A/N: We are upon the penultimate path into the blackhole. Enjoy!
“You're still young. There's plenty of time to try new things, so relax and enjoy the ride.”
That's what your mother used to say every time you talked to her about an overseas exchange program, a new hobby, and your first date. She said it with a soft smile, like youth was a long, gentle river you could float down without hurry.
But that was years ago.
And now? Now your mother's saying something entirely different.
“You’re not young anymore. Time to get attached. When am I going to get my grandchild?”
The words land like a quiet slap every time she calls. She doesn't say it meanly. She says it tiredly, worriedly, like she's watching sand slip through an hourglass she can't flip back over. You've always wanted to argue back and say that it was her who conditioned your mindset, but she's not wrong. Is it wrong to take things slow?
You still don’t know the answer.
There's no wrong in taking it easy and going with the flow. You're doing fine right now, in fact, you're much better off than you expected. A good job, stable life, a nice apartment that you own.
The only thing missing is a partner — and you’re in no rush to find one.
But tonight you're not thinking about your mother.
Tonight you're thinking about how you ended up here.
Your friends tricked you into this group blind date.
“Low pressure,” they said.
“Just come hang out. Free food. You might meet someone nice.”
They didn’t mention there would be eight people, half of them already half-drunk, and that “nice” apparently meant “loud.”
The restaurant is one of those trendy spots with neon signs and overpriced cocktails. The table is long and narrow, voices overlapping like the stack of messy papers on your office desk.
Your friends are in full playboy mode, leaning in, flashing grins, tossing flirty one-liners at the girls across from them.
The girls laugh in response, some genuine, some polite.
And you? You sit near the end quiet, sipping your water, nod when spoken to, answer in short sentences.
You’re not rude. You’re just… not performing.
Across from you is Liz. She’s the loudest one here, but not in an obnoxious way. She’s the one who ordered the spiciest ramen on the menu “because why not,” then immediately regrets it and downs three glasses of milk while laughing at herself.
“Okay okay okay,” she announces, slamming the empty milk glass down. “New game. Drink if it’s false. Never have I ever eaten instant ramen for breakfast.”
A common thing that everyone has done. Everyone on the table groans and drinks. You raise your glass of beer reluctantlyp.
“Losers! I win!” Liz laughs sniggers goofily, hands tapping on each other like an otter.
One of your friends, the loudest playboy, leans towards her with a smirk.
“Never have I ever kissed someone on the first date.”
Liz drinks dramatically, along with the rest that chugs their share down.
“Oh~ You've kissed before?” your friend asks with his eyebrows raised.
“Duh. Life’s too short.”
The table erupts in cheers and teasing, all nodding as they reminisce.
She grins, then glances at you.
“You didn’t drink,” she says, pointing. “First-date kiss virgin?”
You shrug. “Haven’t had the right first date yet.”
Her eyes light up.
“Ooh, mysterious. I like that. Have you even kissed before?”
You shake your head and shrug.
“He’s always like this,” your friend says. “Quiet guy. Girls love it until they realize he’s actually boring.”
Liz tilts her head at him.
“Or maybe he’s just waiting for someone interesting enough to talk to.”
Your friend blinks at the attention Liz is giving you and the table quiets for half a second.
Then Liz bursts out laughing.
“I’m kidding! Kidding! Don’t look so offended.”
But she’s still looking at you, longer this time. You almost feel as if she's boring a hole into your heart with her gaze.
The rest of dinner is chaos: more games, more drinks, more stories. Just the usual as to how a usual group blind date or any drinking party would go. Liz keeps pulling everyone in, making the shy girl next to her talk, challenging your friend to a chopstick-eating contest (he loses), telling a ridiculous story about the time she tried to “taste the rainbow” with illegal spicy candy and ended up in the ER.
Every now and then she glances at you again.
It's not a flirty glance. Just… curious.
When the bill comes and the group starts splitting up, she lingers.
Outside, the night air is cool. Neon glows from the restaurant spills onto the sidewalk. Your friends are already walking ahead, some exchanging numbers, others wobbling drunkenly. You spot your friend talking to Liz by the side, most likely asking for her number, but you see her shaking her head.
Rejected.
Your friend looks at you and smiles sheepishly, before walking away into the fading light.
Liz falls into step beside you as you head towards the train station.
“Hey,” she says. “You were pretty quiet in there.”
You shrug. “Not much of a talker.”
She grins unapologetically. “I noticed. It was kinda hot, actually.”
You blink.
She laughs at your expression — not mean, just delighted.
“Okay, fine. That sounded weird. But seriously. Everyone else was trying so hard to be funny or cool or whatever. You were just… cool. It was nice.”
She stops walking. So do you.
The street is noisy with cars, distant music, and salarymen spilling out of bars, but right here it feels like a bubble.
She rocks on her heels, looking at the ground before blurting: “Let’s go on a date.”
You open your mouth, then close it.
She rushes on before you can speak.
“I promise I won’t make you ride the scariest rollercoaster… maybe. Just one date. If it’s boring we never speak again. Deal?”
She sticks out her pinky.
You stare at it.
Now you're thinking about your mother.
Her voice echoes in your head — the new one, not the old one.
“You’re not young anymore. Time to get attached. When am I going to get my grandchild?”
You look at Liz. Her eyes are bright, cheeks a little pink from the cold, and alcohol (or maybe her nerves?), hair messy from all the laughing and exaggerated movements the entire night.
“Just to see,” you sigh, raising your pinky up.
Her face lights up and she squeals. “Yes!” She hooks her pinky around yours, shaking it vigorously. “Tomorrow! I already have an idea~”
She takes your phone which you graciously unlock to allow her to input her number, before bouncing once on her toes. She makes a small spin and runs to catch up with her friends, yelling over her shoulder with a wide smile.
“Don’t ghost me, mysterious quiet guy!”
You stand there for a second, pinky still outstretched, mind still dazed from the turn of events.
Then you smile.
You have a date.
***
<Liz 🌀, 08:17> GOOD MORNING MYSTERIOUS QUIET GUY!!
<Liz 🌀, 08:17> Ready for round 1? Meet me at 6 sharp. Wear comfy shoes and bring your brave faceeee~
You should have known better. Liz blasted you with messages the next morning… and somehow, you already feel the pull.
You stare at the messages for a whole minute and 28 seconds, thumb hovering. She's pretty, but she's lively, a bit too much in fact.
But your mother’s voice creeps in again.
Not young anymore… Grandchild… When…
You sigh and move your thumbs.
<You, 08:20> Okay
A simple, short and curt reply.
Her message comes immediately after.
<Liz 🌀, 08.20> What? That's it? Just an ‘Okay’?
<Liz 🌀, 08.20> Geez you're not even trying, but you're so god damn cool. Didn't even bother to ask where huh?
You panic a little at your blunder and try to send a reply, but it's a little too late. Right as you press send, her message comes in before yours.
<Liz 🌀, 08.20> Seoul Station, Exit 15
<You, 08:21> Where?
You rub your temple once, half-exasperated, half-amused.
<Liz 🌀, 08:21> Ahahahahaha
<Liz 🌀, 08:21> You're so slow lmao
<You, 08:21> …
<Liz 🌀, 08.21> Anyway, see you later~
You look at the messages and sigh. Your fingers move and tap into her contact that she saved. Thumbs dancing, she’s now known as: “Whirlwind 🌀”.
Bubbly, lively and energetic.
Nothing like you.
Nothing like how you imagined your first date to be.
But you're smiling.
The day passes by in a blur and once the work day is done, you're already on the way to the agreed upon meet up location.
You arrive at Seoul Station Exit 15 at 5.55 p.m. The crowd is thick with salarymen like you rushing home, students in uniforms, tourists with maps, but you spot her instantly.
Liz is leaning against a pillar, one foot propped up, scrolling her phone with one hand while the other waves a tiny red flag she definitely bought from a street vendor just for this moment. Does she even know what a red flag means? It's as though she's advertising herself as one. When she sees you she squeals, and it's an actual squeal, runs over, nearly tripping on her own shoelaces.
“You’re early!” she exclaims, eyes wide. “Like, actually early! I thought you’d be the type to show up at 6:01 just to be safe.”
You shrug. “I don’t like being late.”
“That's so responsible. I love it,” she beams at you. “Okay, come on!” she grabs your wrist (not your hand — your wrist, like she's leading a puppy on a walk) and starts pulling you toward the escalators.
“Where are we going?”
“Devil Tteokbokki Challenge!” she announces like it’s a national holiday. “It’s only two stops away. You ready to cry?”
You’re already regretting saying yes, but you don’t pull away.
The Devil Tteokbokki place is small and fluorescent-lit, but it’s packed with patrons. But these aren't the main things to worry about. What you’re worried about is the heavy smell of fire and regret that's choking the air.
There’s a giant red devil head on the wall with a speech bubble: “No time limit. If you finish Hell Level, free photo on the Wall of Victory! Otherwise, Wall of Shame!”
Liz signs the waiver without reading it.
You though, read it carefully.
She doesn't wait and orders Hell Level for both of you.
“You sure?” you ask again.
“We’re in this together,” she grins. “Teamwork makes the dream work!”
“...” you stare at her, before setting down the wavier. “Yea…”
The bowls arrive, and they're bright red and steaming, looking like the boiling pot of punishment in whatever level of hell that you can't remember — not that remembering it would save you.
Liz doesn't wait and takes one bite, eyes going wide then immediately starts fanning her mouth, mouthing breathy cavemen ooh ooh ahh ahh noises in an attempt to expel the hotness in her mouth.
“Sheesh, it burnt my tongue…” she wheezes, trying to cool it down in her mouth. “I forgot it was just out of the pot.”
You look at her antics, grinning a little.
“It's not that bad though?” you say, savouring the first piece. Sure, it's spicy, but it's well rounded and sweet at the start, followed by a nice umami in the middle, then—oh fuck.
cough cough cough
You're fucking choking from the sharp spiciness. Liz is in no better shape, choking on the lingering spiciness of the sauce.
cough cough cough
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god—” Liz cries, cheeks and nose red from the capsaicin invading her pain receptors.
You're already drinking your glass of milk, hoping that it will help with reducing the pain, but Liz has already downed hers, before obnoxiously snatching and drinking the remaining of yours.
Apparently the extra half glass of milk helped, and she's now laughing so hard at your plight that she almost falls off her chair. You look at her teary eyed, fire unextinguished in your mouth. You cough and try to reach for water, but your eyes water further.
“You’re crying! Oh my god, you’re crying again!”
You manage a weak glare through the tears.
She hands you her glass of warm water, still giggling.
“Here, hero. Warm water is more effective than cold water.”
You take it from her and drink. The burn fades ever so slowly.
She wipes her eyes, still smiling.
“You’re cute when you suffer.”
You roll your eyes at her, but you’re smiling too. Just a single bite and you’ve already drank two glasses of fluid. How many bites are there left? You wonder to yourself and count. 32. 32 more bites. And that means 64 glasses of fluid. How the hell are you going to finish the challenge?
Not to mention, the rules state that you have to finish every single drop of sauce as well. And that'll probably add another 64 glasses of fluid onto your belly. Assuming that each glass is 500 ml, then what, you’ll be filled with 64 litres of water. At this rate, you’ll be a walking watermelon by the end of the challenge.
“Earth to you!” Liz waves at your face, nudging you. “Eat!” she says, popping another piece hesitantly into her mouth, before downing another two glasses of water — no more milk, the milk ain't free. You try your best too, but ultimately, you both barely finish a third of the bowl before surrendering.
The owner takes a polaroid of you two, red-faced, teary, holding up the half-eaten bowls like trophies.
Liz insists on sticking it on the Wall of Shame herself.
“Team Whirlwind & Quiet Guy!” she declares, writing it in marker. You stand behind her, arms crossed, trying not to look proud, but damn, her handwriting is pretty. You get another two pieces of the polaroid photo, which the owner had kindly taken extra for you both as keepsake.
You take the photo and glance at it for a second, appreciating her goofy smile beside your forced one. You never did realise, but she has a dimple on her left cheek when she smiles, and it makes your heart skip a beat and the corner of your mouth curves slightly. Before she can catch any hint of it, you take out your wallet and keep it, making sure that none of the edges are folded when you slide it into the slot. And Liz? She clasps it behind her transparent phone case’s cover at the back of her phone.
How long do dates last? You have no clue. But it's definitely not an hour and twelve minutes because she is already dragging you to the next stop, a bar a few blocks away.
The challenge is simple — a standard dart game, but instead of the usual subtraction of numbers from 501 from every hit, it is a combined score of 520 times two, which is 1040. Because apparently 520 means ‘I love you’ in Chinese, and since it is a game meant for couples, it's double the intended target. You two have to take turns throwing a dart that looks like a swordfish (you have no idea why, perhaps an inspiration from some anime or sorts).
She lines up her first throw like a pro with her tongue out and eyes narrowed, then launches. The dart arcs beautifully… straight into the wall three feet above the board.
And of course you both lose spectacularly, despite her bragging about being a high school dart champion in her neighborhood. You swear that at least 20% of her throws ended up with fates that took a magnificent modest arc to land on either right on the ground or hit the high ceiling wall.
You make a mental note to never let Liz convince you to be a target on a knife throwing stunt — you doubt that it will happen, but who knows what will happen with her.
As losers again, yes again, you both end up in matching inflatable dinosaur costumes that are bright green and ridiculous, with tiny useless arms. How did T-rexes even earn their title of apex predators or King of the Dinosaurs?
The bartender takes the polaroid (does everyone own a polaroid nowadays?) and snaps a photo.
Liz poses dramatically with her arms up, roaring.
And of course you stand there, deadpan.
She laughs so hard she almost falls over.
“Losers Wall forever!” she cheers.
They hang the photo right next to the dart board prize neither of you won. And of course, courtesy of the bartender, you both get new pictures to add to your collection, to which you both slide into your wallet and behind her phone.
You're then dragged to the bar counter and Liz orders two cocktails — something bright blue and probably dangerous.
“Alcohol content?” you ask.
“18,” the bartender replies.
You pick your glass up and swirl it slightly, trying to get some of the volatile alcohol to evaporate, before sipping slowly.
She downs half of hers in one go. You cock your eyebrow, visibly impressed.
Then she leans across the table, eyes sparkling.
“Okay. Truth or dare.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Again?”
“Truth or dare,” she repeats, grinning.
You sigh.
“Truth.”
She thinks for a second.
“What’s your idea of a perfect date?”
You answer honestly.
“Quiet dinner. Walk after. Maybe a movie. No costumes. No challenges.”
She tilts her head.
“That sounds… nice.”
She drinks, not because she lost, but just because.
“My turn. Dare me.”
You hesitate.
She leans closer.
“Come on. Dare me.”
“Tell me your name,” you say quietly.
“Pshhh. Lame. Isn't Liz enough?”
“Name,” you say again curtly, insisting that she tells you.
“Fine. I’m Jiwon. Kim Jiwon, my mother’s daughter.” She murmurs, batting her eyelids at you coquettishly. “Liz isn't exactly my name name. My friends just call me that because there's a running joke that I look German, and so they gave me a name.”
“Oh?”
“Elizabeth Helga Muller. Hence Liz for short.”
You let out a small snort in amusement.
“Your turn! Truth or Dare! C'mon choose dare~” she bounces on the high chair slightly.
“Truth.”
“Ugh. You're such a coward,” she whines. “Fine. You know, yesterday when I asked about the kiss on a first date, is that true?”
“Yea. Do I look like someone who lies for a profession?”
“Maybe? Liars don't write that they're one on their foreheads.”
“Fair enough,” you mumble, taking in a deep breath before sighing. “This is my first date actually. So yes, I haven't kissed anyone on a first date before because I haven't had any dates before.”
“Wait, for real? So you're not a ‘first-date-kiss-virgin’, but a ‘0-date-virgin’? Geez~” she giggles, tapping her two middle fingers together with that same otter clap again. And god, she's so cute when she does that.
“So… does that mean I get to be your first first-date kiss?” she teases softly, eyes lingering on yours, face inching closer to you.
Your breath hitches in slight panic and you turn away, swirling your glass of cocktail again.
“Y-your turn! Truth or dare.”
“Dare.”
Her answer comes immediately.
You glance around — bar lights flashing, people laughing.
“Sing something,” you say quietly.
She blinks.
Then she grins.
“Here? In front of everyone?”
You shrug. “You wanted a dare.”
She laughs loudly and then stands up on the chair, clapping her hands to gather everyone's attention. The bar quiets a little.
“Ahem ahem,” she clears her throat, pointing to the band in the center. “Please play Love Wins All by IU.”
Once the guitarist starts strumming, she starts to sing. And you're mesmerised. Her voice is breathy and angelic, but it also carries a solid and strong base to it.
People cheer. Someone films it.
When the song ends, she bows dramatically, then jumps down and grabs your hand.
“Your turn.”
You shake your head.
“I’m good.”
“Fine. But you owe me,” she pouts, but her eyes are soft. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Why do I even bother asking…” she mumbles, before pausing to think for a second.
“Do you think I’m too much?”
You pause.
She’s still smiling, but there’s something softer behind it as she waits patiently for your reply.
You shrug and answer honestly.
“You’re… a lot. But I don’t mind.”
Her smile widens and her dimple deepens.
“Good answer.”
Then she downs the rest of her drink.
“Dare me.”
You hesitate.
She leans closer.
“Come on. Dare me.”
You glance out into the night sky, glancing at the flashing arcade lights, people laughing, and the city glittering below.
“Kiss me,” you say quietly.
She blinks, then she grins again.
“Here? In front of everyone?”
You shrug. “You wanted a dare.”
“It’s alright if you don't want to—”
She chuckles then grabs your collar, pulling you across the table, and kisses you.
It’s messy.
It’s enthusiastic.
It tastes like blue cocktail and adrenaline.
People whoop and whistle.
You both stay there, lips locked onto each other for a long moment, before she pulls back, cheeks pink, eyes shining.
“Best dare ever.”
“Yeah.”
She grabs your hand again.
“Come on. One more stop.”
The last stop — you hope — is a tiny karaoke booth in a basement arcade. When the door swings open, the lights inside are dim with a fake leather couch sitting against a wall, and a small table with two half-empty water bottles from the previous group.
“So what are we singing?” you say, already reaching for the control panel to select songs.
Liz locks the door behind you, and dims the overhead light to a soft pink glow, then turns to you with a nervous-excited grin.
“You’re so dense,” she says, grinning at you. “No singing tonight. Just… this.”
She pushes you onto the couch and kisses you right there and then. Your mind freezes. She's clearly tipsy from the cocktail earlier but fuck, she's also clearly conscious about it.
That's two kisses on your first date. Now you won't lose any truth or dare challenges.
Liz cups your face and leans in even more, tongue digging in as she sucks on yours, like she's starving for you. You reciprocate and hold on to her hips, holding her tight, gently biting on her lower lips as you kiss her back needily.
The wet smacking of your lips against each other fills the room. Her hands slide under your shirt and her fingers trace your skin. She whimpers into your mouth as you go deeper and harder, robbing and stealing the oxygen from her until you pull back slightly.
“You okay?”
She nods, eyes glassy and drunk with your taste.
“I want… more.”
You hesitate, but she senses it.
“Please,” she whispers. “I want to try… everything. With you.”
You look at her. She’s flushed, breathing fast, and her hands are trembling slightly.
“Okay.”
She smiles in relief.
Then she drops to her knees and settles between your thighs, right here, in the karaoke booth. She looks up at you with wide and eager eyes.
“Can I…?”
You hesitate a little, worrying about the public state of events.
“I want to… try more. With you.”
Your heart slams against your ribs.
“You sure?”
She nods frantically. “I’ve never… done this before. Not to mention, we're in a public place.” Her voice drops even lower. “I’m scared I’ll mess it up. But I want to. Please?”
You swallow hard. “We can go slow,” you say quietly. “I’ll guide you. If it’s too much, we stop. Okay?”
“Okay.” She nods again, eyes shining with relief and excitement. The air in the booth is warm as she steadies herself against your thighs, the carpet rough under her shins, the booth’s fake leather creaking slightly.
Her hand flies to your belt, undoing it. Her fingers are clumsy from the alcohol, and she's giggling nervously from her fumble.
“Sorry… first time doing this in a karaoke booth.”
You smile despite the pounding in your chest, reaching down and stroking her cheek with your thumb.
“You’re okay. Take your time.”
She finally succeeds in freeing you and your already painfully hard cock.
Her eyes go wide.
“You’re… really big.”
She swallows visibly, nervousness flickering across her face.
“I’ve… never taken anything this big before. I don’t know if I can. None of my toys were this… big.”
She licks her lips across her upper lips in anticipation then leans in. Her tongue flicks the tip of your cock experimentally, tasting you with feather-light laps.
You hiss, hips twitching forward involuntarily.
“Like that?” she pulls back, eyes flicking up to you in satisfaction.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just like that. Slow… and swirl around the head.”
She follows your instruction, tongue circling the ridge slow and curious, tasting every inch. It’s messy and uncoordinated, but it feels god damn good. Saliva is already pooling at the corners of her mouth while her tongue moves, flowing in thin streams across the sides of her tongue onto your tip. Then she takes the head between her lips, making sure you stretch them wide, cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucks.
She tries to push further but gags almost immediately, throat fluttering. She pulls off with a wet pop and coughs once, eyes already starting to water.
“Sorry—still learning.”
You stroke her hair gently.
“You’re doing good. Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat.”
She nods, determined to do better, then goes back down. She goes deeper this time, taking you in inch by inch, lips stretched wide, tongue pressing flat against the underside. Her breathing is loud through her nose, sending hot little puffs against your skin.
She gags again, tears pricking her eyes, but she holds it there, throat working around you in tiny swallows. You feel her tongue explore around your shaft, sliding along the vein, circling the head when she pulls back halfway. Her hands grip your thighs, nails digging in slightly, anchoring herself as she tries to take you more.
She moans around you muffled, the vibration ripping up your spine, making you groan involuntarily.
“Am I’m good?” she pulls off and whispers, voice utterly wrecked.
“You’re so good,” you grunt. “So perfect. Look at you… taking me so well.”
Her eyes flutter from your praise and a soft whimper escapes her.
“More?”
You nod.
“More. Slow… just like that.”
She dives back in, bobbing now. It's clumsy but eager, and she tries to take more of you inside her each time. Her throat flutters and gags with tears spilling down her cheeks, but she doesn’t stop.
glk glk glk
She pulls off every few strokes, gasping for air, strings of spit hanging between her lips and your cock. “Look at me,” she pants. “Please… look at me while I do this.”
You can't even look away even if you tried. Her pupils are blown and her eyes are glassy, and her mascara is starting to run in short black tracks as she tears more and more.
She looks wrecked.
She looks beautiful.
She takes you deep again, nose almost brushing your pelvis this time, throat convulsing around you. You feel the coil tighten within you, and it's fast and almost painful.
She senses it and pulls off, stroking you fast and hard. Her slick hand glides over the spit and pre-cum around your cock. Each slide brings you closer and closer to the edge.
“Hey. Look at this.” She whispers and grins, showing you her signature dimple again. “This is your third kiss on your first date.” Right as she says that, she latches her lips onto your cockhead and smooches it, sucking hard while she pumps you with both of her hands. Her tongue swirls and flicks your head while her lips wrap around it, saliva flowing down to lubricate your cock while she pumps and milks you.
“Cum for me,” she whispers. “Please. I want to taste you. I want… all of it. Let me make you feel good.”
She looks up, eyes locked on yours, tears streaming, mascara running, but she doesn’t break contact.
“I’m yours,” she mumbles around you.
The words hit harder than the vibration.
You break. Groaning, your hips buck into her mouth, spilling hot and thick across her tongue. She swallows everything you're expelling greedily and messily, some leaking from the corners of her mouth. She keeps you in the entire time, tongue flicking the underside, milking every last pulse.
When you’re entirely spent, she pulls off slowly. Her lips are swollen and glossed, chin glistening with saliva, and her eyes are shining with tears and pride. She licks her lips to catch the stray drops with her tongue.
“You taste good,” she says softly.
Then she giggles in sudden nervousness, as if the embarrassment only appeared now.
“That was… intense,” you say, pulling her up onto the couch beside you. You tilt her chin and kiss her deeply, tasting yourself on her tongue. She melts into you, clinging onto you, arms tight around your neck. You hold her there, breathing hard, cock still out but spent, heart hammering against hers.
Later, back at your place — yes, she insisted on staying over at your place because she feels tipsy — she falls asleep curled against your chest.
You stare at the ceiling.
You think you're in love with her.
***
“Will that get me a pass on the ride?” you say, frowning in exasperation.
“You think?” she giggles, arm hooked into yours.
The week after the karaoke booth feels like the world tilted slightly off-axis. Jiwon doesn’t slow down. Instead, she speeds up even more. Yes, you're calling her Jiwon now. You insisted on it after the karaoke night despite her playful reluctance, because you wanted to mean something to her beyond the nickname. She rolled her eyes… but smiled the whole time.
On Monday afternoon she texts you a single photo with a roller coaster loop-de-loop at Lotte World, neon lights streaking behind it like comet tails.
<Jiwon 🌀, 2:14 p.m.> Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand the whole time
You stare at the message for an hour. Okay, maybe not an hour. But your phone screen with that message on it remained on your desk while you worked, and your eyes kept flicking to it for an hour.
You’ve never been a roller coaster person, but you still reply with an “Okay”. No questions. No hesitation. You’re already learning that with Jiwon, hesitation just delays the inevitable.
You meet her at the entrance at 6:55 p.m. — five minutes early, because old habits die hard. She’s bouncing on her toes in the ticket line, wearing a cropped hoodie, denim shorts, and sneakers that look like they’ve seen a thousand adventures. When she spots you she squeals and runs over, nearly tripping on her own shoelaces.
“You’re early again!” she exclaims. “Responsible guy strikes once more!”
“Were all your dates always late? I don't like to keep people waiting, especially you.”
“That’s so… sweet,” her smile softens.
She grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the gate. “Come on! The line for Atlantis is already long!” Atlantis is the big one, the indoor/outdoor coaster with the massive loop and the drop into darkness. Rumour says, okay maybe not rumours, Naver says that as “one of the scariest rides at Lotte World, it features steep drops, sharp turns, and a 2,198-foot, 1.5-minute, 3.8 G-force experience”. Whatever that means, it means you're fucked.
The queue is a snake of teenagers and tourists. Jiwon chatters the whole time, bouncing from foot to foot, pointing at the track, telling you about the time she rode it with friends and “almost threw up but it was worth it.”
And you? You listen quietly, nodding occasionally. Half your mind is focused on her quirky talk, but the other half is focused on the shortening queue and your impending doom. She glances at you every few minutes, like she’s checking if your soul is still there.
When you finally reach the front she grips your hand tight.
“You ready?”
You look at her and her eyes are bright, cheeks pink from excitement, hair already messy from the wind machines in line.
“Yeah,” you say, sucking in a deep breath. “Let’s go.”
The ride starts slow, climbing the lift hill with the reminiscent click-click-click that you hear every time you watch Final Destination — why the fuck are you remembering that now.
Liz squeezes your hand harder. “I’m not scared,” she says, voice higher than usual. You don’t answer, because that's obviously a lie that she's telling herself, but you hope that line will give you both strength to overcome—
The drop comes mid thought. She screams loud and delighted, hand gripping your arm so hard her nails leave marks onto your skin. Well, it hurts, but at least the pain helps you focus and keeps your mind from reeling. The loop flips you upside down and your world inverts, and her scream turns into laughter.
When the ride ends she’s laughing breathlessly, hair wild from the wind.
“That was amazing! Your face was so calm the whole time. How are you not scared?”
“I-I trust the machine,” you lie blatantly.
She laughs harder, but she leans in to kiss your cheek.
“My brave quiet guy—hurk—bleagh—”
Jiwon bends to the side and starts to gag, the spinning from the rollercoaster ride finally starting to kick in. Her knees start to wobble and you lunge forward to catch her before she falls, supporting her as you help her to the side.
“You okay? Take it easy,” you pat on her back concerned, taking a grape flavoured sweet out from your pocket. Here, suck on this. It’ll help you feel slightly better.
“You… brought that for me?”
“Mhmm. I knew one of us would gag, and sweets will definitely help with calming your churning stomach.”
“Gee thanks~” she says, popping the sweet into her mouth. “You're so sweet, like this sweet,” she blushes.
“You sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine, it's not the first time I'm gagging anyway. Remember? I was just gagging on your cock last week.”
“...”
She chuckles and wraps her arms around your neck.
The next thing you know, she's gagging on your cock in your car at the parking lot. You drove today because you didn't intend to drink. Well, that's the least of your concern, because right now, her mouth feels so god damn warm and wet around you.
“Car sex?” she whispered earlier when closing the car door, eyes sparkling. “It’s risky, it’s hot, it’s new!”
You hesitated and glanced around.
The lot is dark with few cars left, and the security cameras are probably too far to matter.
She senses your pause.
“Please?” she whined softly. “Just this once. With you.”
“Okay.”
glk glk glk glk
Jiwon’s taking your entire cock without restraint right now, body bent onto you as she sits right beside you. Her throat is stretching much more easily around you as compared to last week — you don't bother to ask why, but perhaps she has been practicing at home — and your cock is spearing her throat much deeper than before. Each bob of her head onto your cock makes you groan louder and harder, and you gather her hair into a bunch to the side to let her throat fuck you without restraint.
glk glk glk glk glk
“Bwah—” she lifts herself off your cock to catch a breath, before turning to smile at you. Her make up is slightly messed up and her lipstick is smudged, and gosh right now, she looks so fucking sexy.
“Your cock… it tastes so fucking good…”
She dives back down and bobs even harder and faster, desperate to claim every moan that comes out of your mouth, desperate to claim every drop of pre-cum leaking from your slit.
Each bob brings you closer and closer to the edge, and you don't know what it is, but her throat feels heavenly. Is that why she is so good at singing? Every thrust into her oral cavity has her throat muscles quivering and massaging your shaft, melting your mind into an euphoric pleasure.
“J-Jiwon—”
“Mhmm?” she pulls off, grinning at you. “I got better right?” She holds the base of your cock and lightly slaps it on her cheek, before giving your tip a few kitten licks. She then lets your cock go and climbs onto you, straddling you. Her hoodie is pushed up and her shorts are already shoved down to her ankles.
She’s needily rocking against your cock with her clothed pussy, whimpering. “Please… I need you inside… now…”
“Y-yea, condom—” you grunt, trying to take the packet that you’ve kept in your pocket since like forever — just in case you ever got laid on a date, which is apparently happening right now.
“No condom, please…” she begs.
“No Jiwon, I won't do it unless we use a condom,” you say firmly.
She looks into your eyes, desperate for your rawness, but your eyes tell a different story.
“Fine. One day I’ll get your raw cock in my pussy, and you’ll regret fucking me with one.”
You tear open the packet, hands steady despite the adrenaline still buzzing in your veins. She watches you with dark eyes, lips parted, then helps you roll it on, fingers trembling slightly.
She lifts her hips slightly and grabs your cock with one hand. With the other, she pulls her panties to the side, exposing her already dripping folds and lowers herself onto you, sliding you in slowly and carefully.
The heat of her swallows you whole.
She gasps at the fullness, head falling back against the headrest, hands braced on your shoulders. Her walls flutter around you instantly, slick and tight, still pulsing from the adrenaline high of the ride.
“Fuck—” she breathes. “So full… you’re so deep already…”
Your hands find her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, steadying her as she starts to move.
She doesn’t ease into it.
She bounces.
Earnestly.
Desperately.
Every downward slam makes her breasts jiggle under the cropped hoodie, makes the car rock on its suspension, makes wet slapping sounds fill the small space between you. You thrust up to meet her, but it's controlled at first, matching her rhythm. And god forbid you, because you want to go faster.
She moans loudly and unrestrained, head thrown back so far that she's bumping lightly on the car’s ceiling with every rise.
“Yes—yes—fuck me like that—”
Her dirty talk spills out in broken gasps, voice still hoarse and wrecked from screaming on the coaster and now from this.
“Harder—please—make me feel it—make me feel you—”
You grip her hips tighter and pull her down harder on every bounce. The newfound angle lets you hit deep, deeper than the toys she’s used to and she keens every time your pelvis grinds against her clit. You slide both hands upwards from her hips, snaking under her hoodie, pushing the fabric up until her breasts spill free. You reach behind and unhook her bra, tugging it upwards to her wrists only to hook and tie them again.
Her wrists are now bound.
Back to her tits. They're soft and warm and stiff, dark nipples begging for attention. The size is perfect, resting right in your palms as you cup them both, rolling and kneading as she grinds and rocks her hips on you. You lean forward and take one into your mouth, tongue swirling round, lips sucking hard. Her back arches violently and a choked cry rips out of her.
“Oh god—yes—suck them—please—”
You switch to the other, teeth grazing lightly as your tongue flicks the peak. She rides you faster, hips snapping down, walls clenching every time you apply that soft, gentle suction.
The car is rocking harder now as its springs creak, windows completely fogged from your body heat and passion.
Her moans turn into high, frantic whimpers.
“I’m—close—fuck—I’m gonna—”
You thrust up harder, driving into her relentlessly on every downstroke. Jiwon shatters and cums with a scream, whole body seizing, walls clamping down so tight you almost lose it right there.
Warmth floods around the condom and she squirts onto you, a sudden gush that soaks your lap, the seat and her shorts.
She’s shaking from the sensation and her thighs are trembling, but she's already moving again. Tears streak down her cheeks from the intensity, but her hips snap down harder and faster more urgently, as if she's forcing herself onto you to chase the aftershocks of her first orgasm, while trying to pull you into one with her.
The car rocks violently now. The suspension springs are groaning under the force and the windows are completely fogged over, the outside world reduced to nothing but blurry neon smears. These are the least of your concerns, because right now, only Jiwon is in your eyes.
You thrust up to meet her drops, and they're no longer gentle, no longer measured.
Your hands move back and clamp onto her hips, fingers digging harder into her soft flesh, guiding her rhythm while also anchoring her so she can bounce even harder.
“Fuck—yes—right there—” she gasps.
Taking one hand off her hips, you reach upwards to grab her bound wrists, leaning forward to lick the sweat that’s beading off her collarbone. Peppering her neck with kisses, you move downwards and latch your mouth onto one nipple again, sucking hard and fast, making her arch violently.
“Suck harder—please—bite—fuck—”
Your teeth close around the peak as her hips smack wetly onto you, tongue flicking rapidly on her nipples. Your hand slides from her hips, between your bodies to find her swollen clit. Your thumb rubs in tight, fast circles, matching the brutal pace of her bouncing.
She’s riding you like she’s trying to break you, or break herself, hips slamming down so hard the sound of skin on skin is obscene, wet, echoing in the confined space.
The car smells like the sex of her thick and musky arousal, mixed with cherry lip gloss, your sweat, the faint rubber of the condom, and the lingering adrenaline from the coaster that's still clinging to both of you.
Her walls are fluttering again, and her orgasm is already climbing, clenching around you in erratic pulses.
“I’m—gonna—again—fuck—I can’t—”
You thrust up harder, driving deep on every bounce. She screams and her body seizes. The second orgasm hits her like a freight train and she squirts again, even harder this time. The hot gush soaks your lap, dripping down your balls.
She’s sobbing now, pleasure so sharp it looks like she's hurting.
But you don’t stop.
You can’t stop.
She's crying for you not to stop.
You’re chasing your own high now, hips snapping up, fucking into her through her spasms. Her walls are still fluttering, milking you and the overstimulation makes her voice break into high, keening whimpers.
“Too much—too much—oh god—don’t stop—don’t stop—”
You suck harder on her nipple, teeth closing as your thumb presses mercilessly on her clit.
Her third orgasm crashes almost immediately, sharper, shorter, and more violent than the last. Her back arches so sharply her head slams and hits against the roof, a choked sob ripping out of her. Her walls clamp down on you like a vise, pulling you over the edge.
You groan against her breast, hips bucking one last time as you unload hard into the condom.
Pulse after pulse of white, thick cum bursts out of your slit, heat flooding the latex. The sensation is so intense it makes your vision white out for a second.
Your grip on her wrists loosens and she collapses forward, chest heaving against yours, arms wrapped around your neck like she’ll never let go. Both of you are shaking and breathing in harsh, ragged gasps.
The car is a sauna. Windows opaque, air thick with the scent of sex, salt from both of your cum and sweat.
She trembles in your arms, shaking in aftershocks that's still running through her. She's crying with small, hiccupping sobs against your neck. You rub your hands in slow circles on her back gently, kissing her temple, her cheek, the corner of her eye where tears still cling.
“You okay?” you murmur.
She nods against your shoulder.
“Yeah… just… wow.”
You stay like that for a long minute, letting her calm down, breathing together. Eventually she lifts her head. Her eyes are still glassy from the waning pleasure pain, but she's still smiling.
“That was… a lot.”
“Yeah.”
She giggles weakly then nuzzles into your neck.
“Best second-date souvenir ever,” she whispers.
You smile into her hair and carry her to the front passenger seat, driving her home. She falls asleep in the passenger seat, hand still curled around yours above the gear stick.
You glance at her sleeping face when you stop at a traffic light. She's peacefully sleeping now and you feel that same tightness in your chest.
You love her joy.
You love her chaos.
But you’re starting to wonder how long she can keep running at this speed before she crashes, because you know that constantly surging ahead means an inevitable burnout.
You don’t say anything.
Not yet.
***
Every week is a new and fresh date. Just like a whirlwind that gets stronger during intense temperature increments, her passion and infatuation with you grows stronger.
The weekend after the roller coaster feels like the whirlwind is spinning faster.
Jiwon texts you on Friday night with a single photo of a creepy clown mask from Nightmare Valley Horror Park’s website. Its red lips are stretched in an evil grin with void black eyes.
<Jiwon 🌀, 9:37 p.m.> Tomorrow. 9 pm. Nightmare Valley. Bring your scream face again 🎃
<Jiwon 🌀, 9:37 p.m.> I’ll hide behind you the whole time (promise I won’t bite… maybe 😈)
You stare at the message and your mind begins to shake. You’ve never been to a horror park. God you hate horror stuff. Why would you pay to be scared? But you already know the answer.
<You, 9:45 p.m.> Okay. See you there.
<Jiwon 🌀, 9:46 p.m.> 👻 ❤️ Woooooooo~
<Jiwon 🌀, 9:46 p.m.> Eheheheheheh~
You sigh in defeat, but there’s a tiny smile tugging at your mouth. You’re getting used to this.
Saturday evening arrives humid and heavy with the kind of air that clings to your skin. You park your car and meet her at the entrance. She’s dressed for the occasion: a black mesh crop top with a large red glittery star emblazoned across the chest. Ripped black jeans hug her legs, ending in chunky sneakers, and her long blonde hair is pulled into high twin ponytails, each tied with a massive red ribbon that bounces with every excited step she takes.
“Wow, you… look like a doll,” you stammer, gawking at her cute yet chic outfit.
“Pretty right? I tried to take a little inspiration from Harley Quinn, but I didn't want to look so… weird, so I settled with something more toned down!”
“Really? Elizabeth Helga Muller, toned down?” you look at her, raising an eyebrow in doubt.
She chortles a laughter and throws her arms around your neck. “I thought you would chicken out, but here you are~ My reliable guy.”
She grabs your hand and laces her fingers around yours, dragging you through the ticket gate.
The park is already dark. She said she purposely chose this timing to avoid the crowd and queuing, but it only served to make the whole park quieter and spookier. Fog machines pump white clouds across the paths, red emergency lights pulse like heartbeats, and distant screams echo from the haunted house.
The ball of energy beside you bounces on her toes. “First the big one. Haunted Manor. Then the mirror maze. Ready?”
You nod.
She squeezes your hand tighter.
“I’m brave,” she says and nods, huffing out a short breath before puffing up her chest. “Totally brave.”
You don’t comment.
The Haunted Manor line short, just a few teenagers in front of you giggling nervously and a couple behind you whispering bets on who’ll scream first. Jiwon chatters the whole time while waiting for your turn, pointing at the fake blood on the walls, telling you about the time she watched a horror movie alone and slept with the lights on for a week.
You listen quietly, nodding occasionally.
She glances at you every few minutes, checking if you’re still there. “Don't tell me you're scared of ghosts?” she mocks.
“Uhhh… aren't you?”
“Duh? Obviously not?”
“Then why are you teasing me?”
“Because it's fun to see you flustered, expressionless man~”
You poke her dimple when she laughs.
When you finally reach the front she grips your hand so hard her knuckles go white.
“You ready?”
You look at her. Her cheeks are pink from excitement, but her hands are sweaty from nerves, hair already frizzing from the fog.
“Yeah,” you say. “Let’s go.”
The door opens and darkness swallows you both. Inside it’s pitch black with only strobe lights and red emergency strips. Actors lunge from corners. Zombies, clowns, bloody nurses. Jiwon screams loudly and hides behind you every time something jumps out. Her feet freezes every few steps and she clings on to your arm, giggling between shrieks.
“I’m not scared,” she insists, but her voice shakes in betrayal. “Totally not scared.”
A zombie actor lunges from the side this time and she yelps, burying her face in your back. You keep walking calmly, guiding her forward.
She peeks out from behind you then laughs.
“You’re so steady. How are you not screaming?”
“I trust the actors won’t actually eat us.”
She laughs harder, but clings tighter.
“But. You have no idea, but my ass is clenched so tightly right now,” you declare with a sharp breath drawn.
She laughs even harder, hand covering her mouth in amusement.
When you both finally reach the exit, she’s breathless with her hair wild from all the ducking and jumpscares, but her eyes are bright with relief.
“That was amazing! You were like a human shield.”
“Anytime,” you smile.
She gives you a quick peck on your cheek.
“My hero.”
The Haunted Manor exit spits you both back into the humid night air, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline and the faint smell of fake fog clinging to your clothes. Jiwon’s hand is still in yours, fingers laced tight, but her grip is a little looser now. After all, the haunted house is over. She glances at you sideways, eyes still bright, but there’s a tiny tremor in her smile.
“Mirror maze next?” she asks.
You nod. She takes it as her cue and pulls you towards the glowing neon sign that reads: Lost Forever – Enter at Your Own Risk.
The entrance is quieter than the manor, fewer people, no long queue. She pays for both tickets (she insisted) then turns to you with a mischievous grin.
“I’m gonna get lost on purpose,” she whispers. “You have to come find me. And when you do…”
She trails off, eyes flicking toward the dark mouth of the maze.
Your stomach flips.
She doesn’t wait for an answer and leads you inside. The moment the door closes behind you, the world shrinks into reflections and echoes.
The maze is a labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling mirrors with cold glass on every side, endless Jiwons and endless yous stretching into infinity in every direction. The lighting is low and shifting with blue and purple strobes that make the reflections flicker like multiple versions of you both are breathing at slightly different speeds.
Every step echoes with soft thuds and clicks on mirrored floor, the sound multiplied a hundred times over in accordance to the reflections.
All of a sudden, Jiwon lets go of your hand and surges away.
“Catch me~” she sing-songs, her voice bouncing off the glass in overlapping layers. She darts left and disappears, pigtails swinging, red ribbons flashing in the strobes of light.
You shake your head and follow calmly, turning corners, listening for her giggles. She’s fast, but not subtle. You hear her laugh, then a soft “oops” as she bumps into a mirror.
“Wrong way!”
Another giggle. She's closer now.
You turn right, then left, then another left.
The reflections make it disorienting. Every mirror shows a different Jiwon, one laughing, one biting her lip, one looking back over her shoulder with wide eyes. You swore you saw one where her face is laced with fear and panic.
You keep walking.
Eventually you find her.
She’s in a small dead-end nook with three mirrors boxing her in, infinite Jiwons staring back from every angle. She’s breathing fast and her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright with excitement and something darker. She sees you in the mirror first and smiles with her dimple flashing.
“Found me.”
You step into the nook, boots soft on the mirrored floor.
“Let's go,” you say, reaching your hand out to her. But she turns and presses her back against the cool glass, pulling you in by the front of your shirt. The mirror is cold against her spine, and you feel her shiver through the fabric.
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
You lean forward and taste the faint cherry gloss still on her lips, the salt of her skin, the adrenaline still buzzing through both of you from the haunted house. Her hands slide across your shirt, fingers tracing your sides, then higher, nails grazing your ribs.
She moans softly into your mouth, hips pressing forward, grinding against you through denim. The mirrors multiply every movement of the infinite Jiwons arching into infinite versions of you, infinite hands sliding across infinite shirts, infinite mouths opening in silent gasps.
You pull back just enough to speak.
“Here?”
She nods, lips parted, eyes dark with want.
“Here. In the mirrors. I want to watch myself… while you…” she trails off, but her hands are already tugging at the waistband of her pants. “Eat me.”
You glance around. The maze is quiet with distant laughter and screams from the other minimal visitors, and no footsteps are close.
You nod.
“Okay, but we have to be quick.”
She smiles and guides your hand between her legs. You push her pants down and slide her panties aside, fingers finding her already slick, swollen, pulsing with heat. She gasps into your touch, hips jerking forward, and the mirrors show it from every angle. Her mouth falls open, head tilting back against the glass, thighs parting wider, your hand disappearing between them.
You kneel and spread her legs wider. Jiwon's back arches against the mirror, hands tangling in your hair. You lean in and press your tongue flat on her wetness, tasting her.
She exhales with a loud broken moan, head falling back against the glass with a soft thud. The sound echoes and reverberates around the mirrors, multiplied by every reflection, each reflection moaning at slightly different delays.
“Look at me,” she whispers. “In the mirrors. Look at us.”
You glance up.
The reflections are endless. Jiwon multiplied forever, face flushed, mouth open, eyes glassy. Your head is nested between her thighs, her fingers tight in your hair, her breasts rising and falling under. Your senses are overwhelmed and going into overdrive from the infinite versions of her trembling, infinite versions of you licking.
Every mirror shows a different detail: one catches the way her thighs shake, another the way her back arches against the glass, a third the tears already forming at the corners of her eyes from the intensity, a fourth the way her lips part in a silent scream when your tongue circles her clit, a fifth the way her fingers tighten in your hair so hard her knuckles turn white, a sixth the way her hips buck forward involuntarily, chasing your tongue.
She watches herself moaning and trembling.
“Oh god… look at me… look at how I’m shaking… look at my face—oh fuck—I look so… desperate… so needy…”
You lick harder, tongue circling her clit, fingers sliding inside, curling up to find that spot that makes her gasp.
Her reflections react in waves. One Jiwon arches, another sobs, a third bites her lip so hard it turns white, a fourth’s hands tighten in your hair so hard her knuckles turn white, a fifth’s thighs tremble violently, a sixth’s back bows so sharply her shoulders slam against the glass.
The sensory overload makes her nerves go on overdrive and she cums fast, crying out as her walls flutter around your fingers. She shakes as a gush of wetness coats your tongue and chin, some sprinkling onto the mirror floor beneath.
Her reflection shows everything. Head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, tears streaming, thighs trembling violently around your head, infinite Jiwons cumming at once.
She looks wrecked.
She looks beautiful.
But she begs you not to stop.
“More,” she breathes. “Please… I want to see myself cum again.”
You add a second finger inside her, thrusting slowly, tongue flicking her clit in tight circles.
She watches the mirrors, eyes locked on her own reflection, moaning louder.
“Fuck—look at me—look at how I’m shaking—look at my face—oh god I’m so wet—look at my pussy taking your fingers—”
Her voice cracks with every pump, thighs clamping around your head. Her second orgasm hits harder and faster, her back bowing so sharply her shoulders slam against the glass, a choked sob ripping out.
She squirts and sends a fresh wave of hot liquid that coats your chin, dripping down your neck, pooling on the carpet.
The mirrors fog slightly from her heavy breathing, her reflections blurring at the edges, making the scene look dreamlike, surreal. She grabs on to your head tightly, holding you in place, refusing to let you go. She doesn't say anything other than a few whimpers, but you take it as her cue to not stop.
And so you lap and lick and finger and thrust into her, until her third orgasm crashes almost immediately. Her legs buckle from the weakness and you catch her hips, keeping her upright, licking her through it until she’s trembling, oversensitive, whimpering.
“Please… enough… I can’t—”
You finally pull back and kiss the inside of her thigh tenderly, then stand. She collapses against you, arms around your neck, breathing ragged.
“That was… intense.”
You kiss her slowly and let her taste herself on your tongue.
“Thank you.”
You rub slow circles on her back.
“Anytime.”
She giggle then nuzzles into your neck.
“I like watching myself with you.”
You smile into her hair.
“I like watching you too.”
On the way out she’s quiet, clinging to your arm, smiling.
But her smile looks forced.
***
“Jiwon…”
“I’m terrified,” she whispers.
“Then why are we here?” you whisper back.
“I’m scared shitless of heights but I wanna do it.”
“...”
“Puh-lease?”
You keep quiet and squeeze her hand harder.
The instructor straps her in, harness tight around her chest and thighs, ankle cuffs clipped to the cord.
She stands at the edge with her toes curled over the lip as the wind whips her ponytail. She peers down and looks at the river far below.
Her knees are visibly shaking.
She looks back at you with trembling eyes.
“I love you,” she says suddenly.
Your heart stutters.
“I love you too,” you say.
She smiles and then turns forward, arms wrapped tightly around you as you get strapped too.
“Can we opt out now?” you plead.
“No.”
“Pleas—”
“3… 2… 1… BUNGEE!”
She jumps and pulls you along with her.
Her scream rips through the air as you both fall together, body plummeting towards the water. You grip her so hard that your knuckles turn white.
When the cord stretches to the maximum, it bounces back upwards, not before recoiling and you both fall downwards again. The cycle repeats for a few more times until your screams turn into laughter, then sobs, then laughter then sobs again.
When they pull you both back up she’s crying and laughing at the same time, but she's shaking so hard her teeth’s chattering.
You hope that she'd enjoyed herself out there, but she collapses into your arms the second she’s unclipped, face buried in your chest, sobbing openly.
“I did it,” she whispers. “I did it.”
You hold her tight, hand stroking her back.
“I’m proud of you.”
You sigh and wonder when she’ll actually stop forcing herself, because the more you spend time with her, the more you know that she doesn't want to do any of this.
The rooftop bar gathering is later that evening. The same place as before, same group of friends.
The sun has already set with city lights glittering below, music pulsing softly.
Jiwon is quieter than usual, still flushed and recovering mentally from the jump, clinging to your arm more than normal.
Her friends are loud and drunk, talking about sex like it’s a competition. And by now, the news of you and Jiwon dating is already known by all.
“Vanilla is so mid,” one girl says, rolling her eyes. “You gotta level up or you’ll bore him.”
Another laughs. “My ex used handcuffs and it was insane. Try bondage — trust me.”
Jiwon laughs along, but her smile is tight. You sense the force in her laughter. She glances at you nervously then changes the subject.
“Anyway! Who wants another round?”
The conversation moves on.
But you notice.
Her hand on your arm is shaking slightly.
After the group leaves — hugging, promising to meet again soon — she leans against you on the rooftop edge. The wind is cooler now, city lights reflecting in her eyes.
She’s quiet. Unusually quiet.
You hold her hand tight.
She doesn’t speak for a long minute.
Then:
“I want to try something really intense next time.”
You look at her.
“Like what?”
She swallows, eyes flicking away.
“I want to see… how many times I can cum. Like… really push it.”
You feel the tightness in your chest again, sharper this time.
“You sure?”
She nods and smiles, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Yeah. It’ll be fun.”
You don’t answer right away.
You just hold her hand tighter.
She yawns, and quickly tries to cover it, but you see the way her eyelids droop a little, the way her shoulders sag when she thinks you’re not looking.
***
The days after the rooftop bar feel like walking on cracking ice.
Jiwon keeps smiling and keeps texting and keeps planning, but the cracks are showing.
Her messages come slower and her emojis fewer. She yawns in the middle of voice notes and laughs too quickly to cover it.
You notice everything, but you say nothing.
Friday night she sends only one message:
<Jiwon 🌀, 8:14 p.m.> Tomorrow. My place. 8 pm.
<Jiwon 🌀, 8:14 p.m.> The thing I talked about on the roof. Really push it. Please?
There’s no emojis. No playful tone. Just quiet.
You stare at the screen until it goes dark from the automatic time out of five minutes.
You type back an “Okay”.
She replies almost instantly.
<Jiwon 🌀, 8:20 p.m.> Thank you. I love you.
The words feel heavier than ever.
You arrive at 7:52 p.m., eight minutes early.
She opens the door wearing only an oversized hoodie with no shorts, bare legs, bare feet. Her hair is loose and unbrushed, eyes shadowed with exhaustion she’s trying to hide behind a smile.
“You came,” she says softly.
“I said I would.”
She pulls you inside and locks the door, leaning against it for a long second like she’s reconsidering what is about to happen.
The living room is lit with only the main ceiling light on, dimmed into a soft dull glow. The coffee table has the familiar setup of soft pink bondage tape, the bullet vibrator, lube, and the Hitachi wand she didn't use the last time.
But there’s something new.
A full-length mirror propped against the wall — the one from her bedroom — angled so the couch is fully reflected.
She sees you staring.
“I thought… it would be hot. To watch.”
Her voice is small.
You nod.
She fidgets, fingers twisting the her shirt.
Wrists and ankles again. And… the vibrator. A lot of it.
She looks up, eyes searching yours.
“I want to see… how many times I can cum. Like… really push it. Until I can’t anymore.”
Your stomach drops. You’ve done light bondage before at her request, but this feels like walking into a storm you can already see coming.
You hesitate much longer than the previous time and she notices.
“If you don’t want to—”
“I’ll do it,” you say quietly. “But red means stop. Immediately. No hesitation. Promise me.”
She nods fast, too fast.
“Red. Yea. I promise.”
She sits on the couch.
You kneel between her legs, trembling slightly. You start with her wrists, pulling them to the side, wrapping the tape slowly and carefully around the arm rests, leaving it still loose enough so that she can slip free if she needs to.
“Is this okay?” you ask.
“Tighter.”
You adjust and pull the tape until she nods, breathing shallowly.
“Yeah… tight… but good.”
You move to her ankles, securing them to the couch legs, spreading her thighs just enough.
She tests the restraints and wiggles, trying to break free. She's fastened tight.
“Feels… safe. With you.” She smiles softly.
“Good girl.” You kiss her forehead.
She whimpers from it, already wet.
You shift the couch until the mirror directly is in her line of sight. She looks at her reflection: Kim Jiwon bound and waiting to be worked, and she shivers from the positive (?) anticipation.
“Turn the light up a little,” she whispers. “I want to see everything.”
The walk to the switch and turn the knob, adjusting the variable resistor until the room brightens to show her bounded body in full view. You start with your fingers, drawing slow circles on her clit before thrusting gently inside. She moans and rocks her hips, eyes locked on the mirror.
“Look at me,” she breathes. “Look how wet I am already…”
You add the small bullet vibrator, pressing it to her clit on low. She gasps immediately, back arching on the couch as she tries to reach for something, but her hands are bound tight.
“Oh god… that’s… so good…”
You keep it steady, watching her face in the mirror, watching her dissolve in pleasure. Her first orgasm comes fast, and she's shaking through it, crying out your name as her walls flutter around your fingers, sending a small gush that soaks your hand.
She pants as her orgasm dies down. “More… please… I can take more…”
You edge her next, bringing her close, not before pulling the vibrator away. She whines from the loss of sensation, hips chasing after you, but she can't move.
“Please… don’t stop… I need it… I’m not boring… I’m fun… right?”
Her voice cracks on the last word that's filled with desperate self-reassurance. You stay silent throughout and bring her close again, and again, and again, and again, edging her four times in total.
Each time she chants frantically.
“I can take it… I want it… keep going… tell me I’m good… please say I’m good…”
You press the vibrator back onto her pussy and turn it up one notch. She cums right there and then, walls clamping around the small bullet as she sends another gush of wetness that soaks the couch.
You don't stop.
You turn the vibrator up to the maximum, pressing it firmly. Her third orgasm builds quickly. She’s crying out loud right now as her body jerks on the couch, pussy squeezing and clenching with convulsions that rolls through her for nearly thirty seconds.
By the fourth, you have added the Hitachi to her clit, the intense vibrations sending her into a full minute of continuous spasms.
“M-more—I can take—it—”
The vibrators are all on maximum intensity at this point and they remain fixed onto her sensitive pussy.
Fifth orgasm. She’s sobbing now, pleasure turning sharp, body locking up for a duration you can't count. Her thighs quivering uncontrollably, mirrors showing every twitch multiplied.
“Please… more… I can take it… I’m not done… I’m fun… right? Tell me I’m fun…”
Sixth: she’s babbling “too much… too good… please… keep going… don’t let me be boring…”, orgasm dragging on for over two minutes with full-body convulsions, sweat pouring, skin blotching red from the panting.
Seventh: her thighs clamp around your hand, liquid flowing freely from her eyes and pussy right now. Her voice is hoarse and the reflections in the mirror shows her head thrashing side to side.
“We green?”
“Yes—yes—fuck don't you dare stop—I need to prove—fuck cumming—”
She's cumming for the eighth time. She's already limp on the couch, voice cracking into near-silent gasp, body jerking in slow, exhausted pulses.
On the ninth her voice breaks completely. “I can’t… I can’t… it hurts… but don’t stop… I’m not boring… please…” Her orgasm stretches past long minutes, and she's shaking with full-body tremors, tears soaking the couch, reflections blurring into a smeared chaos of flushed skin and black mascara rivers.
On the tenth, she’s barely coherent, shaking violently, tears and sweat soaking everything. She’s choking on her own whimpers, mirror magnifying every shudder infinitely.
Your hand is trembling, wondering if you should stop despite her not using the safe word. Your heart wants to stop, but you know that you should keep going, because she trusts you.
She’s right at the edge of the eleventh and her hips are thrashing, walls fluttering wildly, body locked in pre-orgasm tension. Her reflection in the mirror shows a final, fractured version of herself — mouth open in a silent scream, eyes wide with panic — and something in her gaze finally breaks.
“RED!”
The word rips out of her, shattering the room.
You stop instantly, pulling the vibrators off and throw them to the side, hands pressing gently on her face, thumb rubbing across her cheeks. You continue to untie her wrists and ankles quickly, but also carefully at the same time. Her entire body is trembling in microspasms, to the point that it feels like she's shivering from extreme cold.
Once done, you carry her into your arms and sit on the couch, holding her tight as she curls into you. Her tears flow freely as you shush her, body still spasming with leftover aftershocks. You rock her slowly, hands patting softly on her back.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve stopped earlier.”
She shakes her head while her face is buried in your chest, sobbing uncontrollably.
“No… it’s not you. It’s me.”
She cries even harder, body shaking with the force of it. You stroke her hair slowly, whispering soft reassurances that everything is fine now. She clings onto you like she’s afraid to let go.
The room is quiet now, with only her hiccupping breaths and the faint hum of the vibrator forgotten on the floor.
You don’t move.
You just hold her, rubbing gently on her wrists.
Your heart breaks.
Her wrists are red from the tape faint lines where she pulled and struggled against, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“I… I lied to myself,” she whispers. “I kept saying I wanted it. I kept saying it was fun. That I needed to… to keep up. To not be boring. To not regret anything when I’m older.”
Fresh tears spill at the confession.
“It’s nice when I do things together with you, but I never wanted any of it. Not really.”
She swallows.
“I was scared. Scared that if I slowed down… if I just wanted normal things… you’d get bored. Or I’d wake up one day and hate myself for wasting my youth. For not trying everything.”
You kiss and cup her face, thumbs wiping the unabating tear tracks.
“You’re not wasting anything.”
She shakes her head again.
“My mom… she never let me do anything. Said I was too young. Too unsafe. So I grew up thinking… if I didn’t grab every chance, I’d end up like her. Regretting everything.”
She sniffles in between the sobs.
“And my aunt… she did the opposite. Took every risk. Traveled everywhere. Started her business young. Now she’s a millionaire… but she’s alone. No family. No partner. She calls me sometimes and says ‘don’t waste your youth like I did by playing it safe’… but she’s miserable. She’s so fucking miserable.”
Jiwon’s shoulders shake.
“I didn’t want to end up like either of them. So I just… kept pushing. Kept saying yes. Kept thinking ‘one more thing, one more thing, then I’ll be okay’. But I’m not okay. I’m exhausted. I’m so fucking exhausted.”
She buries her face again, crying into your neck.
“I don’t want to try anymore. I just want… you. I want to wake up with you and not have to prove anything. I want to be boring with you. I want to be safe with you.”
You hold her tighter, heart aching painfully.
“I was doing it for you,” you say quietly. “All of it. The dom stuff. The roles. The pushing. I thought that’s what you needed. But I never wanted it either. I just wanted you. I love you exactly like this.”
“Look at me. You were drawn to me because I'm ‘boring and quiet’ right? So why don't you do the same for yourself and be yourself? If you can accept me for how and who I am, why don't you do the same and let people accept you for who you actually are and want to be?”
She lifts her head, searching yours.
“You mean that?”
“I mean it.”
Fresh tears spill again, but these are different.
They are tears of relief.
“I love you, Jiwon-ah. So you don't have to force yourself to do things that you don't want to.”
She nods shakily.
“I love you too.”
She lifts her head and kisses you, tasting salt and tears and cherry gloss.
You kiss her back gently, hands cradling her face.
“Make love to me,” she whispers. “No games. No restraints. Just us.”
“Okay.”
You carry her to the bed and set her down carefully, undressing her, pulling her oversized t-shirt off. You kiss every inch of her skin that's revealed. She reciprocates and undresses you as well, fingers tracing birth marks, moles, lines, memorising you like she's afraid she'll forget.
You stand in between her legs at first, sliding the latex on before laying down on top of her and sliding inside her. You push in slowly until you're embedded deep, eyes locked on hers throughout. She gasps softly, legs wrapping around you.
Her pussy is still quivering and sensitive from the overstimulation earlier, but she's smiling contentedly now.
No begging.
No commands.
Just feeling.
You move together slowly, hands clasped, foreheads touching. She moans with every movement, fingers digging into your back.
“You feel so good,” she whispers. “So right… so safe…”
You kiss her while you thrust, tongues sliding, breaths mingling.
“Can we… without anything?” she asks softly. “I trust you. I want to feel all of you. Just us.”
You hesitate, heart pounding against your ribs.
“You sure?”
She nods with certainty.
“I’m sure.”
You nod and unsheath briefly, pulling the latex off before sliding back in bare. The difference is immediate. It's hotter, closer, more intimate. She whimpers at the sensation, hips rocking up to meet you. You move slowly, feeling every flutter, every ripple. You feel every rib of her wall that you couldn't due to the thin rubber before, and now you feel like you're completing her; her completing you.
She doesn't last long, cumming first with soft, shuddering cries, walls fluttering around you in a quiet, trembling release that rolls through her like a wave.
But this time, she's not crying. She's not in pain. She's crying in pleasure.
The way she's melting under you sends you to the edge too. A few more thrusts and you follow, spilling inside her with a quiet groan as you kiss into her lips, sending pulse after pulse of warmth that fills her.
She clenches softly around you — not hard, not desperate — just holding you there, like she’s finally letting herself keep something instead of chasing the next thing.
She clings onto you tightly, tears on her cheeks.
But they’re happy tears.
You hold her after, arms wrapped around her, bodies tangled.
She falls asleep smiling, and she's peaceful, breathing soft and even for the first time in weeks. Her exhaustion is different this time round.
You stroke her hair.
This.
This is what you both needed.
Normalcy.
***
A few months later, the kitchen smells like garlic and soy sauce on a lazy Sunday evening.
Jiwon perches on the counter, legs swinging, stealing bites from the wok while you stir. She’s in your old t-shirt, hair in a loose bun with no makeup on.
You flip the vegetables; she watches quietly, chin in her hand.
Then, she asks softly:
“Am I boring?”
You don’t look away from the pan.
“Do you think this is boring?”
You gesture with the ladle in your hand at the steaming rice cooker, the open window, her bare feet dangling, the sauce smudge on your cheek that she hasn’t wiped off yet.
She follows your hand with her eyes, then looks back at you.
Her lips part to say a joke or two, but she stops.
Then she turns her head and really looks again.
At the chipped nail polish on her toes, the crooked apron she helped to tie, the ordinary Sunday unfolding around you both.
Her eyes soften.
The corner of her mouth curves.
That dimple appears.
She smiles.
She just smiles.
No words.
No need for any.
You lean in and kiss the dimple, then her lips, tasting her and the taste of home.
You lift off and turn back to the pan.
“Pass me the sesame oil, boring girl.”
She laughs and hops off the chair to hand it to you.
Smut, Fluff (I guess), WMAF (not the main focus but just putting it in just in case), Creampie
8,664 Words
Greetings! It's been a while. Anyway, since the guy's trait(s) are specifically mentioned, I decided to just go with an OC rather than the reader. It fits better that way, in my opinion.
My research on German stuff is through Google so please pardon any misinformation, lol.
The Berlin night was cool and electric, the kind that buzzed with leftover adrenaline even hours after IVE had torn down Lollapalooza Berlin. The crowd’s screams still echoed faintly in Liz’s ears as she wandered alone through the quieter Mitte streets, AirPods swapped for the city’s ambient hum—distant trams, late-night laughter spilling from bars, the occasional clink of beer glasses.
She wore an oversized charcoal hoodie, loose black cargo pants, white sneakers already scuffed from the day, and a plain black baseball cap pulled low. No dramatic idol makeup tonight—just a touch of tint on her lips, a light layer of skin tint, and the natural flush that always bloomed on her cheeks after performing.
Her long black hair hung straight and glossy down her back, swaying gently as she lifted her phone to snap a quick picture of the illuminated Brandenburg Gate in the distance, then another of a neon-lit döner shop sign because the colors looked pretty.
She was tired in the best way. The kind of tiredness that made her want to keep walking until her legs gave out, just breathing in a city that didn’t know (or care) who she was tonight.
Eventually, the caffeine craving won. She ducked into a small, upscale café tucked between two old buildings—warm amber lighting, dark wood counters, the faint scent of roasted beans and vanilla. Only a handful of tables were occupied. Perfect.
At the register she ordered a large iced oat latte, smiling softly at the barista. When the total appeared on the screen she reached into her crossbody bag… and froze.
No wallet.
Her stomach dropped. She patted every pocket twice, heat crawling up her neck. Left it on the hotel dresser. Of course.
“I’m so sorry,” she started in careful English, already pulling out her phone to call her manager even though she knew the scolding that awaited her. “I think I—”
Before she could finish, a tall figure slid up beside her.
“I’ve got it,” the guy said calmly in English, tapping his card against the reader without hesitation. The payment chimed. Done.
Liz’s eyes widened. She turned and had to tilt her head up slightly.
He was maybe not older than her. Boyishly handsome in that effortless European way: tousled sandy-brown hair, soft jawline, friendly hazel eyes behind thin wire-frame glasses, wearing a simple navy crewneck and dark jeans. Nothing flashy. Just… nice.
“Th-thank you,” she stammered, voice small and unintentionally cute in her accented English. “You really didn’t have to—seriously, it’s okay, I can—”
“No worries, it's not a burden at all,” he replied in surprisingly formal, clean Korean, his voice sounded low and gentle.
Liz’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes became huge perfect circles.
“You… speak Korean?” she whispered, still covering half her face.
He ducked his head a little, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. He leaned down just enough so only she could hear.
“I'm a bit of a Koreaboo. I only speak a little Korean, but please keep it a secret.”
Liz let out a surprised, breathy giggle behind her palm, shoulders curling inward shyly. She bowed quickly—habit—then bowed again because she felt silly doing it in a Berlin café at midnight.
“Thank you, really,” she said again, switching back to English, cheeks pink. “So much.”
“No problem at all, Miss Jiwon.”
Her head snapped up. “Eh?”
He smiled wider, softer. “It's not hard to recognize my beautiful bias, the one and only Elizabeth Helga Muller.”
Liz’s jaw dropped for a split second before she burst into another helpless giggle, this one louder, dimple carving deep into her left cheek.
“You even know the German Liz thing,” she said, half-laughing, half-mortified. “That’s… wow. Okay.”
“I’ve been a fan since day one,” he said simply, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “So yeah. Pretty hard to miss you, even in stealth mode.”
She clutched her newly-paid-for iced latte with both hands like a shield, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were standing.
It wasn’t often she got to talk to fans like this—one-on-one, no barricades, no staff hovering, no cameras. Especially not a guy who smelled faintly of clean laundry and cedar and wasn’t staring at her chest or trying to film her.
Her heartbeat did a funny little skip.
They drifted toward the exit together, slow and unhurried. He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Sorry for taking up your alone time,” he said. “I’ll get out of your hair. But… um. Would it be okay to ask for an autograph before I go?”
Liz waved both hands, cute and flustered. “No no, of course! It’s fine, really. I’m not in a hurry.”
Almost without thinking they both sat at one of the small outdoor tables under the café’s string lights. The night air felt private now.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, slid the clear case open, and gently extracted a photocard from IVE’s album, the rare vertical close-up where she looked over her shoulder with that half-smile.
Liz’s mouth made a perfect little “O”. “You carry that around?” she asked, eyes sparkling.
“Always, it's my treasure,” he said, no shame whatsoever, and handed it to her.
She took her own pastel purple pen from her bag—because idols always have emergency pens—and started signing, careful strokes, tongue peeking slightly between her lips in concentration.
At the bottom, she wrote in neat Hangul and English: From lovely Liz to—halted as she glanced up, eyebrows raised sweetly.
“Finn,” he supplied immediately.
Her pen moved again, graceful loops.
From lovely Liz to Finn ♡
She added the tiny heart almost absentmindedly, then slid the card back.
Finn stared at her handwriting for a long second, thumb brushing over the fresh ink like he couldn’t believe it was real. His eyes flicked very briefly to her hand. Long, slim fingers. Natural nails, glossy and clean. No acrylics tonight. Just pretty, bare hands that looked impossibly soft.
Liz tilted her head. “Since when am I your bias? Recently?”
The way she carefully built the sentence—slow, deliberate, adorable English—was so endearing that Finn actually laughed under his breath before answering.
“Since debut,” he said. “The very first second.”
Liz blinked. “No way.”
“I have zero reason to lie,” he said, grinning. “You were cute back then.”
She gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “Back then? So I’m not cute anymore?”
“No no no,” Finn waved both hands frantically, cheeks going pink. “I mean, you’re still cute! But now you’re also… prettier? More mature? In a good way. Like… really good way.”
Liz’s signature one-sided dimple flashed again as she dissolved into giggles, shoulders shaking. Finn looked down at the table, ears burning, trying (and failing) to hide how badly he was blushing.
“What’s wrong?” she teased, leaning forward just slightly, sounding playful.
“Nothing,” he mumbled. “You’re just… too pretty. I feel lucky I got to meet you without dropping half my bank account.”
Liz lifted her latte in a mock toast. “You did drop money. On this.”
Finn laughed. “Yeah, but still cheaper than hi-touch.”
“Much cheaper,” she agreed immediately, eyes crinkling. “Honestly? Don’t do hi-touch unless you’re rich-rich. Waste of money.”
They both laughed then it was quiet. The night felt dangerously open-ended.
The laughter faded naturally, leaving behind a soft, charged quiet. For a few long seconds they just looked at each other across the small metal table—Finn’s hazel eyes wide behind his glasses, Liz’s dark ones shimmering under the string lights, both suddenly hyper-aware of how close they’d been leaning in while talking.
Finn cleared his throat first. The sound seemed too loud in the stillness.
“Uh…” He pushed his chair back a little too quickly, standing up. “I should probably… go now. Sorry again for taking up so much of your time.”
Liz stood almost immediately after him, smoothing her hoodie sleeves down out of nervous habit. She returned his small, polite head bow with one of her own—deeper, cuter, the way she always did when she felt a little flustered.
“No, no, don’t apologize,” she said, giggling softly behind her fingers. “It was… nice. Really nice. Felt like talking to a friend more than a fan.”
Finn’s smile bloomed slowly and genuinely, cheeks still faintly pink. “I’m happy you felt comfortable. That’s honestly the best thing you could’ve said.”
He stepped out from behind the table, hesitating like he wasn’t quite ready to walk away yet. “All the best with everything coming up, okay? I hope you have fun for the rest of your time in Berlin.”
Liz pressed both hands to her stomach and bent forward in an exaggerated, theatrical bow—full idol mode, playful and dramatic. “Thank youuu~”
Finn laughed outright, bright and unguarded, then mirrored her—hands on stomach, bowing just as deeply, though a little clumsier because he wasn’t used to it.
“One last goodbye then,” he said, straightening up. “Be careful going back, alright? And… don’t get lost.”
Liz puffed her cheeks proudly, turning to scan the street with exaggerated confidence. “I won’t! I have a very good sense of direction, actually—”
She froze mid-sentence.
Her eyes darted left, then right, taking in the identical rows of dimly lit buildings, the unfamiliar street signs, the way the canals and alleys all blurred together in the dark. The post-show high had worn off enough for reality to creep in: she had no idea which direction the hotel actually was.
“Uh…” Her voice came out tiny.
Finn tilted his head, concern flickering across his face. “What’s wrong, Jiwon-ssi?”
She turned back to him, pursing her plump lower lip in that unconsciously pouty way that always made fancams go feral. “I… take it back. I might get lost. Like… really lost. This street suddenly looks kind of scary.”
Finn blinked once, then twice.
He rubbed the back of his neck again, his nervous tell. “Do you… Want me to walk you? Like, just as a guide? I promise I’m not trying to, uh, stalk you or anything weird. I just… know Berlin pretty well, and it’s late, and you’re alone, so…”
He trailed off, looking genuinely worried he’d overstepped.
Liz studied him for a beat. Really studied him. No phone out recording, no creepy stare, no pushy vibe. Just a guy who’d bought her a latte, blushed when she smiled, and was now offering to make sure she didn’t wander into some sketchy alley because he was worried about her.
Her shoulders relaxed a fraction.
She gave a small, shy nod. “If… Is it really not too much trouble? I mean… I’d feel safer. And I trust you. Kind of. A little. Okay, a lot.”
Finn exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. A relieved laugh slipped out.
“No trouble at all,” he said softly. “Which hotel is it? Or… at least the area? I won’t make you say the exact name if you don’t want to.”
Liz chewed her lip for a second, then leaned in just a tiny bit—like she was sharing a secret.
“It’s near Potsdamer Platz. The big fancy one with the… glass everything.”
Finn nodded immediately. “Got it. That’s not far. Fifteen, twenty minute walk tops. Easy.”
He gestured toward the street. “This way, then. I’ll stay on your left so I’m between you and the road. Old Berlin habit—keeps drunk guys from bumping into you.”
Liz’s dimple flashed again as she fell into step beside him, iced latte still clutched in both hands like a security blanket.
“You’re… surprisingly good at this,” she murmured, glancing up at him through her lashes.
Finn shrugged, smiling down at the pavement. “Just don’t want my bias getting lost on my watch. That’d be terrible fan service.”
She laughed—quiet, breathy, happy—and bumped his arm lightly with her shoulder as they started walking into the Berlin night together.
They walked in easy, unforced silence for most of the way.
The Berlin streets had quieted even more now past midnight, the tourist crowds thinned out, leaving only the soft glow of shop windows, the occasional cyclist whizzing by, and the low hum of trams in the distance. Streetlights painted long golden streaks across the pavement.
Finn kept a careful half-step of space between them, not too close to crowd her, not so far that it felt awkward. Every few moments his eyes drifted sideways, stealing glances at her.
God, she was even prettier in motion. The way the night breeze lifted a few strands of her long black hair and tucked them behind her ear. The curve of her jawline, the way her lashes cast tiny shadows on her cheeks whenever she blinked slowly at something interesting.
That single, stubborn dimple that appeared even when she wasn’t smiling full-out, just resting, content.
Liz seemed to be doing the same thing in her own quiet way: tilting her head to look up at the buildings, at the neon signs, at the moon hanging low and fat above the rooftops. Now and then she’d let out a tiny, satisfied hum, like the city was putting on a private show just for her.
Neither of them felt the need to fill the silence. It was nice. Rare.
When the sleek glass tower of the hotel finally came into view—lit up like a modern lantern against the dark—Liz’s whole face brightened.
“There!” she said, pointing with the hand still holding her half-empty latte cup. “That’s it. Thank you, my personal Berlin guide.”
Finn stopped at the crosswalk a full street away, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He wasn’t about to walk her right up to the entrance like some overeager stalker fan. The respectful distance felt important.
“Happy to be of service,” he said, smiling softly. “Really.”
Liz turned to face him fully, giving a small, cute wave with her free hand—fingers wiggling. “Goodnight, Finn. And… Thank you again. Seriously.”
“Goodnight, Jiwon-ssi.” He dipped his head in a little bow, then turned to leave, already mentally replaying every second of the walk like it was a fever dream he didn’t want to wake up from.
He’d only taken three steps, still close enough to catch the faint vanilla-and-bergamot trace of whatever perfume or shampoo she used, when her voice stopped him.
“Umm, wait…” Soft. Hesitant.
He turned immediately.
Liz was standing exactly where he left her, shifting her weight from one sneaker to the other, looking suddenly smaller under the streetlight.
“Um…” She bit her lip, then rushed the words out in that careful, adorable English. “Would you… Mind being my guide again? Tomorrow morning? There are still some places I really wanted to see, but… I don’t know the city, and everyone else is probably busy with schedules or sleeping in, and—”
She cut herself off, waving both hands quickly like she was trying to erase the question. “It’s fine if you can’t! Really! I just thought—”
Finn blinked once. Twice. His brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds.
What about the members? The managers? The security detail that was probably somewhere nearby? But she was asking. She—Liz, Jiwon—was asking him.
Her voice pulled him back. “Finn? You okay?”
“Yeah—yes. Sorry.” He laughed, short and disbelieving, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d… I’d love to. Seriously. What time?”
Liz’s shoulders dropped in visible relief, and then that one-sided dimple carved deep again as she grinned.
“Like… ten? Ten-thirty? I’ll meet you at the same café we were at earlier? If you’re free.”
“Ten-thirty. Same café. I’ll be there.”
“It’s a deal then.” She straightened up, suddenly all business in the cutest way possible—tiny salute with her latte cup. “See you tomorrow, Finn!”
Before he could respond she darted forward, checking both ways like a responsible pedestrian, then jogged across the street with her long legs eating up the distance.
She glanced back once—waving again, hair swinging—before disappearing through the revolving doors into the bright lobby.
Finn stood there for a long moment, hands still in his pockets, staring at the spot where she’d vanished.
A slow, incredulous chuckle bubbled up from his chest. What the actual hell was happening tonight?
He shook his head, turned, and started walking back the way they’d come—same streets, same lights, but everything felt different now.
Sudden luck like this didn’t just happen to normal people. But hey. He wasn’t complaining.
*
The next morning came soft and hazy, Berlin wrapped in the kind of gentle July warmth that made everything feel a little slower, a little dreamier.
Liz had woken up earlier than usual—too excited, too restless—despite the late night. She stood in front of the hotel room mirror longer than she normally would, second-guessing outfits like she was going on a date instead of whatever this was.
She ended up choosing something cute but effortless: a soft cream cardigan that slipped off one shoulder just enough to feel intentional, paired with a fluffy pastel-pink skirt that sat high on her waist and flared out mid-thigh.
The hem danced against her skin whenever she moved, showing a teasing sliver of smooth, toned legs—not too much, but definitely more than her usual idol off-duty caution. She felt a strange little thrill wearing it. Like she wanted to be noticed today. Just a bit. Just by one person.
White sneakers again (practical), a thin silver chain necklace, and a plain black face mask pulled up over her nose and mouth because, well, Berlin mornings still had eyes everywhere.
Her hair was down in loose waves, bangs framing her face, and she added the tiniest bit of peachy gloss under the mask line so her lips would still look soft when she talked.
By 10:25 she was pushing through the café door, the bell chiming sweetly.
Finn was already there—same small outdoor table from last night, two iced lattes sweating on the tabletop, one clearly meant for her. He looked up the second she appeared, and his whole face lit up before he could school it into something cooler.
He stood halfway out of his chair. “Morning, Jiwon-ssi.”
Liz’s eyes crinkled above her mask. She gave a small, polite wave before sliding into the seat across from him.
“You’re early,” she said, voice muffled but unmistakably pleased. “Very punctual. Good job.”
Finn’s ears went pink almost instantly. He rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head. “Couldn’t really sleep,” he admitted, quieter than necessary. “Kept thinking… today feels kind of surreal. Like I’m still dreaming or something.”
Liz tilted her head, studying him for a beat. Without really thinking—instinct more than plan—she reached across the tiny table and gently pinched his cheek between her thumb and forefinger. Just a light, playful squeeze.
“Does this feel like a dream?” she asked, voice teasing but soft.
Finn froze. Completely. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open, cheek warm under her fingers.
She realized what she’d done a half-second later and yanked her hand back like she touched fire, cheeks flaming behind her mask.
“S-sorry! I didn’t mean—uh—”
He shook his head slowly, still looking dazed. “No. It’s… It’s fine. Really fine.”
A beat of awkward, electric silence.
Liz cleared her throat, folding her hands neatly in her lap like that would reset everything. “Anyway,” she said, a little too brightly, “I hope you’re still okay being my guide today?”
Finn blinked back to reality, then broke into a wide, boyish grin. He lifted both hands and gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
“Leave it to me,” he said. “I’ve got the whole morning mapped out. No getting lost this time.”
Liz giggled—small, happy, muffled behind the mask—and nodded.
Finn stood up fully then, gesturing toward the street with an open palm like a proper escort.
“After you, bias-nim.”
She rose gracefully, skirt swishing against her thighs, and stepped past him—close enough that he caught the faint scent of her flowery shampoo, mixed with something sweeter today, maybe peach.
They started walking side by side once more, Berlin morning light spilling golden over both of them, and neither could quite wipe the stupid, giddy smiles off their faces.
The morning stretched lazily into the afternoon as Finn led Liz through the quieter, less-touristed corners of Mitte and Kreuzberg, places most visitors skipped in favor of the big landmarks.
They started close to the hotel: a hidden courtyard garden tucked behind an old brick building, overgrown with wild roses and ivy, sunlight filtering through the leaves in golden patches.
Liz spun slowly in the middle of it, skirt flaring, snapping pictures with her phone while Finn hung back, smiling like he’d personally arranged the flowers.
From there it was an easy walk to a tiny independent bookstore with creaky wooden floors and shelves that reached the ceiling.
She bought a slim German poetry collection on impulse, even though she couldn’t read most of it, just because the cover felt nice in her hands.
They walked closer now. Not touching—never quite—but the respectful half-step gap from last night had shrunk. Their arms brushed occasionally when they turned corners or paused at crosswalks.
A short bus ride later (Finn made sure she got the window seat), they ended up at the small but beautiful Alte Nationalgalerie, not the crowded Pergamon, just this elegant neoclassical building with marble halls and soft natural light pouring through high windows.
Inside the painting rooms, Liz tilted her head at a Caspar David Friedrich landscape, then turned to Finn.
“Which one’s your favorite?” she asked, voice low in the hush of the gallery.
Finn glanced around like he was checking for eavesdroppers, then pointed straight at her with the most innocent expression he could muster.
“That one.”
Liz’s eyes widened for a split second before she burst into muffled giggles behind her mask, doubling over slightly. She swatted at his arm, light and playful, then hurried to catch up as he walked away whistling as if nothing happened.
Lunch came later than planned. They’d gotten distracted by street musicians, by a pop-up flea market, by Liz insisting on trying every flavor of soft-serve at a corner stand until her tongue turned blue from the blueberry one.
They finally sat at an outdoor table at a casual spot near Görlitzer Park—simple grilled sausages, potato salad, cold Radler for him, sparkling water for her. Finn started teaching her German words between bites.
“Zungenbrecher,” he said, grinning. “Tongue twister. Try this one: Fischers Fritz fischt frische Fische.”
Liz tried. It came out as adorable gibberish. She covered her mouth, laughing so hard her shoulders shook.
He taught her funny ones next, “Backpfeifengesicht,” then, with a mischievous glint, leaned in. “And this one’s bad. Don’t say it in public. ‘Leck mich am Arsch.’”
Liz’s eyes went wide as she could guess what it meant. She whispered it once, perfectly, then immediately dissolved into scandalized giggles, hiding her face in her cardigan sleeve.
“You’re corrupting me,” she accused, but her dimple said she was delighted.
Later, after Finn excused himself to the restroom, he came back to find her slipping a small pill from a sleek silver case into her mouth, chasing it with water.
He sat down slowly. “Are you okay?”
Liz startled, nearly dropping the case. “Oh! Yeah! Totally fine.” She smiled too quickly. “Just, umm, daily vitamins. Idol stuff. You know, energy, skin, immune system. Manager-nim makes us take like ten kinds a day.”
Finn nodded, not pushing. “Got it. Just checking.”
She relaxed visibly, grateful he didn’t pry.
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in peach and lavender, they wandered more—along the canal, past the graffiti-covered walls and fairy-light-strung beer gardens. Conversation flowed more easily now, laughter coming quicker.
Eventually, Finn checked his watch. “Late already. I should probably get you back soon.”
Liz stopped walking, turning to face him fully. The evening breeze lifted her skirt just enough to make her press it down with one hand, cheeks pink.
“You said something earlier,” she reminded him. “About your apartment. Balcony with the best view of the city lights.”
Finn rubbed his neck, suddenly sheepish. “I… might’ve been bragging a little.”
“Prove it then, Finn-sii.” Her voice was soft but firm. “Take me there.”
He stared at her. “Jiwon-ssi… are you sure? I mean—really sure? It’s not close. And… It's my place. You barely know me.”
Liz stepped closer—close enough that he could see the faint outline across her nose now that the mask was pulled down to her chin.
“I think I can trust you,” she said quietly. “You’ve been respectful the whole time. Never once pulled out your phone to record me, never asked for more photos than I offered, never… followed me to the bathroom or anything creepy like that.” She grinned suddenly, teasing. “You passed the restroom test with flying colors.”
Finn laughed despite himself, tension easing out of his shoulders.
“Okay,” he said, softer. “But if at any point you feel weird, we turn around. No questions. Deal?”
“Deal.”
He offered his arm—old-fashioned, careful—and after only a second’s hesitation, Liz slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
They walked like that for the rest of the way side by side, close enough to feel each other’s warmth against the cooling night air, toward his quiet street.
Finn’s apartment was on the 20th floor of a quiet building. Nothing flashy, just clean lines, exposed brick, and a wide balcony that overlooked the glittering sprawl of the city.
The lights of Berlin stretched out below like scattered diamonds: the TV Tower blinking red in the distance, the soft glow of Potsdamer Platz, the dark ribbon of the Spree reflecting streetlamps.
He unlocked the door with slightly shaky fingers, flicked on a single lamp inside, then led her straight through the living room to the balcony without turning on anything else. The sliding glass door opened with a soft whoosh, letting in the cool night.
Liz stepped out first, skirt fluttering. Finn followed, closing the door behind them. The city noise was muted up here, just a low, soothing hum.
He reached up and slipped his glasses off, folding them carefully and setting them on the small balcony table. Without them, his face looked softer, younger, more vulnerable. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, smiling sheepishly.
“Better view without the lenses smudging,” he murmured.
Liz watched him for a second, then reached up and slowly peeled her black face mask down, letting it dangle from one ear before tucking it into her small bag and putting it on the table.
Her face was bare now, flushed cheeks, glossy lips, the faint sheen of the day still clinging to her skin. She looked smaller without it, more real.
They stood side by side at the railing, shoulders almost touching, elbows resting on the cool metal. The wind played with her hair, sending strands dancing across her collarbones.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, eyes on the lights. “For today. For everything. I haven’t felt this… free in a long time.”
Finn let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I should be thanking you. I mean, look at this. I got to spend the whole day with my bias, walk her around the city, and bring her to my balcony. I feel like the most successful fan alive right now.”
Liz turned her head to look at him. Really look. His profile was lit gold and blue from the city glow, eyes wide and honest. Something warm and reckless bloomed in her chest.
Without a word, she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his cheek.
It was soft. Chaste. But it lingered just long enough that the warmth of her mouth stayed on his skin after she pulled back.
Finn’s breath hitched audibly. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.
She settled back onto her heels, heart hammering so loud she was sure he could hear it.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper:
“Would you… Like to be more than a successful fan? Just for tonight?”
The question hung between them like smoke.
Finn didn’t answer with words. He didn’t have to.
Neither did she.
They both understood, wordlessly, that whatever happened next would stay here—locked inside this high-up balcony, this one Berlin night. No photos. No screenshots. No tomorrow explanations. No one would ever know.
Off the record.
Entirely.
He turned toward her slowly, like he was afraid she’d vanish if he moved too fast. His hand lifted—hesitant—until his fingertips brushed the side of her jaw, feather-light.
Liz didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned in, closing the last few centimeters, until their foreheads touched.
Finn’s hand slid from her jaw to the nape of her neck, fingers threading gently into the silky strands at the base of her skull. He tilted her face up with the lightest pressure, giving her every chance to pull away.
She didn’t.
Instead, Liz rose onto her tiptoes again, closing the last breath of distance between them, and met his mouth with hers.
The first touch was careful—almost reverent. Her lips were soft, plush, and warm, tasting faintly of the peach gloss she’d reapplied earlier.
Finn’s heart slammed so hard against his ribs he was sure she could feel it through both their clothes.
But the softness of her mouth couldn’t compete with the emotion crashing through him: disbelief, gratitude, raw want, all tangled together until it felt like his chest might crack open.
This was Liz—his bias, his impossible fantasy—kissing him back on his balcony like it was the most natural thing in the world.
A small sound escaped her—a tiny, needy hum—and that was all it took.
Finn tightened his grip on her waist, hands sliding down to pull her against him, fingers splaying wide across her back. The fluffy skirt bunched under his palms; the heat of her body radiated through the thin cardigan and the even thinner fabric beneath.
Liz gasped softly into his mouth at the sudden closeness, and he swallowed the sound, tilting his head to slot their lips together more perfectly.
Her arms came up instinctively, wrapping around his neck, slim fingers sliding into his hair at the back and tugging to make him groan low in his throat.
The kiss deepened; rougher, hungrier. Tongues met in a slow, slick glide; he tasted her fully, chasing the sweet warmth inside her mouth while she arched into him, pressing her breasts on his chest.
It turned wet fast. Messy in the best way. Lips sliding, tongues tangling, the soft, wet sounds of their kissing loud against the quiet city hum below.
Finn sucked gently at her lower lip, then nipped it—careful, testing—and Liz whimpered, the sound vibrating into his mouth. Her nails scraped his scalp lightly in retaliation, sending sparks racing down his spine.
He backed her up slowly until her lower back met the balcony railing, caging her there with his body.
One hand stayed locked around her waist while the other slid up to cup her face, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth where their kiss had turned sloppy and shining.
She chased his tongue when he tried to pull back for air, drawing him deeper, sucking lightly—bold, needy, completely undoing him.
They kissed like they were trying to crawl inside each other’s skin. Breathless.
Every time one of them tried to slow down, the other chased harder—teeth grazing, tongues stroking, hips shifting restlessly until Finn could feel the soft press of her mound on his growing hardness through their clothes.
When they finally broke apart to breathe, strings of saliva connected their lips for a filthy second before snapping.
Liz’s eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed a deep rose that had nothing to do with the night air.
Her lips were swollen, glossy with spit and gloss, parted as she panted against his mouth.
Finn rested his forehead against hers, both of them trembling slightly.
“Jiwon…” he whispered, voice wrecked.
She answered by kissing him again—harder this time—like she wanted to bruise them both with it.
Still locked in the bruising kiss, Liz’s hands fisted Finn’s shirt. She tugged him backward toward the sliding door, then through it, never breaking contact, mouths sliding wet and messy, tongues chasing each other.
Finn let her lead, stumbling slightly as the cool indoor air hit their heated skin. She pushed him through the threshold, her smaller frame surprisingly strong with intent.
One hand stayed curled around his neck while the other yanked at the hem of his navy crewneck. He raised his arms obediently; the shirt came off in a hurried pull, landing somewhere on the carpeted floor.
Liz broke the kiss to drag her cardigan down her arms. It pooled at her elbows before she shrugged it free. Underneath, she wore only a thin white cotton camisole. Her nipples were peaking against the fabric, dark and obvious. Finn’s breath caught.
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and shoved it down her hips in one impatient motion. The skirt fluttered to her ankles; she stepped out of it, kicking it aside.
Now only the camisole and pale cotton panties remained - simple, innocent-looking, already darkened at the crotch.
Finn’s hands shook as he reached for her. He peeled the camisole up slowly, reverently, exposing the flat plane of her stomach, the dip of her waist, the underside curve of her small breasts.
Her skin was pale gold in the low lamplight, flawless. The camisole cleared her head; her long black hair tumbled free, wild and mussed.
Liz hooked her fingers into the sides of her panties and slid them down her thighs, stepping out gracefully. Naked now, she stood before him; small, fragile, breathtaking.
Finn’s heart hammered so violently he felt dizzy.
Her face flushed high on the cheeks, lips swollen dark pink and glistening with their shared spit, eyes half-lidded and glassy with want.
That single dimple was still visible even when she wasn’t smiling. Bangs sticking slightly to her forehead from the heat between them.
Down the slender column of her throat, the delicate wings of her collarbones, the gentle swell of her breasts—small handfuls, tipped with dusky rose nipples drawn tight.
Her ribcage rose and fell quickly. Narrow waist flaring into softly rounded hips. The neat triangle of soft, thin pubic hair—almost translucent, barely there, more like peach fuzz than anything else, framing the smooth, flushed lips of her pussy, slick and shining.
Long, slim legs toned from years of dance practice tapered down to dainty feet, toes curling slightly on the cool floor.
She was smaller than he’d imagined up close. Fragile-looking, yet radiating quiet sensuality.
Finn swallowed hard, cock straining his jeans painfully.
Liz closed the distance again, pushing him backward until the backs of his knees hit the couch. He sat heavily; she climbed onto his lap for one last deep, filthy kiss as she ground down once, twice, letting him feel how wet she was through the denim before sliding off.
She tugged at his belt. He helped, fumbling, until jeans and boxers joined the pile on the floor. His cock sprang free. Thick, flushed dark, and leaking at the tip. Liz’s eyes flicked down, lips parting on a soft exhale.
Finn caught her by the waist before she could straddle him again. In one motion he lifted her, effortless because she was so light, and laid her down on her back along the edge of the couch.
Her hair fanned across the dark cushions like spilled ink. Legs parted instinctively, one foot braced on the backrest, the other dangling off the edge.
He knelt between her thighs, hands sliding up the outsides of her legs in slow worship.
“My duty as a fan,” he murmured rough and reverent, “is to make my bias happy.”
Liz let out a shaky laugh that melted into a whimper when he ducked his head and kissed the inside of her knee.
Then higher.
Soft, open-mouthed kisses along the tender skin of her inner thighs, first one, then the other, teasing closer and closer to her center without touching. He sucked lightly at the crease where thigh met hip, leaving faint red marks. Liz’s hips jerked; her fingers twisted in his hair.
When he finally reached her pussy he paused, just breathing against her, warm exhales making her clit throb visibly.
Then he licked a slow, broad stripe from her entrance to the swollen pearl at the top. Liz’s back arched off the couch with a sharp cry.
She tasted clean and sweet, faintly musky, unmistakably aroused. Her pubic hair was so fine it barely registered against his tongue; he could feel every slick fold, every flutter.
He sealed his mouth over her clit and sucked gently; soft pulls and rhythmic while his tongue flicked in circles.
One finger slid down to her entrance, tracing the wetness before pushing inside, slow and careful.
She was tight, hot, velvet-soft walls clenching immediately. He curled a finger upward, stroking a spongy spot inside while his tongue never stopped working her clit—lapping, sucking, pressing flat and broad then pointed and quick.
Liz’s thighs trembled on either side of his head. Her hips rolled up into his face, chasing more. One hand flew to her own breast, pinching the nipple hard; the other stayed locked in his hair, guiding him exactly where she needed.
“Finn, hmm, so good—” Her voice cracked.
He moaned against her pussy, vibrations straight to her clit, and added a second finger, stretching her gently while he sucked harder, tongue relentless.
Her whole body tensed—thighs clamping around his ears, back bowing, toes curling tight—before she came with a broken sob of his name.
Wetness flooded his fingers, his mouth; he didn’t stop, licking her through every aftershock, gentling his touch only when her hips started twitching away from overstimulation.
When he finally lifted his head his chin and lips were shining with her essence. Liz lay boneless, chest heaving, eyes glassy and unfocused, a dazed smile curving her mouth.
Finn crawled up her body, kissing every inch of skin he passed—stomach, ribs, the underside of one breast—until he hovered over her, forearms braced on either side of her head.
She reached up, cupped his face with both hands, and pulled him down into another slow kiss; tasting herself on his tongue without hesitation.
Finn scooped her up from the couch, arms under her thighs and back, lifting her like she weighed nothing.
Liz wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms looping around his neck again, their mouths finding each other in an open-mouthed kiss as he carried her down the short hallway to his bedroom.
The room was dim with only the soft amber glow from a bedside lamp and the city lights filtering through half-open blinds. He laid her down gently in the center of the unmade bed, sheets already rumpled from his restless night before.
Liz sank into the mattress, hair fanning out dark against the white pillowcase, legs parting just enough to invite him closer.
Finn turned toward the nightstand drawer—instinct, habit, responsibility—but before he could open it, Liz’s hand shot out and caught his wrist. She shook her head slowly, eyes locked on his.
“No,” she whispered, voice hoarse from earlier cries. “Just… like this.”
He searched her face for a second, making sure. She didn’t waver. Finn exhaled shakily, nodded once, and let the drawer stay closed.
He climbed over her, bracing on his forearms so his weight didn’t crush her smaller frame. For a long moment he just really looked at her face.
There was something aching in the way he stared, something dangerously close to love even though they both knew this was temporary, borrowed time.
He dipped his head and started kissing her again down the slope of her throat, lingering where her pulse fluttered wildly under his lips. Across her collarbones, tasting salt and skin.
Lower still with open kisses over her breasts, tongue circling one nipple before sucking it into his mouth. Liz arched with a quiet gasp, fingers threading into his hair.
When he reached her stomach he paused, pressing his forehead there for a second like he was steadying himself.
Then he continued, kisses trailing down the line of her ribs, the dip of her navel until he was settled between her thighs again.
Liz tugged him back up before he could go lower.
“Finn,” she breathed. Her voice was small, almost fragile. “Promise me something.”
Finn lifted his head, meeting her eyes.
“After this… You let me go. You don’t… chase after me. No messages, no waiting outside venues, no trying to find me again. This stays here. Tonight only.”
The words landed like a quiet punch. His throat worked visibly. It hurt more than he expected but he understood. This wasn’t a beginning. It was an ending dressed up as one perfect night.
He swallowed hard, then nodded. “I promise,” he said, voice rough. “Just tonight. I won’t chase you.”
Liz searched his face for any lie, found none, and gave a tiny, sad smile. She pulled him down into a slow kiss - grateful, bittersweet - before whispering against his mouth, “Thank you.”
Finn shifted higher, settling his hips between her thighs. His cock, thick and flushed dark, leaking steadily at the tip, it nudged her entrance.
He reached down, wrapped his hand around the base, and guided himself slowly.
The first push was careful, agonizingly slow. Her pussy was still slick and swollen from his earlier mouth and fingers, but without a condom, he felt everything: the tight, hot clasp of her entrance resisting for a heartbeat before yielding, the velvet drag of her walls parting around him.
Liz’s breath hitched sharply as the thick head breached her; her nails dug into his shoulders.
He sank deeper, feeling every flutter, every ripple of her cunt trying to adjust. When he bottomed out, hips flush to hers, cock buried to the hilt, he stilled, letting her feel the full stretch, the deep pressure against her cervix. Liz’s eyes fluttered shut, mouth falling open on a silent moan.
Finn started moving in long, gentle rolls of his hips. Not fast. Not rough. Just deep, measured thrusts that pulled almost all the way out before sliding back in to the root.
Each stroke dragged the ridged underside of his cock along the front wall of her pussy, hitting that sensitive spot inside her over and over.
The sensation was overwhelming.
For him: the raw heat of her, skin on skin, no barrier between them. The way her walls clenched and fluttered every time he bottomed out.
The slick wet sounds of their bodies. The emotional weight of it; fucking his literal bias, bare, knowing this was the only time nearly undid him right there. His balls drew up tight; pleasure coiled dangerously fast at the base of his spine.
He gritted his teeth, forced himself to breathe, and slowed even more just to hold on. He wanted this to last. Wanted to give her everything he could before the night ended.
Liz’s moans weren’t loud or performative. They were quiet, breathy, devastatingly erotic—soft whimpers and broken gasps that spilled out every time he sank deep.
“Ah… Finn…” His name sounded like a plea on her tongue. Her legs hooked around his waist, heels digging into his back, urging him deeper even as her body trembled.
He kept the rhythm steady—slow grinds, deep pushes—watching her face the whole time. The way her brows furrowed in pleasure, the way her lips parted wider with each thrust, the way tears gathered at the corners of her eyes—not from pain, but from how intense it all felt.
One hand slid between them; his thumb found her clit and circled gently in time with his thrusts. Liz’s back bowed, a higher, needier sound escaping her throat.
“I feel it…” she whispered, voice cracking.
Finn leaned down, kissed her messy and deep, swallowing every sound as he kept fucking into her slowly, deeply, relentlessly.
He wasn’t going to last much longer. The sight of her small frame trembling beneath him combined with the tight, wet heat gripping his bare cock was too much. But he held on. For her. As long as he could.
Liz’s breathing was still ragged when she pushed gently at Finn’s chest, urging him onto his back.
He let her guide him down against the pillows, his cock slipping out of her, glistening with her arousal. She straddled his hips, small hands braced on his pecs for balance.
Her thighs trembled from the earlier orgasm but she didn’t hesitate. She reached down between them, wrapped slim fingers around his slick length, and lined it up again.
The blunt head parted her swollen folds; she sank down slowly at first, her eyes fluttering shut, lips parting on a long, shaky exhale as his cock stretched her open once more.
Then she started moving. Hard.
No warm-up, no teasing rolls. Just immediate, punishing bounces, hips snapping down to meet his cock with wet slaps that echoed in the room. Her small breasts bounced with each drop, sweat-slick thighs gripping his sides.
Finn groaned low and broken, hands flying to her hips. His fingers dug into the soft flesh there, then slid lower to grip the firm cheeks of her ass, spreading slightly, helping her rise and fall faster.
He could feel every clench of her cunt around his cock: hot, slick, spasming rhythmically as she rode him like she was trying to brand herself into his memory.
“Remember this,” she gasped between bounces, voice hoarse and wrecked. “You can’t chase me… but you have to remember me. All the time. Every time you touch yourself… every time you see someone else… It’s going to be me.”
Finn’s grip tightened, bruising probably, thumbs pressing into the dimples above her ass as he helped slam her down harder.
His cock speared deep on every descent, the thick ridge dragging along her front wall, battering that sensitive spot until her moans turned into high, desperate whimpers.
She rode him relentlessly, hips grinding in filthy circles when she was fully seated, then lifting almost to the tip before dropping again, taking him to the hilt over and over.
Her nails scored red lines down his chest; her head tipped back, long black hair swinging wildly, bangs sticking to her sweat-damp forehead.
Finn watched, mesmerized. Her flushed face, parted lips, the way her small body shook with every impact. She was getting wetter, slicker, coating his balls, dripping down his thighs. The sight, the sound, the feel of her claiming him so ruthlessly; it was too much.
Liz’s rhythm faltered. Her thighs quivered violently. “Finn—oh god—I’m—”
She cummed hard.
Her cunt clamped down tight, spasming, fluttering, gushing fresh wetness around his cock. A broken sob tore from her throat; her whole body seized, back arching so sharply her breasts thrust forward.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, trembling, face buried in the crook of his neck as aftershocks rippled through her.
Finn wrapped both arms around her instantly, tight and protective, cradling her small, shaking frame against him. Her heartbeat thundered against his ribs. Her pussy was pulsing weakly, milking his cock even in the afterglow.
He didn’t let her rest long.
Hands sliding down to grip her ass again, he planted his feet on the mattress and started thrusting up into her, slow at first, then harder, deeper.
Each upward snap buried him to the root, punching the air out of her in soft, punched-out moans. She was limp on top of him, boneless and pliant, letting him use her body while she clung to his shoulders.
The wet, filthy sounds of their joining filled the room - skin slapping, her slick cunt squelching around his pistoning cock. Finn’s breathing turned ragged; pleasure coiled tighter and tighter at the base of his spine.
“Jiwon—” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m gonna—”
She lifted her head just enough to kiss him. “Do it,” she whispered against his mouth. “Inside. Please.”
That was it.
Finn’s hips stuttered once, twice then he slammed up hard one final time, burying himself as deep as he could go. His cock pulsed violently; hot spurts of cum flooded her spasming pussy, painting her walls, mixing with her own wetness.
He groaned long and low into her mouth, hips jerking with each thick rope until he was spent, twitching inside her overflowing heat.
They stayed locked together like that, sweaty, trembling, breathing each other’s air. His arms stayed wrapped around her back; her face stayed tucked against his throat. Neither spoke for a long minute.
The city lights kept glittering outside the window, indifferent.
And somewhere in the quiet between heartbeats, they both understood: this was the peak, the end, the memory that would have to last forever.
*
The next evening, Berlin was dark by the time Finn stepped out of the office building. Crisp dusk air bit at his cheeks as he loosened his tie with one hand, the other scrolling absently through his phone.
He wore a charcoal suit, an overcoat slung over one arm, looking every bit the young professional who spent the day in back-to-back meetings. The city lights reflected off wet pavement from an earlier rain; trams rattled past in the distance.
His thumb paused mid-scroll when IVE’s official Instagram account popped up in his feed.
The post was simple: a carousel of airport photos—six girls in coordinated black hoodies and bucket hats, waving tiredly at the camera, suitcases in tow.
The third slide caught him hardest.
It was a solo shot of Liz standing slightly apart from the others near the boarding gate. She wore oversized sunglasses even indoors, long black hair tucked under a cap, mouth curved in that familiar soft half-smile. One hand lifted in a peace sign; the other held a small iced Americano.
The timestamp in the corner showed they left some hours ago.
Finn stopped walking.
He stared at the photo longer than he meant to. His chest did something tight and quiet—not pain exactly, but the ghost of it. A soft, resigned ache.
He remembered the night before in fragments that felt too vivid, too fragile to hold all at once.
Neither of them moved. Just stayed locked together, breathing in sync, skin cooling slowly in the lamplight. Eventually, he softened and slipped free; she whimpered at the loss, thighs pressing together like she wanted to keep his warmth inside her.
They shifted then - lazy, wordless until she was curled on his side, head on his chest. Her fingers had found his hair, stroking gently through the damp strands at his nape. Slow circles. Soothing. Like she was lulling a child to sleep.
He fought it, tried to stay awake, to memorize every second but the exhaustion of the day, the emotional weight, the overwhelming intimacy of it all pulled him under. His eyes fluttered shut to the rhythm of her nails against his scalp, her quiet breathing against his throat.
He never felt her leave.
Didn’t stir when she slipped from the bed. Didn’t hear her gather her clothes in the dark, didn’t wake to the soft click of the front door.
His body must have known—somewhere deep, pure instinct—that if he opened his eyes and saw her go, he wouldn’t have the strength to let her. So it simply shut down. Gave him the mercy of sleep.
Now, standing on a wet Berlin sidewalk with cars hissing past, he looked at her Instagram photo and felt the same quiet mercy settle over him again.
He smiled slightly, a little sad.
No urge to comment. No impulse to DM her. No desperate search for her flight number or gate selfie location.
He promised.
And promises like that—he kept.
Finn slipped the phone back into his coat pocket. The screen went dark.
“Good luck, Jiwon-ssi,” he murmured to the sky under his breath, the words swallowed by the city noise. “I will always love you. As a fan.”
He turned up his collar against the wind, adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and started walking toward the station.
