed against me, burying her face into my shoulder while the last notes hummed against my bare neck.
"Like a domino, domino."
I wrapped her up in the dark, hands gripping fistfuls of her oversized hoodie while her lungs fought for air against my chest.
"You knew the lower harmony," she mumbled into my shoulder, her voice still rough from the cold. "You caught the bridge exactly on the downbeat."
"I have good rhythm."
Her grip tightened in my shirt. "That's a tour-only B-side, Minho. And it came out three years after you quit."
"The Hulu Theater," I said quietly, pressing my palm flat against her lower back. "Madison Square Garden. November 2022. I had a work trip, remember? Took the red-eye out of L.A. and stood in the very back row."
PHOTO CREDITS: yours truly (November 13, 2022, Madison Square Garden, back row)
She went completely still against me, the brutal realization of that flight and that ticket clicking into place.
"You were in New York," she whispered.
"Always there somehow," I said, sliding my hand around the back of her neck and tangling my warm fingers into her freezing hair. "I never miss a stage."
Yeji sucked in a sharp gasp against my shoulder.
Then the world dragged us back. A massive wave shattered below, and someone, probably Yunjin, yelled from far down the beach by the bonfire. Yuna shouted something equally loud in response, followed by Chaeryeong screaming and Karina's boisterous laughter tearing up the beach.
Then Yeji exhaled a long, shuddering breath into my collarbone.
"My ass is going numb," she groaned.
A sharp, wrecked laugh tore out of my throat before I could stop myself. Yeji's shoulders started shaking against my chest, her forehead digging into my muscle as she failed to swallow down her own ridiculous giggling. We were standing on the edge of a deadly cliff drop, laughing pointlessly into each other's necks like idiots in the dark.
"So romantic," I choked out.
"It really is. Lava rock is terrible."
"I'll bring a blanket next time."
Next time.
She went quiet, and my laugh died before it could finish.
She pulled her face up from my shoulder. Tears caught the starlight in her eyes and made her look startlingly young.
"Yeah," she finally whispered, her fingers tightening at my shirt. "Next time."
I dragged my thumb under her eye and swiped the moisture away before it could slip down her cheek, letting her lean deeper into my hand.
"You weren't scared," I said quietly. "When I had you hanging over the ocean."
"Of course I was scared," she muttered.
"Didn't feel like it."
Her grip tightened at the back of my shirt. "Because you don't drop me."
The whole song-and-dance still burned through my muscles, from the heat to the tight grip to the last murmur of her singing against my skin, folding all that lost time down to the single fact that she was standing right in front of me.
"You actually sang for me," I said quietly.
Her mouth gave a weak, broken twitch. "I get paid to sing, asshole."
"You sang for me tonight."
She turned her head slowly, looking intently out toward the endless stretch of stars.
"You walked me back to it," she whispered. "I forgot how to share a count."
***
Somehow we ended up on the flattest shelf of basalt I could find, because Yeji was shivering through my hoodie and I sure as hell wasn't letting her freeze her ass off on a jagged pile of rock.
I sat first, planted wide, and tugged her down between my knees before she could argue.
She hit my lap with a startled yelp as my arms clamped around her waist. Grabbing my forearms, she adjusted her thighs and leaned back against my chest, tucking her bare legs between my denim.
The Pacific pounded the shoreline below in a slow, heavy rhythm. After a minute, her shoulders stopped jumping under my hands.
"It's almost too much," she murmured into the cold air.
I rested my chin near the crown of her head. "What is?"
"All those stars." She kept her hands still over mine.
I followed her gaze up. Without the Seoul smog bleeding out the sky, the galaxy stretching over us looked massive.
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Makes you feel small."
She let out a slow breath. "Small... but not alone."
I pulled my arms tighter around her waist, letting the heavy crash of the shoreline fill the dark for a minute.
"Karina whispered something to me," she said, dropping lower against my chest. "That first night at her villa."
I dragged my thumb over her knuckle. "After she hugged you?"
Her head turned slightly. "You saw that?"
"I saw her lean in. I saw you nod." I pressed my jaw against her hood. "Never heard the words."
Her hand closed harder over my forearm.
"She said, 'Without the courage to fall.'" Yeji looked back up at the stars. "'You already know, Yeji-yah - you sang it yourself.'"
The surf hit the rock below us.
"'You can never fly,'" I murmured, pressing my jaw against her head. "Best line in Bet On Me. Can't believe Karina gets your own lyrics better than you do."
Her elbow knocked lightly into my ribs. "Show-off."
Her pinky found mine and hooked around it, small and stubborn.
"I think..." She swallowed hard. "I thought if I just... opened my hand, there'd be nothing there."
I looked down at our fingers.
She squeezed once.
"But there is."
My grip tightened around her waist.
"If I had debuted..." I said under the sound of the surf. "Would we even have this?"
She finally broke her gaze away from the sky, shifting her head to look at me. "This?"
"Us. Like this." I looked down at our hands. "Maybe we would've eaten each other alive trying to survive it."
She dragged her thumb over the back of my hand. "Maybe that version of us would've been worse."
"So what do we do now?"
Her fingers tightened around mine. "We stop trying to rewrite the stars. We just... look at them."
I squeezed her fingers back in the quiet, pressing my jaw against her cool hair.
"You became Hwang Yeji because I quit," I told her to the dark. "Like I said. If I'd stayed, you would've kept focusing on fixing my head. I left, and you had to build everything yourself."
Her back went rigid against me.
"You want to know a secret?" she asked.
"Always."
"That night in the practice room. When I was falling apart, and you sat on the floor with me and told me I belonged there." She swallowed hard. "I became an idol because you made me believe I could."
I went quiet.
"Every stage I stood on," she whispered out into the ocean. "Every award I took. Every time I led the group when things went to shit... I was channeling the person you saw in me that night."
I closed my eyes, pressing my face into her hair.
"So yeah," she finished, a wet, quiet laugh slipping out. "You left. But you also gave me everything."
For once, I didn't know what to hate myself for. I buried my face into the side of her neck, pulling her flush against my chest until she let out a long, shuddering sigh.
Her body heat warmed my skin right through the fleece. The waves kept hitting the rock below us. Her hand stayed locked in mine.
We watched the stars.
I loosened my grip slightly so she could breathe.
"So why were you actually standing on a cliff edge taking shitty pictures in the dark?" I asked.
Her mouth curved into a smile against my collarbone. "I told you. I needed a photo for Bubble."
"You have six thousand photos of yourself on your phone right now."
"Of stars, idiot. A starlight shot." She twisted against my chest, retrieving the cold metal of her phone from her back pocket. "I've been dead silent online since we got to Jeju. Since you took those sunset pictures of me looking..."
"Like a liability?"
"Exactly." She sighed, staring down at the black screen. "I needed a cover story. A peace offering for the fans to cover my tracks. But my hands kept shaking the lens out of focus."
Her bare fingers trembled against the phone casing. I slid my arm around her side and offered my palm.
"Let me?"
She handed the phone over immediately.
I brought the screen up, framing the brightest cluster of the Milky Way directly over our heads. The camera static cleared instantly. I locked my elbows, leveling the shot perfectly still.
Her hand came up. Her freezing fingers slid over the back of mine, letting our knuckles overlap as we held the frame together.
"Ready?" I murmured.
"Yeah."
She dragged her thumb over mine, hitting the shutter.
The screen flashed once, burning a crisp, sharp image of the Jeju stars into the camera roll.
Yeji let out a long, shuddering exhale. Dragging her hand down, she hooked her pinky blindly into mine and rested her head back onto my shoulder. The phone slipped onto my denim. I wrapped both arms securely around her, burying my face against the fleece of her hood as we stared up into the dark.
The digital glow of the locked screen faded to black against my jeans.
***
[NARRATOR]
Two silhouettes sat tangled together on a flat shelf of dark volcanic rock. The Pacific stretched out before them, an endless expanse of black water and silver break crashing against the basalt in a mindless rhythm. Behind them, far up the sand, the bonfire had already died down to an tiny orange pinprick.
And above them: stars beyond counting.
The Milky Way swept across the black sky, a massive stretch of burning gas and dead space. The galaxy turned in the dark, holding no stake in the shoreline below or the five stolen years surviving on one ledge of stone.
Millions of fans spent their lives looking up at the girl on the Jeju rock, their own devotion illuminated by her heat.
But the sky offered no such promises, leaving the real stars to shine in the freezing vacuum of space regardless of who was watching.
All that empty space rendered the moment ephemeral.
Jeju had always been a place of exile - a stray sliver of volcanic rock separated from the real world by a small stretch of sea. The mainland's rules didn't apply out here. All the island offered was a brief suspension of time, leaving the cameras and the crushing pressure of Seoul across the water until nothing remained but the truth.
Caught between the black ocean dropping below and the silent universe expanding above, the only warmth in the coastal wind came from the embers they'd learned to keep alive in each other.
And the only meaning at the edge of the world was whatever they chose to hold in their hands.
So the stars just kept shining.
And so would they.
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index
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MINHO, YEJI, YUNA, AND KARINA WILL RETURN IN THE EPILOGUE
First light woke with hidden truth; last light set their burdens free.
word count: ~3.6k
Characters: aespa, ITZY, LE SSERAFIM Yunjin
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[MINHO'S POV]
"- and that." Giselle spread her hands. "Is how I ended up deepthroating a microphone by accident."
The fire popped. Everyone lost it at once.
"So yeah," she continued, picking her drink back up. "That's networking for you."
Ryujin came up onto her knees with both hands already in the air while Yunjin got to the whistle first, two fingers jammed in her mouth as the pair of them screamed loud enough to turn a sand pit into the back end of an encore while Ryujin clapped with her whole arms.
"That," Yunjin shouted, throwing both arms wide enough to claim broadcast rights, "was CINEMA."
Ryujin pressed a hand to her chest and bowed her head. "Director's cut with unpaid staff overtime."
They kept lobbing it back and forth because they'd been at it all night, getting loud and finding each other across the gap between two groups before silently agreeing the rest of us were just the audience at a music-show prerecording who should clap when prompted, so Giselle dipped her chin to take the praise.
But Chaeryeong scrunched her whole face up and chewed her lip while replaying the story, desperately hunting for the part where it became a romance.
"But after," she pressed, leaning in. "Was there - a moment?"
Giselle gave her one slow blink.
"I gave him our manager's contact."
Chaeryeong slumped forward into Sunwoo's side. Sunwoo doubled over and pushed his face into her shoulder to muffle it, one arm hauling her close. He kissed the top of her head between laughs. She let him reel her in, scowling into his collarbone.
Ningning reached over and smacked Giselle's palm without lifting her eyes off her marshmallow. "Queen." She rotated the skewer with great seriousness.
Winter had spent the whole story at war with a marshmallow. I'd watched it sideways the entire time. The marshmallow slid off the skewer. Winter pushed it back on. It caught fire. Winter blew it out. It slumped off the stick into the coals. She'd lost three of them this way. She came up from the latest drop with her cheeks stuffed full of sugar, holding the empty skewer out.
"Wait." Winter looked from Giselle to Ningning, chewing fast now that the group had apparently moved on. "What happened?"
"I'll tell you later." Ningning reached over and turned Winter's skewer away from the fire before it could claim a fourth victim.
Winter swallowed with visible effort. "But I was here! I only looked away because it was burning."
"It's over, unnie. Just eat the evidence."
"That doesn't count." Winter waved the empty skewer at Ningning, then at the coals. "It was on fire. I fixed it."
Over at the edge of the blanket, Karina smiled at the marshmallow disaster until Giselle flicked her a look and Karina met it, both their smiles dropping as they stared flat at each other and then coming right back up for the group, so even if I had no idea what actually happened in the unedited version of Giselle's night, I'd lay bets her leader already had the full report.
I stood behind Yeji, my thumbs working the knot at the top of her spine, watching the firelight hit her face. I didn't plan on letting any of this go.
***
"Okay, we need a photo."
Chaeryeong recovered from her grief and popped up on her knees. "We HAVE to. Everyone's here, everyone looks good, the fire's perfect. Lia-ya, you have your phone."
Lia picked up her phone from the sand.
"Okay, group shot." Lia woke the screen, the blue light washing up over her face. "Hold on. I'll prop it. The timer's in here somewhere."
She frowned at the phone as her thumb moved across two screens and the frown got worse.
"Why do they move this every update," Lia grumbled. "There's a guy in California getting promoted for ruining eomeoni photo time." She tilted the phone, then tilted her head without taking her eyes off the screen. "Minho-oppa, come help me with this?"
I blinked, mostly because there were over a dozen people around this fire and half of them could've set a phone timer in their sleep while Yuna had probably done a fancam tutorial on it while eating gimbap in a van, but before I could point any of this out Yeji's hand came down flat on my thigh and shoved.
"Go help her." Yeji shoved my thigh again. "You're standing there doing nothing."
I went while Ryujin watched with filth tucked behind her grin, but since Lia was already patting the sand beside her I let Ryujin's comment wait and crouched next to her where I could see her phone sitting open on the home screen with no camera app in sight.
"I'm always the one taking the pictures," Lia muttered, turning the phone sideways, then upside down, then back again. "I never actually have to set the timer to be in the shot, so you hold it landscape, right, and then..."
"Lia."
"...and then the little icon, it used to be on the left..."
"Lia."
She stopped and leaned in close enough that the firelight left most of her face dark.
"I saw what happened on the pool deck." Lia whispered.
My jaw locked as I stared at the side of her head, remembering how days ago I'd heard her mention footage and how I'd carried that panic through every meal and every laugh and every time Yeji touched me in front of people since one video could turn this beach into Dispatch bait before breakfast.
"I know," I said quietly. "I know there's a video."
Her eyebrows climbed.
"Oh?" Lia's fingers rubbed the edge of the phone case.
I kept my mouth shut while she kept looking at me until she finally shrugged.
"Well, it's gone." Her mouth tipped up at the corner. "Some things you watch once and let go."
I sat there with my hands empty and made myself nod because some things didn't need saying, and she watched the nod and plucked the phone back before her thumb tapped the screen and the camera opened with the timer in the center.
"Good luck figuring it out!" Lia gave my shoulder a suspiciously fake pat before moving back towards the assembled group.
She barely made it into the fray before Yuna's arm shot out of the hoodie to hook her round the waist while Chaeryeong grabbed her sleeve from the other side, making Lia stumble into the knot of her own members with a surprised laugh.
I stood up with the phone and let my shoulders drop along with my jaw unclenching.
I wedged the phone into the neck of an empty soju bottle stuck in the sand, pointed it at everyone, and started herding a dozen drunk bodies into one frame.
Everyone sorted themselves out fast. Yeji and Ryujin folded into each other in the middle, Ryujin's arm slung heavy over Yeji's shoulders and Yeji's hand fisted in the back of Ryujin's sleeveless hoodie. Chaeryeong tucked under Sunwoo's arm with her palm flat on his chest, and he turned his whole body toward her. Lia let Minjun pull her back against him at the edge of the shot, his chin at her temple, both of them grinning.
aespa clumped into their own corner. Karina sat low and central. Winter dropped in right beside her, using the borrowed time to cram a whole s'more into her mouth. The camera was about to catch their leader next to a girl with both cheeks stuffed with marshmallow. Giselle and Ningning boxed them in, still bickering, Ningning's hands up, Giselle's eyebrow up higher.
Yunjin loomed at the back, iced americano held high, mouth already open to yell.
"Okay. Timer, ten seconds." I hit it and jogged into the gap they'd left me at Yeji's side.
She turned into me before I'd even stopped moving, bringing an arm around the back of my neck to curl her fingers into my hair and drag me down to her height. While keeping her other arm locked round Ryujin's waist, she let her thumb drag slowly along the cord behind my ear.
"Smile!" Chaeryeong shrieked.
FLASH.
The flash blew the circle white. Everybody got caught mid-laugh, mid-yell, mid-chew. Then the dark came back and everyone broke formation to fight over the phone and see who looked insane.
I let them swarm the screen. I already had the only detail I actually cared about anyway, just knowing I finally made the frame.
***
Winter had been picking at her guitar on and off for the last hour, half-songs and practice-room fragments, her small idol hands refusing to rest even on vacation. The strings were a little out, because borrowed beach guitars are instruments in the same sense convenience-store triangle kimbap is dinner. Nobody asked her to play, but she kept doing it anyway under everyone else's noise.
Yunjin recognized it first. She'd flopped down next to Winter with her americano, and at one chord change her head snapped up.
"Wait!" Yunjin grabbed Winter's forearm and stopped the strings. "Wait, wait. Minjeongie, is that the one we used to do? In the dorm? The ABBA one?"
Winter looked down at her own hands, then back at Yunjin. "... I just put my fingers where they used to go."
"Oh my gosh!" Yunjin bounced up onto her knees so fast her americano sloshed. "We sang this every night for a YEAR. Play it - play it properly, do the thing."
Winter blinked once, accepted this as a reasonable assignment, and set the guitar against her stomach. Her fingers found the chords properly, and the noodling became an actual song.
I knew it the second she played it properly. Everyone in their twenties knew it. The song your mother played in the car on the way back from Sokcho, the one you pretended not to know until the chorus betrayed you. A summer song for people already packing their bags.
For the last night of a trip nobody wanted to end, it was attempted murder with guitar accompaniment. Half the people around this fire were getting on a plane in the morning.
And so we sang.
Giselle came in first on the vocal, of course she did, because she was the only one of us who'd grown up with the English version on the radio. About a line in, born menace that she was, she swapped a word.
"The feeling right," she sang, then glanced sideways at the rest of us. "The Jeju night."
She did it under her breath the first time, testing the crime. Everyone caught it.
"The Jeju night," she repeated, louder, because nobody had stopped her.
"It works!" Giselle lifted one hand against the groans, unrepentant, and kept going.
Yunjin pointed at her across the fire, found her sworn enemy, and took a lower harmony just to refuse matching Giselle. The two of them started a rap-beef inside a campfire singalong. Ningning heard the crime in progress and grinned into her marshmallow.
And then Yunjin pointed at me.
"STUDIO GUY." Yunjin slapped a hand to her chest. "Studio monitor guy is just STANDING there. He does this for a LIVING. Get up here, get up, you don't get to lurk."
"I'm okay -"
"Ning. Get him a mic."
Ningning picked one of Winter's blackened marshmallow corpses off the skewer and lobbed it at me underhand. I caught the charred thing reflexively. She beamed and gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
I looked to Yeji for an exit. She was the one person here with the authority to call them off, and she looked back up at me from the sand, considered my dignity, then fed it to the gulls.
"You're good at singing." Yeji gave me the smallest smile, which was crueler than mockery. "Go sing for us."
She put her hand on the small of my back and pushed, which was how I ended up on my feet at a bonfire holding a burnt marshmallow for a microphone while a member of LE SSERAFIM conducted me with both hands and a cup of iced coffee.
After getting rid of me, Yeji immediately crossed to the other blanket and dropped down between her girls. Yuna immediately burrowed into her side with her head straight to Yeji's shoulder, and Ryujin leaned in from the other side to sit shoulder to shoulder so Yeji could sit between the two of them with an arm around each and let herself be held.
I came in on the song low and careful while feeling for the tune under Winter's chords before pushing steadier, and the circle threw me a small holler that made me feel ridiculous and warm right up until they realized I wasn't gonna run and let me carry the lead so they could shriek behind me.
"I can still recall," I sang, and the fire cracked low between us. "Our last summer."
Halfway through the second verse, this trip started lining itself up behind the melody.
I looked around the fire.
"But underneath we had a fear of flying," I sang.
"Of getting old," the circle answered, quieter now. "A fear of slowly dying."
Nobody touched that one.
Yeji and Ryujin sat pressed together on the blanket, a far cry from last night when I'd sat in the dark and listened to them scream at each other through the walls of the villa, because now Ryujin kept her arm slung heavy over Yeji's shoulders while Yeji kept her fingers twisted into the fabric of Ryujin's shirt.
The chorus came around so I lifted the marshmallow like a trainee I once was.
"I can still recall our last summer," I sang.
Everyone came in after me. "I still see it all."
My eyes found Yuna sitting half-swallowed by her hoodie and resting her cheek against Yeji's shoulder as she barely sang along, looking nothing like two days ago at the pool when she'd strutted straight at me in that lethal bikini, since right now she just had one hand fisted in Yeji's sleeve with her eyelids drooping on "I still see it all."
"Our last summer," I sang.
"MORNING SAMGYEOP," Yunjin bellowed suddenly, mangling some breakfast lyric into a pork-belly disaster that fit the melody exactly nowhere. Ryujin lost it and folded sideways off Yeji laughing. Giselle put her face in her hands. For one glorious second we were all eighteen, underslept, and too loud on a beach.
I pulled the song back before Yunjin could invent a second pork product.
"Living for the day," I sang, and nobody improved on it.
"Worries far away."
The jokes stopped. We sang it straight because we'd been doing exactly that for three days, and morning had plane tickets.
I kept going around the fire.
Karina sat back from the fire with a soft smile, sweating and loud in the sand, and I didn't have to wonder what lived underneath her pristine idol act anymore because two nights ago I'd watched her mascara smear down her cheeks while she begged into a couch cushion with my dick buried deep inside her.
Lia lifted her chin at me across the fire before turning back to whatever Minjun was murmuring into her ear, having deleted the evidence of my pool-deck disaster without asking for a single thing in return. Next to her, Chaeryeong snuggled under Sunwoo's arm. She'd spent the whole trip digging for a grand romance in everyone else's mess, but right now she just held her boyfriend's hand and leaned against him, proving that even among a group of catastrophically horny idols, things could still be simple.
The song tipped past its middle, right where the second vocal comes in and lets the woman answer.
Yuna picked her head up off Yeji's shoulder.
"Unnie," she started, lifting her head. "You should be up there. Singing with your boyfriend."
Yeji immediately went straight. "He's not my boyf -"
"Bitch, please." Ryujin cut her off, got two hands on Yeji's shoulder, braced one foot in the sand, and shoved, launching Yeji up off the blanket with a grunt of pure exertion. "For fuck's sake, Yeddeong, let yourself be happy for ONCE in your life."
Yeji stumbled across the sand on Ryujin's shove and fetched up against me with both hands flat against my chest.
She looked up at me.
I looked down at her with a burnt marshmallow in my hand and zero plan in my head, so I just shrugged at her. Her shoulders dropped first and then her mouth loosened as she surrendered to the public humiliation of sincerity.
I held the marshmallow up between us.
She huffed through her nose, put her hand over mine around the stupid charred thing, and came in on the woman's verse.
The circle lost its mind when the next verse gave them a name to ruin.
"And now you're on Music Bank," Giselle sang, and slapped her own knee like she'd solved art.
"The solo stan," Ryujin threw in.
"The Instagram," Ningning added, too fast and delighted with herself.
Yunjin planted one hand over her heart and belted, "And your name is Hanni," with full operatic vibrato.
Hanni wasn't at this bonfire. Nobody cared.
Then somebody hollered "YEJI," and the whole circle howled.
Yeji sang through all of it, the goofy version and the names and the noise. Then she hit the next line and quit joking.
"Yet you're the hero of my dreams," she sang, looking right at me. After the week we'd had, after everything I knew now, I had to tighten my grip on that stupid marshmallow stick to keep my hand steady.
Off to the side, Chaeryeong made a small wet sound and pressed her fingers to her mouth, openly swooning, and for once not one single person teased her for it.
I stopped looking around after that. Because I had her hand over mine and her eyes on my face, and when the chorus came back around she rasped "our last summer" like it cost her pride, which it probably did, but she was here and I was here so I just sang the rest to the actual girl in my arms instead of some future version I was already mourning like an idiot.
Behind us, the best parts kept happening in the corners. Karina drifted over to Winter mid-chorus, folded down behind her, wrapped both arms around her from the back, and hooked her chin over Winter's shoulder. She rocked them slowly, half lullaby and half hostage situation. Winter squirmed on principle, then gave up and let it happen, still chewing. By the last chorus Karina had her eyes shut, cheek tucked into Winter's hair, singing quietly to her because tomorrow was gonna be hard enough. Ningning sang the whole thing a quarter-tone flat and gave zero fucks. Yunjin held the final note about four bars longer than anyone else, fist in the air, americano sloshing, the loudest person on the beach because she was the only one who didn't know what the song meant to the rest of us.
I wanted to remember it exactly like this, ridiculous marshmallow and all.
The song had been mocking us from bar one. Fair play.
***
The fire burned down to glowing coals after the song, and everyone moved slower around them. Lia suggested we lie back and look up, making stargazing sound formal and scheduled. Once the flames dropped, the sky came out properly, the whole messy spill of them over the black water. A dozen people lay on their backs in the sand, drunk and full, picking out the two constellations anybody knew and arguing softly about the rest.
I lay there with my hands behind my head feeling more settled than I'd been in years, having let Yeji wander off a few minutes ago when she waved her phone and mumbled something about taking photos of the sky, but when I turned my head expecting to find her somewhere nearby in the dark I got only sand and Ryujin's knee.
I came up on my elbows.
I checked the blanket and the fire and the loose scatter of bodies without finding her.
Then I scanned the dark.
A camera flash popped sharp and bright far past the edge of our firelight where the sand gave way to black volcanic rock.
The sudden white glare washed over the old basalt columns, catching a solitary figure standing at the top of the cliff with a phone held up to the empty sky.
"Minho."
Ryujin had appeared at my shoulder out of nowhere and crouched low next to me with her eyes already up on the cliff.
"You really gonna let her stand up there and freeze to death by herself?" she said.
"Right," I said, getting to my feet.
I took one step toward the rocks before her hand closed around my forearm and stopped me hard.
I looked down to find Ryujin keeping her eyes on Yeji with her nails digging into my skin.
"She let you all the way in." Ryujin kept her grip on my arm. "You know how rare that is for her?"
Her fingers tightened.
"Hurt her, and I'll fucking kill you. I mean it."
She let me go and returned to the sand before I could answer, dropping down with the others to put her hands behind her head and look up at the stars.
I turned toward the cliff and the wind off the water and Yeji standing alone at the top of it, and started walking.
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Can a night get more perfect than one surrounded by everyone you need?
A week ago, Karina would’ve rolled her eyes at that line. But leaning back onto her palms in the cold sand, shielded by the black lava rock, she caught herself believing it anyway.
Seoul never actually got dark like this; it just gave up and went grey. But out here, past the resort, where the black lava rock dropped off into the ocean, the darkness wiped the horizon clean. Overhead, the Milky Way painted a violent smear of white across pitch black. For once, something actually looked better in reality than it had on the curated Instagram accounts Karina had exhaustively scrolled through when booking the trip, looking less like a postcard and more like a direct act of God.
Yesterday morning, when Yeji jumped into her DMs with paragraphs about Chaeryeong’s desperate need for an American beach fire and Lia’s promise of zero light pollution, Karina had read the texts flat on her back. Mostly because her body was still thoroughly wrecked from what Yeji and Minho had done to her the night before. She’d been too busy tracing a ring of faint, finger-shaped bruises on her left breast to care about roasting marshmallows.
But sitting in the sand now, freezing in the coastal wind while the Pacific crashed somewhere in the dark, she had to admit Lia was, in fact, totally right. The stars kept multiplying every time Karina looked up, white and shameless over the water, and her neck started to ache before she made herself look away. Annoyingly, inconveniently, she wanted to pray about it.
By the time the sun fully dropped behind the water, ITZY had essentially relocated their Seoul dormitory and dropped it directly onto the beach. They’d claimed their patch of sand long enough for their belongings to scatter into that comfortable chaos they somehow lived in every day without falling apart. On the sand sat a cracked-open cooler bleeding condensation onto a discarded million-won hoodie, half-kicked-off slides sinking near the driftwood, and Lia’s phone tripod jammed into the dirt to record the impending disaster unfolding by the unlit fire.
Karina watched as her own members wasted no time getting comfortable.
Over on the main blanket, Winter had already fished out the honey butter chips meant for later and declared them chips for right now, hugging the bag to her chest while Ningning and Giselle successfully stole bites anytime Winter looked away. Winter had her knees tucked up inside a Doraemon blanket and her cheeks puffed full of chips, chewing with solemn focus. With Winter, snacks always demanded discipline and respect.
Yeji sat off to the side with one knee drawn up to her chin, silently watching Minho fail, while Yuna tucked her legs under herself and accepted a chip from Ningning, holding it suspended in the air for a long time before finally taking a bite.
Karina glanced over and watched as the boys struggled with fond cynicism. Delegating the fire to them had been an unspoken group consensus, the sort of primitive task men were supposed to handle when they weren’t busy being horny and useless. Although right now, they were just being useless.
Out by the driftwood, Sunwoo was trapped in a miserable loop of polite intervention. He kept taking an eager half-step forward with his mouth open to help, then immediately second-guessing himself and shoving his hands violently back into his pockets out of sheer politeness. It was agonizing to watch.
Down in the sand, Minho crouched beside a questionable pyramid of sticks, repeatedly striking a lighter into the sea breeze while Minjun nodded along as if the effort looked promising.
“You look like a sad YouTuber,” Giselle called from the blanket, clutching a bottle of soju. “Like ‘Man survives one day without wifi’.”
“It’s called airflow,” Minho said, shielding the tiny spark with his palm.
“More like arson cosplay,” Lia chimed in, tapping her screen to take a video.
Minjun nudged a stick with his toe. “No, because if we just -”
“Not like that,” Sunwoo finally interjected.
Ningning popped up on her knees, chewing a stolen honey butter chip. “Wait, I know this! You put the tiny ones under the big ones.”
Winter, still bundled in the blanket, lifted one hand like a student answering in class. “Maybe the small sticks are babies. They need protection.”
Giselle stared at her. “Minjeong-ya, we’re burning them.”
Winter’s face folded into immediate distress. “Unnie, then why did you call it kindling? That sounds gentle.”
Ningning patted the top of her head while still observing Minho’s collapsing stick pyramid with unfettered amusement. “Don’t worry, unnie. They’re brave babies.”
“Oh.” Winter accepted this at once and shoved another chip into her mouth.
When Minho brought the lighter too close to his thumb again, Yeji inhaled sharply enough to be heard over the surf. She folded her arms immediately, squaring her jaw, and Karina watched the tension lock into Yeji’s shoulders.
Giselle sighed loudly over the rim of her cup. “Dude, just use lighter fluid. You’re not winning any prizes for doing things the hard way.”
“I know how to do it naturally.” Minho adjusted the smallest sticks with two careful fingers.
“Dude,” Giselle scoffed, staring at him. “The natural part is fucking failing right now.”
He clicked the lighter again, caught empty air, clicked it once more, and singed his knuckle with a sharp hiss, shaking his hand out fast.
Before he could try again, Sunwoo stepped in, nudged two bits of driftwood apart, crouched, and lit one twist of paper. The kindling finally caught and sent a bright flame crawling up through the center of the pile.
As the wood popped and caught, Chaeryeong clapped loudly, then tucked both hands under her chin in a tiny victory pose.
“See? This is why I brought him,” she beamed, claiming total victory for a fire she hadn’t touched. “You’re all very welcome.”
Sunwoo gave her an appreciative glance across the rising heat.
Chaeryeong smiled sweetly, ambled over, and snuggled into his side. “You looked cold doing all that.”
Orange light spilled across the blankets, catching Winter’s cheek when she turned to ask Ningning for her charger, and flashing off Lia’s rings as she lowered her phone. Karina sat back on her hands, digging her fingers into the cool sand, letting the fire warm her knees.
***
Phone flashlights swept the beach path, throwing long, distorted shadows down the sand dunes before Ryujin’s voice even reached them.
“I told you, this is the right one. Why would I kidnap you to the wrong fire?”
“Bro, what the fuck are you being so mysterious for then?!” Another voice cut loudly over the crashing surf. “You literally dragged me past three empty beaches!”
LE SSERAFIM’s Yunjin emerged from the dark path wearing an oversized flannel peeling off a tight brown crop top and black denim cutoffs so frayed they put the ‘short’ in shorts. Karina watched her from the sand, her aesthetic eye taking in the unapologetic power of Yunjin’s build. Legs for days, thighs with actual power to them, and good bones under all that muscle, the whole package looking like it had told standard idol thinness to fuck off the New York way. She’d always enjoyed casually swatting Winter’s ass onstage, but this was on another planet.
While the rest of the circle clutched maekju and soju bottles, or in Winter’s case - juice boxes, Yunjin bounced on the balls of her feet, carelessly swinging a massive iced americano. Stopping right where the firelight thinned out, she took in the sprawled blankets, the half-buried coolers, the dark stretch of ocean beyond, and finally lifted her cup in approval.
“Damn, okay.” Yunjin laughed. “Fuck. This is kinda cute.”
Ryujin ambled in right behind her wearing a sleeveless hoodie over torn denim shorts and sandals, both hands shoved in her pockets like she owned the fucking place. She’d clearly forgotten to turn off her phone’s flashlight, leaving one side of her hoodie glowing a bright, oblivious white from the inside out. Seeing her, Karina let out a slow, quiet breath into the sea breeze.
“JENNIFER!”
Ningning kicked her blanket off in a flurry of limbs. Chaeryeong shrieked loudly enough to make Minho flinch, nearly flinging her drink into the sand as both hands flew up.
“Wait, is that - “ Yuna scrambled up, dropping her phone in the sand.
Giselle raised her bottle. “Oh my gosh. Jennifer Huh.”
Yunjin swung her iced americano back in a lazy, sarcastic toast. “Aeri Uchinaga. Still drinking on a Tuesday.”
“It’s a vacation Tuesday, so technically it doesn’t -”
Giselle didn’t even get to finish her retort before Yunjin’s attention snapped past the firelight, her face breaking into a delighted beam as she spotted Ningning and Winter. “MY DORMIES!”
Ningning scrambled past the snacks, grabbing Winter by the hood to drag her into the fray.
“Wait, no -,” Winter protested, refusing to pull her hands out of the chip bag. She got crushed into the three-way hug anyway, letting out a startled, high-pitched yelp before abandoning the chip bag and squeezing Yunjin back tightly.
Yunjin practically bounced on her heels, managing to keep her massive iced americano perfectly level with impressive wrist control. She pulled back just far enough to grab Winter by both shoulders. “MINJEONG, YOU GOT HOT! THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER, BESTIE,” she screamed, loud enough that Winter’s bangs literally blew back from the force of it.
“Y’all are gorgeous, I’m tight,” Yunjin was cracking with sudden sentimentality. “I missed you guys so much!”
Yeji stayed seated, resting her chin on her knee, staring at the three-way hug. “Where are your members, Yunjin? You didn’t leave them unattended near open water, did you?”
Yunjin straightened so fast her iced americano sloshed against the lid. “Bro, don’t even. They’re dead to me. Deadass. They’re at that samgyupsal place down in Seogwipo.”
“That place is so good.” Winter nodded earnestly from inside the throng of overexcited female energy.
“Told you to go.” Ningning stole another chip.
“I sent you the Naver pin,” Giselle called over the fire.
“Okay, I GET IT.” Yunjin locked her fingers around her plastic cup. “I got spammed by the three of you about pork belly, alright?! But I’m literally on my vegetarian comeback-prep bullshit right now! Chewing on leaves! Surviving on water and vibes!”
Yeji spoke from across the fire. “Right, isn’t your comeback at the end of the month?”
“Literally the thirtieth! This is our pre-release getaway, and shit’s CRAZY right now. Actually crazy.” Yunjin rattled the ice in her cup hard enough to underline every word. “Anyway, I had to bounce because they went feral in the restaurant while I had to breathe fumes.”
“Tragic,” Ryujin muttered, dropping onto the sand beside Lia.
“Feral,” Yunjin repeated, gesturing wildly with her free hand. “Chaewon-unnie defected from leadership the moment she got off the plane. She thinks she’s five again or some shit. Giggling and making the staff take four hundred photos of her by the ocean all fucking day -”
Yuna lifted her head from the blanket, her voice devoid of its usual bounce. “Wait. Yunjin-unnie... did you seriously just, like, abandon Eunchae? Why would you do that to me?”
“Zuha has her,” Yunjin clarified, taking a massive, rattling drag of her iced americano. “Actually, knowing Zuha, Manchae’s probably drowning in a koi pond right now while Zuha maintains unbroken eye contact with some local gym bro’s biceps at the next table.”
Lia blinked slowly across the fire, taking an impossibly tiny sip of her drink. “So you did abandon them and decided to follow Ryujin into the dark instead. Valid choice.”
“Ryujin straight-up kidnapped me! We literally just landed! I’m trying to live, yo!” Yunjin threw her free hand in the air, spinning to address the circle. “Wait, how long have you guys been here? What did I miss?”
Yuna crossed her arms and collapsed back onto her blanket, sounding instantly miserable. “Literally everything. Like, you actually missed BLACKPINK at the pop-up concert. Just like me. Which is fine! I’m completely fine! My life is just a tragedy, it’s totally fine.”
“Wait, BLACKPINK was here?!” Yunjin exclaimed, ignoring her woes. “You deadass?!?”
Karina hugged her knees, laughing at the sheer volume of the intrusion. “Yeah, a few nights ago. We’ve been here almost four days. Leaving tomorrow morning.”
“We’ve got three more,” Yeji added, evidently unbothered by all the screaming.
“No way, you guys are leaving?” Yunjin stared at Karina, then whipped around to glare at Giselle. “Are you kidding? I just got here!”
Before Yunjin could demand answers, Ningning grabbed her by the wrist. “Unnie, come here. No, here. Sit here. Wait, why are you drinking coffee?”
“At night,” Lia pointed out, looking directly at the iced cup. “On a beach.”
“Yeah, and?” Yunjin challenged. “Digestion is a sacred process, okay? Some of us didn’t eat the meat and need energy! Gotta keep the fire in the belly going, you know!”
“You texted me at 2 AM asking if the resort had room service bagels.” Giselle watched her over the fire.
Yunjin whipped around, clutching her americano to her chest. “See? This is what I mean. Aggressively West Coast. Smug on contact.”
Giselle smirked. “And you came in shouting. So New York of you.”
“I AM from New York! You went to an international school in Tokyo! You’re the opposite of a California girl, Aeri!”
Ningning looked back and forth between them, utterly delighted by the chaos. Winter leaned close to her, tugging on the hem of Ningning’s sundress twice in a tiny, urgent rhythm, her brow furrowing in concern.
Yunjin dropped onto the edge of the blanket, while Ryujin landed beside her with a quiet thud, and within seconds they’d taken over the group dynamic. Yunjin loudly interrogated everybody about their drink choices, yelled at Sunwoo for laughing at her coffee, demanded to know who failed to start the fire, and claimed immediate territory over the disputed honey butter chips. She reached across the blanket to steal one, pausing just as her hand hovered over the bag, her eyes dropping immediately to the movement beside it.
Minho had just blindly passed Yeji a fresh can of Pepsi - one of the new IVE Summer Festa promos with Wonyoung’s face dominating the aluminum. Yeji took it silently, cracked it open with her thumb, tipped it against her knee, and kept listening to whatever Chaeryeong was saying.
Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. She pulled it back, squinting at Minho over the rim of her iced americano.
“Wait,” Yunjin said, squinting aggressively through the firelight. “Who the fuck are you?”
Minho just blinked at the plastic cup aimed at his nose. “I’m Minho. Yunjin, right?”
“Yeah, but why do I know your face?” She kept squinting at him, the ice rattling as she studied him. “You look SO familiar. Are you staff?”
“I helped run the boards when you tracked Fearless,” Minho answered, giving her a polite little nod.
Yunjin’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Studio monitor guy! Yeah!” Yunjin brightened on the spot, then squinted harder like that only made the situation worse. “Wait. So what are you doing on a dark beach with ITZY?”
“He’s a friend,” Yeji answered, fast enough to trip over the words.
Minho let out a slow, visible exhale. “I’m Yeji’s friend.”
“From when we were trainees,” Yeji added, layering on a desperate, aggressive casualness that only made it worse.
Sitting in the sand, Karina closed her eyes. Slowly, with profound spiritual exhaustion, she tilted her head back and made direct, metaphorical eye contact with God.
When she finally brought her gaze back down to earth, Ryujin was staring at the sky like she’d found enlightenment, Chaeryeong had both hands pressed to her temples, and Giselle was taking the slowest drink Karina had ever witnessed. Around the blanket, the same verdict passed from face to face: terrible lie.
Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. The americano dropped to her lap, forgotten for one precarious second. “Wait. Wait, wait.”
She looked at Ryujin, then at Yeji and Minho, then back to the group, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that cleanly overpowered the Pacific Ocean. “Are they together?”
The only sound was the snapping wood. Yeji blinked, Minho stared at the sand, and Karina wondered if anyone else was praying for divine intervention or just her.
Chaeryeong scrambled onto her knees so fast the blanket hitched under half the circle. “THANK you! Finally. Okay, because if you watch the way he hands her things, it’s very - I mean, SO not casual. And yesterday morning he rescued her eggs, which unfortunately you weren’t there for, which sounds normal until you understand she was in his shirt, glued to his arm, and then at breakfast her hand kept ending up in places that were very much not friend-coded -”
“Chaeryeong,” Sunwoo interrupted mildly.
“- and there’s a look he does when she’s ignoring him which is textbook drama male lead, except he’s also carrying coolers and fixing drinks which means he’s already full-blown husband-coded -”
“Baby.”
“I have NOTES! Wait, baby, give me my PHONE -”
Chaeryeong stopped mid-reach. She lowered her hands and turned to look at the one person on the blanket who wasn’t looking at her.
“Wait!” Chaeryeong tucked one hand against her mouth. “Ryujin-unnie -”
Ryujin slouched further back on her elbows and stared at the flames. “Nope.”
“Nope?” Chaeryeong echoed.
“No trial by bonfire.” Ryujin crushed an empty chip bag into a tight ball and tossed it toward the cooler. “If Yeji wants to be weird about her trainee friend with nice forearms, she can be weird in peace.”
“I’m not being weird,” Yeji said instantly.
Ryujin let her head tip sideways. “You introduced him like a hostage statement.”
Yeji’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Yeddeong,” Ryujin muttered, turning back to the fire. “Fix your face.”
Yeji stared at her for too long, then looked down at her Pepsi.
Chaeryeong froze.
Yesterday morning, Ryujin had seen Yeji holding onto Minho-oppa in the kitchen and walked out before anyone finished breakfast. Clean plate, dishes dumped in the sink, posture stiff enough to instantly launch a side plot in Chaeryeong’s head.
Then that massive living room fight later that night never actually made sense anyway. Ryujin had tried to make Yeji rate Minho like some cheap hookup the way they always used to, called him a golden retriever, and pushed until Yeji pulled rank just to shut it down. Then she had lost her mind over it, backing Yeji into a corner to force her to admit he was her boyfriend. But Chaeryeong knew Ryujin didn’t even do boyfriends. She hadn’t been jealous over the guy. She seemed more devastated that Yeji refused to play their old game anymore.
There was a massive hole in the plot. Whoever wrote their scripts was taking the whole ‘show, not tell’ thing a little TOO far. Because right now, Chaeryeong could really use a lot of telling.
Instead, Yeji was sitting in the firelight with that same soft mouth, and Ryujin just... stayed.
Chaeryeong sank back onto the blanket and blinked. “I missed an episode.”
Yunjin dragged her iced americano closer to her chest like she needed it for protection. “Girl, I missed the whole season.”
Ningning let out a scandalised shriek, and Winter made a soft ‘ohhhhh‘ of comprehension despite grasping almost none of the actual context. The noise bounced around the circle, everyone talking over each other. In the blur, Karina caught Yuna laughing. The sound hit a note too sharp. Her mouth was thrown wide, but her eyes were already darting away before anyone could meet them.
Through the chaos, Yeji finally looked away from the fire. She shifted her gaze down the sand to find Minho. He was already watching her. He let out a slow, visible exhale, his shoulders dropping in resignation.
Ningning chose that moment to poke the fire with a driftwood twig. The end caught at once, flaring violently. She pulled it out and held the tiny torch up in triumph.
“See? You just have to be aggressive with it.”
“You’re waving it too close to the chips!” Winter shrieked, hugging the bag tight against her chest. “If the chips burn, we’ve got nothing!”
“The chips are safe, unnie, calm down.” Ningning never shied away from any opportunity to be a menace.
The circle shifted after that, the group relaxing their postures as drinks changed hands and people readjusted their spots. Someone mentioned their flight time for tomorrow, prompting Giselle to groan loudly into the sleeve of her sweater. Winter asked the group for the fourth time where her charger had gone, openly accusing the beach itself of theft. Over by the driftwood, Sunwoo and Minjun fell into an easy, low-voiced conversation with Minho. Chaeryeong successfully stole Sunwoo’s sleeve again, pulling it over her knees, while Lia leaned back to snap a photo of Winter digging for a snack right as Yeji lunged across the blanket to rescue a tipping beer can.
***
Karina watched Yuna from across the fire.
ITZY's maknae sat bracketed by Ningning and Giselle, staring straight through the flames. She had drowned herself in an oversized hoodie pulled past her hips, the sleeves bunched tight over her knuckles, gray sweatpants swallowing the legs she usually treated like a public service. Yuna lived in crop tops, bikini bottoms, and whatever gave her legs the most mileage. Tonight she was a ghost in thick cotton.
Her phone lay blank in the sand. Every few minutes, she picked it up, stared at the black reflection, and dropped it back into the dirt like it’d been poisoned. Between checks, she tipped soju into her mouth in sharp, impatient sips, forcing the liquid down her throat like she was trying to erase the taste of something else.
Karina pushed up from her blanket and crossed to Yeji. “Your maknae’s unusually quiet,” she said, dropping down beside her friend.
“Yeah.” Yeji tracked Karina’s gaze. “She’s been off since yesterday. Told me she had a beach hookup while we were out the day before, and that it went bad.” Yeji dragged a thumbnail along the rim of her Pepsi can. Condensation wept down the aluminum, running straight through Jang Wonyoung’s printed summer-festa smile. “She shut down when I asked for details, but I saw the bruise on her chest. Right here.” Yeji tapped high on her own breast. “A dark one. She tried to hide it from me. I think whoever she brought back hurt her, and she’s too embarrassed to admit it.”
Karina watched Yuna force a wide, loud smile at whatever Ningning was saying. The muscles around her mouth worked hard, but her face sank right back into a flat stare the second Ningning looked away.
“You want me to talk to her?” Karina offered.
Yeji exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “Would you? I tried again this morning, and she just ran away. Better if it comes from someone else.”
Karina stood and navigated the minefield of blankets and kicked-off sandals, before stopping at Yuna’s shoulder. The girl was dissecting the label on her soju bottle, peeling the paper back in thin, violent strips.
Karina folded her legs and sat, pressing her shoulder against Yuna’s. The ocean wind whipped sand over their shoes. Yuna stiffened. Her thumbnail locked against a scrap of paper.
“Unnie,” Yuna chirped, pitching her voice high and loud. “What’s up?”
A massive, practiced smile snapped onto her face. It looked like hard work.
Karina let out a slow breath, slumping her shoulders to tip her head sideways and drop her cheek heavy against Yuna’s shoulder. Yuna’s breath hitched at the sudden contact, but Karina just stayed there, pressing in until the muscles holding up Yuna’s fake smile started to shake, twitching at the corners before her whole face dropped.
Yuna’s hands dropped back to the bottle, shredding the remaining label into a pile of green confetti.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me,” Karina murmured into her sleeve.
Yuna’s jaw clicked shut. She stared at the scraped glass of her bottle, her thumb pinned against the sticky glue residue.
“I’m fine, really,” Yuna said.
Karina leaned sideways, sealing the gap between their arms. Behind them, Giselle shrieked over whatever Yunjin had just claimed. The fire popped, throwing hot sap onto the sand.
Yuna dragged in a hitched, uneven breath. She bit the inside of her cheek until the skin went white. Her spine bowed inward, collapsing her tall frame, and she dropped the glass bottle into the dirt.
“I’m not -” Yuna whispered. “I’m not fine.”
Karina shifted deeper into the sand, letting her arm stay heavy against Yuna’s to block the wind.
“Keep the reason,” Karina said. “Just sit here with me.”
Yuna blinked. Thick, glassy wetness gathered along her lower lashes. She swallowed a hard knot in her throat and snapped her gaze back to the wood smoke.
“Does it get easier?” Yuna asked, the words scraping her throat. “Feeling like you... totally wrecked everything?”
Karina watched the orange sparks spiral upward into the black. “Eventually. Once you admit you’re the one who actually got cut on the glass.”
Yuna took that in with a slow nod. She pulled her knees to her chest, caging her sweatpant-covered shins with both arms, and dropped her forehead onto the soft cotton over her knees. Karina kept her shoulder pressed into Yuna’s arm while the fire burned down. They stayed side by side in the dirt, letting Yunjin’s screaming and the crashing surf handle the noise.
***
“I’ve made a decision,” Chaeryeong announced, dropping Sunwoo’s sleeve and projecting clearly over the crashing surf. “I need an actual s’more. Properly roasted.”
“Seconded!” Ningning agreed immediately from across the fire.
Winter froze, her hand buried deep in the massive canvas snack tote sitting by her knees. Her eyes went round above her puffed cheeks. She peered down into its depths and started digging, both hands tossing a box of Pepero and a stray pack of gummies onto the sand in a frantic scramble.
She stopped. She looked up at Karina, blinking sheepishly.
“Ummm. Unnie -”
Everyone looked over.
Winter pulled a crumpled, completely empty plastic bag out of the tote and held it up by the corner.
“There’s no more marshmallows...”
“How many did she eat?” Giselle asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s not my fault,” Winter protested, clutching the empty wrapper. “You guys stole all my sour candy the other night!”
“I was helping you,” Giselle said nonchalantly, licking chip dust off her thumb. “You were hoarding. Besides, someone needs to go get more s’mores.”
“And chips,” Ningning added, casually chewing on the last piece she’d snuck from the bag.
Winter shot a cutting side-eye at Giselle across the fire.
Ningning loudly took Winter’s side, arguing that honey butter chips were a cultural imperative, while Chaeryeong betrayed that side at once purely because she wanted her s’mores fantasy to be perfect. Karina got to her feet while the argument was still rising into the night air.
“I’ll go.”
Winter brightened instantly, tugging on the hem of Karina’s dress. “Honey butter chips, unnie. Please. Only the yellow ones.”
Yuna looked up from the sand.
Karina dusted off her shorts and scooped up the empty canvas shopping tote by the straps. “Yuna-ya, come help me carry stuff, will you? We’ll take the golf cart.”
Yuna blinked, startled by the direct order, but nodded quickly and scrambled up. Karina caught her hand mid-step, lacing their fingers together with a firm grip and pulling her forward. Yuna’s shoulders hitched at the sudden contact, her hand staying stiff until she finally forced her knuckles to relax against Karina’s palm.
Ducking her chin into her hoodie, she let herself be towed up the dark beach path toward the road, leaving Yeji watching their retreat until the dunes swallowed them.
***
[YUNA’S POV]
At the top of the dune, the golf cart coughed to life on the second try. Yuna climbed into the passenger seat and tucked her knees up to her chest, the baggy gray sweatpants bunching around her ankles while the narrow road out past the resort ran dark beside the water, the cart’s single working headlight throwing a shaky, pathetic yellow path through the night.
Normally, she lived for this midnight aesthetic. Riding shotgun in the dark with her hair whipping around should’ve given immense main character energy, but tonight her brain refused to enjoy the fun part. The Levitating soundtrack from two days ago when she’d walked down to the beach thinking she was hot shit? Yeah, that was dead. Now it was just the same bruising facts spinning on loop until she wanted to unzip her own skin and climb out, leaving those perfectly manicured nails behind.
“You’ve been quiet all night,” Karina said over the rattle of the engine, keeping her eyes on the road.
“I’m fine,” Yuna shot back on pure instinct, hating how the lie came out coated in that automatic idol-trained gloss she saved for Cosmopolitan. Great, even her denial sounded media-trained. She bit her lip and stared at the dark tangerine trees whipping past while Karina kept driving in silence, giving Yuna way too much time to obsess over the glowing green numbers on the dashboard clock.
Minutes later, the GS25 sliding doors parted in a blast of freezing AC and offensive lighting. Yuna caught her reflection in the door glass and actively flinched. The overhead fluorescents were violently anti-woman, blowing out her features until she just looked exhausted and pore-heavy. The whole store was just dead-silent aisles of ramen and lighting totally optimized to ruin your self-esteem.
Karina stepped through the automatic doors a second later, the entry sensor chiming loudly in the empty store. She caught Yuna rigidly staring at the glass and immediately let her gaze slide past her to the aisles, offering the easiest out possible. “I’ll go hunt down the marshmallows,” Karina quipped, cutting right through the hum of the freezers. She nodded toward the back wall. “You grab the rest.”
They split up, leaving Yuna to speed-walk down the chip aisle, desperate to grab the honey butter chips and make this whole mini-trip strictly about sodium because carbs were safe and junk food didn’t judge you for hooking up with your leader’s terrifyingly competent non-boyfriend. Just a normal midnight snack run. Very casual. SO fine.
Blue Pepsi cans sat stacked in clean rows behind the glass, each label turned forward for the 2024 summer promo - IVE Summer Festa. The same one Yeji had been holding back on the beach. Wonyoung smiled from the aluminum at eye level, glossy and too perfect under the fridge light, her printed face repeating down the shelf until the whole fucking display looked like a creepy fan account with a beverage license.
Yuna stopped with one hand on the door handle.
The dark bedroom came back in phone light and twisted sheets. The article she’d already read twice. The comments scrolling under her thumb while her body lay there refusing to cooperate.
Face and body-wise, she and Jang Wonyoung are the top two.
Her fingers slipped through the gap before she decided to move. She touched the can with Wonyoung’s face on it, one fingertip resting against the printed cheek.
“Nice to look at...” she whispered.
“Yuna-ya,” Karina called from the next aisle. “Did you find it?”
Yuna snatched her hand back so fast the cans clinked together. She grabbed the nearest box of plain crackers off the shelf and hugged it to her oversized hoodie.
The Wonyoung can kept smiling at her from behind the glass. Yuna grabbed two cold cans of maekju from the next row and pinned them against the crackers.
“Yep!” She answered, trying to force some bouncy, maknae-line charm into the suggestion that fell flat against the hum of the freezers. “Found crackers. Very chips-adjacent. Honestly, genius.”
She tracked down Karina leaning one shoulder against the freezer glass with her thumb glowing over her phone screen.
“Wait, what if we just - like - give Minjeong-unnie these?” Yuna asked, holding up the crackers.
It was a photo of Karina at twenty in a sheer purple stage outfit, face rounder but expression blank, that porcelain-doll stare she’d perfected in rehearsal rooms, scrubbing out every trace of the actual human until only the weaponized avatar remained.
Yuna frowned as a weird spike of annoyance hit her. “Jimin-unnie. Who is that?”
Karina’s thumb twitched like she was going to snap the phone against her thigh, but she stopped and left it face-up under the harsh store lights.
“Me. When I was twenty. Black Mamba era, the year I debuted.”
Yuna stared at the screen. “Unnie, you look so...” She couldn’t find the right word. ‘Empty’ didn’t cover the sheer amount of effort it took to look that devoid of life. “...CG.”
“I was trying so hard, you’ve got no idea,” Karina cut in, bereft of her usual smoky polish. “I thought that was everything I wanted... if I could just get that sexy look right, then I’d be happy.”
“Always thought that was the goal, you know? To train my face out of the picture until there was nothing left but the brand. I thought if I just became the perfect blank slate for SM, then people couldn’t hurt the real me.”
Yuna lowered the crackers onto the top of the freezer case, the cardboard hitting the glass with a quiet, hollow tap. Why did Karina look so vacant under all that pretty, and why did that vacancy look so horribly familiar? That was supposed to be the dream version - twenty, pretty, famous, wanted. So why did the girl in the photo look like a completely empty shell?
Karina dragged her thumb across the glass to reveal a waiting room selfie featuring heavily styled hair. “Music Bank. I think I’d been awake forty straight hours at that point. Somebody told me to fix my face right before they took this.”
She swiped again, bringing up a bulletproof smile flashing beneath Seoul streetlights. “Dispatch. Didn’t even know they were following me.” She stared at the phone. “Saw it online the next day and that’s when I realized... my face just does that now. Smiles before I even know someone’s there.”
Yuna stared hard through the glass at the girl in the picture while her own brain traitorously fired off a rapid highlight reel of her own broadcast habits. The chin tilt. The breathy laugh. The hip angle that said hot but not desperate. The pout that tested well with male fans but didn’t alienate female ones. She’d practiced all of it until her face knew the drill better than she did, and suddenly, the daily grind of being the visual felt less like a flex and more like a burden.
Karina locked the phone, shutting down the screen. "You can get very, very good at being what people think they want."
Yuna’s posture caved inward, her face flushing so hot that wearing that massive hoodie and sweats suddenly felt like the most honest choice she’d made all week. She swallowed, the movement catching awkwardly in her throat.
“Does it help?” Yuna asked timidly.
Karina laughed once under her breath. “It helps them, until they’ve taken everything they can and you don’t even remember your name anymore.”
The freezer’s hum buzzed loudly in Yuna’s ears as she reached for the crackers again, her fingers hovering over the box before gripping the cardboard and pulling it tight against her ribs.
Up at the front of the store, a NewJeans track trickled through the cheap ceiling speakers. The sad one, of course, because even after two days unhinged idol disaster, the universe never relented with its impeccable sense of comedic timing. It was the one with the girl filming the girls like they were her actual friends, then boom - surprise, bestie - your emotional support idols were a coping mechanism with great styling. Parasocial damage, director’s cut. Yuna knew the lore because nobody survived fourth gen without studying every competitor’s cinematic universe like it was the CSAT. Though, hearing that song over the ramen aisle while she was having a face-and-body crisis in a GS25 felt weirdly personal.
They carried their items up to the counter, dumping marshmallows, cracker boxes, chocolate, and Yuna’s two beers onto the counter. Yuna slapped two Melonas on top because the freezer glass had given her the shakes.
Behind the counter, the cashier kept his eyes glued to his lap. A guy in his late twenties rotting in a rumpled uniform vest, he locked his thousand-yard stare on his phone, mashing his thumbs through some mobile game.
She draped herself over the counter, leaning forward to deploy her best, most desperate variety-show pout to get his attention. “Sir. SIR?? Do you have honey butter chips too?”
Her reflection stared back from the black acrylic security screen bolted to the counter, locking Yuna in place. She’d instinctively snapped into that broadcast-approved pout, rolling her shoulder forward and widening her eyes for a guy who clearly wasn’t giving a shit about her. The cringe hit her muscles before her brain caught up. She abandoned the posture instantly, shrinking her spine down against the counter and yanking her hoodie strings tight to hide her blazing cheeks.
Karina took a step back.
“Honey butter?” he droned, as he blindly dragged the marshmallows across the scanner. “A young lady came in the other night and cleared out the whole shelf.”
“Sold out?” Yuna gripped the edge of the counter, her cute act dissolving into actual horror.
“You heard me.” The cashier hauled his gaze over his phone, squinting at the two of them under the buzzing lights. His eyes passed from Karina’s face to Yuna’s and back again. “Actually, she looked a lot like Winter from aespa. Are you two -”
“Nice of you to think that,” Karina cut him off, flashing a hollow smile. “But no.”
He shrugged, dragging the crackers across the scanner and dropping his eyes right back to his screen. “Whatever. You girls all look the same with the plastic surgery you get on the mainland anyway.”
Yuna dropped her forehead against the edge of the counter, breaking into a messy laugh. A copy-paste job sitting on the same mainland shelf. Karina called it thirty seconds ago and here was the universe proving her right in real time. Yuna slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. If she let the laugh stop, she was going to have to exist in a world where some random GS25 guy reduced her entire life to a joke. Karina’s face softened, the diamond edge melting off and leaving the cashier standing there holding a box of crackers like a malfunctioning NPC.
***
The drive back was slower.
Karina tore open one of the Melonas and passed it to Yuna before unwrapping her own, steering the cart with her knees while she peeled back the paper. The wind dropped to a steady push off the water, rattling the plastic bag between their knees while the cart’s single working headlight threw its sad yellow cone over the asphalt.
Yuna bit into the green ice, neon syrup running down to the corner of her mouth. She didn’t notice until Karina pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it over while keeping her eyes on the road. Yuna took it and scrubbed at her face, the sticky residue smearing before it came clean.
Karina kept one hand on the wheel. Yuna held the Melona wrapper in her fist, green syrup drying sticky on her thumb, and stared at the dark tangerine groves passing on the left.
The cashier’s voice was still in her ears. You girls all look the same.
Same shelf, same idol face under a fluorescent tube. Yuna wanted to be mad about it. Instead, she kept hearing her own laugh from the store, too loud and too sharp. She’d bully herself for if it ever aired on a variety show.
“Boys are fun, aren’t they?” Karina said, her eyes on the road.
Yuna’s head snapped sideways. Karina kept her eyes on the road, mouth flat, dark hair whipping across her jaw.
“Yeah,” Yuna said, and the answer came out in the bright broadcast tone she’d used on every variety show since debut, breathy and cute with the vocal fry that tested well. She bit the inside of her cheek the second it left her mouth. Great. Even this had a rehearsal room stink on it.
“Fun,” Yuna repeated, quieter, trying to mean it this time. “Like - yeah.”
Karina glanced over. “What fun?”
The pool flashed back. Yeji’s cum still glossy on his cock the second the towel hit the tile, and Yuna’s brain locking onto it like an exclusive drop unnie had been gatekeeping. That’s why she keeps him around. Her personal premium subscription. She’d thought if she could just get him to beg for her instead - if she could make him pick her, even for thirty seconds going feral underwater in the deep end - she’d unlock the cheat code that made Yeji-unnie untouchable. She’d climbed out of that pool confident she’d secured the ultimate flex. But the thing unnie actually had with him didn’t live in his cock or his cum or getting chosen; it was the part Yuna couldn’t just serve face and fuck her way into. The way he held unnie’s face like she was a literal human being and not a 4K fancam. When she’d overheard him telling her “they’re perfect” through the wall after she’d complained about her tits being small.
“People thinking I’m hot,” Yuna finally said. “That’s the fun part. Knowing they want me.”
She’d never said it that plainly before. It sounded worse out loud than it did in her head, which was REALLY saying something because it hadn’t sounded great in her head either.
Karina nodded once, watching the road. “I used to think that too.”
“Used to?”
“Mhm.” Karina shifted the cart around a curve, the headlight sweeping across a low stone wall. “Being wanted was the best feeling I knew. For a long time.”
Yuna turned the sticky Melona wrapper between her fingers, pressing the green residue into thin lines on her skin. “So what happened?”
“I got everything I wanted.” Karina rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers digging under her dark hair. “But they only wanted Karina from the magazines. The girl who skips carbs and finds the right smile for every room.”
Karina let out a short, dry laugh. “Three nights ago. After the BLACKPINK set. Ryujin wanted to run through some Yonsei frat boys she found in the mosh pit. Dragged me along for bait.”
Yuna’s head snapped around, completely forgetting the sticky Melona wrapper. “Wait. FIVE? Unnie. You didn’t.”
“I tried.” Karina slouched forward, bracing her forearm against the steering wheel. “I literally stripped naked on their shitty leather couch, spread my legs wide open so they had a perfect view, and waited. You know what they did?”
Yuna didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“They fucking gawked.” Karina shook her head, an ugly smile twisting her mouth. “Stood there with their jaws slacked, drooling over my tits like I was a hallucination.”
Yuna swallowed, the sweet taste of the Melona suddenly completely gone.
“I was lying there wet and desperate for someone to just fuck me hard like a normal girl,” Karina said. She steered the cart around a pothole with the heel of her hand. “Which - you know what I mean. We’re young. We’re allowed to just want good sex.”
Yuna nodded once, scraping her sticky thumb against the soft cotton over her knee. She definitely knew what she meant.
“Except half of them busted the second they pushed inside,” Karina snorted. “The rest just used me like a human fleshlight. Hammering away without giving a single shit if I actually got off.” She glanced over, her eyes catching the dashboard light. “They didn’t want me, Yuna-ya. They just wanted to stick their useless dicks in the poster so they could brag about unlocking a trophy.”
The cart rattled over an uneven patch and Yuna grabbed the oh-shit bar, her sweatpants brushing against the plastic bag.
“And the thing is,” Karina continued, “you can give them that forever. Skin, performance, the girl they showed up for. You can keep handing it out, and they’ll keep taking it, and everyone keeps calling it love.”
Yuna’s throat went dry.
“Until one day you want one single thing for yourself,” Karina finished, “and they tell you it’s a betrayal.”
The wind filled the cart. Tangerine groves blurred past. Yuna opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She thought about her own Instagram, the comments she scrolled through at 2 AM calling her the hottest fourth-gen idol alive, the DMs from industry guys opening with compliments about her waist and closing with hotel names, the fancam numbers she tracked like a stock portfolio. She’d treated all of it like proof she mattered. Karina had collected the prize and ended up writing an apology for having a life.
Yuna swallowed.
The question had been poking at her since before Jeju, since the group chat, since the BLACKPINK tickets Ryujin gave to Karina because Karina was still apparently a mess three months after a relationship that lasted five weeks. But also because Yuna was too busy fucking some random guy to return Ryujin’s calls, and later ranted about it to herself on the beach like the entitled brat she was.
“Jimin-unnie. What actually happened with him?” She asked quietly.
Karina didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes on the road and her hand steady on the wheel.
“We met in Milan,” she said carefully. “At the Prada show. He was smart and handsome, and he looked at me like I was real.” She took the cart around a bend in the road. “Rare enough that I thought it meant something.”
“Did it?”
“For about a month.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “We went on walks late at night near his apartment. He’d buy me iced coffee from the GS25 near his building, and we’d talk about dumb things, like what dramas were good and whether cats or dogs were better. Normal things.”
She went quiet long enough that Yuna thought she was done.
“Then Dispatch got it,” Karina said. “And everything became content.”
Yuna looked down at the Melona wrapper in her fist. Content. The same word she used for her Instagram grid. The same word her manager used when reviewing her fancam numbers.
“They sent a truck to my company,” Karina sighed. “With a billboard on it. Asking if I didn’t feel loved enough by my fans. Asking why I’d betrayed them.”
Yuna’s hand froze on the Melona wrapper.
“I wrote an apology,” Karina continued, her shoulders dipping as the cart rolled over cracked asphalt. “On paper. By hand. Posted it to Instagram. I told fourteen million people I was sorry for having a boyfriend.” She took the next curve. “He told his agency he wanted to focus on his drama. That was it for him. Clean exit.”
He went back to work. She wrote sorry by hand and posted it where everyone could zoom in. Same relationship, same breakup, different cost.
“Five weeks, Yuna-ya,” Karina said. “We were public for five weeks. I apologized for longer than I dated him.”
Yuna remembered her own rant from the beach, the bitter little monologue she’d delivered to her shadow about Karina moping over a guy she’d barely been with and costing Yuna her BLACKPINK tickets. Her toes curled against the cart floor.
“I had every version of what you think you want,” Karina said, her fingers tightening once on the wheel. “The face. The fame. The beautiful man. The feeling of being chosen.” The road bent left and Karina followed it. “And I still couldn’t tell you the last time any of them knew who was actually in the room with them.”
“The sex was easy. They wanted it, I gave it, everyone left happy.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “Took me a while to realize they weren’t fucking me. They were fucking the girl from the magazine. I was just the one who had to show up for it.”
Yuna sat still with green Melona syrup on her thumb and the plastic bag crinkling against her sweatpants. Karina kept her hand steady on the wheel while the dark road unspooled ahead of them.
She’d thought Karina was weak for hurting that long over something that short. Now the timing made sense. Five weeks of having someone see her, then the industry stole it away with a press release, and Karina was still walking around with the handprint.
The worst part was that Minho had wanted her. Her body made that impossible to deny, which was the whole reason she’d treated it like a win. But even then, between every wet little victory lap her brain had turned into content, his eyes kept cutting back toward the bedroom like Yeji had a hand on him from afar.
“Unnie,” Yuna said, very quietly.
“Mm?”
“I was such a bitch about the BLACKPINK tickets.”
Karina let out one breath through her nose.
“I did wonder why Head Blink wasn’t there,” she said, and one corner of her mouth lifted wryly. “You don’t seem like someone who misses BLACKPINK by accident.”
Yuna pressed her sticky thumb harder into the vinyl seat. Yeah. Funny story. Hilarious, actually. Five stars. No notes. She kept all of that inside her mouth and stared at the headlight shaking over the road.
They drove the rest of the way in the dark, the resort lights growing brighter through the trees. Yuna pressed her sticky thumb against the vinyl seat and watched Karina in the passing headlights of an oncoming car.
Karina looked beautiful, because of course she did. The annoying part was that Yuna could see the dark smudges under her eyes now too, and they made the beautiful harder to lie about.
Yuna thought she might want to learn that too. Eventually. Not tonight. Tonight she just had to carry a bag of marshmallows back to a bonfire and figure out how to fix the thing she broke without cutting herself again.
The resort gate opened. The headlights found the beach path.
“You good?” Karina asked.
Yuna wiped the green syrup off her thumb with the napkin Karina had given her earlier.
“Yeah,” she said. “Better.”
They rolled back into the firelight moments later, the plastic shopping bag resting loudly against Yuna’s sweatpants as she climbed out. Winter spotted the marshmallows from the blankets and let out a high squeal while brandishing a wooden skewer, prompting Ningning to snatch the bag from Yuna with both hands and instantly assign jobs nobody had requested.
Yeji looked up from the fire the second Karina stepped back into the circle, and when their eyes met across the sand, Karina gave a small nod that Yeji reciprocated.
Before Yuna even sat down, Ningning shoved a half-assembled s’more directly into her hand, declaring she looked like she needed chocolate before going straight back to nearly setting another marshmallow actively on fire. Karina lowered herself back onto the sand where Ningning immediately slumped against her shoulder as if she’d never left. Across the roaring fire, Ryujin threw her head back, laughing loudly at something Yunjin had just said while Yuna looked down at the chocolate melting into the cracker in her hand, letting the noise of the beach wash over her.
***
[MINHO’S POV]
By the time the second round of marshmallows got underway, the fire had burned down into that nice, competent middle stage, impressive enough to validate the effort and dangerous enough to keep Ningning interested. Sunwoo and Minjun were on the other side, half committed to a long story about a manager in Osaka who’d somehow locked himself in a hotel bathroom, while I stood behind Yeji with my thumbs pressed into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.
Finding her took no effort anymore.
She had her chin tipped forward, one knee drawn up, both hands wrapped loosely around a Pepsi can while I worked my fingers over her shoulders. Moving firelight caught the sharp edge of her cheekbone and the bridge of her nose, then slid away. Every now and then she’d smile at something Chaeryeong or Lia said, and my fingers stopped against her hoodie until I remembered to move them.
I kept swallowing the same thought over and over.
I almost lost all of this.
Yuna came out of the dark with a cold beer in each hand, and Minjun stopped talking mid-sentence.
She crossed the last stretch of sand with her eyes down, oversized hoodie swallowing her hands, gray sweatpants dragging low over her heels. I thought she was coming to give Yeji the drink until she stepped around Yeji’s shoulder, set both cans carefully in the sand by my foot, wrapped her arms around my middle, and pressed her face into the front of my zip hoodie hard enough for one rough breath to catch against the zipper.
My hands stayed useless in the cold air while everyone watched.
Yeji looked up first, her head turning beneath my arm. Her eyebrows pulled together, confused, then her face softened when Yuna’s fingers clenched in my jacket.
“Yuna-ya?” she asked. “What happened?”
Yuna shook her head once against me and turned her face until her mouth brushed my ear.
“I thought being wanted meant I was worth something,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened once in my jacket. “You saw me anyway. So stop feeling bad for being decent to me. Yeji-unnie chose you, so... don’t make her regret being brave.”
I shut my eyes. For days, I’d been carrying that pool like evidence against myself, replaying it every time I looked at Yeji or Yuna went quiet until my jaw hurt.
Yuna stood there in her huge hoodie, crying into my jacket, and told me to stop.
I lowered one hand to the back of her head, keeping my palm light and my body still, close enough to comfort her and careful enough for Yeji to see exactly what I meant.
“You’re worth plenty.” I said quietly, keeping my hand still against her hair. “You don’t have to prove it like that.”
Her shoulders hitched once, and Yeji was on her feet before anyone else moved. She stepped close, one hand landing on Yuna’s back, her attention narrowing the way it did when one of her members came offstage pale and pretending not to be hurt.
“Yuna.” Yeji’s hand moved once between Yuna’s shoulder blades. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Yuna lifted her face from my jacket. Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotchy, nose pink from the wind, and when she tried to smile, her mouth shook out of it.
“I messed up.” Yuna rubbed her sleeve under her nose and looked at the sand between Yeji’s feet. “And Minho-oppa helped me after. That’s all. He was... he was nice to me when I didn’t really deserve nice.”
Yeji looked at me, and I held still until her shoulders dropped. She nodded once, then pulled Yuna out of my arms and straight into hers.
Yuna went with a choked little sound, folding into Yeji so fast my hand was left hanging there. Yeji wrapped both arms around her and tucked her chin against Yuna’s temple, rocking once in the sand.
“You’re our maknae. You always deserve nice,” Yeji murmured, rubbing the back of Yuna’s hoodie with her thumb.
Karina sat near the blankets with her drink held loose between both hands, watching Yuna over the rim. When Yuna finally peeled herself off Yeji and wiped both cheeks with her sleeves, Karina gave her a small nod of approval, and Yuna’s eyes immediately found the ground again.
Yuna’s mouth trembled before she bent, picked up one of the maekju she’d brought, and pressed it into my hand.
“For you.” Yuna cleared her throat, grabbed the other bottle, and shoved it toward Yeji. “And for unnie. Because apparently I’m mature now.”
“Apparently,” Yeji said, taking it.
Minjun waited until Yuna had shuffled back toward the blankets and collapsed between Karina and Ningning before leaning over.
“Did I miss a whole redemption arc?”
I cracked open the maekju Yuna had given me. The hiss cut clean through the fire crackle.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Yeji turn the can once in her hands before she looked back at Yuna. “You really did.”
***
Behind us, Yunjin and Giselle had sought each other out again and were currently deep into their third or fourth argument of the night. Except this one had drastically pivoted to anime. Ryujin had made the fatal mistake of trying to contribute and was already looking for a way out.
“Gojo Satoru is the best character ever written in any medium,” Yunjin announced, projecting her voice over the fire. “I will die on this hill and I’ll look hot doing it.”
“He’s a thirst trap with a backstory.” Giselle tucked her hands deeper into her oversized sleeves.
Yunjin slapped her thigh in outrage. “Okay, a thirst trap can also be a genius! Why does it have to be one or the other with you, it’s exhausting.”
“Shinji Ikari. Better written. It’s not close.”
Yunjin stared at her in pure horror. “I don’t care about better written, I care about iconic. Shinji is iconic at having one breakdown in a robot.”
“That’s still writing.”
“Crying in a giant robot isn’t automatic literature, Aeri.”
Ryujin leaned in between them, committed and doomed. “Okay but Zoro would clap both of these guys, so -”
Both of them turned on her with lethal synchronization.
“How much have you actually seen?” Giselle asked.
Ryujin hesitated, sensing the trap. “Like... the first three arcs?”
Yunjin dramatically clutched her own chest. “That’s the trailer, babe.”
“You haven’t watched One Piece, you waved at it from across the room.” Giselle waved a hand to dismiss her.
Ryujin looked betrayed.
From the main blanket, Winter leaned toward Ningning again, holding her half-burnt marshmallow upright like a tiny ruined microphone. “Are they still bonding?”
“Yep.” Ningning nodded solemnly, critically examining the charcoal side of her marshmallow. “Still bonding.”
***
That was how the rest of the night went. People pairing off, arguing, and drifting back again. Chaeryeong kept stealing bites directly from Sunwoo’s s’more, claiming it was strictly quality control. Lia snapped photos across the fire, timing them for when people stopped posing. Karina laughed with her head bent, one hand over her mouth, while Yunjin switched seamlessly into English to complain. Yeji leaned close to Ryujin for a quick, quiet exchange that ended with Ryujin rolling her eyes dramatically but handing over her drink anyway.
Then Winter’s phone lit up and rang loudly from the sand, and she practically scrambled over Ningning to grab it, knees slipping in the blanket and one socked foot kicking free.
She looked at the screen, her face splitting into an instant grin. “Wait. Wait, everybody. Say hi.”
She answered the FaceTime already smiling, aiming the camera out at the fire.
“HI!” the entire beach circle yelled in unison, hands waving at the lens.
A deep voice rumbled a laugh through the phone speaker. A massive dog shoved its face briefly into the frame underneath a tattooed hand, prompting Winter to shriek in sheer delight and clap both hands over her mouth, trapping the phone between her palms for one dangerous second.
“Unnie.” Ningning rescued the bottom edge before the screen tipped toward the sand.
“Puppy,” Winter whispered back, reverent and useless as an explanation.
Within seconds, she turned the phone right back around to hoard the screen to herself, tucking her chin down and curling around it. Giselle let Winter burrow against her shoulder and lazily patted her hair, keeping her drink steady.
Yeji had drifted back to my side at some point during the call, settling into the sand close enough that her shoulder brushed my knee. I tipped my chin toward Winter, who was curled around the phone whispering at the screen.
“That dog’s huge,” I said.
“Mhm.”
“And that hand had a lot of ink on it.”
Yeji took a slow sip of her maekju. “He’s a sunbae.” She tucked her chin against her knee, the smallest curl at the corner of her mouth. “Friend of ours. He’s good to her.”
“That’s all I get?”
“That’s all anyone gets.” She bumped her shoulder against my thigh gently. “That’s how she keeps it.”
***
The fire started to burn low, the orange flames retreating back into the wood. I pulled the collar of my jacket up against the ocean chill as somebody tossed another thick piece of driftwood into the center. Propped back on one hand in the sand, I just sat and watched everybody find comfortable, tangled shapes around each other to block the wind. aespa had tucked in a little closer together, apparently bracing for their flight out tomorrow. ITZY sprawled across their blankets like they’d owned this beach for a week.
Yunjin had fully abandoned her flannel jacket, sprawling back on her elbows in the sand, and was currently delivering a loud, tipsy state-of-the-union address on the Seoul dating pool.
“I opened Tinder before the plane even got to the gate,” Yunjin announced, waving her phone at the fire. “Mapo-gu is a fucking wasteland. I needed to see if the island roster was carrying.”
“Is it that bad?” Chaeryeong asked, leaning forward over her knees.
“It’s bleak, bro,” Yunjin ranted, letting her head drop back. Her throat caught the firelight. “Do you know what comeback prep does to a bitch? I’ve been doing six hours of choreo a day on iced americanos and spite. I even fully shaved for this trip. Do you know how exhausting that is on two hours of sleep? I’m down so astronomically bad I could walk into the ocean. PLEASE get me a guy who can rail me so hard I forget my own name.”
Ryujin laughed into her beer can. “Girl, just hook up with one of your backup dancers like a normal person.”
“HUH-larious. But nah.” Yunjin slashed a hand through the air. “They get weird. The second you try to choke them with your thighs, they panic about HR. You open your legs for some Gangnam industry fuckboy and half the time he’s trying to network mid-stroke or asking about Spotify streams. I don’t want a fan, I want a menace. I want some dude who can actually fold me like a lawn chair and shut me the fuck up.”
Beside me, Yeji let out a soft snort of agreement, taking a slow sip of her drink.
“I thought a Jeju local might actually have some stamina,” Yunjin sighed, scrolling aggressively with her thumb. “Fishermen. Surfers. Dudes who don’t own a twelve-step skincare routine and can actually rearrange my guts. Give me calluses or give me death.”
"Or crypto bros," Yuna muttered darkly from inside her hoodie.
On the other blanket, Ningning stopped chewing on the end of her wooden skewer. She turned her head, very slowly, and stared dead at Giselle.
Winter caught the look. Her head snapped toward Giselle too, her eyes widening.
Giselle took a maddeningly slow sip of her drink, the ice clinking loudly in the plastic cup. She lowered it, maintaining a completely blank expression as her members zeroed in on her.
Yunjin sat up fast, sensing blood in the water. “Wait, why are you all looking at her?”
Giselle adjusted the heavy blanket over her legs. “I commit vibes.”
“Aeri.” Yunjin started. “AERI. Did you get your back blown out while I was stuck in a recording studio?”
Lia put her phone face down in the sand and crossed her arms. Even Karina went still, attention snapping in.
Giselle picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, looking thoroughly unbothered by the sudden interrogation. “Dude, if it helps your thesis, he wasn’t local. He’s a cinematographer I knew from high school. Lives in Gangnam. So your Seoul facts are off.”
“That’s a full confession,” Yunjin gasped, already way too invested. “Spill. Right now.”
Winter paused mid-chew, looking between them with wide, sincere eyes. "Wait, so how did your networking go, unnie? You never told us."
The fire popped sharply, throwing a sudden burst of bright orange sparks up into the dark space between us.
I looked across it.
Yeji was already watching me. She raised one eyebrow, her chin still propped on her knee, and waited me out. I broke eye contact first, conceding the point, and I caught the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk right before I faced the water.
Across the circle, Giselle took one last long drink and finally started.
“So we were at that really hyped samgyupsal place in Seogwipo, right?” she began, channeling that thoroughly pseudo-West Coast energy. “And that place was so smoky I couldn’t see a fucking thing. Anyway, we were meeting this cinematographer guy I knew from high school...”
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Author’s Note
I know this chapter is a little heavier than the title suggests, but I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, this was probably my least favorite chapter to work on - not because it didn’t matter, but because the subject matter is dark and philosophically complex in a way that’s far from the smut and romance I actually enjoy writing most. But alongside “Nobody Like You,” this might be the most emotionally deep chapter in the series. This story wouldn’t be complete without it, and I think it stands on its own.
If you’ve made it this far into the series, there’s a good chance you’re not just here for the smut anymore. One of the unintended consequences of using bodies to tell emotional truth is that you inevitably hit the philosophical questions underneath - specifically, what it actually costs to live in that body professionally.
I wanted to explore that parasocial damage in a way that felt real and personal. Karina’s history was the best way to close off Yuna’s arc, because Yuna had to learn that being desired as a product isn’t the same thing as being seen as a person.
Quick housekeeping before I get into it - I renamed this chapter. It started life as "Dynamite and Drama," which was a clean little ensemble title (Dynamite is ITZY, Drama is aespa, two groups colliding on a beach, very tidy, right?) But by the time the final draft was done, it was obvious the bonfire wasn't actually the heart of the chapter - the golf cart and convenience store was. So Ditto it is.
And honestly, the more I sat with it, the more "Ditto" earned its keep on three separate levels at once, which is an absurd amount of layering for one word:
The NewJeans song. Parasocial damage, the thematic spine I was building toward the whole time (more on that in a sec).
The literal meaning. "Same thing." Karina IS Yuna's ditto - the older mirror, the same girl three years and eight months down the road who chased exactly what Yuna's chasing now and ended up writing an apology for having a life. The GS25 cashier flattening them with "you girls all look the same with the plastic surgery you get on the mainland" is the universe twisting the knife on the exact same idea: interchangeable products on the same shelf.
The Spirited Away nod (see below). Once you let the industry rename you, you become a copy of yourself. Ditto.
Which brings me to that first point.
This chapter is heavily based on the themes from NewJeans’ “Ditto,” which, deep down, is about how parasocial love is a one-way mirror. The idol performs and gives so much of themselves, but gets nothing real back. The fan loves and supports unconditionally, but never actually connects with the person, and both end up alone.
It’s also why Karina’s line about forgetting your name is a direct nod to Spirited Away. Just like Yubaba steals Chihiro’s real name to bind her to the bathhouse, the idol industry demands the human (“Jimin”) give up her identity to the persona (“Karina”). They exist just to serve the masses, trapped in the performance until they forget who they really are.
Rather than leaving you with another long-ass note this time, I’ll assign some homework. I think this video is a really interesting deep dive on the MV that thematically inspired this chapter and the core of Yuna and Karina’s arcs. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
I also think this article is a really good read on the topic!
word count: ~22k
Characters: Male Reader (OC: Minho) x ITZY Hwang Yeji, ITZY Lia (Choi Jisu) x OC: Minjun
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A/N: (This chapter picks up from the end of 'Flickering Flames'/'Moonlight and Memory')
The twin chapter to 'Nobody Like You'. Almost a month after I said it would drop, but better late than never, right?
This is the final smut sequence to be written in the series. For everyone who picked this up from the relentless heat of the very first chapter ('First Light') and sat through hundreds of thousands of words of unresolved guilt, shame, anxiety, trauma, tension and angst - this is Yeji and Minho at their absolute peak, and this is for you. Happy reading and happy gooning!
[LIA'S POV]
Some things stop being beautiful the moment you try to keep them.
You convince yourself it's just for fun. A private joke, harmless entertainment. You tell yourself that breaking a moment down into pixels is a victimless crime as long as you're only watching. But the second you pull a living, breathing thing through a lens just to consume it at your own convenience, you aren't preserving a memory. You're taking a hostage.
Lia always told herself she was just preserving the chaos.
Minjun found her at the kitchen counter with her phone in a death grip and pressed a hand to the small of her back. He steered her toward the stairs while voices still bounced off the first-floor tile behind them.
They took the stairs in the dark. Minjun unzipped the big suitcase, hunting for the emergency Saeukkang, but his hand caught the heavy duffel instead. He dragged it over the zipper until something thudded against the floorboards and spread plastic and silicone everywhere.
Lia turned to find their toy bag emptied across the bedroom floor. The pink vibrator rolled under the dresser to buzz against the baseboard, while a bottle of lube landed sideways and spun to a stop. The silk blindfold they'd never used floated down right in the middle of the rug.
"Those are definitely crackers, jagiya," Lia said dryly.
Minjun dropped to his knees to pick everything up, killing the vibrator with a thumb press before tossing it back in the duffel. "Crackers are in the side pocket."
He dug the foil bag out of the outer pouch, gave up on the clean-up, and climbed onto the bed to rip it open.
She sat on the edge of the bed and ate three without tasting the salt. Her phone charged on the nightstand, holding the folder. Jeju D1 pool AM M/RJ+Y. 43.7GB. 6 clips. 142 minutes.
Minjun followed her gaze, already knowing what was on the device. "Are we dealing with that tonight?"
"Not right now." She didn't have it in her.
She got up and walked to the window, letting the quiet house settle around them as the pool filter hummed through the floor and a door clicked shut down the hall.
Lia pressed her forehead against the glass and looked down at the teal-lit water, where two silhouettes stood by the deep edge.
"Yeji and Minho are at the pool," she said.
The mattress creaked as Minjun lay back against the pillows with the cracker bag on his stomach. "Are they fighting too?"
"No. Just standing there." Minho faced the water with Yeji right behind him, her forehead pressed between his shoulder blades.
"What actually happened down there?" Minjun asked. "I only caught the screaming at the end."
"She picked a boy over a member." Lia watched Yeji's shoulders shake once, then twice. She was too far up to confirm tears, but the rhythm was wrong for breathing. "Yeji told her to back off. Ryujin went harder."
"Does she do that? Choose outside the group?"
"Never. They bicker like they breathe, but they don't fight. I've known her seven years. Never seen Yeji do what I just saw her do."
Minjun crunched a cracker. "You've seen her, like - with guys before, right?"
"Plenty." Lia kept her eyes on the glass.
Minjun waited, chewing in the dark, until she pointed with her chin. Below, Yeji stepped around Minho, her hand trailing along his ribs until she faced him. "She doesn't do this. She doesn't do the tender song and dance. The hold-me-together-or-I'll-fall-apart energy. That's never been her move."
"So what's -"
"Aggressive," Lia cut in flatly. "Intense. She fucks like she's training for ISAC." Knowing Yeji's psychotic scheduling, she probably justified it as cardio for the relay. Lia frowned. "This is - think she was crying just now. Into his back."
Minjun stopped chewing. "Yeji?"
"Yeah."
"Don't think I've ever actually seen her cry."
"Oh, she cries on stage when we win," Lia said, her voice dropping lower. "But never off-camera. When the label screams at us or the internet turns, she just goes completely numb and fixes it. She'll sing harder, dance harder, but never break. Haven't seen her break down since we were trainees."
Below them, Yeji tipped her head up and put her hands on his face.
"Are they about to kiss because they're in love," Minjun asked from the bed, "or because they're -"
Yeji grabbed his jaw and kissed him hard, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her whole body against him. They stayed like that.
Lia dropped her head against the glass. "Does it matter?"
Then Yeji broke the kiss, kept her forehead against his, and stepped backward off the edge to pull him in with her.
The splash shook the floor and sent foam everywhere before they came up gasping and laughing in the deep end.
***
The bedroom stayed quiet behind her except for the steady crunch of Saeukkang. Down in the teal water, Yeji splashed him, and he caught her wrist. They treaded water and talked, their voices too low to carry, but Yeji's laugh kept drifting up, bright and unguarded. She didn't look like the girl who used sex as competitive cardio. She looked like a normal twenty-four-year-old in a pool with a boy she'd kept hidden from the group's sexual Olympics for years.
"Are they swimming or making out?" Minjun finally asked around a mouthful of crackers.
"They were just talking," Lia said.
Down below, the splashing stopped. Yeji drifted closer, sliding her hands around his neck, and wrapped her legs around his hips while he got both hands under her thighs to hold them up.
"Wait. He's holding them both up," Lia said. "Treading water while she's wrapped around him. That's stupidly hard."
"So they're making out."
"Both. And -" Lia leaned closer to the glass. "Okay, she just pushed the bikini side-tie out of the way. Looks like they decided to stop talking and start fucking."
The crunching stopped. "In the POOL?"
"In the deep end," Lia corrected, watching the water churn. "Where neither of them can stand. It's insane."
"That's advanced." Minjun swallowed audibly in the quiet room. "How's the technique?"
Lia kept her eyes on the pool. "Do you want play-by-play or color commentary?"
"Both."
"Well, yesterday Ryujin and Yuna turned this deck into a bloodsport. They were screaming over tempo and fighting for who got him to finish inside them." She watched Yeji's hips roll slow in the teal water. "But he's holding her face with both hands. She's whispering into his neck."
"That's either very romantic or very specific instructions."
"Probably both, yeah."
***
"Still going?" Minjun asked, ten minutes later, scrunching up the empty Saeukkang bag and tossing it aside.
"Mhm."
The cracker bag rustled as it drifted toward the hardwood floor and the pool filter hummed, carrying Yeji's soft, gasping laughs up the wall.
Twenty minutes.
"Still going?" Minjun asked again.
"No. They stopped moving. She just has her arms wrapped around his neck and they're holding each other. Just floating."
"In the water?"
"Yeah."
Forty minutes became what must've been an hour.
Lia's phone sat on the windowsill the whole time, screen up, camera lens catching the teal glow. She reached for it once, fingers getting within a nail's length of the case before she caught herself and shoved both hands deep into her pockets.
Down below, Minho climbed out first and walked toward the outdoor shower while Yeji stayed in the water another minute, floating on her back with the white cover-up billowing around her in the teal glow.
Then Yeji pulled herself out of the pool, using the railing to haul herself up in one clean motion that bypassed the stairs. She stood on the deck for a three-count, hand on her hip, water streaming from the soaked white cover-up plastered to her brown bikini. Three steps toward the outdoor shower, she reached for the hem and peeled the wet fabric up her stomach, her ribs, the slow drag of it separating from skin. She dropped it on the tile without looking back.
Still in just the bikini, she paused at the shower entrance to lean one shoulder against the slatted frame, cocking her hip and holding the pose.
"She's doing the thing," Lia said.
"What thing?"
"The ending fairy pose. The shoulder lean. That's the DALLA DALLA shot she hits when the Inkigayo cameraman walks up on her." She watched Yeji push off the frame and step inside the cubicle. "She just weaponized it for one guy in a shower."
The shower turned on, its slatted door hiding nothing from up here. Shadows merged right before the heavy, wet crack of a body hit the tile.
"He just pinned her to the wall," Lia said. "Legs wrapped. That's round two."
Minjun let his head thump back against the headboard. "Shit."
Yeji's voice carried up from the shower, sharp and breathless: "Let them hear -"
Her breath caught. She'd spent years watching fancam compilations break her dancing down frame by frame while Pann and TheQoo threads ranked her body against her own members, every stumble timestamped and archived by strangers who'd never met her. Yeji chose this, and nobody had ever asked Lia.
The slapping echoed off every hard surface down there, with Yeji getting louder and louder until she came so hard the whole property heard it, followed by total silence.
The shower cut off.
Yeji stepped out and walked to where her discarded swimwear sat on the deck, bending straight at the waist with her legs apart and holding the stretch way longer than picking up a bikini bottom takes.
"Oh." Lia tapped a finger against the window frame. "She's showing off."
From up here, Lia could see everything with 4K fancam levels of clarity. His cum dripped down Yeji's inner thighs, thick and glossy, as she turned slow to give Minho the full view of the mess he'd left inside her. The pool glow lit up the whole mess like a neon sign.
She held the pose before scooping up her bikini bottom, straightening out, and spinning the wet fabric around her finger.
Lia had never seen Yeji let any guy cum inside her before, let alone show it off like this. It was a level of vulnerability and ownership that was completely foreign for her, and it made Lia's stomach twist in a way she for once couldn't quite articulate.
Who was this guy to deserve all that?
The bed stayed quiet until Lia glanced over her shoulder. "You're being very quiet over there."
"I'm processing, jagiya."
Then Minho walked out of the shower naked, scooped Yeji up, and started carrying her toward the villa. Yeji shrieked and reached down between them and grabbed his dick like the Line 2 subway handle.
"He's carrying her," Lia reported, turning back to the glass. "And she's using his dick as a handrail."
Minjun groaned. "I didn't need that image."
"You asked for play-by-play, jagiya."
Yeji kicked against his arms and grabbed his shoulder, laughing so hard she went silent with it as they hit the sliding glass door and disappeared inside.
The front door banged open below. Laughter bounced off the tile, followed by heavy footsteps taking the stairs until Yeji shrieked, cut off by a body hitting a mattress so hard the bedsprings groaned through the walls.
A bedroom door slammed, shaking the house once before it settled.
Lia stayed at the window while the pool sat empty under its teal glow and the last ripples faded out. Above her, muffled laughter seeped through the ceiling - Yeji's voice, then his, too low to make out words. The laughing went on for a while, then stopped. Lia almost turned away from the window. Then a slow, rhythmic creak started up through the floorboards, joined by a sound so soft she might have imagined it - a moan or a breath, private enough that hearing it felt like an intrusion.
Someone moved by the sun loungers, and then a figure stepped into the pool light.
Ryujin.
The light hit her face hard, catching her sharp cheekbones and the dark hollows under her eyes while her jaw clamped tight enough to make the muscles stand out in her neck. So she'd been down there the whole time.
Ryujin tracked the wet footprints across the tile, all the way to the villa door. Then she looked up, straight at the only lit window in the house.
Lia stepped back from the glass.
"What?" Minjun asked. "What is it?"
Lia gripped the windowsill with white knuckles, holding onto the wood because the only other option was reaching for her phone.
Some things were better left unseen.
"Nothing," she said. "It's nothing."
***
[MINHO'S POV]
There's no graceful way to toss a girl onto a bed after she's just spent a flight of stairs using your cock as a subway handle, so I didn't bother trying. Either way, chucking a soaking wet Hwang Yeji onto a mattress is an objectively reckless act, but I highly recommend it.
The mattress took our combined weight with a violent groan. I caught myself on my forearms at the last second, hovering over Yeji as she bounced once against the pillows. Her soaked hair fanned out across the expensive-looking cotton we were already actively ruining. She let out a sharp, cackling laugh, and I realized I could probably listen to that sound for the rest of my life.
Fuck, I loved that laugh.
"Hi," she whispered.
"Hi," I managed back, acutely aware I was dripping chlorinated pool water onto her collarbone.
Somewhere between the deep end and the outdoor shower, the thing that had been crushing my chest for nearly two days had stopped crushing quite so hard. She'd looked at me in the pool with water in her lashes and said "you make me feel real" like it was the most obvious fact she'd ever stated, and something in me had exhaled for the first time all trip. She was warm, and real, and things made sense again, and the nightmare was over.
Wasn't it?
Anyway, I decided to be a complete asshole about it.
She wrapped her legs around the backs of my thighs like she fucking owned the bed, hooking around me the same way she had a thousand times over five years: arms locking behind my neck, hips tilting up, her wet pussy pressing warm and open against my cock with zero bullshit about what she wanted. I pulled back instead, hovering one agonizing inch above her to let the tip slide against her slickness without pushing in, and refused to give her a single fucking thing.
Her cat eyes went from warm to lethal in the span of a single blink, and I watched it happen with enormous, unearned satisfaction.
"Minho." She moaned, already wrecked from the shower. "Stop -"
"Stop what?"
"Stop being a dick and hovering there." She narrowed her eyes. "And hey - stop doing the aegyo thing with your eyes."
"I'm not doing an aegyo thing," I said, and just held her gaze, eyes wide and innocent, while she squirmed under me with my cock right there against her soaked cunt. "Besides, I've seen yours. Every time that guy makes you do the 'Ottoke' song on Weekly Idol, you look like someone's being held hostage."
The disgust on her face was deeply gratifying. We'd spent five years sitting naked on my couch eating cold ramyeon after those broadcasts while she scrolled through Naver comments and ranted about everyone who'd made her perform something she hated. Secret hookups weren't supposed to accumulate routines like that - post-show debriefs waiting for sweat to dry, opinions on which MC was the worst, her stealing my ramyeon because she'd claimed she wasn't hungry. But here we were.
"I fucking HATE that guy," she muttered.
"I know."
"He always ambushes me right after the performance section when I'm already sweaty and overstimulated and then the cameras are all right there and the shot is -" She drove her heels into my lower back mid-complaint, dragging me forward with the same brutal precision she used to hit center on every count, and the head of my cock sank into slick, wet heat before my brain had anything to say about it.
Her breath caught. Her eyes lit up. Her walls fluttered triumphantly around just the tip.
Then I locked my triceps and pulled straight back out.
The noise she made shouldn't have been as satisfying as it was.
"Excuse me," she huffed, squirming now in a way that was doing things to my willpower. "My aegyo is highly professional and everyone knows it."
"It's seriously terrifying."
"At least I don't weaponize it to cockblock someone." She stared up at me barely contained indignation. "And you do this EVERY SINGLE TIME, by the way."
"Do what every time?"
"This," she snapped, keeping her arms locked behind my neck but gesturing vaguely at the empty space between us with her free hand. "The hovering and the teasing and the whole song and dance. We were just in the pool. We were just fucking in the pool and then we were fucking in the shower and you were inside me exactly five minutes ago, and somehow we're back here doing the whole -" Her hips shifted restlessly. "Why?"
"Two minutes," I corrected.
She frowned. "What?"
"The stairs," I said, letting a slow, unapologetic smirk take over my face as I kept the tip brushing just barely against her slick entrance. "When I stumbled. You really expect me to believe you didn't tilt your hips on purpose?"
"I was losing my balance," she insisted, a violent flush hitting her cheeks to instantly betray her.
"I went balls to the wall, Yeji, and you giggled into my neck and crossed your ankles behind my back." I just stared her down, parting her wetness but refusing to sink in while she squirmed and tried to physically pull my waist deeper. "Admit it."
"I was trying to hold on -"
"You laughed," I said. I pressed the tip barely inside her, just enough to watch her eyes lose focus and her mouth go slightly open, and then I held still. "Into my neck. You giggled while it was happening. You liked it, didn't you?"
Her nails dug into my shoulders, her whole body engaged in a tug-of-war she was already severely losing as physical demand overtook her pride.
"Fine," she huffed, her ears burning red. "Yes. I moved. I wanted it. Happy? I've wanted it for the past hour and it's right there and if you could please, for once in your life, just -" She stopped and reassembled what was left of her dignity. "Please?"
I held still and widened my eyes innocently.
"Don't." She looked completely devastated and actively homicidal. "Don't do the sad puppy thing on top of the aegyo thing. That's even worse." She tried to physically haul me down but I braced against it, and she groaned with pure exasperation. "Yesterday morning, you did this EXACT thing. Made me beg for it while I had a Pilates class to get to."
"You loved it."
"I was LATE," she said, with real complaint now. "And you know I am NEVER late. Karina kept asking if I was okay all through the warm-up AND the cool-down because I couldn't concentrate. Do you know how embarrassing that is? It's the only reason she figured out you were here - if you hadn't been such a menace about the whole Pilates thing, she wouldn't have interrogated me in the sauna afterward, and then she wouldn't have set up the -"
She cut herself off.
Her hips went still for the first time all night, her mouth stayed open, and her grip on my neck went slack while I watched her rewind the last thirty seconds in real time.
My own brain caught up a moment later: no morning teasing meant no distracted class. No distracted class meant no interrogation. No interrogation meant no confession. No beach date.
No threesome.
I'd accidentally edged my way into a threesome with Karina.
My lips pulled into the slowest, most unearned grin of my life.
"Set up what?"
Her jaw went tight. "Don't."
"I'm just -"
"You don't get credit for that. You were just being difficult and you didn't KNOW that was going to happen." She tried to look at the ceiling instead of me, which she couldn't quite manage with her arms still locked behind my neck. "You were just being a dick."
"I'm a visionary," I declared, practically levitating with unearned pride.
What a pussy it'd been, too. So outrageously, catastrophically soft it'd inhaled me the second I pushed inside, and I got it - I finally got why certain producers kept ending up back in SM buildings on their days off and then wrote poetry about it. A fact Yeji would murder me in cold blood for if I ever said out loud, which I wouldn't, because I was many things but suicidal wasn't currently one of them.
"I was playing the long game," I added.
"You're an IDIOT." No heat in it, which was worse. Her thighs trembled against my hips, lip pushing out into a pout. "And you do this EVERY time. We've been fucking for over an hour, your cock is right there, I'm dripping on you right now, we both know how this ends, so can you please, for once, just -" She loosened her grip on my neck and dragged her fingers up into my hair instead, caressing my scalp. "Please?"
"Where's the fun -"
"The FUN is that we could be fucking right now instead of having this conversation." Her hips shifted, dragging her soaked entrance against my tip and nearly ending this very quickly. "Don't pretend you're not dying too. Your face is giving you away."
I pressed forward just enough to let the tip slip barely inside her. Her whole body jolted, walls fluttering with immediate, indignant demand, and then I pulled straight back out.
"I'm going to kill you," she said, and she sounded like she meant it.
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being completely REASONABLE and this is torture and I don't know why I keep -" She twisted against me, her composure completely shot. "You heard what I told Karina last night! I stopped fucking other guys MONTHS ago for this! You're the absolute worst and I -"
I leaned down to kiss that frantic pulse point on her neck, fully intending to drag this out for at least another minute and make her break, and I made it approximately four seconds before her whole face changed.
The pout vanished. The frantic impatience dropped right off her face. Her jaw locked, and her eyes went dead-flat and completely ruthless. Anyone who thinks they can win a war of attrition against Hwang Yeji is a fucking idiot, myself included.
She doesn't break.
She just stops asking for permission and starts making executive decisions.
"Did I say please?"
She hooked her legs behind my thighs and yanked me in with one vicious pull, swallowing me to the root and burying me balls-deep in the wet mess I'd already left in her earlier. My smug grin disappeared into a breathless groan that was definitely also a laugh.
Her walls clenched around me, hot and tight and uninterested in giving me a moment to recover.
"And that," she breathed, looking enormously satisfied, "is why I never skip Pilates."
The irony nearly gave me a stroke. That morning class was what had kicked me out of the villa on day one, directly into Yuna's trap at the pool, lighting the match that burned down everything.
I shoved the thought under before it could fully form.
You just don't win physical battles against Hwang Yeji when she's made a decision; she had thighs built by ten thousand rehearsals and five years of practice using them on me.
"Well?" she demanded, her nails digging into my hips. "Are you going to fuck me or just hover there looking like you're about to ask Karina's God for forgiveness?"
"Actually -"
"NO," she cut in immediately, her hand coming up and covering my mouth.
"I know exactly what you're about to say," she continued, breathless but dead serious. "That God doesn't exist, that the theological implications are incoherent, and that invoking His judgment requires a belief system you fundamentally reject. Blah blah blah, I don't care. Just fuck me before I change my mind."
There were at least three things wrong with that sentence, starting with the fact that she'd memorized my atheist rant word-for-word, but before I could say any of them she clenched her soaked pussy around my shaft with such force my eyes crossed and my brain made a unilateral decision to shut the fuck up.
***
I started moving with slow, deep thrusts and let my brain wander in the spaces between them, which was a mistake I kept making and apparently had no interest in correcting.
"Ryujin said you changed," I said, pushing deeper on the last word. It'd been eating at me since the pool and I'd held it for about as long as I was capable of.
"I did change." She rolled her hips to meet the next thrust and pulled my face down until our foreheads nearly touched, her eyes sharp and defiant. "Because of you."
She spread her arms against the mattress and her fingers found mine, threading through and squeezing, and I shifted my weight onto one forearm and slid my free hand under her head, working my fingers into her damp hair.
Her eyes fluttered and rolled back. Then she pulled them back to me and kept going.
"We have the bonfire tomorrow," she said, her voice carefully level despite everything. "Everyone together - Karina and her girls too. I'll pull Ryujin aside then. One campfire, some soju. She'll cry, I'll cry. That's how we work." A small smile crossed her mouth, but the edges of it trembled.
Right. The bonfire. What had started as Chaeryeong's innocent kdrama fantasy at lunch yesterday, apparently now responsible for holding the whole group together. Yeji was going to drag her fractured members around an open flame and fix them with her typical Type-A willpower, treating the wreckage of her friendships out there with that psychotic intensity she applied to her comeback schedule.
I dropped off my forearms, lowering my chest flush against hers and shifting the rhythm down to something agonizingly shallow, slow rotations that ground her clit against my base while her pussy lips dragged slick and swollen along my shaft with every tiny pull back and push in, the change pulling a low sound out of her throat and a sharp hiss out of mine. My hands came up to frame her face, thumbs smoothing over her damp cheekbones, and I leaned down until our lips were practically brushing.
She blinked as the brittle smile faltered. "What?"
"You don't cry," I said quietly.
"I -"
"You hate crying. You especially hate doing it in front of your members." I kept my voice soft and held the slow pace, my hips grinding through each rotation while she squirmed under me trying to tip me into something harder. "I know you better than that, Yeji."
Her nails dug hard into my lower back, hauling at my hips, but I held the pace and her frantic grip said everything her voice was trying to bury.
"Ryujin is on the terrace right now," I breathed against her neck.
"I know exactly where she is." Her hands shoved into my wet hair and dragged my face against her throat so she could hide in my skin, the collected leader in her voice finally cracking open. "I walked out on my best friend for you. I might have permanently -" She let out a shaky breath. "I don't know how to fix it right now."
My hips missed a stroke, and she caught it, her grip tightening in my hair like she was bracing.
She had no idea what I'd actually done.
You're clinging to the thing that broke you. And you don't even know it yet.
"Don't make me think about her right now," she whispered into my skin, her thighs locking around my waist hard enough to bruise. "Please. Make me forget it."
My hips snapped back into motion before my brain had any say in the matter. I abandoned every attempt at slow, driving deeper and accelerating into a pace that was wildly reckless. She unlocked her legs and let them fall open, arching up to meet the change in depth, and I dropped down until we were chest to chest.
Then she surprised me by extracting her hands from my hair. I hesitated for half a second, reading it wrong, and she brought both palms up to frame my jaw and redirected until my eyes locked with hers. The panic that had been in her face was gone, replaced by a sharpness that was just her.
"Hey," she said, breathless but carrying complete authority. "Look at me."
My hips stopped.
"Remember what I told you yesterday?" she asked, her thumbs pressing into my jaw. "After class. When I had my hand on your stomach."
I remembered. Yesterday, I'd enthusiastically taken that line as excellent dirty talk. Because apparently you could be fucking someone for five years and still be totally dense when they give you outright permission to stop hating yourself.
"Take what you want from me," she said quietly. She didn't sound like she was trying to turn me on this time, more like settling an argument. "I'm not made of glass. I never was. Stop making me beg you to take me."
She arched under me, her wetness sliding heavy against my cock.
"Stop holding back. You know I hate bad dick, Minho. I didn't blow up my life today only to get pity-fucked into the mattress tonight. If both of us are stuck in our own heads, you need to at least fuck me like you mean it."
That was all I needed.
Her next breath was knocked out of her as I dropped my ass and drove forward hard enough to slide the bed frame across the floorboards.
"YES -" The word punched out of her on a gasp.
Five years of muscle memory dedicated to keeping her comfortable evaporated. She locked her legs high around my waist and hauled my hips deeper with every stroke, meeting me with a strength that was absurd and hot enough to ruin me. She was still full from the pool, and I was driving it back into her with every thrust, catching glimpses of my shaft coated white each time I pulled back before her thighs dragged me home.
Six loads to her members yesterday. Only two to her. I'd been keeping the count without admitting I was keeping it, a quiet, psychotic little ledger running in the back of my mind.
Great strategy, Minho. Just pour the guilt out through your hips. Fill her up with your atonement. Very Catholic of you.
The headboard found the wall on the third thrust and kept going, slamming hard enough that plaster dust came off above us. If I couldn't fix what I'd broken outside this room, I could break something expensive inside it, and she'd asked me to start with her.
Her voice fragmented into high, stuttering gasps every time I bottomed out. "Fuck. Yes. Harder - don't you dare -"
I caught myself mid-thrust, hips locking. "Yeji, they're going to hear the wall -"
Her nails tore into my shoulders, dragging me deeper with a sharp cry. "Good." Her voice cracked on the next stroke. "Let them hear. I'm done hiding."
I drove back in, and she caught the hesitation and called it, same as always.
"Are you actually PACING yourself right now?" Pure disbelief in her breathless voice.
"I'm trying not to break you in half."
The laugh that shot out of her immediately dissolved into a ragged gasp as my hips snapped forward again. "Seriously? I bend for a living." Her eyes were challenging and certain. "Don't hold back."
The last thread of restraint snapped. "You're insane," I managed, half-laughing. "You're actually going to kill me."
"Then die properly," she said. "I'll make it worth it."
I pushed up off her, grabbed her hips with both hands, and started fucking her into the headboard, her tits bouncing with every drive and dark hair flying across the pillow while her legs clamped around my hips trying to pull me deeper, the nightmare and the guilt and the circle of faces I was trying not to see all hammering out through my hips.
Her commands blurred into something frantic and breathless looping against my neck.
"Minho. Oh fuck, Minho - exactly right there -"
Her nails guaranteed cuts and bruises by morning. The bed frame continued its march across the floor and I was shoving her up the mattress with every thrust and she was losing her grip.
"Minho - wait -" Her hands scrambled for purchase on my shoulders, slipping. "Ah - hold me down, I'm -"
But I was too far gone. Face in her neck, breath wrecked.
"I can't stop." The truth of it came out without any performance. I meant the physical drive, and I meant everything underneath it too, and we both knew it.
Her hands grabbed at my wet hair and held herself against the mattress. "Then don't," she breathed.
I broke.
My hips locked and I just started blowing thick, heavy ropes of cum deep into her, pumping another massive load into a wrecked pussy that was already soaked through and overflowing with my own mess. I dropped onto her chest like a stone, and the room went from earthquake to silence except me trying to remember how lungs worked. Her legs locked tight around my waist, her hips grinding up to catch every involuntary twitch while our slippery, sweat-slick stomachs slapped together with a wet, obscene, squelching noise that was completely ridiculous and easily the hottest thing I'd ever heard.
One, a quiet, stupid little voice in my head kept score. That cancels out Yuna putting her slutty mouth on show at the bottom of the pool.
"Give it all to me," she whispered fiercely against my ear, answering the math she didn't know I was running. "Every single bit of it."
There was a problem, though. She'd been right at the edge, and now that my hips had gone still she'd lost the drive she needed to tip over. Her body had been chasing that for the last several minutes and I'd just pulled the floor out from under her.
She started grinding against me, desperately working her hips to recreate the connection that wasn't there anymore. I was dead weight and she knew it, but she tried anyway, her breath going ragged with effort. A sharp, frustrated sound tore out of her when it wasn't enough.
"Don't stop," she said, and her voice cracked on it, the most un-idol sound she'd made all night, Hwang Yeji asking to be fucked harder with the same voice that sold out arenas. "I'm right there. Minho. Please."
I tried to pull free to relieve the pressure building in my spine, but her body fought me for every inch, walls still clamped stubbornly tight in angry little pulses that were actively trying to drag me back in to finish what I'd started.
"Where are you going?" She wailed, heels locking behind my back to trap me. "I'm right there, so close -"
"My back," I rasped against her collarbone. "My back is cramping."
Her legs dropped wide and her hands let go instantly, dropping everything the moment she heard I was hurting. I pulled back and my cock slipped free with a wet pop, the tight heat releasing all at once and the cold air hitting me. She stayed open for a second, red and swollen and slow to close, the wet sound of it obscene in the sudden quiet.
I rolled onto my side with a groan and took a breath.
She was already moving, shoving herself up onto her elbows and pressing two fingers hard against her clit, rubbing fast and furious while my mess cooled on her thighs, glaring absolute daggers at me across the pillows. I hooked both forearms under her thighs and dragged her back down toward me, hard enough that she yelped and her hand slipped, her hips landing at the edge of the bed with her legs over my shoulders. Her eyes went dark immediately.
"I'll make it up to you," I said, my voice still wrecked.
I got my mouth on her before she could argue about it.
The room hit me all at once - chlorine under sweat under sex, thick enough to taste before I even touched her. Her pussy was still swollen and open from me, the short, neatly trimmed hairs prickling against my face, my own cum slicking her inner thighs and pooling at her entrance. I pressed my mouth flat against her and her hips bucked up hard on contact, her fist twisting into my hair.
"You always loved seeing it leak, right?" she breathed, hauling my face harder against her until I was practically inhaling my own mess. "Eat it out of me. Fucking do it."
I drove two fingers inside her and they went in to the knuckle without resistance, her walls still loose and slick and scorching hot around me. I worked them hard while I locked my mouth over her clit, eating through the thick, obscene mix of both of us.
She lost her mind. "Minho," she sobbed out, her fists twisting violently in my hair. "MINHO. MINHO - FUCK, YES - "
Her dancer hips took over, thighs clamping around my ears and rolling up against my mouth to find the pressure she needed, and she dragged my face harder against her.
I kept my fingers buried deep and curled them hard while my tongue worked her clit, fast enough that her thighs started shaking against my ears. Every time she tried to pull away from the pressure, I hauled her back down and gave her more of it. The taste was filthy, hot salt and chlorine and both of us, and watching Hwang Yeji lose a fight against my mouth did dangerous things to my ego.
She came screaming, spine bowing off the mattress, thighs locking around my head hard enough to cut circulation while her walls crushed down around my fingers. I stayed through the oversensitivity, swallowing everything she gave me, the thick taste of both of us coating my tongue while her thighs shook and her nails dragged at my scalp.
She hauled me up by my hair. "Stop," she panted, chest heaving. "Minho, stop. I love it, but you're actually going to drown."
She hauled me up the mattress and crashed her mouth against mine, aggressive and messy, her tongue tasting herself off my lips while she made these small, pleased sounds low in her throat. Before I could settle myself she broke away.
"My turn," she breathed, pushing at my shoulder to roll me flat onto my back.
"Yeji - I just came." I gestured vaguely at my softening cock, which was making a valiant attempt at recovery but was nowhere near where she clearly needed it. "Give me a minute?"
"Nope." She glanced down at the situation with zero sympathy. "I can fix that."
"You can't just fix a dead -"
"Watch me," she declared with unflinching confidence.
She slid down my body, her hair dragging across my stomach, and settled between my thighs. She leaned in close, her lips barely brushing the tip. Locking her eyes dead onto mine in a lethal, unblinking cat-eyed stare, she breathed steady heat directly against the head.
"No Sana no life," she whispered.
My cock twitched against her mouth.
"What the FUCK was that," I managed.
She licked a slow, wet stripe up the underside, watching with enormous satisfaction as everything between my legs woke the hell up. "Sana-unnie taught me that years ago. She said every girl needs one trick that immediately works on guys who grew up jerking off to Cheer Up."
"Yeah, but you're not Sana," I deadpanned.
She gave me a look of pure, unfiltered murder. She usually looked like that before she destroyed someone in a dance battle.
"Oh?" she purred. "So you'd rather have Sana-unnie sucking your dick right now?"
Uh.
It was a trap. An absolute, catastrophic trap. Everyone in the industry knew Sana was TWICE's reigning cock-magnet. She might not have been the sluttiest or horniest - every group probably had a title contender on that front - but her nympho "skinship queen" reputation was easily the loudest in all of K-pop girl groups, a universally hot, perpetually available industry fluffer who treated sucking dick like a cheerful public service and left guys stammering for days. I was an idiot, but I still wasn't suicidal despite all the mind games, and Yeji asking that question with that expression obviously meant she was just waiting to see if I was stupid enough to admit I wouldn't mind finding out if she would just enthusiastically suck the soul out of my body.
"No?" I asked rhetorically, leaning hard into pure self-preservation just in the nick of time.
"Mm. Thought so." She smirked, her fingers wrapping securely around the cock she'd just resurrected. "Let's try this then. No Yeddeong no life. Repeat after me."
"...no Yeddeong no life."
"Good boy. Remember that."
She swung one leg over my chest and just kept climbing, dragging her wetness right up my torso until she was hovering over my face in reverse. My brain completely stalled. In five years of hooking up, we'd avoided 69-ing like the plague, mostly because Yeji usually treated sucking my cock like a toll booth she had to drive through to get to the actual fucking, and she absolutely hated giving up eye contact.
Now she was just straight-up mounting my face.
When I tried to prop myself up on my elbows out of sheer confusion, she shoved me flat, dropping her knees to pin my shoulders and smacking her soaking wet ass so hard against my face that it knocked my head straight back into the pillows.
She left a thick, sloppy racing stripe of her pussy juice and my own fresh cum painted directly across the bridge of my nose. I didn't even have a second to process the ridiculous indignity of it before she buried my face in the leaking mess of both of us, taking my cock straight to her throat in one single, brutal, continuous motion.
"L-look ah mhh," she ordered, her jaw forced wide open and her lips stretched so taut around my shaft that the words came out as a wet, filthy slur vibrating directly against my cock.
She forced her airway to accommodate my length while a low, muffled snort of air whistled through her nose, and I pushed back up into her with equal aggression, driving two fingers deep inside her wet heat and trapping her clit between my lips until the tight, deafening violence of the earlier round dissolved into the wet, echoing sounds of mouths sliding over flesh.
The contrast with the last ten minutes was almost funny. This was the quietest the room had been all night.
Her breath control was honestly unsettling. She'd spent years building throat endurance in our trainee era on my cock, a fact she brought up whenever she wanted to make me feel guilty for her career choices, and feeling her deploy it now with her throat swallowing me to the base while her lungs stayed regulated through her nose hit somewhere between pride and horror. No wonder she could belt the high notes in Tears at karaoke for ninety straight seconds without passing out. She'd literally trained her lungs for this on me for years. That was either the most romantic thing anyone had ever done or completely batshit, and I was in no position to judge with her throat doing what it was doing.
She came first, her thighs crushing around my ears and her walls seizing around my fingers, her moan trapped in her throat and vibrating directly through my shaft, nearly making me black out. Her hips bucked against my mouth and a hot, messy rush spilled across both my cheeks, down my jaw, into the pillow under my head. She tried to laugh around my cock and failed, the sound bubbling through her throat while her body kept jerking against my face, delighted with herself, with this, with the absolute mess she'd made on me. That laugh traveled down her throat and hit the base of my cock and nearly ended everything right there.
The moment her body sensed my thighs locking up, she cut it off. Pulled her mouth off with a messy, decisive smack and scrambled backward over my chest, mounting me in one seamless, dizzying continuous slide that sank her all the way down. The mess eliminated any resistance as her walls clamped hard around my base.
"My, my. Someone's excited." She leaned down until her damp hair curtained our faces, dropping her voice into a wicked purr against my lips. "Can't get enough, huh? Look how desperate you are."
I could only give a wrecked, helpless groan back to her.
And then she just sat there, both hands braced on my lower abs, bringing the whole thing to a dead fucking halt.
Fuck.
Of course. She was punishing me for earlier. Five years meant she knew every single motion that made my spine lock up, and she clamped her wet pussy tight around my base to grind out these agonizing, vicious little circles. She kept me trapped with enough heat to blur my vision but completely refused to stroke up and down to let me cum.
Yuna had pulled something similar yesterday in the pool when she kept yanking my cock away and physically blocking me until I begged, but that was just being locked out. This was infinitely worse. This was being locked in - Yeji buried balls-deep and sealing all the exits, using five years of knowing exactly where my breaking points were to wreck me.
I reached up blindly to grab her hips and force the pace into something I could survive, but she slapped my hands away before I made contact.
"No, you don't," she breathed, grinning down at me, cashing in that massive debt. "You had a great time using your little puppy dog eyes to make me beg earlier, huh? And you thought it was hilarious keeping me away when I was desperate, so we are going to do this my way." She rolled her hips in another slow, murderous circle that dismantled whatever remained of my pride. "My turn."
"Please," I heard myself say, and the word had absolutely no dignity left in it. "Yeji. I need - I'm -"
"Mmm?" She kept up the torturous micro-movements and tilted her head, considering me with enormous satisfaction.
I was making embarrassing sounds and had lost the ability to stop. The irony of this wasn't lost on me. I'd started this with minutes of cheeky denial and I was now being dismantled by the most competitive, ruthless girl I knew, and I couldn't even beg for mercy without her mocking me for it.
Mid-ride, her eyes locked on mine, she reached blindly toward the nightstand. Her fingers found the phone without looking, dragged it back, and unlocked it one-handed.
Ice hit my veins. Lia’s voice from behind that door slammed into me like a punch: “Every. Fucking. Second.” The footage. The knowledge that something existed - something I hadn’t seen, wanted to unsee, but couldn’t stop imagining. Me, Ryujin, Yuna, caught on someone’s phone, without permission.
Yeji aimed the camera down at me, grinning like she’d just won something. The panic cracked under the sheer absurdity of it.
Of course. This wasn’t surveillance. This was Yeji being Yeji - vain, competitive, and unselfconscious. She just wanted to look hot while she ruined me.
She started filming, checked the screen, and the wicked dominance in her expression immediately deflated. "Ugh," she groaned. "This shot makes my tits look completely flat. What the hell." She frowned at her chest and back at the screen. "It's not fair. Jimin has enough chest to suffocate someone from every possible view and from up here I look like a kid."
The tension broke into an exhausted laugh before I could stop it. Reaching up to cup both her bare tits, I squeezed the soft weight to feel them fitting into my palms. "They're perfect," I told her, meaning it. "You're perfect."
She glared suspiciously through the phone screen. "You spent half of Karina's dinner staring at her cleavage. Don't think I didn't notice." She pulled her hips up until only the head remained inside her, dragging my shaft through her slickness, before dropping back down to the hilt so hard it knocked the breath clean out of my lungs. "You're lucky my pussy still wants your dick after that."
Shit. I HAD been staring. But Karina's tits spilling out of that silk robe was impossible to ignore, and I wasn't stupid enough to admit that without an escape route.
"I was being polite," I tried, uselessly.
"You were being an absolute pervert." She was grinning, though, very much enjoying watching me squirm with a camera pointed at my face. "Every time she leaned forward to pour the wine, your eyes went straight down. So embarrassing. I was right there, you know."
"Okay, yes, I looked." I squeezed slightly harder, thumbs brushing over her nipples. "But I'm here right now. With you. Inside you. Filming with you, not her."
"Damn right you are," she murmured, adjusting her grip on the phone to make sure the lens caught my exact reaction. A wicked, satisfied smirk crossed her face as she looked down at me. She rolled her hips, forcing my cock even deeper into her tight heat. "Look how lucky you are."
"I'm not a fucking idiot. You think I'd rather be anywhere else?" I rasped, my hands tightening on her waist to catch her rhythm.
"Because she's not here," Yeji shot back instantly, though her free hand dropped to cover mine where it gripped her waist. "If Karina walked through that door right now, you'd forget how to breathe."
I laughed despite the dangerous territory. "I wouldn't."
"You totally would." She was fully committed now, the hand that had been covering mine leaving her waist to brace flat against my chest. "I'd have to explain to the paramedics that you stroked out over another girl's tits while I was the one riding you."
"Just tell them you fucked me to death. Much better for my pride."
"Where's the fun in that?" she retorted. But she was visibly fighting a smile.
I pulled her down until her breath hit my mouth, my thumbs pressing deep into the soft flesh spilling over my palms. "Listen. Karina IS hot. Obviously. I have eyes. But these are mine, Yeji. They fit my hands perfectly. Five years of knowing exactly where to touch you. You think I'd trade that?"
She bit her lip, the bratty energy faltering. "You're just saying that because I'm on top."
"I'm saying it because they're perfect." I dragged my thumbs heavily over her nipples, pinching hard enough to draw a sharp gasp out of her. "And because I know exactly what they do when I squeeze them."
And just like that, the bratty dominatrix act was gone. She let out a breathless, unguarded laugh, her whole face lighting up with that happiness she didn't give to the cameras. "Okay, fine. I'm definitely keeping you -"
Then she looked at the screen and cackled.
"Wow, we look absolutely INSANE - look at your face right now -"
She snapped right back to business, sitting straight up despite still bouncing on my cock with amusement. "Okay wait. We need a different view, this isn't working."
Before I could process what was happening she was already moving, lifting herself off me with a wet, decisive pop and turning around to settle back down in reverse cowgirl. "There. Now you can see more of me on camera, right?"
I fumbled with the phone she'd shoved into my hands. "I mean... kind of? But now I'm just filming your back."
"What? No." She craned her neck aggressively to check the screen over her shoulder. "Tilt it more. Get my - no wait, that's just filming the ceiling."
"I'm trying! You're moving too much."
"I'm not moving, you're just terrible at this." She tried to sound annoyed, but the laugh completely ruined it. "Honestly, maybe I should start fucking cinematographers instead. Like the guy who did our Wannabe shoot. I know Ryujin still has him on speed dial." She slapped my thigh, bearing down hard against my hips. "Whatever. Just shut up, point it at my ass, and let me ride. I'm RIGHT there -"
I shut up.
We gave that view maybe a dozen messy, bouncing thrusts before she abandoned it. "Okay no, this is stupid. Different position."
She yanked my arm around her waist and pulled me flush against her back. She hiked her top knee high over my hip, spreading her wet pussy bare for the lens, and thrust the phone out in front of us. I hooked my hand under her thigh to lock her wide open. "Okay," she breathed, hyper-focused on the tiny screen. "Push in. Nice and slow."
The words barely left her mouth before her free hand dove between us, clamped around my shaft, and yanked me inside her. Nice and slow had never once been a real part of Yeji's vocabulary.
We both watched the screen as my thick cock split her swollen lips wide open, sinking into her with a heavy, wet drag that made her head drop back against my shoulder. I started moving, and watching my cock disappear into her over and over nearly made me blow it right fucking there. It began as a performance, but the visual of my cock disappearing into her over and over hijacked us completely. I gripped her thigh hard, hauling her leg higher to keep her wide open while my hips hammered a reckless rhythm against her ass. The raw friction just took over and erased the rest of the room.
Then she opened her eyes to check the screen and her face scrunched.
"What's wrong with this light?" she demanded, killing the whole rhythm.
"Are you kidding me?"
"I'm serious." She shifted, dragging herself off me by an inch just to fix the phone. "The lamp is throwing weird shadows. My stomach looks weird. And your arm is completely covering us - move your hand, I want the camera to catch exactly how deep you're stretching me out."
"I'm inside you right now. How am I supposed to lean out of the shot?"
"Just arch your spine or something. Give the lens some clearance." She thumped the phone against my chest until I took it, and I propped it against a pillow, where it slid immediately and fell face-down on the mattress.
We both stared at it.
Then we both started cracking up.
"We're so bad at this," she managed between giggles.
"Objectively terrible," I agreed, retrieving the phone.
"No okay, okay - I have an idea. Give me the phone."
We wrestled over it, still laughing, and in the chaos I grabbed her waist and pulled her back on top of me. She yelped, surprised, and the phone nearly went flying.
"You're going to break it!"
"You're going to drop it again!"
"I didn't drop it, it fell!"
"That's the exact same thing!"
She was laughing so hard she couldn't stay in character anymore. The whole production had devolved from sexy filming into complete disaster, and somewhere in the wreckage the last of the Lia-video tension just evaporated. Just us being stupid together again, comfortable enough to try and fail and laugh about it.
She wrestled the phone away and held it up triumphantly. "Okay. New plan. We're doing this properly."
"We just tried like four different -"
"Shh." She put a finger on my lips. "Trust me. I'm a professional."
"You're a professional idol, not a professional porn director."
"Same skill set." She grinned, turned back around to face me, straddled my hips, and aimed the phone down at my face with the energy of someone who had planned exactly what came next. "And here we have Minho," she said, like she was narrating some behind-the-scenes documentary, "giving it his absolute best effort despite having already come once tonight -"
I bucked my hips upward, hard, driving deep.
The narrator voice shattered into a real, sharp, breathless gasp. The phone wobbled dangerously.
"Oh, you want to play?" She recovered instantly, grinning as the comedy shifted back to something charged. She aimed the lens straight down at my shaft splitting her thick, swollen lips wide open, filming her wet cunt absolutely gobbling me up. She ground her hips down hard just to draw an embarrassing sound out of me. "Look how deep you are. Tell the camera how it feels."
"Yeji -"
"Say it." Her voice dropped into that cruel edge, laughter still behind her eyes. She shifted just enough to let me feel the exact depth she was withholding, her free hand tracing slowly up my jaw. "Where do you want to cum?"
The way she was playing me had to be illegal somewhere. "Inside you," I managed. "I want - Yeji, PLEASE, just put the phone down and let me -"
"Louder."
Another roll.
"Say it like you mean it."
I covered my eyes with my forearm. "I want to cum deep inside you. I want to -" She ground down just a hair harder and the words died in a wrecked groan. "I'm begging right now. I am on my knees -"
"Yah, you're on your back."
"Metaphorically on my knees. Yeji. PLEASE -"
She dropped flat against my chest, her free hand crawling slowly up my face and tracing my jaw, and brought her mouth right up to my ear. Her hips were still moving, still that same tiny, controlled, ruinous motion.
"Breed me," she said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
She'd complained about period cramps ruining her choreography years ago and casually mentioned getting an IUD so we wouldn't have to worry about condoms - practical, a convenient life hack that meant we'd never bothered with barriers. I'd always assumed whichever actors she took home from award show afterparties got the exact same access. But hearing her drop the practical excuses and flat-out demand I pump her full of cum destroyed the last of my self-control.
My hips launched upward involuntarily, chasing the release she'd been denying me for the last fifteen minutes.
Her hand shot between us.
Fingers clamped tight around the base of my cock, choking the orgasm off right as my body tried to release it. I shuddered underneath her, helpless and furious, my vision going static at the edges.
"I didn't say you could finish yet," she said softly, still pressed against my ear, still outrageously pleased with herself.
Then she tried to sit back up quickly to capture my destroyed expression on camera, moved too fast, her hand slipped on sweat, and the phone dropped directly onto my face.
"FUCK -"
She collapsed onto my chest laughing so hard she made no sound, the whole cruel dominatrix persona simply gone, and then: "Oh my god, babe, I'm so sorry -" trying to check my face while still laughing, her hands pressing to my nose, "- did that hurt, let me see, I didn't mean to -"
Her hips were still moving. She was apologizing and still grinding on me without stopping, like her lower body had opinions independent of her concern for my nose.
Babe. She said it in English. Not jagiya. Jagiya was for real couples. Jagiya was terrifying. "Babe" was just something cool girls said in Western pop songs, casual English she'd probably picked up from Julie or Giselle from that end-of-year Britney stage they were practicing for. Ironic coming from someone who hated studying English so much she once gave herself a nosebleed over it and happily let Lia do all the talking on US tours.
Then again, Lia had sat out their last one on hiatus. While trying not to burst, I wondered if Yeji had absorbed Western pet names out of pure survival instinct.
That made me start laughing too, despite the phone-to-face situation.
If this had been Yuna, she would have panicked about ruining the aesthetic. But Yeji just laughed, like it didn't matter.
That realization, combined with the word breed and the fifteen minutes of blue-balling I'd been enduring, tore straight through the last of my restraint.
I grabbed the phone out of her hand and flipped the camera to face her.
The second that lens turned in her direction, it happened - spine snapping straight, shoulders rolling back, chin lifting. Years of idol conditioning taking over in a heartbeat. She went from laughing disaster to performance mode so fast it was slightly scary.
She sat up tall, arched her back, and swept her damp hair over one shoulder. Her eyes went heavy-lidded as she stared into the lens and started riding me, basically directing herself, tilting her hips on pure idol instinct to flatter the shot. She knew exactly how devastating she looked, and was putting on the filthiest fancam of all time for my personal collection.
I gripped her waist with my free hand and drove my hips up to meet her. "Damn. Look at you."
"You like that?" She was staring dead into the lens but the question was all for me. She sank all the way down, rolling through it, and her hips were doing things to my ability to form sentences. "You like watching me ride you, babe?"
She knew exactly what she was doing saying babe this time, pushing the word right into the microphone while her wet walls crushed down around me, and the sheer filthy reality of it dismantled whatever I had left. I unloaded deep inside her, the phone capturing all of it: the broken groan tearing out of me, the violent arch of her spine, the shudder moving through both our bodies as she got exactly what she'd asked the camera for.
Two, that quiet accountant in my head marked it down. For Yuna riding my sorry ass into the deck chair while she compared me to every other guy she'd fucked that week.
She collapsed forward against my chest, the phone slipping from her fingers face-down onto the soaked sheets, still recording audio, and I kept my hands heavy on her waist as I maintained a slow, winding rhythm just to feel the drag of it while we both leveled out. Three loads inside her now - pool, missionary sprint, this one. Every lazy thrust squeezed thick warmth back out of her, coating my shaft, soaking into the sheets below us for good.
We laid there in the humid wreckage, her hair plastered to my neck, the open window letting in warm Jeju night air that did nothing for the temperature in the room. Her lungs worked against mine. My hands were still on her waist.
Then she slowly lifted her head and found the phone, still recording against the pillows, and the exhausted satisfaction in her face sharpened pure, professional disapproval. She looked at the phone, then at my wrecked face, and decided the current shot didn't do the carnage justice.
"Let's get a wider shot," she said.
***
[LIA'S POV]
Two doors down, Yeji's cackle hit the wall first, followed by the heavy thud of bare feet landing on hardwood.
Moonlight banded across Minjun’s chest and left Lia entirely in shadow. Her sleep shirt was pushed up past her ribs and her panties were lost somewhere in the blankets. She never took the shirt off. Even in the dark, with a boyfriend she actually liked, knowing how her body looked next to the athletes down the hall meant the cotton stayed exactly where it was.
Minjun kept his weight on his forearms, giving her room to breathe while he fucked her. Slow in, slow out, the bed answering every push with a low wooden complaint. He'd been doing that for a while now, patient enough that it was either love or a diagnosable condition.
Having sex was an absurd way to process a group meltdown, but her hips rolled instinctively to catch his heavy downward thrust anyway.
Lia’s phone rested comfortably in her left hand. The screen lit the underside of her chin with a folder she'd named like a boring production asset.
Jeju D1 pool AM M/RJ+Y.
43.7GB. Six clips. 142 minutes.
The first thumbnail showed pool water blown white by sunlight. The second caught Yuna’s black bikini strap slipping off one shoulder. The third was Ryujin standing at the shower entrance, face cut in half by the slatted door. Good framing. Horrible behavior. Annoying combination.
She tapped the last clip and paused it before the audio could start. Minho stood alone on the pool deck in the frozen frame, wet hair hanging over his forehead, shoulders folded inward like his whole body had read the room before anyone else did.
From down the hall, Yeji let out a sharp, breathless cry, immediately ruined by her muffled voice yelling a complaint about the camera shot. The argument came messy and alive through the plaster, an entirely unchoreographed disaster, followed by Minho laughing like the phone in his hands was a toy instead of a weapon.
Lia’s free hand found the hem of her shirt and tugged it lower.
Minjun’s hips hitched. He saw the screen glow against her jaw, swallowed a tight groan, and pushed her thighs wider with his knee so he could sink in deeper. He'd been with her long enough to know the phone in her hand wasn't an insult. Usually, it was how she stayed present.
Tonight, it looked less cute.
"Is that the pool?" he asked, his mouth near her ear.
"Unfortunately."
He pulled back and pushed in again, slow enough that her toes curled into the sheet before she could stop them. "Why now?"
"Because it keeps being there."
The last clip stayed paused in her palm. Runtime 18:09. Resolution 4K. Date, time, location, subject, all neatly preserved. Every ugly little detail ready to be opened whenever she wanted, which had felt like ownership yesterday and felt like evidence tonight.
Yeji laughed again through the wall. Loud. Unguarded. A girl choosing the camera on her own terms while Lia lay under her boyfriend with the stolen version glowing in her hand.
Minjun’s chin brushed her cheek. "Do you want to watch it?"
Lia stared at the play triangle over Minho’s frozen chest.
"I don’t know what watching means anymore."
He didn't answer. Good man.
The bar was in hell, but still.
He kept fucking her, rolling his hips into her with a slow drag that made her thighs tighten despite the crisis ruining the ambience. Lia’s thumb hovered over the screen. One tap and the clip would keep going. One tap and the tiny dead eye in her hand would open again.
A massive thud shook the plaster between the rooms. Minjun grunted, catching himself on his elbows.
"They’re really going for it," he said dryly.
"Mhm."
"You’ve been quiet tonight."
"I’m always quiet while fucking."
"Not like this."
Lia didn’t answer. He didn’t push. He just kept fucking her while Yeji demolished the bedroom down the hall with a freedom Lia only knew how to document from a safe distance. Being the safe one, the observer who never lost control or screamed through a wall, kept her from becoming a problem anyone had to solve. It also meant lying half-dressed under her boyfriend while another girl sounded alive on the other side of the plaster got lonely in a stupid way.
Her thumb moved before she decided anything.
The screen went black.
For half a second, her own reflection stared back from the glass.
Then the noise next door cut out completely.
The frantic headboard banging died. The bedrooms went still.
And then a massive, violent crash shook the plaster, hard enough to rattle the picture frames.
For the first time since Minjun had pinned her to the mattress, Lia lowered her phone and looked at the wall.
***
[MINHO'S POV]
"Is that all you got?" Yeji snarled, and slammed me backward into the plaster so hard that dust shook loose from the crown molding.
She grabbed my hips, blindly yanked my shaft straight back into her sopping pussy, and relentlessly forced three rough, deep strokes of standing sex before I could even catch my breath.
"Not even fucking close." I grabbed her bare shoulders in response, braced a hand behind her head to protect her skull, and violently reversed our positions, pulling out of her to pin her back against the exact same wall. The impact knocked a surprised, breathless "mhh" out of her.
"My turn -"
I crushed my mouth over her tit, the only soft thing on a body built like a weapon. Dragging a heavy tongue across the firm curve of her breast, I caught that thick, dark nipple in my teeth and bit down until her spine unstuck from the plaster with a sharp cry.
One hand dropped straight to her soaking wet cunt. Two fingers sank all the way in, scooping out the slick, cooling mess from the last three times I'd pumped her full tonight and smearing it right back over her swollen clit.
"Ah - fuck," she gasped, squirming against the plaster, before her competitive streak flared. "Stop playing with your fingers and give me the real thing already." She swatted my hand away, grabbed my shaft in a fist, and yanked it toward her wet hole so hard she nearly ripped my fucking foreskin off.
"OW! Stop pulling," I hissed in absolute panic, wrestling her grip off my cock before she caused permanent damage.
I grabbed myself and tried to shove it inside her just as she shoved her hips forward to meet me.
But we were both too messy, too slick with sweat and my previous loads.
The tip slipped right past her wet lips to jam hard against her thigh. We lost our balance and my body collapsed forward to crush her against the wall as our noses collided with a dull crack.
"Ow - fuck," she hissed, rubbing her nose. She looked down at the humiliating mess of soaked-through pussy juice and my previous cum painting my dick and her thigh, then back up at me with a lethal smirk. "We've fucked like thousands of times and you can't even get it in anymore?"
"You're too fucking wet," I shot back. "And you won't hold still."
"My God, do you need me to pull up a Sana fancam you can figure out how a dick works again?" she taunted, wiping a streak of my cum off her leg. "I bet your aim fixes itself instantly."
"Leave Karina's God out of it, and if it was Sana I'd just blow on the drywall."
"I hate you so much," she shrieked, actually trying to shove me backward. "I'm not letting you back inside me until you -"
I grabbed her jaw and crushed my mouth against hers, shutting her up.
She'd told me earlier to take what I wanted, but I didn't think she actually expected me to stop arguing and just override her.
She took half a second to process the pure physical hijack. Then the rigid tension dropped right out of her shoulders and her body gave up the fight, her mouth going soft and open under mine as her hands came up to thread deep into my damp hair.
She pulled back just enough to breathe. One hand dropped between us, wrapping around my cock to guide it past her wet lips, and we slid together in one long, heavy drag that made her throat catch.
I grabbed her hips and slammed forward, burying myself balls-deep against the wall. Her head cracked back against the plaster.
"Fuck -"
I pulled almost all the way out and drove straight back to the balls. Looking down, I watched my own spit and previous cum slicking my thick shaft as her greedy, dripping cunt sucked me whole. Every brutal thrust squeezed thick white mess out of her, the wet, obscene slapping sound echoing off the crown molding.
"Yes - fuck, yes -" she gasped against my mouth, her nails digging more half-moons into my shoulders. I was going to wake up looking like someone drew the whole fucking galaxy on my back with a box cutter, but as long as she stayed clamped around my dick I didn't give a shit.
I crushed my mouth over hers, swallowing her groans. Her tongue shoved past my teeth, mirroring the exact violent rhythm of my hips. She grabbed my ass with both hands, smashing her wet cunt dead-flush against my base to take the whole fucking thing.
My hips hammered a relentless pace, slamming her into the plaster hard enough that her bare tits bounced heavily, completely out of her control. She broke the kiss just to drag in air, her mouth falling open.
"Break me -" she commanded, wrapping her legs tighter around my waist.
"You're going to wake the whole fucking house," I grunted, slamming her backward into the drywall.
"I don't - ah - I don't care -"
I hooked a hand under her thigh, hauling her leg higher to bottom out all the way inside her, and she let out a sharp, broken shriek that went straight through the drywall. Her thick walls clamped down around my dick with brutal, practiced control, absolutely milking my shaft.
"Minho -"
Dust shook loose from the ceiling directly above us. Her sweaty back smeared against the paint. I drove my hips forward, relentlessly pounding into her sloppy heat, watching the mess bubble up between our bodies with every filthy slam.
"You feel so fucking good," I groaned against her neck, biting down on her collarbone.
"Yeah?" she gasped out, arching into the next brutal slam. "Then take it - fuck - take what you want from me -"
I took it. I reached under her thighs to lift her -
***
- and slammed her higher against the plaster, her ankles snapping behind my back in the dark before I'd even finished standing up.
"Remember dance class?" I rasped against her mouth, swallowing her messy, desperate breaths. "When I could barely lift you for thirty seconds?"
"You dropped me twice." She bit down on my lower lip hard enough to split the skin, shoving her tongue past my teeth.
"Not anymore." I slammed her against the plaster, burying my cock deep.
"You're welcome," she gasped out, taking absolute credit for the fact that I was currently ruining her against the drywall. She locked her ankles around my waist, buried her face in my neck, and bit down on my collarbone hard enough to leave teeth marks. I let slip a whine that sounded like I was the one getting fucked, which was embarrassing, so I drove my hips forward, pinning her flush to the drywall.
"Hit harder," she commanded into my skin.
I slammed forward, burying myself balls-deep. "We're gonna wake everyone -"
She gasped, her cunt squeezing around me. "You scared?"
In truth, this was the closest I've ever come to being scared of her.
"Not scared, I just -" I started.
"Ah - too pussy for my pussy, huh?" She clenched down around my cock, tight enough to threaten an early finish.
I groaned against her neck and drove harder, the plaster cracking behind her shoulders.
"I want them know whose cock is ruining me. HARDER."
The headboard was quiet now because we'd pivoted to renovating the actual villa. A framed print rattled off its hook three feet away, the glass shattering across the hardwood. Neither of us stopped or even looked down. My hips hammered a brutal rhythm, her body taking every slam and dragging me deeper until she came, that beautiful, overflowing cunt squeezing in quiet, sobbing spasms while the villa broke around us and I kept fucking her straight through it.
I let go and we dropped backward -
***
- my back slamming flat against the mattress, the bedsprings screeching under our weight as her thighs locked around my waist in the dark. Before she could grind down and boss the rhythm like she always did, I locked both hands down hard over her hipbones and drove my hips straight upward.
She gasped, her spine bowing as I slammed up balls-deep. I forced her to take the entire brutal impact, keeping my grip tight as I hammered up into her from the bottom, hijacking the performance she'd been ready to deploy.
Her hands floundered for purchase on my chest before she reached blindly between my legs, her fingers wrapping tight and heavy around my balls just to steady herself against the raw, fucking violent force of my thrusts.
"Ruin me," she cried out, her thighs going completely slack against my ribs to give up the fight.
We were going at it so hard I was seriously waiting for my dick to start smoking. The only thing keeping the raw, violent friction inside her tight walls from starting a fire was the fact that I'd already hosed her guts down with three loads of spunk like a deranged fireman.
Every bit of that bratty edge melted into pure sloppy heat. I kept pounding upward, punching the air out of her chest in a climbing, messy whine as she entirely lost control of her own body and absolutely loved it.
She took the absolute wrecking I gave her with her eyes rolled back in her head, her cunt flooding hot and slick all over my lower stomach in pure gratitude.
I hauled her off my cock and gripped her hips to roll her -
***
- face-down into the pillows, my palm already pinning the back of her neck before her hands had time to brace against the sheets.
This was exactly how every secret "dance practice" while we were trainees had always ended.
I slapped her bare ass hard. The crack rang out undeniably loud in the humid room, dragging a shocked yelp out of her right before I pushed back in with a squelch and started absolutely ruining her from behind.
"More more more," she sobbed.
I drove my hips forward in wild, filthy thrusts that scraped the heavy bed frame another foot across the floorboards. She shoved her face into the mattress to muffle her own screams as she came again, her wet walls clamping down tight around my dick in ruthless pulses. That insane pressure dragged everything out of me while her voice tore straight through the cotton pillows anyway, a high, broken wail that belonged to nobody else on Earth.
I pulled out to drag her up -
***
- against the edge of the dresser, my hand already fisted in her hair while the echo of that wail still bounced off the ceiling.
Her TIRTIR cushion popped open and the red puff went rolling under the bed. Her favorite bottle of Chanel No. 5 cracked against the hardwood and the entire room suddenly smelled like every backstage dressing room she'd ever dragged me into. I hooked both her legs over my forearms and stepped forward, folding her in half, before she could check the damage on her cherished beauty products and bill me for the losses.
I’d put Karina in this exact position last night, her arms shaking as she struggled to hold her own thighs back. But Yeji's insane dancer flexibility made it effortless, her knees pressing totally flush to her shoulders.
Folding her back that far completely unglued her swollen lips. Between the insane stretch and the sheer volume of cum leaking out of her from the last few rounds, her pussy looked like someone had frantically tried to superglue it shut and the seam just gave out and ejected the adhesive. The contrast opened her up to a brutal, terrifying depth, and I slammed forward to give her every bit of what I owed her.
The mirror above the dresser wobbled on its hinges. I caught her face in the glass, her flushed dark red, eyes rolled back, mouth hanging open.
"Too much?" I rasped, my hips locking as I bottomed out inside her.
Instead of answering, she slid her calves off my forearms and hooked her ankles tight behind my neck. Her hips tipped upward, cracking her completely open and sinking me in half an inch deeper. Her hands tangled blindly in my hair, pulling my face down closer to hers while her eyes, wild and unfocused, locked onto mine.
"It's all yours," she panted, a sharp ahh breaking through as her wet walls clamped down brutally around my shaft to prove it. "Only ever for you - ahh - fuck -"
She dragged my mouth down and kissed me hard enough that her breath stuttered against my lips. When she broke away, her voice was already shaking.
"I said breed me - mmh - breed me - pump me full of it as much as you want." Another gasp hit the back of her throat when I pushed deeper. "I want to feel you filling me up so much that I can't walk - ahh - Minho -"
Her voice cracked again, higher this time, and her nails raked through my hair.
"I want to be so full of your cum that I can't even sit down - hhn - fuck -"
Her hips jerked when I drove forward, words scattering around the breath she lost.
"I want to be so stuffed with you that I can't even fucking think straight - ahh - ahh -"
She pulled me closer by the hair, her forehead pressed to mine as the last question tore out of her.
"Do you understand me, Minho - ahh - do you understand what I want?"
I drove my hips forward and she screamed.
A sharp, raw scream that ripped straight through the drywall.
My own limits vanished. I clamped my hands on her hips, locked her against me, and let the third load tear out of me deep inside her guts. Three, the running tally in my head racking up another massive deposit. For what I'd pumped into her maknae inside that hidden shower while her best friend destroyed herself on the other side of the slatted door with an inhumanly large dildo moments before catching us mid-creampie.
I braced her against the edge of the wood and filled her to the brim, again.
"I'm keeping it forever," she whispered, looking down at our mess dripping out of her and onto the dresser.
I just kissed her forehead, still trying to catch my breath.
***
[LIA'S POV]
The room next door didn't stop. The headboard settled into a slower, steadier rhythm. Yeji's voice bled through the plaster in fragments, sharp then soft, completely unbothered by the walls.
Minjun had rolled them at some point. He pulled her into the curve of his body, her back against his chest, his arm resting heavy across her waist. The cotton of her shirt bunched between them.
His cock was still inside her, just resting there deep and quiet, stretching her soft lips out.
"You've been quiet," he said into her hair.
"I'm always quiet while fucking."
"I know." He didn't move. "That's not what I mean."
Lia traced the smooth glass of her phone screen. She'd set it face down on the sheet a few minutes ago without thinking. She picked it up again, then immediately realized she had no reason to hold it.
His hand slid from her hip to her bare stomach, slipping easily under the hem of the shirt.
"Is it about the pool?" he asked quietly.
"It's always about the pool." She set the phone down, pushing it an inch further away. "I'm not jealous of her, if that's what you're asking."
"What then?"
"Being able to sound like that." Through the wall, Yeji's voice hitched mid-breath and came back louder. "Without giving a shit about who's listening."
Minjun said nothing for a while.
"You can sound like that," he said finally.
"Not the same way." Her thumb found the bottom seam of her shirt. "I'm always the one with the phone."
He didn't try to fix it, which was why she kept him around. His fingers traced a slow circle on her stomach, moving upward until the shirt rode up to her ribs.
"You know what the stupid part is?" she said.
"Mm."
"I'm the main vocal. That's literally the job. Open mouth, hit note, don't embarrass JYP on an encore stage." Her mouth twisted against the pillow. "But nobody cares about that when they can slow a dance break down to half-speed and decide my whole value from one frame where my shoulder is two centimeters lower than Yeji's."
Minjun's hand stopped moving.
"Don't stop," she said.
His fingers resumed their slow path over her stomach.
The hiatus in 2023 had started the same way. She'd gone home to Vancouver and slept for two weeks, telling her mom she'd just lost track of herself. The real problem was watching Ryujin and Yeji hit counts with pure animal commitment, watching Yuna find every camera, and standing behind her mark completely unable to locate that feeling inside her own body. She could fill a room with her voice and still spend the next morning reading strangers rank her beside the dancers. Minjun had flown out in week three, eaten dinner in her parents' kitchen, and never once asked her to explain the numbness.
"I figured it out during the Not Shy era," she murmured to the pillow. "The other girls were enjoying themselves. I was just watching them enjoy it."
"You were enjoying the singing," Minjun said.
"Sure." She gave a small, humorless breath. "Then the fancams came out and everyone became a dance teacher."
"They were wrong."
"They weren't always wrong," Lia said. "That's what made it stick. If they were just lying, I could ignore it. But they found the one thing I couldn't beat the others at and made it the only thing that mattered. After a while you start doing it too."
"Judging yourself like that?"
"Watching myself like that." She swallowed. "In bedrooms, it's the exact same. I narrate. I collect. I got good at it because it's easier than actually being in the shot."
His hand moved higher. The shirt bunched at her collarbone, his warm palm sliding under the cotton to cup the pillowy, heavy fullness of her bare breast.
"Seven years of being the detached one. I just turned it into a skill."
He kissed the back of her neck.
Yeji's voice broke through the plaster again, a sharp, gasping sound completely free of choreography. Lia closed her eyes.
"Sit up," Minjun murmured.
She pushed herself up. He pulled the shirt over her head in one clean motion and tossed it onto the floor.
She sank back down into the curve of his body, letting her bare, rounded shoulders relax against his chest. He found the gentle softness of her waist, dragging the duvet up to cover them both, before his hand slid down to part her plush thighs. Two fingers found her natural, easy slickness, starting a slow, lazy circle that wasn't building toward anything, wasn't demanding a climax. She let her thick thigh hitch higher over his hip to give him better access.
Her free hand drifted back and found the thick hair at the nape of his neck. Her fingers curled there, anchoring herself to the solid weight of him.
The phone sat face down on the sheet. She didn't reach for it.
***
[MINHO'S POV]
We'd collapsed back into the center of the wrecked mattress. The violence just quit, leaving us in a heavy, sweaty pile. I ended up cross-legged in the damp sheets. She straddled my thighs, locking her legs around my waist and pressing her bare chest flush against mine. We'd been in this exact same setup last night, on the couch in Karina's villa when she grabbed my neck and called me hers. But there was no audience buffering the heavy friction here.
I looked down. Every time she dragged her hips up my shaft, her swollen pussy salivated a thick, sloppy mix of my previous loads and her own grool. The heat leaked down her thighs and smeared onto the fabric in long, dirty white trails.
Yeah, the resort cleaning staff was fucked. This mattress couldn't be washed, even if Karina's God existed and water could actually be holy. They were going to have to drag it onto the beach and set it on fire, probably.
The only saving grace to our demonstrated lack of civic responsibility was that we weren't breaking things anymore. She moved in slow grinds, sinking her pussy down onto my cock until she bottomed out. Every slow drop of her hips wrung a sound out of me, familiar enough to be embarrassing and still bad enough to make my hands tighten on her ass.
"I really like this position," she whispered, her hands sliding up to lock behind my neck. "It feels good."
Her chest was flushed and completely drenched. I kept my hands heavy on her ass cheeks to guide her down. "That's not the real reason."
Her hips stalled, but she kept holding my gaze while dragging air into her lungs. "I can hold you close and look into your eyes. And when I do that, I can let go of everything I'm carrying."
What do you even say to that?
But before I could say anything stupid, she started rolling her hips again, a heavy, dragging grind that pushed me straight to the edge.
"We never did this before last night with Karina," she said softly, dragging her wet heat down my shaft.
"How'd you know to do it?"
"Just felt right." She pressed her forehead against mine. "What's it called? We should do it more."
"Lotus," I said. Way too fast.
She caught it immediately. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Wait a minute... how do you know that?"
"Yeji, porn sites have tags."
She gave me a playful slap right under the chin before her acrylic claws landed on my neck. "Excuse you, Minho. Why do you need porn when you have me? Am I not enough for you?"
She said it like a joke, but the tight grip on my neck wasn't joking. It was like the mantra she'd echoed over and over again in my nightmare - like she wasn't enough, or we didn't fuck enough to keep my attention.
"Because you're always busy," I told her honestly, dropping the bullshit. "And I'd love to do it with you every day."
A dark red blush spread dangerously fast across her cheeks, but what told the real story was her pussy clenching hard around my cock as I said it.
"I'm trying to do something about that," she whispered softly. "That's why I invited you to Jeju. So we can fuck as much as we want."
"But that's not the only reason you did. Right?"
She broke eye contact, looking sideways at the ruined pillows while her hips kept dragging back and forth, rolling in like the waves on the beach we'd visited yesterday during sunset. "No. It isn't."
"Then show me," I murmured, tightening my grip on her hips.
She kept murmuring right against my mouth while dragging her sloppy, wet heat, up and down, forward and back, in and out.
"Make me forget everything else," I breathed, and the friction of her confessing while she ground down on me shattered whatever control I had left, locking my jaw as I sucked in a sharp, stuttering breath and digging my fingers hard into her hips. Five years of fucking in any odd place we could find meant she knew exactly what those tells meant.
Her eyes flared wide right before she locked both arms tight around the back of my neck to anchor herself, crushing her bare chest dead-flush against mine as she abandoned the slow grinds for a raw, frantic pounding. She drove her hips into me with enough desperate force that it started sending the heavy bed frame scraping across the floorboards once more, dragging a loud, obscene slap out of the wet friction between us while her rapid breathing burned hot against my jaw. I clamped my hands onto her waist to help her move while she totally ruined me right in my lap, a breathless laugh tearing out of my mouth at the sheer absurd contrast of her wild, desperate friction arriving right after those tender whispers.
"I'm so close," I managed to gasp right against her mouth. "You want to make me cum?"
"I do," she wailed, grinding her hips against me harder as she worked frantically to wring the climax out of me. "I do - I do -"
"You sure?" I asked, teasing through the heavy breaths tangling between our lips.
"YES!" She cried out, burying her face in my shoulder as her voice climbed into a continuous, high-pitched whine. "Fuck, yes, I do, I do, I do!"
Her hips lost their remaining coordination and dropped into a frantic, stuttering clench that forced her wet walls to clamp down around my shaft in a tight ripple, yanking me right over the edge with her. I gripped her snatched waist and poured the fourth load straight into her like my body was trying to breed through the IUD she'd apparently gotten just for us by brute force, shot after shot slamming deep while her pussy gripped me from the base up and refused to let me stop until I’d given her everything.
Four, my brain tallied immediately. For Ryujin dragging my soaked body straight out of that shower to ride me on the wooden deck, milking me empty just to prove she owned me too or some shit.
She sagged heavily against me, hiding her face in the crook of my neck as intense aftershocks wracked her limbs. I wrapped my arms around her bare back and held her across my lap against my own ragged breathing. The mess of my cum leaked out around my softening cock, soaking into her thighs while the ocean crashed steadily through the open window.
"I do," she whispered into my skin, so quiet she could only be telling herself.
I slid my hand up her sweaty spine to cup the back of her neck. I pulled back just far enough to look at her. Her face was flushed dark red and her chest still heaved against mine. I held her gaze while our hips stayed locked together in the messy sheets.
"I'm right here," I told her quietly. "I'm not going anywhere. This is ours."
Her posture finally caved. She let out a ragged sob and dropped her mouth over mine, her arms tightening around my neck to lock us together in a deep, desperate kiss while I stayed sitting tall to hold her against my chest, my cock softening inside her as her pussy finally let go.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught what could only have been a tear breaking loose from her lashes and tracking down her flushed cheek in a steady line, carving a wet streak all the way along her jaw before it fell and hit my thigh hot enough to prove it actually existed and adhered to the laws of gravity.
***
[LIA'S POV]
The rhythmic pounding from the next room had finally stopped. The solid heat of Minjun's forearm still anchored her against the mattress, while through the shared drywall came only a quiet murmuring, the words too muffled to catch. Then Yeji laughed, a small, breathless sound, followed by Minho's low rumble, and another laugh.
The one that would never have been worth recording.
Lia listened to it for a long moment before reaching back to press her palm flat against Minjun's hip.
He read the cue instantly and rolled onto his back.
She climbed over, straddling him. They were both naked now. The shirt he'd pulled off her earlier was still somewhere on the floor, leaving nothing between them except the phone resting on the tangled sheet. His hands came up, fingers sinking slightly into the soft flare of her hips to steady her. She wasn't built for physical dominance the way the rest of the group was - just pillowy curves and plush thighs - and at first, her legs locked too tight. She rocked forward, dragging the bare softness of her inner thighs against his flanks to open herself wider, until his cock slipped up deep inside her. She pressed her palms flat against the hard ridges of his stomach and tried to move.
Lia didn't normally ride. She usually just lay there and let it happen or stood against a wall to receive it, but she basically never got on top to do the work herself. The posture felt awkward immediately. Without the sharp athletic muscles the others relied on, her soft thighs started burning after a few clumsy grinds, and she had no real sense of what rhythm actually worked.
She kept going anyway, because being involved meant trying, whether you were good at it or not.
Minjun's hands slipped from her hips to the outside of her thighs, holding her steady without trying to direct the movement. "You okay?"
"Working on it."
She ground down slowly, trying to find a rhythm that didn't make her legs shake, and stuck to it. Then she reached for the phone.
The folder was still open on the screen. Jeju D1 pool AM M/RJ+Y. 43.7GB. 6 clips. 142 minutes. The last thumbnail showed Minho sitting alone on the pool deck. She'd named the folder like a production asset because that was exactly how she had processed the entire thing, an asset, marked with the same cold tags every Pann thread used to pick apart her. Timestamp, resolution, subject.
On the other side of the wall, Yeji laughed again at something too low to hear.
"She sounds different," Minjun said quietly, his voice slightly strained from her sitting on him.
Lia kept her eyes on the screen while her hips rocked. "She sounds happy."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It's not. It's just rare." Lia adjusted her grip on the phone, the cold metal biting into her palm. "She was always the most passionate one of us. In every room we've ever shared across seven years, Yeji cared the most. About the group, the label, the fans, the numbers."
Minjun's hands tightened slightly on her thighs as she ground down. "But not about herself?"
"Never about herself," Lia sighed softly. "Every time things get bad, she just comes back harder and sharper. She takes the hurt and she turns it into choreography. I've watched her do it since we were trainees. She's never, once, let herself just stop and hold onto something good without ripping it apart first to see if she earned it."
"And you?" Minjun asked.
Lia's thumb stopped on the phone case.
"I turned mine into footage," she said.
He didn't answer right away. His hands stayed steady on her thighs.
"Because watching felt safer?"
"Because if I held the camera, I wasn't the one being judged." She stared at the folder until the white letters blurred. "That's what I told myself, anyway. Extremely normal hobby. Great for the soul."
"Jisu."
The softness in his voice made her look away from the screen.
"People spent years turning my dancing into evidence," she said. "Every comeback, every fancam, every half-second where I looked tired. Evidence that I didn't belong. And now I'm sitting here with proof of someone else's worst morning like I didn't learn anything."
Lia paused, listening to the soft quiet bleeding between the rooms. That sound had nothing to do with performing, nothing to do with earning anything, and everything to do with a girl who had finally let herself be happy with the cameras off.
"Until tonight," Minjun observed.
"Yeah." Lia traced the smooth edge of her phone case with her thumb. "Until tonight."
She'd watched her leader long enough to know what renting that kind of peace cost. Putting it in a 4K folder felt a lot like stealing.
"I hated them for doing it to me," Lia said. "Making my body a comment section. And then I got good at doing the same thing with better lighting."
"You can stop," Minjun said.
"Yeah." Her thumb hovered over the screen. "That's the annoying part."
"I can't be the one to take that away from her," Lia murmured, the words dropping flat and final between them.
She pressed her thumb down on the screen. Move to bin. Empty bin. The massive file blinked out of existence, instantly replaced by her bright wallpaper, a photo of Minjun asleep on a flight with his mouth hanging open.
"There," Lia declared softly, holding his gaze. "Evidence unmade."
Minjun reached up without a word, lifting the phone gently from her fingers like taking a dangerous toy from a child, and set it face down on the nightstand. His hands came back to lock on her hips. "You're sexy when you do the right thing."
Lia felt whatever distance she had left melt straight through the mattress.
She kept riding. The rhythm she was managing wasn't elegant, but her plush thighs were shaking for a completely different reason now. The wet, clumsy friction she'd stumbled into suddenly hit something deep and insistent inside her, and she stayed right on top of it, throwing herself into the fucking despite having no idea what she was doing. Beneath her, Minjun went very still except for his breathing, which had gone ragged and rough.
His jaw flexed tight. "Lia." He swallowed hard. "Can I?"
They usually didn't, but he always asked anyway. She looked down at him through the dark, registering the careful control pulling at his face, the fact that he'd been holding himself back for twenty minutes just waiting for her to find her footing.
Her hips dropped down, taking the full length of him. "Is that an actual question?"
He let out a wrecked, unfamiliar sound. His hands locked hard on her thighs as his hips drove up in one brutal thrust, spilling thick heat deep inside her while she held perfectly still and let it happen, keeping her eyes locked on his face the entire time.
The sudden warmth pushed her right over the edge. She came hard and messy, grinding down blindly through the climax with her palms braced flat against his chest, her breath catching sharply in her throat. There was no performance to it. Just her body doing what it needed to do while she finally let it.
She rode them both through the intense aftershocks. Slow, then slower, until his grip on her thighs weakened and the shaking in her legs morphed into raw exhaustion.
She collapsed forward onto his chest.
He dragged the duvet up over them, wrapping them tight. Outside, the pool filter hummed quietly. The wall was silent.
"What changed?" Minjun asked into her hair a long time later.
Lia thought about Mina's hands, the phone taken out of her grip, the way the room had rushed in all at once.
"Someone told me to just be in it," she murmured. "A long time ago."
He didn't ask who. His arm simply tightened across her back.
Her empty hand lay flat against his chest. She closed her eyes and let herself be in it.
***
[MINHO'S POV]
I'd grabbed her hips to flip her over, but she scrambled forward instead. She crawled up the tangled sheets, her spine bowing as she dropped her chest flat against the mattress and shoved her ass high into the air.
"Here," she demanded with feral intent, before shoving four fingers deep into her own dripping, swollen cunt, scooping out a thick, sloppy glob of some combination of my previous four loads, and smeared it dead-center against her own back door.
The wet slap of it echoing in the quiet room was so deeply filthy you couldn't find a visual like it on the wildest corner of any JAV site. Yeji, the untouchable leader of ITZY, fully spread on a ruined bed, leaking everywhere, and painting her own ass with my spunk just to surrender the only boundary we had left.
The one boundary that had stayed hers through trainee dorms and tour buses and every shitty motel between Seoul and Busan. And here she was, ass up on a ruined mattress in Jeju, painting it open with my own cum like she was handing me the last key on her ring.
It nearly stopped my fucking heart.
My hands locked on her hips, but my brain caught on the edge of the cliff. "Yeji, are you sure about this?"
"Minho." She looked over her shoulder, her cat eyes blown wide and lethal in the dull glow of the one remaining lamp we hadn't obliterated. "Ask me if I'm sure one more time and I'll actually scream."
So I shut up.
I dropped my hand over hers, guiding her cum-slicked fingers deep into her tight, resistant heat. She hissed, her knuckles going white against the tangled sheets. Nope - total barricade, just like Ryujin. Her walls clamped down hard, fighting the intrusion, but she forced herself to tear it open using the sloppy mess we'd already made.
"Relax," I murmured, pressing my mouth against her sweaty shoulder blade. "I got you."
"Just push," she bit out, her dancer's hips rolling back against my hand to demand the invasion.
I lined up the head, thick with my own fresh cum, and drove forward. Pure brick wall. Her muscles clamped down around the tip, fighting every inch. She took a ragged, stuttering breath, absolutely refused to tap out, and dragged herself brutally backward.
The tight ring of muscle finally gave way with a thick, violent pop that felt like I was literally tearing her in half, followed by an ear-splitting shriek that confirmed as much. A scalding, suffocating grip sent static straight up my spine the second she swallowed the head. I locked my hands onto her snatched waist to hold her down, dug my fingers into her hipbones, and forced the rest of my cock inside her. Every bit of that first, agonizing invasion demanded raw, heavy leverage, ripping through insane friction until my hips slammed dead-flush against her cheeks.
Every brutal slam was just me punishing myself through the mattress and trying to scrub the last forty-eight hours out of my skull. She let me use her body to erase it all, shoving back against every rough stroke, receiving my penance and screaming for more.
I fucked her into the mattress with the last of what I had, and she took it screaming into the cotton, and the whole thing was over in maybe twenty seconds because neither of us could survive more.
The raw friction shredded the last of my control. I dropped my chest flush against her wet back, wrapped one arm around her stomach to lock her against me, and let the fifth load tear out of me deep into her guts.
Five, the running tally in my head marked it down right as my hips locked dead-flush against her ass and the first scalding rope of cum pumped into her. Five. The exact same number as the time I'd shoved myself into Ryujin's equally tight ass on that wooden deck, right before she screamed and spasmed around my cock to prove she could outfuck me.
I dumped thick, heavy ropes of cum into her, emptying another piece of the twisted ledger into the last piece of territory she'd kept away from me all these years.
I collapsed heavy against her back, lungs burning, the room spinning. We stayed pinned together in the sweaty wreckage for a long minute while our chests heaved together.
I pulled out slow and careful. She let out a sharp, ragged breath, instantly rolling onto her side and curling her knees up toward her chest.
I hit the mattress next to her, staring blankly at the ceiling. "So."
"So," she croaked.
I turned my head. Her damp hair plastered in dark streaks across her forehead. She looked like she had just survived a major car crash.
"Are we ever doing that again?" she asked gravelly.
"Definitely not," I rasped.
"Glad we tried, though," she clarified quickly. It was good to see her defensive idol pride had survived the carnage. "For science."
"Right. For science." I reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair off her cheek. "You're insanely hot. But your pussy is basically a religious experience, and I'm spending the rest of my life in there."
The corners of her mouth twitched, defensiveness giving way to a weary smirk. "Religious experience, huh. I thought the 'theological implications were incoherent?'"
She forced both hands up to make air quotes, the movement bared the damp, sweat-slicked hollows of her armpits. We had a very specific history with that piece of real estate, one that usually ended with me dropping my face down to lick the sweat out of them like a rabid dog while she giggled and writhed. Even completely emptied out, the impulse to lunge over and do it right then was staggering.
"Yeah, well. I'm willing to be wrong after what we just went through," I managed, keeping my face locked on hers to avoid doing anything that would get me ejected from this bed and possibly the island prematurely. "Do I need to be baptized in your squirt?"
"Keep talking like that and Karina is going to drag you to mass. I tell her everything, you know."
"Look, I don't have the energy left to argue with you about theology right now," I groaned, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm dropping it."
The corners of her mouth twitched. "Yeah. Okay. Fine." She shifted, grimacing at the movement. "I feel like I just did a thousand squats."
"You basically did."
She let out a long sigh and dragged herself straight across the ruined mattress. Skipping any attempt to sit up, she threw one heavy leg across my hips, slung her arms around my neck, and pulled herself flush against me to bury her face in my skin. The feral, manic intensity had totally burned out, leaving us completely drained.
"Hold me," she mumbled against my collarbone.
***
She was already sliding into sleep against my bare chest, her breathing slowing into a heavy and steady rhythm right up until she cracked one eye open to squint at me and ask, "Now what?"
I already knew the answer because there was exactly one thing left. Not anal, because we'd just crossed that off and banished the option for eternity, and definitely not a sixth load because my balls felt like raisins and my dick was officially retired for the fucking week.
But there was something I still owed her tonight.
Something she'd taken away from herself six months ago.
"Wait. Hold on. Get up," I told her, moving to physically peel her off my chest.
She produced the most deeply offended noise I've ever heard a human being manage through a closed mouth. "Nnn?" she whined, clamping her arms tighter around my neck to cling harder. "Minho, NO. What are you doing? You're MOVING? Don't -"
"I still owe you the other thing," I said, ignoring her panicked demands to lie back down as I rolled her flat onto her back and slid down on my elbows to spread her knees apart.
"What other thing? Minho, NO, there's no other thing," she protested, actively trying to climb right back onto me like a sleepy, possessive octopus. "We've done all the things. We invented things tonight. Lie back DOWN -"
I stayed where I was, looking up the wrecked length of her toned body until I caught her eyes. She blinked down at me from her elbows with her hair in a tangled mess and her flushed face confused, right before her gaze dropped to where my chin was hovering above her pussy.
I watched her perfectly manicured brain catch up to the choreo. She drew in one very sharp breath.
"Oh."
"Yeah," I murmured. "Our thing, remember?"
We hadn't done it since before Busan. I'm not going to get into Busan right now except to say she'd grabbed a tissue and scrubbed me out of her like my cum was burning her skin while her pussy kept shedding pearly tears, and we'd spent the last six months never talking about it.
The mess between her thighs right now was honestly catastrophic. Five total loads squeezed out of the dresser session, the lotus, and the brutal anal aftermath were currently combining to slide out of her in a thick white drip while we negotiated, painting a track down the inside of her thigh so graphic I was half-waiting for Karina's God to strike a pixel filter over it.
"You don't have to," she whispered, and then immediately followed it up with a desperate, "You don't HAVE to," when I stayed.
"Yeji," I said, propping my chin on her thigh to look up at her dead-on. "Look at the mess we made."
Her entire body locked up on the mattress. She caught the line the second it left my mouth, reacting to the old script she'd written for us back when we were just stupid kids playing dirty in the trainee dorms. Her hand flew up to press hard against her own mouth to physically trap whatever sound tried to escape, holding it for a long second before letting her arm drop back to the sheets.
"Show me," she demanded, her leader-voice scraped totally raw.
So I did. I showed her by dragging the flat of my tongue up her slit from base to clit, taking the first sloppy strip of what I'd left in her into my mouth. The salty cocktail of every load I'd dumped in her tonight, warm on my tongue.
She made a sound that wasn't quite human and immediately snapped back to the command voice she used to run a five-member girl group at twenty-four years old. "Shove it back in for me. You always loved knowing it's yours, right?"
"Mhm."
I slid two fingers up where my tongue had just been to push the leak back inside. She clenched down on my knuckles immediately, greedy and familiar after six months of nothing.
"More," she breathed. "Deeper. Keep it for us."
I pumped my fingers in slow to pack every drop back exactly where she wanted it, which dragged her hips up off the mattress to meet my knuckles and knocked a small, wrecked giggle out of her chest. Hearing that unapologetic, possessive little sound after six solid months of silence hit me harder than the actual sex had.
"Your mouth," she ordered.
I dropped my head back down with my fingers still buried inside her to seal my mouth over her swollen clit. She gasped out loud and fisted her free hand directly into my hair, locking me in place against her thighs like she was terrified I might surface for air and let the moment evaporate.
I stayed exactly where I was, letting her ride my face in the gentlest, most possessive way she knew how to reclaim the ritual she'd put down and lost track of. I completely lost the plot down there until her grip in my hair tightened to haul my head back up.
She was watching me with her chin tilted down to check what my mouth looked like painted with her mess. Without breaking eye contact, she reached two fingers down between her own thighs, slid them deep inside herself, and pulled them back out glistening white before lifting them to my lips.
"Open."
I opened my mouth, letting her feed me what she'd taken out of her own body by sliding her fingers across my tongue. I closed my lips around her knuckles to swallow it down while she let out a long, shaky exhale.
"There." She pulled her fingers free to press her wet palm flat against my cheek, smearing the rest of the sloppy mess across my jaw like a brand that I was entirely happy to wear. "That's better."
I crawled back up the ruined mattress to drop my forehead against hers, immediately letting her wrap her legs and arms tightly around me exactly the way she'd wanted five minutes ago. She tucked her face directly into the side of my throat to mumble something straight into my pulse.
"You came back."
I knew exactly what she meant, and I also knew we were definitely never talking about Busan again.
"I never left, Yeji."
She made a tiny, satisfied sound against my skin and pressed her weight closer until her heartbeat started to slow down and match mine.
"See how well you do when you listen?" she mumbled into my collarbone.
A genuine, exhausted laugh scraped out of my throat. "So I'll see you tomorrow, seonsaengnim?"
She bit softly into my collarbone. "Every day. Don't be late."
***
The adrenaline took its sweet time leaving. We lay there in the quiet until the tunnel vision finally faded and the physical, financial and legal reality of the bedroom roared back into focus.
Yeji rolled onto her side, propped herself up on one elbow, and placed a flat hand horizontally over her eyebrows to survey the wreckage. That was the visor technique she deployed on stage when scanning a fifteen-thousand-seat arena trying to single out some terrified fan for a dance challenge. Applying it to fifteen square meters of demolished interior decorating seemed disproportionate, but Yeji always took things more seriously than anyone else considered necessary.
A giggle ripped out of her throat. Then another. Within seconds she was wheezing, dropping her forehead against my chest in a full-body giggle that shook the mattress.
"My abs hurt," she gasped, clutching her stomach. "This is humiliating. Even class yesterday morning didn't hurt this much."
"You rode me through, what, seven rounds and literally destroyed a piece of furniture with your enthusiasm," I pointed out, staring blankly at the crooked mirror above the dresser. "I think soreness is the minimum expected consequence, no?"
"Enthusiasm?" She smacked my arm, still laughing. "Don't call it that."
"What do you want me to call it?"
She lifted her head, grinning. "Devotion."
Then she pushed her tangled hair out of her face and pointed across the room. "Look at the wall! Look what you did -"
"What I did?" I scoffed. "The dresser situation is totally your fault!"
"Okay, yeah, that's on me." She shifted her finger to the two distinct impact zones on the drywall opposite the bed. "But that dent is yours. And that dent is mine, although technically it's a shared responsibility because you slammed me into it."
"I'm pretty concerned about how the pillow got on top of the wardrobe," I added, tracking the debris field.
She looked up, squinting at the rogue piece of cotton stranded near the ceiling. "I don't know. Did we do that earlier, or just now?"
"All of the above." I let my head thump back against the headboard, a loud laugh finally scraping its way out of my chest.
"We are SO getting sued by this resort. Blacklisted, for sure. Manager-nim is going to be livid about the deposit," she muttered.
"I'll tell management it was an act of God," I offered, rubbing her head.
"You're the one who said God isn't real."
"Yeah, well." I turned my head to look at the absolute carnage around us. "Tonight I reconsidered."
She wheezed again, burying her face in the sheets before pulling back with a sharp grimace. The laughter died as practical reality finally set in. The mattress beneath us was a proper biohazard, a cold, sticky disaster of pool water, sweat, and multiple rounds of our juices.
"Okay," she declared, her leader-voice returning as she gingerly untangled her legs from mine. "You go shower first. I'm going to figure out how to deal with... whatever the fuck this is."
***
I walked into the bathroom, cranked the shower, and left the door cracked. She'd locked me out of the villa bathroom on day one, so the latch stayed bare tonight.
A minute later she pushed the door wider. She stepped into the humidity shivering, still naked, her hair a disaster, looking at me like she wanted to eat me alive.
"Did you figure out what to do with the room?" I asked over the spray.
"No," she said, sliding the glass door open and stepping right under the water with me. "Lost cause. Giving up."
We were theoretically in there to wash the catastrophic cocktail of pool water, sweat, and five loads of cum off our bodies so we could figure out where to sleep. I even had the soap in my hand. It lasted maybe twenty seconds. I went to wash her shoulders, she backed her wet ass directly into my dick, and we were immediately fucking again, and this time she didn't even have to say "no Sana no life" to get my dick raring to go again.
It was objectively the worst possible place to do it. The stall was cramped, the steam choked us, and hot spray kept blasting me directly in the eyes while the acoustics slapped our wet skin together like cannon fire. I had her spun around, doggy-style against the frosted glass. One hand squeezed her wet tits, the other holding her leg up, while she craned her neck back to sloppy-kiss me through the downpour as I pounded her ass into the next time zone.
I was hauling her right leg up by the thigh to get myself deeper, fighting wet tile and bad decisions to pound into her slick heat. If anyone had looked at the frosted glass from the outside, we looked like a silhouetted, highly uncoordinated three-legged beast. She dropped her jaw, whining right into my mouth as her hips snapped back to swallow the whole length of my cock as my shrivelled-up balls pathetically tickled her clit.
"More," she gasped, words garbled by water and spit. "Minho, more more more -"
I was right on the razor edge, vision whited out, bracing to dump my Karina's-God-knows-which load of the night straight into her guts. My hips locked. Her wet walls clamped down on me in a tight, triumphant spasm as I started spurting whatever my balls could muster into her very thoroughly filled hole.
And then my soapy foot slipped.
The three-legged beast lost bipedal stability. I flailed for a handhold, my fingers hooking the only solid object in reach: the brushed-metal shelving rack suction-cupped to the tile.
It ripped off the wall with a horrific clatter.
We went down dramatically.
I slammed square onto my bare ass on hard tile. Pain shot straight up my spine. Yeji landed backward directly on top of me, her ass nearly snapping my dick completely in half. The sheer panic combined with the impact violently yanked the rest of the orgasm right out of me, and my cock rapidly machine-gunned what was left of my seed directly across her wet stomach mid-crash.
Half inside her, half wasted on her skin. Six. The same split delivery Ryujin had hijacked from Yuna on the deck while they were stacked like a pile of hotteok in a Seoul street market.
We lay there in a tangle of limbs at the bottom of the stall. The water pounded down on us while my dick weakly spurted its last few drops of failure over her navel. I stared at the ceiling, seriously wondering if I'd broken my tailbone.
The metal soap rack had clattered onto the floor, scattering a minefield of bottles. Everything went down except the massive, industrial-sized pump bottle of Pantene conditioner. It had launched upward during the rip and somehow landed dead center on the narrow aluminum top railing of the shower stall, towering directly above Yeji's head.
We both froze in the tangle of limbs at the bottom of the stall before slowly looking up.
The one-liter plastic bomb teetered on the slick, wet railing. Rocking back. Forth. Swaying precariously in a moment of slow-motion doom.
Then Pantene tipped past the point of no return and plummeted straight for her nose.
Yeji squealed. My right arm shot out on pure reflex and snatched the heavy plastic cylinder out of the air a half-inch from her face before tossing it aside. Flawless cinema, delivered by a naked dude with a crushed ass and a traumatized erection.
Yeji whipped around, water streaming down her cheeks. "My hero," she gasped. She grabbed my face with both hands and planted a massive, dramatic princess smooch right on my lips.
I tried to kiss her back and just let out a pathetic, agonized groan from the bottom of my chest.
She pulled back, taking in the absolute carnage: naked me pinned to the tile, a metal shelf jammed against my leg, and my rapidly deflating cock weeping tragically onto her skin.
"Chagi!" she yelped, real panic spiking through the shower hiss. "Are you okay?!"
"No," I croaked. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine!" she said, scrambling to lift herself off my hips.
I stayed flat on my back, trying to evaluate my internal organs. Once Yeji realized I wasn't actually going to bleed out in a Jeju shower stall, her eyes dropped to her own stomach. The hot spray was already washing my cum away - the only load of the entire night that didn't end up fully locked inside her.
She stared at the soapy, semen-streaked suds. Then she looked down at me.
"I hate you."
I froze, forgetting about the pain in my spine. "What? What did I do?"
"The cum, idiot," she shot back, aggressively wiping the streak off her stomach. "You wasted it!"
I just stared at her. I'd spent the entire night tracking every drop of my own cum like it was a holy sponge that could magically scrub away the timeline on the pool deck. A massive, tragic ledger in my head to fix the fact that Ryujin had hijacked exactly that same split delivery from Yuna out there.
Meanwhile, Yeji didn't give a shit about existential ledgers. She was just a greedy brat entirely furious because she missed out on her prize. God didn't care about my guilt, and my dick obviously couldn't do math.
"I was mid-cum!" I argued furiously, gesturing at the slippery tile. "The floor moved!"
"You slipped!"
"You spasmed first!"
"That's your job!" she yelled over the water, entirely unapologetic.
"Well, the soap rack disagreed," I groaned, shoving the metal shelf off my thigh so I could cross my legs. "The universe clearly didn't want me to finish in there."
"This is the universe's fault?"
"Specifically God's," I muttered, hauling myself up to lean against the cold tile.
"See." Yeji pointed a severe, accusatory finger at my face. "This is exactly what happens when you talk shit about God in front of Karina. She has connections."
"Noted," I sighed. I pulled her down against my wet chest, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin on her slippery shoulder. "I'll start praying to her tomorrow."
We sat under the hot spray for another minute until the adrenaline finally wore off and my bruises started screaming. She helped me up, then I grabbed a towel, dried us off, and we abandoned the biohazard master suite, stealing the one dry duvet we could find in the hallway closet and limped downstairs to the living room.
***
[MINHO'S POV]
Both the couch and my spine creaked when I sat down, making Yeji laugh from her corner where she was already curled up swimming in my stolen white shirt.
"My poor little victim," she murmured, catching my wrist and tugging me down.
I let her pull me down until I was flat on my back against the cushions and she was sprawled on top of me. The dry duvet we'd stolen covered us completely to her shoulders while the villa finally sank into absolute silence, mostly thanks to us.
Turquoise pool glow washed her hair pale while my hand automatically found the knot in her lower back, working into a spot that a decade of dancing in platform boots and never quite letting herself rest had been quietly wrecking. I'd watched her ice it after Show Champion two years ago while pretending she wasn't, and seen her stretch into it on the practice room floor while everyone else went to lunch, so when I pushed the heel of my palm into the muscle with the exact pressure I knew worked, she let out a long breath against my chest like she'd honestly forgotten anyone else knew it hurt.
She stayed quiet for so long I thought she was actually passing out, right up until her voice went muffled into my chest.
"Ryujin..."
Of course she was still spiraling, her leader instinct running so hot through her physical exhaustion that she started squirming around like she was going to march outside and fix it tonight.
I wrapped her tighter and waited without saying a word, letting sheer exhaustion make the final decision for her until she eventually settled back down against my chest.
"She'll come to you when she's ready," I murmured, using the exact same tone I used when she needed someone to be soft in the dorms at two in the morning. "You don't have to fix it tonight. Everything is going to be okay."
She gave a tiny, bitter laugh into my chest. "Say it until you believe it."
"I will," I told her hair, staying still while I figured out what to do with it.
Her shoulders dropped first before her spine finally lost its iron tension, and she was still mumbling about Ryujin when she just crashed with a sentence that trailed off mid-word.
***
The first thing I woke to was cold -
A soaking wet body slammed into Yeji's back from above, dumping pool water straight through my borrowed shirt as Yeji let out a sharp gasp of pure panic and went completely rigid.
I surfaced from sleep already moving, locking both of my arms around Yeji in a blind protective grip while my brain tried to figure out who I needed to fight, right until a wet chin found the exact curve of her neck and settled perfectly into the groove.
The familiarity in that embrace answered the question before I could even see the intruder.
Yeji exhaled in one massive breath. "Ryu..."
My arms immediately dropped their death grip, letting Yeji completely melt into the mattress as she reached back to grab Ryujin's wet forearm just to make sure she was really there.
"Ddaeng Ddong," Ryujin whispered against Yeji's neck, her voice barely audible.
I had absolutely no idea what those syllables meant, but as Ryujin's shaking body softened against Yeji's back and Yeji squeezed her arm tighter.
Freezing pool water poured onto the cushions and soaked my bare skin to ruin our warm peace, but I stayed exactly where I was. This hug was above my pay grade, and since years of sisterhood was currently knitting itself back together on top of my chest, I just held them perfectly still and let the icy water run everywhere.
Eventually the water warmed up against us and Ryujin's ragged breathing synced clearly with Yeji's.
Ryujin finally started pulling back, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. Her hand dragged across Yeji's shoulder as she stood up, lingering a second too long, and Yeji caught her wrist in a quiet acknowledgment before letting go.
I listened to the quiet slap of her bare, wet feet padding up the wooden stairs, each damp step fading as she headed back to the second floor.
Yeji hadn't moved from my chest, but the second the footsteps vanished, the girl who never cried broke.
The strict leader posture she'd been forcing herself for years to maintain finally gave out, her shoulders heaving against me with ragged gasps. She balled her fists tight into the wet duvet, burying her face so deep into my neck it actually hurt. She was shaking out of control, hot tears soaking straight into my bare skin, and I just held her without asking a single stupid question.
I already knew exactly what she was letting go of.
So I pulled her tighter against me, weaving my fingers deep into her hair to cradle her skull while my other arm locked across her spine. I held her exactly the way I'd desperately wanted to back in Busan half a year ago when she'd turned away from me and made herself totally unreachable, and tonight she was actually letting me do it.
Her sharp gasping slowly smoothed out into a steady rhythm.
"See? I told you everything would be okay," I whispered.
She nodded against my chest with a hard hiccup, tightening her grip on me while I kissed her damp forehead to give her my one silent promise: I'm not going anywhere.
Her sobs slowly faded into shallow breaths over the next few minutes until she lay mostly still.
We lay still in the cold, soaking mess Ryujin had pressed into us, and held on to each other through it.
Because for us, for the first time in five years, it was comfort.
ACT V: Fin
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Author's Note:
Massive thanks to fahzball and shin for inadvertently getting this chapter to its final state, because the version you just read is almost nothing like the one I had in the drafts folder a month ago. This chapter actually existed long before 'Nobody Like You' and was supposed to post first, but I put it to a vote (angst-heavy or smut-heavy?) and 'Nobody Like You' won, and honestly thank god it did, because of one beat in that chapter that ended up changing everything about this one.
If you read 'Nobody Like You,' (which I hope you did because I love that chapter so much) there's a moment where Ryujin is running up the path back to the villa with 'Kill Shot' going in her earbuds, and the swish swish of the bridge slowly resolves into the wet smack of Minho fucking Yeji bent over against the wall of the outdoor shower by the pool, the percussion bleeding through her left pod until she yanks the earbud out and the audio match cut completes itself in the Jeju night - the sound carries the cut so the picture can change underneath it. The second I posted that chapter I knew I had to tear this one apart and rewrite the whole A/B Lia-Yeji plot around the same idea. Every POV transition in 'Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade' is tied together by a sound through a wall: Yeji's cackle hits the plaster and we land in Lia's bedroom, Minjun's headboard goes quiet and we cut to Yeji slamming Minho into a wall two doors down. A picture frame smashes here, dust shakes loose there, and the "camera" moves through the villa on noise alone until the whole house becomes one continuous room and you, the reader, are the only person hearing all of it at once. Which feels like the right form of poetic justice for Lia specifically. She spent this whole arc using voyeurism against them, and now she's stuck listening to audio she didn't capture and can't edit.
While we're talking about camera tricks I should also mention the manic sequence in the middle of the smut scene - where Minho lifts Yeji and they keep slamming into a different room every time he plants her - which is lifted directly from the APT music video. Specifically the section where the camera holds completely still on Rosé and Bruno while they teleport around the frame: standing, sitting, lying down, dancing, all on the same cut, the camera not moving but they do, the smash cut doing the work. I wanted that exact feeling here, one unbroken motion from Minho's side (he picks her up, he carries her, he puts her down) but every smash cut drops them into a new room, a new position, a new surface giving out. The reader needs the disorientation of how the night actually feels from the inside: time blurring, rooms bleeding into each other, only the bodies stable. They never stop fucking, the villa just keeps changing around them.
***
Which brings me to what this scene is actually FOR. This is unapologetically a smut-forward series and I take that seriously. If you came here for the porn, the porn has to deliver on its own merits without the plot making up the difference. But I also believe every sex scene has to MEAN something, and if you've been with me from the start I've been quietly showing you this for three hundred thousand words (Karina's-God damn!) that every position, every act, every dirty line spoken into someone's ear is a character saying something with their body that they couldn't say with their mouth.
This scene is about victory. 'Moonlight and Memory' was the breakthrough - Yeji saying saranghae in her sleep for the first time in five years, Minho realizing the nightmare world wasn't real, both of them finally landing in the same emotional weather at the same time. 'Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade' is the celebration. They WON. They survived the day, they survived themselves, and the way two people who've been fucking each other for half a decade celebrate is by going through their entire repertoire in one unhinged tour, every position and every joke and every move they've ever invented together. Which is also a deliberate homage to 'First Light'. The very first chapter of the series gave you a tiny glimpse of how physically attuned these two already were, two people with a whole private world in bed before the reader was even allowed in. This chapter is the full payoff of that promise three hundred thousand words later, the door finally kicked open.
But the thing I most wanted to get right in this chapter was the mind games, specifically Yeji's, because the mind games ARE their love language. Yeji plays games with Minho because that's their oldest shared language, it's how they talk during sex, and it's also how she tells him things she would rather die than say plainly. When she flips him onto his back and starts denying him, that's payback for the begging routine he ran on her earlier in the scene. The hovering and the puppy eyes and the aegyo bit and the whole "admit you wanted it" act. She recognizes the pattern because he taught it to her ("you had a great time using your little puppy dog eyes to make me beg earlier, huh?"). She's collecting a debt, not being randomly cruel. She's matching his game and playing it better.
Control is Yeji's native tongue. She is the responsible unnie, the polished leader, the girl whose whole job is absorbing pressure and hiding the soft parts. She does not naturally ask for care. She gives instructions. She directs. She manages. So the mind games let her stay Yeji while wanting Minho badly enough that it scares her. She can be needy if she turns it into a challenge. She can ask for intimacy if she wraps it in dominance. She can say take what you want from me only after she's proven she still has teeth.
The emotional core of this scene is brutal for her by the way: she chose Minho over Ryujin in front of the whole group. She knows Ryujin is somewhere in the villa right now hurting. She's scared she just broke a seven-year friendship, and she needs Minho to make her stop thinking about it AND she needs him to stop treating her like she's about to crack. That's too much to sit in cleanly, so she swerves into the camera bit, the Sana fancam joke, the I hate you so much, the bratty insults, the breeding kink delivered like a tax filing. The games give her a handle on feelings she cannot say plainly. Stop making me beg you to take me is the real line; everything after is her forcing him to understand it through the only arena where they both speak fluently.
And she can play this rough because she trusts him. She knows he's watching her body, her voice, her limits, her tells, which is why the scene reads as personal instead of generic. Five years matter here. She knows where to push because he taught her and he knows the exact second the joke drops out of her voice. The line "using five years of knowing exactly where my breaking points were to wreck me" is all the trust between them in one sentence.
It works the other way too: the games protect Minho. Because by this point in the night Minho is drowning in guilt, keeping a quiet ledger in his head of every betrayal and every other girl and every load he's spent in the wrong direction. Yeji humiliates him, teases him, denies him, lets the phone drop on his face, makes him answer stupid trap questions, makes him laugh. THAT is care from Yeji. She refuses to let him disappear into the guilt spiral when she wants him here, in this room, with her, now.
Short version: Yeji plays mind games because plain vulnerability terrifies her. Control comforts her. Minho is the only person on earth who can read the difference between cruelty, teasing, panic, and love when they all come out of her mouth sounding like threats. The sex is hot because the games are personal. Nobody else could play them this way with him. That's the receipt for everyone who stayed since 'First Light.'
do you have any plans of writing anything after Jeju Heat? Another series, or one-shots, or taking a break (deserved btw)?
Oof! Probably not at the moment, I have other creative projects I’d like to work on after this. I might add some side stories in the same universe if an idea (or a suggestion) comes up. But this series has consumed over a year of nearly full time work - from storyboarding, character/thematic development, research, analysis, writing to editing for me (ADHD hyperfocus, yay!) - so I’ll definitely be taking a break!
Regardless, there are many themes and layers in the story to unpack, and I’ll always be around to entertain your thoughts!
Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to pull out.
word count: ~7.2k
Characters: Male Reader (OC: Minho) x ITZY Shin Yuna, ITZY Shin Ryujin
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A/N: Originally published as 2 separate chapters; now remastered and combined into one continuous scene.
Chapter 8: Close Calls
Secrets strain against daylight. The villa holds its breath.
[PRESENT DAY - AEWOL BEACH RESORT, PRIVATE BEACH VILLAS]
[EARLIER THAT MORNING - RYUJIN'S POV]
The sleek black Genesis GV80 pulled into the villa's driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Before Manager Park had even shifted into park, Ryujin was already reaching for the door handle, her jaw set in a hard line of irritation.
"Ryujin-ah, we're not done talking -" Manager Park began, her voice sharp with exasperation.
But Ryujin had already jammed her AirPods into her ears. The opening bars of "Run Away" - her upcoming solo track, the one that hadn't even been announced yet - flooded her senses and drowned out whatever lecture was about to follow. She stepped out of the car, her Nike slides slapping against the pavement, and slammed the door with just a touch more force than necessary.
Through the car window, she could see Manager Park's mouth still moving, her expression a mixture of concern and frustration. Ryujin turned away, cranking the volume up another notch.
The bass hit hard, matching the irritation simmering in her chest. Getting dragged out of bed at the crack of dawn for a goddamn medical checkup because of last night's "excessive behavior"? Fuck that noise.
Okay, run away, run away, run away from me -
The lyrics were about being loud enough, crude enough, shocking enough that people either kept their distance or took her exactly as she was. No hidden depths. No expectations of softness. Just raw, unapologetic intensity.
I'll take that ugly part.
She'd play the villain if that's what it took. The group whore. The bad influence. Yeji's warning label. Better to own the role than let anyone expect something gentler underneath.
Better to make people run than risk them getting close enough to realize she didn't know how to do "close" without chaos.
Ryujin shook her head, clearing the thought. She had a pool, she had her toys, and she had privacy for at least another hour.
That was all she needed.
As she stomped toward the villa entrance, her mind replayed the conversation - or rather, the scolding - from the ride back.
"Ryujin, do you understand the position you put yourself in last night?" Manager Park had said, her tone clinical but edged with genuine worry. "Five guys. Simultaneously. At the Aewol Beach Resort where half the industry is staying. Do you know how fast that kind of rumor spreads?"
Ryujin had just stared out the window, arms crossed. "It's vacation. I was having fun."
"Fun? The doctor said you have minor tearing - again. You're lucky it wasn't worse. And you won't get your test results back until tomorrow. Please tell me you at least used protection -"
"Nope." Ryujin had said flatly.
Manager Park's hands had tightened on the steering wheel. "Ryujin -"
"What? You're the ones who put me on the pill." She'd gestured vaguely. "That's birth control handled. And I get tested constantly. It's fine."
"It's not fine." Manager Park had exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, we get it. You have needs. I'm not judging. The company knows sexual satisfaction keeps you performing at your peak. But there are safer ways to do this. You know we can connect you with people - guys we know are tested, discreet, not going to run to Dispatch. I can make a call right now if you need -"
"I've already hooked up with most of them," Ryujin had interrupted, her voice bored. "They're all the same. Too polite, too careful, too fucking boring." She'd glanced at her manager. "I like variety. That's the whole point."
Manager Park had looked at her then, really looked at her, and Ryujin had seen something like pity in her eyes. "Then maybe consider what Chaeryeong and Lia do. Having someone consistent. A committed partner. Someone you trust who can -"
"No." Ryujin's voice had gone ice-cold. "I don't do that relationship bullshit. I fuck who I want, when I want. That's the whole point."
The conversation had ended there, both of them sitting in tense silence for the rest of the drive.
***
Now, standing at the villa door, Ryujin yanked out one earbud and yelled, "YO! ANYONE HOME?"
Her voice echoed through the space, but no response came.
Weird, she thought, stepping inside and kicking off her slides. The villa was eerily quiet. Usually, there'd be something - music playing, someone clattering around in the kitchen, Yeji barking orders at someone over the phone. But now? Nothing.
She padded through the living room, her bare feet silent on the cool tile. "Yeji? Yuna? Lia?"
Still nothing.
Ryujin's mind began running through the possibilities, and - true to form - her first instinct was to assume everyone was off doing something filthy.
Yeji's probably at that Pilates class. She never misses it, even on vacation. Bet she's already sizing up which instructor she wants to ruin.
Chaeryeong mentioned tennis with Sunwoo this morning. Those two are probably off in some equipment shed. Girl's into that romantic bondage shit - wouldn't surprise me if he's got her bent over a net right now.
Yuna went to the beach hours ago. Probably seduced some tourist and drained his soul out through his dick by now. Or she's hunting for round two.
And Minho... Ryujin frowned. The guy was a mystery. She knew he and Yeji had some kind of arrangement - back at the dorms, the walls weren't exactly soundproof. Ryujin had heard them more than once, Yeji's voice carrying through the walls, shamelessly loud, all breathy moans and sharp gasps and muted screams. But whenever anyone asked, Yeji swore they weren't dating.
Ryujin had learned not to push it after the yacht party in Busan six months ago. She'd made some offhand comment about Minho being "available," and Yeji had pulled her aside with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"He's not," Yeji had said quietly. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."
"I was just -"
"I mean it, Ryujin-ah." Yeji's voice had been soft but absolutely steel. "Leave him out of it."
Ryujin had laughed it off at the time, but the message was clear: Yeji didn't share this one.
How the hell did some regular guy get that deep into Yeji's guard anyway? Ryujin wondered, not for the first time. Girl's got standards higher than Namsam tower, and she's out here fucking the cream of the crop in this industry. He must have a magic dick or something.
But the silence was getting to her. And more importantly, the ache between her legs was getting worse. Last night's fuckfest had left her sore but not satisfied - never satisfied. The body check had only made her hornier, the clinical probing of her well-used pussy a reminder of how badly she needed to get off again.
Pool time, she decided. Quality alone time with my toys.
She headed upstairs, her bare feet silent on the steps. As she walked down the hallway toward her room, she passed by Lia's door and heard muffled sounds - shuffling, maybe a low moan.
She paused, then knocked once. "Lia-unnie? You alive in there?"
No response.
Ryujin smirked. Either passed out or getting dicked down by Minjun. Probably the latter.
Get yours, girl, Ryujin thought, chuckling to herself. She decided to leave them be and continued to her own room.
Inside, she headed straight for her suitcase. Unzipping the hidden compartment she'd sewn into the lining herself, she pulled out her vacation collection - a carefully curated arsenal that would make even the most seasoned sex shop owner raise an eyebrow.
First, The Beast: a thick, veined, purple silicone dildo that was at least nine inches long and as thick as her wrist. She'd had it custom-made in Tokyo last year, and it was her go-to when human cocks weren't cutting it. The weight of it in her hand always made her pussy clench in anticipation.
Next to it, a sleek, curved G-spot vibrator in matte black, waterproof and powerful enough to make her squirt in under a minute if she angled it right.
Then, a jeweled butt plug - one she'd sometimes lent to Yeji during their drunken late-night "toy comparison" sessions in the dorms. Yeji had her own, but she claimed Ryujin's was "more aesthetically pleasing."
A waterproof bullet vibe, small but devastating when pressed directly against her clit.
And finally, the piece de resistance: a translucent, double-ended dildo she'd bought on a whim at the Red Light District in Amsterdam. She and Yeji had talked about using it together once - drunk after some award show, sprawled on the hotel bed, laughing about who could take more inches. "When we're both feeling adventurous," Yeji had said, her eyes glinting with that competitive spark. "I'll make you tap out first. Bet I can take the whole thing before you can."
But that was years ago, back when Yeji was still fun. These days, when Ryujin suggested anything - parties, group hangs with other idols, even just going out - Yeji had excuses. "I'm tired." "I have plans." "Next time, Ryuddaeng."
Ryujin ran her thumb over the smooth silicone, frowning. When was the last time Yeji had even mentioned hooking up with someone new? The Busan yacht party, maybe? And even then, she hadn't hooked up with anyone - just spent the entire night glued to that Minho guy's side, shooting death glares at anyone who looked at him too long. It was bizzare, her being suddenly territorial in a way that didn't match her whole "I don't do relationships" thing.
When Ryujin had teased her about it the next morning - "So where did you and your 'trainee friend' sneak off to fuck last night?" - Yeji had gotten weirdly defensive. "We didn't. He's literally just my friend from trainee days. Stop making everything sexual."
Bullshit. Ryujin had seen the way Yeji's hand lingered on his lower back, possessive and familiar. The way she'd leaned into him when she laughed, her body language screaming mine to anyone paying attention. Even Chaeryeong - sweet, romantic Chaeryeong who normally saw love stories in every interaction - had pulled Ryujin aside and whispered, "Unnie's totally in bed with him, right? Like, that's not just me being delusional?"
No, it wasn't just her. Everyone could see it except apparently Yeji herself. Or maybe she could see it and was just too fucking stubborn to admit it.
Whatever. Yeji could do her hermit routine. Ryujin had plenty of other ways to entertain herself.
Ryujin grabbed The Beast and the bullet vibe, tucking them under her arm, then paused. She glanced down at herself - still in the oversized hoodie and bike shorts she'd thrown on for the ride to the clinic.
Should probably change into a swimsuit though, she thought, eyeing her open trunk.
She walked over and flipped open the section where she'd packed her beach gear. A riot of fabric spilled out - string bikinis in every color, one-pieces with strategic cutouts, that ridiculous neon pink thong set Yeji had dared her to buy in Myeongdong.
Her fingers found the light green bikini she'd bought specifically for this trip. Triangle top, thin as fuck, with those decorative buttons that literally did nothing. Bottoms with side ties that looked like they'd come undone if you sneezed.
She held it up, considering.
Then she remembered: Oh right... the villa's empty. Literally no one's here.
"Fuck it," she muttered, tossing the bikini back into the trunk.
She peeled off her hoodie in one smooth motion, tossing it onto the bed. Her sports bra followed - a simple black thing that had been compressing her tits all morning. She sighed with relief as they bounced free, her wide-set B-cups settling naturally on her broad chest. They were surprisingly soft compared to the rest of her body, pale and full, with large brown nipples that were already perking up in the cool air.
Next came the bike shorts, which she shimmied down her thick, muscular thighs. She kicked them off along with her underwear - basic cotton boyshorts because she'd learned long ago that anything lacy just got destroyed by her lifestyle.
She stood there for a moment, completely naked, and caught her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the closet door.
Not bad, she thought, striking a mock pose.
Ryujin knew she wasn't built like the other members. She wasn't toned and athetic like Yeji, wasn't delicate and elegant like Chaeryeong, wasn't blessed with Yuna's godly hips and infinite legs. But what she had was power. Presence. A body that screamed I can fuck you into the mattress and then do it again.
She glanced down. The wild tangle of dark hair between her legs hadn't been touched by a razor in months - maybe years. She'd tried waxing once and hated the sting, tried shaving and got irritated bumps that made dancing hell. So she'd said fuck it and let nature take its course. That suited her, anyway.
She ran a hand down her stomach, fingers brushing through the hair, and felt the familiar throb of arousal. The medical checkup this morning, the memories of last night, the lecture from Manager Park - it had all left her wound tighter than a spring.
Pool time, she decided again, grabbing her toys. Definitely pool time.
She padded out of her room naked, not bothering with even a towel. The tiles were cool under her bare feet as she made her way back downstairs, The Beast tucked under one arm, the bullet vibe in her other hand.
The villa was still silent. Still empty.
Perfect.
She slid open the glass door to the pool deck, and the late morning sun hit her skin like a warm blanket. The terrace was deserted - lounge chairs empty, pool surface perfectly still, not a soul in sight.
Ryujin grinned, striding out onto the deck completely naked and unbothered, her tits bouncing lightly with each step, her unshaved pussy on full display to absolutely no one.
This was going to be a good morning.
[MINHO'S POV - FIRST PERSON]
"YO! ANYONE HOME?"
Ryujin's voice hit like a fucking air horn, and every muscle in my body locked up. Yuna and I were still on the lounge chair, naked, her pussy still leaking my cum onto the deck in thick, obscene globs. My cock was soft, spent, useless - but very much still there, and very much still covered in evidence.
Our eyes met, wide with panic.
"Fuck," I mouthed.
"Shit," Yuna mouthed back.
We heard Ryujin's voice moving through the villa, calling out for the others. It got fainter as she went upstairs, but we both knew she'd be back down any second.
"What do we do?" I whispered, barely audible.
Yuna's eyes darted around the pool area, and then she saw it - the outdoor shower cubicle at the far end of the terrace. It was just a wooden box with slatted walls, offering the illusion of privacy from a distance but absolutely useless up close.
"Over there," she breathed, pointing.
"Yuna, that's not going to -"
But she wasn't listening. She grabbed my cock - my cock, not my hand, which I found both hilarious and concerning - and yanked me forward. I bit back a yelp as she dragged me off the chair, our bodies still slick with sweat and cum, and pulled me across the pool deck. We left a trail of wet footprints and cum drips that could probably be seen from space.
"Come on!" she hissed, shoving me toward the shower.
I stumbled forward, my soft, abused cock flopping around like a dying fish, and reached the cubicle just as we heard the villa's sliding door open.
I yanked the door open, threw myself inside, and Yuna pressed in behind me, her body flush against mine as she eased the door shut with agonizing slowness. Through the slats, I could see the poolside lounge chair - towels bunched up, wet spots everywhere, and a fucking cum puddle glistening in the sun. If Ryujin looked at it for more than two seconds, we were dead.
The space was tiny. Her small, perky tits were crushed against my chest, her hard nipples digging into my skin. My cock, still sticky and soft, was pressed against her flat stomach, and I could feel her pussy - still leaking my cum - against my thigh.
She looked up at me with those huge, puppy-dog eyes, one finger pressed to her lips in a silent plea: Don't. Make. A. Sound.
I nodded, my heart hammering in my chest.
And then, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, my cock twitched.
Yuna's eyes widened, and she glanced down, then back up at me with a look that clearly said, Are you fucking kidding me right now?
I couldn't help it. She was pressed against me, naked and warm and still smelling like sex, and my traitorous cock was apparently ready for round six.
She turned slightly, trying to peek through the slats to see where Ryujin was, and her ass - that perfect, tight, bouncy ass - pressed directly against my now half-hard cock.
In an instant, I was rock-hard again.
I couldn't stop myself. I pushed forward, my cock sliding between her ass cheeks, and Yuna let out the softest, most desperate whimper I'd ever heard.
She turned her head, her lips right next to my ear, and whispered, "Don't. You. Dare." But even as she said it, her hand slid back, fingers wrapping around my cock, giving it one slow, deliberate stroke.
Her body betrayed her. Her hips pushed back, just slightly, grinding against me.
And that's when we heard Ryujin's footsteps on the pool deck, less than ten feet away.
Chapter 9: Can of Worms
Confrontation. Chaos. The dragon wakes.
[MINHO'S POV - FIRST PERSON]
Ryujin's footsteps echoed across the pool deck like gunshots, each one making my heart slam harder against my ribs. Yuna was still pressed against me in the cramped shower cubicle, her entire body trembling - whether from fear or arousal, I couldn't tell. Probably both.
Through the narrow gaps in the wooden slats, I had a perfect view of the pool area. Ryujin emerged fully onto the terrace, and my breath caught.
She was completely naked.
Apart from Yuna - who I'd just spent the last hour fucking in every position imaginable, and whose cum-filled pussy was currently pressed against my back in this death trap of a shower cubicle - I'd never seen any of the other ITZY members nude before. Yeji was weirdly territorial about me, usually keeping me separate from the others despite how freely she fucked around the industry herself. But now, watching Ryujin stride confidently across the deck without a stitch of clothing, I understood why she had such a fierce reputation.
She was built like a goddamn tank. Not in a bad way - in a powerful, intimidating, absolutely fuckable way. Her body was stocky and solid, all compact muscle and curves in the right places. Her thighs were thick and strong, the kind that could probably crush a man's head if she wanted to. Her torso was straight and athletic, broad shoulders tapering to a sturdy core. And her tits - surprisingly soft-looking B-cups that contrasted with the rest of her powerful frame - bounced slightly as she walked.
But it was her pussy that made my cock twitch involuntarily inside the tight space. Even from this distance, I could see it clearly - completely unshaved, a wild tangle of dark hair framing swollen, perpetually damp lips that looked like they'd seen a lot of action. Her outer lips were thick and meaty, and I swore I could see a hint of pink peeking through.
Yuna felt my cock harden further against her and shot me a warning glare. I mouthed sorry, but honestly, I wasn't.
Ryujin approached the lounge chair - the same one Yuna and I had just vacated - and flopped down onto it without a second thought.
[RYUJIN'S POV - THIRD PERSON]
The cushion squished beneath Ryujin's ass as she settled onto the lounge chair, and she frowned slightly. It was damp. Not pool-water damp, but... sticky. Warm. She shifted her hips, feeling the slickness transfer to her skin.
Under normal circumstances, she might have investigated. But right now, her pussy was throbbing so hard she could barely think straight. The medical checkup this morning, the lecture from Manager Park, the memories of last night's five-way fuckfest with those frat boys - it had all left her wound up tighter than a drum.
She reached for her phone and her collection of toys, arranging them on the side table like a surgeon prepping for an operation. She propped the phone against a water bottle at the perfect angle to see the screen. The Beast - that monstrous purple dildo that was thicker than most men's wrists - sat ready. She grabbed the waterproof bullet vibe first, clicking it to the highest setting. The angry buzz filled the air.
Ryujin unlocked her phone and navigated to her hidden folder, scrolling past dozens of videos. She paused on one labeled "Natty_TheShow_Sticky_Afterparty_2024.mp4" - a secret recording Lia had sourced from the afterparty following KISS OF LIFE's first-ever music show win for "Sticky" back in July 2024. Natty had been riding high on the victory, and Yeji - being the generous unnie she was - had set her up with Hyunjin and Felix as a celebration gift. Natty had apparently decided to thank them by getting absolutely destroyed in a hotel room. Ryujin had watched it at least a dozen times, and it never got old.
She pressed play, then grabbed her wireless earbuds from the side table, popping them in. The audio quality was way better than phone speakers, and she didn't need the whole neighborhood hearing Natty getting railed.
The video started with shaky footage of a hotel room, the camera clearly propped on a nightstand. In the frame, Natty was on all fours on the bed, completely naked, her face pressed into the mattress. Behind her stood two men - Ryujin recognized them as Hyunjin and Felix, both shirtless, both with their cocks out.
The angle was obscene. The camera captured everything - Natty's face, twisted in pleasure, drool pooling on the sheets. Her pussy, stretched around Felix's thick cock as he pounded into her from behind. And her ass, where Hyunjin was slowly working his cock into her tight hole.
"Fuck - yes - harder - " Natty's voice came through the earbuds, raw and desperate.
Ryujin spread her legs wide on the lounge chair, not caring about the mysterious dampness beneath her. She pressed the bullet vibe directly against her clit and groaned at the instant surge of pleasure.
"Fuck..." she breathed, her head falling back.
With her free hand, she grabbed The Beast. She licked her palm - forgot the lube upstairs, whatever - and smeared spit along the massive silicone shaft. Then she positioned the bulbous head at her entrance.
On her phone, Natty was screaming now as both men thrust into her simultaneously, filling both holes.
Ryujin pushed. Her cunt took the toy's head with a wet squelch - years of stretching herself wider and wider meant she could take almost anything now. She grunted, forcing it deeper, feeling the burn as it stretched her open. Inch by inch, she worked it in until the base pressed against her outer lips.
"Shit - " she hissed, her thighs quivering. The fullness was overwhelming, bordering on painful, but that's exactly what she needed.
She started pumping the dildo in and out, matching the rhythm of the fucking on her phone screen. The bullet vibe buzzed relentlessly against her clit, and within seconds, she was moaning openly, her voice echoing across the empty pool deck.
[MINHO'S POV - FIRST PERSON]
"Holy fuck," I whispered, my eyes glued to the scene unfolding through the slats.
Yuna was peeking too, her breath hot against my neck. "Wait, is that The Beast?" Her whisper was way too loud. "Oh my god it is. Yeji mentioned it once and I thought she was bullshitting but that's... that's crazy. Why am I turned on right now? This is so fucked up."
It was massive. And Ryujin was taking it like an absolute champion, slamming it into herself with brutal force while the bullet vibe worked her clit. Her moans drifted across the deck, raw and uninhibited, mixing with the sounds coming from whatever porn she was watching on her phone.
The sight was incredibly erotic. Watching someone pleasure themselves - especially someone as wild and shameless as Ryujin - was like witnessing something private and forbidden. My cock, which had been half-hard from the moment Yuna pressed against me, was now fully erect again, throbbing insistently against her lower back.
Yuna shifted slightly to get a better view, and the movement had consequences.
We were both still slick - drenched in sweat, pool water, and the copious fluids from our marathon fuck session. Her pussy was still gaping slightly from the pounding I'd given her, leaking my cum down her thighs. And when she shifted, pressing her ass back against me for balance, my cock slipped down from where it had been wedged between her ass cheeks.
The head caught on something soft and wet.
Her pussy lips.
And because she was so open, so stretched, so impossibly slick with our mixed fluids, there was zero resistance.
Schlock.
My cock slipped inside her.
All the way.
In one smooth, unintentional glide, I was buried to the hilt in her heat.
Yuna's entire body went rigid. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her eyes going wide as dinner plates. She whipped her head around to stare at me, her expression a mixture of shock, accusation, and - unmistakably - arousal.
She mouthed silently: "How are you still hard?!"
I mouthed back: "I don't know!"
Her eyes narrowed: "Seriously?!"
She clamped a hand over her own mouth to stifle any sound, her eyebrows shooting up. Through the slats, we could still see Ryujin, completely oblivious, lost in her own world of pleasure as she destroyed her pussy with that monster dildo.
I tried to pull back, to give Yuna space, but the shower cubicle was too small. Any movement just shifted the angle, and pulling back even slightly made my cock drag along her sensitive walls, making her eyes flutter.
She tried to push forward, away from me, but that just pressed her against the wooden door, which creaked ominously. She froze.
We were trapped. I was balls-deep inside her, my cock throbbing in the velvet heat of her cum-filled pussy, and neither of us could move without risking discovery.
Yuna turned her head, her lips right next to my ear. "Don't. Move," she hissed, breath shaking.
But her body betrayed her. I felt her pussy clench around me - a deliberate squeeze that made my breath hitch. She did it again, tighter this time, and I had to bite my lip to keep from groaning.
"Yuna - " I breathed.
"Shut up," she hissed back, but there was no real heat in her words. Because even as she said it, she pushed back against me, taking me impossibly deeper.
We started moving. Small thrusts at first, barely more than flexing. I held her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh, and made the tiniest rocking motion. She matched me, pushing back, and the friction - oh man, the friction - was exquisite.
Every time Ryujin let out a particularly loud moan outside, we took advantage of the noise cover. I'd pull back an inch and thrust forward, and Yuna would suppress a whimper by biting her own hand.
"This is - fuck - this is so wrong," she whispered, trembling. "Morally, spiritually, career-endingly wrong."
"Do you want me to stop?" I asked, though I wasn't sure I could even if she said yes.
She was quiet for a moment, and then: "No. Just - just go slow. If she catches us, I'll literally never hear the end of it."
So we fucked in agonizing slow motion. Standing doggy style in a wooden box, watching Ryujin pleasure herself ten feet away, moving so carefully that every thrust felt like it lasted an eternity. The wet sounds of our coupling were muffled by Ryujin's own moans and the buzzing of her vibrator, but every time the deck went quiet, we froze, holding our breath.
Yuna's pussy was a mess - red, puffy, absolutely soaked with my previous load and her own juices. Every thrust made obscene squelching sounds that I was certain would give us away, but somehow, Ryujin remained oblivious.
But slow wasn't enough. The animal urges - the same primal instincts that had driven us to fuck like rabbits earlier - were building again. Yuna's breathing got faster, more desperate. Her hand reached back to grip my thigh, nails digging in.
"I need - " she gasped. "I need more."
"Yuna, if we - "
She cut me off by spinning around in the tight space, nearly kneeing me in the balls in the process. Now we were face-to-face, her huge puppy-dog eyes boring into mine, dark with lust. She hooked one leg over my hip, opening herself up completely.
"Fuck me," she demanded in a whisper, grabbing my jaw. "Please. I need it. I'm gonna lose my fucking mind."
I didn't need to be told twice.
I grabbed her ass with both hands, lifting her slightly so she was impaled on my cock at a better angle. The position was precarious - one wrong move and we'd both crash through the wooden door - but I didn't care. I drove into her, and she immediately buried her face in my neck to muffle her scream.
We fell into a frantic rhythm. I pumped into her, my hips moving in short, sharp thrusts, while she clung to me like a lifeline. Her leg wrapped tighter around my waist, her heel digging into my lower back. The wet slapping sounds of our bodies connecting filled the small space, surely audible over the wind, but Ryujin's own pleasure sounds masked everything.
I attacked her mouth with mine, swallowing her whimpers and moans. Our tongues tangled desperately as I fucked her against the wall, her small tits pressed flat against my chest. She tasted like salt and desperation and need.
"Harder," she gasped into my mouth between kisses. "Please - Minho - harder - "
I obliged, slamming into her with more force. Her pussy was absolutely wrecked - puffy, red, gaping, and still somehow gripping me like a vice. I could feel my earlier loads sloshing around inside her, making every thrust slicker and filthier.
"Look at me," I commanded, pulling back from the kiss.
She opened her eyes, and the raw emotion I saw there - lust, yes, but also something deeper, more vulnerable - nearly undid me.
"You feel so fucking good," I told her, my voice rough. "Your pussy is perfect. So tight. So wet. Taking my cock so well."
"Minho - " she whimpered, her nails raking down my back. "I'm close - I'm so close - "
"Me too," I grunted, feeling the familiar heat building in my balls. "Fuck, Yuna, I'm gonna cum again - "
"Inside," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please - inside - fill me up - "
Outside, we heard Ryujin cry out: "FUCK! YES! RIGHT THERE!"
Taking advantage of the noise, I let go of my restraint. I pounded into Yuna with everything I had, the shower cubicle creaking and swaying from the force. She clung to me, her mouth open in a silent scream, her pussy clenching rhythmically as her orgasm built.
"Minho - Minho - Minho - " she chanted, and then she shattered.
Her orgasm hit like a tidal wave. Her entire body went rigid, her pussy clamping down on me so hard it almost hurt. I felt her gush around my cock, a flood of fluids that soaked both our thighs. Her eyes rolled back, her mouth frozen open in ecstasy.
I was right behind her. With a final, brutal thrust, I buried myself to the hilt and came.
My sixth orgasm of the day ripped through me. It should have been impossible - I should have been shooting dust by now - but somehow, my body found more. I pumped load after thick load into her already overfilled pussy, my cock pulsing with each spurt. It felt endless, overwhelming, like every nerve in my body was firing at once.
Yuna was trembling, her leg shaking where it was hooked around my waist. Her hand flailed out, seeking purchase, seeking balance -
And grabbed the shower handle.
HISSSSS -
The overhead shower roared to life, dumping ice-cold water onto both of us. Yuna yelped, her hand immediately slapping the handle back, cutting the flow.
The damage was done.
Silence.
My cock was still pulsing inside her. Still pumping cum into her womb. My body hadn't gotten the message yet that we were about to die - it was still riding the waves of orgasm, still flooding her with warmth, still throbbing with aftershocks.
But my brain - my brain was screaming.
Then, from outside: "What the fuck?"
Time stopped.
We froze. Yuna's eyes met mine, wide with terror, her pupils blown. I could feel her heart hammering against my chest. Could feel her pussy clenching around me in fear, which only made my cock pulse harder, which made more cum leak into her -
No. Stop. Stop cumming. STOP -
But my body wouldn't listen.
We heard the sound of Ryujin's phone being paused.
Then the creak of the lounge chair as she stood up.
Another pulse. Another spurt. My cock kept going, the orgasm stretched out impossibly long, lengthened by terror into something that felt like it would never end.
"Hello?" Ryujin called out.
Footsteps. Deliberate. Getting closer.
Move, my brain screamed. Pull out. Hide. Do SOMETHING.
But we were locked together. Yuna's leg was hooked over my hip, her arms wrapped around my neck. My hands were gripping her ass. My cock was still twitching inside her, still releasing weak spurts with each terrified heartbeat. We couldn't separate without making noise. Couldn't move without the door creaking.
Pulse. Spurt. Pulse. Spurt.
Stop. Please fucking stop -
"If that's some fucking maintenance guy sneaking around while I'm trying to rub one out, I swear to god - "
The footsteps were right outside the door now.
Yuna's nails dug into my shoulders. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps against my neck.
My cock pulsed again. And again. The fear should have killed my erection, should have ended this, but instead it stretched everything out - sensation, time, the orgasm itself - into an agonizing eternity.
The door handle rattled.
Another throb. Another weak spurt painting her walls.
I was so fucked.
My cock gave another involuntary pulse - still going, still finishing, completely oblivious to the fact that my entire world was about to end.
The door swung open.
Sunlight flooded the cramped space, blinding after the shadows.
***
[RYUJIN'S POV - THIRD PERSON]
Ryujin had been right there. Right on the fucking edge.
On her phone screen, Natty was cumming, both holes stuffed with cock, her face a mess of tears and drool. In reality, The Beast was hitting Ryujin's cervix at just the right angle, and the bullet vibe was turning her clit into a numb, oversensitive mess. She was seconds - seconds - away from a leg-shaking, soul-destroying orgasm.
And then - the sound of rushing water.
It cut through the air, distinct and jarring and completely unexpected. Ryujin's hips froze mid-buck, her brain trying to process what she'd just heard.
The sound stopped as abruptly as it had started.
She paused the video on her phone, ripping off her earbuds. Her heavy breathing was the only sound on the deck now.
"What the fuck?" she muttered, staring at the wooden shower cubicle at the far end of the pool.
Nothing.
She knew she was alone. She'd checked the whole villa. Unless...
"Hello?" she called out, annoyance flaring in her chest.
Still nothing.
"If that's maintenance creeping around while I'm trying to rub one out, I swear to god - "
She stood up. In her haste and horniness, she didn't bother removing The Beast. The massive dildo was still buried inside her, the base protruding from her crotch like a purple handle. She waddled across the deck, naked, furious, and still clutching the buzzing bullet vibe.
Each step made the dildo shift inside her, hitting sensitive spots that made her pussy clench involuntarily. Under different circumstances, she might have enjoyed it. Right now, she was just pissed.
She reached the wooden door of the shower cubicle. She grabbed the handle without knocking - because why the fuck would she knock on her own villa's outdoor shower? - and yanked it open.
Sunlight flooded the dark interior.
And Ryujin's brain exploded.
***
Inside the cramped cubicle, crammed together like guilty sardines, were Minho and Yuna.
They were frozen in a position that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
Minho was backed against the far wall, his hands gripping Yuna's ass. Yuna was facing him, one leg hooked high over his hip, her arms wrapped around his neck. Her hair was plastered to her face, wet from the brief shower blast. Water droplets ran down both their bodies.
And connecting them - plain as fucking day, impossible to misinterpret - was Minho's cock, buried to the hilt inside Yuna's pussy.
Ryujin's eyes traveled down, taking in every detail with the precision of a crime scene investigator.
Yuna's pussy was absolutely wrecked. Her lips were swollen and red, stretched obscenely around Minho's thick shaft. White foam - clearly cum, and lots of it - was visible at the point of connection, where their bodies met. More of it dripped down Yuna's inner thigh in thick rivulets, mixing with clear fluids.
As Ryujin watched, frozen in her own shock, Minho's cock gave an involuntary throb inside Yuna. A fresh spurt of white leaked from where they were connected, adding to the puddle forming on the shower floor.
They stared at Ryujin.
Ryujin stared back.
Her eyes went from their faces, to where they were joined, to the cum dripping down Yuna's leg, to the wet footprints leading from the lounge chair to the shower - the same chair she'd been laying on - and suddenly, everything clicked into place.
The damp cushion. The sticky warmth. The smell.
For a moment, her brain just... stalled.
Ryujin had walked in expecting to find maybe a leaky pipe. A broken shower head. Maybe that fucking peacock from down the beach.
Not this.
Not Shin Yuna - wrapped around Yeji's guy, mid-fuck, covered in evidence.
Her mind fired in rapid succession:
Yuna.
Of fucking course it's Yuna.
The girl who'd been eye-fucking every male idol at award shows since debut. The girl who bombed their group chat with thirst tweets at 3 AM. The girl who'd gotten into a screaming match with Ryujin last month over who got to take home that backup dancer. The girl who masturbated in the dressing room van during music show circuits and thought nobody noticed. The girl who collected men like fucking Pokémon cards and got competitive about bodycount during drunk confessions.
Yuna was horny, competitive, and had zero impulse control on her best days.
But still -
Ryujin's eyes tracked the evidence: cum dripping down Yuna's thighs, her absolutely demolished pussy, the damp lounge chair, the wet footprints.
Out of ALL the dick at Aewol - all the actors, idols, athletes throwing themselves at her - she went after YEJI's?
Because that's what Minho was, right? Yeji's secret boyfriend. The guy she'd been weirdly territorial about since that Busan party. The one time Yeji had ever introduced a man to them and immediately yanked him away with that possessive grip. He had to be.
Ryujin remembered the yacht party six months ago - the way Yeji held onto his arm, the defensive edge in her voice when she said "friend," the warning she'd given Ryujin afterward:
"Stay away from him, Ryuddaeng. I mean it. We share guys all the time, you know that. But not this one. Not him."
But Ryujin had also doubted it. Because Yeji didn't DO boyfriends. Yeji didn't catch feelings. And every time Ryujin had asked directly, Yeji would deny it with that flat, annoyed look that said "drop it."
So Ryujin had filed it away as probably secret boyfriend but also maybe I'm reading too much into this because Yeji dating anyone is fucking weird.
But regardless of WHAT Minho was to Yeji - boyfriend, favorite fuck, whatever - one thing was crystal fucking clear:
Yeji had drawn a line. A hard line. The kind Yeji never drew.
And Yuna, that competitive little bitch, had gone and fucked him anyway.
The shock on Ryujin's face melted away - not into anger or concern for Yeji's feelings (they'd deal with that shitstorm later), but into something far more immediate:
Her eyes flicked down involuntarily - well, Yuna didn't have balls, but Minho sure as fuck did, and from this angle they were slapping wet against Yuna's ass with every frozen micro-twitch.
Fucking hell.
The corner of her mouth twitched.
This was the messiest, most entertaining disaster she'd walked into in months. And Ryujin had never been good at walking away from entertaining disasters.
"Oh my god," Ryujin breathed.
She stood there, naked, a massive purple dildo still protruding from her own pussy, a vibrator buzzing in her hand, staring at her group's maknae getting caught mid-creampie by Yeji's supposed "friend."
She looked at Yuna's expression - not just mortified, but terrified. Because Yuna knew exactly what she'd done. Knew exactly whose man she'd just fucked. Knew exactly how Yeji was going to react when she found out.
Then she looked at Minho's deer-in-headlights panic - this poor bastard looked like he wanted to dissolve into the shower tiles.
Her gaze shifted down to where they were still connected - his cock buried in Yuna, still visibly pulsing with aftershocks.
Then she looked down at herself - naked, dripping pool water, The Beast lodged inside her, vibrator still buzzing.
The outdoor shower dripped. The vibrator in her hand buzzed. The Beast shifted inside her with each breath. The absurdity of the moment hung in the air - all three of them caught mid-sex-act, all naked, all frozen.
The shock on her face slowly, agonizingly, melted away like ice in the sun. Her eyes narrowed. The corner of her mouth twitched.
"Well," she said, and a laugh bubbled up - sharp, delighted, slightly manic. "This is fucking awkward."
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index
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A towel drops. Two bodies fall. A morning unravels.
word count: ~10.6k
Characters: Male Reader (OC: Minho) x ITZY Shin Yuna
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
A/N: Originally published as 5 separate chapters; now remastered and combined into one continuous scene.
Chapter 2: The Fall
Heat by the pool. A slippery slope.
Her eyes flicked down to the tent rapidly forming in my towel.
Her mouth fell open slightly. I watched her pupils dilate in real-time.
“Oh my god,” she breathed. “Did you - are you hard? From watching me?”
The accusation in her voice was undercut by the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips.
“I -” My voice came out rougher than intended. “I wasn’t watching, I just -”
“You were TOTALLY watching!” But she was smiling now. That trademark Yuna confidence - the same one that had millions of people glued to their screens watching her fancams, begging for more - was flooding back in, replacing the flustered panic from seconds ago. Except this time, it wasn’t filtered through a phone screen. It was right here, soaking wet and naked and absolutely lethal.
She stood up fully - all legs and wet skin and that ridiculously expensive bikini barely containing anything. Up close, her body was even more insane. Long, toned legs that seemed to go on forever. A tiny waist flaring into surprisingly full hips. Her small tits pushed against the bikini top, nipples clearly visible through the thin black fabric. The sash clung to her curves, somehow emphasizing everything.
“Oh my god, you perv,” she said, taking a step closer. Water droplets rolled down her neck, disappearing between her breasts. “How long were you standing there?”
“Yuna -”
“No no no, I’m genuinely curious.” Another step. I could smell the ocean salt on her skin, mixed with something warmer. Muskier. “Because if you JUST got here, okay, whatever. But if you were like... watching me for a while...”
She was close now. Close enough that I could see the goosebumps on her arms despite the heat, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.
“...then that’s kind of insane, right? That’s like, criminally horny behavior. Watching your girlfriend’s maknae finger herself and getting hard about it?”
“She’s not my -” I started, but the words caught in my throat.
Yuna rolled those humongous puppy eyes.
“I should go -” I tried to cover myself with the towel, stammering. “I’m just heading to - Yeji locked me out of the bathroom because she needs to get to her Pilates class and -”
“You should,” she agreed, but she was still advancing. “Unnie would literally kill you. Like, actual murder. Girlfriend or not.”
Her eyes dropped to the tent in my towel again. Lingered.
“But also...” Her voice dropped, playful and dangerous. “You’re still here.”
She took one more step, close enough now that if I reached out, I could touch her.
“Tell me something, oppa.” She tilted her head, and something in her expression shifted - that sly, foxy calculation I’d seen on stage a hundred times. “When you heard me just now... getting myself off...” Her voice dropped lower, more suggestive. “Did it turn you on?”
She gestured at her body - the wet bikini, the long legs, everything on display.
“You’re telling me you never had your hand wrapped around -”
Her fingers reached out, lightning quick, and brushed against the tent in my towel.
The touch - even through fabric - sent a jolt through me. My body betrayed me completely. My cock jerked hard against the towel, and the movement was enough to loosen the tuck I’d made at my waist.
The towel fell.
It dropped to the tiles with a wet slap, and suddenly I was standing there completely exposed - my cock springing up, thick and still glazed with the mixture of mine and Yeji’s cum, evidence of our morning devotion painted across every inch.
Yuna’s breath caught audibly. Her eyes went wide as saucers, pupils blown so dark they swallowed the brown, her gaze locked onto my cock like a predator spotting prey.
I watched her throat work as she swallowed. Hard.
She took an unconscious step closer, and I saw the exact moment her brain registered what she was seeing - not just size, but evidence. The glossy sheen wasn’t sweat. Her eyes traced the dried streaks along my shaft, the way it caught the sunlight, still fresh enough to glisten.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, tinged with genuine shock.
Her cheeks and ears flushed a deep crimson that spread down her neck - stark contrast to her earlier confidence, the physical evidence of genuine fluster battling with rapidly mounting arousal. The blush deepened as her eyes traced every detail, her breath quickening.
Her hand moved to her own throat, fingers pressing there like she was imagining it. Then lower, absently grazing her collarbone. Her nipples visibly hardened further through the thin bikini fabric, betraying how quickly embarrassment was losing ground to hunger.
“Unnie never mentioned you were packing like that.” A pause, her eyes widening further as another realization hit. “Actually, she basically never mentions you at all.”
The way she said it made it sound like Yeji had been hoarding something valuable. Something Yuna suddenly wanted to taste.
Something flickered across her face - too quick to fully name. Hurt? Curiosity? The faintest shadow of why would she hide this from me?
But it vanished as fast as it appeared, replaced by that calculating look I’d seen her use on stage when she knew the camera was on her. Her tongue swept across her bottom lip.
Her expression shifted as understanding dawned. “Wait. THAT’S why she keeps you around.” A breathless laugh, but there was an edge to it now - something competitive, almost vindictive. “You’re not her boyfriend - you must be her dick appointment. Her personal premium subscription.”
I saw her eyes trace every detail - the thick shaft, the prominent veins, the way the head glistened with dried cum. Her pupils dilated even further, her breath quickened, and I watched in real-time as arousal replaced everything else.
The sound of the front door slamming echoed across the villa, followed by a car engine starting. Yeji’s manager, picking her up for class. We were alone now. Completely, utterly alone.
And that’s when I saw it - the exact moment an intrusive thought crossed Yuna’s mind. Her expression shifted from shocked to calculating, a sly, foxy grin spreading across her face.
“So...” She looked up from my cock to meet my eyes. “You’re walking around with THAT, and you got hard looking at me.” Her tone was mocking, teasing, but laced with raw desire. “And here I thought unnie was hiding some like, casual situationship or whatever. But no wonder she keeps coming back to you when half the industry’s in her DMs. Like, I GET it now.”
She took a step toward me, barefoot, her hips swaying, every inch the sultry, seductive siren that had driven countless men to their knees. The defensive panic had completely evaporated, replaced by something more familiar. That Yuna confidence in full force.
The wet bikini clung to every curve - all legs and wet skin and that ridiculously expensive three-piece barely containing anything. The chain straps glinted in the sunlight. Her nipples were hard as diamonds, poking through the thin fabric.
“You’ve jerked off to me before, right? Like, actually stroked this cock -” She gestured at it with zero shame, “ - thinking about fucking me?” She tilted her head, eyes glinting with something between amusement and hunger. “Come on, oppa. Be honest. All those fancams with millions of views? The ones where I’m doing body rolls in that tiny skirt, or when I’m on the floor with my legs spread?”
She ran her hands down her own body - over her tits, her waist, her hips - putting herself on display.
“Because like... a LOT of guys have wanted to know what that looks like up close.” Her smile turned wicked. “Backup dancers, producers, fans who got lucky. They all watched me on stage and then got to find out if I’m as good off it.” She bit her lip. “And I am, by the way. I’m really, really good.”
She took another step closer, voice dropping.
“So I’m just wondering if you ever thought about it. If you ever watched me perform and imagined what I’d look like under you? What I’d sound like moaning your name?” Her eyes flickered with something vulnerable beneath the bravado. “What it’d feel like to shove this fat cock inside me and make me scream?”
A pause. Her confidence wavered just slightly.
“Because I need to know if I’ve been in your head at all. If you wanted me even a little bit.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “Tell me I’m not the only one who’s been thinking about this.”
“Yuna, I -” I tried to protest, but my voice cracked.
She laughed, a sultry, knowing sound. “Don’t even fake innocence. Your dick is literally snitching on you.” Her eyes never left my cock, which was now fully erect, standing at attention despite having just painted Yeji with three loads just minutes ago.
“You know what’s actually insane? I’ve been SO worked up all morning - literally climbing the walls - and then I finally get a moment to myself by the pool and you CATCH me.” She pouted theatrically, but her eyes remained sharp. Calculating. “And then I come back here and hear you two going at it like you’re filming for OnlyFans. Like, I’m happy for unnie, truly, but oh my GOD.”
She was advancing on me now, each step deliberate, her body language screaming dominance despite her earlier vulnerability when I’d caught her. Water droplets still clung to her skin, rolling down her neck, her collarbone, disappearing between her breasts. I could smell the ocean salt mixed with something warmer. Muskier. Her arousal.
“There I am, walking around with this needy pussy -” She touched herself briefly through the bikini bottoms, almost absently. “ - nobody to help me out. Meanwhile unnie’s upstairs getting her brains fucked out. Kind of unfair, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s only fair,” she continued, her voice a sultry whisper as she invaded my space, so close I could feel the heat radiating off her body, “that I get to try unnie’s favorite toy. Just for a bit. What do you think?”
“Yuna, we shouldn’t -” I took a step back, my mind screaming loyalty to Yeji even as my cock throbbed with need. “Yeji and I - we have a thing, and I don’t -”
“Oh, come on,” Yuna interrupted, rolling her eyes. “Unnie goes through guys like they’re limited edition. Have you SEEN her Kakao? Her Instagram DMs? She probably hooked up with someone at that industry party last week.” She licked her lips. “Besides... look at you. You’re already rock hard for me. Your body’s already made the choice.”
Before I could protest further, she closed the distance. Her hand came up to cup my face, soft and warm, and she leaned in, her lips crashing against mine in a deep, hungry French kiss. Her tongue invaded my mouth, aggressive and demanding, tasting faintly of salt and something sweet.
She pressed her body against mine, and I felt my cock, still slick with cum, pressing into the damp fabric of her bikini bottoms. The pressure made her gasp into my mouth, and then - fuck - my cock slipped through the gap between her thighs, emerging at the other end beneath her tight, perfect ass.
Her thighs clamped around my shaft, soft yet firm, squeezing me as she ground forward. I could feel her lips through the soaked fabric, her heat radiating against my cock. Her small, perky tits pressed against my chest, and I could see the streak of her own pussy juice glistening across her cleavage, mixing with the seawater and sweat.
Her other hand reached down, wrapping around the base of my cock where it protruded from between her thighs, her fingers slick and sure.
“Yuna -” I gasped, breaking the kiss, trying to take a step back to create distance, to think, to -
But I didn’t realize I’d backed all the way to the edge of the pool.
My foot found nothing but air, and I felt myself falling backward, arms windmilling.
Everything slowed - that horrible drawn-out moment where you realize you’ve fucked up but momentum’s already decided your fate.
Just as I began to tip backward, Yuna’s hand closed fully around the base of my cock, her grip instinctive. The sudden backward motion lifted my cock upward, and because her hand was locked on and my shaft was sandwiched between her thighs, the upward force literally lifted her off the ground.
Her eyes went wide, a yelp of surprise escaping her lips as her feet left the terrace. The sudden pressure on her pussy lips through the bikini, combined with being yanked forward, made her gasp and moan simultaneously. Her other hand, which had been on my face, shot to the back of my neck for balance, her nails digging in.
We fell together, a tangle of limbs and lust, hitting the pool with a massive splash that sent water cascading over the edge. The pool chair she’d been sitting on earlier teetered dangerously, saved only by Yuna’s foot catching it mid-fall and kicking it back.
We plunged beneath the surface, the cool water a shocking contrast to the heat of our bodies. I felt her bikini top come loose, her hand still gripping my cock, our bodies intertwined in the churning water.
Chapter 3: Submerged in Sin
Underwater and under pressure. Desire that drowns reason.
We surfaced from the pool, water cascading off our bodies, and I was still disoriented - from the fall, from the shock, from the sheer insanity of the situation. But Yuna wasn’t disoriented at all. She was on me in a flash, her wet body pressing against mine, her lips crashing onto my mouth with desperate hunger. My cock, still rock-hard despite everything, poked against her pubic bone beneath the surface, and she moaned into the kiss, grinding against it.
“Mmm,” she hummed against my lips. “I love how that feels.”
“Yuna - wait -” I tried to break away, tried to summon some semblance of loyalty to Yeji, but Yuna just smiled against my mouth, her eyes glinting with mischief.
She pressed a single finger to my lips, silencing me. Her expression said trust me.
Then she disappeared beneath the water like a mermaid diving for treasure.
And oh god, the treasure she found.
This is really happening. I’m letting Yeji’s maknae suck my dick in a pool while Yeji’s at Pilates. My life choices are -
I felt her lips - warm, wet, impossibly soft - envelop the head of my cock, and every coherent thought evacuated my brain. Her mouth was heaven. She started slow, her tongue swirling around the sensitive tip, lapping up the remnants of my earlier cum and Yeji’s juices like it was her favorite husik. Then she took me deeper, her lips forming a perfect seal as she slid down my shaft inch by glorious inch.
The sensation was indescribable. Sure, Yeji gave head sometimes - she’d practiced it obsessively during our trainee days, treating it like vocal training: methodical, perfecting breath control, studying technique with Type-A precision. But it was functional, clinical even - exercises that happened to help both her throat control and my stress relief, not something she did for pleasure. And she’d made it abundantly clear over the years that she much preferred being on the receiving end, demanding her pussy be worshipped rather than the other way around. I’d never minded. With Yeji, I got everything else - the vulnerability she showed no one, the way she’d grip my hand after, the soft confession in her sleep-roughened voice. But that wasn’t something I could think about right now. Not with Yuna’s tongue doing... that.
Because Yuna was a fucking artist. Her tongue did things I didn’t know were possible, flicking along the underside of my shaft, tracing the prominent vein, then flattening to massage the entire length as she bobbed up and down. She hollowed her cheeks, creating suction that made my knees weak, and then she’d relax, letting me slide deeper into her throat without a hint of gagging.
My hands shot to her head beneath the water, fingers tangling in her soaked hair, and I couldn’t help but buck my hips forward. She took it all, adjusting her angle to let me fuck her mouth, her hands gripping my thighs for balance.
She surfaced after what felt like an eternity, gasping for air, her face breaking through the water in an image that would be burned into my brain forever: lips swollen and glistening, eyes half-lidded with lust, water streaming down her flushed cheeks. Somewhere in the rational part of my brain that was still functioning, I registered that this was Yuna - the girl who called Yeji ‘unnie,’ who’d probably heard us through the walls, who was looking at me right now like I was prey she’d been hunting. That should have scared me. Instead - she looked like a fucking siren, and I was completely under her spell.
The sun beat down on us, turning the pool water into liquid diamonds. I could hear nothing but her breathing, the gentle lap of water against tiles, and the distant crash of ocean waves.
“Where -” I gasped, barely able to form words. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”
She grinned, catching her breath, water droplets falling from her chin. “What, that?” A teasing glint in her eyes. “You liked it?”
“That’s - that’s not an answer -”
But before I could press further, she dove back under.
This time, she took me even deeper, her nose pressing against my pelvis as she deepthroated me with ease. Her tongue worked magic, and I felt her hum around my shaft, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. She came up for air again, that same devastatingly hot expression on her face - mascara slightly smudged, lips swollen, chest heaving - and then went back down, establishing a rhythm: submerge, suck, surface, repeat.
Each time she came up, I got a glimpse of pure debauchery: her small, perky tits now fully exposed, the bikini top lost somewhere in the pool, nipples hard as diamonds, water droplets catching the sunlight, her face a mask of focused pleasure.
“Seriously,” I managed when she surfaced again. “Where did you -”
“Oh my god, so needy.” She licked her lips, grinning. “Fine, I’ll give you my origin story. But you have to earn the rest.” Then she dove back under.
I gave in. Completely, utterly gave in. I started thrusting my hips to meet her mouth, fucking her face beneath the water, and I felt my fourth orgasm of the day building - a deep, primal heat coiling in my balls.
Yuna felt it too. She resurfaced one more time, pulling off my cock with an obscene pop, and her eyes sparkled with sadistic glee.
“Nuh-uh,” she said, pulling back with that wicked grin. “You don’t get to cum yet.” She wrapped her hand around my shaft, squeezing. “I need to hear you say it first. That you want me. That you’ve been thinking about fucking me.” Her eyes gleamed. “Beg a little. It’s hot.”
Of course she wanted me to beg. Because that’s what this was really about, wasn’t it? Not just getting off - she could’ve done that with any of the industry contacts she’d casually mentioned. This was about making me choose her over Yeji, even if just for a moment. Making me admit it out loud.
“Yuna -” I groaned, my cock twitching desperately in her grip.
She silenced me by jamming my shaft between her thighs again, squeezing them together. The pressure was exquisite, and she started grinding backward and forward, her pussy lips dragging along the top of my cock. Then, with one hand, she reached down and untied her bikini bottoms. The sash that had been clinging to her torso floated to the surface, and she pulled the bottoms out from behind with a smooth jerk.
The sensation of the fabric slipping out, dragging roughly between my cock and her pussy, was almost too much. And then - suddenly - I felt her bare lips on my shaft, hot and slick, no barrier between us.
“Fuck - Yuna -” I tried to protest, but she stuffed the soaked bikini bottoms into my mouth, silencing me just like I’d done to Yeji earlier.
“Shh,” she whispered, grinning. “Your turn.”
She wrapped one arm around my neck for balance, and with her other hand, she guided mine to her bare breast. My palm cupped the soft, perky flesh - small but perfectly formed, high and proud, with a hard, sensitive nipple that pebbled under my touch. My instincts took over, and I squeezed, kneaded, pinched, drawing soft gasps and moans from her lips.
All the while, she kept grinding, her hand on my cock ensuring it stayed between her thighs, pressing against her lips but never quite slipping inside. It was torture. Pure, exquisite torture. I felt the tip catch on her entrance with every thrust, so close I could feel her heat, her wetness, but she wouldn’t let me in.
The midday heat made everything feel surreal - her wet skin sliding against mine, the chlorine smell mixing with her arousal, the way the water refracted light across her body in dancing patterns.
I should have stopped her. Should have pulled away, found that shower, called Yeji and confessed everything. Instead, I stood there in the pool while Yeji’s dongsaeng gave me her sexual resume, each revelation simultaneously making me harder and making me a worse person. The math wasn’t mathing, but my dick had stopped caring about logic somewhere around the third underwater deepthroat.
“You wanna know where I learned that?” she asked breathlessly, grinding against me. “Okay so - mmm, fuck - first world tour, right? There was this Australian backup dancer and he had this ACCENT -”
She paused, adjusting the angle so my cock pressed directly against her clit, and shuddered.
“Oh god, right there - anyway, he was insanely hot and I basically dragged him into the tour bus bathroom after the Sydney show and was like, teach me everything.”
She demonstrated by opening her mouth, miming deepthroating. “Just let him fuck my throat over and over until I figured out the breathing thing. The angles. All of it. It was like a masterclass except way sluttier and I literally couldn’t talk the next day.”
She giggled breathlessly. “Worth it though.”
I groaned around the fabric in my mouth, my hips bucking involuntarily.
“Then there was this producer in LA - ahh, fuck -” Her voice hitched as I pinched her nipple. “He was like, old as hell but actually knew what he was doing? He taught me the humming trick. You know, vibrations and shit.” She grinned wickedly. “Made him cum in like two minutes and he looked at me like I was a wizard. I felt SO powerful.”
She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “And then in New York, during our US leg -” She giggled, the sound breathless and dirty. “Found this cute fan, pulled him backstage, and basically used him as practice. Over and over. I love it, you know? The control. The way a guy’s whole body goes stiff when you take him deep. The way he looks at you after like you just blew his mind and his dick.”
Every time she sensed I was about to cum - my body tensing, my muffled groans growing louder - she’d suddenly stop or slow down, blue-balling me with expert precision. I lost count of how many times she did it. She was torturing me. And the worst part? I could see it in her eyes every time she stopped - that flash of satisfaction, like she was conducting an experiment and I was giving her exactly the data she wanted. How far could she push Yeji’s ‘secret boyfriend’ before he broke? Turns out: pretty fucking far. My balls felt like they were about to explode, swollen and aching, pressure building to catastrophic levels. My eyes widened in desperation, and whatever thin thread of self-control I’d been clinging to - the part that remembered Yeji, loyalty, consequences - snapped completely. I stopped being a person who made choices and became pure need.
I roughly grabbed her hips, my grip bruising, and started thrusting hard, surprising her. Her eyes went wide.
“Oh - fuck, okay, someone’s -” she gasped, but I was beyond words.
The bikini bottoms fell out of my mouth as I gasped, “Yuna - I can’t - I’m gonna -”
She felt it too, the moment my body gave up all pretense of control. In one fluid motion, she slipped beneath the water, her mouth enveloping my cock just as I exploded.
I came hard. Harder than I’d ever come in my life. It felt like my entire soul was being sucked out through my cock, rope after thick rope of cum shooting into her waiting mouth. I saw stars, actual fucking stars, my vision whiting out as my orgasm ripped through me. I was vaguely aware of my hands gripping the edge of the pool for balance, my legs shaking, my voice echoing across the villa in a guttural roar.
When she finally surfaced, she was an image of pure debauchery. Her hair was plastered to her face, her lips swollen and red, and she opened her mouth to show me the pool of my cum resting on her tongue. It was obscene, filthy, and the hottest thing I’d ever seen. She let it slowly drip from her mouth onto her chest, the white mixing with the water and trickling down between her tits, before she closed her mouth and swallowed, her throat bobbing as she took every drop.
“Holy shit,” I gasped, thoroughly impressed, aroused, and completely drained. “That was... fuck.”
The post-nut clarity hit like a freight train. What the fuck had I just done? I’d let Yuna - Yeji’s groupmate, her dongsaeng, someone who lived in the same villa - suck me off in broad daylight. And the worst part? I’d loved every second. That realization should have sent me running.
“I need to... I should probably go take that shower now.”
But Yuna wasn’t done. Not even close. She swam closer, her eyes dark with hunger, her body still trembling with pent-up need.
“Shower?” She laughed, low and dangerous. “We’re not even close to done, Minho.” Her hand found my cock again, already starting to stir despite having just exploded. “I didn’t cum yet. And I’m literally dying to have my brains fucked out.”
She pressed against me, her bare pussy rubbing against my thigh. “So no. You’re not going anywhere.”
I should have said no. Should have drawn a line, preserved whatever microscopic scrap of loyalty I had left. But her hand was already wrapped around my cock, and my body was already responding, and the truth I didn’t want to admit was that she was right. We weren’t done. Not even close. And I was going to let this happen. Again.
Chapter 4: The Tides That Turn
Consequences arrive wearing a Maknae’s face.
I tried to act like I’d had enough - like I was some kind of gentleman who knew when to walk away. But the truth? There was nothing I wanted more than to jam my cock into Yuna’s burning pussy and fuck her until we both passed out or the sun went down, whichever came first. Hell, maybe both would happen simultaneously. My body was already making that decision for me, my cock twitching back to life despite having just blown what felt like my entire genetic lineage into her mouth.
I started to push away from her, tried to muster some semblance of self-control, but my feral urges snapped me back like a rubber band. I lunged forward, roughly grabbing her by that perfect, tight ass, making her squeal in surprise as I lifted her naked body onto the edge of the pool. Water splashed everywhere, cascading over the tiles as I positioned her exactly where I wanted her.
Another line crossed. Another point of no return. At this rate, there wouldn’t be anything left to salvage when Yeji came back.
“Minho - wait, what are you -”
But she didn’t finish the sentence because she realized exactly what I was doing. I was eye level with her pussy, and for the first time, I got to really study it.
Yuna’s pussy was a work of art - completely different from Yeji’s. Where Yeji’s was a neat, bikini-trimmed mound with full, meaty lips that gripped like a vise, Yuna’s was bare, smooth as silk, with delicate, pale pink lips that were slightly swollen from arousal. Her inner lips were small and tucked in, a shy little slit that barely peeked out. But what really caught my attention was how wet she was - not just damp, but absolutely dripping, her arousal glistening on her thighs, mixing with the pool water. Her clit was a small, prominent pearl, already engorged and begging for attention.
She caught me staring and slowly, deliberately, widened her legs, an invitation and a challenge all at once.
“Like what you see?” she teased, her voice breathy. “I mean, you’re just... staring. Kind of creepy but also kind of hot?”
I didn’t answer. I just pressed my nose against her mound, inhaling her scent - clean, slightly sweet, with an underlying musk that made my mouth water. Then I dove in.
The first lick was exploratory, my tongue dragging slowly from her entrance to her clit, and the taste hit me like a drug. Yuna tasted different from Yeji too - less earthy, more delicate, almost honey-sweet with a hint of salt from the ocean. Her pussy was softer, more yielding, and as I licked deeper, I felt her walls flutter against my tongue.
Yeji had taught me well. Years of being her personal pussy-worshiper had turned me into a fucking expert. I started with broad, flat strokes, licking up every drop of her arousal, then focused on her clit, flicking it with the tip of my tongue in quick, rhythmic bursts. She gasped, her hips jerking forward, and I grinned against her pussy.
I switched tactics, sucking her clit into my mouth and rolling it gently between my lips while my fingers found her entrance. I slid two inside, curling them upward to find that spongy spot on her front wall, and when I hit it, Yuna screamed.
“Oh my god - fuck -” Her voice pitched high. “Minho - where did you -”
She couldn’t finish the thought because I was relentless. I added a third finger, stretching her open while my tongue traced figure-eights around her clit. I alternated between sucking, licking, and gentle nibbling, each technique pulling different sounds from her throat - gasps, moans, sharp inhales. Her pussy was clenching around my fingers, so wet that I could hear the obscene squelching sounds every time I thrust.
“Holy shit -” she gasped, her legs trembling. “I’ve literally never - ohh fuck - been eaten out this good before!” Her hand flew to my hair. “Like, where the fuck did you learn to do this? Did you watch tutorials or something? Because this is - ahh - insane!”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy finger-fucking her while my mouth worked her clit, and honestly, I was too proud of myself to stop and gloat. Some pathetic part of me needed to prove I was better than every Australian dancer, every LA producer, every backstage groupie she’d casually mentioned. Like winning this competition would somehow make the betrayal worth it. I felt like I was one-upping every guy she’d ever been with, and the thought made my cock rock-hard again, precum leaking into the pool.
Yuna’s screams echoed through the villa, bouncing off the walls. She threw her head back, one hand tangling in my hair and shoving my face harder against her mound, the other supporting her leaned-back torso on the paved stones. She was desperately trying to get my tongue deeper, her hips rocking against my face in frantic, unconscious thrusts.
“Oh god, oh fuck, oh -” She was babbling now, words spilling out between moans. “This is gonna trend on my body’s personal Twitter because I’m - fuck - I’m gonna cum so hard -”
Her thighs clamped around my head like a vice.
“Holy shit - I’m literally - fuck, I can’t -” The words dissolved into a scream, as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious what was happening.
Her entire body tensed, her legs locking around my head, and then she shattered. Her pussy clamped down on my fingers in rhythmic pulses, her back arching off the pool edge, her scream reaching a pitch that could probably shatter glass. And then she squirted - a gush of clear, warm fluid spraying across my face, drenching me as her orgasm ripped through her.
I kept going, riding out her climax, my tongue and fingers coaxing every last spasm from her trembling body. Her legs shook violently, her toes curled so hard they probably cramped, and her eyes rolled back in her head as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her stomach muscles contracted visibly, her small tits bouncing with each convulsion, and she let out these broken, breathless sobs that were somehow the hottest sounds I’d ever heard.
When it finally subsided, she collapsed back onto the stones, panting, her chest heaving, her entire body glistening with sweat and water. Her pussy was still twitching, aftershocks rolling through her.
“That’s -” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “That’s never happened before. The squirting thing. Like, never.” She propped herself up slightly, looking down at me with wide eyes. “I’ve seen it in porn but I thought it was fake? Or like, only certain girls can do it?” She laughed breathlessly. “What the fuck. Seriously, where did you learn that?”
I smirked, wiping her juices off my face with the back of my hand. “You’re not the only one with tricks.”
She stared at me, the infamous siren who could conquer any man, reduced to a quivering, breathless wreck. I felt the tides turning, a dominating urge surging through me. I grabbed her by the neck - not hard, but firm - and pulled her toward me, my mouth brushing against her neck. She shuddered, a soft moan escaping her lips.
“Fuck,” she whimpered. “That’s - oh, that’s my spot -”
“You like that?” I whispered against her ear, my breath hot on her skin. “Want to know my secret?”
“Yes -” she breathed, her hand moving between her legs, furiously rubbing her still-pulsating clit. “Tell me.”
“Yeji,” I murmured, my teeth grazing her earlobe. “She taught me everything. How to worship pussy like it’s a religion. How to make a woman scream my name.” I licked up her neck slowly. “Every trick, every technique - years of practice. All from her.”
And there it was - weaponizing the most intimate parts of my relationship with Yeji to make her dongsaeng cum harder. Using years of trust and vulnerability as foreplay. I’d officially hit rock bottom, and apparently rock bottom had a sub-basement.
Yuna moaned, her fingers working faster as she imagined it - me and Yeji, tangled together, her teaching me, training me. “Fuck, that’s -” Her breathing quickened. “That’s so hot. Unnie’s been keeping you as her personal - ahh - secret weapon this whole time.”
Her juices mixed with the puddle of water beneath her, and I could tell she was about to cum again just from the mental image and her own fingers.
But my moment of dominance didn’t last long. Yuna recovered faster than I expected, that confident, seductive grin returning to her face even as her legs still trembled.
Of course she did. Because that’s who Yuna was - the girl who could get facefucked into a squirting orgasm and be back in control sixty seconds later. I’d been an idiot to think I’d actually gained the upper hand. She’d just let me borrow it for a minute.
“Okay, okay,” she said, pushing me away gently, her voice still breathy but gaining strength. “Your mouth game is literally S-tier. Like, hall of fame level.” She bit her lip, eyeing my erection. “But I need to know what you can do with that big boy now.”
She slipped back into the water, turning her back to me, her perfect ass pressing against my rock-hard cock. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes dark with hunger, that siren look creeping back.
“Come on, Minho,” she beckoned, arching her back and pushing her ass higher, the curve of her spine absolutely sinful. “Drive me crazy. Make me lose my mind. Show me why unnie keeps you locked down like limited edition merch.”
She reached back, her hand wrapping around my shaft, stroking slowly. “Prove to me why Yeji’s so obsessed with this cock that she won’t let anyone else near it.”
Her grip tightened slightly. “But like, don’t get cocky yet.” That wicked grin widened. “I’ve had a LOT of dick, oppa. All those industry boys, that one time with three guys from the company after MAMA - which was insane by the way.” She positioned my tip against her entrance, just barely touching. “You’ve got some serious competition. Better make it memorable.”
Chapter 5: The Siren’s Surrender
Poolside chaos. When want becomes need becomes ruin.
I positioned myself behind Yuna, my cock throbbing with desperate need as I pressed the tip against her entrance. The heat radiating from her pussy was intoxicating. I could feel her lips beginning to part around my head, yielding to the pressure -
But then she reached between her legs, grabbed my cock with a firm grip, and yanked it downward.
The sudden movement threw me completely off balance. I fell forward, my cock sliding along the outside of her pussy instead of inside, and my pelvis collided with her ass with a resounding CLAP that echoed across the terrace. Water flew everywhere, splashing against the pool tiles and her back.
“Nu-uh,” she said with a breathy laugh, looking back at me over her shoulder. That siren look was back in her eyes. “Not yet.”
“Yuna -” I groaned, trying to angle my hips, but her hand was still wrapped around my shaft, keeping me exactly where she wanted me - which was anywhere but inside her.
“You haven’t begged yet,” she said, arching her back even more, that playful edge in her voice. The curve of her spine was sinful, her ass pushing higher, presenting herself while simultaneously denying me. “Come on, oppa. Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want -”
“Yeah, but I wanna HEAR it.” Her grip tightened, stroking once slowly. “Say you want to fuck me. That you want to shove this thick cock inside me.” Her grin widened. “Use your words.”
She squeezed for emphasis, making me hiss through my teeth.
“Because like... do you actually want this?” Her voice dropped, more intimate now. “Want to know what all those other guys felt?” A pause. “Because if you don’t say it, you’re literally gonna be the only one who didn’t get to fuck me. How sad would that be?”
It was psychological warfare, and she was winning. I pulled back, trying to angle my cock up, to slip past her defenses, but she adjusted her grip instantly, keeping me on the edge of madness. I wrapped one arm around her waist for leverage, my other hand cupping her breast, squeezing hard, trying to distract her or overpower her coordination.
She just moaned, arching even more. “Mmm, that’s nice. But you’re still not inside me.”
“Come on, Minho.” Her free hand found mine on her breast, guiding me to pinch her nipple. “Just admit it. You’ve thought about this, right? About me?”
I tried to thrust forward. She adjusted her angle, my cock sliding along her lips but not in.
“All those times you watched our performances,” she continued, slightly breathless now from her own teasing. “Did you ever imagine this? Me bent over for you?”
“Yuna - fuck -”
“What about when you were with unnie?” Her voice got quieter, more dangerous. “Did you ever close your eyes and think about me instead? When you came inside her, did you ever picture my face?”
The mention of Yeji hit like cold water, but it mixed with the building desperation in my body. The image she was painting - forbidden, wrong, and exactly what some dark part of me had fantasized about.
“Yes!” The word exploded out of me, echoing across the villa. “Yes, okay? I’ve thought about you!” My hips bucked involuntarily. “Every time I saw you on stage, every time you walked around in those shorts that showed everything - I wanted you! I wanted to fuck you! Now please -”
The moment I said it, her hand released my cock.
I lunged forward and speared into her pussy with the force of a man possessed, burying myself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. It felt like I could split mountains with that momentum.
“FUCK!” Yuna screamed, her voice cracking, breaking on the word as I filled her completely.
Her pussy was different from Yeji’s - where Yeji was a calculated vice grip that squeezed every inch with almost intimidating precision, Yuna was softer, wetter, more yielding but still incredibly tight. Her walls fluttered around me, adjusting to my size, and the heat was overwhelming. She was slick with arousal, making every movement smooth and effortless, but the sensation was no less intense. If Yeji’s pussy was a weapon designed to dominate, Yuna’s was a sensual trap, designed to lure you in and never let go.
I pulled back slowly, feeling every ridge and fold, then slammed back in. Yuna gasped, her back arching further. I established a relentless rhythm, my hips pistoning as I fucked her standing doggy-style in the pool. Water sloshed around us with each thrust, splashing over the edge, the sound mixing with skin slapping against skin and Yuna’s increasingly desperate moans.
The sun had shifted higher now, turning the terrace into an oven. Sweat mixed with pool water, making our bodies slide together with each thrust. The smell of chlorine and sex hung heavy in the air.
“Oh god -” she gasped, her hands gripping the pool edge for stability. “Yes - fuck - just like that -”
I grabbed her hips harder, pulling her back to meet my thrusts. Each impact sent ripples through her ass, the perfect bounce that I couldn’t tear my eyes away from.
“Harder -” she breathed, then louder: “Harder!”
I obliged, increasing the force, the pace. The pool water churned around us.
“Oh my god -” She was talking between moans now, her voice high and broken. “I can’t - this is -” A sharp gasp as I hit something deep. “Okay the last time I got fucked this good was - ahh - Sydney maybe? That dancer?”
She tried to look back at me, her face flushed. “But like - fuck - he wasn’t this big - you’re literally - ahh - ruining me for everyone else -”
“Fuck’s sake, Yuna,” I grunted, the question coming out more aggressive than I intended. “How many guys have you fucked?”
“I - oh god -” She tried to think, but I didn’t slow down. “Like - ahh - ninety? Maybe a hundred?” Her voice pitched higher as I hit a particularly deep angle. “I literally stopped counting after North America because it got too complicated -”
“A hundred?” Something primal surged in me. I slammed into her harder, making her yelp. “And I’m better than all of them?”
“Yes -” It came out as a whimper. “Fuck yes - you’re - oh my god - you’re so much better - you’re ruining me -”
She was trying to sound confident, trying to maintain that seductress persona, but every word was broken by gasps and moans. Her body was betraying her, submitting to me in a way I could tell she wasn’t used to.
I fucked her for what felt like an eternity, my stamina somehow holding despite this being my fifth round of the day. The angle was perfect, letting me go deep, hitting spots that made her legs tremble and her voice break into these high, desperate sounds.
Finally, she reached back, her hand finding my hip, stopping me mid-thrust.
“Wait -” she panted, her whole body heaving. “I need - change positions -”
She pushed forward, and my cock slipped out of her pussy with an obscene pop. A large bubble of trapped air followed, surfacing with a wet burst that would’ve been funny if we weren’t both so far gone. Our mixed fluids leaked into the pool, cloudy ribbons swirling in the clear water.
Yuna pulled herself out of the pool, water streaming off her lithe body, cascading down those impossibly long legs. Chlorine and sex hung thick in the air. She climbed onto the lounge chair with feline grace, then laid back, her legs spreading wide in invitation.
She looked like a goddess sprawled on that lounge chair - tan skin glistening, legs spread wide, chest heaving. The contrast of her delicate features and the absolute debauchery of her expression was intoxicating.
I got another perfect view of her pussy - swollen, pink, gaping slightly from my fucking. Her lips were puffy, glistening with arousal, and below it, her tight, puckered asshole remained untouched, a forbidden promise for another time.
“Come here,” she breathed, one hand trailing down her stomach to spread herself open for me. “I want to feel you deeper.”
I followed her like a man possessed, water dripping from my body as I positioned myself over her. I squatted down, angling my cock - thoroughly coated with her juices - toward her entrance.
Before I could thrust, her impossibly long legs wrapped around my hips and pulled, forcing me inside in one slick, smooth motion. She gasped, her eyes going wide, and I groaned as the new angle let me sink even deeper than before.
“Oh fuck,” she whimpered. “That’s - you’re so deep -”
I didn’t waste time. I started moving, building back to that punishing rhythm, and Yuna’s hands flew to my shoulders, pulling me down. Her lips found mine in a deep, desperate kiss. Our tongues tangled, our moans muffled as I fucked her with everything I had.
Her legs squeezed around my torso, her heels digging into my lower back, urging me deeper with each thrust. The lounge chair creaked beneath us, protesting the abuse.
“Mmph -” she gasped against my lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak. “Yes - fuck - yes -”
Her hand slipped between our bodies, fingers finding her clit and rubbing frantically. The added stimulation made her pussy clench around me, fluttering, and I groaned.
I grabbed her waist with both hands, my grip tight enough to leave marks. The sensation drove her wild. Her entire body arched off the chair like she was possessed, her small tits pressing against my chest, her nails raking down my back hard enough to sting.
“Don’t stop -” she whimpered. “Please don’t stop - I’m so close -”
I could feel my own orgasm building, slow but inevitable. The fifth of the day, and somehow still powerful, that heat coiling in my balls. I broke the kiss, gasping, “Yuna - I’m - I’m gonna -”
“Wait!” Her eyes flew open, wide and commanding. She pushed against my chest with surprising strength, forcing me to pull back.
I stumbled, my cock slipping out, slick and throbbing and angry at being denied. I stared at her in confusion, chest heaving.
She sat up, a wicked grin spreading across her flushed face. Her hair was a mess, her lips swollen from kissing, her whole body glistening with sweat and pool water.
“Okay - my turn,” she breathed, voice rough with arousal. “You earned it.” She was already moving, that wicked grin spreading. “Let me - fuck - let me show you why guys literally can’t shut up about this.”
Chapter 6: The Siren’s Satisfaction
Marathon riding. Exhaustion wearing the face of desire.
I collapsed back onto the lounge chair, my chest heaving, every muscle in my body screaming from exhaustion. Five orgasms. I’d already blown five loads today, and somehow this insatiable siren wanted more.
Yuna stood over me, water still dripping from her hair, that wicked grin on her face. She looked like a goddess backlit by the afternoon sun - all long legs and wet skin, her small tits perfect and perky, her pussy still glistening and swollen from the pounding I’d just given her.
“Your turn to just lay there,” she purred, climbing onto the chair. “I wanna feel you from this angle.”
As she turned around to straddle me reverse cowgirl, I took the opportunity to cheekily slap her ass. The sound echoed across the terrace, a sharp crack that seemed to hang in the humid air, and her ass jiggled from the impact in a way that was absolutely mesmerizing.
It was plumper than Yeji’s, I couldn’t help but notice. Where Yeji was an athletic freak of nature - her body sculpted from marble and countless hours of dance practice, abs that could grate cheese and an ass that was pure, toned muscle like a weapon forged in a gym - Yuna was slimmer overall but blessed with godly hips and an ass that had just enough give to be perfect. Perfect for grabbing, perfect for slapping, perfect for watching bounce.
“What?” she asked, looking back at me over her shoulder with a coy smile as she positioned herself over my lap. Her hair fell across one eye, still dripping with pool water.
“Your ass,” I said, not even trying to hide my appreciation. My hands found her hips automatically. “I’m obsessed with it. The way it bounces, the way it feels...” I squeezed for emphasis. “I could watch it all day.”
She bit her lip, feigning shyness but clearly pleased. “You’re not the first guy to say that while fucking me, you know.” Then her expression shifted to that wicked grin. “But you’re probably the fastest I’ve ever let inside me. Like, most guys have to work for it. Wine and dine, or at least buy me coffee.” She glanced back at my cock, still hard despite everything. “You should be proud. Badge of honor or whatever.”
As she spoke, she reached down between her legs, her fingers wrapping around my shaft. Without missing a beat in her monologue, she guided me to her entrance and sank down in one smooth, practiced motion. Her pussy swallowed me whole, still slick and hot from our previous round.
“Fuck,” I groaned, my head falling back against the chair. My hands gripped her waist tighter.
She moaned softly - just a little hum of satisfaction - and started rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, getting comfortable, adjusting to the angle.
Then she glanced back at me, that teasing smirk playing on her lips.
“No wonder Yeji was screaming like that earlier,” she said breathlessly, already starting to move. There was something in her voice - a mix of jealousy and satisfaction, like she’d just confirmed a suspicion she’d been harboring. “You really know how to wreck a pussy.”
Before I could respond, she started riding in earnest. Her hair dripped water onto my chest, cold droplets contrasting with the heat of our bodies. Her hair dripped water onto my chest, cold droplets contrasting with the heat of our bodies. From this angle, I had a perfect view - her spine curving down to that perfect ass bouncing on my lap, water droplets catching sunlight on her skin. The wet skin-on-skin contact made every movement slicker, smoother, but somehow more intense.
The wet skin-on-skin contact made every movement slicker, smoother, but somehow more intense. Each time she rolled her hips, there was this slick, obscene sound, and I could feel every ridge and fold of her pussy as she moved.
“So,” she started, lifting herself up and dropping back down, establishing a rhythm. “I don’t usually fuck idols. Like Yeji does.”
“No?” I managed, my voice strained. She was moving faster now, really bouncing, and it was torture.
“Nah.” She bounced harder, her ass slapping against my thighs. “Male idols are so full of themselves. They think they’re God’s gift just because they have fangirls screaming their names.” She rolled her hips in a particularly devastating way. “But most of them? Terrible in bed. Like, genuinely bad.”
“How - how would you know?” I gasped as she picked up speed.
“Because I tried! Obviously.” She laughed breathlessly. “But nobody tells them they suck because they’re idols, you know? Too precious. So they just keep thinking they’re amazing when really they just -” She demonstrated with a few rough, graceless bounces. “ - pump away like that with zero technique.”
I couldn’t help but laugh, even through the pleasure. “So what, you - ah, fuck - you avoid them?”
“I hunt better prey.” She leaned back, changing the angle so I hit deeper, and we both groaned. “Guys who actually get how lucky they are, you know? Staff members, backup dancers, random hot guys I meet at clubs.” She was riding me harder now, really moving. “Because those guys? They actually try to make it good. They worship you like you’re doing them a favor.”
Her words were punctuated by moans and gasps as she rode me, her small tits bouncing with each movement. Water droplets flew from her hair, catching the sunlight.
My hands slid from her waist to her ass, grabbing, squeezing, trying to guide her movements but mostly just holding on. “You’re really good at this,” I groaned without thinking.
“At what?” She grinned down at me, knowing exactly what I meant.
“Yeah?” Her grin widened, something competitive flashing in her eyes. “You should feel lucky then. Most guys don’t get this far.” She bounced harder, as if to prove her point. “Actually, the last guy who got me this worked up was - mmm - Tuesday night? Wednesday morning? Right after our comeback stage.”
“Yeah?” I groaned.
“Yeah. He was cute. Quiet type.” She adjusted her angle, taking me deeper, and we both gasped. “Got him alone in one of the tech rooms and just - fuck - he went down on me for SO long. Like, I actually had to check my phone at one point to see if we had enough time before load-out.”
“Dedicated,” I managed.
“Right?” She was bouncing faster now, really riding me, chasing something. “Super eager. But his dick was like -” She made a so-so gesture with her hand while still moving. “Average? Maybe slightly above? Nothing like this.” She emphasized her point by dropping down hard, taking me to the hilt, and I groaned.
My orgasm was building rapidly. “Despite five previous loads, despite my wrecked body, despite my body being absolutely wrecked, she was riding me like it was a competition and she was determined to win. The way her pussy squeezed me, the visual of her ass bouncing, the sound of her voice mixing dirty stories with casual conversation - it was too much.
“Yuna -” I warned, my fingers digging into her hips. “I’m gonna -”
But she either didn’t hear me or didn’t care. She just kept riding, kept talking, her rhythm never breaking.
“Oh, and that dancer in LA -” She was breathless now, words coming out between gasps. “During our US leg - he had stamina but zero rhythm. Just - ahh - kept going and going but it was like - mmm - like fucking a metronome -”
I couldn’t hold back. My sixth orgasm of the day exploded out of me with a force that shocked even me. I bucked up involuntarily, burying myself as deep as possible as I pumped what felt like an impossible amount of cum deep into her pussy. I could feel it squirting out around my cock, our bodies too tightly pressed for it all to stay inside.
“Fuck!” I roared, every muscle in my body tensing, stars exploding behind my eyelids.
But Yuna just pressed a hand firmly against my chest, forcing me back down into the chair, and kept riding. She didn’t even pause. Didn’t even acknowledge it.
“ - and I literally had to fake it because he wasn’t getting me there -” she continued, as if I hadn’t just filled her with cum. “Which was so annoying because I was SO close but he just - ugh -”
The overstimulation was immediate and intense. My cock was hypersensitive, every movement of her pussy sending shockwaves through my body that bordered on painful. But she didn’t stop. She kept riding, kept talking, her rhythm never faltering even as my cum leaked out of her with each bounce.
“Then there was this producer guy - older, whatever -” She rolled her eyes even as she moved. “Came in like two minutes and acted like he did something impressive. Men are so -”
Her words cut off as she glanced down, finally noticing the absolute mess between us - cum coating both our thighs, dripping onto the chair, leaking out of her with each movement.
She looked back up at me, still riding, and asked almost conversationally, “Wait. Did you cum inside me?”
“Yes -” I gasped. “Yuna - please - I can’t -”
“Oh.” She said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She processed this for a moment, still moving. Then shrugged. “Well, I’m not done yet, so...”
Then her talking shifted focus, and somehow this was worse.
“Unnie must really love this cock,” she said, her voice taking on a teasing edge as she rode me. “I bet she rode you just like this morning, huh? Did she bounce on it like this?” She demonstrated with a particularly hard drop that made me groan in agony-pleasure. “Did she take it this deep?”
“Yuna -”
“I bet her pussy isn’t as wet as mine though.” She was getting breathless now, chasing her own orgasm. “I bet she doesn’t get this sloppy. Wait, does she?”
All I could do was hold onto her waist for dear life, my fingers probably leaving bruises, as she used my oversensitive cock to get herself off. Her movements became more erratic, more desperate, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Fuck -” she whimpered. “Fuck, I’m - I’m gonna -”
And then she came. Hard.
Her entire body went rigid, her back arching like a bow, her pussy clamping down on my abused cock with industrial-grade suction - the kind Yeji bragged her Dyson had. She screamed - actually screamed -”Fuck - yes - Minho!” - her voice echoing off the villa walls.
Her orgasm seemed to last forever. Her walls spasmed around me in rhythmic pulses, her thighs shaking violently, her hands clawing at my chest hard enough to leave marks. Wave after wave crashed through her, her whole body trembling, and I watched in awe as this confident, cocky siren completely fell apart on top of me.
Spoiled brat always gets what she wants, I thought to myself.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she eased up. Her movements slowed to a gentle rock, then a stop. We were both panting, covered in sweat and pool water and cum. She lifted herself slowly, carefully, and my cock slipped out with a wet, obscene squelch.
We both looked down at the aftermath. My cock was glistening with our mixed fluids, still twitching slightly. Her pussy was absolutely wrecked - swollen, red, gaping slightly - with thick ropes of my cum leaking out and dripping onto my stomach in heavy globs.
Impulsively, without thinking, I reached down. I dipped my fingers into the cream pooling at her entrance, gathering some on my fingertips, and brought them to her lips.
She locked eyes with me - those dark, intense eyes - and slowly, sensually, licked my fingers clean. Her tongue swirled around each digit, lapping up every drop of our combined fluids while maintaining that intense eye contact.
In that moment, something passed between us. Not love - we weren’t delusional - but something. A deep, unspoken understanding. A connection forged through the most intense, raw, animalistic fucking either of us had experienced in a long time. We were both naked, breathless, absolutely destroyed, covered in each other’s fluids, and for a brief moment, time stood still.
The world was quiet except for our breathing.
And then we heard it.
The villa door banging open. Then slamming shut.
“YO!” Ryujin’s voice boomed through the house, loud and unmistakable, echoing off the walls. “ANYONE HOME?”
Yuna and I froze instantly.
Our eyes locked, going wide with panic. We were still in the exact same position - her straddling me on the lounge chair, cum leaking from her pussy, my hands on her hips, both of us completely naked and covered in evidence.
The exact same position I’d found her in when I first caught her masturbating on this very chair.
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Author’s Note
That wraps the Yuna and Minho pool scene!
Fun fact: the original plan was to stop the whole story right here. This was just going to be a standalone smut one-shot (sun, chlorine, and reckless horniness). In fact, this stretch of the story was originally concieved as private gooning material without an actual plot in mind. Yuna gets her victory lap, Minho survives six rounds, the lounge chair barely holds together, and we fade to black.
But then I had this intrusive thought:
"Okay... but what if they got caught?"
Everything kind of spiraled out of control from there. Because if anyone was going to walk in at the absolute worst possible moment - kicking the door open and yelling "YO!" with zero shame - it had to be Ryujin, right? The whole vibe changes once she shows up, because the jealousy and the actual group dynamics suddenly matter, and Minho stops being just a convenient POV camera and turns into an actual guy trapped in the middle of their mess. A notoriously bratty dom just barged in, meaning Yuna isn't the only threat on the terrace anymore.
The rest of the saga basically grew wildly out of this one interruption. The rivalries, the feelings hiding under all the smut, the weirdly specific histories each girl gets - it all starts right here just because Ryujin couldn't be assed to knock.
So if this feels like a natural ending point, it technically is (or was). But it's also where the actual plot starts.
Thanks for surviving Yuna's first act of terrorism - I hope you enjoyed the unhinged, chlorine-soaked mess!
Now Ryujin is in the house, and everything is about to get so much worse.
I think one of the truly hardest things as a storyteller (in any medium, be that as a writer, filmmaker etc.) is learning to trust your audience. Sometimes, you feel strongly enough about your message that you want to hover behind them and explain everything - not necessarily because you don’t trust their intellect but because you don’t trust your own ability to communicate your vision.
Even though I live and die by the whole ‘show not tell’ adage, I still struggle with that a lot, to be honest, because as someone who tends to think more abstractly in meaning, structure and metaphor, I live on the flip side: am I showing too much and telling too little? So that urge to grab the readers’ hand and go, “do you see what I see?” can feel overwhelming, especially when it’s an idea you’ve put an inordinate amount of thought into. Which is why I think reader engagement is so rewarding for authors! It helps one trust in their own hand.
Y’all just have to let me cook 🤷 surely an “I love you” exchange isn’t the only means of confession? It’s soooo cliche and I am on a MISSION to dismantle every cliche
Softened in memory; emptied in sorrow; redeemed in water.
word count: ~20k
Characters: ITZY Shin Ryujin, ITZY Shin Yuna (+ ITZY member cameos)
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TW: emotional damage
@fahzball @shin--nim @shambler990 y'all asked for the sad chapter first and ya got it! Looking back, this was probably the right choice. You guys are geniuses. And @xana86 you were "down for anything" so here's 20k words of sad-girl-hour for ya :)
A/N: Dedicated to Ryeji, to ITZY and to every MIDZY. But this chapter also belongs to everyone who's watched their favorite person become a stranger and couldn't figure out which one of you changed, to anyone who discovered the personality they built to protect themselves was the thing pushing everyone away. But most of all, it belongs to the ones whose worth was decided by others before they ever got a say.
(Also, there are nine real ITZY lore pieces that I've dramatized as flashbacks. If you caught them, you're a real one.)
Ch22: Companion piece to Ch21. The room "renovation" from Minho/Yeji/Lia's pov. Final chapter of Act 5.
[RYUJIN - THIRD PERSON]
Hit you like the mafia.
The track ended and the MAMA penthouse vanished. The gold light and the champagne taste evaporated, leaving Ryujin with the cold terrace rail against her forearms and Jeju's suddenly freezing summer air on her skin.
(I actually decided to write this scene around 'That's a No-No' before it went viral. I discovered it by Googling "ITZY angry songs" and deciding this was the one. Funny how the universe works... huh.)
The shuffle rolled over. "That's a No No" kicked in with all its brass and percussion and chants, the Moombahton beat landing heavy through her AirPods, and she let it fill the empty space.
She'd been out here too long. Her jaw ached from clenching through the fight and clenching through the replay on top of it. The chill had crept past her elbows, and her fingernails had carved defensive half-moons into the pad of her thumb.
She'd been twenty in that penthouse and she was twenty-three on this terrace, supposedly the exact same girl. The MAMA memory tasted warm and certain, unlike the wreckage of the last two hours.
Fuck Yeji and her quiet little "evolution". Fuck her sudden allergy to fun and her bullshit about needing to change, as if changing meant looking at Ryujin like she was a phase Yeji had outgrown. They built something together, the two of them, bunks to stages to every room they'd ever walked into as a unit, and Yeji was out here acting like she couldn't wait to go solo.
The kick drum agreed with her, her poor AirPods rattling their tiny guts out trying to slam a bass line built for stadium subwoofers directly into her skull. She dug the crescent deeper into her finger and stared at the dark.
The pool light was on, casting a teal glow upward through the surface that made the deck look exactly like the opening shot of the high-budget poolside porn Ryujin usually searched for on her phone at one in the morning. She looked back and suddenly Yeji was at the pool's edge, ruining the aesthetic. She had both arms wrapped around Minho from behind, her face buried so hard between his shoulder blades it looked like she was trying to hide inside him. Her fists were bunched tight in his shirt. Minho just stood there, making it easy, taking her weight with his broad back while his hands locked over her forearms. Ryujin couldn't hear the words over the distance, but she saw the tension, the ragged hitch of Yeji's shoulders as she spilled her guts directly into his spine.
Ryujin's chest went tight and hot and she pushed off the railing and went down the terrace steps before the rest of her caught up to what her legs already knew, which was that she couldn't stand there and watch that bullshit for one more second.
Move up faster faster, gettin' louder louder.
The bass dropped and her feet found the beat and before she knew it she was marching furiously down the path to her own voice.
She and Chaeryeong had recorded the brass and percussion three times because the first two weren't loud enough, and the final version turned her spine into a middle finger every time it came on. The gravel crunched under her slides in time with the kick drum and everything behind her got a little smaller with every step.
The resort path cut between stone walls and hedges that swallowed the villa lights within twenty steps. She wanted the dark and the salt air and her own group in her ears telling her she was right. Can't let you kill my vibe, that's a no no. The pre-chorus landed like a fist bump from a version of herself who still had her shit together and she took it gratefully and kept walking.
Her legs burned from the pace as her hands kept curling into fists, just to keep the option available. The air smelled like volcanic rock and sweet citrus, but she was moving too fast for the smells to stick.
Yeji's face in the living room wouldn't stop replaying. The hurt underneath was what kept catching. She could handle Yeji angry - she'd been handling Yeji angry since trainee evaluations when Yeji used to go dead-eyed and terrifyingly calm right before she snapped. She kept seeing that flash of real, unguarded pain from the moment when Ryujin said you've changed and meant it as a weapon, watching Yeji catch it as one because they both knew exactly what it was and Ryujin couldn't even pretend she'd meant something else.
She kicked a stone off the path and it cracked into the hedge.
Fuck Yeji for being hurt by something true, and fuck her for acting like growing up required a standing ovation. They'd been the same person for six years, matching each other's appetite and chaos. Ryujin remembered exactly what that appetite looked like: the two of them rotating on a cameraman in a hotel bed after Inkigayo, synchronized, high-fiving over his chest while publicly grading his thrusts. Ryujin had called them Ddaeng Ddong, a dumb duo name she'd forced on Yeji years earlier, repurposed as a mocking victory banner while Yeji rode a guy breathless. They used to devour people together.
Until some guy with nice hands and a nice dick showed up, and suddenly Yeji was wrapping herself around his back like he'd invented breathing.
And they were on the same pool deck where Ryujin had ridden Minho yesterday, demanding he eat her out with the same aggressive conquest energy she used on everyone else. But down there right now, Yeji was pressing her forehead into his spine, eyes closed, surrendering her weight.
The tenderness was going to make her throw up. This was Hwang Yeji. The same girl who once bent a guy's dick backward until he cried because he grabbed her hair and she hadn't said he could. Now that same girl was trading in the bunks and the breathless hotel rooms and every space they'd ever owned together for a man who probably folded his socks, and currently had his hands folded protectively around Yeji's own.
What the fuck was Ryujin supposed to do with that? Clap?
Do what I want, say what I wanna.
The lyric landed and her jaw unclenched for the first time since the living room. Yeah. That was the whole point, wasn't it? She'd said what she wanted to say and she'd do it again.
You think that you know me?
She heard her own voice in her ears delivering the rap she'd laid down in a booth at JYP on a Tuesday five years ago, standing with her headphones half-off because one ear always needed to hear herself raw. She'd written the line about netizens, about comment-section psychologists who thought they knew her from a fancam. You can think what you want. I respect you, but hey you, don't ever cross that line.
She was the one who'd crossed the line tonight.
She'd stood in that living room and aimed for the thinnest crack in Yeji's concept because she'd helped build it. Six years meant she knew exactly which words would make Yeji's eyes go wet and her body brace against crying. Ryujin had deployed them on purpose, swinging with the ruthless efficiency she used in a dance break.
What kind of asshole does that to her best friend?
The synth bass was still grinding underneath the percussion but something had shifted. The beat that had been holding her upright all walk sounded off, like a speaker that got wet and was playing the right rhythm at slightly the wrong speed.
If you ever wanted me to fall, it's a pity but that's no, I'm sorry.
Lia's voice came in on the bridge, loud and clear and so sure of itself. I'm gonna keep singing, I'm gonna keep dancing, there's nothing to be scared of for me.
Ryujin almost laughed as she pushed past the last of the stone walls along the path. She was terrified. Of Yeji's quiet certainty in the living room, and of this widening space between them, as if getting louder could somehow mask the fact that her best friend was no longer standing next to her.
The brass and the drums played out together and Lia's voice faded.
The ocean rushed in to fill the quiet. The heavy thing in her chest surged up into the empty space where the beat used to be. She dug her phone from her pocket, jamming her thumb at the screen and walking too fast, trying to force the song back to the start so the quiet had nowhere to land. She needed noise.
The sudden flare of the lock screen washed out her night vision, leaving everything outside the glass pitch black. She dropped her chin, furiously swiping at the stubborn playback widget while her feet carried her blindly forward.
She clipped her shoulder hard against a low-hanging branch.
The canopy shuddered and a heavy tangerine dropped straight down, cracking against her knuckles and shocking her grip open. Her phone clattered onto the gravel, illuminating a patch of crushed shell. The tangerine rolled to a stop beside it, the rind splitting on impact and sending a sharp, acidic burst of citrus into the cold air.
"OW - FUCK."
She dropped to a crouch, shaking her hand out with a wince. Her knuckles stung and the branch was still swaying overhead like it was proud of itself.
She grabbed the tangerine first, arm pulling back on instinct to launch the fucking thing into the dark and watch something else break tonight. Her shoulder rotated into the throw before her nails broke the rind and the scent hit her full in the face, sharp and sweet and so unmistakably Jeju that her throat closed.
She knew this smell.
She knew this smell from the inside out. It was a tangerine grove two Novembers ago, juice running down her wrists and the sun on her neck while she grinned at a camera, deciding this island was her favorite place on earth. It was the passenger seat of a rental car with the Jeju mountains sliding past in the mist, and Yeji's voice asking something casual about building a house here someday.
Her arm came down.
She stayed in the gravel crouch, the tangerine bleeding orange oil into her palm. The smell filled her head with a version of herself she'd spent two years pretending she'd outgrown. Beside her, the phone screen buffered. She'd kept it on loop the whole walk down, thumb catching replay before the last brass note faded, but the tangerine had slowed her by ten seconds and shuffle slipped through the gap.
The shuffle spun the barrel again.
"Nobody Like You" kicked through her headphones in a bright, aggressively upbeat pop-rock rush. Her own voice opened the track, the three-years-ago recording of her saying yeah, uh, what? What? wielding pure brat attitude like it was an actual personality. Present-day Ryujin crouched in the dark, feeling the distance between that girl and this one.
She stood up slowly, shoving her phone in her pocket. She kept walking because the alternative was crouching in the gravel having a spiritual crisis over a piece of fruit, and she still had enough pride left to find that mortifying.
The hedges opened up, the path giving way to sand. The beach was a small, empty crescent tucked between rock outcrops. She walked straight to the waterline, letting her slides sink into the wet grit and the freezing ocean wash over her toes. She stood there gripping a crushed tangerine that smelled like the best November of her life while Yuna's voice fed through her headphones, singing about being a bad girl with standards too high for the world to reach.
They'd all been that girl once. Yuna sang it like she'd invented the concept, but Ryujin had laid the blueprint for unapologetic before Yuna even learned how to walk in heels. And Yeji had been right there beside her, matching her step for step. They had been two girls who burned through rooms whether the rooms wanted it or not.
The water pulled back. The sand shifted under her slides, and there was Yeji asleep at ten o'clock.
***
It was their last night as roommates. Ryujin stood in the GS25 party aisle at nine-thirty, eventually buying four packs of both pink and holographic streamers. She added three boxes of stick-shaped chocolate and a carton of watermelon juice, because Yeji had a watermelon juice addiction and was currently in month three of eating the exact same chocolate twice a day and chose sugar and naps over actual parties every time, flatly refusing to behave like a twenty-year-old idol.
The walk back took four minutes. She planned out the layout: streamers on the top bunk, chocolate on the desk. Tomorrow Chaeryeong was moving in and Ryujin was getting the single room. It meant the end of fighting over chargers and defending her half of the rug. It meant sleeping in a quiet room, which she'd spent months complaining about wanting.
She opened the door at 9:40 PM. The lights were off. Yeji was utterly passed out, mouth slightly open, one arm hanging off the edge of the top bunk with her dark phone still in her grip. She'd gone into a coma before ten o'clock on their last night sharing a bedroom, because apparently sentimentality didn't interrupt her sleep schedule.
Ryujin stood in the doorway with pink and holographic streamers in one hand and a GS25 bag in the other and thought you've got to be fucking kidding me.
She stayed there for a while. The tightness in her throat was absolutely just annoyance that the streamers were going to stay in their plastic wrappers and her money was wasted. Just annoyance, and maybe sugar crash from the chocolate she'd eaten on the walk home.
She dumped the supplies on the desk and ate an entire box of stick-shaped chocolate on the floor in the dark. She drank the whole carton of watermelon juice out of spite, climbed into her bottom bunk, and stared at the underside of Yeji's mattress. The party was a lame idea anyway. Throwing a farewell party for a girl moving down the hall was pathetic. It was fine.
The next morning, Yeji found them.
Ryujin was kneeling on the floor, shoving a hoodie into her duffel bag, when Yeji picked up a plastic-wrapped cylinder of holographic pink from the desk. She turned the package over in her hands. Her hair was wrecked from a ten-hour blackout.
"Did you buy streamers?" she asked, ruffling a hand through her sleep-wrecked hair, her voice gravelly and utterly confused.
Ryujin continued shoving the hoodie down. "They were on sale."
Yeji looked from the plastic in her hands to the empty carton of watermelon juice beside them. "Were you going to decorate?"
"No, I was going to eat them." Ryujin yanked the bag zipper closed and sat back on her heels, glaring up at her. "Yes, I was going to decorate. You fell asleep at ten o'clock like a fucking grandma. What was I supposed to do, tape them to your unconscious body?"
Yeji lowered the package. The confusion vanished, her face settling into the exact quiet expression she used when she caught Ryujin trying to hide something soft.
"Ryuddaeng-ah."
Ryujin pointed a warning finger from the floor. "Don't start."
Yeji tilted her head, ignoring the finger. A slow, infuriating warmth took over her face. "Oh, you were going to throw us a party."
"I was going to throw MYSELF a party." Ryujin dragged herself off the floor, grabbing her bag and deliberately refusing to look anywhere near Yeji's smile. "You were invited as a courtesy."
The streamers stayed in their plastic wrap on the desk for three days before Ryujin threw them away, staying mad about two thousand won's worth of party supplies for four months.
Two thousand won of wasted streamers and four months of wasted anger, and she'd learned absolutely nothing from either. The first time she chose solitude over Yeji, she'd tried to throw a party to cover the cost. Tonight she'd just walked out the door.
***
A wave came in and covered her feet, the sharp cold curling her toes against the sand. The tangerine felt heavy in her hand, the citrus oil mixing with the salt air. Something warm and inconvenient settled into the place where the anger used to be, impossible to put back.
But these days I keep thinking, yo, baby I pay attention to you, why do I keep an eye on you again and again. Lia sang it sweet and wondering, and the wondering pulled the next one out of Ryujin's chest.
***
The driving school car smelled like pine air freshener and stress. The instructor sat clutching his clipboard against his chest, quietly hallucinating a different career, while Yeji sat behind the wheel holding ten and two, breath suspended inside a stationary Kia Morning.
Ryujin sat in the backseat because she'd already passed on her first try, mostly because she was good at things that required her body to do exactly what she told it to, and driving was effectively just choreography with a seatbelt. But that logic apparently didn't apply to Hwang Yeji. The girl was an apex predator on stage, a terrifyingly precise machine who could hit a blind floor mark down to the millimeter in platform boots. But once the backing track ended, she instantly reverted to a hopelessly clumsy house cat who routinely bumped into doorways, set chocolate on fire, and was currently treating the steering wheel like an unexploded bomb. She was on her second attempt after the first one had ended with a curb and a sound that the instructor described as "concerning."
They were here together because they'd enrolled together just for the "Not Shy" music video driving scene. When Yeji realized neither of them had a license, she'd said "we should just do it together" and Ryujin had said "no shit."
Yeji was doing objectively fine. The turns were clean, the speed was consistent, and the instructor had stopped gripping the oh-shit handle, which was progress. Then the GPS said turn left and Yeji turned left and ended up in a lane for a U-turn she was absolutely not supposed to be making.
"Why did you do that?" the instructor asked, measuring his syllables just to keep from screaming.
Yeji looked at the lane. She looked at the sign. She looked at the instructor with her full cat-eyed sincerity, confused by her own behavior.
"I know... why did I?"
She said it like she was hoping he had the answer to her own decision. It was so pure and bewildered that Ryujin totally lost her shit.
She laughed until her stomach cramped and the seatbelt locked, a breathless wheeze that made the instructor twist around in alarm to ask "is she okay?" as Yeji watched through the rearview mirror, her ears turning that bright, mortified shade of red. Which only happened when she'd done something accidentally hilarious and was exactly split between being embarrassed and being pleased she'd made Ryujin sound like that.
"I know," Ryujin managed between gasps. "Why did I. That's your defense."
"Honest question," Yeji said, still in the U-turn lane, still looking confused, and Ryujin's stomach cramped again and the instructor closed his eyes and let his head drop back against the headrest.
Yeji passed on her second attempt. Ryujin brought it up twice a month for the next year because the material was bottomless, and because making Yeji's ears go red remained one of the great recurring pleasures of her life.
Like three weeks later, sitting shotgun while Yeji meticulously reversed into a spot at the company parking garage.
"Remember when you almost killed us in the U-turn lane?" Ryujin asked, casually kicking her sneakers up onto the dashboard.
Yeji slapped Ryujin's ankles off the plastic while keeping intense eye contact with the rearview mirror. "I didn't almost kill us, I was going fifteen."
Ryujin let her feet drop, grinning as the tips of Yeji's ears once again hit that Yuna-coded shade of mortified pink. "I know, why did I. That's going on your tombstone."
Yeji wrapped a punitive hand around the gearshift, strangling the leather, and forcefully shoved it into Park. The sheer violence of the grip instantly made Ryujin worry for whoever ended up underneath Yeji in bed. She gripped the wheel and aimed a glare through the windshield carrying the same destructive hostility she supposedly used to wring grown men dry. "I hate you."
Ryujin pointed a stern, advising finger at the windshield. "You're driving, keep your eyes on the road."
Yeji turned her head slowly, giving her dead-eyed stare. "We're parked."
Ryujin patted her shoulder and popped her seatbelt. "Safety first, Hwang."
Tonight in the living room, Yeji's face had gone red too. Except Ryujin hadn't been trying to make her laugh.
***
The chorus hit with all five of them singing, letting Yeji and Lia lead. No matter where I look, it's only you, the one who's gonna melt me. She'd harmonized with these voices since she was sixteen, trained her ears to find their tunes like a bird call. The ocean blurred. Her eyes stung from the salt air or the wind or whatever she was going to call it until she ran out of alternatives.
No matter where I go, there's only you.
The memories stopped arriving one at a time and started coming in waves that matched the ocean, each one rolling in before the last had pulled back, and she stood in the water and let them come because she'd run out of things to stop them with.
***
She remembered Yeji sitting on the practice room floor after a twelve-hour Cake rehearsal, sweat dripping off her chin, her legs gone. Everyone else had left. Ryujin was destroyed too, but her thighs still worked because they were her main weapon and she'd be fucked if they didn't.
"Get up."
"I can't."
"Get on."
"Ryujin, I literally cannot stand."
"I didn't say stand, I said get on."
Ryujin turned around, offering her back. She crouched and waited while Yeji dragged herself up, lifting dead weight after three hours of full-out runs. Ryujin stood, letting Yeji's chin find the groove of her neck in comfortable silence. Yeji's legs had quit and Ryujin's still worked. You carried the person who needed carrying, and the burning in your thighs was just the price you paid for them trusting you enough to go limp.
"Your shoulders are so broad," Yeji mumbled into her neck.
"Thanks."
"Like, freakishly."
"Get off my back then."
"No." Yeji's arms tightened. "They're good broad. Carry broad."
Ryujin laughed and kept walking toward the parking garage. The burn in her thighs didn't matter. Being the unbothered cool girl was always a performance, but carrying someone who literally couldn't bend her knees was just gravity. You didn't need the concept to do it.
She didn't know when she'd stopped being able to drop it.
***
Then there was Yuna in a sparse waiting room at KBS during their debut week, sitting on a leather couch trying to look like a grown idol, knees pressed tight together, elbows tucked to her ribs. She looked so alone, a giant teenager terrified of taking up too much space. The rest of the group came packaged as 00 and 01 liners, leaving their fifteen-year-old maknae stranded at the bottom of the roster without a single chingoo. Ryujin crossed the room on autopilot, dropping onto the cushion beside her. She reached over, grabbed the loose wire of Yuna's mic pack, and snapped it securely into the clip at her waist. Yuna jumped slightly, looked over, and Ryujin smiled first because someone had to. The tension dropped out of Yuna's shoulders immediately and she leaned her head against Ryujin's shoulder.
Five years later, same girl, different couch. The living room two hours ago, girls' night, soju on the floor between them. Yuna had said it quietly into the space between all of them: I'm sorry I'm like this. Horny and stupid and weird.
"You're not stupid," Ryujin had said, and the tenderness in her own voice surprised her so badly she'd corrected within a breath. "You're a LITTLE stupid."
One honest second before the defenses snapped back on. Because staying in it meant acknowledging that Yuna hadn't invented any of this out of nowhere - the bratty confidence, the sexual bravado, the loudness as a shield. Yuna had learned the whole playbook by watching Ryujin do it first. She'd copied Ryujin's swagger so faithfully it came with all the original damage still attached, and now she was sitting on a villa couch apologizing for being the person Ryujin taught her it was cool to be.
Ryujin could've been the unnie who fixed the mic wire one more time. Instead, she'd immediately deflected, pouring another shot and turning it into a joke about hookups. Because acknowledging the damage was harder than performing it.
***
Then there was their dumbass name. Sitting cross-legged on a studio floor for 2TZY while a producer asked them to pick a duo name, both immediately over-thinking it.
"Something cute," Yeji said, straightening her posture.
"Something tough," Ryujin said at the same time, slouching back on her hands.
They looked at each other across the floorboards. Yeji tilted her head, challenging. Ryujin narrowed her eyes, refusing to compromise.
"Ddaeng Ddong," Ryujin blurted out.
Yeji stopped tilting her head, going still. "What?"
"Ryuddaeng, Yeddeong. Ddaeng Ddong." Ryujin gave a single, unapologetic shrug. "Like a doorbell. Because that's the sound we make when we arrive."
Yeji stared at her, blinking slowly. "That's the worst explanation I've ever heard for anything."
"It's ironic."
"It's a doorbell, Ryujin."
"But you like it." Ryujin pointed a sneaker at Yeji's knee.
"I didn't say I liked it." Yeji immediately dropped her chin to hide her mouth.
"You're smiling."
"That's my face," Yeji mumbled to the floor, her ears already turning pink. "It does that sometimes."
They were Ddaeng Ddong from that day forward. It got whispered across dressing rooms and texted at hours that made no sense. Ryujin would send Ddaeng Ddong at two in the morning and Yeji would reply Ddong Ddaeng, a conversation compressed into nonsense words. Nobody else used it because nobody else was meant to.
She tried to remember the last time either of them had texted it and couldn't.
***
Then there was the dark rug of the living room at two in the morning. Ryujin sat with her back against the sofa, her phone lighting up her face. She was deep in a theqoo thread, one of those community posts that went semi-viral and got screenshotted across every platform until it became unavoidable. The title was all-caps: something about wanting Ryujin to stop making "that expression." The expression was the one she made on stage - the lowered chin, the narrowed eyes, the cool-girl face she had spent years perfecting so nobody could see through it.
The comments read like homework-avoiding teenagers who had already decided they hated her before they even clicked the link. She tries so hard to act cool? Her signature 'style' is fucking cringe. And: When she debuted she wasn't like this but now she always has to make that face. A sub-thread had spawned specifically about her rap delivery - how she dropped her voice into that signature low rasp, and how people had to skip her parts because it made them uncomfortable or some shit. Two hundred upvotes. Two hundred strangers dissecting the concept she had built to survive them and deciding it was an embarrassment.
Earlier that month, ITZY's own producer had commented on her public Instagram telling her to get botox. Ryujin had absorbed the hit, logged onto Bubble at four in the morning, and apologized to the public on his behalf, defending the man who insulted her face. She figured it was just another task the job required, and Shin Ryujin was nothing if not ruthlessly committed to the act.
Lia walked out of the hallway wearing an oversized hoodie and carrying two cold glasses of water. She didn't ask what Ryujin was reading because she read it off the tight line of her jaw. She didn't offer a hug or tell her it would be fine because that wasn't her way. Instead, she carefully set one glass on the rug, sat cross-legged beside her, and watched the screen scroll for ten seconds.
Then Lia reached over, trapped Ryujin's thumb, and scrolled back to the top of the thread to read the title. She looked up at Ryujin.
"Wasn't the last round about your legs?"
Ryujin stayed still.
"So you built the face," Lia said. "And now they hate the face too."
Ryujin's lungs emptied. Lia never raised her voice and never softened a truth. You couldn't run a concept around her.
"You know they're mostly miserable twenty-somethings typing this on their commute because their actual jobs suck, right?" Lia added, picking up her water and taking a slow sip. "Total jobless behavior."
Ryujin dropped her head back against the upholstery and bark-laughed at the ceiling, drawing her first real breath in twenty minutes. Lia was back at the villa right now, probably perfectly aware that Ryujin was unraveling long before the fight even started, and Ryujin had walked out before Lia could do the one thing she did better than anyone else.
It made a paranoid edge of Ryujin's brain wonder exactly what else Lia had quietly collected on this trip. Lia acquired secrets effortlessly and wielded them masterfully. If there was actual unexploded ordnance lying around the villa right now, Lia already knew about it. She probably had the exact moment of ruin neatly backed up to a hidden camera roll while the rest of them were too busy making terrible decisions to notice the recording light.
***
Then there was the V Live from April, sometime between the Guess Who comeback teasers and the album drop, with both of them in the practice room at midnight because they'd been working on the point choreography and lost track of time. Yeji had said "should we go live?" and Ryujin had said "we look like shit" and Yeji had said "MIDZY won't care" and she was right, because MIDZY would watch them read a phone book in matching pajamas and still call it content.
They sat on the practice room floor with Yeji's phone propped against a water bottle, their hair wrecked, neither of them wearing any makeup, and they were the most themselves they'd ever been on camera.
Yeji started telling the story about the 2019 Asia Artist Awards rehearsal, the formation disaster where they'd both been standing in the wrong spot and spent ten minutes glaring at each other across the stage because neither would admit they'd miscounted. Ryujin cut in before Yeji even got to the good part - "No, because YOU were in the two-three and I was in the three-two, and you kept INSISTING -" and Yeji fired back "I was NOT in the two-three, you literally walked to the wrong mark and then blamed me for being in your eyeline -" and they were both talking over each other, reconstructing the argument in real time with matching hand gestures, their voices climbing over each other's in the exact same rhythm they'd been fighting in four years ago. Then Ryujin got so animated making her case that her loose practice shirt gaped open at the collar and her tits spilled toward the camera, and she was too deep into proving Yeji wrong to notice or care. Yeji noticed. Mid-sentence, still clapping back about the formation, Yeji reached over and buttoned Ryujin's top with one hand while her mouth kept going about stage markers and Ryujin batted the hand away and Yeji buttoned it again, firmer, eyes still on the camera, finishing her sentence about how Ryujin's spatial awareness had "always been her weakest skill as a performer, honestly." Ryujin's jaw dropped. The chat lost its mind.
It happened eleven times in half an hour. Someone in the comments counted. The chat was moving so fast that the words stacked into a wall of MARRIED MARRIED MARRIED streaming past in real time, and Ryujin read them aloud because reading the comments was part of the V Live format but also because the word was funny, "MARRIED", applied to two girls sitting on a practice room floor at midnight with bad hair and no makeup finishing each other's sentences about a thing that happened when they were trainees.
"They think we're married," Ryujin said to the camera.
Yeji covered her face with both hands and laughed into her palms.
She had this ridiculous squeaky cackling laugh, pitched way too high for a cat-eyed girl who regularly made grown choreographers adjust their posture, muffled by her fingers but audible because Yeji and volume control had never been formally introduced.
Ryujin could've picked that pitch out of a stadium of ten thousand voices, because she'd been hearing it since she was sixteen and her brain had placed it under a word she only ever used for one place and one person.
She'd heard it again and again on this trip, aimed at someone else.
"We're not married," Ryujin said to the camera, leaning back on her hands, grinning. "We're worse than married. Married people can get divorced."
Yeji dropped her hands. Her face had gone gochujang red. "Yah, don't say that."
"What? It's true. You can't divorce your Ddaeng Ddong."
"I absolutely can divorce my Ddaeng Ddong."
"You won't."
Yeji looked at her. The redness faded and what was underneath it was warm and steady and sure. "No," she said. "I won't."
The chat exploded. They'd given them enough material for six compilation videos and enough fan theories to fill a library with Ryeji fanfiction, and it didn't matter because the broadcast wasn't for the fans. The same way the bunk beds weren't for sleeping, and the driving school wasn't for driving, and the streamers weren't for decorating.
And the trip wasn't for Minho.
***
She remembered Chaeryeong standing behind her at a vanity mirror in Manila before a fan-sign event, using her graceful dancer's fingers to tuck three stray strands of pink hair behind Ryujin's ear. Chaeryeong focused on the task with the same gallery curator intensity she used on side dishes. They were talking about some dumb K-drama, and Chaeryeong had sighed wistfully, smoothing the hair down.
"I just think it's nice," Chaeryeong said, her eyes meeting Ryujin's in the glass. "Not having to fight for someone. Just knowing you're totally safe with them, you know? Like, you can be your worst self and they won't care. You can just be, and they won't ask you to be anything else."
"Spare me the monologue," Ryujin snorted, rolling her eyes and leaning away from the gentle hands. "You're so hopelessly vanilla."
Which was a flat-out lie. Ryujin knew for a fact Sunwoo regularly tied that girl to headboards and choked her with silk ribbons until she sobbed, a level of romantic domestic depravity that even Ryujin found kind of intimidating. But Chaeryeong just patted her shoulder, unphased by the insult.
Ryujin spent the next three days obsessing over the word safe. Chaeryeong was building a quiet relationship with Sunwoo that Ryujin aggressively categorized as boring, just to avoid admitting she was jealous of a door she'd nailed shut herself.
***
She remembered the Cozy House kitchen on Jeju, six months after their first group trip to the island back in 2022, back when the five of them were filming a reality show about running a guesthouse. Ryujin had been standing at the stove with a spatula she was holding like a sword, mainly because she didn't or couldn't or wouldn't do things gently. She only did things thoroughly and with sweeping conviction, operating under the belief that if the pajeon was going to be stirred, it was going to know it had been stirred.
"Ryujin-ah, you're not attacking it. Turn the heat down," Yeji said, hovering just over her right shoulder with her arms crossed, radiating intense micromanagement energy despite possessing culinary skills that would have gotten her immediately expelled from JYP if boiling water was a trainee evaluation criteria.
"It's called getting a crisp edge, unnie," Ryujin said, flipping the pancake with borderline violence. "And you're banned from having stove opinions until you figure out how to fry an egg without destroying a non-stick pan."
"I have good taste!" Yeji insisted, still standing her ground because relinquishing control was physically painful for her. "I'm providing leaderly supervision."
"YOU can't even operate a microwave without adult supervision. Step back before you hurt yourself."
Yuna kept weaponizing her ridiculous wingspan, tactically snaking a gangly arm through the gap between Ryujin and Yeji's shoulders every forty seconds to steal half-cooked batter right out of the hot oil. She used her two-inch acrylic nails as heat-resistant tongs, plucking the food with terrifying dexterity to save her actual fingertips from turning into grilled sausages. Lia would actively swat her wrist, Yuna would shriek like she had just been stabbed, and then the same painted claws would reappear thirty seconds later because she operated on pure, unrepentant maknae entitlement and the appetite of three golden retrievers.
Chaeryeong was at the counter arranging banchan, analyzing each small dish, stepping back to evaluate, and adjusting the kimchi by three millimeters. She'd been doing this for twenty minutes, and the kimchi had been repositioned four times. Nobody told her to stop because Chaeryeong arranging things was Chaeryeong at peace and you didn't interrupt Chaeryeong's peace, you just let her align her side dishes and accepted that the table was going to look like a magazine spread.
Yeji had technically been assigned to "hospitality and cleanup" because nobody trusted her with meal preparation for paying guests. A role so devoid of authority she rejected it immediately, electing to act as the kitchen's self-appointed floor manager instead. Officially banished from the heat zones, she spent her time hovering between stations and wielding her personal conviction that garlic solved all human problems, which it did, just not in the sort of fatal quantities Yeji was suggesting. She drifted back to Ryujin's side just to reach past her shoulder and grab a piece of dried squid, meticulously mixing three different condiments on a small plate before dunking the squid into the resulting sludge. Then her face did that tiny twitch between her eyebrows and mouth that meant needs mustard as clearly as if she'd shouted it. Ryujin was already sliding the yellow bottle across the counter before the look finished forming. Six years of catering and dorm meals meant Yeji's face was just a language Ryujin spoke fluently.
"How'd you know I was gonna ask for mustard?" Yeji asked.
"Because it's you." Ryujin kept her eyes on the stove. "You always want mustard."
"Not true. Sometimes I want bean sauce."
"Yeah, forty seconds ago." Ryujin tapped her spatula against the pan. "Your left eyebrow did the bean sauce thing."
"I have a bean sauce thing?"
"You have a whole condiment rack. Left eyebrow is bean sauce. Mouth corner is mustard. Nose scrunch means you're looking for the mayo. And whatever the fuck you just did with the squid in that nasty mayo-chili thing is a crime against humanity."
Yeji stared at the side of her head. "You know my condiment faces."
"Someone has to."
"Since when?"
Ryujin flipped the pajeon again with another dose of aggression. "I don't know, since forever? Same way I know you drive in dead silence because you're scared of missing the GPS, and you take your teddy bears to the doll hospital instead of buying new ones, and you still cry at the Toy Story 3 incinerator scene even though you know they survive."
"I don't cry at cartoons, Ryuddaeng."
"You sniffled. Four times."
Yeji went quiet for a second. She had forgotten her banishment from the heat zone, absently holding a wooden spoon she had no business wielding over the bubbling pot, standing close enough that Ryujin felt the stove's heat radiating off her apron. "You pay attention," she mumbled.
Ryujin hated that tone. It was too soft for the kitchen, too exposed, like Yeji was catching up to the fact that someone had already seen her. It felt like being caught.
"Don't make it weird," Ryujin said, reaching over her for the salt. She pointedly plucked the wooden spoon out of Yeji's hand. "And get the fuck away from that pot. Go supervise the kimchi or something."
When had she decided that knowing Yeji this well was a liability? Because of that damn reflex, the girl she could read better than anyone else had just spent the evening fighting a version of Ryujin who pretended she couldn't read a damn thing.
***
The individual memories blurred together into the sheer physical muscle memory of the five of them moving as a unit. A flash of her walking through Incheon airport, surrounded by flashbulbs and screaming bodies. They moved through the terminal like a Teukgongdae strike team, applying five years of stage formations directly to walking speed. Yeji took point, Chaeryeong tucked into her left side, and Ryujin automatically slotted in at stage right. She maintained a strict three-step distance to cover Yeji's blind spot, never checking her spacing. Her body knew where it belonged in the formation.
Tonight she'd deliberately broken the line, leaving a gaping fucking hole on the right side that nobody else had the history to fill.
Ain't nobody like you.
***
The water pulled back, dragging the sand out from under Ryujin's slides. The crushed tangerine was warm against her palm. She was still standing upright, which was going to have to be enough because the next verse was hers.
Because of you, softly permeated in my hard frozen heart, I can't tell you from head to tail, this is not my style.
Except the bunk beds were real.
***
It was the old dorm room before the solo room she'd won in the ghost leg game, before any of the walls she'd put up since. There was bottom bunk Ryujin and top bunk Yeji and the hallway light leaking under the door in a thin gold line while everything outside the room stayed enormous and uncertain and indifferent to whether two rookies in a shared bedroom survived the year.
She used to climb up with her hands finding the ladder rungs in the dark by feel and her bare feet on the cold metal, the mattress dipping when she crawled in beside Yeji while neither of them said anything because saying something would've meant admitting that the trainee evaluations had been brutal or that the choreographer had screamed at them again or that the future was a door they couldn't see through and the only plan anyone had given them was to keep running at it and hope it opened before they hit it. They just lay there breathing, Ryujin on her back and Yeji on her side with their shoulders touching in the narrow bunk while their breathing found the same rhythm by accident.
Sometimes Yeji came down instead, her cold feet finding Ryujin's shins under the blanket and her forehead pressing against Ryujin's collarbone. Ryujin held still to let Yeji's breathing slow against her chest because that was all she needed to do, just be there, just let her body be the thing Yeji leaned against when the world was too heavy to hold upright. It was the same way she'd been leaning into Minho's back at the pool half an hour ago.
Yeji's breathing would even out and Ryujin would lie there listening to it the way she used to listen to the morning routine from the bottom bunk, treasuring the sound of someone she loved being okay. She never had to think about it, because thinking would've meant naming it, and naming it meant admitting that Shin Ryujin, the girl who didn't need anyone, needed this girl so much she climbed a ladder in the dark just to sleep next to her.
Wait. Fuck.
Nineteen-year-old Yeji collapsing onto Ryujin's collarbone in the dark meant loyalty. Twenty-four-year-old Yeji collapsing onto Minho's spine at the pool and his chest on the couch meant treason. But it was the same fucking thing, wasn't it? Just an exhausted girl turning someone into a bed so she didn't have to stand up anymore. Ryujin had spent the last six months going absolutely batshit over it, ripping her best friend to shreds for executing the same trainee reflex she’d used since day one. Someone else caught the weight, and Ryujin took that as permission to burn the whole house down.
It all worked because she used to be soft. Before she made being an unbothered bitch her brand, she was just a girl climbing into her best friend's bed because being scared together was better than being tough alone. The middle-finger spine was just a survival tactic. Once the internet decided her thighs were public property, she figured the only way to avoid getting eaten alive was to break everyone's teeth. The concept worked great on cameras and boys. But tonight she'd used it to gut the only person who actually knew how fake it was.
Her jaw ached. The waves kept coming and her own voice in her headphones kept singing about a frozen heart melting.
Yeji's verse came in.
Don't smile like that again, yo, I can't pretend not to know, why do I keep thinking of you again and again, oh my god what on earth are you.
Ryujin wanted to answer so badly her mouth opened to the empty Pacific. The answer was simple: she was the person who'd stayed for Chuseok.
***
Everyone had gone home.
Chuseok break, 2019, the year they'd debuted. The dorm emptied the way it always did around holidays, the shoe rack getting lighter pair by pair over the course of a morning. Lia's white sneakers went first, then Yuna's platform boots because Yuna packed like she was fleeing a fire and was always the first one out the door. Chaeryeong's loafers next, lined up neatly by the door until her sister arrived and then gone. By noon the hallway was quiet enough to hear the pipes in the walls and the fridge hummed louder than usual.
Ryujin was in her room packing. She had her train ticket to Seoul printed, her mom's last text pulled up: What time are you getting to Seoul Station? Appa is making galbi. Her sneakers were on the rack by the door. Her bag was half-zipped on the bed. She was thinking about her dad's galbi and her childhood bedroom and the feeling of sleeping in her house again instead of a dorm, where the walls were thin enough that you could hear someone breathing in the next room.
Through that very wall she heard Yeji in the kitchen. The electric kettle clicking on. A cabinet opening and closing. Then Yeji's voice, on the phone, and Ryujin wasn't trying to listen but the dorm was empty and sound carried.
"No, it's fine, eomma. I know. No, it's just scheduling. It's fine. I'll be fine. I'll just... yeah, I'll probably just practice. Maybe watch something."
Ryujin could hear the lie through a wall. In the tone she used after fourteen-hour practices to tell the managers she was fine. Yeji couldn't get home to Jeonju for Chuseok. The reasons didn't matter. The fact was that the dorm was empty and the holiday was tomorrow and Yeji was boiling water for ramyeon alone in a kitchen designed for five people.
"I'll call you tomorrow morning." Yeji's voice got impossibly small, the sturdy leader act instantly cracking the second she thought about her dogs. "Give Hongsam and Insam a treat for me, okay? Tell them I miss them. Say hi to unnie too. Love you."
The phone call ended. The wrapper crinkled. A minute later, the acrid, unmistakable smell of scorching starch drifted through the vents because Yeji, distracted by trying not to cry over missing her dogs on the night before Chuseok, had put dry noodles in a hot pot and forgotten to add water.
The smoke stung her eyes. She looked at her packed bag, her mom's text, and her sneakers by the door, and came to the blunt, factual realization that her best friend was literally not going to survive a three-day weekend unsupervised. If the sadness didn't take her out, the stovetop definitely would.
She unpacked the bag and put the sneakers back in the closet. She walked into the kitchen, finding Yeji standing at the stove frantically waving a dish towel at a smoking pot, her face trying very hard to look fine with eating alone.
"So what do you want for dinner?"
Yeji looked up, her eyes spectacularly red and brimming with tears that were officially one hundred percent the fault of the starch smoke and absolutely nothing else. "What?"
"For dinner. Burning ramyeon is not dinner, it's a hazard. How the fuck do you even burn a soup?"
"I forgot the water." Yeji looked down at the blackened block of noodles, her voice thick. "Ryujin-ah, you have a train."
"I don't have a train."
"You literally just showed me your ticket this morning."
"Changed my mind. I'm staying. What sounds good, should we order chicken? We should order chicken. Or jjajangmyeon. Both. We should order both."
"You don't have to -"
"I want to. Also, you really need to turn that burner off before the sprinklers go off."
Yeji turned to the stove and grabbed the dial, and her hands were shaking, just enough that the smoking pot rattled against the metal grate. She kept her back turned, and Ryujin let her. They were eighteen and nineteen, and they didn't have the vocabulary yet for whatever Yeji's eyes were doing.
They ordered chicken and jjajangmyeon and tteokbokki because Yeji had said "should we get tteokbokki too?" in a slightly unsteady voice and Ryujin had said "obviously", because obviously anything Yeji wanted tonight she was getting because the alternative was Yeji eating ramyeon alone on the kitchen floor, and that was an image Ryujin rejected the way she rejected bad choreography.
They ate on the floor because the table felt too big. Yeji put a movie on her laptop, but neither of them really watched it. The important thing was the boxed chicken and the fact that they were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder so the empty dorm wouldn't feel so loud.
Yeji passed out halfway through whatever was playing. Her head tipped sideways and landed heavy on Ryujin's shoulder, instantly dead to the world. Ryujin dragged a blanket over both of them with her free hand, careful not to shift her weight. Her dad's galbi was amazing, but she didn't give a shit right now. Throwing away the train ticket hadn't even required a second thought. Yeji was alone and missed her dogs, so Ryujin stayed. There was no other version of that night.
She stayed because leaving simply wasn't an option her body knew how to execute. Reaching for the salt, carrying Yeji to the van, tossing a good train ticket in the trash - her body always did the work while her ego was still building its case.
Tonight she'd managed to override the system. She'd successfully trained herself to walk away instead of going soft, and congratulations to her, the training worked. She was currently standing ankle-deep in freezing ocean water at midnight while her best friend was somewhere far away clinging to a guy she'd fucked to prove a point, all because staying meant admitting she needed her. She'd spent years protecting a fake tough-girl persona, and now she was finding out what happens when you play stupid games.
Who teaches their own body to leave the people who love them and then wonders why they end up alone? Who builds a house for someone and then burns it down because they can't admit they wanted to live in it together? Who picks a fight with the only person who would never fight back, and then wonders why they don't have anyone left to fight with?
She didn't know when she started crying. All she knew was that her face was wet, her breathing was broken, and the salt on her lips wasn't from the ocean.
The last one crawled out of an unremarkable Tuesday afternoon at the company three weeks before the trip.
***
They were dead on the practice room floor during a break, flattened by post-tour exhaustion. Lia was facedown on a yoga mat, Yuna was scrolling on her back, and Chaeryeong was stretching her calves by the mirror.
Yeji sat cross-legged against the glass, maintaining that perfect posture while scrolling. She'd been quiet for ten minutes, which meant she was mapping out exactly how to pitch whatever scheme she was brewing.
"Management said we can pick the location for the trip," Yeji said, not looking up from her screen, but her diction made it clear who the question was directed at.
Ryujin lay flat on the hardwood, forearm draped over her eyes to block the harsh lights. "Mm."
"I was thinking Jeju." Yeji dropped the statement like she was suggesting what to get for lunch. "Jimin-ah recommended the resort where all the industry people hide out. They're going too. They got private villas with room service. Also, BLACKPINK sunbaenim is headlining their summer festival that weekend."
Across the room, Yuna bolted upright, instantly breathless. "Wait! Like, ACTUALLY BLACKPINK sunbaenim?"
"Yes, Yuna-yah, actually BLACKPINK sunbaenim," Yeji said mildly, still looking at her phone.
"Oh my gosh, VIP section?" Yuna demanded, scrambling excitedly to her feet. "Like, breathing the same air? Holy shit, I have to practice my moves."
She abandoned her phone on the hardwood and immediately launched into the chorus choreography for As If It's Your Last, loudly vocalizing the synth bass line to the ceiling. She was hitting the hip isolations with full stadium enthusiasm. Lia didn't even lift her face from her yoga mat. Chaeryeong just watched Yuna pop her hips in the mirror with mild, exhausted amusement.
The tragic irony of that one-woman flash mob was that Yuna's dedication to being a total slut would cost her the tickets two weeks later. Ryujin had blown up the maknae's phone during the midnight drop, well aware Yuna was currently getting her back blown out in some hotel room by that quiet backup dancer they'd gotten into a screaming match over after their tour encore. Ryujin had ceded the guy because she "had options" and he wasn't worth the energy, and now Yuna was too busy riding her hand-me-down dick to answer seven consecutive calls during a national Blink emergency. When the eighth call went to voicemail, Ryujin ruthlessly pivoted to Karina, who was awake and melodramatically sad-girl spiraling over an actor she'd dated for six fucking weeks, because BLACKPINK tickets waited for no man's thrusts. Look, Ryujin respected the hustle, but you don't get to call yourself "Head Blink" if you ignore a midnight drop for mediocre dick that your unnie literally gave you.
She'd screamed at Yuna for an hour over that guy and forgotten his name by morning because the things she fought hardest over were never the things she kept or cared about.
But in the moment, Yuna screaming the lyrics provided the perfect distraction.
Ryujin moved her arm just enough to squint up at Yeji's face. She kept her jaw locked to hide the massive spike of adrenaline hitting her chest. Yeji knew what she was doing - she'd weaponized the festival lineup specifically to guarantee Ryujin would bite.
"Jeju's perfect," Ryujin stated evenly.
A tiny shift moved across Yeji's face. The corners of her eyes softened. She pressed her lips into a deeply satisfied line before quickly burying the reaction by dropping her thumb back to the glass.
"I thought you might agree," Yeji replied, scrolling faster.
The whole exchange took twenty seconds. Ryujin dropped her arm back over her eyes and completely forgot about it.
***
She stood in the freezing surf and finally realized how much of an idiot she was.
The damaged tangerine was still sticky in her hand. She was still standing on Jeju right now. The same island where she'd declared to a camera two years ago that it was her favorite place on Earth. The same island where Yeji had driven a rental car too carefully through the mist and asked her, casual as suggesting lunch: should we come build a house in the mountains at Jeju-do and live here later?
When management handed over the company card, Yeji picked Jeju.
Yeji had actually done it.
She'd built the house in the mountains. She just built it out of a private villa rental and a clear week in July instead. And Ryujin had willfully walked right out the front door and tried to burn it down.
Yeji had never picked between them. She'd brought Minho for herself and booked Jeju specifically for Ryujin, just to fulfill a casual promise she'd made years ago. She had room for both of them. Ryujin was the only one who demanded a choice. She manufactured a war out of pure insecurity, locked onto a made-up threat, and fired a kill shot point-blank into her own teammate.
I'm the type of girl that should do everything she wanna do, I'm the type of girl that should have everything she wanna have, now I want you bad, I can't lose, so babe ain't nobody like you.
The track hit its final chorus. It was supposed to be a flex, but tonight it sounded like an instruction manual. She wanted her best friend back. Her feet were already shifting in the wet sand, ignoring her brain's objections because her body had taken over and it was screaming to go home.
She measured love in the only units she knew: tallying who fucked who, who came first, and whose body earned what. She crammed every single interaction into a sexual hierarchy because she was too thick to use any other metric. That meant she wasted the whole trip treating Yeji's happiness as a personal attack instead of recognizing the same old reflex, the one she'd been using since they were trainees, the one that had always meant I care about you so much that I want to be the person who takes care of you when you're too tired to stand.
The path was dark. The island smelled like the trip Yeji had built for them, and Ryujin was suddenly standing in the middle of it feeling like an absolute fucking idiot.
A harsh, ragged laugh tore out of her throat, sounding wrecked against the empty beach. She brought her hand up to aggressively scrub the tears off her cheeks, forgetting what she was holding. The crushed tangerine dragged directly across her face, smearing sticky, sweet-acidic citrus oil over her jaw and mixing it straight into the salt of her own crying.
"You're infuriating, Yeddeong," she said out loud to the dark water. Her voice cracked right down the middle, thick and wet. "What the fuck am I doing."
She stood there - twenty-three years old, alone, her face sticky with ruined fruit and regret, and desperate to get back to the villa before she lost the only person she cared about more than anything.
***
She dragged her phone out of her pocket with trembling fingers and bypassed the music app's shuffle button. She had spent the damn trip letting an algorithm throw tracks at her like emotional shrapnel, letting it score her misery while she kept her hands clean. That was over. She jabbed the search bar, and her wet, sandy thumb skated uselessly across the glass three times in a row, leaving a gritty orange smear where the keyboard should have been. She wiped her hand on her shorts, tried again, got as far as BE before the screen registered a phantom tap and pulled up Beyoncé's entire discography.
"Oh, FUCK off."
She held the phone up to her mouth like she was about to bite it. "Siri, play 'Bet On Me' by ITZY." She was already composing the unhinged rant for the group chat about Apple's war on wet fingers when a calm, unbothered voice cut through her AirPods.
"Here's 'Bet On Me' by ITZY."
She stared at the screen. Siri had come through. First useful thing anyone had done for her all trip, and it was a stupid voice assistant with zero emotional intelligence. She shoved the phone back against her thigh and kept walking.
The synth settled into her headphones, slow enough to pace the break of the waves.
There's nothing inside me, not yet.
She tightened her grip on the sticky tangerine and took her first step off the beach. The bass dropped two seconds later, vibrating against the base of her skull, and walking immediately felt too passive.
She broke into a jog, kicking heavy clumps of wet sand onto the back of her shorts while she aimed for the dark opening of the coastal path. Her wet slides slapped against the steep dirt incline and the jog naturally escalated into a desperate, lung-burning sprint.
The cold air scraped her throat as she dragged in raw breaths that tasted of copper. The dirt path spiked violently past the tree line, flooding her thighs with burning acid on the ascent. The slides flapped uselessly against her heels, slipping backward in the loose gravel with every awkward push, and her lower back seized hard enough to make her want to collapse into the damp ferns and just breathe.
Walking in the dark, the compass broken.
Hot, bitter resentment burned in her chest over walking out that door, but she refused to stop. She clamped her jaw tight, dropped her hips low, and forced her body to move like she did on stage. She attacked the incline like a dance break, anchoring her weight and driving her toes hard into the rubber to keep the sandals from flying off. She snapped her core with every stride, forcing her heavy knees upward whenever her thighs failed.
Without the courage to fall, you can never fly.
The lyrics pulsed through her headphones in a punishing tempo that matched the frantic slapping of her sandals up the slope. Sweat broke across her forehead and slid hot and stinging into her eyes, but she left it there. Her lungs starved and her legs shuddered under the vertical climb as the spite burned out into pure exhaustion.
But still, I can't stop.
She gritted her teeth and threw her shoulders forward in rigid pumps, twisting her torso to drag her dead legs up the incline. An invisible tether looped around her ribs and pulled tight, dragging her straight back to the girl on the deck. The earlier anger had launched her up the first half of the hill, leaving only the agonizing need to see Yeji's face to pull her through the rest. Every muscle tore and rebuilt around the single necessity of going home to her Yeddeong.
The messy, sliding rhythm of her feet hitting the dirt dragged her mind straight back to the music video set. She remembered pounding the asphalt inside the echoing concrete underpass with the girls flanking her sides. The director had ordered them to sprint full-force toward the blinding light at the end of the tunnel. A strange, weightless euphoria had rushed into her lungs on that final take. She felt so free under the staging lights, stripped of intricate choreography and reduced to pure forward movement alongside her members, her sisters, her family.
She had spent five years confusing invincibility with freedom. She built a bulletproof cage out of swagger and casual cruelty, convinced that needing nothing made her untouchable. But feeling her lungs burn in the dark, she finally understood the high of that staged sprint. Real freedom wasn't about outrunning every single thing that could hurt her. It lived in the terrifying, wide-open act of choosing what you ran toward.
The tree canopy swallowed the path in darkness just as the track surged into the final chorus. Ryujin dragged in a ragged breath and let her chest heave against the steep grade before looking up. A faint teal glow filtered through the dense branches near the top, where the underwater lights of the villa pool bled into the night.
Following that faint light, I want to run there.
She ignored the burning in her calves and locked her eyes on the glow to keep running.
***
The next song played and Kill Shot hit the bridge in her ears as her slide caught the last stone step. The apology she'd been rehearsing on the run - three tight sentences, in and out before Yeji could hide in the villa and pretend everything was fine - evaporated. Because something was wrong with the music.
Kill shot, one remaining count - everything falls down, so never doubt, swish swish -
Except the swish swish wasn't coming from the goddamn track.
There was a wet percussion bleeding through the AirPods that had no business being in the mix. Heavy and rhythmic. A thick smack that synced with the bassline for two bars before falling half a beat behind. She frowned, pressed the silicone deeper into her ear, and caught it again. Louder than the track. Bouncing off the stone walls somewhere past the hedges.
She yanked the earbud out.
The Jeju night hit her unscored. The outdoor shower was running at full blast. The pool filter hummed. And cutting straight through the steam curling over the top of the stone stall came the sharp, unmistakable sound of wet flesh violently slapping wet flesh.
Swish-smack.
Swish-smack.
Ryujin stopped breathing because what she saw felt like a shot through the heart.
She stepped off the crushed gravel and pressed her back flat against the dark side of the hedges. The tangerine in her fist was sweating. She was gripping it hard enough to bruise the peel.
Teal light from the pool flooded the courtyard. Minho's board shorts were drifting toward the skimmer in the deep end. Three steps closer, crumpled on the dry deck right outside the shower stall, Yeji's brown bikini sat in a puddle on top of the white mesh cover-up she'd worn all day. Stripped off mid-stride, apparently, with the bottoms turned inside out.
The last time Ryujin saw them, Yeji was practically hiding inside Minho's shirt on the terrace, looking like she was about to cry into his spine and call it rain. That was what... a little while ago.
Ryujin mouthed holy fuck, Hwang to nobody and swallowed hard.
The shower's slatted bamboo doors were shoved wide open. Pool light cut through the steam, throwing bright horizontal stripes across the dark volcanic tile.
And across the two people using it.
The absolute whiplash of the contrast made Ryujin want to physically gag. Apparently these two fucking disasters were either so aggressively horny or so hopelessly emotionally fucked up that they had just mutually agreed to start using their crotches for emotional release.
Yeji was bent double. One hand was planted flat against the wet wall while the shower head dumped heavy water straight between her shoulder blades, flooding down the arch of her back. Minho stood right behind her, his right hand clamped over the dip of her waist to lock her hips firmly in place while his left arm reached across her body to wrap his fingers around the front of her throat, aggressively pulling her head straight back into the rushing spray.
This was the exact same shower where Ryujin had caught him balls-deep in Yuna yesterday morning, minutes before she'd dragged him out of this exact stall to violently ride him blind on the pool wood. She had just had this guy inside her yesterday morning. But the sheer physical shock locking her ribs right now came from how the fuck they were doing it.
Ryujin watched his cock drive straight forward and vanish between Yeji's thighs, burying it so deep the base of his shaft smacked flush against her dripping ass with a wet crack before he pulled back to let the thick friction rip loud over the falling water and violently slammed right back in, every single driving thrust knocking Yeji's shoulders dangerously forward and swinging her bare breasts against the dark stone.
Ryujin had tracked Hwang Yeji's behavior for seven years and she had never seen her willingly take this angle - Yeji absolutely did not do doggy, she got on top and aggressively set the fucking pace so she could look down and watch boys desperately scramble to piece themselves together. Yeji once bent a male idol's thumb backward at a club until something audibly popped just because he put his hands on her exposed waist, she strictly never let any guy put his hands anywhere near her neck, and she did not make high, desperate whining noises while letting herself get manhandled in a courtyard.
This girl happily letting her head get pinned back by her throat while taking a heavy pounding from behind and dropping breathless, half-choked whines out of her mouth was doing all three of those strictly forbidden things at the exact same time, a total fucking stranger hijacked into her best friend's body that was haphazardly operating those same hips Ryujin had watched systematically destroy dozens of industry guys just for the sport of it.
Bitch, what the FUCK are you doing.
Minho slid his left hand around the side of Yeji's face, clamping his wet palm directly over her mouth to muffle the raw sounds she was spilling into the courtyard.
Yeji's hand snapped up. She seized his wrist, violently ripped his hand away from her lips, and pinned his arm flat backward against the tile.
"No." The word tore out of her. It was gasped and wrecked, but it carried the exact same iron authority she used to snap fifty backup dancers to attention when they were doing their BORN TO BE rehearsals. "Let them hear."
"Then tell them." His voice cut through the steam, dark and breathless. "Tell them whose you are."
"Yours." Yeji threw her head straight back into the falling water. "Fuck. Minho. Yours."
Ryujin's fist clenched shut. The tangerine gave way, the thick rind snapping open and bleeding warm fruit juice aggressively into her palm.
Hwang Yeji wrote the manual on absolute self-ownership. She and Ryujin had spent years tearing up the traditional idol handbook to build a shared philosophy around being unapologetic and bulletproof. They lived by a core doctrine and modeled it for the younger girls until the attitude became bone memory. You take exactly what you want and you never give anyone the privilege of claiming you. Ryujin knew the rules intimately. They had forged them together over the wreckage of exhausted men in breathless hotel rooms, fiercely proud that they could devour the industry and still keep the high ground.
And right now, Yeji was standing naked in an open stall and practically screaming yours into the Jeju night air with all the villa's doors wide open.
"Face me," Yeji demanded.
He pulled out. The wet, hollow pop of the separation rang off the stone. Yeji didn't even wait to find her footing before she whipped around, her bare spine slamming hard right back against the wall. She immediately hooked a wet leg over his hip. Minho dropped both hands under her thick thighs and hoisted her off the ground.
She locked her ankles tight behind his back. He drove straight upward into her.
The sound Yeji made - a high, wrecked "Oh..." buried directly into his collarbone - was a noise Ryujin had never heard her make in her life.
Don't feel it. Just make them feel it. Take the control and don't let it touch you.
That was the Yeji she knew - the arrogant bitch who rode their cameraman with her stupid pink highlight bobbing around while she and Ryujin rated the guy's stroke game out loud, and the terrifying leader who sat down on Stray Kids' visual center and clinically dismantled him on a penthouse mattress purely to prove a fucking point.
This Yeji was contracting her core to drag herself deeper down a guy's dick. Her wet back squeaked and slid against the stone with every brutal upward slam of his hips, and she was hiding her flushed face in his neck like she wanted to permanently crawl inside his ribs.
Ryujin clamped her free hand over her own mouth. Sticky fruit juice burned the open cut on her lip.
"I'm close," Yeji choked. The words fractured in her throat. Her nails dug violently into his wet shoulders. "Don't stop. Don't... don't change anything..."
Yeji did not beg. Ever. She handed out instructions. She gave guys live choreography notes while she was on top of them. Seven out of ten. Decent stamina. Stop thrusting up, you're throwing off my rhythm.
This girl was begging him.
Her hips seized. A sharp gasp caught in her throat, and raw physical tension locked up her thick thighs. She went rigid against the wet wall, wrapping him in a death grip.
Then she just broke.
The sound she let out started guttural and climbed into this unhinged, breathless high note that bounced off the shower walls and flooded the yard. Her thighs crushed in on Minho's waist. She wrenched his shoulders forward, burying her face into his wet skin, and shook against the tile in violent, heavy spasms. She was clamping down on him so hard Ryujin could physically see Yeji's abs jumping and flexing under the spray from beyond the gate.
Minho's rhythm shattered. His thrusts got short and desperate. His hips kept stuttering. Ryujin knew the exact signs because she'd been on top of him when his body pulled this exact stalling routine. He was right on the absolute edge.
Yeji felt it too.
The blood in Ryujin's veins went cold. Her brain immediately queued up the mental footage of Yeji lifting cleanly off the cameraman right before the guy lost it. She braced for the clean, clinical dismount, because that was the rule. That was always the rule.
Except Yeji didn't move.
"Inside," Yeji breathed into his wet neck. The word was muffled, dirty, and totally wrecked.
She locked her crossed ankles tighter. She dug her heels directly into his lower spine, wrenching his hips flush and refusing to give him an inch of space to pull back. She wasn't asking for it. She was ordering him to cum inside her before his brain even caught up to the trap.
Minho dropped his forehead against the stone wall right next to her ear. His broad shoulders seized up. He let out a harsh groan straight into her wet hair, drove his hips in deep, and Ryujin stood in the bushes and watched his whole body aggressively shudder while he knocked up her best friend.
The fruit in Ryujin's fist was just obliterated pulp.
***
September 2021. Hotel room after Inkigayo. Yeji was bouncing on their cameraman's lap with that stupid pink streak in her hair while Ryujin laughed so hard from the second bed she almost choked. They were running a tag team, passing him back and forth for twenty minutes, shouting out scores out of ten. The second his hips started jerking, Yeji pulled off. Smooth, bored, and perfectly clean. Ryujin swapped in, took the mess inside herself, and sincerely asked afterward why Yeji never just stayed put and took the creampie.
Yeji's cat eyes narrowed, turning even sharper than they normally were. "I don't give that part of myself away, Ryuddaeng. It's mine to control."
Three months later at The MAMA afterparty, Ryujin sat backwards on a chair and watched Jihyo teach Yeji how to turn the pull-out into a psychological weapon after Chan had accidentally doused her insides with his seed. Ten seconds later, Yeji walked across the penthouse, sat directly on Hwang Hyunjin's dick while Dahyun slapped her whiteboard marker against her palm screaming "HWANG ON HWANG, I have been WAITING for this card," and climbed off right as he lost it. She hovered over his chest while he shot on his own stomach, swiping a finger through the mess and tasting it like she was judging a fucking soup. "Good face. Terrible pacing." She owned the whole room that night.
The rule is absolute, Ryujin had realized right then. No exceptions. Nobody gets to keep her.
And then four hours later she caught Yeji standing by the penthouse glass, quietly, obsessively scrubbing at a drop of Chan's accidental cum on her thigh. Four hours later and Yeji was still trying to wash the evidence off her skin.
***
Back in the courtyard, present-day Yeji was standing still under the shower head, just watching Minho's thick cum slowly slide down the inside of her tanned thigh.
And she was smiling.
Ryujin swallowed dry air.
White mess dripped down Yeji's leg. The heavy shower stream washed the first drop away, but a thicker clump immediately pushed out to replace it. Her body was casually returning whatever she had forced him to pump into her. Yeji watched the mess fall, and then she tilted her wet head up at Minho. Her face was wiped clean of the frantic, disgusted scrubbing that had haunted that MAMA penthouse.
"Messy," Yeji murmured. She sounded giddy and amused.
It's mine to control.
The sticky fruit juice was drying on Ryujin's palm as a massive, ugly truth finally dropped heavy into her stomach - Yeji pulled off every guy she fucked because pulling off meant she permanently secured the high ground, forcing boys to cum on themselves because it meant she never had to participate in the terrifying reality of being vulnerable with them. Mine to control just meant that when a guy was ruined and desperate for her, Yeji got to stay untouched, keeping the men in her bed at arm's length the exact same way she kept everyone else boxed out behind the impenetrable leader smile and the strict three-meter broadcast buffer.
And tonight, she'd given it away like it was nothing. She dug her heels into his spine, demanded it inside, and dropped the word like it didn't cost her a damn thing. Not a single flinch. Her body executed the hold on pure reflex, smooth as hitting a center stage mark or catching Ryujin's eye across a packed green room. Which meant this wasn't the first time. Which meant she had probably been doing this with him since day one. For five hidden years. Ryujin had sat in a dozen hotel beds watching Yeji coldly pull off every guy in the industry, stupidly convinced she was watching the real girl.
Minho dropped to both knees on the flooded stone. He scooped water in his bare hands and started washing her thighs, but the cleanup got derailed immediately. His broad thumbs started tracing the wide flare of her hips, his fingers sliding up into her waist. Yeji leaned back relaxed against the tile and just let him touch her. She dropped one hand lazily onto his wet hair and dragged her thumb over his temple.
His hand slid lower between her thighs and stayed there, and Yeji's head tipped back against the tile while her fingers tightened in his hair. Whatever he was doing with his hand, he was patient about it, and Yeji's breathing went visible in the steam - her ribs expanding in slow, shaky pulls that Ryujin recognized from six years of watching Yeji try to hold herself together in front of cameras. Except this time she wasn't holding anything together. Her hips rocked forward once, twice, and a small broken sound carried across the wet stone, barely louder than the shower spray, and her whole body shuddered in a long, quiet wave that started at her thighs and rolled upward through her stomach and shoulders until she went still with her hand buried in his hair and her mouth open against the falling water.
Minho reached up and killed the water. The rushing noise vanished, leaving nothing but the pool filter humming and loud drops hitting the drain.
Yeji grabbed the only towel off the bamboo door. She was naked, water pouring off her shivering shoulders, but she ignored herself and wrapped the dry cotton securely around his chest instead. She turned her back on him and walked barefoot onto the dry pool wood, stopping right over her crumpled brown bikini.
She bent straight down at the waist. The gap in the bushes gave Ryujin a direct, glaring angle she did not want to see. Yeji's slit was swollen thick and dark pink, and a heavy, sloppy smear of white cream sat right at the entrance where the shower water missed. The underwater pool LEDs lit the whole mess up like a neon sign.
Yeji peered back over her bare shoulder through her dripping hair. She shot Minho this lazy, thoroughly fucked smirk, and clearly held the bent-over angle for an extra second for his eyes alone.
She grabbed the mesh dress, straightened up, and started walking back toward the house with this heavy, wildly satisfied sway in her hips.
"Who the fuck are you," Ryujin whispered to the dark.
The bitch who spent four hours flicking Bang Chan's accident off her skin was strolling naked across an open pool deck wearing Minho's cum and grinning about it.
Minho caught her around her bare waist before she made it three steps. He pressed a quick, loud kiss to her wet eyebrow, then immediately hooked both arms under her thighs and swept her off the ground.
"MINHO -" Yeji shrieked.
"Hold on."
"PUT ME -"
She flailed. Both her hands scrambled blindly for something to hold onto and locked around his bare dick.
The towel immediately dumped off his shoulders. "What are you DOING?" Minho barked, cracking up.
"I'm falling, I need a handle!"
"That is literally NOT a handle!"
Yeji threw her head back and laughed, loud and bright and unfiltered.
Minho carried her across the pool deck with Yeji holding onto his dick like a subway strap, the teal water glowing behind them, both of them cracking up.
The dark living room swallowed them up. Their laughter bounced off the indoor tile, dropping lower and fainter as he carried her up the massive glass staircase, until the villa finally went dead silent.
The heavy glass patio door clicked locked.
Ryujin stood frozen in the bushes. The crushed fruit in her fist was slow-dripping sticky juice onto her feet.
The pool deck was deserted and Ryujin stepped into the light.
Two sets of wet footprints tracked a direct line from the shower stall to the sliding glass door. Right in the middle of the trail, fat drops of milky white fluid sat directly on the dry volcanic stone, glowing faintly in the pool light.
The wet footprints were already baking into the warm wood.
The drop stayed.
Ryujin stared at it and finally got it. She had spent half a year treating Minho like a hostile invasion, entirely missing the truth. The massive Jeju villa rental, the refused Ddaeng Ddong divorce, the freezing toes under the dorm blankets - whenever Yeji cared about someone, she threw everything she had at them. Building houses in the mountains and locking her wet ankles together to demand a guy permanently wreck her were the exact same emotional reflex, reserved strictly for the tiny circle of people she planned to keep.
The brutal pull-out rule and the dead-eyed top energy were an impenetrable wall built to keep the rest of the industry the fuck out. Ryujin had stared at Yeji's final boss Leader concept for seven years and believed it was the real person.
But the terrified girl who used to crawl down a metal ladder in the dark just to touch somebody she trusted hadn't vanished. She found a much better place to hide, and she had always been capable of screaming yours with the windows wide open.
The pool light hit Ryujin from below, throwing harsh teal shadows up her face as she stood frozen at the ledge. Her calves were shredded from the mountain sprint, and her ribs burned from hauling raw panic across the island, demanding the same physical reset she had sought in this water yesterday when she’d finished testing Minho’s prowess and resolve on the deck.
She kicked her wet slides onto the dry stone and stepped off the ledge in her denim shorts, leaving her clothes on and her fist welded around the destroyed tangerine as she let her knees give out to hand her exhausted body over to the deep end.
She leaned her head back to float, letting the water absorb the weight of her soaked clothes while the night air brushed her face. For thirty quiet seconds under the dark canopy, her brain shut the fuck up and surrendered to peace.
Then a door clicked shut upstairs, but the bedroom window stayed wide open, letting the giggling from the courtyard mutate into thick, suffocated vowels bleeding across the night air. A heavy thud shook the ceiling, followed by wood banging against stone and another heavy impact, and then Yeji's voice dropped the leash. The fractured whimpering Ryujin had caught outside the shower turned loud and unguarded as the girl allowed herself to be physically dismantled.
Ryujin lay paralyzed in the water while two people destroyed a room above her, leaving her nowhere to hide from the noise. Any other night she would have made a sarcastic joke or mentally rated the guy's stamina, but knowing what it cost Hwang Yeji to drop the act and beg to be taken apart turned the sound into something she had no right to be hearing.
Something glass shattered upstairs, a lamp or a bottle swept off the nightstand, and the crack carried all the way to the pool deck while the two people who caused it kept right on destroying each other.
Ryujin exhaled every ounce of air in her lungs and sank.
The water rushed up to drag the world under, flattening the vicious thudding from the second floor into a dull vibration against her skull that faded away until the surface sealed shut over her head. The silence swallowed the noise above while soaked denim turned her shorts into concrete, pulling her steadily toward the ceramic floor.
Forcing her eyes open into the chlorine sting, she uncurled her fingers to let the destroyed tangerine drift weightlessly out of her palm. Orange flecks scattered into the turquoise current, washing the sticky wreckage of the night off her skin until the mess dissolved into nothing.
Her heartbeat hammered steady and hot in her flooded ears while the pool lights stretched her shadow across the white tile below. Dark strands of hair drifted around her face to catch the teal glow, spreading into a weightless veil that washed the heavy, bitter attitude away.
The memories of the trip played back behind her open eyes, losing their teeth in the chlorine now that the anger had washed off them. Yeji in the kitchen humming to a private playlist while leaning blindly against Minho's shoulder. Yeji waist-deep in the ocean, tightening her grip on his neck every time a swell hit so the water couldn't steal him. Yeji going heavy against his chest on the living room couch with a quiet exhale, letting someone hold her up because she was tired of doing it alone.
I'm not her. I don't need soft.
She'd said it yesterday morning on this same pool deck, leaning into Minho's ear with her back arched and her voice hard, daring him to wreck her because asking for tenderness would have killed her faster than anal ever could.
What if I do?
She'd always known. She'd wanted soft her entire career, through every frat house and every oversized sex toy and every man she collected and destroyed and forgot, through strutting naked into lunch to shock a table full of people who had only ever asked her to show up, through years of performing indestructible for an audience that would have loved the girl who climbed bunk ladders and stayed during Chuseok and bought streamers for a party that never happened. The swagger came later. The act came later. The girl who showed up came first, and she'd been enough the whole time.
She didn't know that girl's name anymore.
"What the fuck am I," she choked out in bubbles to the empty pool, and the blue expanse swallowed the question whole.
Her lungs traded their dull ache for a sharp burn, demanding air with every heavy thump against her ribs while the soaked denim anchored her legs in the deep end. Hanging suspended between the tile and the surface, out of breath and out of excuses, she tucked her knees and kicked hard off the ceramic floor.
She broke the surface gasping, dragging the night air deep into her lungs as chlorine and jasmine flooded her throat, only to find the villa still overhead. The frantic thudding had stopped, leaving the open bedroom window to spill a low, fading murmur from Minho over the patio before softening into silence.
And then Yeji laughed.
That squeaky, unfiltered cackle pitched too high for a girl who regularly terrified grown choreographers, the exact pitch from their trainee dorms and midnight V Lives that Ryujin could pick out of a stadium crowd because her brain had filed it under the feeling of home before she even knew the word for it.
The laugh floated across the water to settle warmly on Ryujin's wet face, loosening the tight fist in her chest enough to allow a full, deep breath.
As pale grey crept along the eastern edge of the sky, Ryujin rolled onto her back to give her weight to the pool. Her ears sank below the surface, blurring the laughter into the steady hum of the filter while she floated there, letting the chill seep into her shoulders and prune her fingers. Her body was already making the decision her mind had refused to articulate, operating on the same instinct that offered her own back as a mattress after a twelve-hour rehearsal or fixed a fifteen-year-old's mic wire the second she caught the panic. Her body knew what it was built for, and it had been screaming the answer at her for hours while she deafened herself with spite.
She was going to protect what Yeji found, carrying the history of this night in her chest and using every ugly minute of it the same way she ignored the burn in her thighs to carry Yeji to the van on a twelve-hour practice day. All because the person you carried it for trusted you enough to go limp, and the burning was just the price.
Karina would probably call this a "baptism" or some shit. Karina, who was apparently Catholic despite having done some distinctly uncatholic things with Ryujin in a Yonsei frat house two nights ago, would look at a girl floating alone in a pool past midnight and find the sacrament in it, because Karina found God in everything and Shin Ryujin, whose surname literally meant 'God' and who'd been nicknamed "God Ryujin" by fans who clearly hadn't met her, found God in nothing, which was probably why one of them had a spiritual vocabulary for moments like this and the other one was pruning in chlorine.
Above her, the couple upstairs went back to redecorating, apparently unsatisfied with the paint job. She floated under the lightening sky until the cold crept past her ribs and the water stopped feeling like a cradle.
***
[YUNA - THIRD PERSON]
The pink blinds were the wrong pink.
Two days ago they'd been perfect, the exact shade she'd picked to turn this room into Shin Yuna's Personal Territory, and now the same bubblegum looked like expired strawberry Yakult, that sad pink that happens when something meant to be fun has been sitting in the fridge too long and nobody wants to drink it anymore but nobody's thrown it out either.
She'd practically sprinted to her room after girls' night cratered, which, to be fair, was on-brand. Shin Yuna's official response to consequences had always been to leave the room before they fully arrived, a strategy that had worked brilliantly right up until the consequences started following her through walls in the form of rhythmic furniture displacement from the master bedroom directly on the other side of her headboard. She'd never seen her unnies actually fight before, and Yeji and Ryujin-unnie bickered constantly, Tom and Jerry energy where Ryujin stole Yeji's charger and Yeji threatened to cut Ryujin's hair in her sleep, but their fights had always ended in someone laughing or someone getting put in a headlock, and none of them had ever ended with one unnie storming out the door and the other getting her insides rearranged as coping therapy with the window wide open and the whole villa as the live studio audience.
Her phone sat right there on the nightstand, charging on the pink stand she'd brought (also from home, also matching, she had a SYSTEM), and her hand went to it because that's what her hand did. Her thumb automatically opened the apps to chase validation, hunting for a dopamine hit that would make her feel something before repeating the cycle. She'd been running this loop since she was sixteen and figured out that looking herself up online while touching herself was literally the fastest way to feel alive, and she'd gotten so good at it she kept a spreadsheet tracking her personal bests. It was either peak self-improvement or a cry for help depending on who you asked, and Yuna had never asked because asking would've interrupted her masturbating sprints.
She hadn't masturbated today. When was the last time that had happened? The answer was in her notes, it was always in her notes, but she didn't feel like opening the file. The numbers belonged to someone else, someone louder, someone who gave a shit about her own numbers.
She unlocked her phone anyway, because muscle memory was a bitch, and scrolled into the feed: TikTok first, then Instagram - her own grid, first, always, because Shin Yuna's morning scroll started with confirming Shin Yuna was still hot, which was like checking whether the sun had risen, but she did it anyway - then the fan accounts, then the comment sections, down the rabbit hole.
Her finger was between her legs before she'd made a conscious decision to put it there. Middle finger tracing slow circles over her clit in the groove she'd been wearing since predebut, the motion her body knew like breathing, the touch that had produced three orgasms before breakfast yesterday morning and four on the plane to Jeju and an uncountable number in dorm bathrooms across six years of trainee housing with thin walls and early schedules.
The fan accounts gave her what they always gave her. Her Waterbomb fancam reposted with heart-eye emojis. A Koreaboo article she'd already read twice. Pann comments by accounts that existed solely to tell Korean idols what Korean strangers thought about their hip-to-waist ratios.
She's pretty, has a great body, and a healthy mindset too. Yuna is genuinely so nice to look at.
Born in 2003, but she has such a mature charm that it's fascinating and makes you keep watching...
These comments used to charge her up. Two days ago she'd have read this exact praise and her finger would've sped up, the words going straight to her clit like her pussy ran on public approval, which was probably a concerning way to be wired but she'd never questioned it because it WORKED, it had always worked: be hot, get told you're hot, get off on being told you're hot, repeat forever.
Her proportions and her face are unreal.
She's born to be a celebrity. She's tall, has a small face and good body proportions.
They measured her small face and good proportions with numbers, strangers who'd never heard her voice crack on a high note or watched her cry in a V Live because she was scared she'd never be good enough and MIDZYs kept calling her special even when she'd insisted she was literally one of many nineteen-year-olds. Her finger kept circling because that's what it did, muscle memory running the program while the program produced nothing, and somewhere between one circle and the next the signal stopped arriving.
Her waist is unbelievably tiny. She naturally has hips too.
Face and body-wise, she and Jang Wonyoung are the top two.
She's beyond human.
So the strangers ranked her. They sorted her into a tier list like a gacha character, comparing her body to Wonyoung's like they were phone specs, and her finger kept moving against a stubbornly dry clit. Her body had never refused her in her entire life. The nervous system that dragged her off on a toilet in under two minutes, gave her an orgasm during turbulence at 30,000 feet, and finished four times before noon on the first day of this trip suddenly had nothing for her.
The way she deliberately wears it low so it shows is sooo guilty.
Bored commuters turned her clothing choices into evidence, evaluating her hips like a crime scene.
Nice to look at.
Her finger stopped dead at those words.
Yesterday morning she'd watched herself in that mirror while she came, filming herself because watching Shin Yuna lose control was the hottest thing Shin Yuna had ever seen, and she'd called herself a disaster and meant it like a trophy. Now she was lying in a dark room scrolling comments about her proportions and watching herself from outside, being scored the same way they scored her, and the thing that had been the thrill was eating her alive because she was content, she was product, she was nice to look at and nice to look at was all anyone had ever bothered to type about Shin Yuna at three in the morning on a Korean forum, and her body had finally caught up to what that meant.
Noise bled through the shared wall from Yeji's room.
The sounds started familiar. Muffled bedsprings groaned while Yeji's voice climbed into registers that yesterday morning had sent Yuna into competitive overdrive, racing to time her climax to the noises like she always did.
She tried again, shoving two fingers straight between her legs to dig directly past the harsh, dragging friction. Her pussy stayed stubbornly dry, but she forced her hand deep anyway to grind aggressively against her clit, locking her pumping arm to the frantic thudding of the headboard on the other side of the plaster. Every time Minho slammed into Yeji next door, Yuna violently matched the impact, thrashing her fingers inside herself to shock her own nervous system into operating.
Instead of the heavy, dripping slip that reliably ruined her sheets every morning, the raw friction burned. Her tight skin scraped hotly against her knuckles, stinging meaner the faster she pumped until a vicious cramp seized her wrist from fighting the uncooperative grip. Lying alone in the dark, she kept brutally rubbing an embarrassingly dry hole for zero payoff, trapped in the exact same frantic loop as someone aggressively refreshing a dead app until her arm finally gave out and she dropped her empty hand.
Then the rhythm broke. Yeji laughed and started bossing him around, bodies shifting over the mattress while they argued about camera angles. Yuna recognized that chaos from a thousand rehearsals. She carried pure ITZY practice-room energy into the bed, clearly failing at something and cracking up about it.
Then Yeji's voice went small.
"This angle makes my tits look flat," she said, muffled through the wall, and every word bled clearly through the plaster because the property had zero respect for privacy. "I look like a kid from up here."
Yuna's hand froze.
Minho answered her, his voice dropping low and warm against the plaster. "They're perfect. You're perfect."
Yeji threw an accusation about Karina's cleavage at dinner to deflect him, and his response bled right through the plaster, warm and utterly unbothered by the joke. "I'm saying it because they're perfect." Yeji gasped, a sharp sound cutting off her defense, before his voice dropped lower. "And because I know exactly what they do when I squeeze them."
Yuna pulled her hand out from between her legs and wiped her dry fingers on the silk sheet she'd brought from home because she had a SYSTEM and the system had crashed.
She'd let plenty of guys fuck her. She memorized the roster exactly like she tracked her orgasm spreadsheet, counting the numbers as proof she was wanted. Every single one of them had called her hot, called her tight, crowned her the best ass in the business, and every spoken compliment matched the internet comments word for word. They spoke in product review voices and delivered quality inspections. Nice to look at. Great proportions. S-line. Waist-to-hip ratio. They spoke the language of an evaluated body, because every guy she'd fucked had essentially graded down the product to confirm she was premium tier. Yuna had gotten off on it because getting off on being consumed was the only version of wanting she understood.
Through the wall, a boy paused mid-fuck to tell Yeji-unnie that the part she was insecure about was perfect, and meant HER body, her actual body, the one Yuna had never seen because Yeji-unnie remained the final boss of womanhood, composed and powerful and effortlessly poised, the unnie who'd never once let the maknae catch her being small. Yeji showed him something vulnerable and he answered it with five years of paying attention to ONE person. The sounds that followed - Yeji laughing while the headboard resumed, laughing like sex was funny and desperate and real all at once - were sounds she'd never heard anyone make while being fucked.
Nobody had ever looked at Yuna like that. They consumed her. They rated her. They called her hot in the same detached tone the internet used, and she'd gotten off on the attention because it was the only attention she'd ever known. Lying in the dark with dry hands under silk sheets while Yeji laughed through the wall, the validation loop that had sustained Shin Yuna since she was sixteen finally crashed into a wall it couldn't climb.
The renovation next door resumed in earnest, slamming the headboard against shared plaster in a frantic rhythm Yuna recognized from a hundred guys losing control. Except Yeji still laughed through the heavy thudding, and that bright sound destroyed Yuna more than anything else. Yeji was having real fun, sleeping with someone who made the sex funny and the awkwardness hot, trusting him enough to admit a physical insecurity and believing him when he called her perfect.
Yuna stared at the expired-Yakult blinds.
Somewhere in the wreckage of the last hour, between the fight and the comments and the finger that accomplished nothing and Yeji-unnie getting her insecurities kissed by a boy who'd spent five years memorizing her, a memory came up that she hadn't touched in years.
***
She was fifteen. It was their first week of promotions, and she sat curled in on herself on a KBS waiting room couch wearing a crop top she chose specifically to look older. She spent twenty minutes trying to fold her overgrown teenager frame into a compact package, hunching her shoulders and pulling her long legs in so she wouldn't take up too much physical space on the leather while she arranged her face into something convincingly idol-shaped. The other four older girls had their own rhythms locked down, moving in established orbits with Ryujin and Yeji paired off on one side while Chaeryeong and Lia held down the other. Yuna remained the late addition, the unexpected final piece pulled from the trainee B-team abruptly adjusting to the reality that this was her squad now even though none of them had personally recruited her.
Then Ryujin walked over, dropped onto the leather next to her, and casually grabbed the trailing wire of Yuna's mic pack where it had unclipped itself. She snapped it back onto the younger girl's waistband with one hand and flashed a slightly manic grin, simply because somebody had to.
Yuna's tense posture immediately collapsed. She unspooled her long spine against the cushions, tipped her head against the older girl's shoulder, and for the very first time since she signed her JYP contract she stopped trying to shrink herself to fit the room, letting herself take up space as a giant kid sitting beside someone who decided she belonged.
***
She'd literally imprinted on Ryujin-unnie from that one gesture like a baby duck locking onto the first moving thing it sees, which was embarrassing and true and also the reason she'd spent the next four years copying everything Ryujin-unnie did, the strut, the confidence, the "I'm the hottest person in any room and if you disagree you're LYING" energy, and never understanding that the girl who snapped her mic wire was being kind, and the power Yuna copied came from somewhere she'd never bothered to look because kindness was quiet and Shin Yuna had always been better at loud.
And Yeji-unnie, who braided her hair in the living room literally today and called her "our baby" and shouldered the whole group quietly - when did she become the person Yuna was COMPETING with instead of the unnie who called her baby? Yeji-unnie didn't change. Yuna changed what she was looking at, swapping the unnie for the territory, and she'd spent this whole trip trying to prove she could play in the same league when the league Yeji-unnie was playing in was trusting someone enough to say "my boobs are small" while he was inside her.
Thinking about Ryujin-unnie reaching for her, she opened her voicemail app. Something she was CONVINCED literally nobody used anymore because voicemail was for boomers like Lia-unnie and Shin Yuna communicated exclusively through 40-message text chains at 2 AM and unhinged DMs to Chaeryeong-unnie asking whether a man could survive her body, but there was one unread message from three weeks ago with Ryujin-unnie's name on it, timestamped the night the BLACKPINK tickets dropped, the night Yuna was at the afterparty riding a guy whose name she'd already forgotten while her phone blasted her own unreleased solo into the hotel pillow and seven missed calls from Ryujin-unnie piled up on the lock screen.
She'd been FURIOUS about those tickets, three days of composing revenge texts and screenshotting Ryujin-unnie's smug messages and making Pinterest boards about creative body disposal on tropical islands, because her brain defaulted to Pinterest for everything and she'd literally searched "how to hide a body on a beach" and gotten mood boards for coastal-themed weddings instead. Ryujin-unnie had two tickets, took Karina instead, and Yuna had decided it was personal, proof the maknae was expendable, proof that the girl who snapped her mic wire five years ago had gotten bored of her.
She pressed play.
Ryujin-unnie's voice came through the phone speaker, tinny and bored and very much her. "Maknae. Got two tickets to the BLACKPINK thing. Text me if you want one or I'm giving it to Jimin-unnie. You have until tomorrow."
The voicemail was eleven seconds long and Yuna played it twice because she couldn't believe her ears.
She was the first call, the ticket was literally HERS, Ryujin-unnie had thought of her before Karina, before Jimin-unnie, before anyone, and had called SEVEN TIMES while Yuna was too busy getting fucked to check her phone, and when Yuna never texted back Ryujin-unnie gave the ticket to Karina and acted like an asshole about it because Shin Ryujin would rather eat glass than admit she'd reached for someone who didn't reach back.
Yuna set the phone face-down on the nightstand. The pink puppy case stared at the ceiling.
She came to Jeju to see BLACKPINK, to hook up with hot guys, to make happy memories with her unnies. The concert ticket was hers and she'd ignored it because she was riding a stranger. The only time she’d hooked up with someone had basically resulted in World War 3 between her unnies. The memories were wreckage she'd helped build by touching something between her unnie and the boy her unnie loved, trying to win a competition Yeji-unnie had never been competing in.
Her eyes were wet all of a sudden, and the tears sat on her face and she didn't wipe them because wiping them meant acknowledging they existed, and Shin Yuna didn't cry, Shin Yuna turned every emotion into content, every vulnerability into a bit, every feeling into a caption for a story she'd post and delete, and she was lying in the dark with tears on her cheeks and zero memes for any of it.
The mirror she'd angled two days ago caught her in the low light, the one she'd positioned for watching herself look hot while horizontal. A girl with wet cheeks and messy hair and a phone face-down on the nightstand stared back at her from the glass.
She looked so small in it.
She pulled the duvet over her head and curled into herself, knees to chest, fetal position, the "mature charm" girl hiding under blankets like she hadn't since she was a trainee scared of debuting. The sobbing started ugly and got worse, and her whole body shook and her breath caught in her throat and her face did things she'd be mortified about if anyone were watching, except nobody was watching Shin Yuna and for the first time in her life she didn't want them to.
The villa kept going above her and around her. Sex sounds and laughter and living, and she was a girl under a blanket in the dark with expired-Yakult blinds and silk sheets and a phone full of people telling her she was nice to look at and the sound of a mic wire clicking into place playing on loop behind her closed eyes.
The questions started racing through her mind.
Where am I?
Nah, she knew exactly where she was.
What am I?
Nah, her phone was full of strangers eager to tell her exactly what she was.
She let the edge of the duvet slip down to her nose.
"Who am I?" she whispered, looking past the sad pink blinds to find a scared, lonely girl in the angled mirror staring right back.
***
[RYUJIN - THIRD PERSON]
The frantic renovation noises from the second floor had finally wound down.
The jaw she'd been clenching since the terrace had finally unlocked in the water, and with that came the final piece of the memory of the dorm room floor from Chuseok eve years ago where Ryujin had stayed so that Yeji wouldn't have to spend it alone, chicken grease on her fingers, Yeji's dead weight on her shoulder, and the laptop playing something neither of them was watching until Yeji woke up right as Toy Story 3 was ending, scrubbing a sleep-crease from her cheek while the screen threw blue light across the cold chicken boxes.
They'd made it past the incinerator scene, past the four sniffles Ryujin would hold over her head for the next four years, right to the final shot of a college kid driving away while a toy cowboy watched him go from the porch.
"Are you seriously crying at cartoon toys now?" Ryujin had whispered incredulously, trying to preserve her cool-girl immunity to sentimentality as Yeji wiped her eyes again.
"You'd cry too if you actually paid attention," Yeji grumbled, her voice thick with sleep but fiercely defensive. "He almost got everyone burned alive trying to keep things the way they were. Almost took the whole gang down with him. And THEN he finally let go."
The heavy, bruised sky above the Jeju courtyard looked exactly like the ceiling of that empty dorm. She had spent the entire weekend playing the exact same desperate, screaming role as Woody. She had burned down a villa, thrown herself at Minho in a desperate attempt to show he wasn’t special, and weaponized her knowledge of her best friend against her just to prove she was still necessary, because if Yeji could build a house in the mountains and find someone softly holding her through the dark, then where the fuck did that leave Ryujin?
She stared up at the dark, open bedroom window, letting the turquoise glow wash over her face as she surrendered her claim to the girl who was busy building a new life inside.
"So long, partner," she whispered, remembering the final line of the one movie that had made her best friend cry.
***
The water had cooled past reasonable. Ryujin hauled herself out over the pool lip, arms shaking from the cold, and stood on the deck while her clothes dumped water in sheets onto the volcanic stone. The warm night air clung cold and heavy against soaking denim and a sports bra that retained half the pool.
She was standing in a spreading puddle of herself on the pool deck, and it was not the clearest decision she'd made on this trip, which, given the competition, was a meaningful statement.
She pushed the glass door open and stepped inside, leaving a trail of pool water across the tile as she headed for the stairs, heading for bed, heading for the end of whatever tonight had been.
Two shapes on the living room couch stopped her mid-stride.
They'd renovated their bedroom so hard they'd made it uninhabitable, and she almost laughed because of COURSE they had, of course Hwang Yeji and her off-limits boy had fucked their way through an entire floor of luxury Jeju real estate and ended up as refugees on the living room sofa. Yeji was draped across Minho's chest wearing what looked like one of his shirts, a dry duvet pulled over both of them, and they'd clearly fallen asleep mid-sentence because Yeji's mouth was slightly open and Minho's hand was still resting on her hair like he'd been stroking it when his body gave out. The pool glow from outside threw faint turquoise light across them through the glass.
Ryujin's chest turned over. This was a Yeji she hadn't seen since the bunk beds - slack and trusting, mouth open like she'd forgotten anyone might be watching.
She made it three steps toward the stairs before her body abandoned the plan and snapped her around.
Crossing the dark room on legs that had already decided, she stepped to the edge of the couch to wrap both arms around Yeji, pressing her soaking body into the dry duvet and the warm quiet of two people she had nearly destroyed.
Yeji sucked in a sharp gasp and whipped around to identify the intruder. The hit of cold pool water sent her rigid, locking up against the sudden panic of being grabbed in the dark. Ryujin's stomach turned, convinced she was building a second mess on top of the first one. But the moment Yeji's chin found the familiar groove of her neck, the tension shattered. Every locked muscle released as Yeji exhaled a wrecked syllable into the dark.
"Ryu..."
Yeji's hand found Ryujin's forearm and clamped down before her eyes adjusted to the room.
Ryujin pressed her mouth into Yeji's wet neck and whispered their promise.
"Ddaeng Ddong."
Without hesitation, Yeji breathed back the counter-sign the way she always had.
"Ddong Ddaeng."
They both exhaled simultaneously.
The pool water spread through the duvet, bleeding cold chlorine into the warm skin of the cozy world the two of them had decided to occupy for the night. Ryujin leaned harder into the ruin.
Minho's manufactured stillness gave him away. His arms had wrapped protectively around her, but the second Yeji murmured her name, he relaxed, vanishing into the cushions so Ryujin could occupy the space.
Thank you for holding her still.
Probably the first non-hostile thought she'd directed towards him in the six months since she'd learned of his existence.
The grip lasted until the freezing denim traded its shock for a shared warmth, binding them together while Ryujin's rough breathing synced to the steady pulse against her neck and her shoulders stopped shaking. She kept her face buried in the warm skin while hot tears mixed into the pool water running down her cheeks.
Pulling back with her jaw set and her eyes locked on the floor, she dragged her hand across Yeji's shoulder to linger a moment longer. She avoided Minho's face, deciding that this private truce belonged to the two girls while using his chest as a staging ground - a reality she promised to examine later and planned to bury forever.
Yeji's fingers trailed down her separating forearm, caught her wrist for an acknowledging second, and fell away, leaving Ryujin to cross the dark room and track wet footprints up every stair.
On the couch below, a boy and a girl lay still in the cold, soaking mess she'd pressed into them, and held on to each other through it.
Because for them, perhaps for the first time in five years, it was comfort.
Intro | Masterlist | Series Index
Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | BTS: Ryujin
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The next chapter "Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade" will be the room destruction sequence from Yeji/Minho's point of view, while Lia makes an importance choice. It will be the final smut scene that I’ll write for this series.
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She must confront the fear she hides beneath jokes and bravado: Yeji isn’t leaving her behind - Yeji is simply growing beyond the phase they once survived together. Their eventual quiet understanding becomes Ryujin’s first step into her own maturity: a subtle, bittersweet “so long, partner” that isn’t an ending, but an evolution.
Ryujin’s arc isn’t about losing Yeji; it’s about learning that letting someone grow doesn’t mean being left behind. It is the journey of a girl realizing her armor isn’t her identity - and that rebellion is most powerful when she understands what she’s protecting.
This was the original vision for Ryujin's arc from the intro, long before this chapter was actually conceived. How did I do? Did I deliver on the promise? Let me know!
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“What is grief, if not love persevering?” - Vision, WandaVision (2021)
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Girls Will Be Girls interview with Korea Times, 2025
“We wanted to show that the world still has meaning if we’re together. It’s about unbreakable bonds - a friendship that gets stronger with time.” - Hwang Yeji
“We poured our energy into capturing our identity as a group. The message is simple but powerful - when we’re together, nothing else matters. We’ll take your hand and move forward together.” - Shin Ryujin
“Most of us are different when we’re not performing. On stage, we show this strong and charismatic image, but off stage, we’re just a group of girls who laugh, joke around and talk about everything. Those small moments are what make us stronger." - Shin Yuna
“We move as one. We wanted to express that in the music, too.” - Choi Lia
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Real ITZY Lore Used in This Chapter
Yeji & Ryujin Formation Fight (2019 Asia Artist Awards)
Yeji Buttoning Ryujin's Shirt on VLive (October 2022)
Ryujin Loving Jeju / Yeji Asking About Building a House
Chuseok at the Dorm (2019)
Finishing Each Other's Sentences on VLive
Ryujin smiling at Yuna first and fixing her mic
Yuna's "I'm just one of many 19-year-olds" confession
Yuna "Nice to look at" comment thread
Yeji's 3 chocolates a day habit
Yeji's disgusting mayo/bean sauce/mustard mix and watermelon addiction
"Can Ryujin stop making this kind of expression?" theqoo hate thread
Ryujin apologizing on behalf of the producer who told her to get Botox
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Author's note:
Right. Author's note, where I dump my writing process into the open...
I actually posted this chapter initially without one. I normally always include these, but to be completely honest, this chapter was so emotionally loaded that even I had to just sit back and stare at the wall for a couple of days to process what I'd just written before I could even begin to talk about it.
Let's start with the architecture. This whole chapter is built around a Chinese proverb: 苦海無邊，回頭是岸 . It translates roughly to: "The sea of bitterness has no bounds, turn your head to see the shore." In Western terms: Repent and ye shall be saved. That's Ryujin's complete arc here. She walks out into the dark, projecting all her pain outward, wading deeper and deeper into this sea of bitterness until she's literally standing ankle-deep in the freezing ocean. The realization she has to make isn't just about forgiving Yeji for abandoning her; it's about realizing that she's the one drowning herself, and the only way to survive is to turn around and run back to the people who love her.
To get her to that turning point, I needed to break down a character who has spent five years building bulletproof armor. How do you do that? You bypass the brain completely and hit the senses. Enter Chekhov's tangerine. Aside from tangerines being the single most Jeju thing in existence, smell is the strongest trigger for memory we have. That sharp hit of citrus oil short-circuits her defenses and drags her back to a time before she felt the need to perform her own aloofness and bravado.
Once that wall cracks, the memories don't come back cleanly or chronologically, they cascade. Emotional crises do that - your brain floods you with evidence of exactly what you're losing. And the Chuseok memory is the breaking point because it's the ultimate proof that her "I don't need anyone" persona is a lie. She threw away a train ticket home just so her friend wouldn't cry alone over burnt noodles. Her body has always known she's soft; her ego just finally caught up.
Speaking of bodies, the run up the hill is her physical metaphor. Ryujin isn't a cerebral character; she processes the world physically. I didn't want a quiet epiphany on the beach. She has to physically burn through the spite. The physical exhaustion forces the vulnerability. Only when her lungs are burning and her legs are failing is her ego too exhausted to put up a fight, letting her finally run toward something instead of walking away. Which, of course, worked out because ITZY has a song ("Bet On Me") that happens to literally be about running towards the freedom of believing in your true self.
Speaking of, music is the other engine here. "Nobody Like You" is an upbeat, bratty pop-rock song whose MV is literally a memory montage of ITZY having fun and being silly, but if you look at the translation of the lyrics, they're incredibly vulnerable - my hard frozen heart melting, why do I keep thinking of you. Having the algorithm feed her own song back to her forces her to translate her "cool girl" concept into actual honesty.
Then there's the "Kill Shot" transition. This is probably the cleverest technical transition I've managed in the series - an audio match cut. We go from the literal beat of the song pulsing in her ears (swish swish), right into the rhythmic, wet percussion of Minho and Yeji railing their poor hearts out in the outdoor shower. It's a cinematic technique usually reserved for film, but I really wanted you to hear it bleeding over into reality before she even realizes what's happening.
***
From a craft perspective, I went back and forth on whether the Yuna interstitial sequence belonged inside this chapter or if it needed its own dedicated '.5' chapter. Ultimately, putting it on its own would have felt adrift. Yuna's emotional wound is hopelessly tethered to Ryujin's.
They are part of a three-person chain of inherited trauma: Yeji's fear created Ryujin's unbothered armor, and Ryujin's armor created Yuna's hollow, validation-seeking performance. That's why I included the mic-fixing memory from both of their perspectives. You get to see them occupying the exact same timeline, but learning completely different and equally damaging lessons from each other. You could totally interpret this as a commentary on generational trauma especially in Asian culture - I'm not going to do it, but I'll happily read any yaps that you guys cook up about that connection!
If you got caught out by the tonal whiplash of Yuna suddenly spiraling into existential dread - I am SO sorry, but this was the plan from day one! Her arc was designed from the jump to echo the themes of the Barbie movie. That's exactly why Chapter 1.5 introduced her with that aggressively pink aesthetic set to Lizzo's "Pink." The plastic, hyper-sexualized perfection was always a deliberate setup for a "What Was I Made For?" collapse.
The biggest challenge here was the prose design. Yuna has a very specific, signature Gen-Z "hyperpop" narrative voice - it's usually loud, breathless, scattered, and deeply horny. Translating that into something sad and muted while ensuring she still sounded like Yuna required a very specific tonal shift.
I kept her exact sentence rhythm - the endless ADHD-coded sentences, the chronically online vocabulary, the fast observations - but I completely drained the saturation. Rather than her phone acting as a frantic slot machine dispensing dopamine, it becomes a cold monitor evaluating a product. I stripped out the exclamation points and the explosive sensory details, leaving behind this flat, clinical language. She still processes the world at lightspeed, but the machinery is running on empty.
***
And finally, we have the Shape of Water visual grammar. Since Chapter 2, water has been the core visual metaphor of this story. In Yuna's arc, falling into the pool was the start of Minho's metaphorical drowning. He was pulled under, gravity took over, and water became the site of temptation and boundary-breaking. In his Chapter 18 nightmare, that guilt manifested as black, viscous water - literally drowning his subconscious in the consequences of his actions. Then in Chapter 20, when he and Yeji reclaim the pool, it operates as a symbol of reclamation and washing off the sins as they turn a crime scene into a place for holding each other up.
When I call it the Shape of Water though, I mean it literally. In Guillermo del Toro's film, there's this gorgeous, haunting tableau of the main character floating suspended underwater, fully clothed, completely surrendered to the deep - that's the image of the girl in the red dress I embedded earlier. (I haven't watched it, but found the image when Googling 'underwater cinematography' and was struck by the composition.) That specific shot was my visual anchor for Ryujin's "baptism". She is a character who spends her life fighting gravity - holding her walls up, holding her team up, bracing against the world. For her to change, she couldn't have an active, fist-pumping epiphany. She had to sink, giving her weight over to the water and letting the soaked denim pull her to the ceramic floor is the only way she can find the quiet to drop the act and just stop fighting.
But here, with Ryujin, water is a symbol of rebirth. She steps into the freezing ocean, then plunges into the pool fully clothed, essentially baptizing herself into honesty. This is the final time water is used as a metaphor in the series, and it's not about washing away the old self, but rising into the new one. Soaking wet, she brings that pool water straight into their clean couch because the mess is part of the love.
When she finally arrives, there's no big sweeping speech. They just fall into their old rhythm, whispering Ddaeng Ddong - a nonsense phrase that holds half a decade of unconditional love. It's a wordless reconciliation because they've reached the end of what words can do. Only their presence matters now.
None of this reconciliation was originally planned this way. The initial outline had a much quieter ending. It was just going to be Ryujin walking back into the villa, glancing at Yeji on the couch, and sharing a silent, understanding nod from across the room. The soaking wet embrace and the whispered Ddaeng Ddong came later in the drafting process when I realized a nod simply wasn't going to cut it.
And then, as an absolute last-minute stroke of inspiration, I added the reveal of Toy Story 3 playing on the laptop to finish off the Chuseok eve. I cannot overstate how massive this late addition feels to me now. It completely recontextualizes the ending by paying off two separate setups at once: the unspecified movie Yeji put on to fall asleep to during the Chuseok eve memory, and Ryujin teasing Yeji for crying at the incinerator scene during the Cozy House flashback. But the absolute devastation of the reveal is why Yeji was crying. She wasn't crying about cartoon toys burning; she was crying about the cost of refusing to let go. Back in that 2019 dorm room, Yeji essentially narrated exactly what Ryujin was going to do to them this weekend in Jeju - almost taking the whole group down because she was too terrified to grow up. Having them finally fall back into each other's arms while that specific clairvoyant realization lands is such an incredible, full-circle moment that even I tear up just reading how perfectly it worked out. (And no, the tears aren't from remembering the Toy Story 3 ending. I don't cry at cartoon toys!)
Thanks for reading, and thanks for bearing with me while I figured this one out. It was a lot to carry, but we made it back to the shore.
Added the author’s note after because I had to process my own chapter for a bit. This is one of the chapters that hits close to home for me, so do have a read of the note if you haven’t already!
This chapter frames Ryeji’s relationship in the series in a very specific way, from the moment it was set up in ‘A Blaze of Glory’. I would love to hear your thoughts on Ryujin’s arc!
Note on Interludes: The interlude chapters aren't required to follow the main plot, but they contain some of the most important character exposition in the series, serving as one-shots within the larger universe of Jeju Heat. Some of them are intentionally experimental in tone.
➤ Introduction (read this before starting the story!)
An overture to the world, the wounds, the lore.
➤ Series Index (plot recap)
A catalogue of TL;DR summaries for each published chapter.
ACT I: Before The Heat
Day 1
➤ Chapter 0: PRELUDE – First Light - Yeji
Morning tenderness. Five years of history in stolen touch.
➤ Chapter 0.5: INTERLUDE – Shower Thoughts - Yeji
The body speaks what the mind refuses.
➤ Chapter 1: Morning Devotion - Yeji
The shower. The boundary. The beginning of the end.
ACT II: The Siren And The Dragon
➤ Chapter 1.5: INTERLUDE - Me Know Me Love Me - Yuna
A hot girl morning gone wrong.
➤ Chapter 2: The Fall - Yuna
Heat by the pool. A slippery slope.
➤ Chapter 3: Submerged in Sin - Yuna
Underwater and under pressure. Desire that drowns reason.
➤ Chapter 4: The Tides That Turn - Yuna
Consequences arrive wearing a maknae's face.
➤ Chapter 5: The Siren's Surrender - Yuna
Poolside chaos. When want becomes need becomes ruin.
➤ Chapter 6: The Siren's Satisfaction - Yuna
Marathon riding. Exhaustion wearing the face of desire.
➤ Chapter 7: Reckless Abandon - Ryujin, Karina
A rave. A reckoning. Beauty as curse.
➤ Chapter 8: Close Calls - Yuna, Ryujin
Secrets strain against daylight. The villa holds its breath.
➤ Chapter 9: Can of Worms - Yuna, Ryujin
Confrontation. Chaos. The dragon wakes.
➤ Chapter 9.5: INTERLUDE - Skin and Shadows - Yeji
Six months ago, the yacht party. When they realized everyone could see. Fear dressed as fury.
➤ Chapter 10: The Dragon's Claim - Yuna, Ryujin
Desire as contest. Intimacy as collateral damage.
➤ Chapter 11: Double Trouble - Yuna, Ryujin
Three bodies, one betrayal. The camera never blinks.
ACT III: Heart In Heat
➤ Chapter 11.5: INTERLUDE - A Love-All Courtship - Chaeryeong
Tennis whites in the summer heat. When match play becomes foreplay, and every serve ups the ante.
➤ Chapter 12: The Eye of the Storm - ITZY ensemble
Lunch with lies. Smiles stretched over guilt.
➤ Chapter 13: Golden Hourglass - Yeji
Beach at sunset. Trust whispered. Truth hidden. The last perfect moment.
➤ Chapter 13.5: INTERLUDE - Sweet Surrender - Chaeryeong
Restraint as release. Depravity as devotion.
ACT IV: A Star Is Reborn
➤ Chapter 14: Divine Intervention - Yeji, Karina
A goddess opens her door. R&B and silk and something like salvation.
➤ Chapter 15: Supernova - Yeji, Karina
The goddess melts. The star explodes. The warmth that remains.
➤ Chapter 16: Armageddon - Yeji, Karina
Destruction before rebirth. A world unmade. Bodies as apocalypse.
➤ Chapter 17: Mine - Yeji, Karina
A word whispered like oath. What acceptance looks like when you finally stop running.
ACT V: The Breaking Tide
Day 2
➤ Chapter 17.5: INTERLUDE - The Eye in the Sky - Lia
She filmed it all. The replay was even better.
➤ Chapter 18: Drowning in Air - Yeji
Her tears rolled backward. Her screams silent. What becomes when you betray the person you love most.
➤ Chapter 19: Flickering Flames - ITZY Ensemble
A chilly morning. A warm afternoon. A fiery night.
➤ Chapter 19.5: INTERLUDE - A Blaze of Glory - ITZY, TWICE, STRAY KIDS, JYP Nation ensemble (+ aespa cameo)
Three years ago, when they danced together. A stage ablaze, a ghost of glory. The night the gang burned the brightest.
➤ Chapter 20: Moonlight and Memory - Yeji
Moonlight on water, skin on skin. A space reclaimed, a memory rewritten.
➤ Chapter 21: Nobody Like You - Ryujin, Yuna (New!)
Softened in memory; emptied in sorrow; redeemed in water.
➤ Chapter 22: Unseen, Untouchable, Unmade - Yeji, Lia
A sin unseen. A bond untouchable. A love unmade.
ACT VI: Ashes And Embers
Day 3
➤ Chapter 23: Dynamite and Drama - ITZY/aespa ensemble (+ Yunjin cameo)
Chaos in laughter, comfort in closeness. A perfect night warmed by love without names.
➤ Chapter 23.5: INTERLUDE - Merry-Go-Round - Giselle, Winter, Ningning (+ Karina cameo)
The world keeps turning, the music keeps playing, the night keeps burning, and joy keeps winning.
➤ Chapter 24: Last Light - ITZY/aespa ensemble (+ Yunjin cameo)
First light woke with hidden truth; last light set their burdens free.
➤ Chapter 25: Across the Stars - Yeji
A star rewritten, two hearts fated, three days painting a thousand nights across one unbroken sky.
➤ EPILOGUE: The Way I Am - Yuna, Karina, Yeji
For all three: want to be me, me, me.
