#liz smut

[usedpidemo]

heaven and back

ive rei & liz x male reader

19.3k words ————— You’ve told him ‘no’ three different ways before you even get in the car.

The first is polite: soft voice, palms up, the whole ‘hey man, appreciate it but I’m good’ routine. The second is practical—readings you haven’t done, an early class you can’t skip again, and a body that reacts to alcohol like it’s a personal insult. And the third is just you finally being honest, because you’ve learned that sometimes, you have to be blunt or he’ll treat your boundaries like polite suggestions.

“I’m not drinking,” you insist, and you’re dead serious about it. “And I don’t want to go clubbing.”

Of course, your friend, Wonbin, casually smiles like you’ve said something adorable.

He’s leaning against the driver side of his car, the kind that looks like it was designed to be photographed outside of hotels. Clean lines, dark paint, the Mercedes silver arrow discreet but still loud. His shirt is black and fitted in a way that makes you suspect it’s luxury just because it refuses to wrinkle. The watch on his wrist is one of those sleek, quiet things that probably costs the same as your tuition down payment, but he wears it like it’s just what happens when you’re born into money.

He doesn’t say your name. He never does when he’s trying to win.

“You never let me do anything nice for you,” he says.

“Because your definition of ‘nice’ is—whatever this is.” 

You’re gesturing at the car, the downtown skyline glowing from a distance, the way even the air here smells different already: less cheap food and exhaust, more cologne and polished stone.

Wonbin laughs, low and easy. “Okay, and how many times have I let you do nice things for me?”

“That’s not—”

“Oh, it is.” He pushes off the car and steps closer, grin turning sharp around the edges. “Thesis. Relationship advice. You literally stayed up with me until four a.m. to rewrite my methodology section because I was ‘stressed.’”

“I did not rewrite—”

“You rewrote,” he says, like it’s already settled in court. “And you did it without asking for anything. Not even a ‘buy me coffee.’ You’re allergic to being owed, which is cute, but also annoying. So. Tonight is me returning overdue favors.”

Your own outfit suddenly feels like it’s being judged by the city itself: jeans, sneakers, a shirt you got on sale because it was the cleanest thing on top of the pile, topped by a coat you typically save for campus presentations. You look like a guy who belongs in a library, or a cafeteria line, or sitting on a mono block chair outside a coffee truck scrolling on low battery.

You do not look anywhere like you belong wherever he’s taking you.

“I can’t even afford to breathe in that place,” you tell him. “Also, I’m not drinking.”

He tilts his head, eyes glittering. “Who said you have to drink?”

“You did. You literally said, ‘Let’s go get drinks.’”

“Marketing,” he corrects. “It’s called marketing. I’m selling you an experience. There will be other beverages.”

You glare at him until he sighs dramatically, like you’re the one being difficult.

“Fine,” he starts again. “Let me be honest. This is not a ‘random’ night. I’ve had this date marked for months.”

That's new. Wonbin can be impulsive at times, yes, but he’s also the type to treat his life like a calendar invite: everything curated, everything done with reason.

“You marked a club night on your calendar,” you repeat, just to make sure you've heard him correctly.

“Idol Night,” he answers, and he says it like you should already know what that is. Like it’s a national holiday.

You blink. “Idol—as in—”

“As in yes. K-pop idols.” His smile widens, pleased with himself, like the whole concept was his vision. “And before you start, no, you can’t Google it. You won’t find it. That’s the whole point.”

God, if only you can just eject yourself from his car. You could still walk away the responsible one, the boring one, the guy who goes home and washes dishes and sets alarms like life is a series of small, careful choices. Maybe you can refuse and he’d sulk for maybe an hour and then buy you something as a peace offering and you’d both pretend this never happened.

But then he reiterates, quietly: “You’ve never let me return anything.”

And you hate when he says it, because it’s true. He’s not wrong; you’ve always been the friend who helps and shrugs it off and says it’s fine, and part of you—some tiny, inconvenient part—knows that maybe letting someone do something for you isn’t a crime.

So you exhale, long and resigned to his schedule.

“Fine,” you finally concede. “But I’m leaving early.”

His beam is triumphant. “Perfect. You can leave early. After the performance.”

“You’re negotiating,” you say.

“I’m already winning,” he replies immediately, and opens the passenger door like you’re stepping into a different life for the night.

He slides into the driver’s seat like it’s home. You buckle up like you’re bracing for impact.

As you pull away from the main highway and into the downtown district, the buildings grow taller and shinier and less forgiving. Streetlights reflect off glass walls. The sidewalks are wide, clean, almost sterile—like they’re designed more for walking with purpose than lingering. You pass restaurants with menus you can’t pronounce and storefronts that display a single handbag bathed in spotlight like art pieces in a museum.

Your friend drives one-handed, relaxed. He taps the steering wheel with a ringed finger, humming along to a song you’ve put him on, one of the few things from your world he'll indulge in, and you try not to think about how easy everything looks from his point of view.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going exactly?" you ask, knowing there's no answer waiting on the other end.

“You’ll see."

“That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to be comforting,” he replies, and then, softer, like he’s letting you in on a secret: “It’s supposed to be special.”

You can't help but snort. “You sound like an ad.”

“I am an ad,” he continues. “For a lifestyle you refuse to try. Tonight, you’re my target market.”

You lean your head against the window and watch the city smear into light. Tell yourself you’ll stay for an hour. 90 minutes, tops. Sip whatever non-alcoholic thing he shoves at you, clap politely, pretend you know what to do with your hands, and then you’ll slip out before midnight, before anyone expects you to be the kind of guy who stays. Before you start to feel like you belong.

—————

The club is nestled inside a building that doesn’t look it was designed for partying.

There’s no neon sign screaming for attention. No decadent posters. No hourlong or more queue of sweaty people in heels, rushed makeup, and tight shirts. From a distance, it’s almost anonymous: dark facade, clean edges, a discreet entrance framed by a pair of men in black suits who stand too still to be set decoration. Wonbin pulls up without slowing, and the valet steps forward like he’s been waiting specifically for this car. 

He gets out first. You follow, and immediately feel underdressed in a way that’s almost physical, like your shirt is suddenly itchy and your sneakers are a joke everyone can hear.

The exchange is smooth, silent, practiced. Wonbin doesn’t even look back as he hands over the keys; he simply turns to you and says, “Don’t look terrified.”

“I’m not terrified,” you lie, feeling the pressure emanating from the guards waiting at the front door.

The reflection in the glossy black of the building’s paneling mirrors an image of a life that clearly doesn't belong anywhere near this place. Your hair looks slightly disheveled from a half-assed comb, your posture looking too careful, your whole vibe screaming tryhard who barely touches grass and takes Overwatch seriously.

Then you glance at Wonbin: perfect fit, crisp lines, hair styled like he woke up exactly like this. He doesn’t carry himself like he’s trying to impress anyone; he carries himself like he owns the world and he’s just letting himself wherever he wants.

One of the suited men nods at him. “Good evening.”

He nods back, casual, like he's greeting you. “Evening.”

There are no ID checks. No public pat-downs. It’s all quieter than that, more private. One of them glances at you, scanning—not rude, not friendly, just assessing—like you’re a piece of luggage he's brought along. Wonbin drapes an arm over your shoulders and steers you toward the entrance with the kind of possession he thinks is funny and would make others feel degraded.

“He’s with me,” he remarks, and the man immediately looks away, as if your status has been decided with his mere word.

Regardless, you step to his rhythm.

Inside, the lobby is dim and smells faintly like expensive candles and exotic perfume. And boy, do they really want to make it appear exclusive.

Floors tiled in black marble. Gold accents. A chandelier that glitters without trying too hard. The music isn’t pounding nor deafening yet like other clubs; it’s a low thrum, a steady heartbeat under the walls, as if the building is keeping its energy contained on purpose.

A woman at a podium smiles at your friend, and her smile changes when she recognizes him: wider, warmer, personal.

“Welcome back," she says.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Wonbin replies, casual.

Her eyes flick over to you, the elephant in the room. “And your guest?”

“He’s family,” he insists, and you almost choke because what the fuck— 

But she just nods and grins gently, like that explains everything. 

As you approach the elevator, she steps ahead of you, a hand already stretched out with expectance. “Phones, please.”

You hesitate, tugging on your slacks’ pocket.

Wonbin pulls his phone out immediately and places it in a velvet-lined tray that appears like magic on the podium. “House rules.”

The woman offers you the tray.

First you look at your half-sheathed phone, then at Wonbin. This might be your last chance to balk while you still have a pulse.

“No cameras,” he reminds you, lifting a brow. “Strictly. They’ll cover the lenses if you insist on keeping it, but it’s easier to just—comply.”

Comply. That word bothers you more than it normally does. It’s said so casually, like being told what to do is part of the luxury. Like you're about to step into a world not meant for prying or innocent eyes.

Ultimately, you concede and hand over your phone.

The woman slips both phones into slim black pouches that lock with a click you feel in your teeth. She attaches a small numbered tag to your friend’s keyring. “You’ll retrieve them when you leave.”

“See?” Wonbin mumbles as you step forward. “Undocumented. Unrecorded. No paparazzi, no leaks. Everyone here likes their privacy.”

“Or they like doing things they don’t want people to know about,” you reply.

He looks over at you, amused. “Same thing.”

An elevator waits behind another set of doors. A guard taps a keycard. The doors slide open, and you step inside with your friend and two others: a man in a suit that fits like a weapon, and a woman in a dress that looks like it was poured onto her.

Nobody makes small talk. Here, noise feels like a crime.

The elevator rises without fanfare. With each passing number on the panel, your stomach does that little drop it does when you realize you’re somewhere above your pay grade.

When the doors open again, the club unfolds like a hub for some kind of top secret gathering.

It’s not one room, but a series of spaces, each more controlled than the last. The hallway is lined with dark velvet. A lounge is lit by low amber lamps. There's a bar that gleams like a supercar showroom. In the surrounding areas, private booths are separated by sheer curtains that hide faces but not silhouettes.

And beyond it all, past another set of doors—you see the main hall.

It’s a wide, tiered space with a stage at the far end, framed by gold trim and dark screens. Lights hang overhead like suspended constellations. Tables circle the dance floor, each one stocked with bottles that probably cost more than your monthly allowance. More importantly, the people here are dressed like they’re attending a proper event and not spending a casual night out: businessmen decked out in watches that catch the light when they lift a glass, women with jewelry that sparkles like it’s breathing. Young men with perfect hair and bored expressions, rich kids close to your age with sharp smiles and soft hands, the kind who treat money like background noise. Celebrities you recognize but can’t place fast enough, their faces half-hidden in shadow, notable figures who have no business being here, whose presence is its own scandal.

You pause at the threshold because your brain is trying to process the idea that a place like this exists in the same city where you buy street food with coins and complain about traffic like it’s a personality trait.

Of course, Wonbin is familiar around these parts. He moves through the place like it’s his own living room.

A staff member approaches immediately: black uniform, earpiece, posture trained to look attentive without being intrusive.

“Table for two,” he says to the guy, and he doesn’t even have to show anything. The staff member already knows. Already gestures.

You follow, trying not to look like you’re staring at anything for longer than a few seconds.

“Can we sit somewhere—less—” you suggest, but the words gradually die in your mouth.

“Less what?” he asks.

“Less visible,” you force out, almost choking.

Wonbin laughs. “You’re adorable.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is the answer." Wonbin leads you to a table with a clear view of the stage, close enough that you could see facial expressions, but far enough that you’re not in the splash zone of attention.

You sit carefully, like the chair might charge you for being nervous. A server appears with menus that feel too heavy for what they contain. Wonbin doesn’t bother to open his. 

“Whiskey,” he says, having already made his order the moment he took his first step inside. “Neat.”

You open yours, eyes skimming past prices you refuse to read fully because they’ll insult you for simply existing.

“And for you?” the server asks.

You look up, avoiding eye contact. “Um—soda?”

Wonbin's mouth twitches. The server doesn’t blink. “Certainly. Any preference?”

“Whatever’s—normal,” you answer, immediately regretting saying it because what does that even mean here.

The server nods like 'normal' is a brand. “Of course.”

When the server leaves, Wonbin leans back and stretches his arm over the back of his chair, relaxed. He looks at you like you’re tonight's entertainment.

“See? No drinking required,” he says.

“You’re drinking.”

“I’m not you,” he replies.

You glance around again. The room is full, but it doesn’t feel crowded. The sound is controlled, like the club has decided exactly how loud the world is allowed to be. Elsewhere, conversations hum. Glass clinks softly. A laugh bursts somewhere and gets swallowed by velvet.

“How many people are here?” you ask.

“Enough,” he says. “It’s curated. By invitation-only. Most of them are regulars, like me.”

“Regulars,” you echo, because the word sounds ridiculous. Like people casually do this every weekend: go to a secret club to relax and network privately while sipping alcohol that costs a month’s worth of groceries.

Your friend watches your face, amused at your disbelief. “You should’ve seen the guest list the first time I came. I thought I was hallucinating.”

“You came here before?”

He looks offended. “No shit. You think I’d bring you to something untested?”

“You test things like this?”

“I test experiences,” he corrects, like what he's doing is a respectable hobby.

Your soda arrives in a glass that makes it look like it’s trying to be taken seriously. His whiskey arrives like a quiet threat: clear, sharp, catching the light.

Wonbin raises his glass. “To favors repaid.”

You lift your soda, trying to be rude, but your words betray: “To leaving early.”

He clinks anyway. “We’ll see.”

Time slides slowly, like the night has no end. Your friend chats with people who stop by, names you don’t remember, faces you’ll never see even once on campus. They greet him with familiarity, with deference, with that subtle shift people make when they’re speaking to someone they consider important.

Nobody really looks at you for longer than a few seconds. You’re an accessory. A tag-along. The 'family friend' in sneakers.

You should be relieved.

Instead, you feel small. Not in a self-pity way. Just in a wow, this is what it feels like to be outside your lane.

"So." Wonbin leans back, spreading his arms along the top of the booth. His gaze constantly lingers on the main stage, clearly excited for what's to come. "What do you think?"

"I mean—" you pause, taking a glance up and down some curtains. They look nice and elegant, to be fair— "—it's a club, alright."

"It's the club." He gestures vaguely at the space around them. "No press, no cameras, no nothing. What happens here—" He draws a finger across his throat. "Stays in more ways than one."

"Very dramatic."

"Very true." He leans forward, lowering his cadence. "You know how many scandals have been quietly resolved in rooms like this? How many careers have been made or broken on that stage?"

You look at the stage again. Still empty. Just dark wood and the glint of spotlights waiting to ignite.

"I don't want to know."

Wonbin laughs, loud and genuine, drawing a few awkward glances from nearby tables. "That's why I like you. You're the only person I know who genuinely doesn't care about any of this." 

He motions at himself, at the room, at everything. "It's refreshing. Like hanging out with a normal person."

"Gee, thanks."

"I mean it as a compliment."

The drinks arrive. Yours is soda in a glass that likely costs more than the soda five times over. Wonbin's is something amber and smoky that he swirls once before knocking back half of it.

"So." He sets the glass down. "I've had this date marked for like, four months."

You raise an eyebrow. "You mark dates?" you ask, playful, lightly ribbing at the idea.

"I mark important dates,” he emphasizes. “This one's important." 

He's watching you with an expression you can't quite read—amused, yes, but something else underneath. "Like I said, tonight’s Idol Night."

You choke on your water. Still doesn’t feel like an actual believable event, at best something a promotional flyer that plays K-pop on a random Tuesday at gay clubs and cover bands perform, not some clandestine hall such as this one.

"Run that by me again?"

"Idol Night." Wonbin grins when he repeats himself. "Once a month, sometimes twice, they bring in fresh faces in K-pop. Small venue, intimate setting. No cameras, no recordings, no fansites. Just the performers and the audience."

"That's—" You're doing the math in your head, and nothing adds up. "That's not a thing. That doesn't happen."

"It happens." He flags down the server for another drink. "At least here, anyway. They've had Le sserafim, aespa, i-dle—the whole shebang—” Your ear twitches at the very mention. Three of the biggest in the industry right now—and somehow, they’ve coerced into performing in this environment. You have so many questions. But he keeps going. “The catch is, you have to know someone. And the groups that come through are the ones with something to prove, or something to gain, or—" he shrugs. "Connections to make. You'd be surprised what happens when the cameras are off."

You're staring at him. You know you're staring at him, but you can't stop. Because Wonbin is many things: rich, spoiled, occasionally thoughtless, but he's not a liar. And the way he's talking, the casual delivery and normalization of it all—

"You've been to one of these before."

"Couple times." He accepts his second drink, takes a sip. "Saw ITZY last year.” He drops his voice to a hush, the kind that’s sacred, telling forbidden secrets: “You know, Ryujin sat in my lap—and Yuna spread it wide after—”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

"Bullshit."

"One hundred percent fact." He's grinning now, enjoying your lack of belief. "They mingle after the performance. How long? Depends on the group, depends on the night. But yeah. It's real."

You look around the room again, seeing it differently now. The clusters of men in suits, the occasional woman whose beauty has that specific sharpness of someone who's either an idol or could be one. The way the lighting seems designed to flatter, to hide, to reveal exactly what it wants to—

"And you brought me here because—"

"Because you're my friend," Wonbin softens, just slightly. "And because I know you've never been able to get tickets to anything. Between school and work and—" He waves a hand. "Life. You're always the one helping everyone else. So yeah. I cashed in some favors. Got us in."

You don't know what to say. The glass suddenly feels colder in your grasp; the trickle of water beads down your skin might as well be sudden sweat.

"I—"

"Don't get emotional." He holds up his own hand. "Seriously, don't. I'll make fun of you forever."

Too late. There's something tight in your chest, something that might be gratitude. Having someone like Wonbin remember the poster on your bedroom wall, the albums on your shelf, the binder of photocards you pretend is just for collecting Pokémon cards—

"Which group?" you manage, and somehow, this might be your biggest regret of the lot.

Wonbin's grin turns sly. "Have a guess."

"I'm not guessing."

"Humor me."

You think about it. Le sserafim, aespa, ITZY, i-dle—all groups with the kind of reputation that makes this setting almost make sense. Groups whose concepts lean more on the mature side, whose stages push boundaries, whose fans are used to a certain level of sexuality—

But Wonbin's watching you with that look, the one that says he knows something you don't, and suddenly your brain catches up with the context clues.

"No."

"Maybe."

"No fucking shot."

"Oh, absolutely."

You're shaking your head in denial, but your heart's already racing. "IVE doesn't—they're not—their image is—"

"I know." Wonbin's practically glowing. "That's the point."

"They're the nation's sweethearts. Kids adore them. I don’t see why—"

You want to argue. List all the reasons this can't be happening, all the logical reasons IVE would never agree to perform in a setting like this, mark all the reasons you should leave right now before you see something you can't unsee.

But you don't move.

Because the poster on your wall is Wonyoung in that blue dress from that one awards show. Because your albums are all first press, still kept in their plastic sleeves. Because you've spent hours watching fancams, reading translations, falling down rabbit holes of content until three in the morning when you should have been studying.

Because you're a fan. A real one. The kind that Wonbin's making fun of but also, apparently, worth paying attention to.

Before you press him further, the lights dim.

A murmur runs through the crowd, anticipation thrumming like a second bass line. You grip your glass, knuckles white.

"Relax." Wonbin's already looking like he’s having the time of his life watching your every reaction. "It's just a show."

"Nothing about this is just anything."

He chuckles, but you're not paying attention anymore because the stage lights are coming up, soft gold bleeding into the dark, and there's movement in the wings.

Six figures. Six distinct silhouettes.

And together, they step into the light.

You've saved countless pictures. Watched hours of content. You know every angle of their faces, every variation of their stage outfits, every carefully curated moment of their public personas.

None of it prepares you for this.

Because holy fuck.

Your gaze lands on Gaeul first. Leading with that calm, gentle confidence you've admired in a hundred fancams. But the outfit—god, the outfits. Gold tops and black shorts on every member. All of them rock it like goddesses, but on her, it's something else. A cropped top that barely exists, high-waisted bottoms that somehow show more than they cover, chains draping across her stomach like jewelry you want to trace with your fingers.

Then your eyes focus on Yujin, and your breath catches because she's looking directly at the audience, that stare that's always been more challenge than invitation. Her outfit is the most elaborate, if you can call it that: more chains, more cutouts, a harness situation that frames her chest in ways that make your mouth go dry. She moves like she owns the stage, like she owns you, and the worst part is she's right.

Rei's third, all legs in something that barely qualifies as a dress, slit to the hip, glitter catching every movement. She's grinning, that impish expression that makes you forget she acts cute half the time, and now you understand why.

Wonyoung.

Jang fucking Wonyoung.Where do you even start.

She steps out and the room forgets to breathe. You included. She's always been beautiful, always been that girl, the one everyone talks about, the one whose face launched a thousand brand deals. But tonight—she’s a whole other entity.

Her outfit is the same gold and black colorway like the others, a bra top that's more structure than fabric, high-waisted bottoms with cutouts that frame her hips, her waist, that impossible hourglass silhouette she usually hides behind pant suits and elegant dresses. Her long hair is down, wavy, catching the light like spun gold. Her eyes are lined dark, smoky, the kind of look that promises things she's never been allowed to promise before.

She's not looking at the audience. She's looking through them, past them, like she's already somewhere else. Like she's already the woman she's trying to become.

You almost miss Liz because Wonyoung's presence is still processing in your brain, but she demands attention in her own way. Softer curves, sweeter face, but the rougher makeup and designer outfit doesn't lie: plunging neckline, thigh-high slits, everything designed to show exactly what they've been hiding.

Last is Leeseo, and she shouldn't be anywhere near something like this; she's young, too innocent, too pure—but there she is, gold chains crisscrossing her stomach, in shorts that barely qualify as such, and she's smiling like she knows exactly what she's doing.

The music starts. 

It starts normally; it's just XOXZ. You're expecting the usual, and for the most part it is: they're hitting choreo beats like it's just another practice routine. The crowd watches in reverent silence, but a quick glance at their eyes reveal something more: controlled, intricate observation, the one reserved for judging, deep evaluation.

But after that oh-so memorable bridge, something shifts. There's a change in the instrumental, a new dance break, something you haven't seen even in concert fancams.

Gaeul hits a drop and the audience cheers. Not the typical polite applause, but something rawer, hungrier. One often heard and seen in foreign outings.

Regardless, you can't look away.

Wonyoung takes center stage and the lights seem to bend toward her, gold catching on her skin, on the glitter dusted across her collarbones, on the chains that move with every breath. She dances like no one's watching, which is insane because everyone's watching, because you're watching, because you can't not watch. Her presence naturally draws you in.

Then, she rolls her hips and your brain short-circuits.

"This is—" 

You don't realize you've spoken aloud until Wonbin answers.

"Real." He's not watching the stage. He's watching you, that amused expression back in full force. "Told you."

"But they're—" You gesture helplessly at the stage, at the girls, at everything. "They're IVE."

"And now they're IVE doing something different,” he shrugs. "Labels know what sells. And what sells in rooms like this?" Another gesture at the crowd, at the men in suits and women in dresses, at the glittering wealth surrounding them. "Not cute concepts, that's for sure."

You should be bothered by what you're seeing. Hell, you probably are, somewhere underneath the sheer overwhelming what the fuck of the moment. But right now, with the bass thrumming through your chest and Wonyoung spinning into Yujin's arms, bodies pressing together in ways that would break the internet if anyone had a camera and Twitter on standby—

Right now, you're just a fan.

A fan who's never been to a concert. Never been to a fanmeet. Never been closer to his idols other than a screen and a dream.

"This—this is—" 

You try again, fail again.

"My gift to you." Wonbin's answer is softer now, more genuine. "For all the times you helped me when you didn't have to. For being my friend when most people just want my wallet." 

He raises his glass again. "Happy early birthday. Or something. I don’t know."

You look at him—really look at him—and for once the expensive clothes, the easy confidence, the casual wealth all seem to fade away. He's just your friend. The one who actually paid attention.

Somehow, you manage to say something. It's simple, but the most resonant.

"Thank you.”

Wonbin grins and nods along. "Don't thank me yet. Performance just started. We haven’t gotten to the best part." 

Tilting his head toward the stage, Yujin's executing a move that should be illegal in at least 27 countries. "Just so you know, Yujin and Wonyoung are mine tonight."

You laugh. Actually laugh, to let something loose in your chest.

"In your dreams."

"In this club?" He raises an eyebrow. "Dreams are the bare minimum."

The music swells. The sextet hits a collective pose that makes the crowd roar. And you sit there, like the typical average college student in his best button-down, surrounded by wealth and glitter and things you never thought you'd see, watching your bias perform in an outfit that would break the internet if anyone could prove it existed.

This isn't real. This can't be real.

But Rei’s hand is on Liz’s waist, and Rei’s looking at the audience with eyes that know exactly what she's doing, and the bass is still thrumming, and your glass is sweating in your hand, and—

"Is this real?" you ask again, quieter, even though you’ve started believing.

Wonbin doesn't answer right away. He's watching the stage, something complicated in his expression. Then he looks at you, and the grin is back, but softer.

"It's real, dude. Welcome to the deep end."

You don't chance a look at him. You’re too focused on the performance to care about anything else. The music hits another drop. They turn on their heels and pose again. Wonyoung winks—with that specific smile, the one that launched a thousand ships—and you realize you've unknowingly been smiling back, even though you’re nowhere near her line of sight.

You've seen Kitsch a hundred times. Watched the music video until the algorithm gave up suggesting anything else, studied fancams like you were preparing for an exam, memorized every angle, every expression, every carefully placed hair flip. You thought you knew it. You thought you understood what the song was, what it meant, what it could do.

When in fact, you didn't know a damn thing.

On this stage, with these lights, in these outfits, Kitsch becomes something else entirely. Something that shouldn't exist outside of private fantasies and late-night internet rabbit holes you'd never admit to.

Wonyoung hits the opening verse and the crowd feels it. Something that vibrates through the floor and up your spine and settles somewhere in your chest like a second heartbeat. She moves differently here—sharper, looser, like the constraints of broadcast regulations have been stripped away along with the layers of fabric. Her hips roll with the bass and you catch yourself holding your breath.

Beside you, Wonbin taps his glass in rhythm, entirely at ease. Comfortably settled in his element.

Told you, his expression says without speaking.

You don't acknowledge him. Your eyes are firmly glued to the stage, to Gaeul, to Yujin sliding into frame behind her, hands finding hips in a way that would send fans into cardiac arrest if anyone could capture it.

Thank God they can't. No cameras. No proof. Just this moment, this room, these people.

Just you, watching your bias wrecker emerge from the wings.

Rei takes her mark and something in your chest lurches.

She's always been the dangerous one—at least for you. The one who made you second-guess your loyalties when Wonyoung had been your bias since debut. The one whose fancams you watched for research, obviously, and then watched again because—research. The one with that smile, that cute, playful energy, that way of looking at the camera like she knows exactly what you're thinking and finds it amusing.

In person, it's worse. So much worse.

Her outfit barely qualifies as safe: gold chains crisscrossing her neck, shorts that qualify as a suggestion more than clothing, boots that lace up to her thighs and leave most of them exposed. Her hair, shoulder length, moves with the beat, catching the light, and she's grinning—that specific grin that's quintessentially Rei, the one that says she's up to something and you're going to enjoy it whether you want to or not.

The members spread out, owning the stage in ways that feel almost aggressive. Yujin drops into a move that makes several nearby guests cheer, loud and appreciative. Wonyoung follows, her expression that perfect blend of cool disdain and come-hither that's made her the center of a thousand think pieces. Even Leeseo moves with a confidence that seems impossible for someone her age, or maybe that's exactly the point. 

Maybe this is what happens when the cameras are off, when the only audience is the one in front of you, when the only thing that matters is the moment itself.

You're vaguely aware of the condensation dripping onto your pants. Of Wonbin saying something you don't catch because Rei is right there, working the edge of the stage, her eyes scanning the crowd like she's looking for someone.

Like she's looking for you.

Don't be ridiculous.

But then her gaze pauses. Flickers. Lands. On you.

You freeze.

It's just a second—maybe less—but in that brief moment, something passes between you. Not recognition, because why would she recognize you—some random guy in a cheap button-down that looks out of place in a crowd of wealth and entitlement—but acknowledgment. Like she's seen you, actually seen you, in a room full of people trained to look through each other.

Before it fully registers, she moves on, and you can breathe again.

"Bro." Wonbin cuts through the fog. "Did she just—"

"No."

"I totally saw that."

"You saw nothing."

He laughs, low and knowing. "Sure, man. Whatever helps you sleep tonight."

You try to refocus on the stage, on the performance, on anything except the fact that Rei looked at you. But your heart won't cooperate, beating wildly like you've found the love of your life, and your hands feel weirdly numb, and—

The song ends. You don't remember anything in those three minutes or so other than Rei catching you and the members being sexy beyond comprehension. Nevertheless, the crowd applauds, respectful, but it feels different: warmer, more engaged. Like the atmosphere’s shifted.

The stage lights shift too, softening from the bright gold of the opening into something warmer, more intimate. The bass deepens. A new track starts, and it takes you a second to place it, not even the obvious intro with the painfully distinct sample—

The members fan out again, but this time they're not staying on stage. They're moving into the crowd.

You watch, transfixed, as Yujin approaches a table near the front. She doesn't perform so much as preside. That infectious energy fully deployed, chin lifted, eyes half-lidded as she runs a hand through her hair and lets the movement draw attention to every line of her body. The man at the table—older, silver-haired, wearing a watch that probably costs a house—smiles like he's been given a gift.

Wonyoung drifts toward another cluster of guests, and the room seems to tilt in her direction. She's all angles tonight: sharp cheekbones, sharper gaze, that impossible silhouette showcased by the cutouts in her outfit. She doesn't have to try. She just has to exist, and the effect is as impactful.

Gaeul works the opposite side of the room, more graceful and delicate than the others, her natural energy translating even in this context. Leeseo follows her lead, young but not young, if you understand—smiling, waving, letting her gaze linger just long enough to make an impression. 

Liz moves with more restraint. You notice it immediately, the way she holds herself, the careful control in every gesture. She's attractive, undeniably so, but there's something disciplined about her approach. Something that says I'm here because I have to be, not because I want to be. Not coldness, exactly, not quite. More like professionalism taken to its logical extreme.

And Rei—

Rei is making her way toward your side of the room. She's just—she's working the crowd. It's not—

But she's not stopping at any of the tables she passes. Not lingering near the businessmen with their expensive watches and hungry eyes. Not even glancing at the celebrities half-cloaked in shadow.

She's coming toward you.

"Oh my God," Wonbin mutters, and he sounds genuinely shocked. "She's actually—"

"Shut up."

"You shut up. This is amazing."

You shut up. Can't move either. Can't do anything except sit there, frozen, as Rei weaves through the final few tables and comes to a stop directly in front of you.

Up close, she's—different. Not in a bad way. In a way that makes you realize how flat screens are, how impossible it is to capture the reality of a person through pixels and compression. She's smaller than you expected, more compact, but there's nothing little about her presence. She takes up space without trying, fills the air around her with something that feels almost electric.

And she's looking at you.

Again.

Still.

"Hi," she mumbles, carefully maneuvering her microphone to avoid making unnecessary noise, and she sounds exactly what you imagined in person—bright, a little mischievous, carrying that hint of playfulness that's made her your bias wrecker since day one. "Enjoying the show?"

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

Rei's smile widens. She's close enough that you can see the glitter on her cheekbones, the individual strands of hair that have escaped whatever styling product they used, the way her eyes crinkle at the corners when she's genuinely amused.

"Cat got your tongue?" She tilts her head, the movement sending the gold chains shifting across her neck. "That's okay. I like shy ones."

Behind you, Wonbin makes a sound that might be a laugh or might be him choking. You can't check. Not when Naoi Rei's gaze is all over you.

She moves then—not away, but into the space between you and the table. Close enough that if you reached out, you could touch her. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, catch the faint scent of whatever perfume they use backstage. Close enough that this is definitely, absolutely, undeniably real.

The club remix of Attitude pulses through the room, but all you can hear is your own heartbeat racing.

Rei starts to move with the music. Not the full choreography—just a sway, a roll of her hips, a slow drag of her hands down her own body that captures your eyes whether you want them drawn or not. She's performing for you. Specifically, deliberately, unmistakably for you.

"Like what you see?" she whispers, tilting her gaze over to you, and there's that grin again, the one that says she knows exactly what she's doing.

You manage a nod. Barely.

She laughs, bright and genuine, and for a moment the performance drops away and she's just Rei—the girl from the variety shows, the one who makes silly jokes, runs the Tiktok account like her own personal canvas, and gets teased by the members and can't always keep a straight face during serious moments. Then it's back, the professional effortlessly veneer sliding into place, but you saw it. You saw her.

"We have a song later," she says, leaning in slightly, close enough that you could count her eyelashes if your brain was functioning well enough for math. "Special one. Never performed before. Hope you stick around for it."

"I—" 

Your voice cracks. Actually cracks, like you're fifteen again and going through puberty for the second time. "Yeah. I mean. Yes. I'll—I'm not going anywhere."

Rei's smile softens, just a fraction. "Good."

She reaches out—reaches out—and touches your shoulder. Just a brief press of fingers, light enough that you might imagine it, but you don't imagine it because you feel it, feel the contact like a brand through the fabric of your cheap button-down.

Then she's gone, gliding away to rejoin the others, and you're left staring at empty space with your heart trying to escape your chest, trying to comprehend what the fuck just happened.

"Bro." Wonbin chokes in disbelief. "Bro, what the fuck."

"I don't—"

"That was—she touched you. She came all the way over here and performed just for you and then she touched you."

"I know."

"Do you realize—do you have any idea—"

"No." You cut him off, because if you have to think about what just happened, you might actually pass out. "I don't. I can't. Just—give me a second."

Wonbin laughs out loud, drawing a few stray, distracted glances from nearby tables. "Take all the time you need, man. I'm just gonna sit here and enjoy watching you have a crisis."

You don't pay attention to anything or anyone other than Rei; they're back on stage now, taking their places for the next formation, and for an incredibly brief moment she glances your way again. Just a flicker of eye contact, but she smiles.

The performance continues. You watch and observe, but you're not really there anymore, not in the way you were before. 

Every movement Rei makes feels pointed. Every glance toward your section of the room feels deliberate. You know it's probably not true. She's a professional doing her job, working the crowd, giving everyone in this room what they paid for and then some.

But knowing doesn't stop you from feeling.

The next song blends into the next. You recognize fragments—bits of choreography and sections from I Am, Love Dive, After Like—but everything's rearranged, remixed, reimagined into a composite medley specifically for this space, this audience, this night. The members move through the crowd in waves; different girls approaching different tables, and you watch Liz make her way toward your side of the room with a different energy than Rei brought.

Liz's charisma is controlled, precise. Every gesture measured, every expression calibrated. She's beautiful—of course she's beautiful, they all are—but there's something almost clinical in her approach. Like she's performing a role rather than being herself. You remember reading somewhere that she's more reserved off-stage, that the other members have to draw her out of her shell. 

Maybe that's what you're seeing. Perhaps the discipline is a shield.

She stops a few feet from your table, close enough to acknowledge but not enough to engage. Her eyes sweep over you and Wonbin, taking you in, quickly assessing. Then she gives a small nod—almost imperceptible—and moves on to the next table.

"Friendly," Wonbin remarks.

"She's just—that's how she is."

"You know her personally now?"

"I'm a fan. You get to know these things."

He snorts, but there's no malice behind it. "Right. Well, your girl Rei seems to have adopted you. Liz is just doing her job."

Your girl Rei. His comment lodges somewhere in your chest and refuses to leave.

The performance builds toward something. You can feel it in the way the energy shifts, the way the members start to converge back on the stage, the way the lighting deepens from bright and colorful into something darker, more intimate. The crowd feels it too; conversations trail off, glasses pause halfway to lips, every eye turns toward the stage.

The music stops.

For a moment, there's silence. Complete, absolute silence in a room full of people, which shouldn't be possible but somehow is.

Then a new track starts.

It's not like anything you've heard from them before. Heavier, darker, fusing western elements with a dirty, grungy bass line that seems to vibrate in your bones rather than your ears. Synths that build and swell and demand.

And then Leeseo's voice kicks in, and you realize—this is brand new. This is unreleased.

The crowd loses it. Not loudly; this isn't that kind of crowd. But you feel the shift, the sudden intensity of attention, the way every person in the room leans forward slightly, collectively, like they're all straining toward the stage.

Their choreography looks different. Sharper. More aggressive in a way that makes the earlier performances look almost tame. The members move like they're fighting something—or someone—bodies slicing through space with a precision that borders on violence.

The song builds to its first chorus and the bass hits, hard enough that you feel it in your teeth. The lights strobe. The members explode into quick, precise movement.

And you just sit there, average college student in his best button-down, watching your favorite group perform a song that doesn't officially exist in a club that doesn't officially exist for an audience that will never be able to prove any of it happened.

This isn't real. But it is. It's 100% real. 

You know because your hands are shaking, because your heart's been racing for the last 45 minutes or so, you've stopped following, because Rei shoots a glance your way during a brief pause in the choreography and winks.

Before you can fully comprehend the song, it ends. The lights come up, soft and warm again, and the members take their positions at the front of the stage. They bow—that familiar idol bow, the one you've seen a thousand times in a thousand different contexts—and for a moment, they're just IVE again. The group you've followed for years. The girls whose content got you through late nights and stressful exams.

Their message is brief: they thank the audience for being here and enjoying themselves, tell everyone they'll be back with new music in the coming months, and to shower them with continuous love and support. It doesn't register till the very last second that the new song they performed is called Bang Bang, even though it's literally all over the damn lyrics and Yujin mentioned it herself. 

"First time anywhere," she said. "Please look forward to the official release."

Then they straighten their postures, and Wonyoung waves—that specific wave, the one that makes fans lose their minds—and they start to file off stage. The main event is over.

The crowd applauds. Respectful, classy. Then the regular subdued club music kicks back in. Conversations restart. Glasses are raised.

Meanwhile, you sit there, utterly still, utterly overwhelmed by—well, everything.

"So," Wonbin cuts through the fog. "Thoughts?"

You turn to look at him. He's watching you with that expression again—amused, knowing, but underneath it something softer. Something that might be genuine happiness at your happiness.

"I—" You stop. Start again. "That was—"

"Yeah."

"I don't have words."

"Didn't think you would." He leans back, spreading his arms along the top of the booth. "But hey. At least you know it was real, right? Your girl Rei definitely noticed you."

Your girl Rei. There it is again. Somehow, you want to believe it, no matter how delusional and stupid it sounds.

"She was just—she was doing her job."

"Sure." He drawls the word, stretching it into three syllables. "That's why she came all the way across the room to perform specifically at our table. That's why she touched you. That's why she winked at you during the finale. All in the name of professionalism."

You don't have an answer for that. Because deep down, he's right, and you know he's right and you have no idea what to do with that information.

Wonbin watches you struggle for a moment, then laughs and pats you on the shoulder. "Relax, man. I'm just giving you a hard time. But seriously—that was something. Even by this club's high standards, that was something."

You nod, because you've got no words. Because it's the safest response.

People are moving between tables now, networking or whatever it is rich people do in spaces like this. A few of them, fresh faces, ones even Wonbin doesn’t know, glance your way—probably wondering who you are, how you rate, why you're here.

You don't care. Your mind is still looking at the stage, thinking about Rei, on the impossible fact that she looked at you, saw you, touched you.

"She's right, you know." Wonbin pulls you back from your haze. "About sticking around."

"What?"

"The song. The new one. She said they had a special song and hoped you'd stick around for it." He raises an eyebrow. "You stuck around. She noticed."

"I—she was just—"

"You keep saying that." He sets down his glass, turning to face you fully. "Look. I don't know what happens after these things. I've stayed for the mingling before, but I've never—I've never had one of them come to me like that. Not like that. So I'm not gonna pretend I know what it means."

You wait. There's more coming, you can feel it.

"But I do know that you deserve this." He insists, just slightly begging—like you're doing him another favor by letting him have this one night. "You spend all your time helping everyone else. School, work, me—you're always the one giving. So if tonight, for whatever reason, one of your favorite idols decided to give something back?" He shrugs. "Take it. Enjoy it. Don't overthink it."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one standing inches from Rei while she moved to music meant only for this room. He wasn't the one who felt her fingers on his shoulder, brief but electric.

But he's not wrong either.

"Thanks," you manage. "For bringing me. For—all of it."

Wonbin grins, the moment of sincerity passing as quickly as it came. "Don't thank me yet."

You frown. "What do you mean?"

He leans forward, eyes glittering with that look you've learned to recognize—the one that means he knows something you don't, and he's about to enjoy telling you.

"The performance," he starts, "is just the first part."

You heard him the first time; you just need confirmation.

"I already told you,” he gestures vaguely toward the back of the stage where the members disappeared. "They mingle. Meet people. It's part of the deal—why these groups do these shows. Connections. Networking. Opportunities. Aside from the huge pay, of course."

Your brain, already struggling to process the last hour or so, grinds to a complete halt.

"You're saying—"

"I'm saying they haven't even come out yet." He settles back, clearly enjoying your reaction. "The show's over. Now the real night begins."

You look toward the stage, toward the wings where IVE exited, toward the velvet-curtained area beyond that might be a green room or might be something else entirely.

The performance was one thing. Unreal, impossible, but contained. A show. Something you could watch from a distance, even when that distance shrank to mere inches.

But meeting them, talking to them, being in the same room as them, not as audience and performer, but as—

"That's the best part," Wonbin adds, carrying a weight you don't fully understand yet. "Trust me. You haven't experienced anything yet."

All around you, nightlife continues as usual; glasses clink, laughter rises and falls. Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, pretending to be a shadow of someone you're not, in a place you clearly don't belong, holding a glass that's long since gone warm, waiting for a night that apparently isn't over yet.

The members emerge from the side of the stage like they're walking into a fansign, all smiles and waves and that practiced idol grace that makes everything look effortless. Gaeul first, because she's always first, leading with that quiet confidence that's made her the group's silent anchor. Leeseo follows, bouncing slightly, unable to completely suppress her natural energy even in a room like this. Then Yujin, and you watch her shift seamlessly into leader mode: scanning the room, assessing, already calculating the best way to work this crowd.

Wonyoung glides out next, and the room seems to gravitate toward her, as always. The way light catches her features, the way she holds herself, the way her presence demands without asking—it's the kind of thing that makes you understand why she's where she is, why she's who she is.

Liz follows, more reserved, her smile polite but contained. She's scanning the place too, but differently than Yujin: less strategic, more cautious. Like she's reading the room to figure out where she fits rather than how to work it.

And then, Rei. She emerges last, and your chest does something complicated. They're still in their bold, risque stage outfits, but her features soften to the one seen in cameras and in her funny TikToks. She looks younger like this, more approachable. Like the girl from the variety shows, the one who can't always keep a straight face during games, the one whose laugh makes you laugh even when you don't know why.

But there's still that edge. That hint of mischief in the way she holds herself, the way her eyes scan the crowd like she's looking for someone.

Looking for you.

You know it's probably not true. Again, you're reminding yourself she's just doing her job, working the room, making key connections. But when her gaze finds yours across the space—across the clusters of wealthy patrons and glittering celebrities and all the people who belong here in ways you don't—and she smiles, that specific Rei smile, the one that crinkles her eyes at the corners—

"Yeah," Wonbin mutters beside you. "She's definitely not looking for you. Totally professional."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying." He laughs, low and easy, settling deeper into the booth. "Relax. They'll get to us eventually. Gotta work the room first." He gestures vaguely at the crowd surrounding the girls. "Big fish, bigger wallets, all that. We're the dessert course."

You watch as the members fan out, each gravitating toward different groups of guests. Gaeul goes toward a table of older men—executives of some kind, you assume, given the Rolexes on their wrists and the posture and the way they receive her like she's a business proposal wrapped in grace. She handles it beautifully, all poise and polish, every gesture measured.

Leeseo bounces between tables, her natural cheerfulness persisting even in this radical, unyielding environment. She's the youngest, but she carries herself well, disarming people with that friendly smile before they can think too hard about why she's here.

Yujin works the room like she's running for office. Handshakes, eye contact, that natural presence that makes you want to believe in whatever she's selling. She pauses at a table near the center, engages in conversation that seems genuinely mutual, and you catch yourself thinking that's why she's the leader.

Wonyoung doesn't work so much as receive. People line up to her. Quite literally. You watch it happen in real time; a small queue forms as guests wait for their moment with her. She handles each interaction with that perfect blend of warmth and distance that's made her the industry's most untouchable asset.

Liz moves more cautiously, sticking to the edges, speaking briefly before moving on. She's polite, professional. But there's something held back, something reserved, and you remember reading interviews where she talked about being shy, about needing time to warm up to people. This must be hard for her, you realize. This must cost something.

Rei works the room like she's playing a game. She spends a little longer at each table, a little more playful, a little more present. You watch her make a group of businessmen laugh at something, watch her touch a woman's arm in a gesture of genuine connection, watch her move through the space like she's known it her whole life.

But every so often, her eyes flick your way. Just a glance. Just a check. And every time, she smiles.

"She's definitely not waiting to get to us," Wonbin comments. "Totally professional interest in our table. Very business."

"Can you not?"

"Absolutely not. This is the most entertainment I've had in months."

You try to ignore him. Try to focus on anything except the slow progression of idols through the room, the way they're getting closer table by table, the way your heart rate climbs with each passing minute.

The men at the table nearest you are deep in conversation with Gaeul and Leeseo now, their usual composed demeanor cracking slightly in the presence of actual idols. One of them—silver-haired, expensively suited—actually blushes when Leeseo directs a comment his way. You file that away for later, for the part of your brain that will need proof this was real.

Then they move onto the next table. And the next. 

Closer. Getting closer.

"I've got dibs," Wonbin says, not for the first time. "Yujin and Wonyoung. Don't forget."

"How could I forget? You've only mentioned it like a dozen times."

"Just making sure. You're distracted."

You are. You know you are. Because Rei is at the table directly adjacent now, close enough that you can hear the cadence of her accent, catch fragments of her conversation. She's speaking in Korean, rapid and fluid, and your brain—trained on years of content with subtitles—strains to catch words you might recognize.

She laughs at something, bright and genuine, and the sound does something to your chest.

Then the table's conversation ends. They stand, exchange pleasantries, move on.

Rei turns. Looks directly at you. Smiles. And starts walking toward your table.

"Oh shit," Wonbin mutters. "Here they come."

They, as in all six of IVE. Because Yujin's broken away from her cluster too, Wonyoung's gliding in their wake, Liz is trailing slightly behind, and somehow—by sheer universal fate—all of them are converging on your table at once.

You don't remember exactly when you stood up, but suddenly you're standing, which means you feel tall, that you're clearly visible. There's nowhere to hide even if you wanted to disappear.

You don't want to. You want to be here. You want to see this. You just didn't expect to be seen.

Rei greets you, close enough that you could reach out and touch her. She's stopped a few feet away, giving you space, but her eyes are right there, meeting yours without hesitation. "Hi again."

"Hi," you manage. The word, when it comes out, sounds strange. Distant.

"You stayed."

"I—yeah. I said I would."

Her smile widens. "You did. I remember."

Yujin steps forward, unassuming, and her presence shifts the dynamic immediately. Suddenly, she feels like the most imposing person in the room, demanding your attention but in reality, her features show warmth. Still, her eyes move at a pace that quickly assesses you from head to toe.

"So you're the one," she says, vague.

You blink. "The one?"

"The one Rei couldn't stop talking about." She throws an amused look at Rei. "Someone caught her attention tonight."

Rei's cheeks flush—actually glow, visible even in the dim lighting—and she swats at Yujin's arm. "Unnie."

"What? It's true."

You stand there, frozen, as the reality of this moment crashes over you. Yujin is teasing Rei. About you. In front of you. 

Wonyoung drifts closer, elegant as always, and her presence adds another layer to the overwhelming tableau. She doesn't speak immediately; just observes, her gaze thoughtful.

Then Liz steps forward, and her expression is different from the others—more curious, more direct. She looks at you like she's trying to figure something out.

"You're a fan," she remarks. It's not a question.

"I—yeah. I am. Have been since debut."

Liz's expression softens. "It's nice to meet a real one. Here." She gestures practically at the room, at the wealth and privilege surrounding them. "It's different. Usually. Older guys and all."

You nod because it's the safest option. "I didn't know this existed. My friend—" You glance at Wonbin, who's watching with barely concealed amusement, "he brought me. Said it was a gift."

"A gift." Yujin's eyebrow lifts. The words sound odd in this environment. "Interesting choice of gift."

"Best gift I've ever gotten," you admit, and it's true, and saying it makes it somehow more real.

Rei beams at that. Actually beams, like you've said something that made her genuinely happy.

Wonyoung speaks for the first time, carrying that particular quality that makes everything she says sound important. She's looking at Rei mostly, but her eyes flick to you briefly. "He's been watching you all night. Very intently."

"Wonyoung," Rei protests, but there’s no bite.

"What? It's true. I saw."

Now you're the one blushing. You can feel it, the heat climbing your neck, settling in your cheeks. This is mortifying. This is also, somehow, the best moment of your life.

Wonbin, sensing an opportunity to make things worse, leans forward. "He's got a poster. Of you," he points at Rei. "On his wall. Right next to his bed."

"Wonbin. Are you fucking serious—" you try to speak, but the words gradually die on your mouth.

"What? It's relevant." He shrugs, grinning like this is all part of his twisted plan.

Rei's eyes go wide, then crinkle when she laughs. "A poster? Really?"

"I—it's from the Season's Greetings photobook. 2025. The limited edition, the one with the—" You stop because you're rambling, because somehow, you're explaining your poster placement to an actual member of IVE—your goddamn bias, even—because your life has become unrecognizable in the span of a few hours.

But Rei's still smiling. Still looking at you like you're not just another stranger in a room full of them.

"That's sweet," she says. "Really. That means a lot."

Liz shifts beside her, and something in her expression changes. She's watching you with renewed interest, like you've become slightly more dimensional than before.

"You have good taste," she offers, quiet, genuine.

"Liz stole my heart too," you then say, and the words are out before you can stop, before you can filter them, before you can do anything except watch them land.

For a moment, silence again.

Then Rei laughs, absolutely delighted, and the sound breaks the tension like glass.

"Stole his heart," she repeats, eyes dancing back and forth between you and her. "Liz, did you hear that? You stole his heart."

Liz's cheeks flush pink, but she's smiling—actually smiling, that genuine one that transforms her whole face. "I didn't mean to."

"Too late," Wonbin chimes in. "He's been compromised. Both of you. He doesn't stand a chance."

Yujin snorts—actually snorts, which is so unexpected that you stare. "Your friend is funny."

"He's insufferable," you correct, but there's no heat behind it. Not when Rei is still laughing, not when Liz is smiling at you like you're not a complete stranger.

Wonyoung tilts her head, studying you with that unreadable expression. "You're different," she remarks, brushing her long hair with a hand. "From the others here."

It's not a question, but you answer anyway. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'm—" You wave at yourself, at your pants and sneakers and the shirt that suddenly feels inadequate in a dozen new ways. "This isn't my world."

"Maybe that's why." 

She doesn't explain further; just lets the implication hang. They understand the situation: you're an anomaly standing in a room full of wealth and privilege, talking to IVE like they're just people, like this is normal.

None of it is. But you don't want it to end.

"We should keep moving," Yujin then says regretfully. "Other guests. You know how it is."

You nod. Of course. They have to work the room, have to make connections, have to do the thing they're here to do. You're not the only person in this space.

"I understand."

Rei's expression flickers—something passing through her eyes too fast to read. She glances at Liz, and something passes between them, some silent communication you're not meant to understand.

Then she steps closer. Close enough that you can see the individual strands of her eyelashes, the slight shimmer of residual glitter on her cheekbones, the way her lips part slightly before she speaks.

"Stay," she says, quiet, intimate, meant only for you.

You blink rapidly. "What?"

Rei leans in, close enough that her breath ghosts against your ear. "Don't leave. We'll come back. For you."

Before you can respond, before you can process, she's pulling back, smiling that playful smile, and Liz is beside her, and they're moving away, rejoining the others, disappearing into the crowd of guests who have no idea what just happened or have a clue about your conversation.

You stand there, frozen, your heart pounding once more.

"What did she say?" Wonbin snaps you back before it can fully sink in."What did she—"

"She said to stay. That they'd come back. For me."

Wonbin's eyebrows climb toward his hairline. "No shit?"

"No shit."

He processes this for a moment, then grins—wide and genuine and slightly wicked. "Well, then. You heard them."

"I—what do I—"

"You stay. Obviously." He stands, patting you on the shoulder. It feels—celebratory. "I, meanwhile, have a date with Yujin and Wonyoung."

"You can't just—"

"Watch me."

And he does. Wonbin weaves through the crowd with that natural rich man swagger, and you watch as he intercepts Yujin and Wonyoung near the bar, jaws drop as they turn to him, as something passes between them that ends with all three moving toward a different part of the club.

He's really doing it. He's really—

"Still here."

You turn around, and every time you find them, it never feels real.

Rei and Liz. Both of them, standing close, close enough that you're acutely aware of the space between you.

"You stayed," says Rei, and there's something different when she talks. Softer, more direct, but anxious.

"You asked me to."

Liz steps forward. Her hand finds yours—as in, actually wraps her fingers, intertwining like it's the most natural thing in the world. Her skin feels warm, soft, real.

"We should go," she suggests quietly. "Somewhere quieter."

Your heart stops. Kicks back to life.

You should say no. Tell them watching their performance, sharing a small conversation, no matter how brief, is more than enough. You understand your place as a fan, and you'll respect their boundaries as idols. Instead, Rei's glinting eyes and Liz holding your hand just that little bit tighter tell you that the night is nowhere close to being over.

A nod of agreement, and you follow them, hand in tow as Rei leads the way.

Around you, conversations about everything and anything happen in the background; no one cares that you've essentially snuck away from the main hall and into one of many dark, sparkling hallways. The others are nowhere in sight; Yujin and Wonyoung are with Wonbin, Gaeul and Leeseo with God knows who. Rei and Liz are muttering something between themselves, muffled by the low thrumming bass pervading even in this confined space. 

Eventually, they find an unoccupied room near the dead-end of the hallway. The choice is intentional; they care about privacy the most. Rei slides the door open. Liz takes you inside, and Rei shuts it behind you, turning the knob and pulling the drapes closed.

Unsurprisingly, the lounge is lavish: a large, half-crescent couch circles half the room dominates the rear. A television with a panel containing several buttons below sits on the leftmost side of the room and a bathroom adjacent to the right. An ice bucket stacked with a bottle of champagne and wine glasses sits at the center table, ready for immediate consumption, and at the side, a mini fridge with extra beverages awaits for those seeking seconds.

You're overwhelmed by the luxury of it all that you don't realize Liz has disappeared from view, having let go of your hand. Turning around, the two women are standing mere inches from you, their eyes gleaming under the pale white light.

"I feel like we owe you an explanation," Rei starts. She sounds nervous and shy, nothing like the quirky idol you were talking to minutes ago.

"Yeah," Liz adds, matching her tone, though she’d been acting the part the whole time. "We thought—we should at least be honest about—all this. About what's happening."

Nothing seems to register. Just more questions run through your head. You dare not to speak.

"So—about that friend of yours—" says, slowly twiddling her fingers, "Wonbin, was it—"

"Yeah?" you interrupt before she can finish. Somehow, they know his name. It probably spreads around these circles fast, to be fair. People who likely pay specifically to meet these idols—and considering he's with Yujin and Wonyoung right now—

"He paid us."

Her answer catches you off guard. No preamble, just an immediate revelation. One you should have expected given the circumstances, but it doesn't shock you any less.

"Huh?"

"To bring you here, specifically." Liz then speaks on her member's behalf. "To spend time with you. Alone."

"We didn't know where else to start," Rei continues. "If you were a fan or not. Or if you'd recognize us."

"Which, you did," Liz clarifies. "Like, a lot. I saw the guests' expressions when we went over to you."

"You're a big deal, apparently," Rei quips, but it comes out half-hearted. "I thought he was joking."

You're still speechless.

"It's not our fault," says Rei. "I didn't think he was serious when he said he's bringing a fan tonight."

"Well, not really. No." Liz continues. "We're sorry. Really."

"Sorry, yeah," Rei adds. "We're truly sorry. Wonbin just told us to entertain you. And that's what we are doing right now."

"But, it wasn't fake. Everything," says Liz. "It was real. All of it. I promise."

"Promise."

Of course it's probably real to them. Wonbin's probably paying them by the hour—who knows at this point. Easier to maintain a lie than to continue with the truth, like applying a bandaid to a wound.

"I—" you start, but nothing follows. Your gaze tilts upward, at the pervading light, before falling back to theirs. Somehow, it feels sincere, genuine, everything they’ve said. They're looking at each other, expressions pained at having to pull the carpet so abruptly. "I—I understand."

The shift is instantaneous; one second they're genuine, remorseful human beings fully aware of what they've done, the next, the idol masks slip back on naturally, like it's deeply embedded in their skin. They're stepping towards you, forward for each instinctual foot you put backward till you feel the couch brush against your legs. Regardless, the regret lingers on their twitching, trembling lips.

"When we said it was real, we really meant it," Rei starts again, her eyes wide, trying to act playful, but she stops almost immediately. "Again—there are no fans in this place. Just—eyes. And bodies."

"Yeah," Liz quietly adds, carefully twiddling her fingers together, avoiding your gaze, deliberate as if you're judging how they move. "It's—not as fun as it looks. But—seeing you—reacting to us—actually enjoying yourself—" She inhales, "Wonbin was really right. He promised he'd bring us a fan, and here you are."

And Christ, they just know how to get through your heart. 

Not that it's already so susceptible after everything that's unfolded—it doesn't matter anymore if this is still part of their rehearsed script or something they'd been told, like cameras are recording this very interaction right now and they have earpieces feeding them instructions in real time, it sounds heartbreakingly sincere that you can't help but forgive.

"I—I could never get mad—" you say, shaky, low sounding, because quite frankly, you can never get upset at your bias line, even if they were trying to purposefully anger you: "I'm just—shocked. At everything. That's all. He really had this all planned out—"

"Heard he paid the club and the agency triple the talent fee specifically to get us," Rei interrupts, chuckling, her usual cheeky self returning. "Didn't realize till a week ago when he personally went to us. At the goddamn company."

"He was determined," Liz adds. "Or, rather, desperate. Said it was a special occasion and wanted to do it for a friend. Never said anything about who it was for, but thank God it was you."

"Oh, come on," Rei cuts in, rolling her eyes, but there's no malice in her tone. Only light jest. "You were thinking the same thing."

"Maybe," Liz concedes, her lips curling into a sly smile. "It's rare, though. Fans are usually—boring. Closed-minded."

"God, yes," Rei sighs. "Thank goodness the actual fans aren't here. They'd hate this. This isn't—like us. If you know what I mean."

"Anyway," Liz then insists, "I'm glad we got to know you. The real you, hopefully."

"So—what happens now?" you then ask, tilting your head, all that buzz and shock starting to die out.

"It's—up to you," answers Liz, stepping ahead of her older member. "You can walk away now. Walk past that door and call it right then and there. At least we explained ourselves, and you saw us perform, which is what you wanted."

"And at least you were happy," Rei adds. "Right?"

"Of course," you reply, finally realizing the rather cornered position these two women have you in. You inch away from the couch, but they pin you at an angle where either girl can grab you the moment you reach for the door. "Always—it's been a dream to see you live and up close—but I never expected—"

"I don't blame you," Rei interrupts, smiling, her gaze shifting with that half-teasing grin that's just—ugh. "Anyone in your shoes would be overwhelmed that we could be that hot."

"But—if you want to stay," Liz hesitantly says, her eyes darting to Rei, before settling back to you. "Please stay."

"After all," Rei continues. "We promised him to give you a memorable experience."

"And you deserve it," Liz adds, gaining some of her member's confidence. "For being such a good fan—and a good person, I guess."

Somehow, even in a tension-filled situation like this, she manages to make you burst into laughter. Rei too.

"Jiwonnie, can you not—"

"Hey." She turns to meet her member halfway, cheekily grinning. "Maybe this is still a little too much—"

They've merged onto you, now mere inches away. You can feel their breaths on your skin, their collective gaze paralyzing, magnetic, demanding your every fiber of attention. Never have you been pinned like this—and rather than fighting or trying to resist, you allow it. 

Let their presence utterly consume you. After all, that's what you deserve. Rei and Liz said it themselves.

And finally, the cherry on top: the subtle grip on your pants, on your clothed crotch—two hands, one from each member, measuring, pressing tightly on your hardening cock, only kept in check by the slacks you're wearing. Eying you head to toe, they find your buttons and zipper even in deep fabric, slowly parting them, till they can feel your staining precum through the underwear.

"So—what's it gonna be?" Rei questions, even though your mind has already decided on your behalf.

Slowly and subtly, the two girls lead you back against the couch. This time, you're freely falling back into it, completely under their spell. And your body just—surrenders.

Their response is short and sweet: "Good answer."

Rei and Liz leave you slumped on the lavish couch. Your pants partly halfway now down your legs, your body powerless and losing its will to fight completely. All you can do is watch them walk—fucking hell, they can strut—toward the TV and control center in the corner of the room, still performing, still on their A-game, like they're standing in front of thousands and not just for you.

Yet no amount of professionalism and idol training can cover their lack of knowledge with how the private VIP lounge works.

It's calm and quiet at first; just minor delays, something they can seemingly figure it out within a minute, maybe less than. Then Rei's visibly struggling with the buttons on the board, echoing out her frustration at having to pry and read the instruction manual from the cabinet below. Liz tries to help through it, but she's as equally clueless as to how anything works.

"Jeez—you'd think they'd let us inside this place during rehearsals—" Rei mutters, but Liz rubs a hand on her member's back, gently reassuring.

"C'mon, at least don't do it front of our good friend here—"

Immediately after, Liz turns her head toward you, smiling, raising the other hand. Just give us a moment. 

No words need to be said, and you'd happily wait the whole night too.

The lights inside the lounge change colors, from a simple sparkly white to a disco flurry of blue and green, before shifting to a clean gold, reminiscent of the stages they performed earlier.

"Perfect!" Rei yells out, as if she had just discovered fire. She presses a button, and music begins to reverberate on the speakers hidden in the four corners of the room.

It's that remix of Attitude from earlier; that dancey, club remix that's unassuming enough to avoid suspicion. The two take positions parallel from each other on opposing ends of the room, and much like in concert fancams you've seen online, they walk toward each other during the instrumental break, their struts seductive and deliberate. As they unite at the center, where your gaze solely fixes on them, moving like a coordinated unit, they strike a pose.

Fuck. You can barely contain yourself on that couch. If you weren't already hard before, you certainly are now. These are no longer idols, rather bodies now. Their collective gaze keeps you focused on their eyes—four piercing, daring eyes—but as you wander down, the real treat comes from their sultry, inviting gestures. 

Rei's sweeping both her hands down her ass, arching her back to accentuate her figure, barely kept together by those cheeky shorts. Liz winks directly at you. Brushes her hair with a flick of her hand, biting her lower lip, shimmies her shoulder for a little move, absolutely confident in herself. Two completely different women, both equally hot, equally arousing. During the pause where they should be walking back to the main stage, of which there is none, they meet halfway, passing an unspoken message—

And then Liz slaps Rei's ass. 

Lets one hand rest on her shorts. Rei smirks as she feels the impact. Closes her eyes, lets her friend and member tease for a bit. She angles herself that her back is facing you while Liz does the unthinkable: she undoes the zipper and slides it down. Rei finishes the job, letting it pool around her boots and revealing the matching gold underwear beneath.

She arches her back once more. Spreads it wide with her hands as the music fades in the background, becoming more like white noise at this point. Her ass is plump and firm; waist slender, the proportions just right. And her thighs are thick and meaty, perfect for squeezing and grabbing.

Liz grabs Rei's underwear, stretching it to the side, showing you her pussy, completely and utterly soaked.

"See how wet I am? I bet you just wanna touch it yourself right now, don't you?" Rei asks, but you're rendered speechless by what's unfolding. This is straight up pornography. 

Liz grins. Strokes the side of Rei's leg, running her fingers up and down her pale, creamy skin. She takes a sampler of Rei's slick and puts it into her mouth.

Then Rei suddenly kisses her. 

At this point, the two have stopped performing and are simply fucking right in front of you. Cupping each other's cheeks and all. You can see Rei reaching around the back of Liz's top, hustling for her zipper. She finds it and likewise, slides it down, giving you a glimpse of the expanse of her skin. Rei pushes it partly off her body, with Liz tossing it aside to be forgotten, now down to her black bra and matching skirt.

It's the hottest thing you've ever seen. As much as you want to get involved, you enjoy watching this.

Just as they're about to dive back into each other, Rei stops herself. She looks left and right, noting the music, remembering your presence: "Alright, this is kinda distracting."

You badly want to quip and say it's their song. Liz laughs and shakes her head.

"At least you know how to turn it off," she quips, but Rei shoots her this playful scowl that makes it worse.

She breaks free from the embrace and promptly turns it off within seconds. Turning her focus on you, Rei strides forward.

"Sorry we didn't push through with it," she remarks, smiling, but the tone is partially apologetic. "Can you imagine fucking to your own song?"

"I was about to say—" you start, your first words in a while, but she presses a finger on your lips when she climbs your lap, overpowering you, laying you down on the couch. It might as well be a bed by how wide it is. And maybe that's the point: this is where nights really and truly end.

With Rei's hand pressed on your clothed chest, Liz joins her on the couch, but not atop you. You've kicked your shoes aside at some point during their little tease, but Rei's finishing the job. Unbuttoning and parting the shirt, pants that were halfway down your legs now puddle at your ankles, along with your boxers. Your fully erect cock is now at their mercy, and they're wasting no time.

"Shit—oh fuck—" you shudder, groaning as Rei's fingers seize your cock, stroking it gently at a feverishly slow, but deliberate pace. 

"You're pretty big, aren't you?" she remarks, smiling. Sweet but devilish. "Are you sure you can handle the both of us?"

"Please. He can't," Liz teases, sitting next to your thigh, her arm draped on the headrest.

"Give him a chance. We haven't even started."

"Well, you're the one who's touching him, so—"

"Okay, fine." 

Rei's had her fill of stroking your cock. Now, her fingers are lightly dancing on your shaft, teasing, stealing that little bit of precum that would make Liz jealous. She leans down, hovering above your ear, her warm breath tantalizing. "Aren't you a lucky one, huh? Now you get to choose."

"Choose? But—" 

Another delicate squeeze from Rei's fingers when you try to speak up. An involuntary groan escapes your mouth again. She brushes the precum on your skin, lets Liz eat from her digit, then caresses her hair with it. 

It's gross; it's also hot.

"You heard me. You get one," she repeats, as if that makes it any better. You're staring at the ceiling, trying to collect your thoughts and ignore the stimulation.

"This is a test, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Sorta. Not really. Maybe?" Rei's trademark grin feels like an insult now. "I mean—I don't think you can handle both of us."

"Oh, come on. Don't sell him short, Rei," Liz suggests. "He can handle us. Can't you, baby?"

"I can," you insist, showing a little fight.

"I love that enthusiasm. But—enthusiasm can only get you so far," says Rei. "So you gotta choose."

"But, I can't choose," you continue, feeling Rei's grip tighten, but not painfully so. More like a challenge.

"You have to," Rei reiterates, her tone sterner yet playful.

"What if—what if I want the both of you?" you're pleading now, knowing damn well this opportunity won't present itself ever again.

"Hmmm—let's ask the other girl, shall we?"

Rei turns her gaze to Liz. They share a knowing smirk.

"I'm not sure. I don't think you can't handle the both of us," Liz responds, rubbing a hand on your thigh, making you tremble. 

"Not even for a second?" you insist.

"Nope. No exceptions," says Rei, firm and final. “So you have to choose."

"But I haven't done—" 

Another firm clasp of your cock, another pump through Rei's deft hand. She's leaving you gasping, reeling. The world suddenly feels like it's spinning on its head.

"Maybe we should pick for you," Rei suggests, and she's released your cock in place of the gold top she's wearing. 

Quickly unhooking the clasp from her back and letting the zipper fly, she lets the piece of clothing free from her body, revealing—nothing. Casually tosses it aside to the floor, her tits are fully out: shapely, lush, and as big as some of those fansites and suspect fancams have captured. Liz, feeling touchy-feely, gives one of her breasts a firm squeeze, and Rei smiles at her, warm and genuine.

You can only imagine what they are like behind closed doors, but this is as close as you can get to finding out.

As much as you want to touch them, to know how they feel in your hand, you don't. Not even move a single muscle, especially when they have you pinned like this.

"How bad do you want it?" Rei asks. Liz is still feeling her.

You shake your head, too lost for words.

"Jiwonnie, your turn." 

Rei turns to Liz, the two sharing grins back as she, in turn, unclasps her own bra, revealing her own shapely chest. She then squeezes Liz's breasts right in front of you, equally affectionate. They even exchange kisses while they're at it. 

For a moment, you're nothing. A ghost.

But they're not stopping: Rei hops off you and the couch, Liz in tow, as she gets the younger member's skirt undone, digging her nails into her black underwear as she slides it down, leaving obvious nail marks and red spots on her skin. Ruffling each other's hair, making out without a care in the world, lost in their own little reverie while you just lay there and watch.

It almost feels too intrusive. (It is.)

Mid-kiss, Liz breaks. Rests her lips on top of Rei's. Tilting her head, her gaze flickers over to you, and she remembers you exist.

"Rei," she mutters, looking at her. "Still here—"

"Huh?" Rei has forgotten you completely. It takes Liz pointing you at her for her to realize. And when she realizes, she genuinely has no fucking clue.

"Oh, shit—sorry, babe." She's blushing, cheeks flustered all over in red. "We got carried away, didn't we?"

You lift an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah, kinda."

"We're not used to having an audience—at all."

"The members don't hear you?" you joke. "In that dorm?"

"Shhhh. Don't tell anyone," Liz insists, laughing. "They do. Just—"

"Let's not ruin the illusion, okay?" Rei interjects, patting Liz's arms, redirecting her member's gaze to her.

"Right."

"Besides, I thought you wanted the both of us." 

The two women turn their attention back to you. Their gazes are otherworldly; one moment they look sweet, picture perfect, a frame worthy of cameras and adoring fans. The next: sultry, sensual, lethal. "So—have you—"

"Yes," you reply, not needing to finish the question.

Rei and Liz saunter back to the couch, taking their places on your lap and between your legs, respectively.

Propping you against the back of the cushions, sitting you upright, their laughs hauntingly fill the space between you and them. Then, the hands come back to claim their stake: one from each idol, stroking your cock, sometimes intertwining fingers, padding their digits with more of your precum. Your helpless, low groans complement their satisfied, playful giggles. 

"Feels good to play with an actual cock for once." Rei gives your shaft a light, playful slap, like messing with a guitar. Enough to knock the little wind off your sails. "God, I wasn't ready to waste a second dildo in a month—"

"Shhh." Liz makes the silence gesture, smiling gently at Rei. "He doesn't need to know that."

Rei dips her head down as she tilts you forward. Your face melts against her firm, heavenly chest. Squeezing them comes naturally; they feel warm and handful, molded like they were meant for you. Her cute little moans fill the air, undeniably stimulated and aroused. Meanwhile, Liz has taken a seat next to you, brushing the skin of your shoulder blades, slowly, softly, like a feather.

"How do they feel?" she palms the back of your scalp, driving you in further.

Somehow, you manage to utter a single word against her suffocating skin: "Good."

"That's not a proper answer, You can do better than that."

"Great."

"Still not enough."

"They're the best—Rei—"

"Mhm. There we go."

She's grinding on you now, eyes fluttering shut, chest heaving, hips rolling up and down your skin in a slow, decadent rhythm that makes you wish she was actually bouncing on your cock than merely teasing. But it doesn't matter; not when you have your hands all over tits, pinching her nipples, sucking, indulging in them. 

"Fuck," is all that escapes Rei's mouth as her grip on your skull loosens. Liz observes intently, biting her lip, resting her head on her chin, like she were studying and not preparing to take you next. Your face is burning red all over; whether from the heat of Rei's chest or from the sudden wash of embarrassment of being watched like this, you have no clue. The only solace is knowing that you're here, exactly where they want you to be.

Before it even registers, your hands fall on Rei's waist, gently lifting her rather feathery figure into the air and slamming it against your cock. The world stops when she cries out in pleasure.

"Oh fuck!"

She pushes your face away from her chest. Looks down at being embedded to the hilt. You and Rei's breaths come in quick, tense gasps. Liz lifts her head, ready to intervene at a moment's notice. For a moment, there's a danger that a line has been crossed, a boundary overstepped.

Then Rei forces you back into her chest and starts riding you again.

"C'mon. You want it that fucking bad? Give me all of it."

And you do exactly that: meet her halfway with each thrust, firmly grip her tits and consume them like you've found an oasis in the desert. Rei drowns in it—the kisses, the satisfied hums rippling through her chest, the way your cock fills her tight, wet cunt with each stroke—every little thing doing its part to make the feeling so otherworldly. 

Right now, it's just two bodies coming together naturally, like pieces in a puzzle.

"Fuck, Rei—" you mutter against her tits, not stopping to breathe, not that you had any intention to. "I've wanted this—wanted you so fucking bad—"

She's too engrossed in pleasure to hear a thing; the sensations overwhelm her left and right, taking control of her body, moving of its own accord. Her words, when they come, they're from another place: "So good—you fill me so fucking well—"

And the pleas come naturally too. 'Harder' and 'more' and 'right there—' 

You're kissing up her collarbone, letting Rei's warmth utterly swallow you whole. Guided only by instinct and the cadence of wet skin slapping against wet skin, you find Liz lost in her own pleasure too: she's sitting on the couch from a distance, two fingers pressed against her cunt, rubbing in quick, hurried strokes, equally as aroused, if not more. 

Maybe this is what they were referring to: that they haven't had anything but dildos and each other for a while, they've forgotten what real cock feels like.

Or maybe they're just horny. Definitely that. 

Your bodies cling to each other like oxygen. Any sense of rhythm has been lost in favor of raw, primal instinct. Just fucking go. Harder and harder. Faster and faster. Whether it be your own thrusts or her crashing into you, not giving the other any respite. A fire burns in your souls that can't be quenched or satiated.

"Shit—you're gonna make me cum—" Rei mutters, her nails digging into your scalp one more, tilting your head upwards. Her collarbones and neck are marked red, fresh with bite marks and wet kisses of your own.

It only serves to fan the flames even wider.

"Do it," you command, growling, squeezing her tits as hard as you can, pointed with an edge you didn't know you had. "Make a fucking mess, baby."

You drive the point home with thrusts that are equally demanding and aching, forcing every last bit of resolve into her needy, quivering cunt. Each stroke is a punctuation, a statement, a declaration of utter want.

"Fuck—fuck—I'm gonna cum—I'm gonna cum—"

Rei's thighs clamp around your waist. Her fingernails dig deeper, and her pussy tightens around your cock, her walls closing in, drawing every last inch of your shaft.

"Cum for him, Rei." Liz stirs from a distance; she's merely a few feet away and it carries over through the wind. "Make him feel it."

Her command is what ultimately upends her: this cheeky little character, now drowning in a puddle of her own slick, cumming, screaming out in ecstasy as her orgasm hits like lightning. Her body trembles violently, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

As the high fades, so does her sharp cry, going hoarse and weak. But the euphoria doesn't stop.

You keep her in the air, suspended, filled with cock, still, and let her ride it out.

"Fuck, look at her." Liz appears awestruck at her friend's orgasm, slowing her strokes down. "Look how much she's cumming."

Rei's mind is gone. Her pussy is dripping all over, coating your cock in a thick layer of her nectar.

And it doesn't take long for you to follow.

Still pumping into her, far beyond your own control at this point, when she's a melting pile of flesh, you let it all go: thick and hot and unforgiving when it happens. Every drop poured into her needy cunt, staining the leathers and making deep marks on your skin that will stick for more than just one night. 

"Oh God—so much—you came so much—"

"Yeah, give her that," Liz coos, distant but alluring. "She deserves it."

When the final drops are spent, you let Rei collapse onto the sofa. A thin connection of cum, thin and fragile, stretches as you pull out till it splits apart and dissolves onto the sofa. And the moment her bare, sweat-licked skin touches the cushion, she's out like a light.

"Is she alright?" you ask, dumbfounded, panting, trying to catch your breath.

"That's normal," Liz reassures you, standing up and sauntering over to your side. "Tends to happen after a nice orgasm. I know. I've seen it plenty."

"Doesn't sound normal," you quip, lightly smiling back.

"She'll be fine," she insists, cupping your face. "But right now, it's my turn."

Liz pulls you in for a kiss. It's soft and gentle and caring, nothing like the rough, primal energy that drove Rei's desire.

"Fuck—seeing you take her like that—" she mutters against your breath, "I want it too. But—"

Her hand snakes down to your withered cock, pumping slowly, gently, trying to breathe new life onto it. Nothing. Just a tired, exhausted groan from a man who's seen too much, felt too much, knows too much in a single night.

She tries laughing it off. "Ah. Right." 

There it is: her trademark sense of humor. The way she casually jokes no matter the situation, how it's not far off from how she presents herself in vlogs, on camera, with the other members. Another sign that this is real. This is actually them.

"See something you like?" she then asks—and where do you even start.

Her smooth, toned legs. The way she slowly spreads them to reveal the dripping, wet pussy beneath. That hourglass physique. Smooth, toned abs that she barely shows, but Christ—you just want to dip your head and bury yourself in her warmth, her creamy, pristine skin. 

"I'll let you choose. So long as you put that dick in me after."

Deal of the fucking year.

You push Liz forward, off the couch and softly come together on the glass table. Her back arches, body naturally sliding forward as you splay her like she's the most expensive piece of art in the world. Shoving aside the slowly melting, trickling bucket of ice and champagne that's been mostly forgotten up until this point, you go down and just—worship her.

She hums, satisfied, low, the occasional moan spliced in between, that it might as well be music. You're kissing from her neck and collarbones, soft and airy, creating little shudders coursing through her lithe frame. Down to her tits, giving them a handful, feeling how perfect they fit in your palm, how surprisingly shapely they are, when you consider Rei's just right there, unconscious, blissfully unaware.

Leaving a trail of tender, delicate marks when you reach her tummy, looking up occasionally to see the relaxed, gratified look on her beautiful face. Eyes fluttered shut, the way her breaths came in slow and steady, picture-perfect—just how you've always imagined.

And when you finally spread her inner thighs ever so slightly wide, giving yourself a clear view of how unabashedly, shamelessly wet she is—fuck. She might be more depraved than Rei.

You take your tongue. Drag it slow, up and down her slit—and Liz fucking keens.

"Ah—shit—don't tease—"

"No promises," you tell her, the sound muffled with her cunt, and you keep going.

From the way her thighs tremble, her hands scrambling to grab a hold of something, anything, her body writhing, her moans, her sighs, her everything. The way she moves, the way her voice cracks every other groan. How she bites her lip, holding her breath, then exhaling, letting the tension flow out.

How her hips roll and grind, urging you to go faster.

"Fucking eat me out, baby," she demands, her fingers curling around your hair, tugging you closer, if that even's possible. "Don't fucking tease."

And you oblige.

You flatten your tongue, pressing it flat against her folds, and lick. Wet, sticky, messy.

Liz absolutely loses it.

Her grip tightens on your hair, her body shudders violently, and the scream is enough to be heard outside. 

"Fuck!"

Your mouth is coated in her juices, the taste lingering and sticking, but you can't get enough. It just—sucks you in, like she was meant to be consumed.

So you dive back in, and Liz is left to her own devices.

"Fuck—baby—yeah, right there, fuck," she whines, her breathing hitching, her body unable to contain itself.

The noises. The way she sounds. It's driving you crazy too.

"Goddamn, baby, you're so good," she whimpers, her words becoming incoherent, the pleasure building and building.

"Are you gonna cum?" you hum against her skin, a momentary pause, and the sight is glorious. Liz is an utter mess, her body trembling and shaking, her lower half completely soaked, her stomach glistening under the warm light.

"Please—not yet—I want to be—fucked—fuck—"

But you don't hear. Not really. Not when she's so ready, so wet, and tastes so good on your lips.

So you continue to devour her cunt, splayed and wet and constantly dripping, , as if it were the only thing capable of quenching your insatiable thirst. Even as she continues to beg, her thighs betray her, closing in naturally on your head as you eat her out.

For a moment, it seems like you won't stop.

Then you just—do.

One last kiss for her pussy, leaking on the marble table, pooling around her legs, and you watch: how exhausted and frantic she looks, how easily she folds. Her hands cling to her chest, her breaths coming in heavy, and she writhes on her side, the sensations unbearable, the pleasure overwhelming.

"Why'd you stop—"

"You said you didn't want to cum yet," you answer, casually, rolling her onto her stomach. 

She laughs lightly. It ripples through her body in small, visible shockwaves. "And what if I wanted to cum right then and there?"

"No you didn't," you tell her, laying her prone, raising her lower half. Her back arches naturally, pressing her ass forward against your loins, like she knows what's about to happen.

"Glad I didn't miss this," Rei suddenly whispers against your back, and it surprises you; you look over your shoulder out of instinct. You'd forgotten that she was unconscious. "Jiwonnie, you're still so fucking loud."

"Told you she'd be okay," Liz mutters from up ahead, airy, still clearly in need of air, disregarding her member's little jab. Even through her long hair, she manages to find you over her shoulder. "Now fuck me. Let her watch."

"That's right. Fuck her like you fucked me," Rei adds, seductive, tilted up, meeting your gaze. She's got her nails dug deep into your skin, like she's puppeteering you. "Make her scream."

As if you needed any more reasons to be hard again. 

You slide a hand down—or up—Liz's waist, the other with your hard cock, lined against her aching core. She trembles at just the touch—vivid, violent, ready. Rei's touching up your hair, your scalp, leaving small kisses on your back and skin. All three of you, somehow pressed together on an expensive table—and it isn't even remotely close to shattering. But you've seen stranger things happen tonight alone.

And you thrust into her without hesitation.

"Oh fuck!"

As expected, she cries out in pleasure and pain, enough to split your eardrums had you been a few inches closer.

Slamming into the depth of her cunt, how incredible does she feel—how effortlessly it slips into her heat after being so wet, so needy, that it feels like coming home. You let yourself bask in the pleasure of filling her for a moment, relish the sensation of her walls flexing and pulsing against your cock. Your head tilted back, eyes closed, taking in slow, deep breaths, ignoring the nails clawing at your back and on your neck, slowly wrapping around you like a vice.

You can't help but mutter it over and over like a prayer. Till your own voice cracks. "So tight—so fucking tight—"

"What are you waiting for," Rei murmurs against your ear, her arms wrapped around your shoulders, her breasts pressed deep against your back, her entire weight leaning on you. "Fuck her. Hard."

"Yes," Liz gasps, her body jolting and twitching with each word. "Hard. Please."

You pull out, almost all the way, till only the tip is left, and slam back into her.

"Holy shit," she whines, and her voice is broken, desperate, needy. "You feel so big—I can't—"

You can't see her face, but her expressions are probably priceless. Then again, the way your cock disappears and reappears in her cunt, with each thrust coating you in fresh waves of slick, is more than enough.

"Again," Rei commands, and you repeat the process, pulling out, and slamming back into her, quick, rough, that makes the table shake and the glasses rattle.

You have both hands on Liz's waist, her back in full view, her head bowed. She's taking every inch without complaint, without resistance—and you settle at a pace that's just right. Not too rough to have her gripping the table, have her screaming from the top of her lungs, but not slow that it feels unsatisfactory, that demands faster. The steady rhythm of wet skin slapping against skin guides every thrust, fading naturally into the background along with the club music from the outside—an indicator that the party is livening up.

"Tell us how much you love his cock, Jiwonnie," Rei teases.

"Rei, please," Liz sighs, a weak attempt at protest.

"Come on, Jiwon-ah," Rei coaxes, sweet and honeyed, her lips soft and warm. The gentle pecks she leaves on your shoulder, on the crook of your neck, are so comforting. "Just say it."

"It's big. So fucking big—" she answers, her words turning into a high-pitched squeal the next, her body shuddering. "And it fills me so good—fuck—right there, please, right there—ugh—"

Just like that, her plea just activates you. Your primal instincts naturally take over.

The pace you've meticulously been carrying—it starts out a few thrusts quicker, something she should be used to. Then all of a sudden, you have one hand yanking her long, luscious locks, tilting her gaze up, wishing there was a mirror large enough to reflect just how pornographic and sinful this is. Liz is back to screaming now, every word uttered a demand, another button pulled on the trigger. 

"More—please—right there—that's it—harder—"

You're not sure in which order she says it, or how many times she begs, but you do exactly that. Each stroke deep, buried to the hilt, till she's on her fours now instead of ass up and lain prone on the table. And no matter how seemingly violent it gets, no matter how much the table rattles and shakes, it doesn't veer to the point of falling apart. It's almost as if it's trying to test you—to see how far you'll go, what limits can be pushed.

"Yes—fuck—you're fucking her so well—" Rei mutters against your skin, looking small behind your back, but her eyes linger on her friend and member getting used like this. "God, I can honestly cum just watching you—"

But you don't really pay attention. Your focus narrows on Liz, the way her body rocks with each pump, how it kindly responds, how her cries go back and forth between stable and cracked.

"Please—I'm so close—" Liz whines, shuddering as you drill into her again and again. The table is puddled with her slick now, reaching your knees, spilling onto the carpet below. 

"Go on, then." Rei peeks her head out from behind you, like she'd been waiting for this very moment. "Cum for him. Make sure he gets every drop."

"He's going to break me—he's so deep—he's going to break me—"

"Almost there," you groan, and you have her by the neck, holding her up, her back arching further, her tits bouncing. "I'm going to fill you up."

"Yes, please," she moans, her voice breaking. "Fill me up, please."

It's a race to the top—or bottom—and it's neck and neck.

A handful of frenzied thrusts, a few strokes, a few moments where the world goes still, and you can't hold back anymore. You're still wearing the ache from Rei, and it's come back to haunt you now.

"Gonna cum again," you growl, and the sensation is overwhelming, a tidal wave crashing into a dam.

"Yes, yes, yes," Liz chants, her tone a staccato, her body shaking. "Fill me, fill me, fill me, please."

Right as you're about to finally come undone—

"Cumming—oh God—" she cries out, and that's the last thing you hear before everything goes dark.

Your mind goes blank; nothing registers for a few precious moments. You don't know who went first: you or Liz. What does matter, when you regain cognizance, is that it feels hot and heavy. And so, so satisfying.

You see this: your cock, deep inside Liz's needy womb, throbbing relentlessly, her cunt milking you for all your worth. In return, torrents of her nectar flood your shaft, the table somehow still holding the world and everything that's on it (you three), her body violently trembling through your collective climaxes. Even still, you don't stop, at least not right away—you're still pumping into her, riding out what little semblance of control you have left, letting her drain you till your very last drop. 

And then you finally stop. Your body finally concedes. Again. The table stops rattling too.

Gripping onto Liz's waist like she's your only lifeline, like she's oxygen, buried deep to the hilt, when you pull away, it stings. It aches. It cries out like it doesn't want to leave, but you have to. And when you do, her pussy's dripping, gushing in your cum. And it's a beautiful sight.

"Holy shit," is all Rei can say, sliding off your back and onto the crescent-shaped couch. 

"God—it's so deep—" Liz whimpers out, low, her mouth hanging wide, "So full—so, so much—"

You wonder if she'll just collapse right then and there, the same way Rei has. She remains on her fours, not moving, just breathing, her pussy still leaking with your cum, trying to let everything sink in. Maybe this is the breaking point, where the table finally gives up. You're afraid if you move away, it'll collapse like it was supposed to.

But no. Nothing happens. You cross a nonexistent bridge back to the couch and join Rei, and Liz is just—there. Stuck on the table, frozen in time like a statue, like an art piece. A messy, sticky masterpiece.

"Isn't she perfect?" Rei remarks, now lain back with a leg raised. She sounds so casual about it.

"Mm," is the only sound you manage. The answer is deliberately vague. Your head is spinning, your body is in shambles, and you don't know what's gonna happen now. 

Then Liz begins to move. Slowly but surely, she turns around, still on her fours, and crawls over to the couch. When she no longer feels the weight of glass underneath her, she finally slumps on the cushions—and exhales. 

"This—tonight—has been—a lot." 

There are no better words to describe what has transpired. A simple night out with a friend, a favor to repay, ends with you and two of your favorite idols hidden away in some expensive private lounge, doing unspeakable deeds. Actions that would ruin both you and their lives should word wind up even in questionable—not just wrong—hands.

And the thing is: the night is still young.

So when Rei pushes you onto your back, laying you back on the couch, and Liz, who you thought should be a goner at this point, are now atop of you, sharing a look and then smiling gently at you, you know you're still very much getting started.

—————

The end comes like any other thing too good to be true: a mere phone call, an insistent buzz that shatters an otherwise peaceful room. 

All three of you are lying on the floor. Rei to your left and Liz on your right, a perfect body sandwich, flailing your hands, lazily reaching for the source. Rei fishes it out of a pocket miraculously, none of you know whose clothes belong to who (other than yours—you left your phone at the entrance). The number is familiar to everyone.

"Wonbin," she mutters as the screen brightly flashes against her eyes. "Think this is yours," she adds before handing it over to you.

So you answer the call. Of course it's him.

"Hello." It comes out hoarse, raw, like you'd been stretched for hours—which you were.

"Yeah, we gotta go now," he says from the other side of the line. "Turns out dad got the family a flight in 4 hours so we gotta bail. Sorry to ruin—um—whatever you had going on."

And all you can think in the moment is: God, Wonbin is the fucking worst. You can't even have this.

"Yeah. I'll see you in five," you manage to utter, even with your disappointment.

They don't say a word, don't question your abrupt departure; they've heard the call. From the star, they knew this was only temporary, merely their part of the agreement, a deal. But you wish they genuinely felt something. Because you did.

Even as you rush to dress up, they just stay there. Sat on the floor, watching you pick up the pieces, returning to a life that they have a part in, but will never really see. 

Maybe they won't ever see you again. 

So as you give them one final look as you ready yourself to walk out the door, they give you a simple pair of smiles. Picture-perfect, public-ready, trained smiles. Liz even goes as far as to raise a hand to wave goodbye. But breaking through that veneer, there's a tiny flicker, a dash of sincerity that makes you believe that there's something more. 

And for you, that's more than enough.

—————

The ride home is quiet. Awkwardly, eerily quiet.

Wonbin’s taken up the other backseat. A driver, one of the family butlers, has been sent to pick you both up. He left his car back at the valet, he said, that another servant will take it back later, since he's needed at home immediately.

You're both staring out the windows, watching the city quietly pass you by. Neither of you dare to glance at the other. Questions will be raised. About what happened in those rooms. About what you did with Rei and Liz. About what he did with Yujin and Wonyoung.

But you're pretty sure you already know. He does. Both of you. It's all over your faces. Flushed, bright red with embarrassment. The silence in the car says it all.

All you can think about is how it ended—not the phone call, but the last thing they did before your bodies finally gave out for good: Rei and Liz taking turns with your cock in their mouths while you laid back and watched them share it between themselves, until you came a few more times and they painted their faces with your cum and made a scene out of it. 

The rest is a blur you can't fully remember; only flashes and images: more of them sucking your cock, except you're on two feet, somehow, with your hands tangled with their hair. Pouring the champagne and whiskey on their bodies for you to lick off, Rei getting your cock between her tits, Liz riding your face while Rei is riding your cock again and they were making out on top of you—

"Dude." Wonbin's finger snaps you out of your daze, finally breaking the tension. "Talk to me. What was it like?"

You stare at him like he's a stranger for a few moments. A minute, even. "What is even there to talk about?"

"You know." He gestures at nothing, referring to the nightclub, the girls, everything.

There are so many things to say. Many different answers. You could say it's the best night you've ever had. That he's the bestest friend that anyone could ever ask for. That he's the greatest person in the whole goddamn world.

Instead, you say, "It was a gift. One I will always appreciate."

Wonbin seems satisfied with the answer, nodding. "Well, I'm glad. This is probably the only time I'll get to do something like this."

"Something like what?"

"I mean, you know—actually do something nice. For a friend." He's smiling—not mischievous, not teasing, but genuinely, truly smiling. Like he's actually done something meaningful in his life for once. Maybe this is what you truly owe him: a reason to care, evidence to show that he does, actually, mean something to someone.

The anger you felt when you left is gone. All is well.

"You're not gonna tell me what happened, are you?" he then asks.

"Of course not. Why? Are you?"

Wonbin breaks into that playful grin. His eyes light up at the question. "Of course! Remember when I said Yujin and Wonyoung were mine—"

You smile. That's all you can really do.

(Until the car stops at your apartment five minutes later while he's barely getting started and he vows to finish the story when he gets back from Switzerland after his car begins moving away again.) ————— (A/N: holyshit im sorry this took for-fucking-ever

but yes. your boy is working an internship that has effectively drained this man's soul. 7-5 weekday shifts for only $1.80 a day is no fuckin joke man. all that just to graduate. we're almost there. the only respite i have is that the ive concert is only a few weeks away as of writing. and these gold and black fucking outfits man. all of them look so fucking insane its actually driving me crazy. i've had this on my mind for a bit, and i wasn't gonna do annyeongz justice, but couplez were just as hot in these fits. i cannot wait to see these up close in person, especially the attitude dance break that inspired this fic, shit's gonna be crazy. this extended break was the only way i was gonna somehow finish the fic and just in time for the show as well. but at the same time, i need money in some shape or form because lord knows finding a job in the big 2026 is damn near impossible. anyway, here's hoping the next fic will drop sooner than later. 5th anniversary is upon us, and i have a lot of things to get off my chest. to better days ahead. thank you for reading!)

[authorhjk1]

Seeing a question from here, I was going to also ask if you could sign an IVE member for the Vixen Media Group porn sites, who would you sign? You could sign them for multiple ones as well

Gaeul

for Vixen

You sit across from Gaeul in the Vixen Media Group office. Her mature and elegant aura fills the room. After reviewing her portfolio, you decide to sign her exclusively for Vixen. Her graceful, sophisticated personality makes her perfect for high-end, sensual scenes where she plays the poised seductress.

Gaeul crosses her legs, smiling confidently as she signs the contract.

“I want to explore this side of me.”

On set, she transforms effortlessly: slow, teasing stripteases, lingering eye contact, and deep, passionate performances. She excels in luxury hotel suites, wearing elegant lingerie, riding her costars with controlled, sensual rolls of her hips while maintaining perfect eye contact. Her moans are sweet and refined, never fake. Viewers love how she takes charge in a classy way, whispering filthy commands in her gentle voice. You sign her for multiple Vixen series. “Elegant Sins” and “Midnight Muse.” Gaeul thrives, becoming one of the most requested stars for her ability to blend sophistication with raw lust, always leaving scenes drenched in sweat and cum, looking impossibly graceful even after being thoroughly fucked.

Yujin

for Blacked

Yujin walks into the meeting with confidence. Her charismatic energy instantly commands attention. You sign her for Blacked, just like she requested.

Yujin grins when she sees the contract.

“Let’s make it nasty.”

On camera, Yujin is a force. She's energetic, vocal, and insatiable. She loves rough scenes where she gets manhandled. Where her athletic body glistens as she rides a man in reverse, ass bouncing. Her dirty talk is top-tier.

“Fuck me harder! Ruin your little slut!”

You pair her with top male talent, letting her natural charisma turn every scene into a sloppy show. Whether she’s being passed around in group scenes around a pool or taking deep creampies in random hotel rooms, Yujin loves every second. Her fans go crazy for her genuine enthusiasm and how she smiles right after being filled with cum.

Rei

for Tushy

Rei’s cute, artistic, and slightly shy Japanese charm makes her an instant yes for Vixen’s more intimate and aesthetic series. You sign her for Tushy, capitalizing on her delicate features and hidden naughty side.

She blushes during the meeting but nods eagerly.

“I want to try something pretty… but dirty.”

On set, Rei becomes a breathtaking vision: soft lighting, silk sheets, and slow, sensual anal-focused scenes. Her small body looks incredible taking thick cocks, moaning cutely in Japanese as she gets stretched. She excels in romantic yet filthy scenes, riding slowly while her pretty face contorts in pleasure. Her artistic eye helps her suggest beautiful angles and concepts. After every scene she looks like a ruined porcelain doll with smudged makeup and cum dripping down her thighs. Yet, she still radiates that adorable charm. Viewers adore her genuine surprised gasps and whimpers every time she takes a big load.

Wonyoung

for everything

Wonyoung’s tall, elegant, princess-like visuals make her the ultimate Vixen model. You sign her immediately as a premium exclusive across all Vixen categories. Her confident, high-maintenance persona translates perfectly to luxurious, high-fashion porn as well.

She sits gracefully in front of you, flipping her long hair.

“I only do it if it’s the best.”

On set, Wonyoung is a goddess. Her long legs wrap around her costar in missionary. Her model-like body arches perfectly as she takes deep strokes. She loves being spoiled and fucked like royalty, moaning elegantly while demanding harder thrusts. Her scenes are pure visual perfection: slow deepthroats, sensual cowgirl with her tall frame on full display, and messy creampies that drip down her endless legs. Directors fight to book her for “Goddess” themed shoots. Wonyoung becomes Vixen’s biggest star, her combination of visual perfection and unexpected filthiness driving record views.

Liz

for Vixen and Tushy

Liz’s shy, gentle, and sweet personality makes her perfect for Vixen’s “innocent corrupted” theme. You sign her for Vixen and Tushy, focusing on soft, intimate scenes that slowly turn intense.

She’s nervous during the signing but excited.

“I want to feel desired…”

On camera, her genuine shyness melts into needy submission. Soft whimpers turn into desperate moans as she gradually takes more and more. She looks incredible in slow, sensual scenes where she gets gently stretched and filled, her big eyes watering beautifully. Viewers go feral for her natural reactions. The way she blushes when praised and how her body trembles during intense orgasms. Liz becomes hugely popular for her authentic “first time” energy mixed with growing addiction to pleasure, especially in creampie-focused scenes where she shyly begs for more cum.

Leeseo

for Vixen and Blacked Raw

Leeseo’s bubbly, energetic, and playful youngest vibe makes her a natural for Vixen’s more fun and wild content. You sign her for Vixen and Blacked Raw, embracing her youthful enthusiasm.

She bounces excitedly when signing.

“This is going to be so fun!”

On set, Leeseo is pure sunshine mixed with filth, giggly at first, then loudly moaning and laughing during rough sex. Her energetic riding and enthusiastic blowjobs make every scene feel fresh. She loves being tossed around, taking big cocks with surprising eagerness, her cute face lighting up every time she gets filled. Directors adore her positive attitude and how she brings genuine joy into even the nastiest scenes. Leeseo quickly builds a massive following for her bright, addictive personality and willingness to explore.

[jmuns-kpop]

A Busy Week (Cafe Cuties, Part 4)

~IVE's Liz (x Male Reader), Le Sserafim's Eunchae (x Male Reader), 9.4k words, Cafe Cuties Part 4 (previous part)

Read it on Fanprose

“No- it has to look natural. Just relax,” Chaewon says again, patience running thin.

“How is it supposed to look natural when I know you’re about to smush cake in my face? It doesn’t help that Eunchae can’t stop laughing!” You exclaim.

Eunchae holds a 10-inch cake, white frosting perfect, a contrast to what it’s about to be. Her mischievous smile lines her face proudly. “Don’t worry, I won’t smush it hard,” she laughs.

“I don’t understand how this is supposed to bring in more customers!”

“Just do it!” Chaewon yells back.

Yunjin— the new social media manager stands at the head of all this bickering, awkwardly recording the three of you with her phone. “We don’t have to go with this idea. There are other reels we could try— you know, if you’re not comfortable with a cake in the face.”

“No!” Eunchae yells. “I like this idea!”

“Well I don’t! And I’m the one getting a cake to the face!” You yell back.

“It’s two against one. And I’m the manager. Yunjin, start recording!” Chaewon answers back.

When you were told you were getting a social media manager, you expected to barely see them. You expected them to be a force in the background, silently swaying would-be customers to try out the cafe, only feeling their presence as the store got busier.

You did not expect to be corralled out of bed 3 hours before your shift started to film TikToks. And you especially did not expect those TikTok’s to end with your face to be covered in frosting.

“Okay then,” Yunjin says awkwardly, bringing the phone back up. “And, action,” she cues.

You do your best to ‘act natural’, or whatever Chaewon told you to do, but it’s hard, considering you know the ending. Chaewon and Eunchae do their little sequence before Yunjin pans to you. You can see her awkward smile, the knowing look that her idea has put someone she just met— you— in mortal danger, death by frosting.

And suddenly you can’t act natural. You’re on high alert. You have a whole shift to work after this, and plus—

The cake comes earlier than expected. It’s wet and cold, and you feel Eunchae’s hand on the back of your head as she pushes the cake harder into your face. You hear familiar giggles erupt around you— even hear a new laugh, loud and short as Yunjin covers her mouth in embarrassment having just laughed at someone she just met.

The cake falls to the floor, half of it still stuck to your face. You scoop out the cake covering your eyes, giving way to Eunchae, smiling proudly and Chaewon, laughing like you’ve never seen her laugh before.

You even see Yunjin biting back her laughter.

“It’s okay Yunjin, you can laugh at him,” Eunchae says as she takes a finger and traces it under your chin, scooping up extra cake before plopping her finger in her mouth.

“Yeah,” Chaewon adds as she too scrapes cake off of your cheek, “He likes to act mad all the time, but he really loves us,” she says despite your face cake in her mouth. “Want some?”

“Don’t offer the new girl my face cake!” You yell.

“I’m okay,” Yunjin says, but lets out her laughter. “Anyways, that was great! I’ll get to editing this right away.”

Chaewon and Eunchae hop over to Yunjin, phone still in hand. The three of them laugh as they watch the replay.

You decide against going to watch, not because you’re particularly mad about the cake— you sort of are, but it’s all in good fun— but because you’re not particularly close with Yunjin. She’s friendly for sure, but, things are still a bit awkward. It seems weird to feel… nervous, knowing how fast you got close to both Chaewon and Eunchae, but those were special circumstances. You were more focused on finally having a job rather than the social aspect of it.

Plus, you were constantly around them. You worked hours on end with them, and it was a good ice breaker to learn how to make drinks side by side with them. But Yunjin doesn’t work as a barista. You don’t have that common ground, don’t have the hours to spend with her during your shifts. The girls seem to be getting along with her just fine, though.

“Eunchae, go help him clean off the cake. Me and Yunjin will clean up here,” Chaewon says through fading laughter.

Eunchae’s soft hand grabs your wrist, dragging you off towards the washroom with hurried laughter.

The door clicks shut, and the temperature change is palpable. Eunchae still giggles, but she’s faced towards you— cornering you in the enclosed space.

You try to ignore it, try to remain somewhat level-headed. You are, in fact, still at work (not that it ever mattered before). You decide to keep the angry façade on. “What happened to not smashing the cake hard? You practically hydraulic pressed my skull!”

Eunchae takes two fingers, eyes locked on yours, and drags them across your cake covered lips. She takes the cake into her mouth. “You taste good y’know”.

You take a step back, back hitting the now locked door— but Eunchae tracks you like a hawk. “Eunchae, wait. I need to get cleaned up, we open soon”.

She ignores you, pressing her body onto yours. She’s still looking up to you, eyes barely blinking. “You looked so fucking hot when I caked you. I think I’ll have a slice”.

You should push her away, should play it off as a joke and get cleaned up. But her large doe eyes are too much to handle, the way her body is pushed up against yours so you can feel her— feel all of her— kills your resolve. When her tongue reaches up to lick your chin, you actually lean into it.

And then she’s licking all over, long strokes trailing up your face, on your cheeks, your jawline— everywhere. Your hands go to her waist, gripping it, claiming it.

“Eunchae— Eunchae wait,” you say without any conviction.

She responds by taking her tongue, slowly licking the cake off of your lips.

“You want to try some?” She asks, breathy and with all the conviction you were missing, frosting-lined tongue sticking out.

And without thinking your tongue is on hers— frosting be damned. You’re lapping her up like you’ve been starved for weeks. Her hands climb to your chest as yours tightened around her.

Your faces are a mix of frosting and saliva, tongues licking it up all the same. You feel her nipples harden against you as you pull her closer, your own hardening member pressing into her stomach. She pushes off of you slightly, reaching down to your waistband. She slides your pants down revealing your stiff rod with a pop.

“I want to taste more of you,” she says, scooping up some of the cake and lathering it on your cock before she drops to her knees. The sensation is almost too much to handle, her warm hand feels like heaven as she spreads the cake up and down your length. Your legs buckle as you lean on the door for support.

“Since when were you so assertive?” You ask.

“It’s your fault I’m like this,” she pouts, pointing the tip of your penis upwards. And when she sticks her tongue out, you almost grab her head, almost lose control. But it’s Eunchae, you remind yourself. The sweet girl who keeps you company, who loves chocolate and coffee and texting you way past your bed time.

So you let her go slow, let her run the tip of her tongue up the underside of your member. You groan loud, almost too loud. Eunchae smiles. She knows the effect she’s having on you, she can feel it in the way you buckle, in the way your eyes are begging for her.

So she takes her tongue, still slow, teasing, and circles it around the head, cleaning the white frosting off of it. She wraps her lips around the tip, sucking with dangerous force. You’re throbbing now, and when she pops it out of her mouth, you see her smile proudly. “I was right,” she says, “You taste so good”.

You reach for her, running your fingers through her hair before it lands on the back of her head. You softly position her mouth in front of your penis before—

A soft knock echoes throughout the washroom, and the sultry look on Eunchae’s face turns to surprise. She scrambles up as you reach for your pants.

“Hey sorry— Chaewon is calling for you guys. You almost done?” A nervous voice calls.

You both stand up straight. The mirror shows you and Eunchae’s face— a mess of frosting and saliva.

“Yeah— just a minute!” You call back.

“Sure, just meet us up front,” Yunjin says before you hear her soft footsteps retreat back.

You turn to Eunchae, who’s staring at you with a mix of horror and embarrassment. It stays that way until Eunchae’s face turns to a smile, full of relief. “That was close,” she says.

---

You’re still pent up by the time Chaewon and Eunchae head home before the store opens. It’s just you today, but Chaewon, hopeful Yunjin can turn things around, assures you things will change— that soon the store will be lined with customers.

But for now, it’s just you, leaning back on the counter as you wait for customers. Oh, and Yunjin, who sits at a table, quietly editing away on her laptop. You think of chatting with her, getting to know your new coworker better, but something is stopping you.

She seems friendly enough though. Maybe you will say something.

“Hey Yunjin?”

She looks over, smiling. “What’s up?”

“Do— do you want anything to drink? I mean you work here now so…”

She lights up. “Oh, is that really okay? I’d love a coffee. Do you have anything minty?”

“Minty? Yeah sure,” you say for some reason. In fact, you definitely don’t have any minty coffee’s on the menu.

But you already promised her a mint coffee, so you take some fresh mint leaves, muddling it before brewing a fresh shot of espresso overtop of it. With some ice and milk it’s surprisingly good— needs some work but Chaewon might even put it on the menu.

You bring it over to the busy Yunjin, who for the most part seems to enjoy it.

The ice isn’t broken, but it’s a start. The day goes by slow, though, and Yunjin seems to be busy with her work, so you decide against bothering her more. Your only customer, of course, is the pretty rich girl that always comes in.

She’s wearing a long overcoat overtop a tight cashmere sweater— designer if you had to guess. She smiles, dimple dotting her cheek.

“Another slow day?” She asks, voice soft but confident.

“Another slow day,” you repeat. “The usual?”

Liz smiles. “You remember my order? Do I really come that much?”

You’ve grown comfortable with Liz over the weeks. She was probably your only regular customer. You also appreciate the fact that she never brings up the incident— her walking in on you massaging Chaewon’s back. You used to cringe every time she walked in, embarrassed of the memory. But she never mentions it— never let Chaewon in on the fact that she caught you two.

“Of course,” you say cringing inwardly at your squeaky customer service voice.

You ring her up, silently making her order. It usually goes like this. Liz comes in, greets you amicably as you make her drink, then leaves with a wink.

But this time is evidently different. “You must be so lonely,” she teases.

You look at her confused. “Lonely?”

“You’re all alone. Usually you look so happy bickering with the cute girl with the bob— Chaewon, I think?” She says with a knowing smile.

You can tell your face goes red by the heat in your cheeks. So much for her not mentioning it. “Oh—”, you stutter. “I mean, umm, yeah I guess it can get kind of boring.”

You should laugh, brush it off, act like you don’t know what she’s talking about, but you’re at her mercy. It’s that damn dimple. It’s staring at you like it knows.

She leans forward on the counter. “You two seem close.”

Suddenly you’re very aware that Yunjin is sitting not 6 feet away, probably privy to this whole conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you laugh awkwardly.

Her smile curls up even further. “Oh come on. The first time I saw you you were massaging her back.”

Yeah, your cheeks are definitely burning red. “I think you must be seeing things. Here’s your drink,” you say, placing it on the counter.

She doesn’t take the hint that you want the conversation to be over, but you can’t outright say it— she’s a customer after all.

“You two would look cute together.” Something inside you jolts. Is she being serious? If only she knew what you had done with Chaewon. But you have this weird sense of pride. This girl, Liz— beautiful herself— thinks you and Chaewon would look cute together? Liz must sense the change in your body language, must know she’s struck something. “I’ll be rooting for you~,” she smiles before turning heel and leaving.

You can’t even be angry at Liz. She’s waited until you were alone, away from Chaewon before teasing you. You’re at least grateful for that. And she doesn’t know Yunjin, still sitting at her table is now apart of the team. And it’s not like she was that far off the mark. Your dynamic with Chaewon hasn’t changed— in fact it’s probably grown since Liz has walked in on you.

But you can’t help but feel… watched. As if Liz can see right through you. Where does she get off?

But you are at work. Maybe you have been acting too close to your coworkers, maybe you have been unprofessional to some degree. At least Liz is a good sport about it. Your head hurts thinking about it— you just hope Yunjin didn’t hear anything.

But nearly as soon as Liz is gone, Yunjin is at the counter.

“I finished!” She says. Good, seems she wasn’t paying attention.

“Editing?”

“Mhm. Wanna see?” She puts the laptop on the counter, screen facing you. It’s honestly funny, the Tiktok, yet you still don’t know how it’s supposed to bring in customers. The video has Chaewon and Eunchae in the frame.

Eunchae’s character supposedly has just finished baking a cake, but Chaewon, the manager, tells her it isn’t perfect. And Cozy Cafe’s customers only deserve perfection. So, because the cake isn’t perfect, Eunchae fakes her anger. The camera then pans to you, and Eunchae launches the cake into your face. Yeah, you don’t understand it.

“It’s great,” you lie to Yunjin. One, because you don’t want her to feel bad about you getting caked, and two because she’s new. The Tiktok will probably flop, anyway. No one will see it.

Yunjin smiles. “Just sent it to Chaewon. If she approves I’ll post it right away.”

“Finished for today then?”

“No, Chaewon wants some posters done. Just something to hang around the city”. She goes to sit down again.

Not an hour goes by before Yunjin screams, running to you with her phone out. You look at her inquisitively.

“Look!” She yells, showing you her phone. It’s the posted Tiktok.

“You posted it?”

“Yeah, but look!”

“Sorry, but what am I looking at?”

She pushes the phone forward. “Look!” She repeats, pointing at the small ‘4289’ in the corner.

“It has 4000 views already?” You say surprised.

“Those aren’t views. They’re likes.”

Four thousand likes. Already. Four thousand people watched you get caked in the face and thought it funny enough to like. “It has four thousand likes?”

“And I just posted it like, half an hour ago!” She says excitedly.

But you don’t know how to feel. It’s good for the store, you guess.

“I don’t know how I feel about that,” you say hesitantly.

Yunjin’s smile falters a bit. “Hey— are you sure you’re okay with this being— everywhere? I know the cake thing is embarrassing, but Eunchae and Chaewon insisted on it. If you’re not comfortable with it… I can take it down.”

Wow, is this how it feels to have a supportive coworker? “No—” you say. “No, it’s okay. It’s good for the store.”

---

The effects are almost instantaneous. The next day is your off day, but the work group chat dings with Eunchae’s messages.

[Eunchae] it was kind of busy today!

[Ms. Manager (scary)] Yunjin’s Tiktok is working! Were you okay? Could you handle everything yourself?

[Eunchae] don’t underestimate me! i was fine ☕ 💇🏻

[Ms. Manager (scary)] k I can schedule two people if it gets busier But if we’re fine..

[Yunjin] i can step in! i make coffee every morning at home

[Eunchae] lol

But it was indeed not fine. The day after that, you’re swamped from the beginning. Between baking the cakes and making orders, there’s almost no time to relax (duh, you’re at work). The customers all seem a little hostile too. Weird.

It takes you twice as long to close up, and by the time you get home you’re exhausted. You plop down on your bed, work clothes and all, sending a quick message to the group chat.

[You] definitely gonna need a second person

[Eunchae] couldn’t handle it? hehe

[Ms. Manager (scary)] Weak.

[Yunjin] Hwaiting!

And another text pops up. One you know all too well. Karina decides it’s a good idea to text you. Didn’t she get the hint last time? Well, you did promise her you’d talk things out with her, but you weren’t even sure you meant it.

It’s a link to the very same Tiktok that leaves you exhausted, followed by

[💔] Saw this Lol When can we talk?

You open the message. You definitely don’t have the energy for this. And when did she think you two were on ‘lol’ terms?

You click the link anyway wanting to see how the Tiktok is doing. In just two days it’s amassed nearly 10 thousand likes and almost quadruple the views. And it has 80 comments. Your face being caked is apparently what the people want to see. Maybe Yunjin is a genius.

You open the comments.

Woah, they’re cute Who’s that shmuck. Wish I worked there 😍 😻 beautiful Cozy’s coffee and cakes? MOre like Cozy’s coffee and baddies

Jheez, That last one has like 300 likes

That guy is such a loser cake boy got what he deserves bros cooked lmao. girlies ate tho

You stare at your phone in disbelief. Of course, that’s why it’s so popular. It barely has anything to do with the content. No, people are just fawning over two beautiful girls.

But why are you getting strays? Is the internet really that hostile? Is that why every customer that walked in seemed so damn hostile? Because they were expecting the ethereal Chaewon or the adorable Eunchae? But instead they got ‘cake boy’?

Maybe this chill cafe job you got by chance wasn’t a blessing.

---

It doesn’t help that Eunchae’s little stunt last week leaves you blue balled. Your balls are practically bursting. Couple that with the exhaustion of a busy cafe, and you’re going crazy.

The good news is Chaewon decides it necessary to schedule two people to easing the load (if only she could easy another load). The bad news is you have a front seat view to everything— all the pathetic men who come in to see the two cute girls from the Tiktok.

You know they’re just being friendly, putting on their customer service smiles as they take orders. But when Eunchae smiles to the tall guy with nice hair that just ordered, you can’t help but feel jealous. Or when you see 12 pairs of gazing eyes scan Chaewon’s whole body as she bends over to wipe the table, you want to scream.

It takes you everything you have not to shout at them, tell them to keep there eyes to themselves. You want to scream, to shout that Chaewon is yours.

But she’s not. And that’s not who you are. You clench your fists and bite your tongue. It’s just the stress.

For Eunchae and Chaewon, though, their dynamic with you doesn’t change. They’re still as friendly as ever the first coupe days. They still joke with you— hitting you playfully as if every eye isn’t on you. You don’t have the heart to tell them to stop— for one it would be an awkward conversation, to tell them half of the customers you’re getting are because of their looks. Plus it’s not like you have the time anyway. By Wednesday, the store is so busy you can barely think. You’re making drinks from open until close thanks to a couple of popular cafe hoppers who go around reviewing new cafes. Yours is their latest review, and it was glowing. It has almost as great an effect as Yunjin’s Tiktok had.

By Thursday, even Chaewon is a mess. The amount of work that comes with being a manager is no easy task, especially as the store grows. She’s knee deep in the work. Her attitude never left, even when the store was slow, but now it comes with an edge. It’s just a fad, she keeps saying whenever you do attempt to ask her how she’s doing. After the Tiktok’s blow over, things won’t be as busy. That’s how these things worked, Yunjin assures. You’ll get an influx of customers as the Tiktok trends, but it’ll soon even out to a manageable flow.

You want to help Chaewon either way, soothe her like you have before. Maybe share the load with her (or on her, your blue balls remind you), but you’re just too cranky with the week you’ve had. You’re deep into Thursday’s shift having barely talked to her when Liz comes in.

She comes when there’s a slight lull in the flow of customers, a rare occurrence this week. There’s still about 8 people in the cafe, but they’ve all ordered.

Chaewon waves at Liz with a smile. The two talk for a bit while Liz places her order.

“I think I’ll stay here for a bit. I’ve been wanting to try some of your cakes,” Liz says, pointing to a slice of chocolate mousse.

“Okay~~”, Chaewon says in her best customer service voice. She’s too good at this, you think. “Have a seat anywhere, I’ll bring it over”.

She plates the cake, but another customer walks in— a guy who’s all hair and height. Probably half a foot taller than you, and you hate him already. Especially as his eyes find Chaewon as he approaches the counter, then you. Except there’s none of the charm when he looks at you, just suppressed hostility.

“Hiya miss!” He says, smile so big it looks like a snarl.

Chaewon turns to the customer, big smile matching his. She wordlessly hands you the cake. “Welcome!” Chaewon says, all cute and fake. “First time here?”

“First time,” he admits. “Looking for some new study spots. I saw you on Tiktok and knew I found the place!”

Chaewon literally fawns. You almost drop the plate when Chaewon laughs. “Thanks for coming,” she says tilting her head down with a casual bow. “What can I get you?”

“What’s your fav-“

You can’t listen to this anymore. You drag your feet over to where Liz is— hopefully far enough you’re out of earshot.

Liz is sitting all elegant, one leg draped over the other as she scrolls her phone. “Enjoy,” you drop the plate on the table with more attitude than intended.

“My my” Liz sings. “Is that how you greet your favourite customer?”

Who ever said she was your favourite. “Sorry, Liz. Enjoy,” you say, genuinely this time.

“Tough week?“

“Busy. But I’m fine,” you sigh. “Not used to all these customers”

“Seems like something else is on your mind,” she teases. “Have you been thinking about what I said?”

What is she getting at? “I don’t know what you mean”.

Liz spoons her cake, but never brings it to her mouth. In fact, her eyes haven’t left you. “You’re usually so cheerful. All these customers must be getting you down. Especially those here for… the view?”

“Still don’t know what you mean.”

“Aww, don’t get short with me,” she says, voice still teasingly playful. “Chaewon, of course.”

“Sorry Liz,” you sigh, remembering your position. You definitely shouldn’t be giving your customers attitude, especially your most loyal one. “But really, it’s not Chaewon. I’m just tired—“

“Tired? You’ve been staring at Chaewon and Mr. Hair over there. Sad because she’s still talking to the cute customer?”

Why is Liz always smiling. You can’t hide anything from that damned dimple.

“The cake is delicious by the way~”, Liz responds to your stuttering. Weird, she hasn’t even taken a bite. “He is cute. You should tell her how you feel before someone snatches her away.”

It’s not that simple— it’s never that simple. Undoubtedly the week has taught you, you probably do have feelings for Chaewon. You can’t fall asleep without thinking of how she stood up to Karina, how she seemed jealous. Or how she playfully smacks you at work, or teases you when you say something stupid, but doesn’t judge you anyway. You can’t not think of how mad she gets when you tease her back, but still talks to you anyway. You can’t go through a night without dreaming about her— all of her, every nook and cranny Mr. Hair over there will never get to see. But she’s not the only one in your dreams.

Because another girl is there too. Eunchae. How she texts you every night asking what you’re doing, how you can’t work a shift with her and not laugh so hard your stomach hurts. How you opened up to her, and she not only helped through the mess of Karina in your head but made you laugh while you did. How she opened up to you, showed you more than her goofy adorable side. How she dragged you into the bathroom last week with cake on your face—

And what about Karina? It was clear things weren’t over between you two, no matter how one sided it was. You had promised her a conversation, yet you ignored her texts. Could you keep ignoring her forever? Or would you have to face her eventually?

“It’s not that simple,” is all you say.

Finally, Liz’s smile dissipates. “Finally, something real out of you.” She takes her first bite out of the cake. “Mmmm~. It is tough, she is your manager after all. But I can’t stand to see my two favourite baristas annoyed at each other. Talk to her, won’t you?”

You look at Liz. How did she manage to pry all this out of you? You didn’t even admit anything, yet she’s giving you advice as if she knows how you feel.

“It looks like Mr. Hair sat down, go on. Chaewon might get jealous you’ve been talking to a pretty girl like me for so long too,” Liz dismisses you with a wink.

The conversation leaves you confused. Liz and her dimple are all-knowing, you conclude. Chaewon simply looks at you and nods as you return, before clearing the counter of ground coffee and cream spills.

Was what Liz said true? Were you and Chaewon annoyed at each other? Did it seem that way to others? You had just been… giving her space. It was busy after all— you assumed she was doing the same. But you hadn’t exactly realized you were giving Liz attitude until she pointed it out. Had you been doing the same to Chaewon?

“Hey”, Chaewon’s voice snaps you out of your head.

And then she’s looking at you with no sparkle in her eyes— none of the charm she displays with customers is present while she talks to you. And suddenly you don’t want to help her anymore.

And your words come out as a hiss even if you don’t mean it. “Yes?”

There’s the look on her face you’d usually find cute— half a pout and half annoyed. “I think it’s time to hire someone else,” she says, voice a sigh. “You know, give us three a break.”

“I guess.”

Chaewon’s eyes flick to your face, searching. “You guess?”

“Seems like a fine idea to me, Chaewon.”

Something on Chaewon’s face changes. “Si— since when am I just Chaewon?” She says, but it’s with none of the snark it usually has.

“It’s your name, is it not?”

“I’m just asking a question!” Chaewon says defensively.

“Yeah, well— I didn’t know it was my job to decide if we needed to hire people. I thought that was the managers job.”

Chaewon steps back as if you’ve slapped her in the face. And all you feel inside is the stress of the entire week compounded— not the girl in front of you.

She turns away, back to the coffee machine. Her body loosens up as her voice, now devoid of emotion commands you. “We close in an hour. Go clean the kitchen.”

---

You lay in bed that night with only one positive thing on your mind. Tomorrow— payday, is your day off. You have to pry your mind away from thinking of the days events, of how you gave Chaewon the cold shoulder, even if she was just asking for your advice. It doesn’t help to know that Eunchae and Chaewon are working together tomorrow. All of those customers, flocking to see them. You think about going to the cafe. Pretending to study, sit at one of the tables the whole day so you can be there in case a boy gets too friendly. But that would be creepy— and after your week you need a day off. Even if you don’t deserve it after your attitude.

Your rent is covered this month— a problem that used to fill your entire being with dread. Now your dreads are cute and snarky and smell of coffee.

You’ll have enough money after this paycheque to splurge a little. Yeah, tomorrow you’ll go out; you need a break more than anything right now.

By the time you wake up, the Sun is on it’s way back down. You’re groggy and cranky, but just a bit less irritable than yesterday— that’s a good sign. You grab your phone (which you forgot to charge, of course), and awaken to 4 missed messages.

[Eunchae] u ok? u didnt respond to my messages last night 😿 busy shift? i want some more cake lol

[You] Sorry Yeah, rough shift

The reply comes immediately.

[Eunchae] i figured chaewon is in a bad mood lol scary 😱

[You] Have a good shift

You don’t know what else to say— especially with her mentioning Chaewon. You plop your phone down, stretching. Your belly rumbles, but it’s already 3pm. And you decided to eat out tonight— somewhere fancy. Maybe even grab a drink or two, God knows you need it.

You start second guessing yourself. You’re already going to a nice restaurant by yourself. People will probably stare, and it doesn’t help that your nicest clothes are wrinkled. But you step out your door anyway— a testament to how poor your state of mind is. Your phone dings again.

[Eunchae] hey me and yunjin are gonna hang out! she wants to go bowling lol chaewon has paperwork to do 🙄 wanna come?

[You] Not today, sorry Tired

[Eunchae] :/ next time then

[You] Next time yes

[Eunchae] promise?

[You] Yeah. Promise

You slide your phone back into your pocket. You’re honestly flattered Eunchae invited you. But you need a night to yourself tonight.

The restaurant you choose— the nice Italian place with the bar— is perfect. The dim lights, the bartender that doesn’t talk much, and the mafalde ai funghi. It’s a perfect meal, you think as you sit at the nearly empty bar, slurping down your meal. Plus, the two old fashions you chugged only make the experience better.

“Another?” The bartender asks.

A short nod is all you give.

The bartender slides you your third drink. You heave a sigh before taking a sip— the harsh bitterness on your tongue just feels right in your mouth. Just bitter and silence, that’s all you want.

But of course, that is not what this night would provide.

“I’ll have, hmm— a vodka cranberry”.

Your head flicks to your left in surprise. That damn dimple is staring back at you, behind a smiling Liz of course.

“Liz!”

She’s wearing a fur coat, a divine black dress peeking out. Her entire outfit is probably worth more than your rent— her earrings alone probably double it. Glossy red lipstick lines those smiling lips.

“What are you doing here?” You ask surprised.

“I could ask the same of you. This isn’t the place I’d expect to find you in. Oh— not like that honey,” she clarifies. It’s a fair point, it’s fancy as all hell. Probably not a place one should frequent if their income relies on a small cafe. “Just doesn’t seem like your vibe.”

You’re already too buzzed to put your guard up; not that it would do you any good anyway. That dimple knows everything. “Just— needed a break.”

“Talk to Chaewon?”

“Not— not really,” you said. Guess you wouldn’t be taking your mind off things.

“Things looked a little heated yesterday. Thought you’d have heeded my advice.” Her drink arrives, and she takes a sip, slow and elegant. Her red lipstick stains the glass.

You take a sip from yours as well. “Sorry Liz, was kind of hoping to take my mind off things tonight.” You say with an air of finality. She doesn’t take the hint that you want to be alone, but she stops her questioning of the particular matter.

You both sit there for a while, sipping your drinks. It’s honestly kind of awkward. You wish so much you were alone. Your wrinkled shirt looks like a wife beater compared to her elegant outfit.

“So… what are you doing here all alone?” You finally ask.

Liz chuckles. “Oh, I’m not alone.” She waves somewhere behind her. There’s a man sitting there, quite evidently staring at you two. “But he’s all jawline and no jokes. Quite boring if you ask me.”

“You’re here on a date?” You feel even more out of place.

She looks back at him— literally makes eye contact with him. You want to shrink.

“Hardly a date. These rich guys think a nice meal is enough to pique my interest. When really I’m much like you. Just need to… let loose every once in a while. Take my mind of things, as you would say.”

“Letting loose would be nice,” you sigh. You can still feel Liz’s date’s eyes on the back of your head, but you suck your drink down and forget. “So, how do I do it?”

“How do you…?”

“Let loose. Take my mind off things. This pasta isn’t really helping.”

Liz covers her mouth, but the laugh is still as clear as the large cube of ice sitting in your cocktail. “See, you’re much more interesting. I think we can start by getting you another drink?” She calls the bartender over, getting one for herself too. “When’s the last time you, let loose as we say.”

You thought back to the night at Chaewon’s over two weeks ago. Not that long ago, you admit, but it feels like a lifetime ago. You thought of what your shared with Eunchae, both emotionally and physically— about how the next morning Chaewon in her jealousy of Karina brought you to the supply closet and—

A pang of guilt overtakes you. When she had been jealous, and you in a predicament, Chaewon only helped. Understood and helped, in her own special way. And now here you were, recognizing Chaewon’s stress as a manager, and all you had to offer her was the bitterness of your jealousy, the peak of your stresses directed at her.

“Been a while,” you said despite the recency of certain events.

“If you really want Chaewon, then you have to take care of yourself. You can’t expect to show her kindness if you can’t even do that to yourself.”

“I told you, there’s nothing going on between me and Chaewon!”

“Oh? And how about the other?”

“Eunchae?”

“Yes, yes her.”

“No, nothing.”

Liz eyes you with an even greater interest. “You insist?”

“Then maybe I can help you show yourself kindness and let loose. How about it?” She says, eyebrow raised inquiringly.

Thank God. Of course a rich girl would know how to really let loose. “Really? I don’t know if I have enough money for like… those nice massages or whatever, but if you know a way I’d love to know.”

Liz’s mouth tilts upwards. “Oh, don’t worry about money, follow me,” she says as she takes 3 1-hundred dollar bills and places it on the bar counter. You could’ve sworn your pasta was only 30 dollars, plus the drinks at 13 a piece, but, rich people, you guess.

You did not expect to find friendship in Liz this night as you walked out of the restaurant (the incredulous look of Liz’s date following you all the way out), but you welcomed it all the same.

---

Friendship is not exactly what you would describe the night to have offered. Liz’s penthouse is otherworldly. The elevator opens to a huge centrepiece— an actual statue of an angel appearing to be diving into a fountain. The marble floors and crystal chandelier are glittering like diamonds. In fact, they probably are diamonds.

“What do you do for a living?” You ask.

She just laughs as she leads you up a grand staircase to the second floor terrace.

“I didn’t know we were going to your apartment.”

“Oh don’t worry honey, make yourself at home.”

She leads you to a large drawing room. Oh to have a drawing room. Your bachelor pad isn’t even a quarter the size. She takes off her fur coat, revealing her stunning black dress. The darkness of the dress only highlights her moon pale skin, her sleek shoulders and slender arms seem to glow bright. “Sit,” she gestures to a large couch.

You do, but despite her assurance you can make yourself at home, you start to feel a little nervous— only natural given the situation.

“So… how will I let loose?” Oh how naive you are. Liz grabs something from a large chest near the balcony exit. She places them behind her back before slowly making her way towards you. Every step her body sways. It would be mesmerizing, if not for the fear overtaking your entire body. You should’ve known— she’s rich and beautiful and definitely a serial killer.

Every bone in your body is telling you to run, but for some reason you stay put. You can overpower her right? But what if she’s carrying a knife behind her back— or worse, a gun. You’re sure if it’s a knife you’d be able to grapple it out of her hands. But a gun? There’s nothing you can do against a gun. She’s close now and oh god she’s about to use whatever it is that she’s hiding.

You don’t wait to find out, you jump over the edge of the couch to the door, screaming all the while— but it’s locked, because of course it is.

Liz just eyes you, and she’s approaching you and it’s over— you’re going to die here and Liz is going to eat you. Every click of her heels on the floor like a countdown, a timer for your survival. She’s so close you just close your eyes and accept it. But you hear something next to you click— probably the gun—

“You’re free to leave if you like,” Liz says.

You open your eyes and see the open door behind you. “Sorry, doors lock automatically, but they unlock from the inside, if you’re so inclined to leave.”

“W-what?” You say through quivering lips. “Y-You’re not going to kill me?“

Liz bursts out into laughter.

“I- I can go?”

“I knew it, you are so much more interesting than my date. I’m only messing with you.”

You’re still confused and scared, but Liz seems to be genuine. It was just a prank, or a misunderstanding.

What she reveals behind her shouldn’t exactly ease your mind. It’s a lacy blindfold. Your eyes flick up to Liz, and she’s smiling— she’s always smiling.

“W-what?’

“You wanted to let loose, didn’t you?” She says, letting a strap of her dress fall off her shoulder.

Your mind is so unclear you don’t even run. She leans in close. “You’re sure there’s nothing going on with you and your coworkers?”

You swallow hard. “Y-yeah I’m sure.” You take in everything, her collarbones, her damn near perfect smile, that fucking dimple. And you know what’s coming, but that damn Eunchae has left you blue balled for over a week. So you stay put.

She leans in close, mouth nearly touching your ear. You can smell her elegant perfume, sort of citrusy. “Just say my name if you want me to stop,” she whispers.

She takes the blindfold and wraps it around your eyes, tying it tight. Just her touch is enough to leave you hard, having been so pent up. “L-Liz,” you mutter. You can’t make out the room anymore, but you can still see light, still sense movement. God you hope she doesn’t kill you.

“Want me to stop already?” You can’t muster a response. “Remember. My name, the safe word.” You nod slowly.

She takes you by the hand, leading you back to the couch. “Sit.”

And you do. You can’t even fathom what’s happening. 2 hours ago you expected to eat your dinner, come back home and wallow. Now you’re in your most loyal customers penthouse, blindfolded.

Her hands move up your body, and she’s unbuttoning your shirt. She slides it off of you, every touch of her sends shivers up your spine. You can’t see her, but the image of her is stuck in your head, her dress perfectly hugging her body in its tightness. Her slender shoulders, those hands that now move up and down your shirtless body.

You reach up to grab her, but something clicks on your wrists, locking them together. You feel soft fur. Handcuffs— the kinky kind. You shudder, trying to rip your hands apart, trying to get away. Her hand cups your face. “Remember,” she whispers. “Just say my name and I’ll stop.”

You calm down a little, and you see a shift in the light through your restrictions. You feel her climb atop of you, the pressure welcome on your throbbing cock. “My, hard already? You really haven’t let loose in a while,” she laughs.

You can feel her slow, painful grinding on you as her hands explore your body. “Neither have I,” she says. Her fingers find your nipples sending electricity through your spine. You let out a moan, and Liz’s grinds grow a little faster.

“Tell me about Chaewon,” Liz says, voice sharp and commanding— filled with desire..

“What?” You ask, but Liz pushes your hands over your head and behind your head so your elbows are bent down, and takes your lips in hers. “Tell me,” she says with excitement between her assault on your lips. Her tongue forces your way into your mouth as you struggle to breathe, to regain your composure. Her fingers are still playing with your nipples, and she breaks off of your lips and attacks your neck next.

A jolt of pleasure erupts within you, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips. “Tell me,” she commands.

You grind your hips into Liz’s, your balls threatening to burst already. But your mind flicks to Chaewon, and it’s her lips that replace Liz’s, her hips on yours.

“She’s so— fuck— she’s so damn snarky,” you moan as Liz’s assault grows more vigorous. “She can’t hold her anger in for the life of her. Her attitude is oppressive— mmm, fuck—“

“Keep going,” Liz pants.

“She’s always laughing at stupid shit, always pouting, always yelling”

“Yes, yes and?” Liz says, hips growing more aggressive.

“But she’s— fuck, Chaewon— she’s so damn perfect. She cares for me in every way that it counts. The way she teases me, the way she lights up when I say I’ll help her. The way she looks when I’m fucking her, or she’s on her knees—“

“You’ve fucked her?” Liz asks, voice growing to a peak in excitement.

“Fuck Chaewon— yes, yes we’ve— mmm— we’ve fucked.”

Liz’s hips stop as she climbs off of you, and you buck your hips up at the sudden arrest in stimulation. But you feel her hands slide your trousers down your legs, and your throbbing cock springs free. You look around, trying to see where Liz is, but the blindfold is too restrictive.

And you feel her hand on your cock, and with one sense removed the sensation hits tenfold, and you almost burst right there. Her hand is slow and painful. You can feel her breath hit your neck, but you’re still unsure where she is— you can only sit there and take whatever she dishes.

“Tell me! Tell me how you fucked her!” She begs.

“I fucked her the very first week I started,” you struggle as Liz thumbs the head of your cock. “I fucked her the day I met you Li— the day I met you.”

“I knew it!” She yelps, stroking you faster. You feel her shift somewhere, feel her separate your legs as she climbs in between. “Keep going,” she orders, hand still sliding up and down your shaft.

“She dragged me into the supply closet, and she tried to have her way with me”

“Tried to?”

“Yes, but I fucked her before she could— fuck,” you buck up into her hand. “I fucked her before she could get the upper hand.”

“Did you come inside of her?” Liz asks.

“N-no, she wouldn’t let me. I c-came on her— fuck Li—“ you stop yourself knowing if you say her name, this whole thing ends. “I came on her face”

You feel wet hotness slide down to the very base of your cock, you hear Liz struggle as she pushes the entire thing down her throat. You can feel yourself throb inside of her, feel her throat enclose on you, before she slides it back out. You can feel every drop of her saliva coat your dick, feel every lick she administers to it.

“And?”

You have to take a moment to clear your head. It buzzes with pleasure, your whole body does, but Liz slows down at your lack of information.

“Tell me!”

“We’ve— nngh— we’ve fucked one more time since but— holy shit,” you say as you buck your hips back up feeling her mouth on you once again. “But still— that’s it. It’s just physical.”

Liz separates your legs further, and you feel a hand cup your balls. She massages them slowly but passionately, as she continues working her mouth. “Pretend.” She says through saliva and precum. “Pretend I’m her”

It’s all she needs to say before you’re thrusting into her throat, every buck of your hips releasing a wet gurgle from the rich girl. Her hands continue to fondle your balls, and she meets you halfway as you thrust, pushing her mouth deeper on your cock.

“Ch-Chaewon,” you yelp, as pressure consumes your entire body, and you release a week’s worth of stress and desire into her. Waves would be understating it— it comes in tsunamis. The sound Liz makes as she slurps up your cum is truly lewd. It only makes you buck harder as you release into her mouth. The feeling is even more blinding than the strap wrapped around your eyes. There’s a ringing in your ears as the pleasure peaks; your whole body is tense and Liz’s mouth continues to extend that pleasure.

Your climax finally subsides, and your body goes slack. Yeah, maybe Liz was right— you needed to let loose. But it is evidently not over as you feel Liz climb back on you. She takes your handcuffed hands and places them on her breasts.

Her voice is even more full of desire as she speaks. “And the other?”

Your hands find her ample breasts as you play with her nipples. The two orbs feel so smooth in your hands— you only wish you could see them.

“Tell me about the other— Eunchae,” she screams as she takes your hands in hers, guiding your hands on her tits. Evidently, you were not giving them enough passion, as her hands guide you to squeeze and flick her nipples even harder.

“Eunchae… Eunchae is so fucking adorable it hurts,” you say. Your penis is growing hard again, despite your recent release.

“Yes, yes!”

“She’s so sweet, and caring. She makes me laugh more than anyone else. We walk home together after every shift. She texts me every night and I respond every time. She’s— she’s perfect as well.”

Liz takes your lips again, this time her tongue invades your mouth easily. She’s licking everywhere, her tongue brushes against your teeth, the inside of your cheeks, your tongue. You continue to knead her breasts. You want to wrap your arms around her waist, pick her up and have your way with her, but the handcuffs do their job well.

“And have you?”

“Yeah— your tits feel fucking perfect. Yeah, we have.”

“How did it feel! Hurry!” You hear a squelch you can only assume is her pussy—Liz is fingering herself.

“It was different. Amazing, but different than Chaewon.“

“How so? Worse?” She pants.

“No— no not worse, just different. Slower, less… aggressive. More— fuck Eunchae— more gentle.”

You can feel her hard nipples, you want to lick them, to have them in your mouth, but you are at Liz’s mercy.

“But— nngh— but that’s changing.”

“Changing? Changing how? You’ve had sex again?”

“N-no. No not sex. But she made a move. We probably— probably would have if it wasn’t for the new girl.”

Liz plops what you assume is her pussy on your dick— hard again. You can feel her wetness, feel her slick coat you as she slides it up and down the underside of your shaft.

“What new girl?”

“We— holy shit Li—”

“Don’t say my name!”

“Sorry— we just hired a— nngh— a social media girl. You saw her, the day you first questioned me— about Chaewon.”

“Her? The redhead?”

“Yeah.”

“And?” She asks. You can feel her growing wetter, her nipples harder.

“A-and what?”

“Have you?” She asks quickly.

“No”

Liz’s hands reach to your face before she takes you in her lips once again.

“Don’t look at me in my eyes,” she pants quickly, before sliding the blindfold off of you. The light is blinding at first, but your eyes adjust. Liz is fully naked, her body divine. She’s looking everywhere, everywhere but you. Her clavicle is so divine you can’t help but take it in your mouth.

Her moans grow louder as you kiss her neck. You’re still handcuffed, and your cock is once again at full mast. The room is a haze of your heavy breaths.

Liz lifts her hips a little, positioning you at her entrance. She doesn’t ask before she slides your cock inside of her. If Chaewon is pushy and Eunchae is adorable, Liz is a monster with a perfect body. The inside of her pussy gives way to pure luxurious pleasure. You can barely catch your breath as she sits on your cock.

“Who are you thinking of?” She asks as she bounces on you. “Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me which one you’re thinking of!”

But your head is spinning and the sensation of her pussy proves too much. Your hands are locked in place, and when you close your eyes, you don’t know who you see. There’s someone there, but they’re blurry. You can’t make out who it is, all you know is you’re threatening to burst at any moment.

“I don’t know!” You yell.

You can feel Liz tighten on your shaft. Her hips grow rabid as she continues to buck them. You’re lost in a haze of women, Liz’s games leave you confused. You can no longer tell who you’re fucking, no longer know where you are. You close your eyes as shock goes up your spine, and you’re cumming again.

You can tell Liz is too by the way she screams— by the way her walls shudder on yours. She’s holding herself up on your shoulders, trying her hardest not to collapse on top of you. You display none of the conviction she does, and your head lolls back on the couch and your body goes limp.

“Holy shit Liz,” is all you say.

In no time, Liz’s composure is back. She climbs off of you, putting her dress back on. You’ve barely seen her while she was naked, and if it wasn’t for her disheveled hair, you would have never guessed she just had her way with you.

It’s as if nothing happened with Liz. That smile is back. “Well, that was— adequate. I expect to see you again at the cafe?” She says, her breath back to a steady pace. “You may leave now, if you wish.”

She walks to the door, leaving you sitting there, still heaving, before she turns to offer one last sentiment. “Oh, and do let me know who you choose in the end.” And she’s gone.

You sit there in disbelief. You had planned for a simple night, a nice meal and a drink. Instead you’re at Liz’s apartment, having just been… used for her entertainment.

One thing is certain though. An outstanding invitation from Eunchae to hang out and an unfinished argument with Chaewon— you have a lot to think about.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

Hello all! As with almost everything I put out, no idea how this piece came to be. I plan and plan and the end product is nothing like my plan.

But, a lot happened this chapter. Liz finally makes her full appearance, and conflict is starting to brew. Let me know what you all think! Honestly, I just recently got into IVE. I hope my portrayal of Liz is adequate for you all, but I do understand it won't fit everyone's idea of her. I went purely on aesthetic. She just looks so ethereal, like a rich girl.

This series is such a fever dream for me to write, but I honestly had a lot of fun with this chapter (maybe too much, if I'm honest).

Probably won't be updating CC until after It Was Only A Week finishes. This series has really popped off, and I hope these chapters live up to everyone's expectations. If not, I sincerely apologize. Please keep believing in me. All feedback is welcome!

Who do you want to see next?

Chaewon

Eunchae

Liz

Yunjin

Karina

Someone new

Voting ended onMar 7

Small picture.

[autumnyacorn]

FOMO Woes

BLACKHOLE: Path of Youth

Male Reader x IVE's Liz / Kim Jiwon / Elizabeth Helga Muller

~13k words

Delusion / Silence / Control / Chaos / Doubt / Youth

TW: fluff, slight angst, self validation, bondage, overstimulation, voyeurism

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 sign outside reads “Date Challenge Night: Win unlimited drinks + limited-edition dart board! Lose = goofy outfit + Losers Wall photo.”

Liz’s eyes light up like fireworks.

“This is fate,” she says, dragging you inside.

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.”

Your hand stays gentle on her cheek.

“We don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she says quickly, determined. “I just… don’t know how. Teach me? Please?”

Your breath catches.

“Okay.”

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.> Tonight. 7 pm. Lotte World. Bring your scream face~

<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.

[proudspring]

My Friend's Sister is an Idol? ft. Liz

Male Reader x IVE's Liz

🔖 Tags: Smut, Squirting, Oral, Mutual Masturbating. 6.6k words.

“I scored perfectly in mathematics!” He’ll believe it.

“Wow! You’re too good!” He did, but the truth is that my score didn’t even reach half.

…

“I saw IU on the street, she’s filming something!” He went there and found nothing.

“You said, IU’s there, but I saw nothing! Not even a car or filming set.”

“Yeah? I heard that it was just a quick shot; it might be just a filler scene.” I lied, but guess what? He’ll believe it.

“Really? I should’ve gone there this morning. That sucks.” He did believe it.

He’s my friend, Kim Jimin. He’s basically gullible.

*****

“Hey, Seojun.” He called me. My name is Seojun.

It’s vacant time, and everyone was minding their own business. Some students were sleeping. Some are outside, chattering in the hallway with their friends from other classes. Then here’s Jimin, I bet he had something extraordinary to tell me. Everything was extraordinary for him, even though some of it sounds odd; trust me, he doesn't lie.

“What?” I responded. I am playing with my phone, showing no interest in whatever he has to say.

“Do you want to know why I’m late this morning?” He sat at my table.

“Yeah? Sure. What’s up?” I did not even look at him.

“I watched our neighbor fight! The guy cheated on her wife. But, the wife had a bigger bomb than that!” He excitedly told me a story about people whom I did not even know.

“Yeah? What’s that?” I’m more focused on my character, who just leveled up.

“That guy had a kid with another woman! Then she kicked him out of their apartment, together with his belongings! It’s like a drama.” He sounds so thrilled with it.

“Wow, that’s big.” My character is getting ganged up by the enemies.

DEFEAT

“Aish!” I lost.

“Hey, are you even listening?” He asked me, tapping my head for attention.

“Knock it out.” I slapped his hand. “Then if it’s too interesting for you, why did you come to school?” I asked. Jimin usually skipped classes or even school when something caught his attention. 

“I was about to skip today, but my sister smacked me.” He scratched the back of his head. I guess it’s hell of a smack.

“It’s my first time hearing your sister at your home,” I said. He normally says that her sister was far away and sometimes even overseas.

“Yeah, she’s home, I’m surprised as well.” He said, then looked at me with a mocking face.

“What? What’s with that face?” It’s annoying, but thanks to his handsome face, he’s not punchable. We both laughed after it; we’re friends after all.

“You don’t have any interesting stories? If that’s the case, I beat you this time.” He looked so proud.

“Since when was this a competition?” I don’t remember anything about this, but we often exchange absurd stories just to see who has the better one. I always win, but I always lie. He always loses, but he always tells the truth. Because of that, conscience knocks the shit out of me, and that makes me realize I had a good friend.

“Just admit it, I won this time.” I was about to let it go this time, but the fact that he’s smiling like a thug irritates me.

“Then sorry about it, I saw my neighbor dancing like crazy.” I lied again, there’s no such thing.

“What’s interesting about it? My sister does that every time.” He looks uninterested in my story this time. What a turn of events.

“Really? U-uhh… she’s dancing, naked.” I’ll just say anything bullshit.

“Oh? Really? That’s actually crazy!” He had this surprised expression.  I can sense my victory based on her response. “But, I have a counter story for that.” He added while nodding repeatedly as if he had already won.

“W-what?” I’m curious what’s better than a dancing naked neighbor.

“Actually…” He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I caught my sister masturbating.” Then he straightened up while wearing that winning grin.

“Bullshit.” I laughed. There’s no way it’s real.

“What? It’s real!” He grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me.

“Oh yeah? Do you think I’ll believe that?” I kept laughing while he shook me.

“Do you think I’d lie to you?” He said.

That question stopped me from laughing. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him lie. Not even in games, in chat, and in truth or dare. So I start to wonder, is it really true?

“Okay, okay. I got it.” I admit defeat, but how come he caught her sister masturbating?

“Yeah? So here’s the story. I just got done in my shower and got out of the bathroom when I heard a faint, weird crying sound. It sounds like someone got their toe bumped.” He started telling me the story, but I laughed at the toe-bumped part.

“Hey, listen to me first!”

“Okay, okay.”

“I slowly walked, and that sound got clearer, until I was in my sister’s room. The door is ajar, so I take a peek…” He continued.

“Then, you saw her masturbating?” I said, completing his story.

“Exactly. Even though she still had her pants on, I can tell she’s doing it.” He nodded.

“Is your sister dumb? Why would she let her door open like that if she’s doing something private?”

“Well, she thought I was gone, so when I appeared in the living room while she was eating breakfast, she screamed as if she saw a ghost.” He said. His explanation sounds real, and there’s no trace of lying in it, even in his expression.

“That’s… interesting. Okay, I admit defeat.” Then I took a sip from my tumbler.

“She even peed when I saw her masturbating.”

“Kgh—! What?” I choked.

“Her pants quickly got damp.” He sounds so cool about it. There are few to no people who can openly tell their sister is masturbating, this guy’s nuts.

But that story got me worked up. I looked at him, and I won’t deny that he looks good. If he’s this good, how about her sister? Thinking about it, I want to meet her sister now.

“You bought a PS5, right?” I remember he said he bought a PS5 last week.

“Oh yeah! I forgot about that. Want to play?”

“Sure.”

*****

“I-is this your apartment?” I never thought the apartment he was staying at was massive. It had a two-storey space, rare for an apartment. It’s even located in a high-end building with commercial spaces on the ground, what a convenience.

“Yeah, here it is. My sister owned this.” He explained as we entered.

“Really? Now I realized, I don’t think I’ve asked what your sister does?”  I asked while I followed behind her. Our steps are silenced on marble flooring.

“Have I not told you? Well, she’s an idol.” He said.

Then, just a few seconds after he said it, someone popped from the kitchen. My friend’s sister is an idol? But, not just an idol. It’s Liz, Liz for IVE.

“Oh, you’re here, and you’ve brought a friend. Hello!” She happily greets me.

“H-hello.” I gave my most polite bow.

“Holy shit!” My mind is on a roller coaster right now. “It’s IVE’s Liz! Now I realised that she’s his sister, it’s Kim Jimin and Kim Jiwon! Holy shit! Oh my- she’s way too pretty! It should be illegal!” She laughed at my expression, and it made me laugh too

“Wait, if she’s his sister… the one he told me he caught masturbating, is Liz?”

…

“WHAT THE FUCK!? HOLY MOLY!”

“Hey, are you good?” My friend nudged me.

“Wh-what? Y-yeah! All good!” It brings me back to my senses.

“I’ll leave you two, I’ll be in my room. Bye!” Liz waved us goodbye and ascended upstairs. It’s too soon; I just had to take a look at her pretty face for just a short time.

“Come on! Let’s play!” Jimin is so excited to play.

“Yeah.” I’m not interested in the game anymore; I’m more invested in her sister. On her masturbating sister, Liz!

I played with him in various games, defeating him in all of them. He is obviously trying to do his best, but I guess I’m just too good. I’m beating him for about an hour when I call for a timeout. I excused myself for a bathroom break, and I gave it as practice time for him.

“Where’s the restroom?” I asked him.

“Use the restroom on the second floor. That one here is under maintenance.” He points upstairs.

“Then, excuse me. Practice well, I’ll beat you later.” I gave him a mocking grin, then he dove back in the game.

After I drained myself, I still couldn't believe it. I splashed water on my face in front of the sink to test whether I'm dreaming or not. It's reality.

I was about to go back when I heard a faint sound. I heard it correctly, I'm not mistaken about it. It's a moan, I can tell it's high-pitched, and the tone's familiar.

“FUCK! IT'S LIZ!” I remembered what Jimin told me earlier. This is the same scenario when he caught her masturbating.

“Ahh~ ahhh~ hmm~ ahhh~”

“Shit! Liz! You're making me hard with that moan.” I walked slowly towards the farthest door, which had a LIZ'S ROOM sign on it and a cat drawing.

“Damn! She must be playing with her pussycat.” I walked slowly and carefully. I can hear her moaning more clearly every step I take. Those sounds are music to my ears.

“Hmm~ ahhh~ yess~ hmm~”

After a few more steps, I’m finally in front of the room where those lovely moans are coming from. Everything Jimin said was true, but it doesn’t sound like someone who just hit her toe. It sounds more like an angel crying for God’s love.

“I’ll be that God, and I’ll ascend to heaven if I open this door-”  It is locked, and I tried to open it again, and clumsily it’s audible.

“T-the moaning, it stopped.” I lean sideways, ears to the door.

“Oh shit!” I heard footsteps; she’s coming. She definitely heard someone was trying to open the door. I ran, while still careful not to stumble. I ran the fastest I ever did in my entire life and joined Jimin in the living room.

“Hey, why are you running?” He asked me, pausing the game.

“Huh? Me? Oh yeah. There’s a ghost!” I said while taking a seat on the sofa.

“Ghost?” He laughed. “What kind of ghost? I’ve never felt anything here before.” He keeps on laughing.

“Yeah, a ghost. A crying ghost, it’s scary like it was coming at me.” Yeah, that’s actually a nice crying ghost.

“A crying ghost, huh.” She appeared behind me.

“Whoa! Yes! Ahhh, a ghost.” She didn’t surprise me; she scared me. I wonder if she knew what I just did.

We played a game with Liz sitting beside my friend. Jimin actually won all the games, and she cheered for him every time. Well, I did not let him win; Jimin won all the games with pure hard work.

Speaking of hard work, it's been hard on everything for me. It's hard to focus since she kept glancing at me with a questionable look. And it's also hard, I mean, my dick, because she's way too pretty.

“See that!? I've beaten you!” Jimin sounds so happy.

“Yeah, good job.” I gave him a thumbs up.

“Well, excuse me. It's my time to take a restroom break this time.” Jimin jumped off the sofa and went upstairs to the restroom. That leaves Liz and me in the living room.

“So you had a restroom break earlier?” She crossed her arms and legs. I have this feeling that my head will be crossed out soon, too.

“Y-yeah, it's too intense.” I'm sweating beads right now.

“What's intense?” she raised a brow.

“The game, I mean. So I had to take a break.” It's not the Liz I know, too far from her goofy idol appearance. Well, I can't blame her, I'll be hella mad too if someone tried to open my door when I'm masturbating.

“Okay, I thought you meant the crying ghost.” She laughed, but I know there's something behind that laugh.

“How old are you?” She looked at me sideways.

“I-I'm 18! Uhhh Jimin's age.” I don't know why, but I just voluntarily stuttered.

“Yeah? Hmm, okay.” She nods. “Are you a Dive?” She added.

“Yeah!” I answered right away, and that put a smile on her face.

“Let's go for another round!” Jimin popped from the stairs and looked ready for another game.

“Enjoy you too. Don't play too late.” She stood up and waved goodbye, swinging her hips side to side. Damn, it's hypnotizing.

“I'm scared of that crying ghost too, so I might lock the door.” She added before disappearing upstairs.

“What the hell is that?” Jimin sounds so confused by it.

“Y-yeah…” All I know is that moment is I'm fucked up. She definitely knew that I tried to open her door. However, she's way too pretty, and I have the urge to see her again. It’s also a million-to-one chance to meet Liz.

*****

The next day, I went to their house again for the same reason, to play a game with Jimin. But the fact is that I just wanted to see Liz so bad. Unfortunately for me, she had a schedule that day,

“So, your sister’s gone?” I’m hiding the disappointment behind my voice.

“Yeah, she said she’ll be late today,” Jimin answered while pressing the controller. He’s too focused on our game.

“That’s too bad, I bought an album. I hope to get her signature on it.” Well, I’m still a Dive, and I won’t miss a chance for a signed album.

“Just leave it there- Ahhgg! I lost again! But, I won against you yesterday.” He’s noticeably frustrated.

“Well, it seems like I regained my focus.” What I said was true. No pretty Liz watching me this time, no glaring eyes fixated on me this time.

We played another three to four more games until I felt my bladder was about to explode. I excused myself for another bathroom break to pee.

“I had to take a break, on the second floor, I guess?” I bet their other restroom is still under maintenance.

“Yeah, upstairs.” He’s still focused on the game, determined to beat me in the next game.

I drained myself, and when I got out of the restroom, my eyes landed on Liz’s room. That door, which was the barrier last time. This was my main objective when I excused myself. Since Liz is out, this is my chance to take a look at her room. I took careful steps until I was in front of it, the same location I was yesterday when I heard her lovely moans.

“Please, be open. Please.” I turned the knob, and it’s open. “Yes! This is how it was supposed to be yesterday.” I’m so disappointed it’s locked yesterday, though it was expected.

“Ohhh~ it looked clean, smelled clean as well. What perfume was this? Juliette has a gun?” It’s my first time hearing that brand; it might be sponsored and high-end.

“It sounds dangerous. Now it feels like someone will kill me.” I know for myself that Liz will definitely kill me if she finds out that someone was lurking in her room.

“I should look for it fast; there should be evidence of her naughty work.” I looked around to look for some evidence. On her dresser, under her pillows, and on her nightstand, but I found nothing.

“There should be something in here… oh shit! Underwear!” There are rows and columns of underwear that neatly fold in various colors and designs in her closet drawer.

“D-damn, it looked like an Excel sheet. This one had intricate laces on it. I wonder what she looked like wearing this.” I traced the floral laced designed red bra she owned. Thinking about how she looked with it got me hard.

“Should I keep some? Yeah, I should.” There’s no point in asking myself since I know I wanted it. I grabbed that red bra and its matching panties and put them in my pocket. Hopefully, I can sneak it out of her property.

“Now, back to business. There’s nothing that interesting here except her underwear." I did not find anything related to her masturbation.

“I should go now, Jimin might look for me.” I should go back before Jimin finds out I’m in his sister’s room.

“I should- thud! Ouch! What the hell is that? A box?” There’s a box peeking under her bed, which is covered in an extra blanket. I smiled when I saw it. It must be something important that she even wrapped it with extra cloth to conceal it.

“What in the- whoa! HOLY SHIT!” What’s inside does not just surprise me, I’m dumbstruck by it.

She had at least three toys in it; it’s something she played with when she was in heat. There are two dildos and one egg-shaped vibrator. Their colors are different, too. She must have liked colorful things, from underwear to sex toys.

“Shit! Look at this! It’s sticky. I would be disgusted if I didn't know that Liz owned them.” I picked up the smallest one, the egg-shaped vibrator. It’s sticky, and since it was the smallest one, I bet it went inside her already.

“Shit! Times up. I’ll be coming back for you later.”

“You can’t go back in here since you’ll die right here, right now.” I heard a voice behind me. When I realized who it might be, that’s also the moment I knew that I’m fucked up.

“SHIT! I’M DEAD! SHE’S HERE!”

I heard the door close with a soft click. I didn’t even hear it open in the first place. I was drowned in a moment of surprise with her sex toys. I slowly turned my head behind me, and shit, I was right. It’s Liz, she still had her make-up on. She looks stunning for someone who will kill someone today, that someone is me.

“Put. it. Down.” There’s a pause in every word; it’s like a testament that should be followed by everyone, including me.

“Y-yes.” I put it down, its stickiness clinging to my skin for a moment before it dropped.

“So, it was really you. The one who tried opening my door yesterday,” Crossing her arms, standing behind me with a killing intent behind her eyes.

“No, uhh yes. I’m sorry.” I slowly stood up. My head remained looking at the floor.

“And now, you’re rummaging through my belongings, and even my… my private things!” She’s mad now.

“S-sorry!” I kneeled this time, no, it wasn’t enough. I also bowed my head until my forehead touched the floor.

“You pervert.” She also sounds disgusted. But why does it sound like I’m the only one horny in that room?

“I-I just did this because I-I heard you moaning yesterday!” I kept my forehead pressed against the floor.

“I-I did not moan! Why would I-” She cut what she was about to say when I looked at her and to her sex toys. “Okay, fine! I moaned. But, it’s not that loud!” She admitted.

“It’s actually very audible. I heard you moaning yesterday after I used the restroom.” It’s a fact. I stood up once again.

“I did not, kid.” She insisted and put her hands on her waist.

“Yes, you did.” I also stand on my words since it’s a fact, and I’m not lying this time.

“You really want to know whether it’s loud or not?” It looked like something snapped in her mind, and she went to the door and locked it.

“I-I did not say that! H-hey, what are you going to do? You’re not going to kill me, right?” I’m actually scared right now.

“Right.”

“Right, what!? You’re going to kill me or not?” I said as I stepped back and she took a step forward.

“I’m not going to kill you!” She stopped and looked annoyed at how scared I was.

“R-really? Ehem- then what?” I fixed my posture. In front of me is one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen.

“I’m not moaning that loud.” She still insisted.

“Yes, you did. Jimin actually heard you, too.” I can’t tell her that Jimin even saw her playing with her cunt.

“W-what!?? Hey! Stop saying bullshit!” As expected, she won’t believe it. “Did he really?” Or as I thought, she is as gullible as his brother.

“Y-yeah! So, it’s loud.” Knowing that she’s somehow similar to her brother in terms of being gullible, I can easily find my way out of this… or do I really want to go out without something interesting?

“Shit!” She bit her thumb as if trying to analyze things.

“T-that’s because you’re moaning too loud,” I said, adding weight to an already heavy problem she had to analyze.

“I. did. Not.” She is still insisting. She had a slight resistance to reality compared to her gullible brother.

“You-” She cuts me with a groan.

“No! Arrgh! Listen!” She sat at the edge of her bed and spread her legs on both sides. Then she put her left hand behind her, and she slipped her right hand on her pants.

“I’m not moaning that- ahhhhng~ hard.” She casually played with her cunt through her pants.

All I could do was watch her do those things. I’m frozen; it’s something I never thought I’d see, not even once in my entire life. There she is, Liz, playing with her cunt in front of me. With her long legs spread, and her hands wiggling inside her pants.

“S-see? I- I’m not moaning that loud, hmm~” She was really persistent. “W-what the?” She added. I looked where her eyes were looking, it’s on my groin. There’s a visible bulge. I’m hard enough to cum just by listening to her moans and watching her play with herself.

“I-It’s because you suddenly played with yourself!” I covered my boner with my hand.

“It’s because you’re insisting I’m moaning that- ahh~ that loud!” she said.

If she’s this determined to prove whether it’s loud or not, I wonder how far she can go. Thinking about it excites me so much; she’s an idol whom I cheered for from her debut until now. Now that I’m too horny to contain, I’m about to play with her.

“I think you’re cheating.” My plan starts now.

“W-what? Cheating!? I’m hngg~ not!” She kept playing with her cunt, she must be feeling it right now that she didn’t even want to stop.

“You used a toy yesterday, did you?” There’s silence after asking it. I got her.

“W-what are you talking about!?” Even her hand inside her pants stopped moving.

“That’s why your moan is lower today compared to yesterday.” I can see her body tensing up when I say it.

“O-okay! Yes, I did! Are you happy?”

“No, I’m not happy since you tried to cheat on me,” I said. She looks really annoyed, but I can sense some conscience; she might be thinking about how to make up for it. “I’ll let you this time, if you use it again. Maybe it’s louder than you thought.” I added, challenging her to use the sex toys.

“Y-you want me to use the toys?? In front of you?? You really want to die then!”

“No! It’s just, I feel really cheated.” I should be more dramatic than this to sway her mind.

“You-” She stared at me with a familiar mad look. “Okay, fine!” She reached for the box below and grabbed the egg-shaped toy. She unbuttoned her pants and was about to unzip them when she stopped.

“You'd better keep this within us.” She glared at me while I was salivating.

“Y-yes, of course,” I answered. “Hurry up and pull those pants already! Let me see what you are playing below!” I talked in my mind. I honestly can’t wait. I also didn’t even bother to conceal my bulge as I kept squeezing my boner.

“Good.” She finally unzipped her pants and pulled them down just above her knees. She wore white cotton panties, and there was a visible damp part on them. Her thighs were so white and smooth like tofu.

“S-stop staring…” She’s shy about it, but honestly, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s actually the best thighs I’ve ever seen.

“I can’t help it.” I scratched the back of my head and smiled.

“Sigh. Fine.” She also smiled and couldn't help but shake her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe I’m about to masturbate in front of my brother’s friend.” She added.

She turned the vibrator on. I can hear the buzzing coming from that small egg-shaped toy. It looked like a forbidden toy against her delicate hand. She put it on top of her damp panties and started tracing her slit using it.

“Ahh~ hmm~ It’s n-not that loud, right?” She asked me while she kept rubbing that vibrating thing on her clothed slit.

“Ye-yeah…” Shit, I have to hold back myself not to plunge my face into it and eat her.

“Ahhh~ hnngg~ Ahhh~ ahh~” She kept rubbing it.

Her body twitched once, and that’s it. I can’t hold back any longer. I fished my dick out of my pants in a very swift move, almost perfect. I started stroking it as my dick angrily pointed at her.

“H-hey~ W-what are you- Why are you hmm~ you little.” She’s enjoying it way too much that she didn’t even know what to say.

“You’re enjoying yourself, I should too.” I stroke my dick while watching her play with her cunt through the damp panties.

“Hmm~ ahh~” She’s biting her lower lip. I can’t believe Liz is in front of me using a vibrator while she watches me stroke my dick.

“You’re so wet.” My eyes were fixated on her panties.

“You’re so hard.” Her eyes were glued to my dick.

“Put it in,” I ordered her. She just stared at my dick for a while, so I thought she wouldn’t do it.

“F-fine.” She tugged her panties and pulled them sideways.

Finally, I saw the pearl beneath her panties that was soaked from her oceanic wetness. It’s incredibly beautiful; the color and the smoothness were truly out of this world. I’ve seen a lot of pussies in porn, but it was way better than that. Just watching it makes my dick throb multiple times.

“Ahhhh!~ Hmp!” She put it in right away. That’s the exact sound I heard yesterday.

“T-that’s loud,” I said while my hands worked in a blur.

“Y-yes! Hmp! Ahhh~ ahhh~” She’s gushing. What a woman.

“Ugghh-” My hand is stroking my dick faster, and faster. I’m nearing my limit, and I bet she was too. Watching Liz masturbate in front of me was like an ejaculation multiplier.

“Ahh~ ahhngg~ I-m cu- I’m-” She’s as close as I am.

“AHHNNGG!” Simultaneously, we both cum.

My dick spat thick ropes of white semen into the air. It landed on her hands while holding the vibrator, while the preceding burst of cum landed onto the floor. On the other hand, she’s twitching like crazy. It’s my first time watching someone squirt that much in real life. She’s making a mess; she became a human fountain.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” She said, while she kept squirting. She finally calmed down after a minute of water bombing.

“D-damn, that was a dam.” I joked at the exhausted idol.

“A-are you fucking with me?” She’s not amused.

“Can I?”

“Can I do what?” She’s confused, she’s still panting.

“You said I’m fucking with you.” I actually know what she really meant. 

“That’s not what I mean!” She straightened up and pulled the vibrator out of her glistening cunt. She looked at my dick, which was still throbbing even after cumming.

“What the hell’s with that penis? It kept moving! You just cum, right!?” She looked at me as if it were unlawful to have a throbbing dick seconds after cumming.

“You can’t blame me, you did this.”

“Why me!?”

“Because you’re too hot, beautiful, and…” I looked at her frame, her milky thighs, and her glistening slit. “Sexy.”

“You sound like a pervert. I guess you really were.” Even when she said that, she kept her eyes glued to my dick.

“Anyway, I won. You even admitted it’s loud.” I almost forgot she moaned so loud earlier.

“Fine, you won.” She admitted.

“Stroke me.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. It’s not something she was expecting to hear.

“Stroke my dick, since you even tried to cheat on me.” I should use every fact I can to make her stroke my dick for me.

“Are you crazy!?” She stood up from her bed. Her pants were still above her knees, and her damp panties were back in place.

“Yeah, we are crazy. We both climaxed, and besides, you can’t even move your sight away from my dick.” It’s true. She had her eyes glued to my throbbing dick even when she stood up.

“I- I’m-” We were interrupted by multiple knocks on her door. We looked at the door at the same time.

“Noona. Did you see Seojun?” It’s Jimin behind it; he is looking for me. I did not return, and I took too much time inside her sister’s room.

“Huh!? I-I did not!” Liz and I scrambled. “Quick! Hide!” Liz tapped my shoulder repeatedly, and I hid behind the door.

“Great! That’s a nice spot! Are you serious!?” She glared at me while she pulled her pants up. She did not even bother zipping it.

“Noona?” Jimin knocked once again.

“Yeah! Coming!” We bickered silently on where I should hide until she accepted defeat and opened the door. I’m behind it, and my dick was still throbbing.

“Oh, hey, Jimin.” She sounds so cool for someone who just orgasmed earlier.

“Have you seen Seojun?” Jimin has the right to look for me since I’ve been gone for a long time.

“Seojun? N-no. Why?” She had her left hand holding the door, just a few inches away from my hardened rod. Her delicate hand looks so soft, I want it on my dick, right now.

“He disappeared. Did he go home?” Jimin had no idea that there were only pieces of boards between us.

“I don’t KNOW!!!” Liz was shocked when I grabbed her left hand and made her touch my dick. There’s a resistance, but it eventually gave up, and she gripped my dick.

“Why are you shouting at me?” Jimin sounds scared; it must be the first time Liz has shouted at him. I feel bad for him, but I’m feeling something greater than that guilt.

“N-no, it’s not like that.” Liz tried to explain to her brother that it was not because of him. Behind that door, she can see my perverted face with my mouth open due to pleasure. Her hand is so soft, almost like a sponge, but it was smoother and warmer too. Liz felt too irritated by my expression.

“AWW!” I let out an audible scream when she suddenly tightened her grip, squeezing my rod in irritation.

“What’s that?” Jimin heard it; there’s no way he wouldn’t.

“Huh? What? That’s me! Awwww!” Liz remembered that her brother was there.

“That’s weird. It sounds like a man.” The Jimin I know will believe it was Liz if she insists it one more time.

“AWWW!”

“AWWW!”

I squeezed her wrist, which made her yell in pain. I overlapped my own scream with hers so that Jimin would hear mine more than Liz’s. Liz glared at me after it.

“So, it was really you, Noona! You sound like a man.” Just what I thought, Jimin’s really gullible.

“Yeah! Why don’t you look for Seojun outside? Maybe he went out to buy HARD popsicles.” She pressed the word HARD when I suddenly moved and fucked her hand. To my surprise, she made a circle with it for me to fuck with.

“Yeah? That guy, he must have told me.”

“Yeah.” She giggled as I kept fucking her left hand.

“Alright, Noona, thanks!”

“Okay.” She closed the door and locked it. I still fucking her left hand when she pulled it out and turned around. She looks hella mad.

“What do you think you’re doing!?” She puts her hand on her waist.

“I can’t hold myself, you’re just irresistible!” There’s no point in lying now. “Look at you, still looking at my dick even if you're angry,” I added and put my own hands on my waist, mirroring her. But one thing differentiates us: I have an angry dick pointed at her.

“I- Fine! Your dick looks nice, that’s why!” She looks cute when she’s embarrassed.

“Then stroke it for me.” 

“Why would I do that?” She’s asking for a reason why she would do it.

“I already fucked your precious hand, and I’ll go home once I cum.” So I gave him not just one, but two reasons.

“Really?” I can’t believe she will believe it.

“I’m a man of words.” Well, as you all know, I’m a liar.

‘F-fine.” She grabbed my rod with her warm hands. This sensation is something that I cannot just experience with anyone. It was a feeling that I could only feel from her.

“K-Kneel,” I told her, then she kneeled. She stroked me with her right hand. I have to hold my cum already, since her pretty face was mere inches from my dick. This is a sight of a lifetime. Imagine Liz kneeling in front of you, stroking your dick, damn, I’m about to nut already.

“Is it coming?” She looked at me while she kept stroking.

“N-not yet.” That’s obviously a lie. I held my head high and closed my eyes since it was too good. She knew what she was doing, as if she had done it before. Did she?

“H-have you done this before?” I had to ask her; there’s a hint of jealousy inside me.

“J-just once… with my boyfriend.” She answered. I’ll kill that man, I swear.

“How far?”

“Just this… handjob.” She sounds convincing, I guess it’s true.

“Blow me then,” I told her. I wanted her to do something with me that she hasn't done before with another man. There’s silence after it.

…

“Don’t you dare to cum inside my mouth.” She said, and she stopped stroking it. My dick throbbed once again when I heard it. Liz was about to blow me, and it’s something I can’t keep calm about.

“Yeah, I won’t.” There’s her assurance.

She puckered her lips, and she kissed the head. Liz just kissed my dick head. What a sight. She then slowly pushed it in. Her lips parted like a sea when Moises freed her people. It’s warm and soft; everything I felt on her was soft, that’s Liz for you. I watched my dick disappear in her mouth. Her lips scraped the skin of dick, creating friction of pleasure. The bottom part of my shaft is resting on her wiggling tongue. Her whole mouth adjusted its size and made room for dick until it was fully accommodated.

“D-damn Liz!” It felt so good. Damn good.

“Hmm~” She started bobbing her head. Slowly at first, as if she’s studying how it works. Her pace gradually increased, casually blowing my dick with her soft lips and warm mouth.

“Goodness, Liz~ L-look at me.” She looked up while sucking me. This is what an angel looks like, blowing a devil like me. “You’re so pretty.” I brushed her hair, and she kept sucking me.

“Hmm~” She increased her speed once more, and it’s too much for me to take. I can’t hold on anymore.

“I-I’m cumming!” I screamed.

“Pwah!” She pulled out, a string of spit dropped on the floor from her mouth, and my dick. She kept stroking it.

“Here it is! I’m cumming! Aahhhh-” My cum erupted. Shooting thick strands of white gooey semen on her face. She closed her eyes but forgot to close her mouth. The second stream of my thick fluid landed on her mouth, some even went inside it, that’s the moment she closed it. Proceeding eruptions landed on her arm, then her shirt, and the floor. Some even dripped on her pants.

“D-damn Liz. I-I’m sorry!” I covered her face really well. I just gave Liz a facial.

“Hmm hmm.” She waved me off. She can’t see anything since she’s covered with my cum, and she can't speak since some went inside her mouth.

“Hmm hmmm hmm.” She kept humming and pointing somewhere.

“Tissue?” She was pointing at the tissue on her dresser table.

“Hmm hmm.” She nods. I gave her the tissue, and she wiped her pretty face off my cum before it dried. Then she spits the semen that went inside her mouth.

“A-are you good? It’s over, right?”

“Y-yeah.” Well, I thought I would stay for another round, maybe I can even fuck her, but it’s too risky. Jimin might be coming back from the convenience store soon.

“T-thanks. I’ll go outside now. Jimin might still be looking for me.” I gave her a bow.

“Go.” She is still wiping herself with the tissue. I went out and closed the door. She was left alone in her room, still wiping my cum off her.

“God, how much cum did he release? I kept wiping it off. I should just take a bath.” She sighed and looked around. Her room’s a mess, her toys on the ground scattered, her sheets were soaked when she squirted earlier, and her floor was full of mixed dried and fresh cum.

“I should clean first.”

*****

“Hey Seojun! Where did you go!? You just disappeared!” Jimin found me playing at their sala.

“I just bought something.” Too late when I realised that he had just got home from the convenience store.

“I’m from the Seven Evelyn.” He said.

“The other store.” I lied again; he’ll believe it anyway.

“Really? I should have gone there.” This guy’s really gullible.

“I thought you went home?” Liz appeared from upstairs, fresh from the bath.

“I forgot about the albums. Can you sign for them? Noona?~” I smiled at her and pointed at the albums I placed on the table earlier.

“Here, done.” She signed them.

“Well, Jimin. I have to go now! It’s getting late. Bye!” I waved my friend a good bye and walked towards Liz and my albums,

“Yeah, be careful,” Jimin said, then went back to the game.

“Bye, noona.” I picked up the albums.

“Go.” She sounded so cold already; she had better soften up.

SMACK!

“OHH! YOU!-” She glared at me. I just smacked her butt, and it recoiled perfectly. It’s bouncing and full.

“What!?” She said when she saw I was staring at her butt.

“It’s so full.” I was smiling like a damn pervert.

“Wha- Hnnng!~” I cupped her ass and gave it a firm squeeze. It’s just a fast grip, just teasing myself on what I have next,

“Bye!” I disappeared at their door. I got what I want, signed albums, a pair of underwear, a masturbating Liz, and a blowjob. I walked with a satisfying smile on my face.

*****

Ting! Ting!

In her bedroom, her phone lit up; it’s their group chat.

Wonyoung: Liz, let’s hang out at your house!

Yujin: We’re coming!

Rei: You'd better have pizza ready.

Gaeul: …

Leeseo: Did Gaeul-unnie fall asleep while typing?

Wonyoung, Yujin, Rei, Leeseo: ㅋㅋㅋㅋ

The end.

[dimp1ez]

Special Person

A/N: A quick fic scribbled this week, inspired by an old song that I put on repeat recently!

Word Count: 10K, Liz x Male Reader

Summary: Messy breakup of you and your girlfriend Liz (now your ex) led to attempts to figure out why this seemingly perfect relationship vanishes into nothing.

See it on fanprose

“I… I don’t know if I can handle this anymore… (sob) It… It’ll be better if we both just… move on!” Dead silence afterwards, followed by the ruthless beeping sound from your phone.

That’s the last sentence you heard before your girlfriend Kim Jiwon hung up the call. To be more exact, she is your ex-girlfriend right now. You let your phone slide down on the mattress in awe, by the moment you realize to call her back, her number is already in voice mail mode. Within expectation, Message is sent and left on read. A few days later, your number was added to her Blocked list, no more “Can I talk to you?” or “Liz, please let me explain!” ever got through.

---

Her cracked and sad murmuring lingered in your head like a curse over the past week. Why? You swear everything in your relationship was going so smoothly. Hell, it was better than the few romances you had before you met Liz.

The first anniversary was just last week. You took a huge chunk of your PhD stipend to book a fancy restaurant that serves little food on very big plates and surprised Liz with a bouquet full of pink roses. You hid the bouquet behind you as you walked towards her. She’s wearing a brown tank top beneath a black cardigan. Her hair dyed brown, her plump lips are glassy under the orange late-afternoon sun. “She’s literally an angel.” You thought.

“Jiwon, I made a guess that you’ll probably like this.” You hand her the bouquet, trying to act calm despite your face is just as pink as the flowers.

“Aw~ they’re so lovely! How do you know I like pink roses?” Liz is blushed as well; your gaze meets each other’s. Her endearing dimple makes you fall deeper each time you look at her.

“I thought gorgeous and elegant girls all like roses. Like yourself.” You squeeze a faint smile, pulling her close on your side while she holds the bouquet with both hands, eyes flickered full of joy from your compliment.

“You’re trying to make me blush again, stop~” Liz hides her face into your neck, her warm breath brushing your skin. That fresh vanilla scent of her shampoo makes you smile.

You hug her closer to you and she hums softly, your palm never leaving her waist.

The rest of the date was phenomenal, you thought.

The way how she couldn’t hide her smile when you held her hand into the restaurant and told her to order whatever she wanted to eat.

The way her cheeks turned so pink after the second glass of wine was down to her stomach.

The way she covers her face shyly while mumbling something like, “Babe… I love you so much. Hehehe…”

The way how she eagerly kissed you when you shut her apartment door and she pinched you to the wall.

The way how she let out soft moans like melodies from heaven when you really felt her with your body.

The way your bodies and the sheets tangling together the morning after, her room filled with nothing but love.

---

“I loved you too, Liz. I still fucking love you right now. I still do…” Maybe it was the sixth can of beer tonight? Maybe seventh. You lost track.

---

But that was all in past tense. It wouldn’t change the fact that you’re now single again for reasons that are still unknown to you. You wish you have something to do, just to distract your attention somewhere else. But unfortunately, this year is the time you took to fully prepare the upcoming GRE exam so your life is nothing but doing practice exams and studying.

How the fuck you’re supposed to study when your girlfriend just cut you off after your first anniversary? You stare at the window with a pair of eyes that are red from too much crying. Even the weather is not on your side right now, 5 days of consecutive raining already. There is no sunlight, just non-stopping tears dropping down from heaven.

You rub your eyes with the back of your bandaged palm: injured from slamming the table while you re-watched every video clip you filmed from the past dates. Blossom bite marks turned into purple bruise still clearly visible as you bit your forearm as a desperate measure to stop your never-ending grief. You caress your neck, where Liz left you a hickey at that night – the final proof of her existence on your body.

For maybe the tenth time today, you persuade yourself to pick yourself up. You throw your phone onto your bed without mercy; it bounces a few times before it lands on the pillow. The lockscreen is still the first picture you ever took with Liz. In that amusement park. She forced you to wear cat ears like she did and it had been your wallpaper ever since. You have yet to replace it.

You stare into the empty practice exam booklet, each problem is easier to solve than to figure out why she left you like this, broken and messy. The knots in topology are like how your heart is tangling and twitching. Those non-converging sequences in those metric spaces are cruel reminders of how the distance between you and Liz is approaching infinitely, no matter how you define it.

“What did I do wrong that you abandoned me like this, Liz?” You ask yourself this one question. For many years since you really dived into the world of academia, intellect had been the only weapon you had against the world. And apparently you want to know the answer to this more than anything else on the booklet. So, you attempt to solve your broken heart.

Maybe someone else is doing the same.

---

Liz is working her shift in the boba shop next to your campus. She looks tiny in front of the shelves full of tea jugs and syrup bottles. Never enough makeup can cover her grief and joyless face. The good news is, it is not busy because of the endless rain in the past a few days. The bad news is, it is not busy that Liz is guaranteed to be mourning the lost love.

“How can I help you today?” She manages to smile weakly, letting her dimple to the work of greeting a new customer walking in.

“An iced Thai tea, half sugar and half ice, please.” The young man says.

She picks up a sharpie on the cash register, writing the man’s order on the cup.

“50% of sugar and 50% ice, but 0% of probability that I can stop thinking about him.”

Liz lets out a quiet sigh as she turns to make the drink. She isn’t living a good life for days either, dark circles from sleep deprivation. Her apron is stained with tea and the residues of brown sugar that she’s too exhausted to clean up.

She adds the tea base into the plastic cup, one pump of syrup instead of two. Then she fills the cup with ice, the ice cubes bounce with each other, that crisp sound temporally overrides the sad rhythm of rain drops onto the roof.

“Shuck-a-shuck” Liz shakes the cup harder than usual, maybe she is hoping that she can shake you off her mind. But she knows for a fact that she cannot.

For the past a few days, she asked for longer shifts from her manager as she claimed she is free and willing to help. But certainly, Liz herself knows the exact reason why. She needs work to numb herself.

Each time the door chimes, she’d forget to breath for a fraction of a second before realizing it is just another stranger walking in for drinks.

She started to make mistakes.

“Excuse me, miss? I believe I didn’t order for extra espresso and less sugar? It is too bitter, it is undrinkable.” A middle-aged woman grumbles, pushing the cup on the table aggressively, while pointing at the dark sharpie inks, saying “Espresso +2”.

“I… I am so sorry ma’am, I’ll make you a new one right now.” Liz stares into the plastic cup.

Vietnamese Iced Coffee, light ice and half sugar, adding two shots of extra espresso. There is no way she gets the order wrong, the lady literally just asked for a plain Vietnamese Iced Coffee, no customizations.

It is because of her muscle memory.

It is because that was your favorite drink.

Liz pours the mistakenly made drink in the sink. The brown liquid swirls on the metals, trying one last time to resist before getting dragged to eternal darkness by gravity. She sighs, the cup is being thrown into trash, but that sharpie ink is like a mark that she can never erase.

She quickly remakes the drink; the woman grabs it from the table and leaves without looking at Liz again. Glad that she didn’t, because Liz is zoned out again.

“Oppa… How can you sleep? Two extra shots of espresso at 10 P.M.?” Liz winked her puppy eyes at you as you visited during one of her late-night shifts.

“Don’t worry about me, Liz-ah. I’m going to pull an all-nighter, I am so behind on the topics and I need to catch up!” You smiled, putting your credit card onto the card reader.

“Okie~ Give me a moment! You’ll be my last customer tonight anyway!” Liz gave you a big, warm smile as she started to make the drink for you.

“Take your time, babe. I’m not going anywhere until you’re home safe.”

“You’re the best, you know that right?” She was so happy.

It was beyond suspicious if you say you didn’t plan all this beforehand. Because the late-night walk to Liz’s place inevitably led to further events. You kissed her while you were still in the doorway. Her finger trembled so hard while trying to insert the key to her apartment. Her face looked like a peach that you eagerly wanted to taste.

Your hands were already all over her slim frame as Liz impatiently kicked the door shut after you.

“My room, Oppa…” Her breath hitched, one hand on your belt with another cupping your face.

---

The first night was rather a fever dream for both of you, she insisted you to sleep over as it was already past midnight when you two were done with the “stuff”. You oblige.

---

“We’re never going back… I am sorry Oppa, I… I wasn’t good enough for you.” Tears in Liz’s eyes drag her back to the reality.

As the final customer has his drink and leaves the door closed, Liz walks out to the door to flip that sign from “Welcome in!” to “Closed”. She stands under the dripping roof, staring into the heavy fog under the city lights. She sees your silhouette like a mirage that she always couldn’t catch up on.

“He’ll be better off without me.”

She thinks too much. Always too much.

Liz recalls that one night before your last final exam before you put that Bachelor’s degree in your bag. She called you for dinner together. You didn’t reject her, but you brought your laptop with you.

As much as she tried to cheer you up and said something like, “Oppa, I know you will be fine, you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met!” You didn’t respond. Your eyes are lifeless and locked onto the pages of complex variables.

“Oppa~ Take a break! Does my outfit look cute tonight?” She insisted, tapping on your shoulder. You flinched.

She saw you flinched.

You knew you didn’t mean to dismiss her like this but you were caught up in the middle of a theorem - unfortunately she thought you did.

“I’m so sorry, Liz-ah… I am really behind and the exam is tomorrow, if I don’t get an A, my GPA falls under the scholarship threshold and my Grad school will be a huge financial burden on me. I promise I’ll compensate you this weekend, do you want to go to that amusement park again? It’s gonna be on me.” You packed your stuff up, paid the bill and walked out the restaurant.

“It… it is ok Oppa, I understand.” She remained seated, tried her best to finish her plate of spaghetti. When she was done, she ran out of the door trying to chase you. But you were nowhere to be seen already.

“I’m a distraction… and he’s so far away… there is no way I am catching up with him”

That was the start of her grand scheme of overthinking.

And the storyline inevitably shifted to the day of your anniversary.

---

Liz is still standing under the roof. The shift had already ended, her only colleague had finished their cleaning tasks and locked the front door. Liz farewells the girl as her boyfriend comes to pick her up. She tried to hold it longer, making sure they’re far away enough.

She ducks down, burying her face into her palms and start crying.

“Oppa… I’ll try to get better; will you ever want me back?” She sobs.

Her mind travels back a week before, to that anniversary date. She hated herself for being smart at the wrong moment, that she got all the “messages” she THOUGHT you were giving her.

Liz could not contain her happiness when she saw your approaching her with that bouquet of pink roses, she dived into your embrace, mumbling how much she loved you.

Until you ‘accidentally’ slipped the fact that you took out a big chunk of your stipend for that night.

The rain has no sign of stopping, so does Liz’s crying. She looks so small under the huge banner of the boba shop, the raindrops ruthlessly accelerate into the ground before splashing onto her face. Her face that she intentionally put on extra layers of makeup to cover up her sadness.

How she wished she never overthought about a simple dinner and kept playing the game with you?

But she could not when you two finally sat down in the fancy restaurant and when the waitress handed the wine menu to you.

Liz was nervous, she didn’t know what to order.

“Oppa… we… we really don’t have to drink wine! It’s too expensive… I am fine with water, really.” She pulls the bottom of your shirt nervously.

But what she saw was how you confidently skipped two pages of the “By Glass” section and went directly into the “By Bottle” ones. She saw how you confidently pointed at the Tignanello on the reserve list that easily surpassed two days’ worth of her salary. Liz watched the waitress quickly returns to the table with a big smile like she treated you two as some VIPs. Her stomach dropped.

Liz took a sip of the wine when the waitress politely poured her half a glass. It tasted like velvet: smooth, soft. But it also tasted like some debt that she felt she could never pay back. She took a peek at you, tried to guess what’s hiding beneath your emotionless face.

A horrible idea had emerged from the bottle of her heart.

“It feels like a pity gift… I feel like I’m drinking away his future…”

Once the seed of doubt has been planted, it started to grow violently.

She recalled ten minutes before, when you explained to her the reason you picked Tignanello from the menu. Liz remembered you mentioned something about “elegance”, “high-end”. She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about your future academia society. You’d be no strangers to those fancy wines for those social gatherings, yet she’d still be the boba shop girl who would never fit in.

The compliments you gave her every five minutes to make her feel more confident, turned into “duties” in her ears. She didn’t hear you sincerely said how pretty she was at that night, but instead interpreted as your one last attempt to make her feel like she belonged in the place. The live band was grooving in the beats; saxophones were playing beautiful harmonies. But Liz’s heart was nothing but dead silence.

When the food was served, Liz tried one more time to observe you. But what she saw was just another big hit to her fluttering, overthinking heart. You were in the middle of introducing something interesting you read recently to Liz, while effortlessly picked up the smaller fork to eat your salad.

Yet, she froze when her main course was brought to her by the waitress. Liz stared at the row of polished silverwares like huge walls that separate her world from yours. She looked at your face one more time, you seemed pretty relaxed and like you were no strangers to those “big plates and little food” places.

She frightened. Your hands waved in the air while you commended the food, and you told her with a big smile on your face, “Liz-ah… their steak is really nice, do you like it? If you like it here, we can come here more often. You deserve the best, babe.”

“Do I really?” … Her heart skipped a bit.

It was at that moment; a decision was made by Liz.

“He… he’ll be better off without me, without someone who takes away his meal stipend for flowers and tuition money for a bottle of wine…”

You didn’t see a drop of tear fell of her beautiful chin in silence.

“But tonight, I’m going to give him everything. I’m leaving but I am going to love him so well that he’ll have enough warmth to last the entire lifetime…”

“Babe, it was really a nice meal. I love you so much! Wanna come to my place?” Liz managed to smile as happily as she could.

“Hell yeah…” You could read her implication; your face started to burn but you couldn’t contain your excitement and eagerness.

But maybe for the only time, that intellectual brain of yours guessed it wrong.

The taxi ride back to her place was nothing but silence. You thought you were both nervous for the incoming romance and intimacy for the anniversary night. But Liz had a mental breakdown, repeating the breakup message she’d sent you like a mantra.

You held her hand tightly as you exited the taxicab, you let her lead the way up the stairs. You loved her, you were excited and impatient. You started to plant soft kisses onto Liz’s neck on the stair case. The night breeze blew through your body and you both shivered, you pulled Liz closer to you for a hug, murmuring maybe for the fiftieth time for the night, “Liz… babe, I love you so much.”

It all sounded like a pitiful lie to her.

The door was unlocked; Liz flicked the light switch open. The dim, orange lamp adds a bit warmth to the atmosphere. You remembered how eager Liz was.

Her mouth was already all over yours. You thought it was the alcohol kicking in as you felt a bit lightheaded. But you didn’t expect Liz to be this... aggressive. It was not the first time you two had intimate moments like this, but she was always on that shy side. You were the one that initiated and took the lead.

Instead, she pushed you against her bedroom wall while she impatiently kicked off her flats. “Babe... give me everything tonight. Don’t leave any regret behind.” She said as she gave you another wet, open-mouthed kiss.

“Regret? Damn... this girl is going all in!” You felt like a winner. It must’ve been the date night you spent a lot of efforts planning made her so happy. It must’ve been that you showed how deeply you loved her, that she was moved and wanted to love you as much in return.

So, when her fingers scratched and dug a little bit too deep into your chest, you didn’t feel the pain. Instead, you took it as a love language of how deeply she loved you. But for Liz, as she watched the angry red lines bloom across your chest—marks left by her own desperate, searching fingertips - Liz didn’t see a sign of passion.

To her, those scratches were a handwritten ledger of everything she was about to give up. They weren't meant to hurt you; they were Liz’s final, selfish attempt to make sure that for at least a few days, you couldn't even change your shirt without feeling the ghost of her touch. Of course, you never knew it.

You felt so triumphed that you finally won her.

You felt so inspired that Liz finally gave herself to you.

You felt so loved that her body and yours are merging into one.

For Liz... it was how she tried so hard to trace every inch of your skin for one last time. It was her attempt to touch you, to feel you as much as possible. When she left, she could hold on to the texture of your body a bit longer. Liz was mentally archiving the shape of you. The knob on your shoulders for days of sitting and studying, the muscles of your arms.

Liz moved with a desperate, silent greed, memorizing the weight of your limbs like a student cramming for an exam she was destined to fail. She wanted to lock the heavy rhythm of your heartbeat into her bones, creating a relic of you inside her mind that she could mourn once she exiles herself from your future.

You kissed her back, only to realize Liz’s eyes were shut the whole time. Maybe she was just lost in the sensation, maybe you made her feel so overwhelmed from the desires that she needed to mute one of her senses to focus on the others.

What you didn’t know was how she tried her best to not lock onto you gaze before her decision crumbles. Her decision to break her heart, and yours, for your future success.

You shifted your hands lower and lower, light touches here and there. Her small but perky tits, flat tummy and eventually to her swollen entrance beneath the black lace pantie.

“Liz-Ah... you’re already so wet for me.” You teased, sliding one finger into her.

“Mmph....” She responded with nothing but a breathy moan. Her hips locked onto your hands a bit tighter, eyes still closed.

Although she tried her best to not let go of your finger inside her, the pleasure pushed her to give in. Her arms crossed around your neck; her pretty doll eyes started to flutter from the sensation.

Once, twice. She started to grind into your finger, so you added in one more into her.

“Oppa... you are making me feel so good... don’t ever leave me...” Liz slipped out a weak murmur. You thought it was just a “standard” thing girls say when they’re aroused.

Liz meant it. She never wanted you to go. But she knew she had to leave herself.

Your hardness almost broke through the fabric of your boxers, so you removed your fingers from Liz and started to unbuckle your belt.

She was lying on her back, breath hitching from the sensation. Liz put her delicate finger onto her clit, drawing lazy circles.

“Mmph… Oppa, give it all to me tonight… Let me feel you already.” Liz murmured.

“Yes… babe, tell me any time if it is too much, ok?” You can’t wait, lining the itching tip of your shaft against her wet entrance. You rub it a few times before pushing into her tight walls. For a moment, you wondered why she didn’t tell you to put on a condom like every single time you two had sex before.

Maybe she wanted to really feel you for once.

You kneeled on her mattress, hands hovering on her waists. Liz put a pillow beneath her back to support it, her big, watery eyes finally locked straight into your gaze. You couldn’t resist the way she looked at you, it only made you want to love her more.

Hence you started your thrusts, deeper and faster each time.

“Mmph… just like that Oppa… I love you… I LOVE YOU!” Liz cried out. “She must be really enjoying the pleasure right now.” You thought, your hips never stopped moving.

Her angelic moans were the catalyst of your unstoppable climax and you were surprised that how closely she clung onto your body and how tightly her fluttering folds squeezed your itching length. It had never been like this before. You grinned; felt so fucking proud of everything you gave her tonight.

“Liz… babe… come for me, don’t hold back…” You noticed how her eyes started to dilate; her legs started to tremble under your grasp. She was close.

“Yes! Yes… I’m gonna come… shit!” Liz rarely cursed, when she did, you knew she was on hell of a ride. She sat up from the bed, hiding her face into your neck as you kept pushing deep inside her. You relocated your palms from her small but firm butt onto her face, pulling her close for a long, wet kiss as you felt her giving herself into you.

“Oppa! I… I am coming! Ah shit… I can never love you enough.” A hitched cry came out from Liz’s glossy lips as she planted another kiss onto your neck.

But what came with her climax was unexpected. First of all, you felt her walls started to spasm, flooding your hard shaft with her sweet nectar. It lasted quite long, longer than it ever had. Meanwhile, you felt a hard sting on your neck. Liz bit down onto your skin with a force that was as hard as her orgasm.

A hickey? Liz had got that dark romantic spirit in her. You thought.

She didn’t feel the same.

Liz didn't just want to kiss you; she wanted to leave a bruise that looked like a blooming rose—a twin to the bouquet you bought her.

She wanted a mark that would turn purple and then yellow, a slow-fading sunset of your relationship. She silently screamed a goodbye into your soul while you groaned out her name in a victory cry.

“Liz!... Fuck…” You quickly felt the urge to come after her, with the pain on your neck surprisingly boosted your pleasure.

“Don’t pull out! Oppa… Let me feel you inside me… please!” Liz begged, eyes already full of tears.

“Did it feel that good?” You didn’t have the time to finish the thought as the pleasure started to emerge and rushed down your spine. Your abdomen started shaking violently, you could’ve help but to push Liz down to the bed and give her one final, deep thrust.

You soon gave in. Spurts after spurts of your essence were pumped into Liz’s body, mixing with her own nectar. Her walls kept fluttering, milking every last drop that you had left in your balls. The oxytocin soon kicked in, you dived your face into her chest, inhaling the faint scent of her vanilla body wash, mixing with a hint of the salt from her sweat.

You planted kiss after kiss on her tits, each time murmuring something like how you loved her and how you would never let her leave you.

“I really love you too… Oppa.” She smiled, faintly.

Your world soon blacked out as Liz kept caressing your messy hair with her fingers. Her addicting scent and soft strokes made your eyes feel heavier and heavier.

That was the last time you see her. What you didn’t witness after was how Liz hid herself next to your body for the whole night with non-stop sobbing and crying.

Next morning, she was already gone by the time you woke up from the beyond-exhausting sex that took place. A short text was sent to you, Liz told you she headed to work already. Your clothes were nicely folded beside you, a cup of coffee was already half-cold, still waiting for you to drink it.

“Last night was a new start of Liz and I, we’re destined to be lovers forever.” You told yourself.

“Last night was the finale of Oppa and I, we’re destined to be apart from now.” Liz cried again in work.

---

Two more cans of beer had been dumped into your stomach that’s filled with nothing but alcohol.

You don’t understand. You genuinely don’t. You thought that anniversary date was a banger. It was an extraordinary attempt to compensate Liz for not being able to take care of her as a girlfriend during the busy days of your exams.

You don’t understand why she’d left despite she seemed so happy at night when she held the bouquet. That bouquet you acquired by skipping your daily caffeine: your only source of happiness in this world besides Liz herself. You thought the roses were a promise. You didn't know she was looking at them like they were a funeral wreath.

You don’t understand why she felt so timid in that restaurant and asked you shyly, “w.., which fork is for salad again?”

“Ah babe, take it easy, use whichever one you feel like. You can even use the spoon, no one is gonna judge you here.” You responded with a confident grin because you wanted her to feel at home. But in this room filled with alcohol-scented air, you realized it was probably a mistake. Maybe the way you tried to liberate those etiquettes for her was making her feel uncomfortable and not belonging.

Your stomach had growled through the entire three-course meal, a hollow reminder of the breakfasts that you’d skipped for a month. But every time you looked across the candlelight at Liz, the hunger didn't matter. You’d trade a thousand meals just to see the way the restaurant’s gold light caught her eyes.

You had a spreadsheet. You knew exactly how many days of ramen it took to afford that bottle of wine she liked. You felt like a genius for pulling it off, like you were finally playing the part of the successful man she always deserved.

You had calculated the cost of that night down to the cent. You felt like a king when you handed the waiter your card, even though you knew your bank account was screaming. But now, staring at the empty beer cans, you feel like a fraud.

“Maybe she saw the way my hand shook when the bill came. Maybe she left because she realized she was dating a man who had to choose between a bottle of wine and a week of proper meals. Maybe she didn’t need someone who needed to skip his coffee just to buy her roses …” You murmur in the darkness.

She deserved better.

You stumble your way to the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the lights. The dim moonlight shines through the curtains, projecting your silhouette onto the walls. The strong urge to vomit makes your gut tangle, but you can only cough and nothing comes out of your mouth. Because you haven’t eaten for a damn long while.

You try to ease the discomfort by splashing cold water onto your face. You stare at your reflection in the mirror but you don’t recognize this person in front of you. Eyes are red, beards are unshaved and hair is messy. Days of skipping meals had already made your jaw line visibly thinner.

Why would Liz ever love a guy like this?

A sense of self-pitying and guilt starts to wrench your exhaust heart. All those sweet moments you had with Liz started to become bitter. You begin to doubt yourself.

Maybe if you didn’t study at that dinner date, she would’ve not seen you as an academic prick that values textbooks more than his girlfriend.

Maybe if your lips didn’t twitch when you signed the bill, she would’ve really trusted you that her life would be better being with you.

Maybe if you didn’t slip the fact that the bouquet was the product of you cutting your caffeine… at least you should’ve still gone to the shop to see her after work.

Or maybe, if you were simply a better person… better to the extend to deserve an angel like her.

You think, at this point, the reason why she left you was clear enough. But you want to give it one more chance because something you see from the mirror.

The hickey that she planted on your neck.

It had already turned yellowish, the bruise that you interpreted as a mark of eternal love was actually an unforeseeable goodbye. By the time it fades, Liz will be long gone. Your relationship with her would already vanish into the void. You hover your trembling fingers onto the faint mark, so afraid that the last tether you have to Liz would disappear. You stare dead into your reflection. One last time.

You wake up your phone, the picture of you and Liz wearing cat-ears is still there.

You just turned it into black and white.

You click into your contacts; the entire page of recent calls is nothing but Liz. But none of the calls ever went through, why should it be any different this time?

“She’s not coming back…” You cry out, tapping the call button regardless.

---

Liz is still standing beneath the roof in the pouring rain. Perhaps an hour had passed? Maybe two. She couldn’t keep track. She had been waiting. Waiting for what? She didn’t even know.

“Oppa… if you still have feelings for me, would you call me? I blocked your number before because I was so afraid that I couldn’t stop myself from running back to you the moment I hear you speak. But, I… I don’t dare to call you first, I’m so afraid that you got mad at me. Even you did, I am not blaming you at all. It was my fault that I left you like this… you… you’re just so far away, I’ll never be able to catch up to you.” She sobs.

Liz then feels something vibrating in the pocket of her jeans. She pulls out her phone and the screen is lit. The same lockscreen as yours: you, her, cat ears. She thinks it is her colleague calling to check if she’s home safe.

“Oh my god…” A fire is lit both on her face and inside her heart.

---

“Liz!!! Can you hear me? Liz!!!” You scream as for a miracle; Liz picks up your call.

You can hear nothing but rain dropping to the ground and occasional car-honking. She does not say a world. Only the consistent, non-stopping rain is reminding you she’s still there. Is she listening?

“L…Liz-ah, I am so sorry.” You quiet down, afraid that you’ll scared Liz away and this one and only chance will go to waste. Chill until you at least figure out the reason.

“Liz... I... should’ve not studied when you asked me out.” You start what you know is the chain of confession and apology.

“I… I was so afraid that if I fucked up that test, I would miss that scholarship threshold. If I didn’t get that stipend, I would be forced to go back to my parents’ house and attend school in my hometown! I… I couldn’t risk to leave you, Liz-ah…” You try your best to be calm, but the sobbing betrays you.

She does not say a thing. You can barely hear Liz’s uneven breath through the call, maybe she is giving you a chance? You don’t know, but you proceed.

“I am so sorry Liz… I should’ve been more confident that night. I really looked like a fraud, weren’t I? I must’ve been wolfing down the steak because I’d never been to such a fancy place before, I am sorry if that made us look bad. Liz-ah, please forgive me! I… I was indeed very hungry…” You are a stutter, crying mess although you tried your best to behave.

“Because I ate fucking instant noodles for weeks to save up money! Liz… I promise I’ll work harder; I’ll find a part-time job to give you more. Please! Please give me a chance!” You are both drunk and sad as hell, your neighbor may even call the police if they can see you hysterically screaming into the phone.

She is still speechless. Only a wet, repeating sound of something hitting onto the walk way.

“Thud, thud, thud…”

You see your own lifeline slip through your finger. But you want to give it a last stand.

“Please… don’t hang up! Liz-ah… I didn’t lose interest in you because I visited your boba shop less frequently!” You heart sinks, tears dropping without control. This is the last thing you want her to know. But this may be the final chance you get to talk to her, she has to know.

She deserves to know… even if that makes you look really bad.

“I HAD to cut my daily iced coffee… not because I didn’t want to see you! I switched to drinking Celsius instead… it was cheaper that way. So, I could add one more dozen of pink roses to the bouquet to make it 24… Liz-ah, do you know why?” You sigh, anticipating a response that you have no faith in receiving.

“Because I love you 24 hours a day. Liz…” You fall onto the floor.

Nothing. Only the frantic noise through the phone as the wind blows harshly into her microphone.

There is a weird sense of relief creeping up your chest, you stare into your phone emptily.

“She’s letting me speak, not because she wants to stay, but because she’s kind. Liz was always kind. She’s giving me a final defense before reading out my death sentence. She’s waiting for me to finish so she can say 'Goodbye' and hang up forever.”

You’ll be glad that you made the biggest mistake in this relationship with Liz.

“Liz! I am sorry! I never deserved you …” You scream one last time into the phone.

Weird enough, you hear your own voice echoing back to your ear through the door. Fortunately, the excess alcohol (double digits of cans, to be exact) did not fully take away your ability to speculate.

You dash to your apartment door like a mad dog, swing the door handle open violently. The door smashes your arm but you don’t care. Because Liz is there.

She is a sobbing mess, just like yourself. Her breath is still hitching; her chest moves up and down so fast that you think she is about to pass out. Her makeup is almost gone, only a faint line of her eyeliners staining on each side of her cheeks. Strands of her messy hair stick onto her forehead because of the rain.

“Oppa… I am so sorry…” Liz falls into your chest, looking up to you. Her pretty doll eyes are watery, filled with nothing but pure guilt.

It is at this moment; you figure everything out. Liz was not acting to be patient; she was not trying to offer you her final bit of mercy by letting you finish everything you wanted to say to her before burying your relationship in the past.

She was sprinting in the rain.

She was running like she was about to lose it all.

She was letting the rain showering her slim frame, hoping that can cleanse her guilt.

She was letting the storm brushing through her shaking body, praying that can blow away how much she was mistaken.

Occasional cars drove pass her, splashing water onto Liz. But she didn’t give a damn.  

People gave her weird looks as a girl was running in the rain, crying like someone had hurt her. But Liz couldn’t care less.

Because all she cared was you.

---

She can barely stand from the exhaustion of sprinting a mile in the heavy rain. You gently pull her into the apartment so she doesn’t catch a cold. “Oppa... I owe you an apology… is it too late to apologize?” Liz’s tone is weak, but her gaze with nothing but sincere.

“It is never too late… Liz-ah! I… I am the one that should say sorry.” You take off her rain-soaked jacket, leave it on the couch while pulling her closer.

“Oppa… I thought I was a liability of you… I am so sorry…” Liz murmurs, her chest moves up and down unevenly.

“Liz-ah… you’re never… I can never love you enough. I promise I’ll give you more from now on, would you give me that chance?” You inhale deeply, trying to take in all of her scent. The vanilla shampoo is fading, gradually replaced by the fresh smell of the rain.

“Oppa, I will never leave again!” She sobs.

You stare at her face; she is still gorgeous despite the blurred makeup. Her cheeks are flushed from the intense running, looking a peach that you suddenly have the urge to acquire a taste.

“Liz-ah, we can save that conversation for later. Now we are gonna get you dry before you get sick, ok?” You let her go, fingers caressing her wet hair. Liz’s tiny body is still shaking; you know for a fact that she’d get a fever if a hot shower is not applied soon.

You carefully hold her hand through the messy kitchen area that you didn’t bother to organize at all: bear cans everywhere, some instant noodle crumbs are just idling on the table, dished still yet to be washed.

“Oppa, did you drink all of this?” Liz asks, while sneezes heavily.

“Yeah… was too sad to have you go like this, but hey! Aren’t you here again? Let… let me worry about it later, we’re gonna take of you first, princess.”

She is amused from the title, one hand covering her mouth shyly but her grin is so obvious that she can’t hid even with both of her hands. You turn the water to the hottest temperature; the mirror starts to fog up as you look at Liz and yourself in the reflection.

Now you know how difficult was the past few days for both of you. Liz’s dark circles are almost at the size of her big eyes, her jawline just visibly thinner like yours. There is her tiny smile as she notices you staring at her through the mirror.

You won’t let her go this time. Not again. You turn around and lean in to kiss her.

Her pink lips are like fire that ignites the foggy bathroom, you cup her face with both of your palms as you keep savoring Liz’s plump lips. You both feel the hunger and eagerness that you tried so hard to suppress for days, now it is like a ruthless flood rushing through a falling dam.

Your tongue quickly enters her mouth, swirling with hers like you’re about to lose it all. You are. Your fingers impatiently unbutton Liz’s blouse, while she stumbles back a few steps to sit on the sink for support.

“Oppa…” This time you don’t let her finish, rarely. Days of separation and yearning for Liz had turned you into a desperate soul, if you had any left. Your hands wrap around her back, unhooking her bra in a shaky motion. The straps fall onto her body, revealing the full view of her upper body.

“I… I love you.” You stutter, before diving into her small but beautifully shaped tits. You put one of her nipples into your mouth softly, sucking her carefully. You are letting Liz know that you never abandoned her, instead you are always worshipping her.

“Mmph!” An airy moan comes through her mouth. You don’t stop. You know she needs it.

You flick your tongue back and forth around her nipple, you feel Liz’s breath hitching each time your hungry movement touches her sensitive tip. You don’t ignore the rest of her stunning frame, of course. Hands all over her firm butt – not the biggest in size, but absolutely perfect for you to grab.

Liz starts to feel the sensation that had been absent for the past week as well, her shaking hands are already on her jeans, unzipping the denim herself before lifting her hips to let the fabric drop to the humid wooden floor.

“I wanna see Oppa too, take your pants off for me~.” Her voice is like honey. You oblige without any hesitation. Your fingers are just as unsteady as hers, missing once before unbuckling your belt and kicking off your pants and boxer.

Your length springs free, Liz wraps her hand around it immediately. A shiver travels up your spine, assaulting your brain that you let out an involuntary moan. “I see it now, Oppa is not lying. I still turn you on~” She teases.

“Fuck… Liz, you always did. Always.” You manage to respond with a cracking tone, hands sliding into her plain black pantie with a white bow on the tip. She is already wet. Wet to the point that friction is almost non-existent as your finger slides directly into her juicy pussy.

“And you’re doing the same to me, oppa… you’re stretching me open with you finger… give me more, Oppa.” Liz mumbles into your ear while you bury your face into her other nipple. You leave slurpy, wet kisses all the way from her tits down to her tummy, to between her legs. The mushy, slightly salty scent of arousal dashes directly into your nostril through the thin fabric.

You kiss her folds through her damp panties; Liz’s response is instant. Her body locks tight and her watery eyes lose focus for a heartbeat. You take your time, hands roaming on her inner thighs and you alternate between touches and light scratches with your fingers.

“Oppa… Please do it already!” Liz moans while her legs clamping your head slightly.

“Aw~ Liz babe… look at you, how impatient. Weren’t you the one that made me wait, baby girl?” Suddenly a twisted thought comes across your head: her innocent, aroused face turned you on in such of a wicked way. You always gave her everything without any second thoughts, but maybe you want to listen to her ask for it?

“Honey, you deserve everything from me. But you are going to use your words, say it out loud and I’ll give it to you. Now what do you want from me?” A smirk climbs up to the tip of your lips.

“Hhmph… Oppa, you’re so bad! I… just… please!” Liz’s face turns from a peach into a tomato.

“Oh. Am I the bad one? I thought I was the victim,” you pout with an obviously fake impatience. “I think you are the bad girl that blocked me without a heads up! But it is fine, because I loved you as always… Tell me exactly though, ‘please’ what? Please let go of you so you can shower, right?” You tease.

“Oppa… I hate you! Please… please eat…” She now let’s go of your cock, instead both hands are covering her faces right now. Her face that is so red from the arousal and the embarrassment.

“Please eat a proper meal? Yeah… I’ve been dumping instant noodles into my poor tummy cuz of you, baby Liz? Hmm?” You push one more time.

She snaps. “Ah! Oppaaaa~ Please eat my pussy already! U… use it however you want if it makes you feel better!  T…treat me as your cumdump for the night if you wish… (sobs) I am so sorry Oppa…”

You snap too.

You never expected such lewd words would come from the purest girl you had in your life. But you also did not mean to hurt her even more. You’re here to make her feel your love, not to treat her as someone who exists just to fulfill your desires. You don’t want her to feel sorry for you, you just want her to be there. To simply exist.

So, you answer her by gently pulling off her panties down to her ankles and approach her swollen folds slowly. “Liz-ah… I was just kidding… I’ll make you feel really good. I try.”

You plant a soft kiss on Liz’s clit; her hands reach for your head in a blink of an eye. She pulls you closer as you slowly worship her beautiful pussy. Your lips wrap around her clit, sucking it like you’re tasting the cherry on top of a cupcake. The effect is electric, her body shivers faster – you are certain that it is not because of the rain previously, it is purely from arousal.

You insert your tongue into her folds, gently slides it across Liz’s wet, smooth walls. You look up to her. Her doll eyes are already shut from the sensation and her back arches forward to let you take in more of her.

“Look at me baby, look at how I am taking care of you, how I am making you feel good.” You murmur while your mouth is still doing its work – non-stop licking and kissing.

“Mmph…” Liz opens her eyes; you kneel on the bathroom floor while your head is deep between her thighs. The view makes the gap between her breathes shorter and shorter. “Oppa... don’t stop, I am so close!” Your oral movement is nowhere close to a halt, not when your precious Liz asks you like this.

You keep lapping her pussy with nothing but pure hunger and devotion. “C…come for me, Liz-ah… I am always yours.” You encourage.

“Don’t stop! Oppa… don’t you ever stop!” Liz is almost there, her pupils start to dilate and her thighs clamping even tighter.

“Give it all to me Liz… I’ve been waiting, fuck… I missed you so bad. Come for me…” You plant another soft kiss onto her swollen clit, and there it comes.

“F…fuck! I am coming!” Liz reaches her climax; her legs shake violently that she has to hold on to your head to not fall of from the sink. Her pussy flutters, waves of waves of her nectar flooding into your mouth. You take them all in, licking her folds continuously through her orgasm.  

You get back up on your feet; legs already numb from the kneeling. But you feel so relaxed because you gave Liz the pleasure, she’s always deserved. She pulls you in for an open mouth kiss, tasting herself from your lips.

Maybe a minute had passed, maybe more. You finally pull back, Liz walks into the shower before embracing her from behind. Liz’s body is still trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm; her thighs slick not just from the shower but from the way she came so hard on your tongue.

You hold her closer, water streaming down her back, washing away the rain and the days of grief. Her small frame fits perfectly against yours, her wet hair plastered to her shoulders, those big doll eyes half-lidded and glassy with lingering pleasure and fresh tears.

“Oppa…” Liz whispers while turning around, barely audible over the spray. Her fingers trace the fading hickey on your neck, then the scarlet scratches she left on your chest the night she thought she was saying goodbye.

“I was so stupid… I thought I was saving you from me.”

You silence her with a deep kiss, tasting the salt of her tears mixed with the clean heat of the water. “No more thinking, Liz-ah. Just feel me. Let me show you how much I need you.”

Liz reads it. She arches her back forward, hands supporting herself on the door handle. Her full, bouncy butt is on full display. You gulp, already anticipating the long-gone warmth of Liz. You waste no time, lining up your itching cock in front of her folds – still wet from the previous release.

“Liz-ah, I… I am going in, let me know any time if you want me to chance anything.” You nervously make an announcement.

“Give it all to me, Oppa… however you like.” She turns her head around, before biting her bottom lip intentionally to allure you.

And it fucking works.

Her fucking dimple always works, never fail to trap you.

“Liz… you’re fucking gorgeous, do you know that?” You grunt, pushing all the way into her slick pussy in one go. She is incredibly wet, and warm like she had always been. Her walls are clenching onto your twitching length so hard like she’s so scared to ever let you go again.

“Mmph… I missed you Oppa… I missed you in me like this, filling me up really good.” Liz moans softly – she normally wouldn’t talk in sex, but you know she means every word if she does say something.

“Liz-ah, I missed you so much too.” You realize you haven’t released yourself for a week too. And as expected, the urge to do so is incredibly strong thanks to how smooth and velvety Liz feels.

Then you start your thrusting. The shower room is like a sauna right now; the mirror had been fogged up and the view of you slamming into Liz’s body becomes a blur.

You hold on to Liz’s hips as you gradually lose yourself into her wetness and warmth. A few breathy moans escape your throat while you keep pushing in and out of Liz in an almost frantic motion. The gut-wrenching self-pitying and loneliness are replaced by neediness and hunger.  

You fuck into her harder, the hot water amplifies the sound of your wet skin slapping onto hers. Liz’s sobs and moans are getting louder at the same time, raw, aroused. “Oppa… just like that, don’t stop please!” Her tone cracks, half from the relief and half from the pleasure after all those empty days.

You lean forward, body pressing again her back. One hand slides up her chest and caresses her tits while the other tightens the grip on her hip. Every thrust is sending ripples through her tiny frame, her ass bounces back against me with each deep stroke.

“Mmph… Liz-ah, you are perfect, so fucking perfect.” You groan against her, kissing her lobe. She whimpers, pushing back harder, her body demanding more. She reaches back, nails scraping your thigh, urging you even deeper.

“I love you… I love you so much, Oppa…” The words tumble out between shaky breaths, her walls fluttering wildly around you. You feel her getting close again, legs trembling, breath coming in short desperate bursts.

You slide your hand down between her legs, rubbing tight circles on her sensitive clit while you keep pounding into her from behind. “Come for me again, baby. Let me feel it.” That’s all it takes.

Liz cries out sharply, her walls pulse violently. Her second wave of climax is doing its work to push you through the finish line with her.

“Liz… I love you…fuck!” You groan, slamming deep one final time. The flood overwhelms your sanity, your cock twitches violently, spilling every drop of your own essence inside her. You keep yourself deep inside her until the mixture of your nectar and her juice leaks out around your cock and running down Liz’s thighs. You stay locked together, panting heavily, her back still pressed to your chest as the water keeps pouring over you both.

Slowly you pull out, turning her gently to face you. Her eyes are glassy, cheeks flushed deep pink, that sweet dimple showing even now. You kiss Liz softly at first, then deeper, holding her tight under the steady spray.

There’s no word needed. You’ve already found your rhythm under the pouring, warm water.

Neither of you want to move as you two enjoy the most perfect moment. Euler’s stupid little formula doesn’t even come close in terms of perfection.

---

A proper shower took place. You took your time washing every inch of your purest angel clean, before wrapping her around with a big towel and kiss your forehead gently. Liz laughs shyly, “Oppa~”

“Hmm?” You raise an eye brow.

“I… I didn’t bring my clothes over, hehehe…” She smiles.

“Ah, that is no problem at all Miss, I shall be right back.”

You walk into your bedroom and open your wardrobe. There is that oversized T-shirt you always let her “borrow” when she stayed over. You return to the bathroom, patiently putting the shirt on Liz’s tiny body. The tip of the shirt even reaches her knees and you cannot stop yourself from laughing. She’s back.

“Stop~ Oppa…” Liz blushes.

“Alright princess… it was a really… tough night. We shall get some rest?” You offer.

“Yes, Oppa.” Liz nods quietly.

To her surprise, you scoop her into your princess carry. Liz keeps laughing, mumbling something like, “Let me down!” or “Are we really doing this?”

She then notices the fading hickey on your neck. She then kisses the mark she left on you last week, bringing your attention back to her.

“Hmm?” You ask.

“The hickey, Oppa. I thought it was a farewell kiss.” Liz says.

“That’s too naïve of you babe, it is a milestone and a new beginning.” You pout, putting her onto your bed.

You fall onto the mattress after her, no more mess, just clean sheets and each other. You pull the duvet over both of you, the fabric still smelling faintly of the laundry detergent you stole from Liz a month ago - a scent you had spent the last week burying your face in while you sobbed.

“Oppa?” she whispers, her voice small and muffled against your skin.

“Yeah, babe?”

“No more skipping meals,” she says, and you feel her grip on your shirt tighten. “I heard everything. I was running, and I was crying, and I was so mad at myself…” Liz looks up, “I thought I was the one distracting you.”

“L…Liz-ah, I… was trying so hard to be someone who can give you everything. But I forgot to be the man that just… loves you with my heart.” You confess with a shaky laugh.

She leans in, her forehead resting against yours.

“Tomorrow,” she whispers, a tired dimple appearing. “We’re going to the market. We’re buying real food. And then... I’m taking you to the shop. I’m making you the biggest boba on the menu, and you’re going to sit there and watch me work, and you aren’t going to think about a single equation. Okay?”

“Okay Liz.” you breathe out, the last of the tension leaving your shoulders.

---

Morning.

The sun does not come out like it is supposed to, like a grand finale of a fiction. But you have Liz still snoring quietly on your side. And that’s enough. That’s more than enough.

You stare at outside of the window, the rain is still going non-stop, the sky is still dim. But you reach out for your phone, unlocking it and go directly into the settings. Your fingers move fast, and a satisfied smirk is on your face.

You put your phone back onto the night stand and hide yourself back under the duvet again.

Your phones are side by side; you tap both of the screens at the same time. The identical picture shows up on the lockscreen.

You.

Liz.

With cat ears.

Colorful this time. The black and white filter is gone.

Maybe you are Liz are each other’s destined special person.

[lone-esper]

Off The Record

[REQUESTED]

Donation | Commission | Shop (TBA)

Kim Jiwon/Liz × Male OC

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.

The night swallowed him gently.

[defmaybe]

Performative: Part I

IVE's Kim Jiwon/Liz x Male Reader

11.1k words

Part II

It's Friday. Techno music blares through the surrounding speakers, pounding your skin with each beat. You keep tapping your fingers to the rhythm of the song, another hand holding your glass of martini. Most people are grinding on each other by now; it's eleven, but not you. Not yet. Your eyes scan the crowd for someone to catch your eye, someone to look at you and say: yeah, this is the guy I'm taking back to my room tonight.

You and this club go way back at least three years — from a freshman to a senior. The first occasion was a big deal — your first time at the bar and everything, singing, dancing. Then, there came the first girl that picked you up to her place. Again, that was a big deal. The police would pay the bar a visit sometimes, and you'd have to leave the spot early as it got cleared. Now, as a senior student, and with a few women that have passed by you, you can't help but think about the good times you've had with this place.

Still, right now, time's running out. You need to change your location, or it's a bust tonight.

You get up from your seat by the bar before going through the crowd slowly — step by step. Your body takes a few hits from the lustful folks grinding on each other. The place reeks of a combination of perfumes and a little sweat. You're not much better — CK One. No sweat, at least. You sweep the crowd with your eyes to find your potential lucky girl for the night — the girl that's going to take you back to your room tonight.

Until you find her.

Kim Jiwon, or westerly: Liz. A hundred and seventy centimeters tall. Factor in the fact that you don't stand straight, and she has to look down when she talks to you. You've seen her in your classes — same major after all — sitting beside Yujin and Leeseo in the back of the classroom. They're mostly on some MOBA game you've never cared to learn about the name. Now, she's dancing alone under the flashing lights of the club, looking so gorgeous.

The black strapless dress hugs her curves well, showing off her upper body where she needs it — waist, abdomen, tits. Your eyes feast on her body in a haste, trying to get the most of her as much as possible. The lower part is rather short, giving a view of her delectable thighs for you to see — smooth, milky. Her hair is tied up into a ponytail, draping nicely along her back. She just keeps moving along with the beat — eyes closed, lost in the music blaring down the speakers. Put it in slow motion and you get a decent movie scene. Just need a tad brighter lighting to make it all work.

Until suddenly, her eyes meet yours.

Liz smiles, giving you a wave. She can remember you as much as you do with her.

So, you begin your next move, stepping towards her cautiously. You are trying not to look like a weird guy who has just seen a woman for the first time here. She's still smiling. That's good. Keep smiling. As you get closer to her, the curves become more and more prominent to your eyes. Her cleavage looks fucking exquisite to your eyes. She looks taller when you get nearer, practically towering over you now. Your hands don't shake one bit. You're still holding your martini firmly in your hand, dodging the lusty patrons with ease. The light hits her face in a mysterious way that makes her look so resplendent under it. She just looks lovely.

And you start.

She looks so tall.

"Didn't expect you to be the bar type," you greet, almost shouting against the music, tilting your head slightly to the side.

"That makes us two, I guess," Liz responds, also almost shouting, smiling so casually at you. What a princess.

"You look great tonight!"

"What?" she asks with a small laugh, leaning slightly closer towards you.

"I said, you look great tonight!" you repeat under the thrumming music into her ear.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry, but can you say that again? I didn't quite catch it," Liz shouts, leaning even closer towards you. The smell of her perfume hits your nose now — summer.

Chuckling, "You look great tonight!" God, the music is just so loud here.

"Oh!" Liz pulls back slightly, covering her mouth with her left hand — two rings, index and middle each. "Thanks! You look great too!"

You shoot her back a smile. The shirt and jeans sure are a killer combo. "Thanks." Alright, find something to talk about. Her looks are gone, no need for more compliments. The weather? No, that's too lame, and you're in a club. Maybe go with the fact that she's … alone?

"Where's Yujin and Leeseo, though?"

"Oh, Yujin's here," Liz says, pointing to your right, and you see Yujin flirting with some guy in a leather jacket on the dance floor. He's shorter than her. They're all chatty and sparking. She leans in close to him, palming his crotch with a sly smile on her face. They look good for each other. Yujin's going to either riding him until he's dry or plow him senseless with a thick strap — good for him, either way. "Leeseo's studying back at her dorm."

"She seems to be having fun," you state before turning back to Liz. Should be talking about her instead of Yujin, however. "I wanna know more about you, though."

"Oh." Liz's eyes widen just a little, mouth opening slightly as your words reach her ears. It's making her heart flutter. "Well, ask ahead! I have nowhere to go anyway. Yujin's devouring that guy," she says with an eye roll, crossing her arms with a soft simper.

You chuckle softly, pointing your thumb back to the bar behind you — a crowd of horny people away. "Let me buy you a drink, then. Anything on your mind?"

"I'll walk with you there. Don't wanna lose you in the crowd," Liz says, smirking at you. She looks so good when she smiles like this. You notice the small dimples on her cheeks — gorgeous — and your brain short-circuits a little, to be honest. "Let's go. I could do with a martini."

So, you lead Liz through the crowd, eyes trying to keep her in your sight. The two of you make contact with the lusty folks in the club, saying sorry as you go through them to the bar with her. The place reeks of the blending perfumes, deodorants, and alcohol. Blaring through the speakers are techno music and the occasional shouts from the DJ to hype the patrons up. You two reach the bar eventually, clothes tainted with others' sweat and aroma. Liz seems happy, however, still smiling at you cutely from behind.

"Two martinis, please," you shout at the bartender, taking a glance at the happy Liz. She walks towards the bar before setting herself on the stool beside you. You settle yourself next to her under the loud music and the aroma of alcohol, eyes raking over her body—

Chuckling, "Enjoying the view?" Liz asks.

You scoff at the statement, "A lot. You look great tonight."

"Better than those classroom outfits?" she quips. Those hoodies and sweatpants that hide her curves under the fabric? You've always thought that she looks good regardless.

"Trick question, and you always look splendid," you fire back with a simper.

Liz lets out a polite laugh at your words, mouth covered by her hand. "You're unflappable," and the words are making you smile.

The martinis arrive in your hands rather quickly — clear with a pierced olive inside.

"To … Yujin?" you quip with an unsure smile, picking the glass up.

Liz laughs again, lifting the glass up close to you. The light of the bar shines on both of you — under the raucous music, under the smell of alcohol. "To Yujin."

And the glasses clink. You take a sip. She takes a swig — down in a single chug. That's rather fast of her, so you take a swig as well.

"So," you start, looking into her pretty eyes. They spark with excitement, and you can tell.

"So."

"What is a gorgeous woman like you doing in computer engineering?"

Liz pouts, tapping the bar casually, probably trying to recount the story of her life. "Well, I got an A in Python back in high school. They had you do a whole lotta stuff — Matplotlib, NumPy. You know, and my teacher told me one day that I'm good with logic and thinking, which is fitting for an INTP, not that I firmly believe in MBTI, but …" and she pauses, chuckling at you. "I should speak slower, shouldn't I?"

You laugh reservedly. "I'm still on it, don't worry."

Liz smiles. "Thanks," and she puts her purse on the bar. "I'm still not a believer in MBTI, though."

"We'll work well together if you want to know about me on that," you say. "Compatible functions and all."

Liz leans in slightly closer, giving you a delightful view of her ample cleavage on the edge of your vision. You're trying not to take a glance. "Work on what, exactly?" she whispers. Her lips look so full — glossy, rosy. You can see the pimples on her face — those imperfections. They somehow look good on her, even if it's your lust doing the talking.

Now, for the next words, answer carefully. Answer fucking carefully. Make her feel desired. Make her feel wanted. Make her feel safe with you.

So, you lean in closer towards her, and she seems to play along — not backing off. As you get near her, you can smell her warm breath — alcohol and mint. The features are becoming more prominent in your eyes — dimples from that sly smile, pimples, brown eyes. Your heart beats a little faster, but you've done this so many times — fake it until you make it. Staying at women's dorms is your expertise, and you're not fumbling it tonight.

"Would you like to know, Miss?"

You don't have a damn thing in your mind, really. There's a chance that you might just kiss her, even. Your fingers tap on your thighs in a rhythm along with the beat of the music. Her eyes are so dreamy, so easy to get lost in, and you just can resist chuckling out of the unwanted shyness.

"That's rather big talk, Mister. Don't you think?"

God, she's irresistible — from a hoodie girl with her iPad to a goddess in a black, strapless dress sitting just in front of you. Her glossy lips are doing a lot to you. They just look so kissable, so juicy. Plus, she just smells so fucking good. She reminds you of the summer days — hands running through the tall grass, picnicking under the tree, and sweaty, passionate sex in the heat.

"Oh, I'm sure I can follow that up … with interest." Your Apple Watch is going to send a warning about your heart rate soon. You've always dismissed it, however. No big deal.

Suddenly, Liz bursts out laughing, pulling herself away from you. It's unreserved — boisterous, in other words. Oh, the moment is spoiled.

"With interest?" and she just laughs even more, doesn't bother to even cover her mouth. She's still attractive, though, and you can't help but chuckle along with her.

"I'll-I'll skip metaphors for tonight, then," you say with a shy smile, before pulling back from the now-collapsed affection with Liz.

"Sorry for ruining the mood. It's just" — and another set of laughter, a hand on her chest — "we took an economics class last semester, right? It reminds me of that."

This is almost embarrassing for you, should've just kissed her five seconds before the interest. Gotta build everything up from scratch again.

"I love her, though — the professor," you remark, trying to pull her back into the game. The pieces are all over the place now.

"Oh, yeah, she was" — she's still laughing, dimples appearing on her cheeks — "she was great." Liz attempts to put herself into reticence once more. Hope she wants to finish this game as much as you do.

Then, there's a little bit of silence, though. You don't know how to continue. Questions about the subject's grade would be rude. Maybe, maybe, maybe, what now?

"Let me ask you something," Liz speaks against the loud melody of the house music. "I wanna know more about you."

Alright, great. She wants to play this as much as you do.

"Give me … four favorite artists," Liz says.

"Alright, uh … let me think," and your mind wanders through the world of music. It's mostly just your Spotify On Repeat playlist, really. There's a few going through your mind, but you can't just say the first person that comes to your mind. They have to be meaningful. They have to astound Liz.

"Japanese Breakfast."

Alright, that might give off performative male vibes — Clairo, matcha, tote bag type of man. You're not doing this for fame, of course. Sure, maybe to impress Liz a little, but you're not that kind, definitely.

Maybe.

"That's great. Yujin also listens to her, I think."

God, thinking about that lucky guy being ridden while Kokomo, IN plays in the background.

If ever you come back.

Wherever you find your way to.

And you get a tall girl bouncing on your dick crazy style to these lyrics. What a treat.

"Who makes the other three slots?" Liz continues her question, shifting in her seat slightly. The music becomes a bit softer for the first time in hours, letting the two of you bask in the slight serenity of it. Blue-ish light casts a gorgeous shadow on her face. She looks beautiful.

"I'll go with uh … Wolf Alice, Paramore, and someone I don't have the courage to say." You giggle.

"Is it Clairo?" Liz laughs, covering her mouth with her hand. "Do you also happen to like matcha and have a tote bag? Is your favorite book Normal People?" she fires questions at you. You're definitely not the performative male kind, still pretty damn close, however.

"Oh, no, no," you respond with a laugh, hands waving away her accusations. "It's Carly Rae Jepsen, actually. Emotion is like … one of my favorite albums ever," you answer her truthfully this time.

Liz's eyes widen slightly, nodding. "Oh, that's great, actually. I've listened to it once or twice. Let's Get Lost was pretty good, for me."

"That's nice," and you attempt to take a sip from your now-empty martini. Liz giggles at you.

"This round is on me," she says before raising her hand to summon the bartender at your location. You can't help but take a quick look at her somewhat muscular arms. She must've been working out a lot.

"Two martinis, please," Liz tells the bartender, and she gets to work immediately — mixing the liquor, stirring in the cocktail shaker, before pouring out the blended alcohol into your glasses. They're topped with an olive on a skewer for each, and it's done.

Liz picks up the glass, raising it to your eye level. "To your favorite artists," she says.

You chuckle, picking up your drink. "Are we really drinking to Carly Rae Jepsen?" The idea is enticing, however — drinking to someone who made Run Away With Me.

"We can drink to Japanese Breakfast instead, if you want," Liz says with a giggle. Can she remember your favorite artists? Oh, she's definitely interested in you. Little chance that you'll fumble this.

"I'll just go with all four of them."

Liz chuckles again, and she clinks her glass with yours. A swig is taken from her side once more. You take a swig along with her, downing another glass of martini. You take a look at the world around you. The crowd is still as lusty as ever, bodies grinding into each other without any ounce of shame. Music blares through the speakers, back to the intensity you found yourself in when you met Liz on the dance floor. The place remains reeking of perfume and alcohol — not really suffocating, to be honest.

"Hey," Liz calls, and you turn to her. She's looking all pouty and cute, leaning forward slightly towards you. The act shows off the slight of her cleavage once more on the edge of your vision. You're doing your best not to look down. "Losing interest already?" she sulks, tilting her head a little, voice so fucking seductive. This is pretty much an open-goal shot — an expected goal of one, clear-cut chance. Don't fumble this.

"Merely finding a way to lead us out of here, Miss," you respond, voice trying to match hers in softness. This is you doing your best to be attractive. "It can be a little … cramped in here."

Liz chuckles in front of you. You can feel her minty, alcoholic breath on your cheeks. Your body squirms slightly at the soft air from her mouth; she may or may not have seen it.

"Tell me, do you like olives?" Liz asks, picking up her olive skewer from the glass.

"Neutral, that's my stance," you answer, body gravitating a little closer towards hers. Again, you can see the imperfections on her face — pimples, wrinkles — but somehow, they look good on her. The blue-hued light casts a beautiful shadow on her face, looking better than the recent greyish, CG-ridden MCU films. You can see how glossy her lips look — rosy, so kissable, would look good on yours. Her eyes are brown, and you would fucking love to get lost in them for days. God, she's just perfect.

"Shame," Liz mutters so sultrily, bringing the olive pin close to her mouth. You smell her minty, alcoholic breath. "Would love a yes or no."

You chuckle, leaning in closer to her to the place your lips almost touch. It's there, right fucking there — a certain goal.

"What about you, Miss? Do you like olives?"

Liz scoffs. Her breath touches your lips slightly. "I like olives, especially when they're dripping with something … like martinis, or …" and she lets the words trail off, letting you sink under the anticipation of the mysterious liquid.

"Or what, Miss? Caesar salad dressing?" you ask.

"You're ruining it again, Mister," Liz says with a small smile, voice so fucking dripping with sultry. She puts the olive in the space between your mouths before she opens hers slightly. "I'm not in the mood to laugh."

You chuckle, before you also open your mouth just slightly. You know the drill here. "Well, pardon me, Miss. I'm known for my poor comedic timing," you respond, tilting your head a little.

"Just so you know," Liz says, mouth almost touching the olive between you now, eyes focusing on the fruit, "I fucking hate unserious people."

You scoff, "Unlucky me."

Olive-like, that's the first taste of her lips when they plush against yours. The skewer is pulled out for the fruit to sit between your lips, before Liz pushes it into your mouth with her deft tongue. You squirm slightly as the olive invades your orifice, engulfing you with the aftertaste of Liz's martini, and to be sexier: her spit. Her hands cup your face — warm, soft — locking you in place for the ardent kiss. You let the olive ride on your tongue for a while, basking in the taste of it. Liz hums and moans into your mouth as the sloshing sounds of the kiss ring inside your ear. Her tongue explores your mouth so fucking thoroughly, tasting the liquor left inside your cheeks and the nimble olive inside you. Her hands begin to travel down — to your neck, to your collarbone, to chest. You quiver as she finds your chest, rubbing your taut nipples on the fabric, and you just moan into her mouth out of the deafening pleasure. Your cock strains inside your pants painfully, under the devastating bliss, under her touch, under the olive. It's just so overwhelming for you.

Then a bite.

The taste of the olive juice coats your senses — mildly sour, mostly sweet. Again, you tremble as the flavor engulfs your mouth. You hear Liz moan into the kiss as the liquid lands on her tongue. She's loving it. You start chewing and grinding the fruit, letting the taste explode inside your mouths. Liz moves one hand further down — to your tummy, to your belt, to your crotch. She fondles it playfully, palming the area with dexterity. Your body quivers at her touch. You moan into her mouth, so brimmed with bliss as she begins to pull your zipper down, ready to free your—

"Wait," you pull back. The chewed olive remains inside your mouth — battered, ruined. Liz's hand stops on the zipper midway, exposing the tent formed under your boxers a little, enough for her to know how much you've been wanting this, not enough to be considered indecent.

"You better have good reasons, Mister, because if not, this little guy" — and Liz circles the top of your erection with purpose, making you shudder — "won't get a single thing tonight."

God, she's so intimidating. You're faltering under the weight of her dominance. Is she leveraging the fact that you listen to Carly Rae Jepsen against you? Going to be quite a scene when she rides you to Run Away With Me. Those trumpets would blend well with the sound of your thighs clashing into each other's.

"I-I think we should g-go back to—" and you have to hide your face behind your hands in embarrassment. Your body is still quivering from the earlier kiss — olive and her spit — before you can face her again with a face that is certainly red. "W-wanna go back to my dorm?"

Liz laughs softly against the loud melody inside the club before she closes the distance between the two of you again. "I wanna hear you say the word first, Mister," she murmurs, cupping your cheeks tenderly. "Say it, and I'll give you anything you want."

You feel the warmth of her hand before rasping, "P-please, Miss, please go back to my dorm with me."

Liz examines you for a second before grinning mischievously. The dimples have never looked more terrifying than now.

"Yujin's going to hear how much of a good boy you are."

—

Liz's hands are all over your body as she kisses you with vigor under the soft light of your dorm's hallway. You feel akin to a pliant plaything in the space between her and the door. Her fingerprints mark your body as hers. Many things are running through your head. Your arms hang from your shoulders idly, not knowing where to touch her. The kiss feels ardent, sure, but you also wonder if you're a good kisser to her. Your tongue explores her mouth in a slightly shaken manner — martini, slightly olive-like, and some foreign taste you can't quite identify. Then, the senior project occupies your mind for a split second. Should you be re-writing the abstract? Have you run it through your grammar checker? Shouldn't you be focusing on kissing Liz instead?

You search for your keys inside your wallet. They're inside the coin pocket. "The one with the circle head," you say as you hand her your key ring, and she quickly inserts one of the keys into the lock. You're not sure if it's the correct one — in a haste and all. There are your house key and room key that have a circle head.

The door opens; it's probably the correct one.

You stumble backwards as the door gets pushed back into your room. The kiss remains fiery and passionate. Your mind remembers that the space is pretty well-kept aside from the occasional mess on your table — a popcorn bag and a stack of stuff that has been building up for six months. Never bothered clearing it. The room smells of the air freshener you sprayed before you left. You always do this before you leave, just in case. The floor is already swept — can't have the girls' feet get even dirtier because of the dust on your floor.

Liz hastily kicks away her sneakers, striking your flip-flops into disarray. You are a little less frantic with the act, trying to align the shoes together nicely with a few kicks as your clothes get pulled by Liz, so determined to bare you to the almost-darkness of your room. External light breaks through the gap in your curtains, lighting the room up by a small notch.

Still kissing and clawing at each other's garments, Liz leads you to your own bed. Your body becomes more and more docile with each second that passes. Liz remains ardent with her tongue, sweeping the inside of your mouth with little resistance, savoring the aftertaste of the olive and your saliva. The latter doesn't feel foreign to her at all. She just keeps devouring you in that fashion of a predator and its prey. You keep stepping backwards until your calves hit the edge of the bed, and you fall down onto the mattress.

Without any hesitation, lips still on yours, Liz begins her ritual of undressing you. Her hands expertly find the buttons on your black shirt, as though she has done this so many times before. You quiver as your chest becomes exposed to the heat of your room — likely been building up since the afternoon. Liz draws a line on your body with her hand as the other works on your buttons. Your tremble gets even more intense when she finds your hard nipples under the sleek fabric. She circles it carefully, and that elicits a loud moan out of your lungs. This is no different from the other occasions. Your nipples are sensitive — highly. Women crave them. Those buds are so, to say it crassly and incorrectly, suckable. You thrash and writhe under Liz's firm body as you let her grope you with her playful hands, and you just let her do it.

Your buttons come off their holes eventually, and you shake yourself out of the black garment quickly. Liz throws your shirt away before pulling back from the kiss, and you get to properly breathe for the first time in minutes. A string of saliva connects your lips together obscenely, and she licks her lips to cut it off. What a frame.

"Do you have a tie?" Liz suddenly asks, hot breath touching your lips, and your brows clench slightly at the question.

"What?" you respond, unable to make sense of her question. "I-I mean, yeah, but why?"

Liz smirks before wrapping her hand around your neck as if to choke. Zero pressure from her hand, however. She just rests her hand there, examining the skin of your neck.

"Good boys … need a leash," she whispers seductively, putting force on your neck a little — not too hard, just enough for you to feel it along your skin.

You gulp before choking out, "It's-it's in the wardrobe, inside the-the little white basket."

Liz chuckles, putting a finger on your lips. "Stay here, pretty boy, while I go get your leash," she murmurs sultrily, before getting off your body for the tie. You lie on your bed idly, waiting for her to get your piece of cloth. Thoughts race through your mind — scattered, unkempt. There's this week's Fantasy Premier League transfers. There's the dispersed shoes on your floor. There's a weird math fact: every number that can be multiplied by three has its digits add up to another number that can be divided by three. Your fingers mingle with the fabric of your shirt drunkenly. God, you're wasted. At least you're wasted with Liz.

Luckily, Liz discovers your tie pretty fast, and she strides back towards you, teasing the piece of cloth in her hand. Your cock twitches in anticipation under your slacks, ready to spray spurts of cum into her hot, fertile womb while she rides you zealously. She's going to choke you with your own tie, and you'll be more than happy to let her do it.

When Liz reaches you, she climbs atop your pliant body. Her hands hike her dress up slightly before straddling you by the thighs. The scene gives you a view of her smooth, milky thighs wrapping around yours. She's not going to let you put your tongue on them so damn easily, of course. Perhaps you can breed her deep and passionate, and she might let you touch her. Your cock strains against her pretty cunt under the panties, ready to burst out of your pants at any minute.

She wraps the tie around your neck rather quickly, letting the cold of the cloth touch your skin. You shiver slightly at the touch, and she starts making a knot for you, making it a leash to control you, for you to obey her.

If she knows how to do it, of course.

Seconds tick away, each movement stirring a tinge of boredom inside your mind. Liz can't make a knot with your tie. She struggles with it. You hear her breathing becoming faster and faster, failing to compose herself as her hands grow more and more desperate on your neck. A gust of wind blows into your room, letting the light shine through the gap between your curtains. It rests on her face gorgeously, but you can also see the crimson blossoming on her face. Her legs shake around yours. She's not ready for this.

The need to take her emerges as your cock strains against her cunt under the thin piece of cloth. She squirms softly on top of you, and you can see it. You can feel how her pussy brush against you; each instance of friction sends a wave of lust through your body. What if you just flip her over and fuck her senseless instead of letting her take you? Tie a knot around her neck and use it as a leash. Make her take your cock while you pull her by the cloth — by the mouth, by the cunt. Put her into an ahegao — eyes rolling upwards, tongue lolling out of her lips like a cheap whore.

You take a glance to your left, making sure that there are no hard objects that could hurt her.

There's none.

So you utter—

"Slut."

Liz's hands freeze. It's her entire body, actually. Her mouth opens slightly, definitely shocked at your crass words aimed at her.

Then, with force, you grab her by the wrists.

And you flip her over. Her back lands on your bed with a thud.

Liz is still too shellshocked to come up with a response. Her body squirms under you as she looks away from your eyes — ashamed, dictated. She's supposed to be the one dominating your ass! Her breasts jiggle slightly with the motion. You draw her arms up above her head before pinning her down with only one hand, revealing the smooth armpits hidden beneath her limbs. Your other hand works on the barely knotted tie wrapping around your neck, unscrambling it with ease — only a pull and it's off. With dexterity, you tie the knot around her neck without much of a hassle. The tie drapes off her chest nicely. It looks great on her, just needs to remove the dress now.

"Turn around," you order, voice almost a roar. You release the grip, letting her shift to lying stomach-flat on your mattress. The steps are crystal clear, and she follows them in a docile manner. She sits up on the mattress, staring into your eyes before having to look away out of the shyness that has been building up inside her since you grabbed her by the thin wrists. God, she's just a girl, isn't she? Liz then turns herself around before settling herself on the bed again, now with the smooth expanse of her back laid upon your eyes. You reach out to her skin, feeling the way her loosened hair curtains her back, feeling the elegance of her exposed back, and it makes Liz quiver slightly.

"Don't-don't do that!" Liz rasps. You trace lazy circles on her upper back, just above the tantalizing zipper that holds her dress together. Slip it down, and she's yours. For the time being? She just keeps shaking under your palm.

You scoff before responding, "You're far from the position to be saying that, Miss," and you lean into the side of her ear. The aroma of her sweat and perfume wafts into your nostrils. The urge to spread your tongue over her lobe catches fire, to taste the sweat lingering on her. Your voice descends into a soft, seductive whisper. "Now, here's what I'm going to do."

Your hand tugs at the metal on her dress, teasing her of pulling it down and showing her bare, smooth back. Liz's breathing becomes more and more erratic with each second that passes. The anticipation lingers in the air of your room, intersected with the heat building up since the afternoon — westward window.

"I'm going to ask you just once. Are you in … or out?" you ask, reaching for the tie wrapping around the hollow of her throat before tugging at it lightly — not meant to cut her air. She lets out a whimper. "If you're out, just walk right out that door, go do whatever the fuck you've been doing for the last twenty years. I'm not going to stop you. Consent is sexy, and I agree with that statement," you roar from the depths of your lungs, other hand still teasing her zipper, threatening to pull it down. "But if you're in… I'm going to make you regret it with your life. I'm going to break you from the inside out. I'm going to fuck this pussy until you can't walk, can't speak, can't fucking think past how good it feels to be owned and used."

You hear a whimper leaking out from the space between her lips when you finish your promise. She's struggling to give you a definite answer. It's enticing to just leave you high and dry in the wake of your lust. How dare you defy her authority and pin her against your bed like this? She was supposed to be the one domming your submissive ass and making you call her a Mommy under her! However, being fucked senseless does not require the ability to think. Her mind doesn't need another burden on top of the projects and assignments that have been plaguing her well-being. Oh, to have her pussy well-fucked by your dick, breeding her with your fertile cum until it leaks out from the hole. How bad can a slut-out session be?

Finally, she utters weakly, "P-Please … use me."

It's not exactly a switch-being-turned-on type of situation, more like pushing from a seventy to a hundred. And so, you let go of the tie that has been restricting her air. Her head falls onto your mattress in a millisecond, and you pull your head back. You focus on pulling her zipper down with her arms lying idly at her side — not resisting, not stopping you. The act slowly reveals more and more of the smooth expanse of her back. Dragging the zipper down, there's nothing underneath her dress — no bra day, perhaps. You draw a trail down the middle of her back with your other hand, following the motion of the zipper downwards, and she can only shudder in response to your touch. Her skin feels so smooth, with a few pimples here and there. It's unavoidable, really. You pull the metal piece down until it reaches the bottom of the line, and you open her dress, fully revealing her gorgeous, cream-colored back. Liz gasps as the heat of your room envelops her frame. You can see beads of sweat forming on her skin, and God, isn't it irresistible?

Like scripted, you paste your tongue on her spine, dragging it upwards along the valley. Liz whimpers in pleasure at your touch, unable to make sense of why the fuck you would lick her dirty, sweaty back like this. It's salty on your tongue — a lot of sodium. The aroma is nothing but musky, and a tad of her body wash remaining from the last shower. Your flesh runs through the smoothness of her skin up to her neck, and Liz moans again, barely able to contain the bliss blazing inside her.

"You taste so good, Liz," you murmur into her ear, pulling her dress down more. The globes of her ass become more exposed as a result. Liz shimmies on your bed to let you take her dress off with zero regard to it being all crumpled. Your lips plant small pecks along her body downwards, making her jolt with each contact. You travel down to the flesh of her cute ass, hands dragging the dress down even further. Her flesh is so meaty, so mouthwatering, and you just stop to drool right fucking there.

"What are y-you doing? Pull it down, please," Liz rasps, face buried in your mattress to hide the crimson blooming in her cheeks. "N-need your cock, Da—"

Emergency button pressed, the moniker hasn't leaked out yet. Liz digs deep into your bed, unable to compose herself in a state of reticence. Her cadence is all over the place, and it's all because of you.

"Not until I mark this body mine, babygirl," you respond with a smirk, lips so close to the flesh of her ass. You give her a kiss eventually, caressing the rear like your life depends on it. Liz whines whorishly into the hot air of your room, and you couldn't be happier with the result.

Your tongue digs deeper into the valley, tongue sweeping the inner side of her cheeks, grazing the cloth of her red lace panties. You pull the dress down even more, letting the friction make her tremble, until it rests along her ankles. Her rear is fully exposed, bared to the heat. She's tomato red all over — so pliant, so ruinable.

You have only one thing on your mind, however.

"Turn around for me again, babygirl," you order softly — not much of a bark now. She follows without a thought, turning her body around while kicking her dress away to the edge of your bed.

And there they are.

Her tits are splayed on her body, sitting beautifully atop her sculpted curvatures. The nipples remind you of the chocolate you've gotten used to — so, to say it crassly and incorrectly again, suckable. Her abs look nothing short of spectacular — leg raises, planks, crunches — with a sheen of sweat, and you just have to give it a long, confident lick up her tummy. Her body quivers in response.

Your lips move towards her perfect breasts, latching on to her left nipple akin to a baby. Your tongue takes swipes on it hungrily, and Liz just moans breathlessly into the thick, sweat-inducing heat of your room. On the other side, your hand kneads her breast possessively, marking the body as yours. Liz thrashes under your touch. Her summery perfume and musk fill your nostrils, driving you more feral with your licks. There's the light taste of her sweat lingering on her tits — salty again — and you're more than ecstatic to let her simmer inside your mouth. God, her body is such a delicacy.

Satisfied with her mounds, your lips move downward — ribs, tummy, to the hem of her red lace panties — planting slow, passionate kisses along the trail. Liz trembles with each peck of your flesh, letting out cute moans repeatedly. Then, you carefully pick up the edge of her rosy fabric with your teeth — trying to be sexy, not painful to her. Your hands grab the spheres of her pretty ass, feeling how they squish between your fingers once you put force on them. Liz squeezes a breathless whimper out of her lungs. Your teeth begin to pull the piece of crimson garment down her legs, revealing the delicate, unshaven, mouthwatering cunt beneath. She's already dripping with juice from your touches — bet that it's salty just like her sweat. You drag the fabric down to her feet, socks still on. Now, it's just her, your tie, and the socks.

Professionalism is required in your room, so they stay on.

"I-I forgot to shave," Liz mutters, trying to cover her gorgeous, delicate pussy with her hand. "I'm sorry."

You glance up at her face, resplendent features looking so remorseful. She shouldn't be. You let go of the panties clinging to your teeth. "Sorry for what?" you reply, chuckling. "You're beautiful as you are, Liz."

"W-what? I-I thought you wouldn't like it …" she says shyly, looking away to the side as she tries to avoid your eyes.

You give her a sincere smile, at least you're trying to be. "I couldn't have asked for more, babygirl."

And she turns back to you, asking, "Really?"

"Really," you respond — assuring, encouraging — before you crawl up your bed over her gorgeous body. Liz gazes up at you; the tinge of shame still lingers — the feeling of not being enough. Your hand wanders on her body — from her pussy, to her abs, to her breasts — and you kiss her. The taste of olives lingers in her mouth, though there's a little more of her foreign saliva now — addictive, intoxicating. Your tongue sweeps the inside of her mouth with ease; she lets you. You knead her breasts with your hand affectionately, eliciting whimpers into your mouth. Liz's hands, knowing their jobs, try to undo your pants — from the belt, to your button, to the pushing down. Your body quivers slightly as the heat of your room envelops your legs, still smelling like sweat and a tad of the lingering air freshener.

"You're so hard," Liz utters into the kiss, palming your crotch just like Yujin did with the man inside the club, albeit with a complete lack of confidence. Then her hands slip into the space between your skin and the fabric all of a sudden, and it just drives you moan into her pretty mouth. You thrash atop her for a split second, and that seems to make Liz chuckle softly.

Your hand starts to move southbound on her body, travelling across the taut stretch of her skin until you reach the heaven of her pussy. Her hair brushes against your fingers softly, and Liz moans into your mouth. The clit isn't too far from your hand now, but a tease would be nice. Your fingers divert from the path ever so slightly towards her meaty thighs, bringing out a gasp from her lips. Her body squirms under you as you tease the fuck out of her thighs — caressing, brushing, fondling. The wetness ghosts your fingers. Though as much as you want to plunge your digits into her cunt and pump out her salty juices, making her scream into the thick air of your room, tormenting her first makes the end product all sweeter. Perhaps more nectar when she explodes, wetting your bed in the fashion of a whore.

"P-Please," Liz rasps into your mouth, removing her hand from your boxers, desperately trying to guide your hand into her pretty cunt. You keep brushing her off.

"Not now, babygirl," you respond. "Don't rush this."

Maybe she knows how to break you, she utters, "Please, D-Daddy."

Well, maybe your fingers aren't enough now. The carnal need just reaches a new height.

You pull away from her lips immediately. A string of saliva connects your mouths briefly — just enough to make it hot. Liz looks at you, quizzed as you lick your lips, readying yourself to savor her fully, making her collapse with your tongue.

You crawl back slightly on your knees, eyes examining her gorgeous body carefully — the smooth skin, the clean armpits, the perfect breasts, the hard abs, the unshaven mound, the meaty thighs. God, she's just perfect. You move downwards until your face is level with her folds, and you bend down.

The musk of her sweat and the aroma of her perfume fill your nose immediately as you lean over. Each molecule was perfectly designed to drive you ferocious, making you hungry for her salty, wet cunt. No thigh kissing anymore. You watch as her juice leaks out of her cunt lewdly, so ready to lube your cock with it. She shines against the darkness of your room, briefly interrupted by the light peeking through the curtains from time to time. Her stomach rises and falls in anticipation of your tongue lapping on her pussy. She's just so mouthwatering, so delicate, so ruinable.

And you begin.

The first lap of your tongue makes her jolt intensely, moaning, unable to compose herself under the heat of your room. You bury your nose in the folds of her cunt, gathering that scent that has been building up throughout the night — sweaty, musky, unique. The smell of her pussy electrifies your synapses into a frenzy, and the second touch follows suit quickly. Liz jolts again — this time a tad less intense. Your hands grip her thighs for holds, cleanly cut nails dig into her soft skin, likely leaving red welts on the perfect canvas. Then, with the third lick, Liz jumps in ecstasy, letting out another desperate whimper into the thick air. Fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, then you lost count. Your tongue drags on her cunt in an upward motion, gathering her natural lubricant oozing out of her walls onto your flesh — salty. The taste combined with the smell trigger the need to drink her nectar inside you. God, going to fucking make her squirt and piss into your mouth.

If someone told you in the morning that, tonight, you're going to a body worship session with Liz — the girl in the back of your classroom, a MOBA addict — you'd slap their ass in disbelief. You mean, sure, she's kind of pretty in your eyes, not quite your type but you wouldn't say no if she confesses her love for you. Worshipping her body, however, has never been on your mind — not a feasible target. She's always in a big hoodie that hides the curves and contours of her body, along with Yujin and Leeseo. At best, it's an oversized t-shirt that doesn't attract your eye. The two of you have never quite properly talked as well. It's just a few exchanges about work at most. Never thought about kissing her with an olive between your mouths. Never thought about dragging your lips on her skin. Never even thought about eating her out and making her squirm akin to a harlot like this.

(Not that you've never taken a quick glance at her ass, of course. Her garments just don't really allow you to take in the view of her curves — hoodie, sweatpants, sneakers. You thought that she was a flat-out virgin nerd who doesn't even know how to masturbate!. Now, though, she's writhing like a whore because of you — a goddamn slut. It's a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.)

Your tongue remains steady with the pace. You've read it somewhere — keep it consistent, don't rush even when she's close — probably on Reddit of all places. Liz's body thrashes and squirms around you, thighs pressing together into your head, squeezing your hair into a mess. You can feel the force being applied to the sides of your head. Your hands fondle her legs beside your head, giving her goosebumps and a whine that's leaving her mouth. Her cunt coats your tongue with the saltiness leaking out of it. You could've just bred her right here and now, making her wail around your cock like a bitch, but her pussy is just irresistible to your tongue. The carnal need to savor her is just, well, like a fire that cannot be extinguished. So, you delay the breeding session by a few minutes; her cunt tastes that good.

Liz moans with each of your licks, screaming into the dark vastness of your room. Her hips bounce off the mattress with each jolt inflicted through her frame. Your tongue keeps on coaxing more and more nectar out of her pussy, granting you the salt swimming in the fluid. Your hands grip the plushness of her thighs, pulling her in a tad closer to taste her just a little more. Her cunt envelops your nose now, letting your tongue dig deep into her, licking upwards to her pretty clit. You feel the walls contract and soften around your tongue, and that's when you decide to push forward — make her scream, make her your personal, free-use harlot.

Suddenly, pulling your mouth back, you insert your fingers into her lovely pussy, enjoying the way her walls tighten and loosen around your digits. Liz yelps in shock, unable to comprehend the intensity of your attack on her. Judging from the noise she has been making, her tongue is probably falling out of her mouth now. Then, you push her harder, plunging your fingers into her as deep as you can, and you curl your fingers up.

She jumps.

"Daddy! It's-it's so—" and it's interrupted by another moan when you press the button again. You look up to her face, taking in the view of her eyes drifting up and tongue lolling from the vastness between her lips, and the best part is: she's smiling through all of this. You keep stimulating her, making her your bitch, thrashing and writhing from the forces applied by your fingers.

Your throat is getting dry, however.

Without mercy, you press your lips around her swollen clit, and her thighs tighten around you. Your tongue nibbles on her nub as your fingers work inside her tight, wet cunt, curling them up where she needs the most. Her entire body shakes with ecstasy as a result of your relentless stimulation. God, you're fucking her good.

"D-Daddy, I'm-I'm close!" Liz whines, her hands pressing your head into her harshly. Her nails are going to leave red marks on your head tomorrow morning. You're not upping your ante, might ruin the entire night. Her walls tighten around your fingers harder than ever, unable to take your assaults on her body anymore. You keep your pace — curl and lick, curl and lick. Your free hand caresses her thigh. Her legs press hard on your head. Your tongue works on her clit. Her cunt keeps leaking juice. Your nose is buried inside her folds. Her—

It starts with a spurt into your mouth, and you latch your mouth onto the cunt immediately. Your nose buries itself in her bush. You relax your throat, letting her salty nectar enter your stomach directly. Some of it drips down your chin onto your bed — going to leave a smell. Your tongue keeps lavishing her clit hungrily — fleshy, swollen — trying to keep the fire within her womb burning. Liz's body thrashes with an unmatched intensity, nails digging into your scalp with the unbearable pleasure that courses through her pliant frame. Her taste is so tart to your tongue, and you're getting addicted to it.

Liz keeps whining and moaning into the air, tongue probably hanging from her mouth judging by the sound she makes. It's quite a treat to see her come undone like this, wouldn't have expected even a bit during your class that you're going to eat a MOBA-addicted, nerdy girl out like this. You've just discovered a hidden slut within this girl, and you're never going to forget about this.

After a few sprays, her orgasm subsides, replaced by the silence and her soft airy puffs. Her entire body flushes red under the light streak shining through the gap between your curtains. The aroma of her musk fills your nostrils. It ends eventually — serene, calm, peacef—

Her cunt gushes another wave of fluid into your mouth, this time saltier, this time warmer, less musky. It flows down your throat, and you take all of it. Your mind is going so feral with lust right now. Liz lets out these embarrassed whimpers into the air, losing self-control on your lips. In other words, she's pissing into your mouth, and you're drinking it with ecstasy.

"I'm sorry, D-Daddy, I'm so, so sorry," Liz rasps as her cunt is still discharging her warm urine into your mouth. She makes no effort to stop you whatsoever, gripping your hair tightly, holding your head in place. Your eyes roll up with desire as you drink her piss. Her body shakes under the weight of bliss — no composure, no reticence. And you? You just grip her thigh tightly, pinning yourself onto her pretty pussy without any hesitation, humming with the satisfaction of her salty flavor on your tongue.

Ultimately, Liz's pungent stream in your mouth subsides, leaving her breaths ragged and unrhythmic. Her body quivers under the waves of aftershocks crashing through her pliant body. You just swallowed all of her musky juice — squirt and piss — down your starving body, and you couldn't have been happier. She just tastes so fucking good. Every part of her body is a sin you can't resist indulging in.

"It's fine, baby," you respond. Salt lingers inside your mouth, plaguing each word you speak with its taste. It makes you wince slightly. Her piss lingers inside your stomach, smearing your body with filth. You feel nothing but elation and pride. Making her come undone is something you'll never forget.

Liz peers down at her body, watching you process her juices. "Y-you really drank it."

"And I love it, babygirl," you reply before slurping on her one last time, tasting the heady remnants of her cunt that has been driving you insane for the entire night. Your mind flutters once more. "You like that? You like it when Daddy drinks your piss?"

Liz lets out a slight smile, uttering, "Y-yes, Daddy."

You grin back at her before pulling your fingers out of her cunt. They're drenched with her syrupy lubricant — so filthy, so obscene. You gave them a suck — as expected, salt. Your eyes flutter slightly at her taste, and you hear a giggle from Liz.

"I can do it again, Daddy," Liz says mischievously, biting her finger as she threatens you with another good time — her last bit of control against you, being a bratty slut.

Chuckling, "I've had more than enough, babygirl." Her attempt at this is nothing more than cute, would still ruin her until she can't walk back properly to Yujin.

You crawl back up along her body, and Liz watches you with a glint of excitement in her eyes. Your lips make kisses along her body — hairy cunt, taut abs, firm breasts, to the hollow of her neck. She keeps shivering with each peck on her frame. Every square centimeter of her body feels so perfect to you. Your hands caress her body carefully, enamored of how her skin feels on yours, and you just can't help but utter, "You're beautiful, Liz."

Liz smiles, glancing away from your eyes. "Y-you only say this because I'm under makeup! You won't say this in our classes," she says shyly, scarlet lingering on her cheeks.

You giggle. "Yeah, can't say that I've always been ogling you either." Your hand tilts her head back, though, making her look into your eyes. "I see you now, though. I see you, Liz."

Liz's smile widens on her angelic face, unable to resist your praise. Her dimples become more prominent. "Really? You'll wave at me when we walk past each other now?"

"I promise," you say, and that seems to put her into contentment — all grinning and such. Then you kiss her, mouth reeks with the smell of her piss. She doesn't mind, however, still capturing your lips so ardently, tongue twirling inside your mouth to get a taste of her own filth. You can just say cut and end the night here, really. It's already perfect as is. To breed her, though, to fill womb up with your potent cum and watch it leak out of her pussy obscenely would be quite an image — one that you can't resist.

You grind your covered erection against her exposed, leaking cunt, making your boxers catch a little of her juice on the fabric. Liz's body shudders with each contact of your tent on her pussy, moaning into your mouth needily — so desperate for your cock. Your hand kneads her perfect, round breasts, fingers stimulating her nipples simultaneously, and that just makes Liz cry even more in pleasure. It's a treat. You feel so big, so powerful on top of her body.

Liz's hands move down your body to the edge of the last barrier to your cock. She kisses you hungrily, barely able to contain the need to swallow you whole, to make you breed her right. Her hands hastily pull your garment down, and your cock springs free, slapping against her pussy lewdly. God, if only her pussy lips already feel so good, that wet, velvety walls are going to be a life-changing experience.

You take your boxers off finally, throwing them God knows where. Your body is almost fully bare now, leaving on only the socks you've been wearing since the club. Liz grabs you by the waist, pulling you into her taut, sweaty body. The lips are still intertwined as this needy ball of lust — inseparable. Your hand attempts to guide your cock into her pussy, finding entrance awkwardly below the kiss. Liz squirms uncontrollably, desperate to have your cock fill her up like she's your slut already.

"Daddy, please," she rasps into your mouth. "F-fuck me," so needy for your dick, needy for you to fill her up and breed her real good.

You hum between the kiss, "Don't rush, baby," still trying to align her entrance with the tip of your shaft. Liz's hand becomes more and more impatient as each second passes. Her fingers are spreading her pussy, easing your cock into her.

You find her eventually.

Liz whimpers into your mouth whorishly, eyes wide open with the first touch of you inside her cunt. With each centimeter, your cock splits her pussy with its width. Her walls are so warm, so wet, so velvety. You can barely comprehend the sensation wrapping around yourself right now. It's always a wonder, isn't it? To fuck someone like this.

Halfway in, Liz's body shrieks under yours, letting out a sharp, unadulterated wail all over your room. It's there. You're hitting the spot. Her eyes roll upwards in pure ecstasy, barely capable of retaining the little composure she has left in her brain. You pull back from the fiery kiss just to watch her face come undone. Under the low light, her body flushes red. Her eyes are still looking upwards with pleasure. The breaths are ragged, uneven. Her tongue falls off the edge of her mouth lewdly. You push in further, using the little friction against her inner heaven to make her whimper akin to a harlot.

"D-daddy, it's-it's so big," Liz mutters weakly as you push forward into her, making you smile at the praise. The walls contract and relax around your cock — an imprint of her excitement to be used and bred by you. Her breaths rag. Her pupils dilate. Her body flushes. She's just so thrilled to be fucked like this.

You push into her until you finally hilt inside. Your cock twitches between her walls as she flutters around you wildly, threatening to milk you for all you're worth. Her cunt feels heavenly — so wet, so warm. Your body just can't resist the urge to pump her cunt, fill her with your white fertility, putting a baby inside her womb.

So you do it. You fuck her cunt.

You start with pulling out of her hole. Lewd, wet, sticky sounds lull in the air. Liz moans whorishly as the friction on her sensitive point hits a new high. Her eyes lost focus, looking upward with her tongue lolling out of her mouth akin to a slut. Not that you're silent, of course. You groan and grunt with how good her drenched pussy feels, hugging your cock so comfortably.

And you piston back into her.

Liz's body trashes catastrophically as your cock plows her with no mercy. Her velvety walls contract around your shaft intensely with the violent sensation coursing through her pliant frame, milking you for all you're worth. Your dick feels nothing but bliss wrapped in her tight, wet cunt. It's just so much, so loud, so filthy. Then you pull back, making wet, sticky sounds beneath you with your hardness. The suction is so intense that it almost makes you cum inside her fertile womb right here and now. You resist it, of course, not until you make her into a complete slut — your complete slut.

The motion begins to set in. You fuck Liz in slow, deep strokes, stimulating her pussy with the thickness of your cock. She whimpers every time you hit the sensitive spot inside her, struggling to keep her precious composure with you. Your cock is just that good. Her face starts to melt into this slut-out state — both eyes drifting up, tongue hanging off her mouth.

And you have to say: she looks wonderful with an ahegao on her face.

Your hips thrust into her body with care. She's already squirming at this pace. Your body feels jolts and shocks shooting through it, lighting your synapses aflame with the warmth of her pussy. You can feel the way her cunt pulses rhythmically around your dick with this speed you're fucking her. God, she just feels perfect — wet, warm, tight.

Your room reeks of sweat and sex — musky, tart, intoxicating. The light isn't on, but the peeking from the outside is already enough for the two of you to keep fucking like rabbits. Your mattress is probably drenched with her sweat and squirt and piss at this point, but you're more than happy to sleep with the smell of her filth, letting her imprint her mark inside your room. Who would've thought that you'd get crazy about this nerd in just a single night like this? The need to swallow her whole consumes you, to have her as yours, to have her as your slut.

With each stroke, it brings you closer and closer to the edge, pushing you towards the sought-after ecstasy you've been craving. Your hands get messy playing mindlessly with her (or your) tie, pulling her by the neck up from your mattress. Her abs tense up as you wrench her body towards you. She looks so fucking sexy like this — eyes up, tongue out, with a tie and socks, so lewdly professional.

"Gonna breed your pussy now, baby," you rasp, her tells emerging as well. Her frame begins to shake under you, teetering near the precipice. The walls are tightening around your cock, so fucking determined to coax white, hot, fertile cum out of your slit. It's there. She's there. She's close.

"Breed me—ah—Daddy!" she shouts, tongue rolling out of her mouth, eyes barely focusing on anything but to make you tense up with her expression. Her hands grip your waist tightly, doing her best not to let you go so easily. And suddenly, she locks your body tight with her muscular legs — those squats pay off, really. She has no plan of letting you go, and you're not leaving her, either.

So, breed her.

As the tide rises, you piston into her pretty cunt faster and faster, blazing with the need to fill up her womb with your fertility, flooding her, fucking her proper. You wrap the tail of her tie around your hand, pulling her in close to your face — so intimate. Your foreheads touch each other as sweat falls down from your skin. You keep rutting into her vigorously, eager, determined to make her drenched with your sperm. She's still making an ahegao, unable to control herself anymore. She's a slut — your slut.

And she cums.

You can feel the way Liz's thighs quiver as the second wave of her squirt hits your pubic bone. Her body trembles uncontrollably under you — tongue out, eyes up. She's wetting your bed this time, but you have no plans to wash the bedsheets, however. Let her simmer in the fabric, sleep with the smell of her cunt wafting into your nose every night. Let her linger beside you. Make her yours.

You quickly follow suit, spilling your potency into her tight, wet cunt. Stars are in your eyes. Your breath hitches — divine experience. Her body welcomes you, letting your cum flood her hole without any resistance. Your body quakes with the orgasm coursing through you. From the first eye contact in the club, talking, olive-tasted kiss, sweat on her back, eating her out, making her cum, and soaking her womb with your cum, it's quite a night — one of the best.

The tsunami passes eventually, leaving you and Liz in the wake of your afterglows. Her body shudders in a rhythm, walls still contracting around your cock. Your cock twitches inside her. Drizzles of cum leak out of your slit into her pussy. Her face relaxes, eyes peer back at you, tongue retracts back into her olive-tainted mouth. Your body softens along with hers, and you swear that she's one of the most gorgeous women you've ever seen — bare, socks-clad, basking in the afterglow.

"Who would've thought?" she asks.

"Yeah, who would've thought?" you respond as you pull yourself out of her pussy, letting your cum dribble down to your bed, before slowly collapsing down on her body feebly — spent, empty, tired. She wraps her arms around you, holding you in her warmth tightly.

"You're the best," Liz says, breaths still ragged and out of rhythm. She smiles up at you, looking all exhausted after the intense fucking you just gave her. "Never thought I'd be doing this with you."

"You always play that MOBA game in class. The most I knew about you was only your name just a few hours ago," you say with a giggle. Your hand caresses her face softly. "Maybe I should learn more about you, shouldn't I?"

Liz chuckles. "Oh, are you asking me out on a date now?"

"Maybe," and you shrug, making Liz giggle again.

"Change it to definitely, and we'll talk."

"Well, then, definitely, maybe."

"You're just trying to quote a movie now."

"I know, babygirl."

Then a kiss — not too intense, just a peck on the lips — and we're doing an iris out. Let's focus on the two of you smiling at each other and—

Cut.