The incense is sandalwood today. It's Minnie's favorite for afternoon sessions, its warm, earthy scent grounding the room and quieting the mind. Outside, it's a bright, sunny afternoon. Inside, every corner is overflowing with greenery: a sprawling monstera, pothos vines cascading from a high shelf, and a fiddle-leaf fig she occasionally catches herself talking to when no one's around.
For Minnie, yoga isn't just exercise. It's ritual. Discipline. A way of holding the world's endless noise at a comfortable distance. This room is her sanctuary, the one place where she can breathe, think, and simply exist in peace.
Well... almost.
Because on the other side of that door is Miyeon, her best friend and a walking, talking anxiety attack.
Minnie moves through her flow with the ease that comes from years of practice. Her dark hair is pulled into a loose bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face. Tanned skin gleams with a light sheen of sweat as she transitions from downward dog into a forward fold, reaching her palms flat to the mat. Her fitted black leggings hug the toned lines of her legs, and her cropped grey tank rides up with each stretch, exposing the flat plane of her stomach. She breathes in through her nose, slow and measured. Holds. Releases. The quietness in the room is total.
And it lasts exactly three more seconds.
The door swings inward with enough force to bounce the handle against the wall and Minnie's left eyebrow lifts a fraction of an inch before the rest of her face acknowledges the intrusion. She holds her plank. Controlled. Unbothered. The woman standing in the doorway does not share that quality.
"Okay, so I need to talk to you and I need you to not judge me and I need you to be honest and I need you to maybe also solve my entire problem because I am losing my mind."
Miyeon stands in the doorway, breathing hard as if she sprinted up the stairs. Her blonde hair is slightly messy, the soft waves tumbling around her face, and her cheeks are already flushed pink. She is wearing denim shorts that cut off mid-thigh, a white tank top, and an unbuttoned blue flannel shirt that she is currently gripping at the collar with both hands, twisting the fabric tight.
Minnie does not open her eyes. "Take your shoes off."
"I'm serious, Minnie."
"I can hear that you're serious. Shoes."
Miyeon kicks off her sneakers without untying them and starts pacing the length of the room, stepping around the yoga mat with careful footwork. Her hands migrate from the flannel to her own hair, raking through it, tugging at the ends. She cannot sit still. She cannot even stand in one place.
Minnie rises into mountain pose, pressing her palms together at her chest. "You're going to knock over my peace lily."
"I'm going to knock over a lot more than that if you don't help me." Miyeon stops, turns, starts pacing the other direction. "Okay. So. You know my new boyfriend, right?”
"The guy from the group dinner?"
"Yeah, the one with the, you know, the shoulders. We've been texting for like three weeks. We went out twice. It's going really well. Really, really well. He's sweet and he's funny and we have this trip planned for the weekend, his friend has a place in Sokcho and we're going and it's going to be very romantic and I'm very excited about that part."
Minnie shifts her weight, stepping back into warrior one. Her front knee bends deep, arms rising overhead. "Okay."
"And he's very..." Miyeon searches the ceiling for the right word. Her cheeks darken another shade. "He's experienced. Not in a gross way, just in a way where he knows what he likes and he communicates about it, which I actually appreciate because at least he's upfront."
"That sounds healthy."
"It IS healthy. That's not the problem."
Minnie extends her arms in warrior two, gaze steady over her front fingertips. "So what's the problem?"
Miyeon stops pacing. She faces the window, then turns back. Then faces the window again. Her hands are back on the flannel, twisting. "He's really into swallowing."
Silence settles over the room. The incense gives a tiny crackle..
Minnie blinks once, then smoothly transitions into Reverse Warrior, one hand sliding down her back leg as the other reaches overhead. "Okay.”
"Okay? That's it? Okay?!"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know, something more than okay! I'm telling you I've never done that and I'm supposed to just... do it this weekend and I don't know what I'm doing, Minnie. I've never even tasted it before. Not once. Not even a little. Every guy I've been with before was always using condoms or pulling out or I just... redirected somewhere else. And now I'm going to Sokcho with this beautiful man who expects it and I'm going to gag or my face is going to do something weird or I'm going to hate it and I'll end up making this face and he'll think I'm immature and the whole weekend will be ruined."
She delivers this entire speech to a potted fern, because apparently looking at her friend during a confession is too much.
Minnie straightens up from her pose, pressing into her lower back with both hands. "First of all, take a breath."
"I am breathing."
"You're hyperventilating. Please breathe, sweetheart." She waits. Miyeon inhales, holds it, lets it out. Her shoulders drop about half an inch. "Good. Now. What exactly are you afraid of?"
"I TOLD you!! The gagging. The face. The taste. What if it's disgusting? People always joke about it tasting bad and I've read things online that say it's salty or bitter or metallic and some people say it makes them nauseous and I have a sensitive stomach, Minnie, you know I do. I threw up that one time from the smell of the fish market and that wasn't even in my mouth."
Minnie lowers herself onto the mat, crossing her legs into a seated position. She rests her hands on her knees, palms up, thumbs and index fingers touching. Utter composure. "I'm going to tell you something, and I want you to actually hear it."
Miyeon's doe eyes are wide, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She nods.
"It's not a big deal," Minnie says. "I've tasted plenty. More than plenty. Different guys, different diets, different results. And yeah, some of them were a little bitter, some were salty, one was genuinely awful and I made him start drinking more water because I refused to put my mouth anywhere near him again. But overall? It's really not the horror show that the internet makes it out to be. It's a taste. You experience it for about five seconds and then it's gone."
"Just five seconds?"
"If you swallow right away, yeah. The whole dramatic buildup in your head is way worse than the actual thing."
"So you're saying I should just... go for it? This weekend. With no practice. Just wing it with a mouthful of something I've never tasted before and hope for the best?"
Minnie tilts her head, considering this. She uncrosses her legs and stretches one out in front of her, reaching for her toes with a slow fold. "No. I'm saying you should practice before this weekend so you actually know what to expect and you can go to Sokcho feeling confident."
"Taste some first," she repeats disdainfully. "Where would I even— Minnie, I can't exactly go to the store and buy a sample pack.”
Minnie sits up, rolling her shoulders. "You know who lives in this apartment."
At first, the words don't seem to mean anything.
Then they do.
The thought takes shape slowly, horribly, and then all at once. Her hands fly to her mouth. "NO! No, no, no— You mean your—"
"I want you to feel prepared." Minnie switches legs, reaching for the other foot. "And he's been on a regimen for a while now, so the timing is actually perfect."
"A regimen?"
"Pineapple juice every morning. Celery sticks with his lunch. Zinc supplements with dinner. I started making him smoothies too, kiwi and banana and a little honey. The results have been... significant."
Miyeon's expression slowly empties. "You... You gave your boyfriend a cum diet?”
"I improved his nutrition. The side effects just happen to be useful for me. For us, potentially." Minnie pulls her other knee in, wrapping her arms around it. "Trust me. I've optimized him. The volume alone is impressive and the taste is genuinely good. I wouldn't say that if it wasn't true."
Miyeon makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. She sinks onto the floor across from Minnie, legs folded under her, the blue flannel pooling around her hips. Her face is the color of a ripe peach.
"You can't just optimize a person like a— like a lawn mower! That's not a thing people do!"
"I can and I did."
"That's genuinely insane, Minnie. You burned so much incense you gave yourself brain damage."
Minnie reaches for her water bottle, taking a slow sip. "Look. You came to me because you trust me. You're spiraling about something that doesn't need to be a crisis. I'm offering you a solution that lets you walk into this weekend with zero anxiety. When does that ever happen?"
Miyeon pulls at the hem of her denim shorts, picking at a loose thread. Her doe eyes drop to the floor. "I'd feel weird."
"Why?"
"Because it's your boyfriend..."
"He'd be fine with it."
"You haven't even asked him!"
Minnie's expression does not waver. "I know him. He'll be fine with it."
"You cannot possibly know that."
"I've been with him long enough to know what he says yes to." She pauses. "Which, honestly, is most things. I've trained him well."
"Oh my god, stop it." Miyeon covers her face with both hands.
Minnie smiles. "I'm kidding." Miyeon peeks at her through her fingers. "Mostly.”
Miyeon groans, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. "This is crazy. This is absolutely certifiably crazy. I'm sitting on your yoga mat discussing whether I should blow your boyfriend so I can learn what semen tastes like before my trip. This is a new low. This is rock bottom."
"It's not a low. It's practical. And you know what? I want you to feel confident this weekend. Let me help you. That's what friends do."
Minnie is looking at her now; sitting there, completely still, meeting her gaze with warm brown eyes that somehow manage to be teasing and reassuring at the same time.
Miyeon feels her resolve begin to crumble.
Annoyingly enough, Minnie's argument makes perfect sense. Better to know than spend weeks imagining the worst. Better to practice than completely embarrass herself when the moment finally comes.
"...Fine," she mumbles into her hands. "Okay. I'm in."
Minnie's lips curve into that knowing smile. She stretches her arms overhead, rolls her wrists, and rises from the mat in one fluid motion.
"Good. Finish freaking out and then come find me in his room in ten minutes."
She says it with the same casual tone someone might use to remind a friend to take the trash out. Miyeon stays exactly where she is, sitting cross-legged on the floor with burning cheeks and a pulse that refuses to slow, trying to figure out how she'd somehow let herself agree to this.
—
The thing about living with Minnie is that you learn to stop questioning her. Three months into the relationship, you stopped asking why there was always a carton of pineapple juice in the fridge. Four months in, you stopped wondering why she started packing celery sticks into your lunch. Five months in, she handed you a bottle of zinc supplements and told you they were for your immune system and you just took them, because that is what you do when Minnie decides something is happening. You nod, you comply, and somehow your life improves in ways you cannot fully explain.
You're sprawled across the bed, your laptop balanced on your stomach as a video about restoring a rusted '67 Mustang drones in the background. You're only half paying attention.
The bedroom reflects both of you in equal measure. Your side is clean and practical: a neatly organized desk with your PC setup, headphones hanging from a stand, and a small stack of books that rarely strays out of place. Everything serves a purpose.
Minnie's presence softens the rest of the room. A couple of trailing plants spill over a bookshelf, crystals and tiny ceramic trinkets sit beside neatly stacked books on mindfulness and philosophy, and a woven basket in the corner holds rolled-up yoga mats and resistance bands. A woven throw blanket lies folded at the foot of the bed you both share, while a couple of oversized cushions rest beneath the window, forming the quiet reading nook she insisted the apartment needed.
Today it's' the kind of slow, lazy afternoon that makes doing absolutely nothing feel like the most productive thing in the world.
Footsteps in the hallway. Two sets. One calm and measured. One quick and uneven.
You look up from your laptop screen and there they are, filling your doorframe. Minnie stands with one hand on the frame and the other on her hip, her dark hair now loose around her shoulders, still wearing her fitted black leggings and cropped grey tank from yoga. She looks like she just finished a photoshoot for some wellness brand, tanned skin glowing, warm brown eyes finding yours with absolute composure.
Behind her, half-hidden by Minnie's shoulder, is Miyeon. You can see the blue flannel first, then the edge of her face as she peeks around her friend. Her blonde hair falls in soft waves around her cheeks, which are currently the deepest shade of pink you have ever seen on a human person. Her doe eyes find yours for exactly one second before darting away to study the wall behind you with sudden intense fascination.
"Hey babe," Minnie says.
"Hey," you reply. You glance between them. "Everything okay?"
"Totally fine. I need to ask you something." She steps into the room. "Miyeon, come in. Stand somewhere. Stop hovering."
Miyeon shuffles in and plants herself near your desk chair, arms crossed tight over her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. She pulls the flannel tighter around herself as if she is cold, which she is not, because it is warm in here and her neck is blotchy red.
Minnie sits on the edge of the bed, crossing her legs underneath her. "So," she begins. "Miyeon has a situation." You look at Miyeon. Miyeon looks at the ceiling. "She's going on a trip this weekend with that guy she's been seeing. The one with the shoulders."
"Right. Yeah. Nice guy."
"He's great. Very communicative. Very open about what he likes." Minnie pauses, smoothing down a crease in her leggings. "He happens to be very into finishing in a girl's mouth, and Miyeon has never dealt with that before, so she came to me for advice because she's nervous about it. Understandably."
You look at Miyeon, who has now turned her entire body to face your bookshelf, examining titles she cannot possibly be reading because her eyes are unfocused and glassy. The flush has spread from her cheeks down to her neck, creeping past the collar of her tank top.
"And I suggested," Minnie continues, her tone as light and easy as if she is telling you about a sale at the grocery store, "that she practice beforehand so she knows what to expect. Get comfortable with the taste, the texture, all of that. Remove the mystery. And since you've been on my little health plan for a while now, the results have been pretty fantastic, so I told her you'd be happy to help."
The room falls silent. Only the voice from your laptop fills the air, some guy rambling about carburetors while your mind struggles to process what Minnie just said. Every thought grinding to a halt like a computer freezing. Then it reboots, slowly, one process at a time, loading information in fragments.
Practice. Her mouth. You. The thing that Minnie does. But Miyeon. Your girlfriend's friend. Your girlfriend is sitting on the bed telling you that her friend needs to practice swallowing cum and you are the designated practice dummy.
"Wait," you say. "Seriously?"
Minnie tilts her head. "Do I sound like I'm joking?"
"You never sound like you're joking. That's what makes it hard to tell."
Miyeon makes a small sound. Something between a cough and a whimper. "Can we maybe not call it a health plan out loud? Can we not describe it like that in front of him?"
"Why not? He should know what goes into his own body." Minnie gestures toward you casually. "You've been drinking pineapple juice every single morning for six weeks. Celery with lunch. Zinc with dinner. I blend you a smoothie three times a week with kiwi and banana and raw honey. Your loads have been thick, abundant, and genuinely tasty. I did that. On purpose."
"Oh my god," Miyeon whispers to the bookshelf.
"She's not wrong," you admit, because it is true and also because your brain has not fully caught up to the situation and is operating on autopilot. "The smoothies are really good."
"The smoothies are not the point," Minnie says with a slight eye roll. "The point is that I have spent considerable time and effort making sure that what comes out of you is actually pleasant to put in a mouth. And right now, Miyeon is terrified of something that she doesn't need to be terrified of, and I want to fix that. I'm asking you to be a good boyfriend and a good friend and just let her try it."
You look at Miyeon again. She has given up on the bookshelf and is now staring at her own feet, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her flannel. Her shoulders are hunched up near her ears. Everything about her posture screams discomfort, but she has not left the room. She has not said no. She is still here, standing by your desk chair, breathing a little too fast.
"Miyeon," you say.
She finally looks up, meeting your eyes.
There's so much embarrassment written across her face that you almost feel guilty for her. "Are you sure you're okay with this?" you ask gently. "I mean... actually okay. Not just because Minnie managed to talk you into it."
Miyeon fidgets with the hem of her shirt, avoiding your gaze for a second before looking back.
"I-I think so? Or... I thought I was. Back in the yoga room it sounded... I don't know, kind of logical? B-But now I'm actually standing here and..." She lets out a tiny, breathless laugh. "...it suddenly feels very real." She rubs the back of her neck, cheeks burning. "I swear, this is exactly how I feel right before getting a shot at the doctor's office. Like I know I'll survive, but my brain is still screaming, 'Run.'”
"You're not getting a shot," Minnie says. "You're going to put a dick in your mouth. It's way more fun than a shot."
"You're really not helping," Miyeon mutters.
"I know." Minnie doesn't sound remotely apologetic. "I'm trying to keep you from spiraling."
Miyeon shoots her a look that says it's not working.
Minnie only smiles before turning to you. The teasing slipping away. She isn't pleading - Minnie doesn't do pleading - but there's a sincerity in her eyes that's hard to miss. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think this was the right call," she says. "She's my best friend. She's tying herself in knots over something that's completely fixable." She tilts her head ever so slightly. "You know that.”
You do know that. You know Minnie well enough to understand that when she presents a solution, she has already considered the alternatives and found them lacking. She does not waste effort on bad plans. If she is standing in your room asking this, she means it.
Your gaze moves from Miyeon's flushed cheeks and the blonde hair falling across them to Minnie's tanned skin and the patient curve of her lips, and somewhere in the back of your skull a small, rational voice is trying to remind you that this is the kind of situation that should require careful thought. Moral deliberation. At least a token moment of internal conflict.
Two of the most beautiful women you have ever seen are standing in your bedroom. One of them is your girlfriend. The other is her best friend. Your girlfriend is calmly, pleasantly asking if her best friend can put your dick in her mouth. For practice.
The whole thing is so far past absurd that it has circled back around to almost reasonable, the way things tend to when Minnie is involved. She has a gift for making the insane feel logical.
"Okay," you say.
Minnie's smile widens by a fraction. She lets out a pleased hum, the kind she makes when you finish your smoothie without being reminded. "Good boy. Thank you."
"Okay," Miyeon repeats. She exhales hard through her mouth, blowing a strand of hair off her face. "Okay. We're doing this. This is happening. I'm doing this."
"You're doing great already," Minnie says, rising from the bed.
You nod. Slowly, then with more certainty. "Yeah. I mean, if it helps, then yeah. I'm happy to help." You look at Miyeon, who is still examining the floor as if it contains the secrets of the universe. "You're in good hands. Seriously. Minnie knows more about sex than anyone I've ever met. She's basically a scholar. You couldn't have a better mentor for this."
"But isn't this... I don't know." Miyeon shifts her weight from one foot to the other, tugging at the hem of her flannel. "Isn't this kind of cheating? On both sides? You're her boyfriend and I'd be doing... that... to him. And Minnie's just standing there watching. That's weird, right? That has to be weird."
Minnie sighs. Not a frustrated sigh, more the gentle exhale of someone who has already anticipated this objection and prepared a response. She sits back down on the edge of your bed, folding one leg beneath her.
"That is exactly the problem with you two," she says. "You always focus on the physical act and never on what it represents."
"What-it-represents," Miyeon repeats flatly. "What's that even supposed to mean, Minnie?"
"Think about what you're actually doing here, Miyeon. You're not sneaking around behind anyone's back for fun. You're preparing. You're taking time out of your week to learn how to please a man you really like because you want him to have a good experience. That's thoughtful. Honestly, that might be the most considerate thing a girlfriend could do. You care enough about this guy to get it right."
She pauses, letting that settle.
"He gets a girlfriend who knows what she's doing and feels confident instead of panicking. You get to actually enjoy the weekend instead of dreading it. Where exactly is the harm?"
Miyeon brow furrows as the logic works its way through her anxiety.
"You don't agree?" Minnie asks.
"I mean... not at all, no. But I really want to do it right. So I guess it's better this way." She swallows hard. "He can never know about this. Ever. This goes to the grave."
"Fine, whatever." Minnie waves a hand dismissively. "Now start taking off your clothes."
Miyeon blinks. "Why do I need to take off my clothes? I only need my mouth for this."
"Because things tend to get messy and I'd rather not explain to your boyfriend why your favorite tank top has another man's dried cum on it. That would be a very different conversation than the one we're having right now." Minnie pulls her cropped grey tank over her head in one clean motion, tossing it onto your desk chair. Her torso is bare, tanned, still faintly glossy with sweat from her yoga session. The lines of her body are lean and toned, her stomach flat, her skin a warm golden brown under the bedroom light. "See? Easy. Now you."
Miyeon stares at the ceiling, her jaw working. Then she shrugs off the blue flannel, letting it drop onto the desk chair next to Minnie's tank. She pulls the white tank top over her head with a wince, like she is ripping off a bandage. Her denim shorts stay on. She stands there in her bra, arms crossed, looking like she wants to dissolve into the floor.
"Miyeon," Minnie says. "The bra too."
Miyeon's head snaps up. "W-Why?”
"Because you have beautiful breasts. Full, nice shape. Don't be shy about it, we're all among friends here."
"Have you been looking at my boobs?” Miyeon asks, caught off guard.
"Sometimes. Always respectfully, of course." Minnie's lips twitch. "Off. Come on."
Miyeon reaches behind her back and fumbles with the clasp, fingers slipping twice before she manages to unhook it. The bra slides down her arms, straps dragging along her skin, and she drops it onto the floor. Her breasts sit high on her chest, round and full, the pale skin of them almost luminous in the afternoon light. Her areolas are a soft dusty pink, puffy and delicate, each one a perfect circle framing nipples already stiff from the air, small and tight and flushed a deeper rose. They have a natural fullness that gives them weight without losing their shape, the kind that move softly with each nervous shift of her shoulders.
She immediately tries to cover them with her arms, crossing tight over her chest, shoulders hunched up near her ears.
And you have to side with Minnie on this one. Miyeon really does have beautiful breasts.
"Arms down," Minnie instructs gently. "There you go. Good."
She turns to you. "Sit on the edge of the bed."
You comply, shifting to the edge of the mattress, feet flat on the floor. Minnie kneels beside you first, then pats the floor on your other side. Miyeon lowers herself down awkwardly, folding her legs under her, still half-covering her chest with one arm.
Minnie reaches for your waistband with practiced hands, undoing the button and pulling your pants and underwear down in a single unhurried motion. You lift your hips to help her and she slides everything off, tossing them aside. Your cock rests against your thigh, half-hard already, which is understandable given the circumstances.
"Okay," Minnie says, wrapping her fingers loosely around your shaft. "How are you at giving head?"
Miyeon stares. "I don't... I don't know. Average, I think?"
"Right." Minnie strokes you slowly, her grip warm and familiar, and you feel yourself hardening further under her touch. "Then we're going to fix that. I'm going to teach you a few things so you can go to Sokcho and absolutely wreck this man. He's going to fall deeper in love with your mouth than he already is with the rest of you."
She turns to you, then back to Miyeon. "Watch my hand first. See how I'm not squeezing too hard? You want a firm hold but you don't want to choke it. Like you're holding a thick marker. Not a stress ball."
Miyeon nods, her doe eyes fixed on Minnie's hand moving along your length. Her lower lip is caught between her teeth again.
"Now, the head is the most sensitive part. Especially right here." Minnie runs her thumb across the underside of your tip, and your stomach tightens. "That's the sweet spot. You spend time there, you use your tongue, you don't ignore it. Most girls just try to take the whole thing immediately and that's fine, but if you want to drive him crazy, you start slow. Tongue first. Lips second. Then you take him deeper."
Miyeon leans forward slightly, watching with the intense concentration of someone taking notes for an exam.
"Open your mouth, sweetheart. Tongue out."
Miyeon obeys. Her jaw drops, her tongue extending past her plump lower lip, and she trembles visibly. Minnie angles your cock toward Miyeon's waiting mouth, guiding you with steady fingers until your tip brushes against Miyeon's tongue.
The first touch is electric. Miyeon's mouth is warm and wet, and the tentative press of her tongue against your slit sends a jolt up your spine. She freezes, blinks once, and you can see the exact moment surprise registers on her face. Her brow relaxes. Her eyes soften.
"Not bad, right?" Minnie says, watching her reaction with amusement. "Breathe through your nose. Relax your jaw. Don't clench. Good girl, just like that."
Miyeon takes more of you. Her lips close around your head, soft and pillowy, and she sucks gently, experimentally. The sensation draws a sharp breath from your lungs.
"That's it. Use your tongue while you suck. Circle the tip, then flatten it and lick the underside. He likes that. Don't you?" Minnie glances up at you.
"Yeah," you manage. "That feels really good."
Miyeon's eyes flick up to yours, wide and searching, and you watch something shift in them. The nervousness is still there but layered underneath it is a spark of determination. She wants to get this right. She hollows her cheeks and takes another inch, her lips stretching around your shaft.
"See, you're a natural," Minnie tells her, still gripping the base of your cock, stroking the part Miyeon can't reach. "Now take a little more. Slowly. Don't force it, just let your mouth get used to the thickness."
Miyeon sinks deeper. The wet heat of her mouth envelops you inch by inch, her tongue pressing flat against the underside of your shaft as she goes. She pulls back, takes a breath through her nose, then goes again. Deeper this time. A soft, muffled sound hums in her throat and the vibration travels straight through you.
"How does she feel, babe?" Minnie asks you, her tone conversational.
"Incredible. Her mouth is so tight, and her lips are..." You trail off, trying to find the right words while your brain is melting. "Really soft. She's doing really well."
Miyeon makes a small pleased sound around you, and the vibration sends another pulse of heat through your groin. Her head bobs with growing confidence, finding a rhythm that is uneven but enthusiastic. Saliva gathers at the corners of her mouth, slicking your shaft, making each stroke smoother than the last.
"Good. Keep that pace." Minnie shifts closer, her bare shoulder brushing Miyeon's. "Now, when you pull back, drag your lips along the underside. Like you're tracing a line. And when you get to the tip, give it a little suck before you go back down. Guys lose their minds over that."
Miyeon follows the instructions perfectly. Her mouth glides up your length, lips dragging, and when she reaches the head she sucks with a gentle pressure that makes your fingers curl into the bedsheet. Then back down, deeper, her tongue working in slow circles.
"Holy shit," you breathe.
Minnie smiles. "See? I told you. Natural talent." She looks up at you. "She's doing well?"
"Really well. Her mouth is so warm, and the way she's using her tongue right now is..." You inhale sharply as Miyeon does the thing Minnie just taught her, sucking at your tip with perfect pressure. "Really, really well."
Miyeon's eyes are closed now, her blonde hair swaying with each movement of her head. The flush on her cheeks has spread down her neck and across the upper swell of her breasts. Her nipples are hard, pressing against the air, and she has stopped trying to cover herself entirely. Her hands rest on your thighs, fingers curled lightly against your skin.
"Don't forget to use your hands too," Minnie coaches. "Wrap one around the base. Squeeze gently while you suck. That way your mouth doesn't have to do everything at once."
Miyeon lifts her right hand and wraps her fingers around your shaft below where her mouth is working, mirroring the grip Minnie demonstrated earlier. She strokes in time with her mouth, hand and lips moving together, and the dual sensation makes your hips twitch involuntarily.
"Sorry," Miyeon mumbles around you, pulling back slightly.
"Don't apologize. He loved that." Minnie squeezes your thigh reassuringly. "You can use your other hand too. Play with him a little. He's sensitive right under the head, I already showed you, but also try lower. Cup him gently."
Miyeon's left hand moves up, her fingers finding you tentatively. Instead of going lower like Minnie suggested, her thumb drifts upward and settles directly against your frenulum, that small ridge of skin just beneath the head where the nerve endings cluster so densely that even the lightest contact registers like a current. She traces across it with her thumb pad, slow and curious, exploring the texture, and your entire body locks up. Your breath catches mid inhale and your stomach muscles clench hard, every fiber of attention in your body narrowing to that single point of contact where her fingertip is drawing tiny circles against the most sensitive skin you possess.
She looks up at you through her lashes, checking your reaction, and your jaw is so tight you cannot form a coherent response. She takes your silence as encouragement and does it again, pressing slightly firmer, rolling the pad of her thumb across the ridge in a slow, deliberate arc that sends a pulse of pleasure straight through your groin. Her mouth is still working your tip, lips sealed around the head, and the combination of her warm wet tongue sliding across the top while her thumb tortures the underside creates a dual sensation that makes your vision swim.
"Yeah, there you go," Minnie murmurs. "You found his weakness, keep going.”
"She's a fast learner," you tell Minnie, and Miyeon's eyes shine at the compliment.
"Of course she is. She has a good teacher." Minnie shifts her position slightly, watching Miyeon work with the critical eye of a master appraising a promising student. "Now try taking him deeper. As far as you can comfortably go. If you feel like you're going to gag, slow down and breathe. There's no rush."
Miyeon lowers her mouth onto you again, taking more this time. Her lips stretch wider, the tight ring of her mouth sliding down your shaft until she has taken most of you. A small gag catches in her throat and she pauses, eyes watering, breathing hard through her nose.
"Breathe," Minnie reminds her. "Hold there for a second. Let your throat adjust."
Miyeon holds. The tight clench of her throat around your tip is almost unbearable, hot and squeezing and so impossibly wet. She swallows once, reflexively, and the rippling sensation makes your head drop back.
"Good girl," Minnie murmurs. "Now pull back slow."
Miyeon slides up, gasping when your cock leaves her mouth, a thick string of saliva connecting her lower lip to your tip. She wipes her chin with the back of her hand, chest heaving.
"How am I doing?" she asks, looking between you and Minnie with swollen lips and messy hair.
"So good," you tell her, and it's the absolute truth.
"You're doing beautifully," Minnie confirms. "Keep going. Same rhythm. Mix it up between deep and shallow, keep him guessing."
Miyeon dives back in. She finds a pattern now, three shallow strokes followed by one deep, her tongue swirling across your head each time she pulls back. Her hand works the base in a twisting motion that Minnie must have taught her through osmosis because it is devastating. Her other hand cups and rolls your balls with a gentle curiosity that keeps your entire body thrumming.
Your hips begin to move on their own, small involuntary thrusts upward that meet her mouth halfway. Miyeon takes them without complaint, adjusting her angle, opening her throat to accommodate you. Drool spills down your shaft, pooling at the base where her fingers work, slicking every inch.
Minnie watches the two of you with sharp, attentive eyes. She reads the tension in your thighs, the way your stomach muscles are clenching, the subtle shift in your breathing. She knows your body better than you do.
"Okay, Miyeon." Minnie's hand comes to rest on the back of your thigh, her thumb tracing a slow circle. "He's getting close.”
Minnie shifts beside Miyeon, her tanned shoulder pressing against Miyeon's pale one. The contrast is striking in the afternoon light, golden brown against porcelain. "Keep going," Minnie tells her. "But focus on the tip now. Just the head. Use your tongue in little circles right underneath where it's most sensitive."
Miyeon pulls back until only your tip rests between her lips. Her tongue moves exactly as instructed, tracing tight, wet circles across the underside of your head, and the concentrated sensation makes your thigh muscles flex hard.
"Good. Don't stop cupping his balls. Yeah, just like that.”
Miyeon makes a soft sound of acknowledgment around your cock, her eyes widening. She squeezes gently, rolling her fingers, and the ache that has been building in your pelvis intensifies to something urgent and throbbing.
“Feel how heavy he is?” Minnie asks, watching Miyeon’s fingers explore you. “I’ve spent weeks filling him with water, fruit, zinc, everything his body needs to make thick, sweet loads. Then I drain his balls myself often enough to keep him producing plenty. All that weight in your hand is fresh cum, sweetheart, and he’s about to pump every drop of it into your mouth.”
"You're talking about me like I'm livestock," you manage, your jaw tight.
"Hush. She needs to understand what she's working with." Minnie looks at Miyeon, whose mouth is still wrapped around your head, sucking with slow, careful pressure. "When he finishes, it's going to be a lot. More than you're expecting. Just hold still, keep your mouth open, and let it happen. Don't try to swallow right away. Let it sit on your tongue so you can actually taste it."
Miyeon pulls off you just long enough to breathe, "Okay," before sinking back down.
Your hips are moving now, small grinding thrusts into the wet heat of her mouth. Miyeon takes them, her plump lips sealed tight around your shaft, her tongue still working that devastating pattern against your frenulum. Her hand massages you below, fingers gentle but curious, squeezing and rolling your balls in a rhythm she seems to be discovering on her own.
The pressure is building low in your stomach, a heavy tightness that spreads through your groin and down into your thighs. Your breathing has gone ragged. Your hands grip the edge of the mattress, knuckles white.
Minnie sees it before you say anything. She reads the tension in your body the way she reads a yoga pose, identifying every strained muscle and held breath. Her hand comes to rest on your inner thigh, her thumb pressing into the tense muscle there.
"He's almost there," she tells Miyeon. Her tone drops, softer, coaxing. "Keep your mouth open. I want you to taste all of it."
Miyeon releases your cock from her lips and tilts her head back, mouth open wide, tongue extended. Her doe eyes look up at you, glassy and nervous and so impossibly pretty. Minnie wraps her fingers around your shaft and aims you directly at Miyeon's waiting tongue, stroking with a firm, steady grip.
The first wave hits you all at once. Your orgasm tears through your body, your hips jolting as your cock throbs violently in Minnie's hand. The first rope of cum is thick and heavy, a solid stripe of white that lands across the center of Miyeon's tongue and pools at the back of her mouth. Miyeon flinches, her eyes squeezing shut for a fraction of a second, but she holds her position. Minnie keeps stroking, squeezing upward, and the second spasm hits even harder than the first. Another thick rope, this one landing across Miyeon's lower lip and the front of her tongue, warm and dense, coating her tastebuds in a heavy layer.
"Stay open," Minnie murmurs. "Good girl."
The third spasm pumps out a long, viscous strand that collects on Miyeon's tongue and immediately begins spreading, warm and thick, mixing with the saliva already pooling there. Miyeon's cheeks flush a deep crimson as her mouth fills, the warm fluid settling across every surface, coating the inside of her cheeks, pooling beneath her tongue. A small amount escapes the corner of her lips, trailing down her chin in a slow, heavy drip.
Minnie milks you through every pulse, her thumb pressing along the underside of your shaft from base to tip, coaxing out each spasm with practiced efficiency. The fourth and fifth spurts are shorter but still substantial, adding to the growing warmth in Miyeon's mouth. Your cum sits on her tongue in a thick, opaque pool, warm and slightly sweet from weeks of pineapple and celery and zinc, the texture dense and silky. Miyeon holds it all, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she tries to contain the volume.
The last few pulses are weaker, just thin streams that Minnie wrings from you with slow, careful strokes. She squeezes from the very base upward, dragging her grip along your entire length, and catches the final bead of cum on her thumb before it can escape. She wipes it across Miyeon's lower lip.
"There you go," Minnie says softly. "All of it. Don't swallow yet. Close your mouth and taste it."
Miyeon's lips close slowly. Her eyes are still wide, still shocked by the sheer amount, but she doesn't pull away. She holds your cum in her mouth, her tongue moving tentatively through the thick fluid, and you watch her expression shift. The furrow in her brow smooths out. Her eyes lose some of their frantic edge. She blinks once, twice, and something like quiet surprise crosses her flushed features.
"Well?" Minnie asks, watching her closely.
Miyeon parts her lips, and you can see the white still pooling on her tongue, thick and warm. "Itsh..." She catches herself, closes her mouth, swishes the cum gently between her cheeks like she's sampling wine. "warhm. An’ sho thick. Buh id doeshn tash bad ad all. Id’sh kinda shweet... no’ like shuggar. Jush... good."
"Told you." Minnie's lips curve. "But don't swallow all of it. Save some for me."
Miyeon's eyes go wide. A muffled sound escapes her throat, something between a question and a squeak. Her cheeks are bulging slightly, still full.
Minnie rises from her knees and moves in front of Miyeon. She cups Miyeon's jaw with one hand, tilting her chin upward, and leans in. Miyeon makes a strangled noise of surprise but doesn't pull back. Minnie's lips meet hers, soft and unhurried, and the kiss deepens as Minnie's mouth opens against Miyeon's.
The transfer happens slowly. Minnie's tongue slides between Miyeon's lips, meticulous and probing, and you can see the moment the cum passes between them. Miyeon's throat works, a small gulp, and then she opens wider, sharing the thick fluid back and forth. Their tongues move together, slick and messy, coated in the heavy white cum that strings between their mouths each time they shift angles. Minnie's hand stays firm on Miyeon's jaw, holding her steady, controlling the pace. Some of the cum escapes during the exchange, trailing down Miyeon's chin, dripping onto the swell of her bare breast.
They pull apart after a long, suspended moment. A thick, glistening string of mixed saliva and cum connects their lower lips, stretching before it snaps and lands on Miyeon's thigh. Both girls swallow at almost the same time, throats bobbing, and Minnie licks the remaining trace from her upper lip.
"See?" Minnie says, her breathing only slightly elevated. "Nothing to be scared of."
Miyeon sits back on her heels, chest heaving, her lips swollen and glistening. Her entire face is flushed, from her cheeks down to her collarbones, and her blonde hair is messy where her hands have raked through it. "That was... a lot. That was really a lot."
"You handled it perfectly."
"No, I mean... the amount." Miyeon blinks, still sounding dazed. "There was so much. How is there that much? What have you been feeding him?"
Minnie lets out a quiet laugh. "Enough, apparently." She tilts her head. "More importantly... what did you think of the taste? The verdict.”
Miyeon runs her tongue over her lower lip, gathering the last trace of flavor with an unhurried curiosity. Her wide eyes settle on you again, the earlier uncertainty giving way to open interest and a quiet eagerness she no longer seems able to hide.
"I liked it. I really liked it." She pauses, seeming almost embarrassed to admit the next part. "Damn, it's really fucking good. It's kind of addictive. That sounds insane, right? I was so scared and now I want more. That's insane."
"It's not insane. It means my regimen works." Minnie looks entirely too satisfied with herself.
Miyeon's gaze drops to your lap. You are still hard, your cock glistening with saliva and the slick residue of your orgasm, resting against your thigh. She stares at it for a long beat, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Can we do that again?” She pauses to wet her lips, her attention lingering between Minnie and your cock. “I mean properly this time, with both of us taking turns on him. I want to see what it feels like when we do it together.”
Minnie's laugh is delighted, bright and genuine. "Look at you. One taste and you're hooked."
Miyeon's face burns red all over again, but she does not deny it. Her eyes stay fixed on you, on your cock, and her tongue slips out to wet her lips one more time.
"Lucky boy," Minnie says to you, her fingers wrapping around your still-wet shaft. She gives you a slow stroke, almost absent-minded. "Round two."
You laugh, the sound coming out breathless and shaky because your body has not fully recovered from the first orgasm and already she is handling you again. "You two don't even care about me, do you? I'm just a training dummy."
"Yep," Minnie says.
"Basically," Miyeon adds, and then covers her mouth, shocked at her own boldness.
They both smirk at you. Identical expressions of amusement on completely different faces.
"Feel free to practice on my dick until she's confident enough," you tell them. "I'll manage somehow."
"Oh, you'll manage." Minnie squeezes you and your cock twitches in her grip, already filling out again, the refractory period of a man who has been nutritionally optimized by his girlfriend whether he asked for it or not. She leans down and runs her tongue along the underside of your shaft, base to tip, cleaning the residue from the first round. "Miyeon, get down here. You wanted the full experience."
She positions herself on your left and Minnie takes the right, their bare shoulders pressing together. Two mouths at your disposal. The visual alone is enough to restart your heart.
Miyeon goes first. She leans in and takes your head into her mouth, sinking down with a hunger that was not there ten minutes ago. Her lips stretch around your girth and she moans around you, a soft, genuine sound that vibrates through your entire cock. Her enthusiasm is messy and artless, saliva spilling from the corners of her mouth, her head bobbing at an uneven pace, taking you deep and then pulling off too far before sinking back down. She is making up for her lack of technique with sheer effort, sucking hard, her tongue moving in frantic circles.
"Slow down a little," Minnie coaches, pressing her lips against the base of your shaft and dragging them upward along the side. "Enjoy it. You don't have to race."
Miyeon adjusts, finding a steadier rhythm, and Minnie mirrors her on the opposite side. Their tongues meet along the sensitive underside of your shaft, both wet and warm and moving in different directions, Miyeon's broad and flat, Minnie's pointed and precise. The sensation is staggering. Two different textures of heat sliding against your skin, overlapping, tangling.
"Fuck," you hiss through your teeth.
Minnie pulls back, a strand of saliva connecting her lower lip to your cock. "You taste like my smoothies," she observes, almost to herself. She looks up at you with those calm brown eyes and takes your entire length into her mouth in one smooth, controlled motion. No gag, no hesitation. Her lips press flush against the base of your cock and her throat tightens around your head, and she holds there, breathing steadily through her nose, before pulling back just as slowly. The tightness of her throat dragging along your shaft makes your vision blur.
Miyeon watches with her lips parted, eyes wide. "How did you... how do you just do that?"
"Practice. Lots of it." Minnie wipes her chin and gestures toward you. "Try it. Breathe in deep first, then go down and don't stop. If you feel your throat closing up, swallow instead of pulling back. That opens it up."
Miyeon squares her shoulders, blows out a breath, and lowers her mouth onto you. She takes the first few inches easily, her technique already improved from earlier. Then she pushes further, past where she stopped before, and you feel the tight ring of her throat press against your tip. She gags, her whole body jerking, eyes watering. But she does not pull off. She swallows hard, exactly as Minnie instructed, and her throat opens enough to let your head slip through. A strangled moan escapes her, muffled around your cock, and tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
"Good," Minnie murmurs, running her hand along Miyeon's bare back. "Hold it. Three seconds."
Miyeon holds. Three seconds. Then she pulls back gasping, coughing, drool hanging from her chin in long strings. Her face is a mess of saliva and tears and she is smiling. Actually smiling.
"I did it," she says, breathless and proud.
"You did it." Minnie kisses her shoulder. "Your boyfriend is going to lose his entire mind."
They fall into a shared rhythm after that. No more instruction, no more correction. Miyeon takes you deep while Minnie's tongue works the base, then they switch. Miyeon sucks your tip while Minnie engulfs the rest. Their lips brush against each other constantly, meeting at the midpoint of your shaft, tongues sliding together over your skin. The sounds are obscene, wet and slick and sloppy, mixed with Miyeon's muffled moaning and Minnie's controlled breathing.
Your hands find their hair. Your right hand sinks into Minnie's dark locks, gripping at the root, and your left tangles in Miyeon's blonde waves. You hold them both, steering gently, and they let you. Miyeon whimpers when your fingers tighten in her hair, pushing herself harder onto you in response. Minnie hums with approval, the vibration traveling straight to your core.
Both mouths descend on your shaft simultaneously, one on each side, lips pressed together with your cock between them. They move up and down in unison, their tongues meeting across the top of your shaft, kissing around you, moaning into each other's mouths. The heat is unbearable. Wet, slick, squeezing, two chins dripping with mixed saliva, four eyes looking up at you from below.
Minnie pulls back, catching her breath. She wraps her hand around you, stroking slowly, and looks at Miyeon. "One more thing. A guy who likes a girl who swallows naturally also likes to see her covered in cum. It's basically the rule. You should know that going in."
Miyeon blinks. "Covered? Like... on my face?"
"On your face. On your lips. Dripping down your chin. Guys are visual, Miyeon. He wants to see what you did for him. He wants to look at you and know that you took everything he gave you and wore it." Minnie strokes you with a firm grip, her thumb rubbing circles under your head. "So this time, you're going to get cum on your pretty little face. Both of us are. Consider it the final exam."
The pressure is building again, heavier this time, a deep ache that radiates from your pelvis through your thighs. Both girls are looking up at you, Miyeon's blonde hair tangled around your fingers, Minnie's dark hair gripped in your other fist. Their faces are flushed, lips swollen and shining, cheeks wet with spit. They are pressed shoulder to shoulder, faces tilted upward, mouths open and waiting.
"I'm close," you warn them.
Minnie takes your cock from her stroking hand and aims it directly at their faces. "Stay right there," she tells Miyeon. "Don't move. Keep your eyes open if you can."
The second orgasm tears through you harder than the first. Your cock pulses violently in Minnie's grip and the first thick rope of cum launches across Miyeon's left cheek, a heavy white stripe that stretches from her cheekbone to the corner of her mouth. She flinches but holds steady, her doe eyes widening as the warmth hits her skin. The second spasm is just as strong, a thick glob that lands on Miyeon's lower lip and tongue, pooling there before dripping down her chin. She gasps, her breath hitching, and the next rope catches her across the bridge of her nose, painting a line of white across her flushed, pretty face.
Minnie angles you toward herself. The fourth spasm streaks across her forehead, a long viscous strand that drips down between her eyebrows. The fifth catches her nose and upper lip, thick and heavy, coating her full lips in a layer of opaque white. She keeps her eyes open, watching your cock twitch and spasm with that same calm, analytical gaze, even as her face gets painted. The sixth spasm is weaker but still substantial, a glob that lands on her chin and immediately begins dripping down onto her tanned chest.
You groan through the final pulses, your hips jerking forward as the last thick beads ooze from your tip. Minnie milks them out with slow, firm strokes, directing the remaining cum onto Miyeon's waiting tongue. The last strand stretches from your slit to Miyeon's lower lip before breaking and settling on her chin.
Both girls kneel before you, faces upturned and glazed. The volume is staggering, thick ropes of white streaking across Miyeon's cheeks, her nose, her lips, her chin. Cum on Minnie's forehead, her nose, her lips, dripping from her chin in slow, heavy drops. They are gasping, blinking through the mess, and then Miyeon starts giggling. A breathless, disbelieving sound that makes Minnie laugh too.
"Oh my god," Miyeon says, touching her cum-covered cheek with her fingertips. The thick fluid smears under her touch, warm and slippery. She pulls her fingers away and a string of white stretches between them. "Oh my god, there's so much. It's everywhere."
Minnie runs her tongue across her upper lip, gathering the cum that has pooled there, and swallows. "Told you. Optimized."
"You're actually insane and I love you."
Minnie turns to face Miyeon. Both of them are a mess, faces shining and streaked. She reaches out and cups Miyeon's jaw, tilting her face. "Hold still."
She leans in and drags her tongue across Miyeon's left cheek, collecting a thick stripe of cum in one long, slow lick from jaw to cheekbone. Miyeon exhales sharply, her eyes fluttering shut. The sensation of Minnie's warm wet tongue sliding across her skin sends a visible shiver through her body. Minnie swallows and licks again, this time across Miyeon's chin, gathering the cum that has dripped there, her tongue pressing firm and thorough against Miyeon's skin.
Miyeon lets out a shaky breath and says, "That's really fucking kinky."
"Good kinky or bad kinky?" Minnie asks.
Miyeon's cheeks burn beneath the thin layer of saliva Minnie has left behind. "Really, really good kinky.”
Minnie kisses the corner of Miyeon's mouth, where a thick glob of cum has collected, and sucks it clean. Then she pulls back and waits. Miyeon gets the message. She leans forward and runs her tongue across Minnie's forehead, licking up the long strand of white that has been slowly dripping down between Minnie's eyebrows. The taste hits her again, warm and thick and sweet, and she moans softly before swallowing. She licks across Minnie's nose, gathering the cum pooled there, then down to Minnie's lips, where their tongues meet again in a messy, slow kiss that mixes saliva and cum between them.
They clean each other's faces with lazy, thorough strokes of their tongues. Minnie licks a trail down Miyeon's cheek to her jaw. Miyeon returns the favor, dragging her tongue along the edge of Minnie's chin where cum has dripped onto her tanned neck. They are savoring it, taking their time, swallowing each collected taste with soft sounds of satisfaction. When they finish, their faces are glistening with saliva but the cum is gone, eaten, shared between them.
Miyeon turns to Minnie, her lips still glistening, her cheeks still burning. "So... could we maybe do this again? Like, one more time before I leave on Saturday?"
Minnie grins, lazy and fulfilled. She wraps her fingers around your spent cock and leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your tip. "I'll double his pineapple intake tonight." She tilts her head to look up at you. "Thanks for being a good sport, baby. Knew you'd come through."
Miyeon looks at you too, face flushed and warm, blonde hair an absolute wreck, doe eyes bright with gratitude. "Seriously, thank you. I actually feel ready for once. Like I know what I'm doing now."
You lean back on your elbows, completely spent, cock softening against your thigh. "Anytime. Honestly, the pleasure was mine. You're going to do great with your boyfriend. He has no idea what's about to hit him.”
Tags: Succubi, post breakup, highly likely part two, blowjob, Giselle has a massive butt
“I’m serious, Giselle. If we don’t find a human for the company, we’re going to get fired for real.” Miyeon mumbles, her words getting caught in her throat just imagining getting fired.
She didn’t want to be one of those succubi that had gotten fired just because she wasn’t ‘seductive’ enough. Miyeon’s partner and close friend didn’t have that same problem.
Giselle was definitely seductive enough to catch a human, her charm could make even the most devout monks blush but she was horrible at removing their desire afterwards, and that was their entire purpose.
It wasn’t just about luring humans in. The energy they needed the kind that powered the eternal hell charm potions, it was the most popular product amongst modern demons came from extracting human lust.
“I said I was working on it,” Giselle said lazily, reclining across the ragged velvet couch in their dormitory. Her tail flicked behind her in rhythmic loops, almost hypnotic.
“Besides, I got close with that Jewish investment banker in Midtown last week. Almost too close. He was about to propose. Can you imagine?”
Miyeon flinched. “You didn’t say that.”
“I didn’t want to worry you. He was just going on and on about this rabbi he knew in upstate New York.”
Miyeon gave her a long, slow look. “Giselle. He was about to propose. That’s like stage-five clinger behavior. You hypercharged his attachment.”
“I panicked, okay?” Giselle sat up, brushing imaginary dust off her sleek black minidress. “He started crying when I mentioned soul cycles. What was I supposed to do, slap the desire out of him?”
“No, you were supposed to do your job!” Miyeon hissed, pacing across the cracked floor tiles of their shared unit. “We’re on our third probation. Third, You know what comes after this?”
“Unbinding.”
“Worse. Desk duty.”
Giselle gasped. “You mean like… paperwork?”
“And spreadsheets,” Miyeon added, gulping.
A silence settled between them like a funeral shroud. Even the lights flickered in sympathy. “We’re not made for spreadsheets,” Giselle said eventually. “Our talents would wither.”
“Exactly. So, we need a human. A good one. Fast. And this time, no emotional implosions.”
“Fine. I’ll pick someone tonight.” Giselle rolled her eyes, picking at her long acrylic nails.
“Not just anyone. A clean energy source. Willing, capable, and totally ghostable.” Miyeon pushes up her glasses.
“You make it sound so easy,” Giselle sighed. “You know, maybe if they trained us properly instead of rushing us through Succubus Academy in eighteen months—”
“We got the fast track because of us cheating on all of our assignments,” Miyeon reminded her. “They thought we were prodigies.”
“They thought you were a prodigy,” Giselle muttered.
“And you managed to seduce 100 people in a week during our final exam.” Miyeon rebutted.
They both can’t help but smile at each other.
They’d been a team from the start—Giselle with her luminous skin and liquid voice, Miyeon with her tight control over her power and energy harvesting efficiency.
On paper, they were perfect. In practice, they were HR’s worst nightmare.
“I’ll go out tonight,” Giselle said with newfound resolve. “I’ll pick someone boring and safe. A schoolteacher. Or an accountant.”
“No musicians. No actors. No one who writes poetry in the rain.”
“Miyeon. I said accountant. I got this.”
“I’ll come with you.” Miyeon says calmly.
“What, you don’t trust me?” Giselle’s eyebrow cocks upward.
“I trust you exactly enough to know I should come with you.”
——
They hit the mortal realm at 10:47 p.m., just in time for the last wave of Friday night desperation to crest over the city.
The club they entered was one of the agency’s approved venues, laced with low-level signals that disguised any non-human activity. Mortals brushed past them, their bodies humming with need, loneliness, thrill-seeking.
Giselle’s eyes glowed faintly as she scanned the crowd. “Target-rich environment.”
It wasn’t long before Giselle found him. You stood at the edge of the dance floor, nursing a half-melted drink and scrolling something on your phone with the despondent air of someone who thought they should be somewhere else.
You weren’t particularly attractive, but tall and maybe a bit muscular but you had the most important trait: vulnerability.
“That one,” Giselle said.
Micron followed her gaze and nodded. “Looks emotionally available.”
“Hey!” Giselle smiles at you, your eyes look up at her.
‘Gosh, just what I need, a bar girl who wants me to buy 12 bottles of champagne and vodka for her’
You nod your head horribly slowly, the alcohol was already getting to you and the double D’s of this gorgeous woman was adding on to the delirium of the night.
“Are you here alone?” You were actually just here with your girlfriend Minjeong, who said she was sick of your wishy washy attitude and got up and left.
“Yeah, alone.” You knock back another sip of whatever is in your cup. The woman sits down beside you and removes the cup from your hand.
You let her.
“You look lonely,” she whispers, her voice like warm smoke curling into your ear, “like someone who’s been waiting for something to take their mind off something.”
Her lips fall to your neck, lightly brushing against your skin. The soft muscle stirring you up. Holy fuck, does it feel nice to have someone on you like this.
She grabs your hand, you pay for whatever drink she wants and the two of you leave. You’re so drunk that you barely realize you're in a taxi with the ‘bar girl’ and suddenly an office woman.
Both of their large breasts pressing against each side of your arm and you can almost hear what they're arguing about.
“You weren’t supposed to get him this drunk, Giselle!” The office woman groaned, pushing up her glass as she wrote a bunch of notes down in what seems to be a public service statement.
“I wasn’t trying to! I was just getting him a little loose…” Giselle laughed, her perfectly manicured fingers playing with your hair.
“He’s kind of cute, don’t you think? In a kind of high school loser way.” Giselle murmurs, her fingers playing with your earlobe now.
“Can’t be bothered to notice what’s going on in his face as long as I’m still writing this report.”
The taxi driver pulls up in front of a dark and gloomy mansion that seems far too remote for a driver to be out here.
“Thank you, Mikael. So fast, another reason why I like angel drivers.” The lady with the glasses thanks the driver.
The old man softly chuckles at Miyeon’s words, as his wrinkled hand waves the three of you off.
“Can’t believe he’s retiring, I don’t know who’s going to help us transport for such a low price.” Giselle groans, pressing her breasts against your arm as she pulls you to the large gate.
“I know, it was only 20 desires for every trip.” Miyeon pushes up her glasses as she opens the gate.
The house is large and it’s obvious no one but the two women live there. The house has a slight hot pink tint to it, but you can’t tell if a house has an aura or if you’re just drunk out of your mind.
Either way, you're led up to a large room with only a red silk edged bed in the center. The room looks rather pretty but in a pornagraphic way.
Giselle pushes you down onto the bed, your elbows holding your torso up. “What’s going on?” You finally ask.
“You’re asking that now only after we have you here? You’re a kidnapper's dream.” Miyeon teases pulling out a chair as she perches a laptop on her mile long legs. Giselle giggles as she lays a hand against your chest, softly rubbing over your clothed body.
You let out a soft sigh as she slowly unbuttons your shirt. “You go to the gym? I love a guy who can lift.” She purrs, her hips gyrating over your crotch. You let out a soft groan, encouraging her dance.
“Stop wasting time, Giselle. Let’s at least get something started.” Miyeon’s expression is unmoving even as Giselle peels off her dress, leaving the busty woman in only her lingerie.
“Ugh fine, prude.” Giselle clicks her tongue then her eyes fall back to your face, with your eyebrows pulled into a tight furrow. “Though I’m sure Sir over here would looove to move things along.”
Your hand moves to your waist unbuckling your leather belt. Giselle scoffs at you but allows you to drag down your pants to your knees.
Your underwear wasn’t the only thing to slide down, Giselle moves down as well. Her pretty little head resting against your inner thigh. Her pink tongue cat licks your skin.
Out of haze and trance of pleasure you see a beautifully long tail peek behind Giselle. For a moment you think your eyes are betraying you and maybe it was just a skillfully worn cosplay.
Before you could continue to rationalize your thoughts, the succubi in between your thighs places her hand atop of your cock. Coaxing and rubbing with whatever precum dribbles down acting as your lubricant.
“Giselle, hide your tail. You’re scaring him.” Miyeon says, her lips moving into a pout worried you might run off.
“I don’t think I am. Sir seems to enjoy the tail.”
Giselle’s lips wrap around your tip and she trails the tip of her tongue around and around. Giving a light sucks whenever she feels like it.
“Fuckk.” Is the only thing you can say as you edge her head further down your shaft. The tongue flattens against your cock as she licks it from the bottom.
You can’t hold back anymore and you grab the back of her head and make her deep throat your cock. Your head finally falls back and your hips jolt to keep your cock inside her mouth against her movements.
Clearly annoyed by your lack of respect, Giselle slaps your hands away and begins bobbing her head. You can feel saliva leaking from the side of her mouth down your cock.
“Hurry up, Giselle. He’s almost there.” You weren’t sure how Ms. Glasses knew you were about to orgasm but she wasn’t wrong.
It has been a while since you’ve gotten a blow this good, especially since starting a relationship with Minjeong. You liked how innocent the girl was but she was rather conservative when it came to sex.
Your thoughts are put to a halt as you feel your balls tighten, the pit of your stomach fluttering as you feel ropes of cum enter Giselle’s mouth.
You half expect the woman to spit it out but Giselle swallows. “Seriously, it’s been a while since I’ve had a load that delicious!” Her face was red with happiness.
Miyeon furrows her eyebrows. “Lucky~” She mumbles her pen pressing against her bottom lip. You can see out of the corner of your eye, her thighs pressing together.
“Do you want some?” You don’t know what on green earth possessed you to say that but you did. Miyeon’s face turns beat red, she turns her nose up at you with a small ‘hmph’.
“Ignore her, I don’t plan on sharing anyways.” Giselle says, her hand pressing against your chest pushing you down on your back flat.
You can’t even imagine how strong this woman is, you thought you were putting up a decent fight but she was too strong.
Whatever, it’s not like you had something against gym mommies. Giselle slides down the strap of her dress of her shoulder and slides the entire dress off her beautiful figure.
She sports a dark pink lingerie that surprisingly omits the panties and only connects a garter belt to her bra. Your mouth dries at the sight, your cock twitching in excitement.
“You like what you see, human?” Giselle muses, her voice as sweet and slow as molasses. You nod your head as your hands find her thighs, the plump skin spilling between your finger spaces.
Your head suddenly remembers Minjeong’s frail body, her teary eyes as she first confessed to you.
“Don’t tell me you’re thinking of another woman with me?” Giselle kisses her teeth in annoyance. Your eyebrows twitch in surprise, was this woman reading your mind?
“Stop wasting time, Giselle. He’s already wavering.” Miyeon says, her eyes firm and locked onto you. She lowers herself onto you, her pussy enveloping your cock in warmth.
Your cock pulses in urgency, hungrily gasping in shock. ‘Why is she so fucking tight?’ You hear Giselle giggles on top of you.
“Oh my god.. you’re actually reading my mind… holy shit.” You pant, your hips still twitching. “Shh, don’t worry about that for now.”
Giselle lifts her hips only leaving the tip to remain and slams back down onto your cock taking it to the hilt. “Mmmh, fuckkk that’s it.” She moans, her head knocking back.
Her hips fall into an egregious rhythm with her ass jiggling every time it makes contact with your thighs.
You felt her soft buttfat hit right against your thigh and it drove you crazy. You reached her butt to cop a feel.
Squeezing, and churning the tender muscle in your hands, some of it leaking out of your fingers. It was incredibly soft. Your hands roam all over the woman’s gorgeous body.
Playing with her with increasing intensity, the sight of this impossibly beautiful woman was enough to drive you crazy.
“Giselle, hurry up. It’s taking way too long.” Miyeon’s voice cut in. Giselle’s hips stutter for a moment before you begin to feel something warm.
“Sorry, he’s just got a lot more than I expected.” She takes a moment but doesn’t stop moving. If anything she speeds up.
You're aware of Minjeong somewhere in the back of your mind, of her tear-streaked face as she walked away from you tonight. But that memory is being drowned, submerged by wave after wave of pure sensation.
Giselle's body is impossibly hot around you, clenching and releasing in rhythms that feel less like sex and more like being devoured.
"Focus," Miyeon says, and you realize she's moved closer. Her chair scrapes against the floor. "You're going to burn through him before we get anything usable."
"He's not burning," Giselle gasps, her hips never slowing. "He's—fuck—he's enjoying it." She's right. You are. More than you've ever enjoyed anything.
Your hands move from her ass to her waist, gripping hard enough to bruise, and you pull her down onto you with each thrust.
Her head falls forward, dark hair curtaining around both your faces. "That's it," she whispers against your lips. "Just let go. Let me have it."
The orgasm rips through you with force you've never experienced. Your vision whites out. Your back arches off the bed.
When you come back to yourself, Giselle is slumped against your chest, breathing hard. Her skin is flushed, glowing faintly in the dim room.
And her tail, you can't deny it now, not with it wrapped lazily around your thigh, is very real.
You turn your head. She's still sitting in the chair, laptop open on her thighs, but she's not typing anymore.
Her glasses have slipped down her nose, and her cheeks are stained pink. Her thighs are pressed together so tightly you can see the muscles trembling.
"Miyeon," Giselle says without lifting her head from your chest. "You're leaking too."
"Shut up."
"Your tail's out."
You follow Giselle's gaze.
Sure enough, a thin, elegant tail has unfurled from behind Miyeon, its arrow-tip twitching against the arm of her chair. She yanks it back with a sharp intake of breath.
"I'm fine. Just finish the extraction so we can—"
"We're done," Giselle says, finally pushing herself up. She stretches like a cat, her back arching, and you watch her tail curl with the movement.
“Got way more than we needed, actually." She looks down at you with something almost like curiosity.
"You're a weird one. Most humans pass out after that."
You're not sure what to say. You're not even sure what just happened. You're lying in a strange bed in a strange house with two women who have tails, having just had the most intense sexual experience of your life, and somewhere in the back of your mind you're aware that you should probably be terrified.
Instead, you're just... tired. Heavy. Like something vital has been siphoned out of you.
"Is he going to be okay?" Giselle asks, and there's actual concern in her voice.
Miyeon finally stands, walking over to the bed. Up close, you can see that her hands are shaking slightly.
She looks at you with those sharp, analytical eyes, and for a moment you see something behind them that isn't professional detachment.
"He'll be fine. A few days of low energy, maybe some mild depression. Standard extraction symptoms." She pauses. "We should get him water. Food. The usual protocol."
"Since when do you care about the usual protocol?" Giselle grins.
"Since HR has been up our asses about sustainable harvesting practices. I'm not getting written up again because you left another human dehydrated in a ditch."
"I never left anyone in a—it was one time!"
You laugh. You're not sure why, maybe it's the exhaustion, maybe it's the absurdity of the situation.
Maybe, it's the way these two impossibly beautiful demon women are bickering over you like you're a houseplant they forgot to water.
But the sound surprises all three of you.
Giselle looks down at you, her head tilted. "He's got a nice laugh."
"Don't get attached."
"I'm not getting attached. I'm just saying. Nice laugh. For a human."
Miyeon sighs, long and suffering. She reaches out and adjusts your shirt—the one Giselle unbuttoned earlier—pulling it closed over your chest. Her fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary.
"You should sleep," she says quietly. "We'll... figure out the rest in the morning."
"Morning?" You finally find your voice. It comes out rough. "What happens in the morning?"
Miyeon and Giselle exchange a look. Something passes between them—an entire conversation in a single glance.
"That depends," Miyeon says carefully. "On whether you want to remember this."
You blink at her. "Remember?"
"We can wipe it," Giselle explains, settling back down beside you. Her tail curls around your wrist, warm and surprisingly soft.
"Standard procedure. You wake up tomorrow with a hangover and no memory of how you got home. Life goes on."
"Or?" You ask, because you can hear the alternative hanging in the air.
Miyeon's eyes meet yours. Her glasses have slipped down again, and without them, her face looks different. Younger. More human.
"Or you remember. And you decide what you want to do with that information."
The room is quiet. Somewhere in the house, something creaks, old bones, settling. The pink tint of the walls seems to pulse gently, like a heartbeat.
You think about Minjeong, walking away from you tonight. You think about the empty apartment waiting for you, the silence you were going to drown in.
You think about the way Giselle's tail feels around your wrist, and the way Miyeon's hand trembled when she touched you.
"Let me remember," you say.
Giselle grins. Miyeon's expression doesn't change, but something in her eyes softens.
You fall asleep between them, and for the first time in months, you don't dream of anything at all.
---
When you wake, the light is different. Pale morning filtering through curtains you don't recognize.
The bed is empty beside you, but the sheets still smell like flowers and something darker.
There's a glass of water on the nightstand, a plate of toast, and a note written in looping handwriting:
Breakfast is at 9. Don't be late. — M
Below it, in different handwriting, sharper and quicker:
Or don't. I'll bring you coffee in bed if you ask nicely. — G
You pick up the note, and for a long moment, you just look at it. Two demons. One apartment. A job you still don't fully understand.
You should leave. You know you should leave. This is the part in every story where the human runs, counts their blessings, never looks back.
Instead, you eat the toast. You drink the water. And at 8:57, you pull on your clothes from last night and follow the smell of coffee down a hallway that seems much longer than it did coming in.
When you push open the kitchen door, both of them look up.
Giselle is perched on the counter in what appears to be a silk robe that's doing very little to contain her.
Miyeon stands at the stove, still in her blouse from last night, frying eggs with the same intensity she brought to her laptop.
"You're early," Miyeon says.
"I'm hungry."
Giselle laughs, bright and genuine. "I like him."
"You like everyone who lets you ride them into next week."
"That's not true. I'm very selective."
Miyeon rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. She slides an egg onto a plate and pushes it across the island toward you. "Eat. You'll need your strength."
"For what?"
She doesn't answer. But Giselle's tail flicks, and Miyeon’s, there it is again, curling briefly around the handle of the coffee pot, and you realize you're not afraid.
You should be. You probably will be later, when the reality of what happened last night fully hits you.
But right now, standing in this too-pink kitchen with two demons bickering over breakfast, you feel something you haven't felt in a long time.
Curious. Alive.
Like maybe getting kidnapped was the best thing that could have happened to you.
You take a bite of eggs. They're perfect.
"So," you say, reaching for the coffee. "What exactly does your job entail? Besides the obvious."
Miyeon pushes her glasses up. Giselle leans forward, robe gaping.
And for the first time, they start to tell you the truth.
Male Reader x Miyeon (& Jisoo cameo) | 17k words | Masterlist
Tags: fluff, romcom, smut, au
--
Sometimes, a mistake is just a mistake. But other times, a wrong number is the only right thing that happens to you all year.
You spend 40 hours a week arranging romance for strangers, so you know better than anyone that the best love stories usually start with some kind of disaster.
And yours was no different.
The first time Cho Miyeon ever texted you, you were just the fake number that her one-night-stand threw into her phone. The second time, she was drunk-texting you a week later asking if you were sure you weren’t him.
So why is it that the universe thought it’d be funny to make her the girl who comes in every week, buying flowers to mourn her own love life—completely unaware that the guy she’s been texting nonstop is also the one wrapping them?
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
“I want it to look exactly like this,” a woman says, tapping a newly bridal-manicured nail on her phone screen. “Cascading orchids, but with real blue roses.”
She’s holding a photo of a Pinterest bouquet that defies the laws of nature, and you are trying your absolute best not to laugh. Or cry.
“Ma’am,” you say, wiping your hands on your apron. “Those aren’t real. That’s either photoshopped, AI generated, or manually dyed.”
She blinks at you, offended. “My cousin had blue roses.”
“I’m sorry, but naturally blue roses don’t exist,” you correct her, gently. “Unless you want me to genetically engineer a new species in the back room during my lunch break tomorrow, we’re going to have to use spray paint.”
“Paint?” she asks, horrified. “For my engagement party?”
Your phone buzzes in your pocket, possibly right before the part where she’s demanding to speak to the manager of nature. You expect a text from your best friend Minho asking if you want to get drinks later to mourn your newly single status, but instead, it’s a number you don’t recognize.
[Unknown]
hey ☺️
i think i left my earrings on your nightstand
also, my legs are still shaking 😝
You blink, then look up at the bride-to-be—who’s now aggressively zooming in on the impossible blue roses—then back down at the text. You can’t tell if you feel jealousy or pity towards this person. Legs shaking—so a good night—but no way to contact the person responsible? Well, that’s more action than you’re getting, at least.
[You]
pretty sure you have the wrong number
i have a nightstand but no earrings
hope your legs recover though
“So,” you say, slipping the phone back into your apron. “For the roses. We can do white, or we can do paint. Or I can give you a marker and you can do it yourself.”
“Look at all these blue roses on Google.”
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
The florist life is not nearly as romantic as people think it is. Or at all, really.
Movies make it look like you spend your days gently misting ferns while soft acoustic music plays in the background, but in reality, your hands are permanently stained green, you have thorn scratches on your forearms that make you look like you hang out with feral cats, and you spend half of your time hauling buckets of water that weigh as much as a fully grown female Golden Retriever.
Your family owns Petal & Thorn, a small shop tucked away in a quiet alleyway in Gangnam. It’s not glamorous by any means, but it’s steady enough to pay the bills. Plus, you enjoy the peace on most days.
Lately, though, the quiet haunts you.
Jisoo moved out two months ago and the apartment feels too big now. The silence in the shop used to be tranquil, but now it just feels like an echo of the emptiness at home.
It’s the middle of January, right in the dead of winter, and you’ve gone full-blown workaholic mode. You aren’t just ignoring the looming threat of Valentine’s Day—you’re actively dreading it. Because aside from being the busiest day of the year for a florist, just the idea of facing it alone makes you sadder than you care to admit—but if you stop wrapping bouquets for five minutes, you might actually have to process those feelings, and you simply do not have the time for that.
Not after what Jisoo did to you.
The mysterious wrong number never replies. She probably saw your text, died of embarrassment, and threw her phone into the Han River.
So you forget about her completely.
…Until exactly one week later, when the first snow is threatening to fall.
You’re about six or seven shots of soju deep at a pocha when Minho slams his hand on the table, rattling the empty bottles.
“Okay, listen, you need to stop moping,” he says, pointing a pair of chopsticks at you. “Jisoo wasn’t even that great. Sure, she was hot, but she thought Your Name was boring. Like, come on, she didn’t cry at the twilight scene—matter of fact, she didn’t even tear up! That’s a red flag, hyung. A massive red flag.”
“I’m not moping,” you lie, pushing a piece of pork belly around your plate. “I’m just tired. I had to wrestle a cactus into a customer’s sedan today because she didn’t want to pay for delivery. It was exhausting.”
“You think that’s exhausting?" Minho scoffs, pouring himself another shot. “Try being on dating apps in 2026. I swiped right on four hundred girls last night. Four hundred! And do you know how many matches I got?”
“I don’t know—ten?”
He holds up two fingers aggressively. “Two! And one of them was a bot trying to steal my crypto.”
“Oh no, not the whole 65,000 won of XPR,” you say flatly.
“Shut up, I’ve got more than that.” He knocks back the shot and shudders. “Look, I’m saying it’s a wasteland out here. I have to deal with ghosting and catfishes, and you’re crying over a girl who didn’t appreciate an anime masterpiece.”
“So what, you think I need to suffer with you?”
“No.” He leans in, his eyes almost too serious. “You need a distraction, hyung. A rebound. Something messy to restart the flame.”
You snicker. “A messy rebound is the last thing I need right now.”
“Look, I just need you back in the game, because if I have to go on one more blind date alone, I’m going to become a monk—”
Suddenly, your phone lights up on the sticky wooden table.
[Unknown]
are you SURE you’re not him?
You stare at it. It’s the wrong number from last week. You’d almost forgotten about her.
It buzzes again before you could even pick it up.
[Unknown]
i don’t understand why he would give me a fake number
we had such a good night
he said he wanted to see me again
Minho cranes his neck. “Who is that? Is it Jisoo? She wants you back, doesn’t she?” he asks, looking almost offended. “Tell her you’re busy. Tell her you’re watching Your Name because you don’t think destiny is a hoax.”
“It’s not her,” you say, unlocking the screen. “Just a wrong number.”
But for whatever reason, you don’t put it down.
Maybe it’s the soju, or maybe it’s Minho’s annoying lecture, but you feel a sudden urge to engage with this person again.
[You]
still not him
still no earrings
still just a random stranger that you’re exposing all your secrets to
The reply is instant.
[Unknown]
omfg this is so embarrassing
i’m going to throw my phone out the window
bye
You snort, almost unwillingly.
Minho stuffs a piece of kimchi in his mouth and looks at you like you’re crazy. “You’re smiling,” he says, chewing suspiciously. “Why are you smiling at a wrong number?”
“She’s funny,” you murmur, typing back.
“She? How do you know it’s a girl? What if it’s a catfish scammer trying to steal your crypto?”
[You]
don’t throw your phone
not in this economy
just blame the alcohol and move on
[Unknown]
i’m not drunk!!!
okay actually i had three glasses of wine
but if i don’t drink i might accidentally strangle a client tomorrow
[You]
lol what are you, a hitman?
[Unknown]
worse
i help people find their happiness
[You]
ah you’re a therapist
i can see why you need to drink then
[Unknown]
not a therapist but i do double as one more often than i should
what about you?
it’s kinda giving ✨ unemployed ✨
[You]
only on non-holidays 💁♂️
[Unknown]
don’t tell me you’re a mall santa
You chuckle into your shot glass. Minho looks over, judging you, but you ignore him.
[You]
no i’m a florist
but i deal with just as many tantrums
[Unknown]
wait no way
are you serious
im a wedding planner
we’re in the same circle of hell
[You]
that explains why you’re drinking
you have to spend your days planning people’s happily ever afters knowing that love doesn’t last 😌
[Unknown]
damn who hurt you
[You]
love hurt me
[Unknown]
love isn’t even real
take it from a wedding planner
[You]
and take it from someone who grows flowers for a living that nothing pretty ever lasts
[Unknown]
wow marry me
it’ll be the cheapest wedding ever because we’ll both hate it
You laugh out loud this time, and a couple of tables look over.
“Wow, I haven’t heard that in a while.” Minho leans back, looking satisfied. “See? I told you. You just needed a distraction. You owe me dinner now.”
“Yeah,” you say, saving her number. You hesitate for a second, then type in ‘Wrong Number’. “Just a distraction—wait, what do I owe you dinner for? You didn’t do anything.”
“I helped you see the light,” he says, waving the server down for another bottle of soju.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
It all started as a joke, a way to pass the time between deliveries and botanical consultations.
But as hours turn into days and days bleed into weeks, the slush of winter settles over Seoul, and the doom and gloom of Valentine’s Day stops feeling so scary. Wrong Number stops being just a distraction. She starts becoming a routine, something almost like a reflex.
And then, without even realizing it, eventually she’s the best part of your day.
The conversations shift seamlessly. They stop being just about bridezillas and cheating husbands and start bleeding into the cracks of your daily lives. You find yourself taking photos of things just to show her—a stray cat sleeping on a bag of fertilizer, a customer wearing a hat that looks like a mushroom, even the way the light hits the Han River on your way home.
You occasionally ask her for fashion advice, like which tie you should wear to your cousin’s wedding (she votes for the navy one, says the maroon makes you look like a Gryffindor). She sends you photos of three different cake samples and asks you to pick the one that “doesn’t look like it tastes like regret” (you pick the red velvet).
Funny enough, you don’t even know her name, and she doesn’t know yours, but you know she hates the color beige (“it’s the color of sadness, why do brides love it?”), loves every shade of green (you’re certain that, given your line of work, will be your final form eventually), and that she listens to J-rock when she’s stressed because it calms her down.
You also know that for all her confidence, her love life is a graveyard of one-to-two-week flings and almost-somethings. That she dates guys who look like models in photos but can’t hold a conversation to save their lives, and the moment she starts asking for actual vulnerability—or just something an inch deeper than surface level—they all seem to suddenly “not feel it anymore.”
But best of all, she knows you, too.
She knows you think red roses are the lazy man’s apology and that you secretly judge every husband who buys carnations for an anniversary. She knows you have a scar on your left thumb from a frantic Mother’s Day rush three years ago, and that you’re both on a never-ending quest for the city’s best shrimp scampi. In fact, you’ve been comparing notes on every restaurant you’ve tried, though she keeps reminding you that hers is still undefeated—and that you’re an idiot for not believing her.
Most importantly, she knows exactly how long you dated Jisoo (three years, four months, two weeks—but who’s counting?). She knows the exact moment you realized it was over: not when she told you that she wanted to be with “someone more ambitious”, but when you saw her buying coffee with her investment banking co-worker and realized she looked happier waiting in line with him than she ever looked on a vacation with you.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
[You]
saw an investment banker today
almost threw a cactus at him
[Wrong Number]
well, did you?
[You]
no i have professional restraint
plus it’s not even the same guy
[Wrong Number]
coward
next time aim for the eyes and ask questions later
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
[Wrong Number]
ok date update
he brought a coupon to dinner
first date btw
[You]
hmm fiscally responsible or just an investment banker?
[Wrong Number]
not sure but he argued with the waiter over 5000 won so i’m going to fake my own death before the entree arrives
[You]
i have just the flowers for your pretend funeral
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
[Wrong Number]
emergency 🚨
groom just told me he's allergic to lilies
the bride ordered 300 of them
the ceremony is in 6 hours
do i just let him suffer for love???
[You]
yes tell him marriage is about sacrifice
but if he’s marrying someone who doesn’t know he’s allergic to lilies that’s his own problem
[Wrong Number]
lmao you’re evil
and also correct
but i’m switching them to dahlias because im a wedding planner not a funeral director
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
[Wrong Number]
ugh just got home
my feet are killing me
weddings are sooo long
if i ever say i want to get married please come find me and slap me
[You]
wait i thought we were getting married
[Wrong Number]
oh i changed my mind
happens all the time apparently
[You]
not the first time someone’s changed their mind about me
wishing you the best in your future
[Wrong Number]
wait no come back
i refuse to be abandoned by the only person in the world who gets me
It’s refreshing, a relationship built entirely in the glowing blue light of a screen, with no expectations and no messy reality to ruin it. You wake up and reach for your phone before you even open your eyes, and even catch yourself smiling in the middle of arranging funeral wreaths, confusing your coworkers.
You tell yourself it’s enough—that you don’t need to know who she is, how she sounds, or what she looks like. Minho wanted it to be messy, but the only thing messy is an actual relationship. Not this—whatever this is.
But then there are days when you realize that a phone screen, no matter how bright, doesn’t have a heartbeat, and as much as you enjoy the banter, the “good morning” texts, and the weird intimacy of sharing your darkest thoughts with a stranger, there are moments when the silence of your apartment gets too loud.
The breakup with Jisoo didn’t just leave a hole in your message inbox, it left a hole in your heart. Sometimes you just miss the sound of someone else breathing in the room or the weight of a hand on your arm. You miss simply looking at someone and feeling your heart race.
And that’s where Tuesday Girl comes in.
You call her that because she appears every Tuesday afternoon around 2:00 PM. She’s the only customer who never asks for advice, or for a bouquet for a lover, or a centerpiece for a mother-in-law; she just comes in, wanders all the aisles, and… breathes.
Today, the bell above the door jingles, cutting through the silence of a Tuesday afternoon. You look up from a bucket of stripping shears, and there she is.
She’s wearing her usual oversized coat and a scarf pulled up to her nose. And as usual, she looks exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, shoulders slumped—but when she stops in front of the dahlias, her expression softens.
You watch her from behind the counter. It’s unprofessional, maybe, but you can’t help it. Even amongst all the aisles of flowers, she’s still the most beautiful sight in the room.
“Rough week?” you ask gently. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to her beyond “cash or card?”
She jumps slightly, looking back. “Is it that obvious?” she says, shoulders relaxing the moment her eyes lock with yours.
“Well, you’re staring at those flowers like you want to cut them in half or set them on fire,” you say, wiping your hands on your apron. “I can’t tell which.”
She lets out a short, breathy laugh. “Both, maybe,” she says, turning to them. “They’re too cheerful. It’s suspicious.”
“They’re ranunculus,” you say, walking just a little closer. “They might look soft, but they’re deceptively high-maintenance, if that helps.”
“Hm… it does, actually…” she says, picking out three stems. “I’ll go with these today then, just to see.”
“See what?”
“If I can keep them alive longer than 24 hours,” she says, shrugging. “I have a theory that things wilt faster when they’re around me.”
You chuckle, and politely take them from her. “Maybe you just need some maintenance advice,” you say, laying the flowers down gently. “When you get home, cut the stems at an angle with a sharp knife, not scissors—scissors crush the capillaries so they can’t drink.”
She blinks, leaning in slightly, genuinely listening. “Okay. Knife, not scissors. No crushing.”
“Right. And change the water every day. Use cold water,” you instruct, your hands moving carefully as you trim the ends for her. “And keep them away from your fruit bowl.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “My fruit bowl? What did my apples ever do to them?”
“Apples release ethylene gas,” you say, glancing up to catch her eyes. “It makes flowers age faster. It’s like second-hand smoke for them.”
She stares at you for a second, and then a slow, genuine smile breaks across her face. “Are you actually trying to protect these flowers from my killer apples? Shouldn’t you want them to be victims so I can buy more?”
“I’m just protecting your investment,” you say, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that has nothing to do with the shop’s heater.
“My three whole stems,” she says, holding onto her chest. “Saved by the nice man who hates apples.”
You smile. “I just want them to last until next Tuesday at least.”
“I’ll report back next Tuesday then,” she says, tucking the flowers into her bag. “If you don’t see me, it’s because my fruits got arrested in time.”
“See you,” you reply, watching her walk out into the gray afternoon.
You stand there for a long time, just staring at the door, wondering you’d just broke her Tuesday schedule with your unsolicited plant advice.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
Later that night, you’re heating up leftover kimchi jjigae in your quiet apartment when your phone lights up on the counter.
[Wrong Number]
i have decided to become a nun
dating is a scam invented by restaurants to sell overpriced pasta that isn’t even as good as what i can make
[You]
you keep hyping up this pasta that i’ll never get to try
but what happened this time?
[Wrong Number]
he wore sunglasses inside
the entire time
i asked him if he had an eye infection and he said “no, it’s just a vibe”
i left before dessert
(and before you judge, i paid for my half)
[You]
it must’ve been really bad if you didn’t even stay for dessert
[Wrong Number]
ugh i’m serious
i’m so done with men
they are either boring, terrified of feelings, or wearing sunglasses indoors
[You]
as a man, that sounds pretty accurate
[Wrong Number]
what about you? you never talk about your dating life
you can’t tell me you just arrange bouquets all day and then go home to talk to a stranger on the internet
wait, we’re not even on the internet
You stare at the steam rising from your bowl. You think about Jisoo and the emptiness she left, about the digital comfort of this conversation, and then, about Tuesday Girl and her cute oversized coat.
[You]
i mean i kinda have a crush on someone
but it’s not going to happen
[Wrong Number]
oooh tea??
why not? is she married?
[You]
no i don’t think so
she’s a regular customer who comes in every week, doesn’t say much, and just buys flowers for herself
[Wrong Number]
wait i buy myself flowers whats wrong with that
but wow a mysterious independent woman who doesn’t need a man
i like her already
so then what’s the problem?
[You]
idk she just seems sad all the time
i feel like if i tried to flirt i’d just be bothering her
plus i froze today
i couldn’t even ask for her name lol
[Wrong Number]
that’s so classic you
ok look, from one sad girl to another, sometimes we want someone to break the ice for us
next time she comes in just give her an extra flower on the house and see if she smiles
[You]
you really think that would work?
[Wrong Number]
i know it will work
trust me i’m an expert on what women want since men clearly have no clue
[You]
hmm okay i’ll give it a try
if it doesn’t work you owe me pasta
[Wrong Number]
deal
now entertain me please
i’m in the tub soaking in this new lush bath bomb but my ex’s netflix account just locked me out
tell me about the worst customer you had today
You smile and type out the story, completely unaware that the woman giving you advice on how to woo the sad customer is currently sitting in her own bathtub, looking at the three ranunculus stems in a vase, wondering what the cute florist is doing.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
Two days later, you’re seeking refuge in your usual sanctuary: a small cafe two blocks from the flower shop. You like it because the baristas all know your order and never seem to judge you for staring at the wall during your lunch breaks.
You’re midway through your coffee, scrolling through supplier invoices, when the bell above the door chimes.
You look up.
It’s her.
Tuesday Girl—but it’s a Thursday, and she’s standing in the doorway of your coffee shop, shaking snow off that same oversized coat.
Panic immediately washes over you. Seeing her in the flower shop is one thing, that’s your turf—you have the counter, the apron, and the professionalism to save you from freaking out—but seeing her here, in the wild, is terrifying. It’s like seeing a teacher at the supermarket.
She steps into the line, waiting behind a guy wearing the most obnoxious puffer jacket you’ve seen in ages. You watch her like a private investigator as she turns slightly, profiling her side profile to you—and it is absolutely profiling, sidely. She looks so pretty, so lovely, so sad, but also so unapproachable.
But then, she tries to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, misses, and accidentally pokes herself directly in the eye.
She winces, blinks rapidly, and looks around in a panic to see if anyone saw her—completely oblivious to the fact that you are sitting twenty feet away, watching her with your heart in your throat while trying your best not to die from how adorable she is.
This is it. The universe is giving you a redo. Just stand up and walk over there. Say, “Hey, it’s me, the flower guy. How are the ranunculus doing? Did the apples get them or did the bananas step it up this week?”
Your spark of courage is short-lived when you realize you actually have no idea how to start this conversation. You grip your coffee cup. You shift in your seat. You watch her order something complicated with oat milk.
Ten minutes pass and she turns to scan for a table. Her eyes sweep right over you, and you hunch your shoulders like a reflex, terrified she’ll recognize you—but also equally terrified she won’t.
You watch discreetly as she sits at a table in the corner, pulls out her phone, and vanishes into her own world.
You let out a breath. You failed again.
The frustration burns in your chest; you need to vent, and there is only one person who will understand the specific absurdity of this situation, so without thinking, you pull out your phone. It’s ridiculous and it’s embarrassing, but you absolutely need to tell someone, and there is only one person you tell everything to.
[You]
i’m at a coffee shop and the sad girl is here
You look back up at the girl, who’s now typing something on her phone with the kind of smile that has to be reserved for a boyfriend of some sort—it’s too joyful, especially coming from her.
[Wrong Number]
and did you ask her name this time?
[You]
no i’m scared
[Wrong Number]
omfg
ask her out!!!
what is the worst that could happen?
[You]
idk??? she could say no
and then i have to find a new place to buy coffee because i’ll never be able to show my face in this neighborhood again
[Wrong Number]
you are hopeless
do it right now or i’m blocking you
[You]
easy for you to say you ghost everyone
[Wrong Number]
true
but seriously ask this girl out
you do realize she could be sitting there waiting for you to say something right?
You stare at the screen, and then back at the girl, who’s now sipping on whatever fancy drink she ordered.
Wrong Number is right. Life is short. You are a grown man. You can do this.
You take a deep breath and place your hands on the table to push yourself up. Today is the day—you are going to walk over there, and you are going to ask Tuesday Girl for her name. Not even divine intervention can stop you from—
The bell above the door chimes again, a little louder than the other times, interrupting your plan.
A man walks in, stopping you in your tracks for no apparent reason at all. He’s tall, wearing an expensive camel coat, and his hair is perfectly permed—basically, the complete opposite of you. He fixes his scarf and scans the room, spotting the corner table, and smiles.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, his voice carrying across the quiet shop.
Tuesday Girl looks up. She locks her phone, slides it into her pocket, and stands up.
“Oh, it’s fine,” she says, offering the man a polite, shy smile. “I just got here.”
You freeze, still halfway out of your chair.
She wasn’t sitting alone because she was lonely. She was waiting for a date.
You sink right back down, your heart dropping right into your stomach, watching as Camel Coat Guy puts a hand on her lower back and guides her toward the counter to get his own drink.
As much as you hate to admit it, they look good together.
[You]
nvm she was waiting for a date
he looks like he owns a yacht
You don’t wait for a reply; you grab your coat and your half-finished Americano and slip out the side door before they can turn around.
You walk back to the flower shop, kicking the slush around the sidewalk with every step, telling yourself it’s better this way—that fairy tales aren’t real, and the sad girl you see on Tuesdays was never going to be yours anyway, no matter what Wrong Number had to say about it.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
“You’re moping again,” Minho says, skating backwards past you with infuriating grace. “You’re bringing down the entire vibe of this establishment. Look—that child over there is crying because he sensed your sad boy aura.”
“He’s crying because he fell on his face,” you mutter, clinging to the railing. “And I’m not moping. I’m fighting for my life on these rentals.”
“You’re moping about fumbling a girl you see every week.” Minho spins, spraying a fine mist of ice onto your shins. “So what if Tuesday has a boyfriend with a nice coat. Big deal. What about the girl you’ve been texting non-stop? Isn’t she a candidate?”
“Who?” you say, pushing off the wall to attempt a wobble that vaguely resembles skating.
He shrugs. “I don’t know her name. I don’t even think you do.”
“Oh, her—I don’t, actually,” you say, right before slipping.
“Yeah, well, what’s wrong with her?” he asks, unfazed that you just fell the hundredth time.
“Nothing, she’s great.” You pause, sitting on the ice, thinking back to the endless texts. “Honestly, she’s the funniest person I’ve talked to in years. We have really great chemistry, but… she doesn’t even feel real. Sometimes it feels like she’s just… pixels on a screen.”
“So make her real,” Minho says, skating circles around you, both literally and figuratively. “She lives in Seoul, doesn’t she? Why haven’t you guys met yet? It’s been weeks.”
“It just hasn’t come up,” you say defensively, brushing the ice off your gloves. “And we don’t want to ruin the vibes. Right now, everything’s perfect. No expectations, no awkward silences. If we meet, reality messes everything up. What if we have zero chemistry in person? What if she chews with her mouth open? I’d rather not ruin the friendship.”
“Wow, hyung—you are a coward,” he declares, shaking his head.
“What? How?”
“You are protecting a fantasy because you’re scared.”
“Whatever,” you grunt, getting back up. “I’m happy with what we have.”
He stops in front of you, blocking your path. “Okay, forget the pixels then. Look around. We are at Lotte World. The happiest place in Seoul. Surrounded by eligible women who are likely freezing and in need of body heat.”
You look around at the sea of school uniforms and cat-ear headbands.
“Minho, they’re all high schoolers. If I hit on anyone here, I’m going to jail. And if I go to jail, I won’t be able to tex—I mean—I don’t have time for prison.”
“Not everyone,” he corrects, straightening his coat and narrowing his eyes, scanning the crowd like a predator on the Discovery Channel. “There—target acquired. Three o’clock, by the skate rental. No uniform, expensive coat, looks like she needs saving from a bad day.”
You look. A tall woman is standing by the rental counter, looking rather impatient, but she is indeed an adult.
“Observe,” he says confidently. “Let me show you how it’s done.”
He glides over to her. You watch from a safe distance, gripping the rail, as he stops with a flourish and smiles—that stupid, dimpled smile that usually only works on ahjummas. He gestures to the ice, points to the concession stand, and then leans in with what he probably thinks is swag.
The woman stares at him. She doesn’t smile back; she just points toward the exit, where a man holding two toddlers is walking toward her.
Minho’s smile freezes. He nods, bows deeply—twice—and skates back to you at high speed.
“Well?” you ask, even though you already know.
“Husband. And twins.”
“Nice.”
“Okay, maybe it’s really over for the both of us.” He leans against the rail next to you, slumping his shoulders. “Valentine’s Day is next week, hyung. Next week. We are going to watch Jujutsu Kaisen together while the rest of Seoul goes to Michelin-rated restaurants with their lovers, aren’t we?”
“We’ll survive,” you say, holding back a sigh.
“Will we?” He rubs his face. “It’s been so long since I went on a proper date, I think I’ve lost all my rizz.”
The sigh finally comes out. “You never had any rizz to begin with.”
“I’m drying up here,” he whines, ignoring what you just said. “At this point, I’m essentially a monk with better hair.”
“Same here,” you say, watching all the couples holding hands, skating together around the rink. “We might as well spend Valentine’s Day at a monastery.”
He looks at you. “How long has it been for you? Since Jisoo?”
You stare at the ice, scuffed and scarred by a thousand blades. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “It’s been a while.”
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
The apartment is quiet, as usual. You’re lying in bed, watching the light from your phone illuminate the ceiling while Minho’s words rings in your ears.
How long has it been for you? Since Jisoo?
It has been a long time. The emotional intimacy with Wrong Number is satisfying, yes, but after seeing Tuesday Girl with her date, and hearing Minho complain about his dry spell, you are suddenly painfully aware of the physical loneliness.
Your phone buzzes, and sadly, even that is enough to send something tingly through you.
[Wrong Number]
so my friend just told me i have virgin energy because i wouldn’t let a guy buy me a drink the other night
me? virgin?
i’ve never felt more insulted
You smile. Her timing is just always impeccable.
[You]
well is she wrong?
[Wrong Number]
EXCUSE ME?
whose side are you on?
[You]
i’m just saying
you talk a big game for someone who spends her saturday nights talking to a florist she never met
[Wrong Number]
wow
for your information i have seen the inside of three different bedrooms this month
You blink. You actually feel a weird hint of jealousy, which is ridiculous because you have no right to it. At all.
[You]
congratulations
enjoy your happiness
and orgasms
[Wrong Number]
i can assure you there is no happiness involved
and definitely no orgasms
i wake up and i just want to leave so i can talk to you
clearly i am broken
The jealousy vanishes instantly, replaced by something strange but warm. I just want to leave so I can talk to you.
[You]
you’re not broken
i’m just so interesting you can’t help it
[Wrong Number]
if this is rizz then i can see why you’re single 😑
anyways what about you
when was the last time for you
[You] a while
[Wrong Number]
how long is a while?
pre-pandemic?
pre-iphone?
[You]
shut up
like a month before my ex left so like four months ago
honestly i think i’ve forgotten how to do it
if i meet a girl tomorrow i’d just disappoint her the way all the guys are disappointing you
[Wrong Number]
doubt it
you have nice hands
You stare at the text. You have nice hands. It’s the first time she’s ever complimented you physically—but she’s never even seen you.
[You]
you don’t even know what my hands look like
[Wrong Number]
florists always have nice hands
good at handling delicate things without breaking them? sign me up
Your mouth goes dry. Is she flirting with you now? At a time like this?
You try to think of a reply, but she’s already typing again.
[Wrong Number]
anyway
we’re a tragic pair
one of us is starving and the other one is eating garbage
[You]
we should probably fix that
[Wrong Number]
yeah
we probably should
Neither of you reply after that. The silence that follows isn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it’s mutual. It’s the silence of two friends too afraid to across the line, but too curious to see what’s on the other side.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
Valentine’s Day in a flower shop is anything but romantic.
By 2:00 PM, you’ve stripped thorns off six hundred roses, written “I love you” on cards for men who definitely do not mean it, and mediated an argument between a husband and a mistress who accidentally ordered from the same account. Your hands are scratched up, your apron is covered in green slime, and the only reason you are still standing is thanks to the three espressos and your sheer hatred towards Saint Valentine for selling his soul away to capitalism.
One of your co-workers conveniently called in sick last minute, so Minho volunteered to help. He’s barricaded behind a wall of baby’s breath in the backroom, frantically wrapping bouquets like he’s diffusing bombs.
“If I see one more teddy bear,” he yells over the sound of the cooler humming, “I am going to strangle it!”
“Just focus!” you snap, cutting a ribbon with your teeth. “We only have twenty minutes before the 5:00 PM rush.”
That’s when your phone buzzes on the counter.
You wipe your wet hands on your apron and check it, expecting a supplier update—or at the very least, a funny text from Wrong Number to make everything better.
It’s neither.
[Kim Jisoo]
hey, i know it’s been a while, but i’m in the neighborhood.
do you think we can talk for a bit?
maybe over dinner?
after you get off, of course.
Your stomach drops—and so does your phone and the flowers you were working so hard on. Your brain starts malfunctioning as you stare at the screen on the counter. The timing couldn’t be worse.
You should say no, of course. You should ignore her, even, but the exhaustion makes you weak, the loneliness makes you desperate, and the memory of three years together makes you hesitate just long enough to confuse yourself.
You need backup. You can’t do this alone.
[You]
SOS
code red
the ex just texted saying she wants to talk
The response takes about a minute, but it’s the longest minute of your life.
[Wrong Number]
WHAT
no!!!
absolutely not
tell her to go away
[You]
she’s already in the neighborhood so she’s probably coming to the shop
i think she wants to get back together
i’m so tired i might actually cave
[Wrong Number]
DON’T YOU DARE
you are weak
[You]
yes we already knew that
[Wrong Number]
ugh don’t do this to me!!
i’m finally gonna go on a date with someone decent but i WILL leave to save you if i have to
[You]
what no
don’t ruin your night for me
[Wrong Number]
i’ll ruin my night to make sure you don’t ruin your life
what’s the name of your flower shop and what time do you close?
You casually tell her, just for the hell of it, and put the phone down. She’s joking, obviously—she’s not actually going to leave a date to come save a stranger she’s never met. It’s just your usual banter.
Right?
By 8:00 PM, the rush has finally died down. Minho went to go drink away the trauma with a foreigner he found on Hinge, and the shop is empty and quiet, still smelling of crushed stems.
Your hands are ready to defy you completely, but you decide to make two more bouquets before retiring for the day.
The first one is simple; you’ve made it so many times that it’s muscle memory by now: pale pink roses—Jisoo’s favorite.
The second bouquet is something you’ve never really done before: four stems of pink ranunculus, surrounded by wild greenery, tied with a large ribbon.
You don’t really know why you’re making it. You don’t even know if she’ll like it. She’s probably not even coming—she’s on a hot date, after all. But if she does show up, maybe it could be a thank you for the digital moral support. Or maybe, deep down, you’re hoping that Tuesday Girl might walk in on a Saturday to get herself something for Valentine’s Day and you can finally give her the extra flower like you’d promised Wrong Number you’d do.
The bell above the door doesn’t jingle, but a knock rattles the glass.
You look up.
Jisoo is standing outside, breath fogging up the glass as she waves at you.
[You]
she’s here
You slip your phone back into your apron, take a deep breath, open the door, and let the past back in.
She looks exactly the same as the day she left.
“Hey,” Jisoo says with a soft smile, shaking the snow off her coat. “It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” you say, leaning back against the counter like it could save you. “It has.”
You don’t invite her to sit or offer her tea; you just stand there, in front of the two bouquets you made.
She walks toward you and turns to the roses. “You still remember,” she says, reaching out to touch a petal. “My favorite.”
“Just old habits,” you say, clearing your throat. “I made so many in the past.”
“You did.” She looks up at you, eyes wide and suspiciously sincere. “I’m really sorry for hurting you. I didn’t realize what we had was so precious until I experienced life without you. You really loved me, didn’t you?”
You did. You loved her in the only way you knew how: by shrinking yourself to fit into the spaces she made for you, by nodding along to everything she wanted without argument, and wearing shirts she picked for you even though you hated them. It was a love filled with swallowed opinions and unyielding compromise, but it was also a love filled with everything you had to give.
And in the end, everything still wasn’t enough.
“What happened to the investment banker?” you ask quietly. “You said he was so ambitious and perfect.”
She takes in a breath. “I know how shameful it sounds for me to say this, but it turns out he was only perfect on paper. A nice car, a big apartment, reservations at all the places I couldn’t get into,” she says, looking down. “But he didn’t know how to make me laugh. He didn’t know to ask for extra cucumber banchan without me telling him to, or that I need exactly three pillows to sleep. He didn’t care about my day, or rub my feet when I’ve had a long one.”
She looks at you, almost pleading. “He wasn’t you,” she finishes softly.
“I thought that was the point,” you say—not bitterly, just honestly.
She reaches across the counter and covers your hand with hers. “I know this sounds crazy, but I want to try again,” she whispers. “I know I screwed everything up, but I want to fix this. I don’t want to live without you. It doesn’t matter what I gain—all of it means nothing without you.”
You study her big, beautiful eyes, almost getting lost in them like you’ve done so many times in the past. The crazy thing is that she actually sounds sincere for once.
God, it would be so easy. You could easily say yes. You could hand her the flowers and go back to a life that makes sense—a life where you don’t have to be lonely on Saturday nights or holidays.
But then you look at her hand on yours, and realize… you don’t feel anything. Not for her, at least. The only thing you do feel is that itch in your heart; the burning curiosity of what it would be like to hold Wrong Number’s hand just once.
And from just that, you finally understand that your heart does remember how to yearn, just not for Jisoo. Not anymore.
You pull your hand away gently. “Jisoo,” you whisper, your voice almost shaking. “I don’t think—”
The bell above the door screams like a siren as it’s thrown open, and a gust of freezing wind sweeps into the shop, hitting your face.
You look up. Jisoo turns around, startled.
Your heart immediately skips a beat and a half. It’s… Tuesday Girl..?
You can’t recall ever being more shocked in your life, but you also can’t ignore that she looks absolutely stunning, even more so than usual. Actually, she looks so insanely pretty that it physically hurts you. She’s wearing a black dress under an open coat, her hair is curled and perfect, and she looks like she just walked out of a very expensive fashion shoot.
But she’s also breathless, her cheeks are flushed from running in the cold, and her eyes are blazing and alert in a way you’ve never seen before.
She stands in the doorway, scanning the room, shoulders rising and falling with every breath. Her gaze lands on Jisoo, where they linger for a few seconds, and then they shift to you.
She freezes. And so do you.
The puzzle pieces clash together violently in your head as you watch the realization also wash over her face in slow motion. She looks at the sign hanging on the window, then she looks at her phone, and then she looks at you.
“No way,” she breathes.
She walks up to the counter, her eyes glued to your face with a mix of both horror and wonder. You watch like a deer in headlights as she stops right next to Jisoo, ignoring her completely.
“It’s you?” she asks, her voice pitching up. “You’re Flower Boy?”
You stare at her. “And you’re Tuesday Girl?”
“I was surprised when you told me the name of the shop, but I thought you just coincidentally worked here!” she says, throwing her hands up. “I didn’t think you were him! I thought I was coming to save No Earrings, not the guy I—” She catches herself, her eyes widening, cheeks flushing a furious, lovely pink. “The guy I buy flowers from.”
Jisoo looks between the two of you, confused. “Who is she?”
Wrong Number finally turns to Jisoo, for just a second. “I’m the upgrade,” she says simply, and turns back to you, slamming her hand on the counter.
Jisoo blinks rapidly. “I’m sorry, wha—”
“I just walked out on a date!” she says, cutting her off. “I left a perfectly nice man who held the door open, didn’t wear sunglasses inside, and actually asked me questions about my job. I left him with the check—well, only because he said he owns three apartment buildings—and then I ran three blocks in these stupid heels because you texted me saying you were going to do something stupid.”
You cover your forehead. “Why would you—”
“Because you told me not to let you be weak!” She points a finger at you like she’s disciplining a dog. “You told me to stop you if you ever tried to go back to the past. So here I am, stopping you—”
“Excuse me,” Jisoo finally cuts in, her voice sharp with disbelief as steps forward, reclaiming her territory. “I don’t know who you think you are, but what do you mean stop him? You’re just some random girl—you don’t know anything about him!”
Wrong Number finally turns to look at her. She doesn’t flinch or back down; she just raises an eyebrow like it’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.
“I don’t know him?” She lets out a dry laugh. “Are you sure about that? Where do I even start? Let’s see—I know he hates red roses because they’re lazy. I know he has a scar on his left thumb from a Mother’s Day rush three years ago that still feels weird when it rains. I also know he’s terrified of birds because a duck attacked him when he was seven. I know he puts hot sauce on his popcorn. I know he reads the end of a book first to make sure his favorite character survives.” She pauses briefly, then slowly continues. “And I know he stays up until 2am staring at the ceiling wondering if he’s good enough for anyone to stay because of someone.”
She takes a few steps closer to her, voice dropping even lower. “But what about you, Jisoo?” she asks, tilting her head. “What do you know?”
Jisoo flinches, taken aback. “W-what?”
“You dated him for three years. So tell me. What does he actually want to do with his life? What’s his dream?”
Jisoo falters, glancing at you for help. “Well… h-he wants to expand the shop, of course. He wants to… make it bigger. More successful.”
Wrong Number lets out a loud scoff, and shakes her head, looking at Jisoo with something close to pity. “You don’t know him at all,” she says simply. “That’s not what he wants—that’s what you want. He wants a really big garden to grow nothing but wildflowers because they’re the only things that don’t need perfection to survive. He wants a quiet life where he doesn’t have to impress anyone.”
“Well, I—”
“You think he isn’t ambitious because he doesn’t want a big franchise or own multiple rental properties or work with mega corporations,” she says, sounding almost offended on your behalf. “But his ambition is to just be happy—and that’s so much harder than just being rich.”
Jisoo opens her mouth to argue, but no words come out. She looks at you, stunned, realizing she never asked what actually makes you happy.
Wrong Number leans in, her gaze completely unwavering. “I know him better in three weeks of texting than you did in three years of dating, without ever even meeting him. So don’t tell me I don’t know him.”
Jisoo recoils as if she’s been slapped. She looks at you, waiting for you to deny it or defend her. You don’t.
Wrong Number turns away and steps closer to you, ignoring Jisoo completely now. “Do not take her back,” she says, her voice cracking just a little, the anger softening. “You are not a consolation prize for a failed relationship. You are not a backup plan for when someone gets tired of being lonely or neglected by their new partner.”
She takes a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours, as if desperate to make you understand.
“You’re the guy who protects my flowers from imaginary fruit crimes because you want them to live longer. You’re the guy who stays up to 3am with me to debate whether or not a zombie apocalypse would fix the housing market crisis. You’re also the only person who can make me laugh when I’m crying in a bathtub. You never met me and you treated me more like a person than all the people I’ve went on dates with. You actually care about what I have to say and remember things about me. You’re funny, you’re understanding, you’re witty, you’re kind, and you’re…”
She stops, as if hesitating to finish the sentence.
“You’re the best part of my day,” she finally says. “Every single day.”
Silence descends on the shop.
You look at the two women standing in front of you. There’s Tuesday Girl—the soft, sad eyes you fell for in person, but you also see Wrong Number—the friendship, fire, and humor you fell for in the dark.
Somehow, they’re the same person. They always were. And she left her first decent date in months to come fight for you, to tell you things that no one’s ever said about you—things that you don’t even think you deserve to hear, but she says it with so much sincerity that you have no choice other than to believe it.
You don’t answer her with words; you reach behind the counter and pick up the second bouquet, holding them out to her.
“I made these for you,” you say quietly.
She stares at the flowers, eyes widening. Her tough exterior crumbles as she looks from the pink petals to your face, and a slow, disbelief-filled smile spreads across her face.
“Why did you make this?” she whispers. “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t.” You swallow. “But you promised me that the extra flower would make the other you smile.”
And smile, she does. “I guess I don’t owe you pasta then.”
“I’d still like to try one day.”
She takes the bouquet, then looks at Jisoo, who’s standing there like she’s just seen a ghost.
“I think that you should probably go,” Wrong Number says, clutching the flowers to her chest.
Jisoo looks at the carefully wrapped ranunculus, and then at you. “Right,” she says tightly. “I can see that I’m interrupting.”
She walks out without looking back. The bell jingles one last time, and then silence returns, but it’s not empty silence anymore.
Wrong Number looks at you. You look at her.
The air between you is filled with tension, embarrassment, and excitement—all built off of weeks of non-stop banter, shared secrets, and spilled confessions.
“Your hands look exactly like I imagined,” she says, her voice shaking a little.
You look down at your hands, then back up at her. “I still don’t know your name,” you say softy. “I wasn’t brave enough to ask last Tuesday. Or Thursday, before your date came and snatched you from me.”
She smiles, and it’s just dazzling.
“It’s Cho Miyeon,” she says, looking up at you with soft doe eyes. “And for the record, the guy on Thursday did not own a yacht. He was in massive gambling debt.”
You tell her your name, and she repeats it to herself while smiling at the flowers, as if it sounds like poetry to her.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Cho Miyeon,” you say, as the butterflies begin multiplying in your stomach.
“Happy? I blew up my Valentine’s Day date for you,” she says, unbothered. “He’s definitely not calling me back.”
“Good. Because I was hoping you’d be free.”
“Oh really? And what did you have in mind?”
“Well,” you say, glancing down at your apron covered in green slime and sap. “I need to go home and change first. I’ve been wrestling roses for twelve hours.”
“I’m okay with that,” she says, giggling. “I like your apartment. Or, I like the pictures I’ve seen of it.”
“You’ve seen like two at most.”
“That’s enough for me. I have a good imagination.” She raises a finger. “You know, since we don’t have any reservations, let’s just go to the grocery store and get pasta ingredients so I can rock your world.”
“You left an expensive dinner with a guy who owns three apartment buildings so you could stay in and make shrimp scampi for some guy you just met?”
She nods, as if it’s the easiest question to answer. “Yeah. And it’s the second best decision I’ve made all year.”
“What’s the first?”
“Texting the right wrong number,” she says, lightly scrunching her nose.
You smile and reach out to flip the sign on the door to Closed.
“By the way, how are the other flowers doing?” you ask.
“Still thriving and ready to meet their four new friends,” she says, hugging the bouquet. “The apples are rotting in jail and the pears cannot afford bail.”
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
“Welcome to the fortress of solitude,” you say, flipping on the lights and setting the grocery bags on the counter.
The trip to the store down the street from your apartment felt more like a vivid dream than reality—Miyeon in a long coat and a fancy date-night dress, pushing a shopping cart while debating the differences between butter brands while you tried not to look like a guy who had just been rescued from a rom-com climax—although you pretty much were. She’d insisted on the expensive parmesan (“If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right”) and you’d insisted on the garlic bread (“It’s non-negotiable”), and somewhere in the frozen aisle, you’d realized you were having more fun buying pasta ingredients than anything you did all year.
Miyeon steps in and looks around slowly, taking in the overflowing bookshelf, the gray sofa, the framed photos, and the jungle of potted plants in every corner.
“It’s nice,” she says, turning to you with a grin. “Not a single beige wall in sight and lots of green. I approve.”
“I told you,” you say, locking the door behind you. “Sadness is banned in this household—well, except for the guy living in it.”
She laughs, but you’re suddenly really aware of your own appearance. You’re still wearing your work apron, there’s a streak of green floral foam dried on your forearm, and you definitely smell like twelve hours of plant fertilizer and stress. You feel gross, and for the first time in a long time, you desperately want to be something better than gross for someone.
“Okay,” you say, untying the apron. “I need twenty minutes to scrub the Valentine’s Day off my skin. Do you need help with prep?”
Miyeon drops her purse on the counter and takes off her coat, revealing the entirety of her black dress. It’s sleek and tighter than you thought, hugging every curve she has like it was proud to be on her body. Your jaw wants nothing more than to drop to the floor, but you clench onto all the muscles in your face like your life depends on it.
She catches you staring anyway. A small, knowing smirk plays on her lips.
“Go shower,” she says, walking to the kitchen like you’re the guest. “You look like you’re about to collapse. I got this.”
“Are you sure? I can chop—”
“Just go,” she commands, pointing down the hall with a head of garlic in her hand. “I’m going to rock your world tonight.”
Heat rushes to your face. “U-um—”
“With the best shrimp scampi you’ve ever had,” she quickly adds. “Now, go!”
You make it to the bathroom and strip off the apron in record time, taking possibly the fastest shower of your life—less of a relaxing wash and more of a frantic scrub—partly because you smell like a greenhouse, but mostly because leaving her alone in your kitchen feels like waking up from a dream, and you’re terrified that if you take too long, she might disappear before you get back.
You step out of the shower and immediately go into panic mode. You dry your hair aggressively, trying to style it into something intentional without looking like you tried too hard. Then, you pull open your closet and stare at your clothes like you’ve never seen a shirt before.
Too casual. Too fancy. Too… florist.
You finally grab the “nice” button-down you usually save for weddings to match her dress, fumbling with the buttons because your hands are shaking—just a little. It feels ridiculous to be this nervous in your own home, but it feels important. It’s your first date. You want to look like the guy she deserves, not just the guy she settled for because he’s good at making jokes over text messages.
The smell hits you the moment you step out: garlic, butter, and lemon. It’s rich and intoxicating, and somehow exactly like how you expected your first dinner to be.
You walk into the living room and freeze.
Miyeon is standing at your stove, tossing pasta in a pan. She’s kicked off her heels, and she’s humming along to the J-Rock song you mentioned to her a few days ago.
It hits you like a wave of déjà vu—again, somehow. You’ve never seen this before—Miyeon in your kitchen, cooking dinner—but it feels nostalgic. Like a dream from a future you’ve been waiting to live or maybe a memory from a previous life.
She turns around, holding up a wooden spoon, and pauses when she sees you. Her eyes sweep over the crisp shirt, the styled hair, the effort—if it could be called that. A slow, shy smile spreads across her face.
“Wow,” she says softly. “You look… good.”
You adjust your cuffs, suddenly shy. “Well, it is a first date. I didn’t want to be underdressed next to… that.” You gesture to her dress.
“I’m wearing this because I didn’t have time to go home,” she teases, her eyes dancing. “You’re wearing that because you’re trying to impress me in your own living room.”
“Is it working?”
She leans back against the counter, biting her lip to hide a grin. “It’s a little formal for last minute pasta on the couch… but yeah, it’s working.”
“Good,” you say, walking over to stand beside her. You lean in to smell the pan, your arm brushing against hers. “Wow, it looks and smells incredible. You weren’t joking.”
“It’s my one life skill besides predicting which marriages won’t last.” She turns back to the stove, satisfied. “Now grab the plates. I’m starving, I left the dinner before the appetizers even came out.”
You eat at the coffee table, sitting on the floor with your knees bumping together. The pasta is perfect—garlicky, buttery, and exactly what you needed after a twelve-hour shift of wrestling roses. A bottle of white wine sits between you—cheap stuff you two bought for cooking but decided to also drink instead, and somehow, it tastes better than anything you’ve had in years.
For a few minutes, you just eat in comfortable silence, passing the wine bottle back and forth. It’s surreal. For weeks, you’ve eaten dinner with your phone propped up against a water glass, texting her. Now, she’s right next to you. You can see the way she pushes the shrimp around her plate to save it for last, and the way she scrunches her nose when she laughs.
“You know,” she says suddenly, breaking the silence. “This feels kind of weird.”
“What does?”
“Just us. Being here. I feel like I’ve been sitting on this floor with you for weeks.”
You nod, leaning back against the couch, twirling the stem of your wine glass. “It feels like we skipped the first ten dates.”
“We did,” she laughs softly, her cheeks flushed slightly from the wine. “It’s like we already know everything about each other so there’s nothing left to talk about.”
“And yet I didn’t know your name until an hour ago,” you say.
She smiles, shaking her head. “It’s backward. Everything about us is backward.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No.” She looks at you, her eyes soft in the dim light. “I think it’s the best thing that’s happened to me.”
She takes a sip of wine, then clears her throat as if the moment got a little too soft, too fast.
“Okay,” she says, putting her glass down. “So I’ve been meaning to ask—do you have a TV or do you just stare at your plants for fun?”
“Oh, I have a projector,” you say, pointing to the ceiling. “And Netflix, Disney, Coupang Play… pick your poison.”
She hums, looking at the blank wall. “What’s your favorite movie? The one you can watch a hundred times and never get sick of.”
You hesitate. You think about saying something cool, like The Godfather or some obscure indie film to impress her, but you promised her honesty a while ago.
“You’re going to judge me,” you warn.
“Try me. I unironically love Twilight, I have no room to judge.”
“Okay.” You take a breath. “Your Name.”
She freezes; her fork stops halfway to her mouth.
“The anime?” she asks, eyes widening. “Kimi no Na wa?”
“Y-yes,” you say defensively. “The animation is incredible, and the soundtrack—”
“No way,” she interrupts, putting her plate down. “That’s my favorite movie.”
You blink. You think about Minho’s rant from months ago—‘Jisoo didn’t cry at the twilight scene! That’s a red flag!’
“Are you serious?”
“I’m serious,” she says, her face lighting up. “Two people connected across time and space who don’t know each other’s names, searching for each other? It gets me every time.”
“Y-yeah,” you murmur, thoroughly shocked at how much more perfect she could get.
She looks at you for a second. “It kinda reminds me of us in a way,” she admits, and then laughs. It sounds really nice. “We’re watching it together. Immediately.”
You smile. It’s the final piece of the puzzle falling into place.
“Your Name it is,” you say, dimming the lights.
You pour the last of the wine into each of your glass, and start the movie.
For the next two hours, you sit side by side in the dark. At first, there’s a respectful distance between you. But somewhere around the body-switching montage, you feel her shoulder press against yours, and by the time the comet appears in the sky, her head is resting on your shoulder.
At the twilight scene—the moment when Taki and Mitsuha finally see each other on the mountain—you feel Miyeon shift. You look over. She is literally weeping; silent, genuine tears streaming down her face.
You don’t laugh, you just reach out and take her hand, and she squeezes it back without saying a word or even looking away from the screen.
When the credits roll, she sniffs, wiping her eyes carefully with her finger.
“Don’t judge me,” she says, laughing to herself. “I told you. Every time.”
“I’m not judging.”
She turns to look at you, her eyes reddened yet still beautiful. She smiles, then catches her reflection in the dark window.
“Oh god,” she winces, touching her cheek. “I look like a raccoon. I need to go fix my makeup.”
“You don’t have to. I think you look bea—um—fine. You look fine.”
She stands up. “No, I’m not letting you see me like this.”
“Alright, well—bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left,” you say, pointing. “But you already knew that when you demanded I go shower earlier.”
“Well, there’s only so many places it can be.”
You listen to her footsteps retreat as you look at the empty plates and the projected image of the comet fading on the wall, suddenly realizing that you’re smiling so hard your face hurts.
“Hey!” she calls out a moment later, breaking your little daze. “I found them!”
You pause. That wasn’t the bathroom door; it was the bedroom.
“Huh?” You dry your hands and walk down the hall.
The bedroom door is open, and the bedside lamp is on, casting a warm, amber glow over the unmade bed and the wooden nightstand. Miyeon is standing by your bed, looking at you with a mischievous grin.
“You found what?” you ask from the door.
“My earrings,” she says simply. “The ones I left on your nightstand.”
You squint at the empty nightstand, then back at her. “What earrings?”
“Scroll back to the beginning of our texts,” she says, her voice dropping to a playful purr. “I left my earrings on your nightstand, remember?”
She looks up at you; the laughter fades from her eyes, replaced by something a little softer, a little heavier.
Then, slowly, she reaches up to her ear, undoing the clasp of her actual earring—a long, elegant gold hoop with a diamond drop—placing it gently on the nightstand. It makes a soft clink against the wood. Then, she takes off the other one, placing it beside the first.
“There,” she whispers, biting her lower lip.
You look at the earrings gleaming under the lamp light, then back at her.
“I guess I can’t be No Earrings Guy anymore.”
“I guess not,” she says, a small, teasing smile playing on her lips. “If I text you tomorrow, you’ll reply, right?”
“Yes,” you say, walking closer to her—so close that you can smell her perfume as clear as day. “I’ll say, ‘You have the wrong number.’”
She laughs, but the sound is cut short as you lean down. “Don’t you dare,” she breathes. “Are you trying to cosplay as my one-night-stands?”
“As you can see, I have one nightstand, but I’m not gonna be your one-night-stand.” You wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her closer. “I’d like to see you again and again, if that’s okay with you.”
Her shoulders relax in your embrace. “Every Tuesday?”
“Maybe a little more often than that, but we can start there.”
“Mm… I’d like that,” she says, brushing her nose against yours. “I have a request though.”
“What is it?”
She smiles and leans into your ear. “Will you… make my legs shake, though?”
You can feel her breaths brushing against your face at this point. “Is that what you’re thinking about? After all we just went through tonight?”
“Been thinking about it every Tuesday,” she says, teeth tugging at her upper lip.
A gust of courage pushes you forward as you lean in to kiss her. She tastes and feels exactly the way you imagined she would during all those late nights staring at your phone. It feels like the universe is finally clicking into place, like this is the final piece needed for a completed puzzle. Like closing a loop, the way your lips press against hers with a hunger that’s been building all evening—all your life, even. It’s a yearning that’s tested distance and time, like your tongue’s been searching for hers across timelines and phone screens, through flower shops and lonely apartments.
She sighs into your mouth—a soft, surrendering sound—tangling her fingers in your hair as if to anchor you here, in this universe, with her. It’s the kind of kiss that rewrites history. It erases every wrong number, every missed connection, every failed relationship, every awful date, every lonely Tuesday that came before it.
And when she pulls you towards the bed, you know one thing for sure: neither of you is ever going to be lonely again.
Your lips stay locked together from the moment they meet, tongues dancing in a desperate rhythm as both of your hands roam freely—down the sides of her body, snug around her waist, and eventually reaching the skin of her thighs hidden beneath the hem of her dress. Her arms loop around the back of your neck as she angles her head to deepen the kiss, refusing to let you pull away for even a second.
“You’re a pretty good kisser,” she says, running her fingers through your hair. “I didn’t expect this.”
“So are you,” you say, pressing your forehead against hers. “But I expected you to be good.”
Her lips curl into a naughty smirk. “Oh, you have no idea what else I’m good at.”
You slide your hand between her legs, feeling the warmth radiating through her panties. “When will I find out?”
Miyeon doesn’t answer, her eyes just flutter as you gently brush her folds through the fabric; a soft moan escapes her mouth as her lips part to your touch.
“Soon—”
But you don’t let her finish. You kiss her again, stealing the air from her breath, as you sneak a finger inside her, curling it gently while she moans into your mouth.
“Can I tell you a secret?” she whispers breathlessly, her hips rocking against your touch.
“You kept secrets from me?” you ask, slowly pushing deeper into her warmth. “I thought we were each other’s safe space.”
“S-sorry,” she cries, neck dipping slightly. “It was embarrassing.”
“What is it?” You go for her neck now, kissing downwards towards her collarbone, while your fingers push and pull out of her heat.
“I’ve been fantasizing about your hands… a-ah… and your fingers…” Her breaths get heavier with every soft thrust. “And… they feel better than I imagined.”
“Can I tell you a secret too, then?” you ask, feeling the cool air rush to your fingers as you withdraw your hand.
“Y-yeah?”
“I’ve been fantasizing about how you taste,” you say, lifting your hand to your mouth.
The taste is so satisfying that you let it linger on your tongue, savoring every drop.
“Who?” she asks, slipping her panties off completely. “Wrong Number or Tuesday Girl?”
You gently press your fingers on her lips, sliding them into her mouth. “Both,” you say.
“And the verdict?” she says, twirling her tongue around them, as if showing off her skills.
The sensation makes you gasp, almost. “Delicious. As expected.”
“Let’s see what else you expected,” she says with a playful grin.
She pushes you onto the bed—not aggressively, just hard enough to make you gasp, and immediately straddles your waist. She peels off her dress in one fluid motion over her shoulders, tossing it onto the floor.
“Jesus,” you accidentally say. You can actually feel your mouth watering.
She smirks and reaches behind her back, unhooking her bra, purposely letting it slide off her small shoulders to reveal her bare skin in the soft bedroom light. Your eyes trace every wondrous curve, from the swell of her breasts to the dip of her slender waist.
You run your fingers up her ribs, savoring the dangerous smoothness of her skin. “You’re gorgeous,” you say, watching her face light up to your words.
“How did you picture me?” she asks, gathering her hair up like she means to tie it—only to let it fall right back down slowly, like she was putting on a show.
You swallow. “Honestly—as Tuesday Girl—because…” you pause.
“Because what?” she asks, tilting her head.
“It’s embarrassing.”
Her smile deepens. “Now you really have to say it.”
You exhale, then let it out in one honest rush of words. “Because I had such a huge crush on you that I think I… I kind of blurred you two together in my head. Just as—” you give a helpless little laugh, “—the girl I like.”
“Aw.” The teasing in her face softens. “Honestly… I think I did the same,” she admits quietly, like a secret she’s placing in your hands as she runs her warm fingers across your cheek.
And maybe that’s why you notice the softness of her skin on your fingertips a little more now, as well as her steady weight over your body as she looks down at you, unable to wipe that smile off her gorgeous face.
“You’re so pretty,” you say, still completely in awe. “I didn’t imagine either of you to look like this.”
She grabs your hands, guiding them to her breasts. “Touch me,” she demands softly, her voice laced with a growing desire. “Like this…”
She grinds down on you, rubbing herself against the bulge in your pants through the fabric. The friction sends tingles through your length, making it throb with need as you knead her tits, thumbs circling her nipples until they harden against your skin.
“You’re driving me crazy,” you murmur, your voice rough.
“No, I’m not,” she teases. “Not yet.”
She lowers herself, reaching for your pants and tugging them down along with your underwear in a single pull. Your cock springs free, completely hard and aching for her.
“Okay,” she says, eyes widening. “Um. Wow?”
“W-what?” you say, breath hitching.
She wraps her hand around it, stroking slowly before leaning down to plant a single kiss on the tip; a drop of pre-cum immediately leaks out. “It’s… perfect. Just like I imagined.”
“You imagined this far?” you say, clenching your teeth. “While going on all those dates?”
“I have a great imagination.” She leans in, breath hot as she finally takes you into her mouth, sucking gently at first, tongue swirling around the head. “And you know better than anyone that I didn’t care for any of those dates.”
Your heart actually skips a beat. “Oh—wow.”
She smirks, as if the reaction was expected. “Just wait.”
“I’m patient,” you manage to choke out, watching as her tongue trails down the length of your shaft, mapping a wet line all the way to the base.
“How patient?” she murmurs against your skin.
“I waited all this time to try your pasta, didn’t I?”
She slurps on your length, planting small, teasing kisses against your flesh like she was savoring it on her way back up. “That’s true. Was it worth it?”
“So worth it—aah—”
“You taste good,” she says, pulling back just enough to speak, her breath hot against your flesh. “I’ve wanted this in my mouth for so long.”
“You just met me three hours ago.”
“So? I’ve wanted it in my mouth three weeks before that.”
She stops talking and takes you deeper, bobbing her head with a steady rhythm while her hand pumps the base, tongue gliding down the side of your cock with just enough pressure to complement the wet suction happening above.
“Miyeon—w-wow—” you groan, threading your fingers through her hair. “You’re really good at this.”
Saliva drips down your shaft as she works you sensually, her eyes locked on yours, full of affection and a starving lust. “I love how you twitch for me,” she murmurs between sucks. “And how you fill my mouth perfectly.”
You lift your hips instinctively, and she responds by catching your thighs, pushing them wider apart.
“What are you—”
“Shh…” she soothes, looking right at you as if begging you to trust her. “Don’t be shy. We know everything about each other, don’t we?”
Her tongue trails lower, past the base of your cock, licking your balls with slow, careful strokes now that they’re completely exposed to her. The sensation melts you completely, sending you further into the mattress. She pushes your knees up, brushing her soft, wet lips all over every inch of sensitive skin she uncovers.
“Can I?” she whispers as her tongue creeps down even further.
“Y-yes,” you reply nervously, your body arching toward her on its own.
She licks you everywhere, letting her saliva cover your skin, dripping onto the mattress as her tongue gently flicks around your rim—not enough to feel invasive, but almost lovingly, as if she was worshipping you with her need.
The sensation literally makes you whimper. “Oh my god… it feels so good…”
She hums in satisfaction as her hands continue to stroke you while she slurps you louder, recycling her saliva as she works her tongue across the crease of your cheeks, up the surface of your balls, and all the way up the underside of your cock—just to go right back down again.
“Does it feel good?” She takes all of your balls into her mouth, swirling them with her tongue while her fingers spread her saliva mixed with your pre-cum all over your cock.
“You’re crazy good…” you moan, dropping your head against the pillow.
She presses one last, lingering kiss between your legs before letting your thighs drop, then brushes her lips all the way up your length as she continues jerking you sensually, every inch of your cock now covered with her love.
“I love it,” she moans against your shaft. “I really, really like sucking your dick.”
She bobs her head up and down, slurping and sucking loudly and messily, hands circling your base while her tongue swirls around you inside her mouth. The rhythm isn’t erratic—it’s careful yet enthusiastic, as if she was savoring every bit of you.
“God, I really can’t stop,” she murmurs, stroking you as she catches her breath, tongue still flicking against your flesh as if she can’t get enough. “I’ve never felt like this before. I guess I really didn’t know everything about you.”
“That’s not fair,” you say, breathing heavily.
“What’s not fair?” Her free hand slides between her own legs, fingers dipping into her wetness, while her other hand continues to stroke you.
“I want to taste you too—aah—”
You cut off with a loud moan as she swallows you whole, taking you deeper than before, the back of her throat hugging the head of your cock. She holds you there, letting her throat milk you in tight, rhythmic pulses while her fingers work furiously between her thighs.
You can hear her moans vibrate against you as her tongue circles the underside of your balls with the entirety of your length buried so deep in her throat that it disappears.
“F-fuck…” you whimper, the pleasure ripping through your body as finally pulls out, slowly.
She gasps, heaving for air as strands of spit drip from her mouth, directly back down to your cock, but quickly disappears as her hand pumps it down into your flesh, fusing it with the rest of the hot mess.
“Miyeon,” you plead, voice shaking now. “Please. Me too.”
“Beg,” she teases, exhaling heavily, something lighting up in her eyes.
“I want to taste you. Please.”
She crawls up your body, her hand still pumping you below, and kisses you deeply. Her tongue wrestles aggressively with yours, sharing the taste of your own desire as she grinds her hips against your chest.
“You’re tasting me,” she says, sucking on your lips.
“No,” you protest, fingers digging into the skin on her hips. “Not like this.”
You guide her small frame upwards, lifting her above you to position herself right over your face. Her pussy hovers just above your mouth, glistening with an arousal built up all night.
“Like this.” You grab her waist and pull her down, your tongue plunging right between her folds as you enter her, savoring all her sweetness as you lick and suck her like you’re starved—because you are.
“Oh my god,” she moans quietly, grinding against your face. “This is what you meant.”
You pull back just enough to speak, your lips wet with her love. “Don’t play innocent. You knew exactly what I meant.”
“You weren’t being specific,” she breathes, fingers tangling in your hair. “I didn’t know you meant you wanted to taste my pussy.”
“Yes, you did,” you growl, slapping her ass. “You’re a liar now.”
She lets out a soft yelp of both shock and delight, and you grab a handful of her cheeks to pull her down, burying your tongue deeper into her hole while she drips into your mouth. Her hands brace on the headboard as she rides your face, her breaths coming in short pants and melodic gasps.
You hold her steady, flicking and circling until she’s trembling.
“You’re really good at this, what the hell—aah!” she cries, grinding against your mouth, increasing and decreasing the pressure with every movement. “W-wait—I think I’m gonna come—you’re actually gonna make me come like this—oh wow—wait—wait—”
Her movement stops abruptly, and she pushes hard against you, trapping your tongue against her clit right before her legs start shaking in small, short tremors. Then, a few seconds later, she shatters, moaning loudly, voice cracking along with the erratic jerks of her spine while she anchors herself, using your hair for balance.
She collapses sideways onto the mattress, and you climb on top of her, holding her trembling body in your arms, kissing her softly down the side of her warm neck as she hugs you tightly, chest heaving against yours.
“Wow,” she gasps, voice cracking. “I need a second—that was—wow—”
You keep kissing her soothingly, fingers slowly finding their way back to her heat as you chase the dripping juices leaving her folds.
“You’re a dream come true,” you murmur against her lips, rubbing her sensually, watching her back arch again as her lips part and eyes widen.
“Oh god—” she moans as your fingers sneak their way back in, feeling her walls clench against your skin. “Okay—I don’t need a second anymore—just do it—aah—”
“Do what?” you ask, dipping your head to suck her nipple. Down below, you curl your fingers upward toward her spot, increasing the pressure with every motion.
She twitches beneath you, hips bucking upward to chase your rhythm. “I knew you’d say that—fu—oh my god—”
“Say it properly,” you tease, swirling and flicking against her flesh.
“Fuck me,” she exhales loudly, desperately. “Fuck me, please.”
You wish you had the resilience to continue playing with her, but you actually can’t wait any longer either.
You spread her legs far apart, settling between her slender thighs as your cock nudges at her entrance like it’s drawn by a magnet, and you push in—slowly, inch by inch, watching her eyes flutter shut in bliss as you fill her completely.
“Look at me,” you command.
She opens her eyes, meeting your gaze as your bodies move together, skin slapping softly to every thrust.
“You feel so good inside me,” she whispers, her trembling hands cupping your face. “I think I’m gonna lose it.”
“You’re actually so perfect,” you moan, picking up the speed as her wetness engulfs every inch of your flesh like a warm blanket.
You lean down and kiss her—a deep, passionate collision of lips and tongues, pouring every unspoken emotion between the two of you into the moment as your hips roll steadily against hers, binding your bodies and souls together.
She quickly unbuttons your shirt, flinging it off impatiently. Her hands wander over your chest, nails digging lightly into your shoulders as she matches your pace, wrapping her legs tighter around your waist to pull you deeper. You groan into her mouth, the friction and the heat and the sight of her flushed face beneath you threatening to unravel you completely.
“How did you get more perfect than you already were the past three weeks?” you murmur against her lips, slowing the pace just to torture yourself, just to feel the drag of her walls clutching you. “I never knew I could want someone this much. I need you.”
“I need you too,” she breathes, arching her back into your body. “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop.”
You thrust harder, losing the battle for control, needing to be closer than skin and flesh allows. The slapping sound of your bodies meeting fills the quiet room, a steady, wet rhythm that drowns out the city outside. You are lost in her—in the scent of her hair, the taste of her tongue, the way she says your name like you’ve been lovers for multiple lives.
But you want to see her—all of her. Because you’re sure there isn’t a sight in the world more beautiful than Cho Miyeon.
“Come up,” you command softly, withdrawing slowly until you almost slip out, leaving her gasping at the loss.
She whimpers, reaching for you, her eyes desperate and pleading. “No… stay inside me… don’t go…”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, guiding her hands to your chest. “I just want to see you.”
She hesitates for only a second before a wicked glint returns to her eyes. “You like looking at me that much?”
“I’m addicted,” you confess, as she climbs over you, dragging her wet folds across your skin. “I want to see every side and angle of you.”
She looks down at you and smiles devilishly—hair messy, lips parting, skin damp enough to shimmer in the dimly lit room.
“Careful what you wish for,” she teases breathlessly. “There might be a side of me you haven’t seen yet that might scare you.”
Then she sinks down, taking all of you in one slow, agonizing slide. Her head falls back, a long, broken moan tearing from her throat as she fills herself completely. The sight of her—impaled on you, throat bared, riding you with a look of pure bliss—is enough to make you see stars.
She sets a slow, torturous pace, grinding her hips in circles before lifting and slamming back down, milking every inch of you. Her hands rest on your chest, feeling your heart hammer against her palms, her gaze locked on yours as she rides you so skillfully you question how she’s even real.
“Does it feel good?” she asks, leaning forward, letting her hair fall over your faces. “Tell me how good my pussy feels.”
“It feels incredible…” You reach up to cup her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. “You’re so tight… and warm… and wet… I can’t believe this is what I’ve been missing out on.”
“Should’ve met me sooner,” she murmurs, a sinful smirk curling her lips.
“I’m jealous that you were doing this with people who don’t deserve you while I was imagining everything in my head.”
“Aw, don’t be jealous...” She picks up the speed, snapping her hips with a wet, rhythmic smack that echoes in the quiet room. “If it makes you feel better, they don’t feel anywhere as good as you. Your dick is so perfect… it’s like it was made to fill me… just like this…”
“Your pussy was made for me,” you groan, your hips bucking up to meet her, driving deeper. “It’s mine now.”
She gasps. “Yes. I was born to ride you, just like this.”
She leans back, bracing her hands on your knees, giving you a perfect view of where you’re joined, and grinds down hard; her pussy clenching around you in rhythmic spasms that nearly send you over the edge right then and there.
“Look,” she commands, breathless. “Look at how deep you are inside me... look at how my pussy looks wrapped around your dick… you’re all mine now…”
“I’m yours, all yours,” you moan, gripping her hips to help her drive down harder.
“God, it feels so good,” she moans, her head falling back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. “You’re so deep inside me.”
She rides you harder, faster, abandoning the slow tease for pure, frantic need.
“Fuck me as hard as you can,” she begs, her voice cracking. “Don’t hold back. Break me if you have to, just don’t stop, okay?”
You sit up, meeting her halfway, wrapping your arms around her trembling frame. You capture her lips in a deep, wet kiss, swallowing her moans as your chests slide against each other. The angle changes everything—you’re buried all the way now, grinding against her clit with every upward thrust of your hips, helping her find the rhythm as her legs start to quiver with exhaustion.
“Tell me how you want it,” you murmur against her mouth, your hands gripping her waist to take the weight off her thighs.
“I want you to ruin my little pussy with your cock,” she cries. “Make my legs shake. Make it so I actually can’t walk tomorrow.”
You snap your hips upward, driving into her harder, faster, setting a brutal pace that has her gasping for air. “Is this the side you were scared to show me?”
“No, you wouldn’t be able to handle that side,” she taunts breathlessly, biting her swollen lip.
“So you’re gonna hide things from me now?”
You stop moving abruptly, leaving her hovering on the edge, desperate and whining at the sudden stillness.
“Show me,” you growl.
“Make me,” she challenges, grinding down on you desperately, trying to chase the friction. “Fuck me harder and you’ll see—”
“Fine.”
In one fluid motion, you grip her hips and flip her over. She squeals—a mix of surprise and delight—as you drag her across the mattress. You push her onto her hands and knees, shoving her face into the pillows before grabbing her waist and pulling her back until she’s arched perfectly for you.
You position her directly in front of the full-length mirror on the closet door.
“Look,” you command, your voice dropping as you enter her from behind in one long, smooth thrust that makes her back bow. “Look at yourself, Miyeon.”
She lifts her head, her eyes finding yours in the reflection. She looks so incredibly sexy—hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips wet. “Oh god… what’s happening…”
“You said to fuck you harder, didn’t you?” you whisper, wrapping a hand around her throat lightly, just enough to claim her.”
“Oh fuck…” she moans loudly, her eyelids fluttering as she leans back into your touch.
You start to thrust, snapping your hips against her ass with a punishing rhythm. “Show me.”
“I said you’ll have to fuck me harder if you want—aah!”
You lean in close, your voice dropping to a rough growl as you watch her face twist in pleasure in the glass. “Is it because you don’t want me to know you’re a little whore?”
“No, that’s not it—fuck…”
“What is it, then?” you say, the sight of you disappearing inside her reflection drives you dangerously close to the edge.
“I changed my mind,” she gasps, tightly gripping the sheets. “I don’t have any other sides… just fuck me however you want. Please.”
“That’s unfortunate. I really wanted to see the real you.” You lean down, your chest pressing against her back, lightly sucking her neck. “Every part of you.”
“I am a whore—I’m your little whore…” she whimpers, her eyes rolling back as she watches her own body shaking with the force of your thrusts. “Fuck… it feels so good... god, I’m melting…”
You reach around, your hand splaying over her flat stomach, pinning her in place as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes loudly in the room.
“Who does this belong to?” you growl into her ear, punctuating the question with a particularly deep thrust that makes her gasp. “Tell me.”
“Yours,” she cries out, staring at herself in the mirror, watching her own breasts sway with the impact. “It’s yours. My pussy is yours from now on.”
“Look at yourself.” You release her stomach to grab her hair, gently pulling her head back so she has no choice but to watch. “Look how pretty you look like this. So sexy and slutty.”
“I love it,” she moans, her hips pushing back to meet you, desperate for more. “Use me. Use my pussy however you want.”
“I’m going to make sure your legs never forget,” you promise, gripping her hips to pull her back onto you harder. “Remember my name, even if you disappear tomorrow.”
She sobs a messy, broken sound, her arms finally giving out. She collapses onto her stomach, burying her face in the pillows, but you don’t stop. You follow her down, hooking one of her legs over your arm to pull her open even wider.
“Oh my god!” she cries out, muffled by the linen. “Don’t stop—oh god, don’t stop!”
You reach around, your hand sliding between her legs to find her clit, rubbing it in time with your thrusts—hard, fast, merciless circles.
That breaks her completely.
“Oh—oh god—oh my god—I’m coming!” she screams, her body seizing up. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”
“Come for me,” you say, kissing her shoulder, her neck, anywhere you can reach.
Her legs start to shake—violent, uncontrollable tremors that rattle the entire bed. Her pussy clamps down on you, milking you with terrifying strength as she rides out the orgasm, sobbing your name.
You pull out, your breath coming in ragged gasps. “I’m—”
“No—wait!”
She scrambles onto her knees, taking you in her hand and immediately wraps her mouth around you, swallowing you deep. Her hand goes down to her still-throbbing clit, touching herself as she looks up at you with needy eyes.
The sight of it—her mouth on you, her fingers, the absolute carnal desire in her gaze—shatters your last bit of control.
“Miyeon—I’m—” you groan, your hips snapping forward instinctively. “I’m gonna—fuck—”
The world freezes as you erupt into her mouth, wave after wave of pleasure bursting through your veins as you pour yourself into her throat. She drains you completely while her fingers keep working, still chasing the aftershocks of her own climax. Your vision blurs slightly as she moans against you, but doesn't swallow immediately. Instead, she holds you there, swishing the warmth around her tongue, savoring the taste for a moment before finally gulping it down.
And when you finally fall back and collapse on the bed, a satisfied, sleepy smile curls the corners of her mouth.
“I told you I was going to rock your world,” she says, licking her lips.
─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─
~ six months later ~
The air in the hotel ballroom is thick with the scent of expensive candles, too much hairspray, and the distinct, high-pitched frequency of a bride on the verge of a breakdown—a sound you know so well.
“I said ivory!” a voice hisses from the head table, where the wedding party is trying to take photos. “This is clearly cream! Does nobody listen to me?”
You shift the last box of centerpieces into the back room, wiping your hands on your apron. The ceremony is over, cocktail hour is in full swing in the hallway, and you’ve been in the flower business long enough to know when to make yourself invisible.
You scan the chaos, looking for the one person actually holding this circus together.
You spot Miyeon standing in the shadows near the service entrance, leaning against the wall. She looks exhausted; her clipboard is dangling by her side, and she’s watching the scene unfold with the blank stare of a war general who has seen too much combat.
You walk over, sidestepping a server who is rushing to refill the buffet, and when you get close, you nudge her shoulder gently.
“You look like you’re contemplating murder,” you whisper.
Miyeon jumps slightly, then looks up. The professional mask melts away instantly, replaced by a genuine, tired smile that lights up her whole face.
“I’m contemplating arson,” she corrects, her voice hushed. “If I hear the word ‘napkin’ one more time, I’m lighting the tablecloths on fire.”
“Well, the hydrangeas are set,” you say, gesturing to the centerpieces. “And I even found those specific baby’s breath stems you texted me about at 2:00 AM.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” She leans her head on your shoulder for a fleeting second, stealing a moment of peace. “This wedding is a freaking disaster. The groom is already drunk out of his mind, the bride absolutely hates the lighting that she picked out herself, and I’m pretty sure the mother-in-law is currently crying in the bathroom because the seating chart ‘disrespects her ancestors.’”
You chuckle, looking out at the groom, who is looking a little too wobbly for 6:00 PM. “I give them six months.”
“Generous,” she murmurs. “I was thinking two.”
“So,” you say, checking your watch. “What’s the plan after this? Should we go try that new Italian restaurant that opened by our place? Or do you want to watch a movie? I’m sure you have lots to cry about after this.”
She laughs, the sound bright and clear over the DJ doing a mic check. She checks her own watch, then looks back at the bride, who is now aggressively directing the photographer.
“Technically, my job is done,” she says, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. “The reception is starting, so the coordinator takes over now, and we should go. But…” She bites her lip, looking toward the corner of the room.
“But what?”
“It’s an open bar,” she says, sliding her hand into yours, lacing your fingers together. “And I kind of want to stay and watch it all burn down. Don’t you?”
You look at her—messy hair, tired eyes, and that same spark of trouble that hooked you from the very first text—and you squeeze her hand.
“Alright,” you say, leaning back against the wall with her. “Front row seats to the disaster it is.”
She giggles. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world, did you know that?”
“Why?” you ask, watching the best man stumble over a microphone cord. “Because I also find entertainment in watching other people fall apart?”
“No. Because you’re just you.”
“And you’re just you.”
“I know,” she says, an adorable smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And you love that.”
You wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against your side. “You’re right,” you murmur into her hair. “I do love you.”
She leans into you as the DJ announces the grand entrance, resting her head on your shoulder. “I love you more.”
“I thought you promised not to lie to me,” you say, kissing the top of her head.
“Never broke it.”
You watch the couple burst through the doors toward a future that’s probably doomed, surrounded by thousands of dollars of flowers and perfectly color-coordinated linens.
Most people spend their entire lives searching for The One. They go on bad dates, swipe through endless profiles, propose just for the sake of it, and plan perfect weddings, desperately trying to manufacture a happy ending.
But not you.
You didn’t have to search for anything. You just had to reply to a text sent to the wrong person.
There was a time when neither of you believed in love, that fairytales and romcoms were just a way to give people something to hope for. But you were both wrong.
You look down at Miyeon, who’s currently whispering a bet on how long until the best man trips, and realize true love does exist for those strong enough to let go of the wrong person.
Most love stories are complicated, messy, and full of wrong turns.
But not yours. Because sometimes, a wrong number leads you to the only right person.
The end.
A/N: Thank you for readinggg! Hope you guys enjoyed my little Valentine's Day special. I've never written a one-shot before so it was pretty tough for me, but I think it's not so scary of a concept to me anymore! :3 Maybe I'll dabble more in the future~
A/N: Prompt for @dotoliwrites. Thank you so much for hosting!
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
When the words—
“Do you wanna get married tonight instead?”
Are the first thing you hear after waking up today, you can’t help but reply with—
“What brought this on?”
You groggily walk up to Miyeon, arm wrapping around her waist and giving her a peck on the lips. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning, dear.” Miyeon smiles into the kiss, leaning on you as she lowers the heat on the cooker. “Nothing, just thought it’d be a great day to get married today.”
“Miyeon.” You move to stand behind her, both arms around her waist now. Watching her crack some eggs on the pan, your head coming to rest on her shoulder. Taking a whiff of the morning scent of breakfast and Miyeon’s conditioner. “I thought you wanted to get married in February?”
“I do,” she replies, giggling when you leave a kiss on her neck. “But there’s this meteor shower happening tonight at the venue we were looking into and–” She places a lid on the pan, letting the egg cook. Her hands rest on your forearms as she leans back. “It'd be perfect, you know?”
“You are such a romantic,” you tease, poking her stomach and causing her to yelp in surprise. “All that’s left is breakfast in bed, and I’m sold.”
“I’ll be sure to do it next time then,” she shoots back, rolling her eyes at you with a smile. “Does that mean you’re saying no?” She gives you a slight nudge.
“Well…” You watch the eggs whiten, and you have to admit that her whole idea is enticing. Having to wake up everyday with the woman of your dreams knowing that you’re hers and she’s yours. To spend every waking moment enjoying life with Miyeon—your wife.
You can already picture it. More slow mornings in the kitchen, afternoons doing everything you two could ever want to do or nothing at all. Spending every possible waking moment with her, and ending them in her arms. Being able to call Miyeon home.
It’s the future you’ve seen, when you got down on your knees to propose that day. But the thought of being able to have that sooner rather than later?
“You know your parents would be pissed if we did,” you say casually, arms tightening their grip around her.
A smile slowly curves up her lips. “I’m sure they’ll get over it,” she easily replies, uncovering her pan. “I’m more worried about Sana.”
“I’m sure she’ll get over it,” you repeat, making Miyeon laugh.
“I don’t know.” She turns off the cooker. “She might hate us if we don’t tell her.”
“We can leave her a text.” You spin her around, and she’s wrapping her arms around your neck. “What time’s that meteor shower?”
“Around seven.”
Your eyes glance at the clock. “That’s in eleven hours.”
“That’s enough time to get married.” She raises an eyebrow at you.
You’re thinking of what you need for it to happen. A witness or two, an officiant to get the both of you married, the venue to hopefully accept your last minute and get there in time if they do. The list seemed endless when you keep adding more thing to find—
“You’re thinking too hard, dear.” She interrupts your line of thinking with a boop on the nose. “Yes or no?”
“Let me get this straight.”
“Mhmm.”
“You want to elope.”
“Yep.”
“Tonight.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re completely okay with that?”
“I was the one who suggested it.” She grins. “Of course I am.”
“Okay.” You take a deep breath, giving her hips a gentle squeeze. “Okay.”
“Okay as in you wanna do it?” She tilts her head, the grin on her face somehow getting larger by the second. “Or okay as in you don’t wanna do it?”
You only live once, you might as well live it without any regrets.
And getting married to Miyeon is something you’d never regret.
“Okay as in I will call the venue if they can get us a spot,” you answer, and she squeals in your arms, pulling you in for a kiss. You smile into it, warmth spreading around your body as she pours every bit of love from her lips to yours.
“Promise you won’t regret it,” she mutters into your lips, pulling away just a bit to tell you those three words that get you grinning. Ones that you return affectionately, leaning in for another short kiss.
“I’ll find our witnesses.” Another kiss, and her lips are so, so addicting.
“Is it Sana?” you ask, and all she does is giggle at you, the melody slightly muted when you press your lips against hers once more.
“She won’t know about it until she comes back from Japan,” Miyeon replies, giving you one last peck on the lips before she turns around. “Now, breakfast before marriage, dear.”
—
“And you’re sure they have an officiant?”
“It’s in their package,” you reply, stepping on the gas as you enter the freeway. “Spot to get married, the hotel’s officiant, a makeup artist, and a photographer all in one.”
“How good do they do makeup?” She’s typing on her phone as she asks, most likely talking with another friend of hers that can attend your wedding. “And the photographer–”
“Dunno, didn’t ask,” you tell her, signaling to the left. “I don’t speak makeup and cinematography.”
“Maybe I should’ve been the one talking to the venue.” Miyeon takes a glance at you with that teasing glint you always see from her.
“You were busy talking with Jiwon while packing.” You prop your elbow on the armrest. “I didn’t want to interrupt girl talk.”
“Jiwon–” The way she emphasizes her name makes you tense up. “Is going to be our witness for today.”
“God help us.” It's almost a reflex at this point, hearing that you'll be seeing Jiwon again. The last time had you accidentally traumatizing your cousin because she wouldn't stop talking to him about everything.
“Hey!” she chides, putting her phone down. “She's also making the trip to the venue. Alone, mind you.”
Your lips curl up a tad. “Think she’s already telling Sana we’re eloping?”
Her hand comes to rest on your arm, tenderly brushing her thumb across your skin. “I told her to keep it a secr–” Her phone begins to ring, and you don’t need to look to know who’s calling. “Oh no.”
And so the rest of the trip becomes a free podcast of Sana and Miyeon talking.
For five. Fucking. Hours.
—
“You didn’t tell me you booked the suite!”
“Can’t exactly go to Puerto Rico last minute so I thought we’d make the most out of the place.”
You’re locking the door as Miyeon begins exploring said suite, a luggage bag in hand. And you have to admit, the place is pretty good.
Well, that’s an understatement.
Great view, spacious, a bed that will inevitably be squeaking once Miyeon gets a hold of you and a hell of a lot of amenities—it’s the whole shebang and then some. You’re amazed that the hotel was offering it at such a discount but with everything that you told them you’re a tad bit grateful too.
Really makes you think what would happen if Miyeon did talk to them instead of you.
“Speaking of Puerto Rico–” She makes a spin to face you, her dress flaring out and the way her hair perfectly frames her face, paired up with how the light hits her just right makes her look completely ethereal.
And you’ve seen it all before; whether it was because she was wearing some designer dress, some casual look whenever you two go out on dates, or as she wakes up in your arms.
Yet you never get tired of seeing her look like such an angel.
“Should we book for next week?”
“If you think we can get a ride, why the hell not.” You’re placing down the remaining luggage by the main room, striding over to Miyeon and holding her by the waist. “We could go to Japan too. The cherry blossoms are in season.”
“Sana’s gonna crash our honeymoon if we do,” she giggles, arms around your neck, fingers giving your scalp a gentle scratch. The smile that crosses her features is a constant reminder of why you fell for the woman in your arms, and you can’t help but smile back.
You let out a quiet chuckle. “What?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just–” She bites her lip, and the action makes you squeeze her hips. “We’re really doing this, are we?”
“Hey, it was your idea,” you joke, causing her to laugh. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?” You’re almost afraid of her answer, but the instant she gave the back of your neck a light tap it all faded away.
“Of course not,” Miyeon replies, stepping closer to give you a peck. “I’ve never been more ready to be with you.”
Her words make your heart skip a beat, the small tears in her eyes make your palm rest on your cheek to wipe them away before they could fall. Your lips whisper her name, and she nuzzles her head against your hand. You can’t tell who said those three words first, or if you said them at the same time.
The only thing that matters right now is Miyeon—her lips on yours, soft and full and loving, your arms picking her up and carrying her to the bed. Hair all splayed around her as she falls on the soft mattress with a giggle.
“Dear, no,” she says with a laugh, yet she does nothing about you kissing her neck, her collarbone, your hands coming to play with the straps of her dress. “Save it for tonight.”
“We can squeeze a quick one in.” You pause to look up at her grinning face.
“You–” She pushes you away with a finger on your forehead. “Need to talk to the officiant. And I need to talk with the hotel to get Jiwon a room.”
You sigh. “Responsibilities.”
“Woe is us,” she adds, propping herself up. “Now up. Go and get everything ready for us.”
“So bossy today.” You’re rolling your eyes at her as you stand up. “At least talk to the photographer and makeup artist when you go down.”
“Not to worry, dear,” Miyeon blows you a kiss. “I’ll handle it.” She glances down to your crotch, and she gives you a smirk and a wink.
“I’ll handle that too tonight.”
—
“You said this spot is perfect for the meteor shower?”
“That’s what they said.”
There were a few people around to set up the ceremony when you and Miyeon arrived at the spot. You know it’s not as grand as Miyeon preferred it to be, but with how tight the timing was you can’t blame the hotel.
You're more worried about your vows than anything. And with time being a precious commodity today you need to squeeze it in somewhere before you see Miyeon walk down in her wedding dress.
“And it’ll be ready before it?”
“That is also what they said, yes.” You turn to her. “Relax, they know what they’re doing.”
“Okay, okay.” Miyeon takes a deep breath. “And the officiant?”
“Is the hotel’s sommelier,” you answer. “I’ve already talked to him, and he’s helping out with the legal papers to get everything sorted out.” You grab her hand, pulling it up to give it a kiss to alleviate her nervousness. “Is Jiwon here already?”
“She is!” She nods to the side. “The hotel was kind enough to give her a room for the night.”
“That’s great,” you say, already thinking up ways to repay the hotel for being so accommodating.
“Got to talk with the photographer too. And the makeup artist.” You don’t like how her face just glowed up when she brought up makeup.
“Speaking of that—”
“I don’t need makeup.”
“You will wear makeup whether you like it or not.”
After getting dragged back to your room and Miyeon’s attempts at getting you to wear makeup, she’s gone ahead and called for backup.
That being Jiwon and the makeup artist.
You’re outnumbered three to one, and you know you’re not going to win this fight. Resisting’s almost optional at this point, even.
But you’ll make sure that you at least go down swinging.
“It’ll be a light touch up,” Miyeon says, crossing her arms. “You can take it off straight after the ceremony if you want, but you will wear makeup.”
“Come on guys.” You’re throwing your hands in the air. “It’s fine–”
“It is your wedding, mister,” Jiwon cuts you off. “You have to look your best.” She’s coming forward, hands on your shoulders as she walks you to the fated chair.
“I’m pretty sure I can look my best without makeup.” You try your best to resist, dragging your feet slowly and making Jiwon work for every step.
“Don’t make me do your makeup instead,” Jiwon threatens (you think, you don’t know if she’s bluffing or not).
“Do I need to be scared?” You turn to Miyeon, because, again, you’re not sure if Jiwon would turn you into a clown for your wedding or not.
“Dear,” Miyeon starts, coming to your other side to help Jiwon and giving you the puppy eyes that she knows will melt you. “Just get your makeup done and I promise I’ll repay you later.”
And you crumble fast.
“Ew,” Jiwon says, pulling away from the both of you. “T M fucking I, you two.”
Miyeon lets out a giggle while you laugh and shake your head.
“Fine, fine, I’ll get my makeup done.”
So much for going down swinging.
The makeup artist does nothing to deter all this, only giving you an apologetic look as you take a seat. You can’t blame them though.
You wouldn’t want to anger Miyeon and Jiwon at the same time too.
Well–
“Can I at least shower first before I do it?”
Maybe you want to.
Just a teeny bit.
—
“Everyone else found out, by the way.”
Your fingers pause trying to secure a cufflink. “What happened there?”
“Jiwon–” That makes perfect sense. “–brought it up at our group chat an hour ago and now my phone won’t stop ringing.” You both take a glance at the nightstand, where both of your phones lay together. “I think Yuqi’s still calling me.”
Her phone lights up with her words, and sure enough someone—Yuqi—was calling her.
“You’d think Jiwon would’ve talked to her,” you chuckle, attention coming back to fix your cufflink. “Or has she?”
“I think they’ve resorted to voice messaging at one point,” she shrugs as she picks up one of her earrings. “I tried to explain it but I was showering and–” She makes a pointed glance at her phone. “I’m more focused on getting ready than talking right now.”
You smooth down your dress shirt. “Such priorities, princess.”
“I’m surprised no one else on your side knows that we’re getting eloped.”
“Only mom and dad know.” You take a pause. “And my boss, I guess.”
Miyeon giggles, glancing at you through the mirror. “Why does your boss know?”
“Cause I needed to tell him why I’m going on a week long leave on short notice.” You make quick work on tying your necktie. “Hee says congrats, by the way.”
“Tell him that I’m not sorry you’ll be gone for a week.” That draws out a laugh from you.
“Of course, princess.” You take a glance around, eventually landing on one of the luggage bags. “Where’d you put the suit jacket?”
“Closet.” She’s standing up to head to said closet, and you follow. “I had the staff steam it while we were out.”
She opens it up, and she reaches out to grab your jacket out from it to hand it to you. And you had to admit—
“White’s an odd choice for a guy getting married,” you comment, pulling it up to head level. “Thought it’d be more your thing.”
“Dear, I would love to wear a wedding dress,” Miyeon replies, taking another hanger out—a vest and a sleeveless dress shirt hanging from it—before closing the cabinet. “But we’re not exactly doing a conventional wedding so–” She makes a pose, vest over her chest to show you what she’ll be wearing for your ceremony. “I thought that I too shall wear a suit for our wedding. Besides, you’ve never used that white suit that I bought you yet, so I thought that this too is the perfect time to use it.”
You blink, envisioning what she’d look like in your head. It’s an odd thing to imagine, seeing her wear a suit of all things to what is the most important day of your lives. You’ve never even seen this woman wear one at all for the entire time you’ve known her. Although, with the epitome of beauty in front of you, it’s hard not to fill in the blanks.
Her figure wouldn’t be hiding underneath all those layers, seeing how that top only comes to cover just above her belly button. The pants she has on does little to hide the curve of her ass, and pair it up with the smile she has on and you are whipped for this woman.
“I know, I know,” she brags, walking back to the bed to place the pieces of clothing down to take her towel she’s used as a top off. A free taste of what tonight will bring. “It’d look amazing, wouldn’t it?”
“It’d look better on the floor.” Your mouth has a mind of its own sometimes. The words weren’t exactly a lie, either way. And while she has her back turned to you, you know in your heart that she’s rolling her eyes.
“Patience, dear.” She’s clipped her bra on before taking the shirt off the coat hanger to put it on her, the smooth expanse of her back hidden from your view. “Just a few more hours, and you’ll have me all to yourself.”
“I’m surprised you are this patient,” you comment, placing the hanger on to the closet handle to take the jacket off it. “We’d normally be by the bed at this point.”
Her laugh is music to your ears. “It’s not good to fuck the bride before her wedding.”
“That’s for seeing the bride.”
“Seeing, fucking–isn’t that the same thing, dear?”
You shake your head, letting out an amused scoff. “I think you might have your superstitions mixed up.”
“Well, whatever they are–” Miyeon’s leaning on the wall right next to you. And God, your imagination did not do her outfit justice because it looks so much more amazing seeing her this up close wearing it. “You get to fuck me after our wedding.”
She’s turned you towards her to adjust your tie, giving your chest a gentle pat. “And every other day after too, while we’re at it.”
“You say all this just before we go out there and I might not let you leave this room,” you say, holding the jacket in your arms as you let her do what she wants.
“That’d be funny,” she muses, taking the jacket from you and gesturing for you to turn around. “Last minute ceremony cancelled by a last minute quickie.”
Miyeon helps you put the jacket on, pulling it over your body. “You think the hotel would mind?” you ask, pulling the sleeves of your shirt as you face her.
“I think the hotel would be pissed.” She gives you a one over, biting her lip as she ‘appreciates’ what you’re wearing. “But it might be worth it when you’re looking like a hot piece of ass in that suit.”
“What happened to doing it after the wedding?” You throw the same argument back she’s using back against her, and her eyes roll, twinkling with amusement.
Miyeon tilts her head, a lock of hair covering part of her face. “We still can.” Her hands come to toy with your belt, which is always a good sign when it comes to her. “But if I only suck your cock, does it still count as fucking?”
Oh, semantics, you wonderful idea.
Before you can ever agree with her line of thinking, a loud ring sounds off in your room, causing the both of you to look at the entrance. Knocking follows it shortly after, and you can vaguely hear someone shouting your names over the door.
“Jiwon?” you ask over your shoulder, eyes still looking at the hallway.
Miyeon sighs. “Jiwon.” She cups your cheek to make you face her. “What a shame, don’t you think?”
What a fucking shame, indeed.
“It’s one way of getting us out of this room,” you smile, hands moving your belt around to alleviate your straining erection. “But we really should go out there.”
Miyeon nods, leaning in to give you a peck. “Love you, husband.”
You grin, ignoring the second ring of the doorbell to kiss her back. “Love you too, wife.”
“I like the sound of that,” she hums, pulling away to smooth her hair. A wink gets thrown your way before she begins to walk to the door. “Coming!”
A palm comes down to slap her ass as she passes by, and Miyeon replies with a promiscuous look. Enough to tell you that she’s excited for tonight just as you are.
Because soon enough you’ll be calling her your wife, and she’ll be calling you her husband.
You shake your head fondly, taking a deep breath and following Miyeon towards the door.
You’re already counting the seconds before you promise to be true to her in the good and bad, in sickness and in health. For richer or the poorer, for the better or worse, until death takes you apart.
Because Miyeon is all you need in this lifetime to be happy.
And if you ever find her again in another, you’d choose to fall in love with her all over again.
You pull up to the lake house in your beat-up SUV, tires crunching on the gravel driveway, and the second you step out, you’re hit with it—this place is way more stunning than the pics online. The air smells like pine and damp earth, and the lake stretches out in front of you, its surface flat and gray under a thick blanket of clouds. The house itself is this cozy, modern thing—wood and glass, with a big deck overlooking the lake. It’s got this vibe, like it’s begging you to chill out and forget the world for a while. You’re already thinking, Shit, if this week goes as good as it looks, maybe I’ll buy this place. Peace, quiet, and nature all around—perfect for your photography, which is the whole damn reason you’re here. And you’d bet your camera nobody’s around for miles—pure solitude, just how you like it—until you catch a faint wisp of smoke curling up from the chimney of that dark house across the lake, and now your solo trip’s got some unexpected company popping off.
You pop the trunk and grab your gear—camera bag slung over your shoulder, a duffel with clothes, and a cooler stuffed with groceries you snagged earlier. Your day job’s nothing special, just some remote gig doing data entry for a logistics company. It’s boring as hell—punching numbers into spreadsheets, tracking shipments, answering emails from people who can’t figure out their own schedules. Pays the bills, though, and it’s flexible enough to let you fuck off to places like this whenever you want. Photography’s where your heart’s at. You’ve been at it for years, lugging your Canon everywhere, chasing the perfect shot. Landscapes mostly—sunsets, forests, water, anything that moves you. You’re no pro, but you’re good, and you’ve got a decent following on Insta for it. This trip? It’s all about that—getting out, breathing, and nailing some killer shots.
The lake house sits on this little peninsula, surrounded by trees so thick you can barely see the dirt road you came in on. It’s isolated, yeah, but not too far out. There’s a small city—more like a big town, really—about twenty minutes back. You stopped there on the way in, hit up a grocery store for the basics: beer, burgers, some frozen pizzas, and a bag of apples ‘cause you’re trying to be healthy or whatever. They’ve got a coffee shop and a gas station too, so you’re not totally cut off. Still, out here, it’s just you, the water, and the woods. No traffic, no neighbors blasting music—pure silence, except for the occasional bird or ripple on the lake.
You haul your stuff inside, drop it on the hardwood floor, and take a sec to check the place out. Big windows everywhere, letting in that soft, cloudy light. The living room’s got a plush couch and a stone fireplace you’re already itching to use. Kitchen’s sleek, all stainless steel and granite, and the bedroom upstairs has a view that makes you wanna cry—straight across the lake. Speaking of which, you step out onto the deck, hands in your pockets, and squint through the gloom. On the far shore, maybe half a mile away, there's that other house. Two stories, painted some dark color—navy or black, hard to tell with the weather. It’s got these big windows too, glowing faintly, and there’s a car parked out front. A white sedan, nothing fancy. There's definitely someone there, you think, and it weirds you out a little. You weren’t expecting company out here, not this close. The mystery of it nags at you—who the hell are they? Vacationers? Locals? You shake it off for now, but your eyes keep drifting back to that house as you unpack.
The clouds hang low, heavy with the promise of rain, and the air’s got that cool, damp bite to it. You grab your camera—couldn’t resist—and step back outside, adjusting the lens. The lake’s like a mirror, reflecting the sky, and the trees are all moody greens and browns. You snap a few shots, playing with the exposure, already imagining how they’ll look edited. This spot’s a goldmine; you can feel it. But that house across the water—it’s still there in the corner of your frame, pulling your focus. You zoom in, just curious, but it’s too far to make out much. Still, you’ve got this itch now, this tiny spark of intrigue. Whoever’s over there, they’ve got no idea you’re watching.
You’re fiddling with your camera, trying to frame up a shot of some birds skimming the lake, when movement catches your eye. Two figures step out of that dark house across the water. Girls, both of them, and even from this distance, they stand out. One’s got silky brown hair that catches the dull light, flowing down her back like she just stepped out of a shampoo ad. The other’s got jet-black hair, shorter, framing her face. They’re dressed casual—leggings and hoodies, nothing fancy, just comfy vibes. The black-haired one’s got a phone pressed to her ear, pacing a little, while the brown-haired one hovers close, hands in her pockets. You freeze for a sec, then casually swing your camera away, pretending to focus on the lake, the trees, anything but them. Don’t be that guy, you tell yourself, heart picking up a bit. Last thing you need is them thinking some random dude’s creeping on them with a lens.
But your curiosity’s a bitch. After a minute, you sneak the camera back their way, zooming in just enough to see them better. And then—shit—they’re looking right at you. Like, right at you. Your stomach drops, and you yank the camera down, turning your head so fast you almost tweak your neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You can already hear the headlines: “Outsider Caught Stalking Innocent Girls With Telephoto Lens.” You’re not that guy, but try explaining that across a lake. Hoping they didn’t get a good look, you ditch the deck and hustle to your car, popping the trunk like you’ve got urgent business. You grab the cooler and a bag of groceries, hauling them inside, your pulse still thudding in your ears.
You’re not out there five minutes before you’ve gotta go back for the rest. Stepping onto the deck again, you freeze—they’re coming your way. Like, actually walking around the lake toward your side. Your brain scrambles. Bolting inside might look shady as hell, but standing here like a deer in headlights? Not much better. You opt to stay, fiddling with something in the trunk—your spare tire, maybe?—pretending you’re too busy to notice them closing in. Your palms are sweaty, and you’re half-braced for them to start yelling or waving a phone with 911 already dialed.
“Hey!” a voice calls out, bright and chill, not pissed. You glance up, and the black-haired girl’s waving at you, a little grin on her face. You wave back, tentative, still expecting the vibe to shift. “Didn’t know anyone was over here,” she says as they get closer, her tone all friendly-like. “This place was a total dump last year—falling apart, windows smashed, the works. Looks dope now, though. They fix it up?”
You nod, relaxing a bit. “Yeah, rented it for the week. Guess it got a glow-up since then.” Up close, she’s got this energy—outgoing, loud in a good way. She sticks out her hand. “I’m Miyeon. This is Sana.” She jerks her thumb at the brown-haired girl, who gives you a small smile and a nod, quieter, maybe shyer.
“Sana, hey,” you say your name as you shake Miyeon's hand, then glancing at Sana. “Yeah, I’m just crashing here for a bit. You guys local?”
“Nah,” Miyeon says, leaning against your car like she owns it. “This house over there? My parents’. Been coming here forever, usually with a crew of friends. It’s our spot.” She gestures across the lake, where that dark two-story looms.
“Friends?” you ask, glancing between them. “Where’s the rest of the squad?”
Miyeon’s face falls a little, and Sana looks down at her shoes. “Yeah, that’s the shitty part,” Miyeon says, voice dipping. “They just called me—like, right before we came over. There’s a fuckin’ landslide or something on the main road in. Rain’s been nuts, and it’s blocked off. They were driving up from a couple hours away, so they just turned back. Not worth the hassle.”
“Damn,” you say, genuinely feeling for them. “That sucks. So what’s the plan now?”
Miyeon shrugs, kicking a pebble. “Hang out, I guess. Wait for the road to clear, then head home. Not much else to do.”
Sana pipes up then, her voice softer but curious. “That camera,” she says, nodding at it slung over your shoulder. “You a photographer or something?”
“Nah, just a hobby,” you say, brushing it off. “I work some boring-ass data job—spreadsheets and shit. This is what keeps me sane. Love shooting nature, landscapes, whatever catches my eye.”
Miyeon perks up. “You got an Insta for it? Let’s see.” You hesitate, then rattle off your handle. She pulls out her phone, taps away, and Sana leans over her shoulder as they scroll. “Yo, these are good,” Miyeon says, legit impressed. “Like, really good. You’re underselling yourself, dude.”
“Yeah,” Sana adds, her shy edge melting a bit. “The lighting in this one? Wow.” She points at her screen, and you feel a dumb little rush of pride.
“Thanks,” you say, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m here to chill and snap some shots of the lake, the woods, you know. Recharge.”
“Smart move,” Miyeon says. “We were gonna swim out there—” she nods at the pier stretching into the lake—“but it’s freezing. Usually it’s warm enough this time of year, but not today.”
“Global warming’s fucking with everything,” you toss out, and they both nod like, yep, that tracks.
Then Miyeon tilts her head, grinning. “Hey, since you’re Mr. Camera Guy, how about you take a pic of us out on the pier? Something to remember this weird-ass trip by?”
You blink, caught off guard, but they’re both looking at you expectantly. “Uh, yeah, sure,” you say, slinging the camera off your shoulder. “Let’s do it.”
They lead the way to the pier, Miyeon strutting ahead like she’s on a mission, Sana trailing a step behind, sneaking little glances at you. You’re still buzzing from the fact they’re cool with you—more than cool, actually friendly. You follow the girls down to the pier, boots thudding against the weathered wooden planks. The lake stretches out around you, still as glass under the heavy, gray sky, and the air’s got that sharp, pre-rain chill. Miyeon’s practically bouncing as she strides to the end, her black hair swinging, while Sana trails a little slower, her silky brown locks catching the faint breeze. They stop at the edge, the water lapping gently below, and turn to face you. “Alright, camera guy,” Miyeon says with a grin, planting her hands on her hips. “Work your magic.”
You lift the Canon, squinting through the viewfinder, and—damn—they’re gorgeous. Like, unfairly photogenic. Miyeon’s all confidence, popping a playful pose, one leg bent, head tilted, flashing a smirk that’s equal parts goofy and charming. Sana’s quieter about it, crossing her arms and giving a shy smile, but there’s something striking in the way she stands, the way her hair frames her face. You snap a few shots—wide angles with the lake behind them, then some tighter ones, playing with the depth of field so the cloudy horizon blurs out. Miyeon keeps it lively, throwing out dumb poses—peace signs, a fake pout—while Sana giggles and follows her lead, loosening up bit by bit.
“Yo, let’s see!” Miyeon calls after a dozen clicks, jogging over with Sana in tow. You flip the camera around, scrolling through the shots on the screen, and their faces light up. “Holy shit, these are fire,” Miyeon says, leaning in so close her shoulder brushes yours. “You sure you’re not a pro?”
“They’re so good,” Sana adds, her voice softer but just as impressed. “Like, we actually look cool.” The pics are sharp, the girls popping against the moody backdrop, their colors—black hoodie, brown hair—standing out in the gloom. You nailed the focus, the composition, everything.
“Yeah, well, you guys make it easy,” you say, shrugging, though you’re secretly stoked they like them. “Wish the weather wasn’t so shitty, though. This light’s all flat and gray—makes it look like you’re in some creepy thriller flick or something.”
Miyeon’s grin falters for a sec, and she nudges you with her elbow. “Dude, don’t even joke about that. We’re already kinda freaked out being alone over there.”
You laugh, raising an eyebrow. “What, you think some axe murderer’s hiding in the woods? Any crimes around here I should know about?”
She shakes her head, smirking but with a little edge. “Not that I’ve heard of, thank God. Just… it’s quiet, you know? Too quiet sometimes.”
“Fair,” you say, glancing out at the lake, the stillness of it almost eerie now that she’s put the thought in your head. “Well, if you guys need anything—someone to fend off the boogeyman or whatever—just hit me up. I’m right across the water.”
Miyeon’s eyes spark up, and she pulls out her phone. “Bet. What’s your Insta again? I’ll follow you, and you can DM me those pics.” You give her the handle, and she taps it in, tossing you hers in return—@miyeonnotmignon, which makes you snort ‘cause it’s so her. “Send ‘em whenever,” she says. “I need these for the grid.”
Sana glances at the sky, tugging her hoodie tighter. “We should head back. Looks like rain’s coming soon.”
“Yeah, true,” Miyeon agrees, squinting up at the clouds, which are starting to clump thicker, darker. “Don’t wanna get stuck out here when it dumps.” She turns to you, flashing that big, easy grin. “Enjoy the place, dude. Don’t let the thriller vibes get to you.”
You smirk. “I’ll try. You guys stay safe over there. Don’t go summoning ghosts or anything.”
Sana giggles at that, and Miyeon just rolls her eyes, waving as they start back down the pier. “See ya, camera guy!” she calls over her shoulder. You wave back, watching them go—Miyeon’s loud laugh echoing faintly, Sana’s quieter figure beside her—until they hit the shore and start the trek around the lake. You linger a minute, camera still in hand, the pier creaking under your weight. The air’s heavier now, the first hint of rain prickling your skin. You glance at their house across the water, its dark shape fuzzing out in the haze, and that little spark of mystery flares up again. They’re cool, way cooler than you expected. And something about them—maybe Miyeon’s loud charm, maybe Sana’s shy warmth—sticks with you as you head back to your own place, the promise of rain rumbling in the distance.
—
It’s been a few hours since you got back from the pier, and the world outside’s turned into a damn monsoon. Rain’s hammering the windows like it’s pissed off, streaking down the glass in relentless sheets, and the wind’s howling through the trees, making the whole lake house groan. Inside, though, it’s cozy—borderline toasty, thanks to the heater humming away in the corner and the fireplace lit downstairs. You’re sprawled on the bed upstairs, legs kicked out, a half-empty beer sweating on the nightstand from dinner—frozen pizza and some chips, nothing fancy. The generator’s chugging along out back, but you’re keeping an eye on the lights, half-worried it’s gonna crap out from all the juice the heater’s pulling. Last thing you need is to freeze your ass off out here.
You’ve got your laptop propped on your thighs, scrolling through the shots you took earlier—the pier pics of Miyeon and Sana, plus some moody lake stuff before the sky opened up. The girls’ photos are gold, even with the flat light. Miyeon’s got this wild, carefree energy in every frame, while Sana’s softer, her shy smile sneaking through. You tweak a couple in Lightroom, bumping the contrast, and damn, they’re Instagram-worthy for sure.
Eventually, you shut the laptop and roll off the bed, stretching. You can’t help it—your eyes drift to the window. It’s pitch-black out there, the rain turning everything into a blurry void. You press your forehead to the cold glass, squinting across the lake. Their house is just a smudge in the dark, but the lights are on—warm little squares glowing through the storm. You wonder what they’re up to. Probably curled up on a couch, watching some cheesy rom-com or maybe a horror flick, given Miyeon’s half-joking about being spooked. Popcorn, blankets, the whole vibe. You picture it for a sec—Miyeon yapping over the movie, Sana giggling at her—and it’s kinda cute.
Then—blink—the lights across the lake go out. All of them, at once. You blink too, like maybe your eyes are screwing with you, but nope, it’s dark over there now. Weird as hell. Your first thought is they hit the sack, but it’s too sudden, too synchronized. No way they flipped every switch at the exact same second. A power outage? Maybe the storm fried something. You stare into the blackness, chewing your lip. Okay, maybe you’re overthinking it. You’ve been out here alone too long, and those two are the only blips of life in this wilderness. It’s not like you’re obsessed or anything—they’re just… there. Still, it bugs you. You shake it off, muttering “whatever” to yourself, and decide to crash. Bed’s calling, and the rain’s drumming hard enough to knock you out.
You’re halfway to brushing your teeth when—thump thump—a sound cuts through the storm. You freeze, toothbrush dangling, listening. Imagination, right? This place creaks all the time. But then it comes again, louder—THUMP THUMP THUMP—straight from the front door downstairs. Your heart kicks up, and you spit into the sink, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Could be a branch or some shit blowing around in the wind, but it sounded too deliberate. You grab your phone, thumb hovering over the flashlight app, and creep to the stairs, ears straining. The rain’s deafening, but there’s something else—a muffled voice maybe?
You pad down to the first floor, barefoot on the cold wood, nerves buzzing. The knocking’s real, no doubt now, and it’s insistent. “Who the fuck—” you mutter, snagging a jacket from the couch and shrugging it on. You’re half-expecting a drenched hiker or some rando stranded in the storm, but part of you—okay, a big part—wonders if it’s them. You flip on the porch light, yank the door open, and—bam—a flashlight beam hits you square in the face, blinding you for a sec.
“Shit, sorry!” a familiar voice says, and the light drops. It’s Miyeon, soaked to the bone, her black hair plastered to her face, hoodie clinging like a second skin. Sana’s right behind her, brown hair dripping, looking like a drowned kitten in her oversized sweater. They’re both shivering, rain streaming off them, pooling on your doorstep.
“Jesus, you guys okay?” you say, stepping back to let them in. “What the hell happened?”
Miyeon’s teeth are chattering, but she’s still got that spark. “Our generator fucking died, dude. No lights, no heat, nothing. We’ve got no clue what’s wrong, and it’s creepy as shit over there. Can you—please—come take a look?”
“Yeah, of course,” you say, already zipping up your jacket. You grab your boots from the mat, shoving them on while they hover by the door, dripping and miserable. “You sure you don’t wanna dry off first? You’re gonna catch pneumonia or something.”
Sana shakes her head, hugging herself. “We just wanna get it fixed. It’s freezing, and I swear I heard something moving in the dark.”
“Probably just the wind,” Miyeon says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “Still, let’s go. I’m not sleeping in a blackout.”
You snag a flashlight from the kitchen drawer—bigger than theirs, one of those heavy-duty ones—and flick it on. “Alright, lead the way. Let’s see if we can save your night.”
They nod, grateful, and you step out into the storm with them. The rain hits like needles, cold and relentless, soaking through your jeans in seconds. Miyeon’s ahead, power-walking around the lake, while Sana sticks closer, her flashlight beam jittering across the muddy path. You’re all hunched against the wind, shouting over the roar of the downpour—Miyeon bitching about how her parents need to upgrade their shit, Sana muttering about hating storms. It’s a slog, wet and miserable, but you can’t help feeling a little badass, trekking out here to play hero. The house looms ahead, a dark silhouette against the storm, and the second you step inside, the vibe hits you—cold, damp, and way too quiet without the hum of electronics. Miyeon flicks her flashlight around, leading the way through the living room—furniture shadowy lumps in the gloom—down a narrow hall to a back door. “Generator’s out here,” she says, shoving it open. The wind blasts in, spraying rain across your face, and you grimace as you follow them into a little shed attached to the house.
The generator sits there like a grumpy old beast, silent and useless. Sana holds her flashlight steady, the beam jittering a little from her shaky hands, while Miyeon aims hers at the control panel. “It just… stopped,” she says, kicking the base lightly. “No warning, no nothing.” You crouch down, popping the side panel open with a grunt, and peer inside. The smell of wet metal and fuel hits you, and you sweep your flashlight over the guts—wires, gauges, a fuel tank that’s still half-full. You’re no expert, but you’ve fucked around with enough random shit to spot trouble. And there it is: a busted fuel line, cracked clean through, leaking diesel into the housing. Probably shook loose from the storm’s vibration or just shitty luck. Either way, it’s toast—no quick fix tonight, not without a replacement part and better light to work in.
“Bad news,” you say, straightening up and wiping your wet hands on your jeans. “Fuel line’s fucked. It’s leaking everywhere, and I can’t patch it with what’s here. You’re outta power ‘til we get a new one.”
Miyeon’s face drops, and she lets out a loud, “Are you kidding me?!” She paces a little, flashlight beam swinging wildly. “This is some horror movie bullshit. What the hell are we supposed to do now?”
Sana’s quieter, but you can tell she’s freaked too—her arms are wrapped tight around herself, and her voice comes out small. “It’s so cold already. And dark. I don’t like this. I swear I keep hearing noises.”
You glance around the shed, the rain drumming on the tin roof like it’s trying to break in. The house beyond it looks like a black hole, swallowing every bit of light. “Yeah, no kidding,” you say, scratching your jaw. “Look, I’m not gonna leave you guys stranded out here. My place has power, heat, and light. Unfortunately there is only one room with a mattress because, well, I wasn't expecting guests. But you can crash there tonight if you don't mind sharing a bed. No point in freezing your asses off in this.”
They both freeze, turning to look at each other. Sana’s the first to speak, hesitant. “Are you sure? We don’t wanna, like, invade your space or anything.”
“Nah, it’s cool,” you say, waving it off. “I’ve got a nice couch. Beats sitting here waiting for the boogeyman to show up, right?”
Miyeon snorts, but there’s relief in it. “Okay, yeah, that sounds way better than this shitshow. Give us a sec to grab some stuff.” They dart back inside, flashlights bobbing, and you wait by the door, leaning against the frame, listening to the storm rage. You hear them rummaging around—drawers slamming, muffled chatter—before they reappear, each with a small duffel bag slung over their shoulder. Miyeon’s got a hoodie pulled tight over her head, and Sana’s clutching a blanket like it’s a lifeline, her wet hair still dripping.
“Ready,” Miyeon says, zipping her bag. “Let’s get the fuck outta here before something else breaks.”
The trek back is brutal—rain in your face, wind shoving you sideways, the girls huddled close like you’re some kinda human shield. By the time you stumble through your front door, you’re all drenched again, leaving a trail of puddles across the hardwood. You kick off your boots, shaking water out of your hair, and point down the hall. “Bathroom’s that way. Go change or whatever—I’ll grab some towels.”
“Thanks, dude,” Miyeon says, already peeling off her soaked hoodie right there in the living room, revealing a damp tee underneath. Sana scurries off, blanket dragging, and you head to the linen closet, snagging a couple of big fluffy towels. When you come back, Miyeon’s in dry sweatpants and a loose tank top, toweling her hair, while Sana emerges in an oversized hoodie and leggings, looking less like a drowned rat now.
“God, you’re a lifesaver,” Miyeon says, flopping onto your couch like she owns it. Sana nods, settling next to her, tucking her legs under. “Seriously, thank you. I was about to lose it over there.”
“No worries,” you say, tossing them the towels. “You guys warm enough? I can put more wood in the fireplace if you want.”
“It’s good,” Sana says, pulling the blanket over her lap. “This is already a million times better.”
You nod, feeling weirdly proud of your little rescue mission, and head to the kitchen. “I’ll make some tea or something. You guys just chill.” The kettle’s already half-full from earlier, so you flick it on, rummaging for some random herbal shit you bought ages ago—chamomile, maybe? Close enough. While it heats, you lean against the counter, listening to them talk on the couch. Miyeon’s voice carries, loud and animated—“I swear, if my parents don’t fix that generator, I’m never coming back”—while Sana’s softer, giggling at her rant.
When the kettle whistles, you pour three mugs, balancing them as you shuffle back. “Here,” you say, handing them over. Miyeon takes hers with a grin, Sana with a quiet “thanks,” and you plop into the armchair across from them, cradling your own. The steam curls up, warm against your face, and for a minute, it’s just the sound of rain on the roof and the three of you sipping.
Miyeon stretches out, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. “So, what’s your deal, camera guy? Are you planning to buy this house or something?”
You laugh. “Nah, just a rental for the week. Needed a break from my boring-ass data job. From the city too. Figured I’d mess around with my camera, get some shots of the lake and stay close to nature.”
“Well, you’re stuck with us now,” she says, smirking. “Hope you don’t mind the company.”
Sana glances at you, a little smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, you’re kinda our hero tonight.”
You shrug, playing it off, but your chest puffs up a bit anyway. “Hey, beats being alone in this storm. You guys can crash as long as you need.” They nod, settling deeper into the couch, and the vibe shifts—warm, easy, like you’ve known them longer than a day. The rain keeps pounding, but in here, it’s just you, them, and the crackling of the fireplace making everything feel alright.
“So, what’s your story?” you ask, blowing on your tea to cool it. “You guys come up here a lot, huh?”
Miyeon smirks, setting her mug on the coffee table with a little clink. “Yeah, like I said, it’s my parents’ place. Been dragging people up here since I was a kid. Used to be all family trips, but now it’s more for me and my crew to fuck around—swim, drink, whatever. This time it was supposed to be a big thing, but, well, landslide screwed that.”
“That sucks,” you say, leaning back. “You two stuck it out, though. Pretty badass.”
Sana giggles, peeking over her mug. “Barely. We were freaking out before you showed up. I’m not good with storms—or, like, anything going wrong.”
“She’s a spoiled city girl,” Miyeon teases, nudging Sana with her foot. “Needs her Wi-Fi and hot showers or she starts crying.”
“Shut up,” Sana fires back, but she’s laughing, swatting Miyeon’s leg. “You’re the one who screamed when the power went out.”
Miyeon shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah, ‘cause it was creepy as fuck. Point is, we’re here now, thanks to Mr. Hero over there.” She jerks her chin at you, grinning.
You snort. “Just doing my part. So, what’s the deal with you two? You’ve known each other forever or what?” You figure they’re tight—besties or something, the way they bounce off each other.
They exchange a look, quick but loaded, and Miyeon’s grin turns a little sly. “Not forever,” she says, stretching her arms over her head, tank top riding up a bit. “We’ve been together, what, two years now?”
“Two and a half,” Sana corrects, softer, her eyes flicking to Miyeon like she’s double-checking.
“Together?” you echo, tilting your head. “Like… roommates?”
Miyeon laughs, loud and sharp, while Sana hides a smile behind her mug. “Nah, dude,” Miyeon says, sitting up a little. “Like, together together. Girlfriends. Dating. You know?”
“Oh,” you say, blinking, then catch yourself quick. “Oh, shit, that’s cool. I just assumed—uh, never mind. Awesome.”
Sana’s cheeks go pink, but she’s giggling at your stumble. “It’s fine. People assume we’re just friends all the time. We’re used to it.”
“Yeah, we don’t exactly scream ‘couple,’” Miyeon adds, smirking. “I’m too loud, she’s too sweet. Throws people off.”
You laugh, easing up. “Nah, I get it now. You balance each other out. That’s dope.” You mean it—they’ve got this vibe, like they click without even trying. Miyeon’s all fire and Sana’s the calm, but together it works.
“What about you?” Sana asks, shifting the spotlight. “You got anyone back home?”
“Me? Nah,” you say, shaking your head. “Solo mission right now. Work’s too boring to drag someone else into it, and I spend most of my free time with my camera anyway. Not exactly boyfriend material.”
“Bullshit,” Miyeon says, pointing at you with her mug. “You’re chill, you’ve got a cool hobby, and you’re not a total asshole. You’d do fine.”
“High praise,” you deadpan, grinning. “I’ll put that on my dating profile: ‘Not a total asshole, says random lake girl.’”
They both crack up, and the room feels lighter, like the storm’s just background noise now. You keep chatting—little stuff at first. You tell them about your data gig, how it’s mind-numbing but pays the bills, and how you’ve been shooting photos since you were a teenager, chasing sunsets and storms like this one. Miyeon spills about her graphic design side hustle, how she’s always doodling on her iPad, while Sana admits she’s a barista at some trendy coffee shop, secretly loving the chaos of the morning rush.
“Hold up,” you say, setting your empty mug down. “You’re telling me you’re out here pulling espresso shots all day, and you’re still this chill? Respect.”
Sana shrugs, blushing a little. “It’s not that hard. I just smile and people tip me.”
“She’s lying,” Miyeon cuts in. “She’s a pro. Makes latte art and everything. I can barely pour cereal without fucking it up.”
“Stop it,” Sana mumbles, shoving her playfully, and you can’t help but laugh at how easy they are together. It’s cute—real, not forced.
The convo drifts, and you’re all a little looser, the tea warming you up from the inside. Miyeon yawns, stretching so hard her tank top rides up again, showing a sliver of stomach. “Man, this storm’s not letting up. What’s the plan tomorrow if it’s still like this?”
You glance out the window—still a wall of rain and dark. “Dunno. If it clears, I was gonna hike around, take some shots. If not, I’ve got a deck of cards and some beer. We could kill time.”
“Beer?” Miyeon perks up, eyes glinting. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? Let’s do drinks tomorrow night, storm or not. We’ll make it a thing.”
“Deal,” you say, nodding. “I’ve got some whiskey too, if we’re feeling fancy. You guys in?”
Sana hesitates, then smiles. “Yeah, okay. Sounds fun.”
“Sweet,” Miyeon says, clapping her hands once, like it’s settled. “Something to look forward to after this shitty day.”
You all sit there a minute longer, the mugs empty now, the fire crackling mixing with the rain. Sana yawns next, covering her mouth with the blanket edge. “I’m so tired,” she mumbles. “This whole thing wiped me out.”
“Yeah, same,” Miyeon agrees, rubbing her eyes. “We should crash. You really good with us stealing your bedroom?”
“Take it,” you say, standing up to stretch. “Bed’s made, pillows and shit are in the closet if you need extra. I’ll grab the couch.”
“Are you sure we're not—” Sana starts, but you wave her off.
“Nah, it’s fine. Couch is comfy enough. You guys get the room, no biggie.” You grab the mugs, stacking them to carry to the sink, and they shuffle off the couch, gathering their bags.
“Thanks again, dude,” Miyeon says, dragging her duffel over her shoulder. “You’re, like, our storm savior.”
“Anytime,” you say, smirking. “Night, you two.”
“Night,” Sana echoes, giving you a little wave as they head down the hall. You hear the spare room door click shut, some muffled giggles and whispers filtering through before it quiets down. You rinse the mugs in the kitchen, flick off the lights, and flop onto the couch, dragging a throw blanket over yourself. The rain’s still going hard outside, but inside it’s warm and peaceful. Tomorrow’s got drinks on deck, and with Miyeon and Sana around, it’s shaping up to be a hell of a night. You close your eyes, the storm lulling you off, and crash out with a dumb little smile tugging at your lips.
—
You blink awake on the couch, the blanket tangled around your legs, sunlight sneaking through the blinds in thin, golden stripes. The house is quiet—no rain, no wind, just the soft hum of the heater ticking down, the fireplace already out. You sit up, rubbing your face, and that’s when you smell it: coffee, faint but fresh, and something sweet lingering in the air. Stumbling to your feet, you shuffle to the kitchen and spot a little spread on the counter—toast stacked on a plate, a jar of jam open next to it, and a couple strips of bacon still warm under a paper towel. There’s a note scribbled in messy handwriting: “Thanks for last night! Enjoy – M & S.” You smirk, figuring it’s the girls’ doing. They’re not around, though—place feels empty without their chatter.
You scarf down the breakfast—crisp toast slathered with strawberry jam, bacon salty and perfect—then hit the shower, letting the hot water blast away the last of the sleep haze. By the time you’re dressed—jeans, a hoodie, sneakers—it’s pushing 9 a.m. You grab your camera bag, sling it over your shoulder, and step outside. Holy shit, it’s a different world. After yesterday’s apocalyptic downpour, the sun’s out, blazing in a sky so blue it looks photoshopped. The lake sparkles, all glassy and calm, and the air’s crisp but not freezing, a perfect late-morning vibe. You’re still marveling at it when a loud whoop cuts through the silence, followed by a splash.
Your head snaps toward the pier, and there’s Miyeon, mid-air, cannonballing into the water with a scream that’s half-laugh, half-battle cry. She’s in a red swimsuit, bright against the lake, and as she surfaces, shaking wet hair out of her face, you spot Sana on the pier, waving at you in a pink bikini that hugs her curves just right. They’re both stupidly gorgeous, and for a second, you’re just standing there, camera dangling, brain short-circuiting. Miyeon’s got a little more thickness to her—medium, perky breasts filling out that swimsuit top, a round ass that’s damn near hypnotizing as she climbs back onto the pier. Sana’s slimmer, all sleek lines and subtle curves, the bikini showing off her tiny waist and long legs. You snap out of it when they call you over, Miyeon’s voice carrying: “Yo, camera guy! Get your ass down here!”
You jog over, grinning as you hit the pier’s edge. “Morning, ladies,” you say, shielding your eyes from the sun. “You two look way too chipper after last night.”
“Slept like babies,” Miyeon says, wringing water out of her hair, droplets splattering the wood. “Your place is cozy as hell. How’d you hold up on that couch?”
“Good enough,” you say, shrugging. “Woke up to breakfast, though—that was clutch. Thanks for that.”
Sana beams, sitting cross-legged on the pier, her pink bikini practically glowing in the sunlight. “I made it. Miyeon can’t cook for shit, so I took over.”
“Facts,” Miyeon says, not even arguing. “She’s a wizard in the kitchen. That bacon? Her doing. I’d burn the house down trying.”
“Shit, well, it was awesome,” you say, nodding at Sana. “Seriously, thank you. Didn’t expect the VIP treatment.”
Sana blushes a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “No biggie. Least we could do.”
Miyeon flops onto her back, stretching out like a cat in the sun. “Weather’s fuckin’ perfect today. Checked the forecast—sunny all day, but there’s another cold front rolling in tomorrow. Gotta soak this up while we can.” She props up on her elbows, eyeing you. “Come swim with us, dude. Water’s not even that cold.”
“Yeah, join us!” Sana chimes in, standing up and tugging at your arm. They’re both at it now, pulling you toward the edge, their wet hands slippery on your hoodie. Miyeon’s got that mischievous grin, and Sana’s giggling like she’s in on the plot.
You laugh, but it’s nervous, your feet planted. “Nah, I’ve got plans—gonna hike around, shoot some nature stuff. You know, trees, birds, all that shit.”
Miyeon sits up, crossing her arms under her chest, which—fuck, that swimsuit’s doing work. “Bro, we’re nature. Take pics of us instead. Way prettier than some random-ass tree.”
You smirk, caught off guard but not mad about it. “Can’t argue that. Alright, fine—photo shoot it is.”
Sana claps, bouncing a little. “Yes! These swimsuits are new, too. Gotta show ‘em off. Right, Miyeon?”
“Hell yeah,” Miyeon says, hopping to her feet. “Red’s my color, and pink’s hers. Perfect combo.”
You sling your camera out, adjusting the settings quick—bright sun, sharp focus. They start posing, and it’s like they were born for this. Miyeon’s all bold energy, leaning forward with a flirty smirk, then turning to show off that ass, one hand on her hip. Sana’s softer, tilting her head, letting her hair spill over her shoulder, giving you these quiet, sultry looks that hit harder than they should. Then they get together—arms around each other, laughing, pressing close like the girlfriends they are. Miyeon pulls Sana in for a playful kiss on the cheek, and Sana squeals, shoving her off, but they’re both cracking up. You’re snapping away, the shutter clicking like crazy, and every shot’s a banger—sunlight glinting off their skin, the lake shimmering behind them.
“Check these out,” you say, flipping the camera around. They crowd in, still dripping, Miyeon’s arm brushing yours as they ooh and ahh over the screen. “Holy shit, we look hot,” Miyeon says, zooming in on one where she’s tossing her hair back mid-laugh. Sana nods, pointing at another. “That one’s my favorite. The light’s perfect.”
“Glad you like ‘em,” you say, pocketing the camera. “I’ll send ‘em later with yesterday's photos.”
“Sweet,” Miyeon says, then glances at the lake. “You sure you won’t swim? Last chance before it’s all cold and shitty again.”
“Nah, I’m good,” you say, stepping back. “Gonna roam around, get some shots of the woods. Plus, I’ll swing by the city later—grab that fuel line part for your generator and fix it up.”
Sana’s eyes widen. “Wait, for real? You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s nothing,” you say, waving it off. “Hardware store’s not far, and I’ve got the tools. Beats you guys sitting in the dark again.”
Miyeon grins, big and genuine. “Dude, you’re too nice. Like, suspiciously nice. What’s your angle?”
You laugh. “No angle. Just don’t wanna see you stuck. Plus, I’m bored out here—gives me something to do.”
“Well, we owe you big time,” Sana says, hugging herself as a breeze kicks up. “Oh—can we charge our phones at your place? They’re basically dead, and we’ve got no juice over there.”
“Yeah, no problem,” you say, nodding toward your house. “Plenty of outlets. Leave ‘em as long as you need.”
“Sweet, thanks,” Miyeon says, already heading back to the pier’s edge. “We’ll catch you later then—drinks tonight, right?”
“Bet,” you say, giving them a mock salute. “Enjoy the sun, ladies.”
They wave as you head off, Miyeon shouting, “Don’t get lost in the woods, camera guy!” before cannonballing back into the water with another splash. You shake your head, smirking, and start down the path toward the trees, camera in hand. The day’s wide open, the girls are vibing, and you’ve got a solid plan—photos now, hero shit later, drinks to cap it off.
Not a bad way to spend a Saturday.
—
The sun’s dipping low now, painting the sky in lazy streaks of orange and pink as you roll back up to the lake house in your SUV. The gravel crunches under the tires, and you kill the engine, grabbing the plastic bag from the passenger seat—inside’s the new fuel line you snagged from the hardware store in town, plus a couple bags of chips, some salsa, and a pack of those sour gummy worms Miyeon seemed like she’d vibe with. You step out, the air cooler now that the afternoon’s winding down, and spot the girls on your porch, sprawled out like they’ve claimed the place.
Miyeon’s lounging in one of the wooden chairs, legs kicked up on the railing, scrolling her phone with one hand while the other toys with a strand of her damp hair—she’s still in that red swimsuit, a towel draped over her lap. Sana’s cross-legged on the floor next to her, phone plugged into an extension cord snaking through the open window, her pink bikini swapped for a loose tee and shorts. They look up as you approach, Miyeon tossing you a lazy wave while Sana gives a little smile, like they’ve been waiting for you to roll in.
“Yo, I’m back,” you say, holding up the bag. “Got the fuel line. And some snacks for later—figured we’d need something to munch on with the drinks.”
Miyeon drops her feet from the railing, sitting up with a grin. “You’re a fucking legend, dude. I’ll Venmo you later for the part—how much was it?”
“Like, twenty bucks,” you say, shrugging. “No rush.”
Sana tilts her head, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You sure you don’t need help with the generator? I’m useless with that stuff, but I can, like, hold a flashlight or something.”
“Nah, I got it,” you say, slinging your camera bag off your shoulder and setting it by the door. “Watched a couple YouTube vids earlier—think I can handle it solo. You guys just chill here.”
Miyeon laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Yeah, good call. We’d probably just fuck it up worse. I don’t even know what a fuel line is.”
“Same,” Sana adds, giggling. “You’re on your own, hero.”
“Cool,” you say, grabbing the bag with the part and heading off. “I’ll trek over there and sort it out. Be back in a bit.”
You make the short walk around the lake, the last of the sunlight glinting off the water, your boots sinking slightly into the still-damp ground. Their house looks less ominous now, just a quiet two-story sitting there in the evening glow. You head to the shed out back, popping it open with a creak, and there’s the generator—same sad, silent hunk of metal from last night. You drop to your knees, fishing the new fuel line out of the bag, and get to work.
The YouTube tutorials you skimmed earlier play back in your head—some dude with a thick accent walking through the steps like it’s no big deal. First, you kill the fuel switch, making sure no gas is leaking out, then unhook the old line—cracked and crusty, just like you thought. A little diesel dribbles onto your hands, stinking like hell, but you wipe it on your jeans and keep going. The new line’s a perfect fit, sliding into place with a satisfying click. You tighten the clamps with a screwdriver from their toolbox, double-checking everything’s snug. Then it’s just a matter of priming the fuel pump—couple quick pumps like the guy said—and flipping the switch. The generator sputters once, twice, then roars to life, a steady hum kicking in. You stand back, grinning like an idiot. Fixed. Lights flicker on in the house behind you, and you give yourself a mental high-five—DIY king shit.
You trudge back to your place, wiping your greasy hands on a rag you snagged from their shed. The girls spot you coming and perk up—Miyeon’s on her feet, Miyeon swapped her swimsuit for shorts and a tank top. Sana’s leaning forward, both of them looking hopeful. “Well?” Miyeon calls out, arms crossed.
“Done,” you say, tossing the rag onto the porch steps. “Generator’s purring like a kitten. You’ve got power again.”
Sana lets out this big, relieved sigh, clutching her phone to her chest. “Oh my God, thank you. I was legit stressed about that.”
Miyeon whoops, bounding over and throwing her arms around you in a quick, tight hug. “Dude, you’re the best! I owe you more than twenty bucks for this.”
You laugh, patting her back before she pulls away. “Nah, just keep the drinks flowing tonight, and we’re square.”
“Deal,” Sana says, standing up now, her whole vibe brighter. “Speaking of, let’s crack those beers. I’m way happier now that we’re not, like, pioneer women anymore.”
“Bet,” you say, heading inside to drop the snacks on the kitchen counter. The girls follow, Miyeon raiding your fridge for the beers while Sana digs into the chip bag already. You grab a deck of cards from a drawer, flipping it in your hand. “You guys play cards?”
Miyeon pops a beer open, foam hissing as she takes a sip. “I do. Poker, blackjack, whatever. I’m decent.”
Sana shrugs, munching a chip. “I’ve never played. Like, ever. I don’t even know the rules.”
“No shit?” you say, pulling out a chair at the table and motioning them over. “Alright, I’ll teach you. Easy stuff—let’s start with blackjack. You’ll pick it up quick.”
They settle in, Miyeon plopping down across from you with her beer, Sana sliding into the seat next to her, still clutching the chip bag like it’s a security blanket. You shuffle the deck, the cards snapping under your fingers, and deal out the first hand—two cards each. “Goal’s simple,” you say, tossing yourself a jack and a five. “Get as close to twenty-one as you can without going over. Face cards are ten, aces are one or eleven, whatever you need. You want another card, you say ‘hit.’ You’re good, you ‘stay.’ Bust, you lose.”
Sana stares at her cards—a seven and a three—furrowing her brow like it’s a math test. “Okay… hit?”
You flick her a nine, and she gasps. “Shit, that’s nineteen! I stay, right?”
“Yeah, smart call,” you say, grinning. “Miyeon?”
She’s got a queen and a four, smirking like she’s already won. “Hit.” You deal her a six—twenty. “Stay,” she says, leaning back with a cocky tilt to her head.
You flip your second card—a nine. “Dealer’s got nineteen,” you say, checking the deck. “Sana, you’re good. Miyeon wins, though—twenty’s closer.”
“Fuck yeah,” Miyeon says, fist-pumping. “Told you I’m good.”
Sana pouts, but she’s laughing. “Beginner’s luck doesn’t count, right?”
“Nope,” you say, gathering the cards. “Let’s go again. You’ll get the hang of it.”
The hours slip by like nothing, the table a mess of empty beer cans, crumpled chip bags, and a half-eaten pile of gummy worms stuck to the salsa lid. The cards are long forgotten, scattered across the table from your last sloppy round of blackjack—Sana kept busting and blaming the “stupid rules,” while Miyeon was raking in wins like she’d been hustling casinos her whole life. The drinks keep flowing, whiskey now in the mix, poured into mismatched mugs because you ran out of clean glasses. The room’s warm, a little hazy, the heater still chugging along as the night deepens outside, but there are no more stars in the sky, and you already know what's coming.
You’re slouched in your chair, one leg kicked up on the empty seat next to you, feeling the buzz settle into your bones. Across the table, Sana’s climbed into Miyeon’s lap at some point—nobody batted an eye, least of all you. They’re comfy like that, Sana’s head tucked against Miyeon’s shoulder, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on Miyeon’s arm while Miyeon’s got one hand draped around Sana’s waist, the other nursing her whiskey mug. They’re drunk, giggling messes, and you’re not far behind, the room spinning just enough to make everything funnier than it should be.
“Alright, camera guy,” Miyeon says, her voice a little slurred but still sharp, cutting through the haze. “Spill it. When’s the last time you had a girlfriend? You’re too chill to be single forever.”
You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck, the whiskey loosening your tongue. “Uh, shit, like two years ago? She was cool, but it didn’t stick. Been flying solo since then—works better that way, you know? Just me and my camera, no drama.”
Sana tilts her head, her lips curling into a teasing little smile. “Two years? Damn, you’re basically a monk.”
“Monk with a lens,” Miyeon adds, smirking. “Bet you’ve got girls tripping over you and you just don’t notice.”
“Nah,” you say, waving it off, though the compliment lands nice. “I’m good on my own. Relationships are… a lot.”
They exchange a look then—quick, sneaky, like they’re in on some secret. Sana whispers something in Miyeon’s ear, her breath tickling Miyeon’s neck, and Miyeon snickers, her eyes flicking to you. They both start giggling, sloppy and loud, and you lean forward, squinting. “What? What’s so funny?”
Miyeon shakes her head, still laughing. “Nothing, nothing. Just—we’ve got this friend, Shuhua. She’s super chill, loves hiking, nature vibes, all that shit you’re into. You’d hit it off.”
“Oh, yeah,” Sana pipes up, sitting up a little straighter on Miyeon’s lap, her cheeks flushed from the booze. “And Tzuyu too! She’s, like, gorgeous and artsy. Total your type.”
Miyeon nods like it’s settled. “Yeah, Tzuyu’s got that quiet, mysterious thing going. You’d be obsessed.”
You snort, taking a sip of your whiskey, the burn sliding down easy. “What, you two playing matchmaker now? I said I’m good.”
Miyeon’s grin turns mischievous, her eyes glinting under the dim kitchen light. “Okay, fine, but let’s be real for a sec. Between me and Sana—” she tightens her grip on Sana’s waist, making her squirm and giggle—“who’d you pick? Like, if you had to. Be honest.”
Sana’s head snaps up, her face going red. “Miyeon! Don’t ask that, oh my God!” She swats at Miyeon’s hand, but she’s laughing too, hiding her face in Miyeon’s shoulder for a sec before peeking out at you, all shy and curious.
You freeze, the mug halfway to your lips, caught off guard. “Uh… what?” Your voice comes out higher than you mean it to, and you clear your throat, trying to play it cool. “I don’t—I mean, I can’t just… pick. I don’t know.”
Miyeon’s eyebrows shoot up, and she leans forward, dragging Sana with her. “Oh, come on! You’re dodging. You totally know, you’re just too chicken to say it.”
“Am not,” you shoot back, but your face is heating up, and the whiskey’s not helping. You glance between them—Miyeon’s got that bold, flirty edge, all confidence and heat, her lips quirked like she’s daring you to say something stupid. Sana’s softer, her blush spreading, but there’s this spark in her eyes now, playful and warm, like she’s testing you too. They’re both ridiculous, and it’s doing shit to your head.
“So what I’m hearing,” Miyeon says, dragging the words out, “is you’d take both of us. Greedy bastard.”
“What—no!” you sputter, nearly choking on your drink. “That’s not what I said! You’re twisting it!”
Sana bursts out laughing, her whole body shaking against Miyeon. “Oh my God, you’re so greedy! Wanting us both, huh?”
“Fuck off, I didn’t say that,” you protest, but you’re laughing too, the absurdity of it hitting you all at once. “You two are wasted. I’m not even dignifying this.”
Miyeon grins wider, leaning closer across the table, her voice dropping low and teasing. “Oh, please. You couldn’t handle us anyway. We’re a lot, you know. High maintenance.”
Sana nods, mock-serious. “So much work. You’d be crying in a week.”
“Yeah, right,” you fire back, the whiskey buzzing through you now, making you bold. “I’d keep up. You’d be the ones begging for a break.”
Miyeon’s eyes widen, and she lets out a loud, “Ooooh!” Sana gasps, covering her mouth, but she’s smiling like crazy behind her hand. “He’s got some fight in him,” Miyeon says, leaning back and fanning herself dramatically. “Sana, you hear that? He thinks he’s tough enough for us.”
“I’m just saying,” you mutter, sinking into your chair, “you’re the ones who’d tap out first.”
Sana giggles, sliding off Miyeon’s lap to grab another beer from the fridge, her shorts riding up as she bends over. She spins back around, popping the cap with a lighter she snagged off the table. “You’re funny,” she says, pointing at you. “And shy as hell right now. Look at you.”
“Shut up,” you say, but you’re grinning, your face burning under their stares. “You’re both too drunk. This convo’s going off the rails—I’m scared of where it’s headed.”
Miyeon laughs, loud and unfiltered, tipping her mug back for the last of her whiskey. “Scared? Good. You should be. We’re trouble, camera guy. Double trouble.”
“Triple, with the drinks,” Sana adds, sliding back onto Miyeon’s lap, beer in hand. She takes a sip, then offers it to Miyeon, who leans in close, their lips brushing for a second as she drinks. It’s casual, natural for them, but it hits you like a punch—subtle, hot, and gone too fast to process.
You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. “Yeah, I’m calling it. You two are a menace. I’m having way too much fun, though.”
“Same,” Sana says, her voice softer now, her head resting on Miyeon’s shoulder again. “You’re cool, you know that?”
“Very cool,” Miyeon agrees, her hand sliding up Sana’s back, casual but possessive. “We’ll let you off the hook for now. But don’t think we’re done messing with you.”
You laugh, raising your mug in a mock toast. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Night’s still young, right?”
They clink their drinks against yours, the three of you grinning like idiots, the flirtation simmering under the surface—light, playful, but with an edge that keeps you on your toes. You take a sip of your whiskey, the burn familiar now, and figure it’s your turn to flip the script. “Alright,” you say, setting the mug down with a little thud to get their attention. “You’ve been grilling me about my love life—or lack of it. What about you two? How’d you even end up together?”
Miyeon’s head tilts back as she laughs, her black hair spilling over her shoulders. “Oh, dude, it’s a story. We met at some shitty college party—like, the kind with warm beer and a playlist that’s just Top 40 on repeat. I was trashed, trying to shotgun a can, and Sana was there, all cute and quiet, holding a red cup she wasn’t even drinking from.”
Sana nods, her cheeks already pink from the booze. “She spilled beer all over me trying to show off. I was pissed, but then she started apologizing like a maniac, and… I don’t know, she was funny about it. We just clicked.”
“Clicked, huh?” you say, smirking. “That’s cute. So, what’s the secret? Two and a half years is solid—most people can’t keep a houseplant alive that long.”
Miyeon shrugs, her hand sliding idly up Sana’s back, fingers tracing the hem of her tee. “Dunno. We just vibe. She keeps me from doing dumb shit—like, most of the time—and I make sure she doesn’t stay in her shell forever. Balance, you know?”
“Yeah,” Sana adds, leaning into Miyeon’s touch, her voice soft. “She’s loud and I’m not. Works out.”
You nod, letting the moment settle, then push a little further, keeping it chill. “Ever have any big fights? Like, the kind where you’re slamming doors or sleeping on the couch?”
Sana giggles, shaking her head. “Not really. We argue sometimes—stupid stuff, like who forgot to buy milk—but Miyeon’s too lazy to storm out, and I hate sleeping alone.”
“Facts,” Miyeon says, grinning. “I’d rather just bitch for five minutes and then make out. Way easier.”
You laugh, the image of them bickering-then-kissing too good to not picture. “Smart move. Alright, let’s level up—any exes still lurking around? Old flames trying to slide back in?”
Miyeon’s eyes narrow playfully, like she’s onto your game, but she answers anyway. “Couple of mine tried. Dudes mostly—had a few boyfriends before Sana. They’d hit me up like, ‘Oh, you’re with a girl now? That’s hot.’ Blocked them so fast. Sana’s exes are too scared of me to try anything.”
Sana snorts, nudging Miyeon’s shoulder. “You’re not that scary. They’re just… I don’t know, they’re all girls anyway. Nobody’s dumb enough to mess with us now.”
“Fair,” you say, leaning forward, resting your elbows on the table. The whiskey’s got your tongue loose, and the vibe’s right, so you nudge the questions up a notch—still smooth, but with a little heat. “So, Miyeon, you’ve dated guys before, right? Sana—you ever been with one? Like, ever?”
They glance at each other quick, a flicker of something passing between them—Sana’s blush deepens, and Miyeon’s grin turns sly. “Me? Yeah,” Miyeon says, casual as hell. “I’m bi—guys, girls, whatever. If they’re hot and fun, I’m down. Dated a couple dudes before I figured out I liked girls just as much. No big deal.”
Sana shifts on Miyeon’s lap, her fingers tightening around her beer bottle. “I… no. Never been with a guy. Always just girls for me.” Her voice is quieter, a little shy, but she doesn’t look away.
Miyeon tilts her head, resting her chin on Sana’s shoulder, her eyes locked on you now. “She’s curious, though,” she says, dropping it like a bomb, her tone teasing but deliberate. “Always has been. Right, babe?”
Sana’s face flares red, and she swats at Miyeon’s arm, flustered. “Miyeon! Shut up, oh my God!” She buries her face in her hands for a sec, then peeks out, still giggling despite herself. “I mean… yeah, okay, I’ve thought about it. Like, wondered what it’d be like. But that’s it. Closest I’ve gotten is—” She stops, biting her lip, and Miyeon finishes for her.
“The strap,” Miyeon says, smirking like she’s proud of it. “I’ve got this one that’s, uh, pretty realistic. She loves it, but it’s still not the real deal, you know?”
Sana groans, dropping her forehead onto Miyeon’s shoulder. “You’re the worst. Why do you say shit like that?”
You laugh, holding up your hands. “Hey, no judgment here. We’re all adults—shit gets spicy sometimes. Sounds like you’ve got it figured out anyway.”
Miyeon’s still watching you, her smirk softening into something sharper, more curious. Sana lifts her head, her embarrassment fading into a playful little pout as she takes a swig of her beer. “Okay, but why’re you asking?” she says, her tone turning provocative, her eyes narrowing just a bit. “You digging for details, huh? What’s your deal?”
You freeze for a sec, caught off guard, the whiskey making your brain a little slow to catch up. “What? Nah, I’m just—curious, I guess. Making conversation. That’s all.”
Miyeon’s not buying it, her head tilting like she’s sizing you up. “Bullshit. You’re interested. I can see it. All these questions—you’re fishing for something, aren’t you?”
“Fishing?” you say, leaning back, trying to play it cool but feeling the heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m just chilling. Anyone stuck out here with you two would be asking the same shit. You’re the only entertainment I’ve got.”
Sana giggles, her pout turning into a grin as she leans forward, elbows on the table now, her chin in her hands. “Oh, so we’re entertainment? That’s your excuse?”
“Yeah, exactly,” you say, grinning back, the tension easing but still simmering under the surface. “Two hot girls, drunk and spilling secrets? Who wouldn’t be into that?”
Miyeon laughs, loud and bright, tipping her head back. “Fair. You’ve got a point. We are hot.” She nudges Sana, who’s still blushing but clearly loving the vibe. “He’s not wrong, babe.”
“Still,” Sana says, her voice softer but with a teasing edge, “you’re digging pretty deep. What’s next, you gonna ask our favorite positions or something?”
You choke on your whiskey, coughing into your fist as Miyeon cackles. “Jesus, no,” you manage, wiping your mouth. “I’m not that drunk. Yet.”
“Yet,” Miyeon echoes, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Give it an hour. We’ll get you there.”
The room’s buzzing now, the flirtation weaving through the air like a quiet current—nothing overt, but it’s there, subtle and growing. You take another sip, letting it burn, and lean back in your chair, meeting Miyeon’s gaze for a second longer than you should. Sana’s watching too, her smile small but knowing, like she’s in on the game.
The conversation’s still humming along, the whiskey keeping the edges soft and the laughter loud. You’re mid-sentence, riffing on some dumb story about a camping trip gone wrong years ago, when a faint patter hits the deck outside. At first, you think it’s just the wind kicking up, but then it gets louder, steadier—rain, drumming hard against the wood. The temperature drops fast, a chill sneaking through the open window, cutting through the cozy haze of the kitchen. Miyeon shivers, rubbing her bare arms, and Sana pulls her tee tighter around herself, her beer bottle clinking against the table as she sets it down.
“Shit, there it goes again,” you say, standing up to slide the window shut. The cold’s biting now, the kind that makes your breath fog indoors if you’re not careful. “The couch is calling us.”
They nod, grabbing their drinks and stumbling after you, a little wobbly from the booze. You flick on the living room lamp, its warm glow spilling over the plush couch and the throw blankets piled on the armrest. The fireplace is out, but the heater’s still doing its thing, and the room feels like a bubble against the storm outside. You flop into the corner of the couch, one leg tucked under you, the whiskey mug warm in your hands. Miyeon and Sana collapse together on the other end, a tangle of limbs and giggles—Sana’s half-draped over Miyeon, her head lolling against Miyeon’s chest as Miyeon wraps an arm around her.
“Fuck, your place is so warm,” Miyeon sighs, kicking off her flip-flops and pulling her feet up onto the cushions. “Ours would be an icebox right now with that busted generator.”
“Perks of not slacking on maintenance,” you say, smirking as you take a sip. “You’re welcome to crash anytime it shits the bed.”
Sana hums, her eyes half-closed, nestled into Miyeon like she’s ready to doze off. “Good to know. You’re spoiling us.”
The rain’s pounding now, a steady roar against the roof, and for a while, you all just sit there, letting the sound fill the silence. It’s not awkward—more like a breather, the kind where everyone’s too buzzed and content to force more chatter. But then you catch it: the way they’re looking at you. Miyeon’s got this lazy, lidded gaze, her lips parted just enough to show a hint of teeth, and Sana’s peeking up from Miyeon’s chest, her eyes brighter than they should be for how drunk she is. They’re giggling to themselves, quiet little bursts, like they’re sharing some inside joke you’re not in on yet.
You lean back, resting your head against the couch, and glance out at the deck, rain streaking the glass doors. “Getting late,” you say, casual, testing the vibe. “This storm’s not letting up anytime soon.”
Sana stretches, her tee riding up to flash a sliver of stomach, and sits up a little. “Tonight was so fun, though. Way more than we thought it’d be, stuck out here alone.”
“Yeah,” Miyeon agrees, her hand lingering on Sana’s thigh, fingers tracing absent circles. “Didn’t expect to end up with a generator-fixing, blackjack-teaching hero. You’re full of surprises.”
You laugh, shrugging it off, but the compliment sticks. “Glad I could keep you entertained. We can run it back tomorrow—more drinks, more cards, whatever. Weather’s supposed to clear up.”
“Sweet,” Sana says, her voice soft but perky. Then Miyeon shifts, her eyes locking onto yours, and there’s something different in them now—sharper, bolder.
“Fun doesn’t have to end now, though,” she says, slow and deliberate, like she’s dropping a hint she knows you’ll catch.
You tilt your head, playing dumb but feeling the shift. “What’s that mean?”
She smirks, leaning forward just enough to close some distance, her arm sliding behind Sana on the couch. “What’re you doing later? After we’re done sitting here?”
“Uh, sleeping?” you say, half-laughing, though your pulse kicks up a notch. “That’s the plan, anyway.”
Miyeon’s grin widens, and she glances at Sana, who’s biting her lip like she’s holding back a laugh. “Yeah, well, me and Sana—we’re probably gonna fuck,” Miyeon says, blunt as hell, her tone light but her eyes steady on you. “We were supposed to last night, but, you know, generator drama killed the mood. So now we’re kinda pent up. Horny as shit, honestly.”
You choke on your whiskey, coughing into your sleeve as the words hit you like a freight train. “Jesus, warn a guy,” you mutter, wiping your mouth, your face hot. Sana’s giggling now, hiding half her face in Miyeon’s shoulder, but she’s not denying it.
“What?” Miyeon says, all fake innocence, leaning back and pulling Sana closer. “Just being real. You asked.”
“I literally didn't ask anything,” you say, but you’re laughing, the shock mixing with the buzz and turning into something else—something that’s got your stomach tightening.
Sana whispers something into Miyeon’s ear, her voice too low to catch, and Miyeon’s smirk softens into something… hungrier. She looks back at you. “It’s pouring out there,” she says, nodding toward the glass doors, where the rain’s still hammering down in sheets. “We’d get soaked going back. Mind if we crash here tonight?”
“Yeah, of course,” you say, automatic, trying to keep your cool. “The bed is yours, I'm getting used to the couch.”
Sana’s the one who pipes up now, her voice quiet but cutting through the tension. “Sleeping alone in this cold sucks, though. Don’t you think?”
You blink, caught off guard again, your brain scrambling. “Uh… yeah, I guess?”
Miyeon’s watching you close now, her hand sliding up Sana’s back again, possessive but gentle. “What if…” she starts, pausing just long enough to let it sink in, “you joined us? Like, all three of us. Together.”
Your mouth goes dry, the words landing heavy. “Wait, what—like, serious? Or are you just drunk and fucking with me?”
Miyeon doesn’t flinch. She leans forward instead, setting her mug on the table with a soft clink, then turns to Sana. Without breaking eye contact with you, she cups Sana’s face and kisses her—slow, deep, not some quick peck but a real, sensual thing. Lips parted, tongues meeting, the kind of kiss that’s got heat behind it. Sana melts into it, her hands clutching Miyeon’s tank top, and when they pull apart, breathless, they both turn to you. Sana’s flushed, her eyes glassy, and Miyeon’s got this smug, daring look.
“Does that look like we’re fucking with you?” Miyeon says, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb.
Sana’s quieter, her voice a little shaky but steady enough. “You’re cool. And… kinda hot, honestly. We’ve been talking about it all night.”
“Yeah,” Miyeon adds, leaning into it now, her confidence dialed up. “I wanna see you fuck Sana. Like, I’d be there too—watching, helping, whatever. She’s curious, and I think you’d be perfect for her first time with a guy.”
Your head’s spinning, the room suddenly way too small, the air thick with something you can’t shake. Your dick twitches at the thought—Sana’s soft curves under you, Miyeon’s eyes on you, directing it all. It’s a lot, fast, and your heart’s pounding against your ribs. “Fuck,” you breathe, running a hand through your hair. “You’re not kidding.”
“Nope,” Miyeon says, popping the ‘p’ again, her smirk lethal. “So? What do you say?”
Sana’s staring at you now, bottom lip caught between her teeth, nervous but wanting, and Miyeon’s got that predatory edge, like she’s already decided how this is gonna go. The tension’s a live wire, humming between you, and you’re stuck, half-panicked, half-turned on, trying to process what the hell’s happening as the rain keeps drumming outside.
“Fuck it, I’m up for it.”
Miyeon’s grin stretches wide, victorious, and she slides off the couch, her bare feet hitting the hardwood with a soft thud. “Good answer,” she says, her voice low and sultry, like she’s been waiting for this all night. “Come closer, then.” She beckons you with a curl of her finger, her eyes locked on yours, daring you to hesitate.
You don’t. You push off the couch, the whiskey buzz making your steps feel loose, and cross the small gap to where she’s standing. Up close, she’s all heat and confidence—her tank top clings to her frame, her dark hair messy from the day, and she smells faintly of sunscreen and beer. She steps in, closing the distance, and grabs the front of your hoodie, pulling you down just enough to crash her lips into yours.
It’s sudden, rough, and you’re caught off guard—your hands hover for a split second, unsure where to land, before instinct kicks in. You kiss her back, tentative at first, lips brushing hers, tasting the sharp edge of whiskey and the faintest hint of her chapstick. Then she presses closer, her tongue flicking against your bottom lip, and you’re done holding back. You dive in, deepening the kiss, your hands finding her waist, sliding up the curve of her sides under her tank. Her skin’s warm, smooth, and she lets out this little hum against your mouth that sends a jolt straight down your spine.
Sana’s still on the couch, watching, her breath hitching audibly. You can feel her eyes on you, a quiet intensity in the way she’s perched there—legs tucked under her, hands gripping the blanket like it’s an anchor. Miyeon breaks the kiss for a second, her lips hovering an inch from yours, her breath hot against your skin. She glances over her shoulder at Sana, smirking. “Your turn, babe,” she says, her voice thick with promise.
Sana hesitates, her wide eyes darting between you and Miyeon, but there’s no mistaking the want there, the curiosity flickering behind her nerves. She slides off the couch slow, her bare feet padding across the floor, and stops just in front of you. Up close, she’s smaller than Miyeon—slimmer, softer, her oversized tee swallowing her frame, her shorts barely peeking out. Her lips glisten with gloss, and when she looks up at you, all shy and flushed, makes you breathless.
You don’t wait for her to make the first move. You step in, gentle but sure, cupping her face with one hand, your thumb brushing her cheek. “You good?” you murmur, giving her an out, but she just nods, quick and eager, her breath catching. Then you lean in, and her lips meet yours—soft, plush, addictive as hell. She tastes like gloss and the faint tang of beer, sweet and heady, and it’s different from Miyeon’s fire—slower, more tentative, but just as hungry. You kiss her deeper, letting her melt into it, your free hand settling on her hip, pulling her closer. She sighs into your mouth, a tiny, needy sound that lights you up.
Miyeon’s not sitting this out. She steps in behind Sana, her hands sliding over Sana’s shoulders, then down to her waist, guiding her closer to you. She’s watching, her lips parted, eyes dark with heat. Sana’s still kissing you, lost in it, when Miyeon takes her hand—small, trembling—and moves it, pressing it against the front of your jeans. You’re already hard, straining against the denim, and the second Sana’s fingers brush over you, your breath hitches.
“Fuck,” you mutter against Sana’s lips, and Miyeon laughs, low and throaty.
“Hot, right?” Miyeon says, her voice dripping with satisfaction. She’s pressed up against Sana’s back now, her chin resting on Sana’s shoulder, watching you both like she’s directing this whole show. Sana’s hand trembles, but she doesn’t pull away—she squeezes, hesitant but curious, her warm palm cupping you through the fabric. It’s clumsy, unsure, but that only makes it hotter, the newness of it driving you wild.
“Jesus, this is insane,” you say, pulling back just enough to look at them—Sana’s blushing hard, her eyes wide and dazed, Miyeon’s grinning, all smug and turned on. Sana’s hand stays where it is, her fingers flexing slightly, like she’s testing how you feel, and it’s taking every ounce of self-control not to lose it right there.
Miyeon’s eyes flick down to where Sana’s touching you, then back up to your face. “She’s doing good, huh?” she teases, her hand sliding up Sana’s arm, encouraging her. “But fuck, I’m already soaked just watching this. Let’s take it to your room, yeah? This couch isn’t big enough for what I’ve got in mind.”
Sana finally pulls her hand back, her face half-hidden in Miyeon’s neck, embarrassed but buzzing with excitement. You nod, still half-dazed, the reality of it sinking in. “Yeah… yeah, let’s go,” you say, voice rough, your heart hammering as you lead the way.
The hallway’s a blur, your footsteps heavy, their bare feet padding behind you. You push open your bedroom door—messy bed, clothes tossed on the chair, the faint glow of a lamp in the corner—and step inside, the air cooler here but still thick with tension. You turn to face them, Miyeon moves first, her fingers hooking under the hem of her tank top. She peels it off slow, deliberate, letting it slide up her torso, exposing the smooth plane of her stomach, then the curve of her ribs, before tugging it over her head and tossing it aside. Her black bra clings to her, lacy and thin, her medium, perky breasts straining against it—she’s all confidence, hips cocked, watching your reaction.
Sana’s shyer, her hands trembling just a little as she grabs the bottom of her oversized tee. She lifts it up, inch by inch, revealing her slim waist, the faint dip of her navel, then higher until the pink bra comes into view—simple but cute, hugging her slighter, curvier frame. She hesitates for a second before pulling the shirt all the way off, her brown hair tumbling back over her shoulders, and when she drops it to the floor, she’s blushing hard but smiling, caught up in the moment.
They kick off their shorts next—Miyeon’s denim cutoffs hit the ground with a soft thud, leaving her in matching black panties that sit low on her hips, showing off the roundness of her ass. Sana’s shorts slide down her legs slower, pooling at her ankles, and she steps out, her pink panties a soft contrast to Miyeon’s darker set, clinging to her narrower hips. Standing there in just bras and panties, they’re a fucking vision—Miyeon’s thicker, all curves and bold energy, Sana’s slimmer but still lush, her skin glowing in the low light. It’s almost too much, the way they move together, like they’re perfectly in sync even now.
Miyeon steps forward, her bare feet silent on the hardwood, and nods at Sana. “You take the hoodie,” she says, her voice low and husky, thick with intent. “I’ve got the pants.”
Sana moves in, her hands tentative but eager, reaching for the hem of your hoodie. Her fingers brush your stomach as she lifts it, her touch light, almost ticklish, and you raise your arms to help her. She pulls it up and over, her breath catching as she gets a good look at your chest, her eyes flicking up to yours—nervous, excited, a little overwhelmed. The hoodie drops to the floor, and she steps back, biting her lip, like she’s sizing you up.
Miyeon’s not wasting time. She’s already at your waist, her hands deft and sure as she pops the button on your jeans. The zipper comes down with a quick, sharp sound, and she tugs them down, past your hips, letting them pool at your ankles. Her fingers hook into the waistband of your boxers next, and with one smooth pull, those are gone too, sliding down your legs until you’re bare in front of them. She’s kneeling now, right between your thighs as you sit back on the edge of the bed, her movements all purpose and hunger, no hesitation.
Sana joins her, dropping to her knees beside Miyeon, her eyes wide and fixed on your cock—hard, thick, standing up proud. It’s the first one she’s seen up close, and you can tell it’s hitting her all at once. “Holy shit,” she whispers, almost to herself, her hand hovering like she’s not sure what to do with it yet.
Miyeon’s already on it, her fingers wrapping around the base, stroking slow and light, her thumb brushing the underside. “Go on,” she says, glancing at Sana with a smirk. “Touch it.”
Sana reaches out, her small hand trembling just a bit as she lays it over Miyeon’s, following her lead. Her fingers slide up, tentative, tracing the shaft, feeling the weight of it—the heat. She runs her thumb over the tip, where a bead of precum’s already leaking out, and her breath hitches again. “It’s… big,” she says, her voice soft, awed. “And, like… really hot.”
You groan low in your throat, the sound slipping out as their hands work together—Sana’s delicate, curious grip mixing with Miyeon’s firmer, more practiced strokes. Your cock’s throbbing now, pulsing under their touch, and it’s driving you fucking insane. Sana’s fingers wander lower, brushing over the veins, then down to your balls, cupping them gently, rolling them in her palm like she’s figuring it all out. “This is wild,” she mutters, half-laughing, her eyes flicking up to yours for a second before darting back down.
“What do you think?” Miyeon asks her, her voice teasing but edged with her own arousal. She’s watching Sana explore, her own hand still moving, keeping the rhythm steady.
Sana bites her lip, her cheeks flushed deep red. “It’s… I don’t know, it’s kinda crazy how much I like it,” she admits, her fingers tightening slightly, testing the give. “Feels alive or something.”
“Fuck, you’re killing me,” you say, your voice rough, your head tipping back for a second as the sensation hits hard. Miyeon chuckles, low and dirty, and leans closer.
“Taste it,” she says, her eyes locked on Sana’s, pushing her just a little. “Go for it.”
Sana freezes, her hand stilling, but the curiosity’s there—bright and burning in her gaze. She leans in slow, hesitant, her breath warm against your skin as she presses a tiny kiss to the tip, barely grazing it. Then another, softer, her lips parting just enough to taste the salt of you. She pulls back, blinking like she’s surprised herself, then goes again—small licks this time, her tongue darting out, testing the waters. It’s clumsy, unsure, but the heat of her mouth, the wet flick of her tongue—it’s fucking electric.
Miyeon’s watching, her own breath ragged now, her hand slipping away to let Sana take over. “Good, right?” she murmurs, her voice thick. “Keep going.”
Sana gains confidence, her lips closing around the head, sucking gently—experimental, like she’s figuring out how it feels. Her tongue swirls once, twice, and you groan again, louder, your hands gripping the sheets to keep from grabbing her head and guiding her yourself. She pulls back, a thin string of spit connecting her lips to you, and looks up, dazed but grinning. “Okay, yeah,” she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “That’s… a lot.”
Miyeon laughs, shifting to kneel closer, her shoulder brushing Sana’s. “Told you it’s hot. You’re doing good, babe.” She glances at you, her eyes dark. “He’s loving this shit.”
You nod, breathless, the sight of them there—half-naked, on their knees, Sana’s shy exploration and Miyeon’s hungry stare—burning into your brain.
Miyeon’s got your cock in her hand, her grip firm but teasing, her fingers curling around the base as she angles it toward Sana. “Go on, babe,” she says, her voice a low purr, her eyes flicking up to meet yours—dark, horny, locked in. “He’s all yours.”
Sana’s determination’s kicking in, the shy edge melting away as she leans forward. Her lips part, soft and wet, and she takes you in again—slower this time, more deliberate. The taste’s sinking into her now, the salt and heat, and you can see it in her eyes—she’s getting hooked. Her tongue flattens against the underside, sliding up, then curling around the tip, and you groan, low and rough, your head tipping back for a split second before you snap it forward again to watch. Miyeon’s staring too, her lips parted, her breath coming faster—she’s as turned on as you are, her thighs pressing together like she’s already feeling it.
Sana pushes further, her lips stretching around you, trying to take more. She slides down, her throat tightening, and then—she gags, a little choke that jerks her back. Her eyes water, and she pulls off, coughing into her hand, a flush creeping up her neck.
“Easy, babe,” Miyeon says, her tone soft but firm, one hand rubbing Sana’s back while the other still holds you steady. “Don’t rush it. Breathe.” She brushes Sana’s hair out of her face, gentle but with that edge of control—she’s done this before, knows the game.
Sana nods, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, catching her breath. “Okay,” she rasps, her voice shaky but eager. “I’m good.”
Miyeon smirks, then shifts her gaze to you. “My turn,” she says, and there’s no hesitation—she’s all in, sliding down to take Sana’s place. Her mouth’s on you in a heartbeat, hot and wet, her tongue moving like she’s mapped you out already. She’s not shy, not slow—she takes you deep right off the bat, her lips sealing tight as she sucks, hard and deliberate. Her hand works what her mouth can’t reach, stroking in sync, slick and fast. You groan louder, your hips twitching, and she hums around you, the vibration hitting you like a fucking freight train.
Sana’s watching, wide-eyed, her embarrassment replaced by something else—amazement, maybe a little envy. She’s seeing a side of Miyeon she didn’t know existed, this confident, dirty edge that’s got her girlfriend deep-throating you like it’s nothing. Miyeon’s eyes flick up to yours, locked in as she bobs her head, her cheeks hollowing out, spit slicking her lips. She pulls off slow, dragging her tongue along the underside one last time, leaving you dripping—your cock’s a mess now, glistening with her spit, throbbing hard.
“Wet enough for you, babe,” Miyeon says, wiping her chin with a smirk, her voice thick with pride. She glances at Sana, who’s still staring, her breath uneven. “Ready?”
They both stand, peeling off the last of their clothes with a slow, teasing grace that’s almost cruel. Miyeon unhooks her bra first, letting it fall to the floor—her breasts bounce free, full and perky, nipples already hard in the cool air. She shimmies out of her black panties next, kicking them aside, and she’s stark naked now, all smooth skin and curves, thick in the right places. Sana follows, quieter, her fingers fumbling with her bra clasp until it snaps open—her breasts are smaller, softer, but perfect, her nipples a faint pink that matches her blush. She slides her panties down her legs, stepping out delicately, and when they’re both bare in front of you, it’s like every dirty dream you’ve ever had coming to life.
Miyeon twirls once, playful but deliberate, her ass jiggling just enough to make your mouth dry. “What do you think?” she asks, hands on her hips, her voice dripping with that cocky flirtation she’s mastered. Sana spins too, a little clumsier, her hair swinging as she laughs through her nerves.
“Fuck,” you say, the word slipping out before you can stop it. “You’re the hottest girls I’ve ever seen. No contest.”
They grin—Miyeon smug, Sana shy—and climb onto the bed. The mattress dips under their weight, the sheets rustling as Sana lies back, stretching out on her back, her head resting on the pillows. Her legs part slightly, not blatant but enough to draw your eye, her body a soft, inviting curve against the dark fabric. Miyeon slides in beside her, propping herself up on one elbow, her naked body pressed close to Sana’s—her hand rests on Sana’s stomach, casual but possessive, her fingers splaying out like she’s staking a claim.
The rain’s still hammering outside, a dull roar that only amps up the tension in here. You’re sitting at the foot of the bed, cock still hard and slick from their mouths, and the way they’re looking at you—Sana’s nervous excitement, Miyeon’s hungry confidence—it’s like they’re pulling you in without even moving.
You’re kneeling between Sana’s legs now, her thighs soft and trembling under your hands, her skin flushed pink from the booze and the buildup. She’s sprawled out beneath you, her chest rising and falling fast, her eyes locked on yours—wide, nervous, but burning with want.
You pause, reality cutting through the haze for a second, and clear your throat. “Uh, shit—girls, I don’t have a condom,” you say, voice rough, a little sheepish. “Wasn’t exactly planning on… this when I booked the lake house.”
Miyeon smirks, unfazed, her fingers tracing lazy circles on Sana’s skin. “It’s fine,” she says, her tone smooth, deliberate. “She needs to feel you—like, really feel you. No rubber bullshit. Right, babe?” She glances at Sana, squeezing her breast gently, her thumb brushing over a nipple that’s already pebbled and sensitive.
Sana bites her lip, her breath hitching, but she nods—small at first, then firmer. “Yeah… I want that,” she whispers, her voice shaky but sure, her eyes flicking down to where your cock’s resting against her thigh, hard and leaking. “I’ve never… you know. I wanna know what it’s like.”
You swallow hard, the weight of it hitting you—Sana’s first time with a guy, and it’s you, bare, with Miyeon watching, guiding. It’s a fucking rush, equal parts thrilling and insane. “Alright,” you say, voice low, steadying yourself. “I’ll go slow. Promise.”
Miyeon leans in, her lips brushing Sana’s in a kiss that’s soft but deep, all tongue and tenderness, her hand kneading Sana’s breast harder now, rolling the nipple between her fingers. Sana moans into it, her body arching slightly, and you take that as your cue. You shift, lining yourself up, the tip of your cock brushing her entrance—she’s soaked, slick from everything before, her folds glistening in the dim light. You press forward just enough to part her, the head nudging inside, and Sana gasps, her mouth breaking away from Miyeon’s, her hands clutching the sheets.
“Fuck,” she breathes, her eyes squeezing shut for a second, then fluttering open to look at you. It’s tight—hot, wet and tight as hell—and you freeze, letting her adjust, feeling her walls clench around you like they’re figuring you out.
“Slow,” Miyeon murmurs, her voice a soft command, her eyes flicking to yours. “Don’t hurt her, okay? She’s my girl.” There’s that edge of possession in her tone, but it’s laced with something romantic, something deep—she’s sharing Sana with you, but it’s all love, all care, and it’s fucking hot how she balances both.
“I got her,” you say, your hands sliding to Sana’s hips, gripping her gently, keeping her steady. “You good?” you ask, checking in, your voice tight with how bad you want to move.
Sana nods, her lips parting. “Yeah… keep going.”
You ease in, slow as fuck, inch by inch, watching her face—her brows furrow a little, her mouth opens wider, and then she sighs, a long, shaky sound that’s pure relief mixed with want. She’s so tight it’s unreal, her heat wrapping you, pulling you in, and you’re halfway there when she tenses, her thighs squeezing your hips. You stop, breathing hard, your fingers digging into her skin just enough to hold her still.
“Tell me when,” you say, your control hanging by a thread, the way Miyeon’s watching you both—eyes dark, lips wet—only making it worse.
Sana exhales, nodding again. “Now… more.”
You push deeper, careful but steady, until you’re all the way in, buried to the hilt, her walls fluttering around you like a fucking heartbeat. She’s full of you now, and you can feel it—every twitch, every pulse—and it’s driving you nuts. Sana’s head tips back, a low moan slipping out, and Miyeon’s right there, kissing her neck, whispering something soft you can’t catch, her hand still working Sana’s breast like she’s coaxing her through it.
“Goddamn,” you mutter, your voice breaking, because this—Miyeon giving her girl to you, Sana taking you raw, the love and the lust all twisted up—is some next-level shit. “You feel… fuck, unreal.”
Miyeon smirks at you, her hand sliding down Sana’s stomach now, teasing just above where you’re connected. “She’s perfect, right?” she says, then leans into Sana’s ear. “You like him inside you, babe?”
Sana whimpers, nodding fast. “Yeah… so much,” she breathes, her hips shifting like she’s testing the feel of you, and that’s all it takes—you start moving, slow pulls back, gentle thrusts in, letting her get used to it. Her moans are quiet at first, little gasps and sighs, but they build fast, her body responding, her legs spreading wider.
Miyeon’s eyes are on you now, hot and approving. “Faster,” she says, her voice cutting through the haze. “She can take it. Give it to her harder.”
You hesitate for a second, checking Sana’s face—she’s nodding, her hands reaching for your arms, pulling you closer—so you pick up the pace, thrusting deeper, the bed creaking under you. Sana’s moans turn sharp, her nails digging into your forearms, and Miyeon’s right there, kissing her through it, her hand slipping between Sana’s legs, fingers brushing her clit to push her higher.
“Fuck, yes,” Sana gasps, her voice trembling, her walls clenching tighter around you with every stroke. “Don’t stop.”
You don’t—can’t—your hips snapping harder now, the wet sound of skin on skin mixing with the rain outside, filthy and raw. Miyeon’s watching you like you’re putting on a show just for her, her lips parted, her breathing ragged, and it’s that—her gaze, Sana’s tight heat, the whole damn scene—that’s got you teetering on the edge already, every thrust pulling you deeper into the madness of it.
You’re buried deep in Sana, your hips driving into her with a steady, hard rhythm that’s got the headboard tapping the wall like a metronome. Her moans are loud now—sharp, desperate little cries that fill the room, her thin frame trembling beneath you. She’s so tight it’s unreal, her walls gripping you like a vise, slick and hot, pulling you in deeper with every thrust. You’ve got her legs spread wide, one hand hooked under her knee, holding her open, the other braced on the mattress as you lean into her.
Miyeon’s right there beside her, naked and sprawled out, her hand slipping between her own thighs. She’s touching herself, slow at first, her fingers circling her clit as she watches you fuck her girlfriend. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, her breathing ragged—she’s so turned on it’s obscene, and she doesn’t hold back with the dirty talk. “Fuck, babe,” she says, her voice husky, glancing at Sana. “Is his cock better than my strap? Tell me.”
Sana’s head jerks back, a loud moan ripping from her throat as you hit a deep spot. “Yes—fuck, yes,” she gasps, her nails clawing at your arms, leaving little crescent marks. “So much better… it’s so fucking good.”
That’s like rocket fuel to you. You grin, sweat beading down your forehead, and double down, your thrusts picking up speed, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room. Miyeon’s fingers move faster too, her other hand gripping the sheets as she watches, her pride flaring up. “Hear that?” she says, locking eyes with you, her voice dripping with heat. “You loving this? Fucking my girl senseless?”
“Shit, yeah,” you groan, your breath ragged, your cock throbbing inside Sana’s tight heat. “She’s so fucking tight, Miyeon. Like—Jesus, I can barely think straight.”
Miyeon smirks, smug and horny all at once, her fingers plunging into herself now, matching your pace. “Proud of her,” she purrs, her gaze flicking between your face and where you’re disappearing into Sana. “Bet you’d kill to feel that pussy all the time, huh? So hot, so tight, those sweet little moans—she’s a goddamn dream, right?”
You can’t even form words, just a low, needy moan that’s half-agreement, half-losing-your-shit. Sana’s whimpering now, her body rocking with every thrust, her skinny frame so delicate you can see the faint bulge of your cock stretching her out, pressing against her flat stomach. Miyeon’s mesmerized by it, her eyes glued to the sight, her own moans mixing with Sana’s as she fucks herself harder.
“Ruin her,” Miyeon says suddenly, her voice sharp, commanding, her fingers slick and fast. “Fucking pound that tight little pussy. She can take it.”
You go all out, pounding into Sana now, her skinny frame jolting beneath you with every thrust, her legs splayed wide—knees hooked over your arms, her pussy open and vulnerable, taking you deep. She’s a mess, her brown hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, her cheeks flushed a wild, desperate pink. Her moans are loud, unrestrained, spilling out in sharp bursts that cut through the steady slap of your hips against hers. You’ve got her pinned, driving hard, her tight little pussy gripping you like it’s trying to strangle your cock—hot, wet, and pulsing with every slam, and her walls are clenching tighter now, her breath hitching, and you can feel it—she’s teetering right on the edge, her body trembling like a live wire about to snap.
“Fuck—fuck, your cock,” Sana gasps, her voice breaking into a raw, filthy moan, her hands clawing at the sheets, ripping at them like she’s losing her goddamn mind. “It’s so fucking good—shit, I love it, I love your cock so much!” Her hips buck up to meet you, sloppy and wild, chasing the friction, her pussy soaking you, dripping down your thighs. She’s unhinged, her words tumbling out fast and dirty, no filter, just pure need. “Harder—fuck me harder, don’t stop, I need it, I fucking need it!”
You growl, the sound ripping from your chest, and give her what she wants—slamming into her with everything you’ve got, your cock stretching her out, hitting that deep, sweet spot that makes her scream. Her whole body locks up, her skinny frame arching off the bed, her tits bouncing with every brutal thrust. “Like that?” you snarl, gripping her hips so hard your fingers leave red marks, pulling her back onto you. “Fucking take it—cum all over this dick, Sana.”
Miyeon’s moaning now, her fingers plunging into her own pussy, her other hand tweaking her nipple as she watches, her voice a low, horny rasp. “Goddamn, babe—look at you,” she says, her eyes glued to where your cock’s disappearing into Sana’s dripping cunt. “You’re losing it—fucking love that cock, don’t you? So hot, so fucking slutty like this.” She’s panting, her thighs trembling as she fucks herself faster, turned on beyond reason by Sana’s unraveling. “Cum for him—fucking soak that dick, I wanna see it.”
Sana’s eyes roll back, her mouth open in a silent scream that turns into a loud, broken wail as the orgasm hits her like a goddamn freight train. “Fuck—oh fuck, I’m cumming!” she cries, her voice shattering, her pussy clamping down so hard around you it’s almost painful—spasming wildly, gushing wet heat that slicks your cock, her thighs, the sheets. She’s thrashing now, completely out of control, her skinny body jerking like she’s possessed, her hands flying to your arms, nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. “Your cock—shit, I love it, it’s so big, so fucking deep—don’t stop, don’t fucking stop!”
You don’t—can’t—your hips slamming into her harder, faster, riding her through it as her pussy milks you, her cum dripping down your balls, pooling under her ass. She’s screaming, incoherent now—just raw, animal sounds, her head thrashing side to side, her hair sticking to her face. “Yes—fuck yes, keep fucking me—love it, love your cock—fuck!” Her voice is a mess, slurring into sobs, her body shaking uncontrollably, her orgasm stretching out, relentless, like it’s tearing her apart.
Miyeon’s losing her mind watching it, her hand a blur between her legs, her moans turning sharp and desperate. “Holy shit—look at her,” she gasps, her voice thick with lust, her pussy dripping onto the sheets as she rubs herself raw. “She’s cumming so fucking hard—so goddamn sexy, babe, you’re a fucking mess on that dick.” She’s panting, her eyes flicking between Sana’s wrecked face and the bulge of your cock stretching her girlfriend’s flat stomach with every thrust. “Keep going—fuck her stupid, she loves it, look at her fucking cum!”
Sana’s still going, her pussy pulsing like a heartbeat, her moans turning into whimpers as the pleasure overloads her—sensitive, raw, but she’s still pushing back against you, greedy for more. “Please—shit, please, keep fucking me,” she begs, her voice hoarse, trembling, her hands reaching for you like she’s drowning. “Your cock’s so good—so fucking good—I can’t stop cumming!”
You growl again, leaning over her, your chest heaving as you keep up the pace, your cock throbbing inside her, the wet, filthy sound of her pussy taking you over and over driving you wild. “You’re a fucking addict,” you mutter, your voice rough, dripping with heat. “Love this dick so much—cum again, Sana, let me feel that tight little pussy lose it.”
Miyeon’s moaning louder now, her fingers plunging deep, her hips bucking against her own hand. “She’s so fucking hot,” she says, her voice cracking, her eyes wide and wild. “Look at her—cumming like a slut on your cock. Fuck, I’m gonna cum just watching this—keep fucking her, make her scream!”
Sana’s beyond words now—just gasps and cries, her body convulsing, her pussy still spasming around you as the orgasm drags on, relentless, her cum soaking everything—your cock, your hips, the bed. She’s shaking so hard her thighs are quivering, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts, her eyes squeezed shut as she rides the last waves. “Fuck—fuck, I love it,” she whimpers, her voice barely audible, wrecked and raw. “Your cock—shit, it’s everything.”
You slow down, just enough to let her breathe, but you’re still buried deep, her pussy twitching around you, sensitive as hell. Miyeon’s panting, her hand slowing as she watches Sana come down, her own chest heaving. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters, licking her lips, her fingers still slick with her own arousal. “That was fucking insane—she’s never cum like that. You’re a goddamn beast.”
Sana’s eyes flutter open, glassy and dazed, a weak smile tugging at her lips as she looks up at you. “Fuck… that was…” She can’t finish, just shakes her head, her breath still shaky, her body limp beneath you. You pull out slow, your cock slick with her, and she whimpers at the loss, her pussy glistening, fucked-out and dripping with her cum. Miyeon’s still staring, horny and proud, her girlfriend a beautiful, shattered mess—and it’s all because of you.
Then, before you can react, Miyeon’s on you in a heartbeat, her hand wrapping around your shaft, stroking it as she leans in close. “Messy boy,” she teases, then lowers her mouth, licking you clean—long, slow swipes of her tongue that taste Sana all over you. She sucks the tip for a second, pulling a groan from your throat, before pulling back with a wet pop, her lips shiny.
You reach over, giving Miyeon’s ass a firm squeeze—round, perfect, begging for attention. “Your turn now,” you say, voice rough, still riding the high of fucking Sana senseless.
Miyeon grins, wicked and eager, and pushes you back onto the bed with a shove to your chest. You hit the mattress flat on your back, the sheets cool against your skin, your cock standing up hard and ready. “Lie down for me,” she says, climbing over you, her knees straddling your hips. She’s all curves and heat, her pussy already glistening as she hovers above you. Then she turns to Sana, who’s still catching her breath, propped up on her elbows. “Sit on his face, babe,” Miyeon says, her tone playful but firm. “He needs to taste you too—it’s fucking addictive.”
Sana hesitates for a second, still dazed, but the idea lights something in her eyes. She crawls up the bed, her slim frame moving slow, deliberate, until she’s kneeling over your head. You look up, and it’s a goddamn sight—her pussy right there, pink and wet from her orgasm, her thighs trembling just slightly as she lowers herself. “You sure?” she murmurs, glancing down at you, her voice soft but thick with want.
“Fuck yes,” you say, grabbing her hips and pulling her down. Her scent hits you first—sweet, musky, heady as hell—and then she’s on you, her folds slick against your lips. You groan into her, your tongue flicking out, tasting her—salty and tangy and so fucking good. She gasps, her hands bracing against the headboard, her body rocking slightly as you lick into her, slow and deep, savoring every inch.
Miyeon’s not waiting around. She lines herself up over your cock, her hands on your chest for balance, and sinks down—slow at first, just the tip, her pussy hot and tight around you. “Oh, fuck,” she moans, her head tipping back, her hair spilling over her shoulders as she takes you deeper, inch by inch. She’s thicker than Sana, her walls plush and soaking, and when she’s fully seated, her ass flush against your thighs, you’re gone—lost in the dual sensation of Miyeon riding you and Sana on your face.
“God, you’re big,” Miyeon says, her voice breathy, her hips rolling once, testing the stretch. “Feels so fucking good.”
Sana’s whimpering above you, her thighs clenching around your head as you suck on her clit, your tongue circling, then plunging inside her again. “Don’t stop,” she breathes, her voice trembling. “Please, don’t fucking stop.”
Miyeon starts moving, her hips lifting and dropping, slow at first, then faster, her hands digging into your chest. “Look at her,” she pants, glancing up at Sana. “She’s losing her mind up there. You like his tongue, babe?”
“Fuck—yes,” Sana chokes out, her hips grinding down now, smearing her wetness across your face. “So good… didn’t know it’d be this good.”
You groan into Sana, the vibration making her buck, and Miyeon laughs, low and dirty. “I knew,” she says, picking up the pace, her pussy slamming down on you harder now, wet and messy. “He’s a fucking natural.”
The room’s a mix of filth—Sana’s moans, Miyeon’s gasps, the slick sounds of skin and sex, all layered over the rain’s dull roar. You’re drowning in it—Sana’s taste flooding your mouth, Miyeon’s tight heat swallowing your cock, the insane push-pull of giving and taking. Your hands grip Sana’s hips harder, guiding her as you eat her out, your tongue relentless, and Miyeon’s riding you like she owns you, her nails leaving red trails on your skin.
“Fuck—don’t stop,” she gasps, then she shifts her gaze, looking up at Miyeon, and her voice turns filthy, wilder than you’ve heard all night. “God, babe, you look so fucking hot riding his cock like that. Bouncing on him—shit, it’s driving me crazy.”
Miyeon groans, her pace faltering for a second as Sana’s words hit her like a spark. She glances down, her dark hair swinging over her face, her lips curling into a horny smirk. “Yeah? You’re so fucking sexy like this, Sana—spread out, moaning on his face. Never seen you this slutty before.” Her hands slide up her own body, squeezing her tits through the motion, her nipples hard and poking against her palms.
Sana whimpers, her hips bucking against your mouth, and fires back, “You’re one to talk—look at you, fucking him like a pro. So hot, babe. Love watching you take that dick.”
The dirty talk’s like gasoline on a fire—Miyeon’s pussy clenches tighter around you, her thrusts turning sharper, more desperate, and you groan into Sana, the vibration making her jolt. “Keep sucking her,” Miyeon says, her voice rough, commanding, her eyes locked on yours through the haze. “Make her cum again. I wanna see her lose it.”
Sana’s already sensitive as hell—her last orgasm left her shaky, her clit throbbing under your tongue—but you don’t let up. You flatten your tongue against her, dragging it up slow, then circling fast, sucking hard enough to make her cry out. “Fuck—too much,” she whines, but her hips keep grinding, chasing it anyway, her body begging for more. You’re so caught up in it—Sana’s wet heat on your face, Miyeon’s tight grip riding you—that your own control’s slipping, your cock pulsing hard inside her with every filthy word they trade.
“Goddamn, you’re gonna make me cum just talking like that,” Miyeon moans, her hands gripping your thighs now, slamming down harder, her ass jiggling with every impact, her pussy’s dripping, soaking your hips. “Keep going, babe,” she tells Sana, her voice dripping with lust. “Tell me how much you love this.”
Sana’s panting, her words slurring into gasps as you push her closer. “Love it—fuck, love watching you ride him. So good… so fucking good,” she manages, her voice breaking as you suck her clit between your lips, flicking your tongue over it fast and relentless. Her thighs clamp around your head, her moans turning into sharp little screams, and you can feel it—she’s right there.
“Cum on his face,” Miyeon growls, her hips snapping down harder, her own breath hitching as she watches Sana unravel. “Fucking soak him.”
Sana loses it—her second orgasm crashes through her, her body seizing up as she cries out, high and raw. You keep your mouth on her, licking her through it, and then she’s shaking, her pussy pulsing hard against your tongue. She shifts, desperate now, and rubs herself over your face, her hand flying between her legs to work her clit faster. Then—holy shit—she squirts, little bursts of wet heat splashing across your chest, your neck, dripping down your jaw. It’s messy, wild, and you lap up what you can, groaning into her as she collapses forward, gasping for air.
“Holy fuck,” Miyeon says, slowing her ride for a second to watch, her eyes wide, her pussy clenching around you like she’s about to blow too. “That was insane. Now I need a taste.” She slides off you, your cock springing free, slick and throbbing, and you’re still catching your breath as she takes charge.
“69,” Miyeon says, decisive, pointing at the bed. “Sana, lie down—head at the edge. Let’s switch this up.”
Sana’s still dazed, her legs wobbly, but she does it—crawling onto the bed, stretching out on her back, her head hanging just off the mattress’ edge, her brown hair spilling down like a curtain. She’s panting, her skin glistening with sweat, her pussy still twitching from her release. Miyeon climbs over her, positioning herself on all fours—her knees bracketing Sana’s head, her ass sticking out toward you, round and perfect, her own pussy glistening and begging for attention.
You’re off the bed now, standing at the edge, your cock hard and slick with both of them, the room spinning with how fucking intense this is. Miyeon looks back at you over her shoulder, her eyes dark and commanding. “Fuck me,” she says, simple and raw, wiggling her ass just enough to make it clear what she wants. “And Sana’s gonna eat me out while you do it.”
Sana’s hands reach up, grabbing Miyeon’s thighs, pulling her down closer to her mouth, and you can hear the soft, wet sound of her tongue already working—Miyeon moans instantly, her body arching. You step up, gripping Miyeon’s hips, your cock brushing against her entrance, and the scene in front of you—Sana’s face buried between Miyeon’s legs, Miyeon’s ass up and waiting—is so filthy, so perfect, you can barely process it. The rain’s a distant hum, the world narrowed down to this bed, these girls, this moment.
And before you know it, you're already inside her
Your hands grab Miyeon’s cheeks, spreading them wide as you watch your cock slide in and out of her—glistening, thick, stretching her tight little hole with every thrust. Her pussy’s hypnotic, a vise of heat and wet that sucks you in deeper each time, her walls pulsing like they’re trying to milk you dry. She’s on all fours over Sana, her knees sinking into the mattress, her ass high and perfect, swaying with every pounding you give her.
Below, Sana’s lying flat, her head tilted off the edge, her slim throat exposed as she devours Miyeon’s pussy. Her tongue’s working hard, flicking over Miyeon’s clit, dipping into her folds, and you can hear the sloppy, wet noises—Sana’s eager, relentless, her mouth making these little sucking sounds that drive Miyeon wild. Miyeon’s trying to keep up, her face buried between Sana’s thighs, licking and sucking in return, but it’s a mess—she’s too fucked-out to focus, her moans vibrating against Sana’s skin every time you slam into her. Her dark hair’s plastered to her back with sweat, strands sticking to her neck, and her body’s trembling, caught between the dual assault of your cock and Sana’s tongue.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” you groan, your voice rough, hands digging into Miyeon’s flesh as you pull her back onto you, watching the way her pussy swallows your dick whole. “This shit’s unreal—look at you, taking it like a champ.”
Miyeon lifts her head just enough to gasp, her voice cracking with pleasure. “Goddamn—don’t stop, don’t you fucking dare. It’s too much—shit, I’m so close.” Her words slur together, half-muffled as she dives back into Sana’s pussy, but you can tell she’s struggling to keep it together—her tongue’s sloppy now, her focus shredded by the way you’re railing her.
Sana’s moaning too, her hips twitching up against Miyeon’s mouth, her hands clawing at Miyeon’s thighs to pull her closer. “Fuck, sweetie—your pussy’s so wet,” she whimpers, her voice high and needy, muffled against Miyeon’s clit. “He’s fucking you so good—I can taste it, babe, it’s dripping all over me.”
That sends a jolt through Miyeon—she groans into Sana, her hips bucking back against you harder, like she’s begging for more. “You like that, huh?” you say, smirking, spreading her wider, thrusting deeper until you’re hitting that spot that makes her whole body jolt. “Love hearing your girl talk dirty while I’m balls-deep in you?”
“Fuck—yes,” Miyeon chokes out, her ass jiggling with every slam, her voice shaking as Sana’s tongue flicks faster. “She’s—shit—she’s driving me insane down there. And you… you’re gonna make me fucking cum.”
“Do it,” you growl, your grip tightening, your cock throbbing inside her as the tension builds. “Cum for me, Miyeon. Let me feel that pussy lose it.”
Sana pulls back just enough to gasp, her lips shiny with Miyeon’s juices, her eyes wide and wild. “Please, babe—cum all over his dick. I wanna taste it after, wanna lick it clean.” Her words are pure filth, her voice trembling with how horny she is, and it’s like a switch flips in Miyeon.
“Fuck—okay, I’m—fuck!” Miyeon’s voice cuts off, her body locking up, and you feel it—her pussy clamping down hard around you, spasming wildly as she hits her peak. She’s loud, screaming into Sana’s thighs, her whole frame shaking as the orgasm rips through her. You keep thrusting, riding it out with her, but it’s intense—her walls fluttering, squeezing you so tight it’s almost too much.
You pull out slow, your cock slick and dripping with her, and Miyeon’s still trembling, her ass quivering like she’s not done yet. “Sana—lube him up,” you say, voice hoarse, stepping closer to where Sana’s head hangs off the bed. Sana’s quick—she cranes her neck, her mouth open and eager, and takes you in deep. Her lips wrap around you, soft and warm, her tongue swirling as she sucks you clean, tasting Miyeon all over you. She moans around your cock, her eyes fluttering shut like it’s the best thing she’s ever had, her small hands gripping your thighs to pull you closer.
“Fuck, Sana,” you mutter, your hand tangling in her hair, guiding her as she bobs her head, sloppy and wet. “You’re so good at this—you're loving the taste of her on my cock, huh?”
She pulls off with a gasp, spit trailing from her lips to your tip, nodding fast. “Yeah—fuck, she’s so sweet. I could eat her all day, but this… this is hot as hell.” Her tongue darts out, licking you one more time, and you’re rock-hard, pulsing with need.
“Back in,” Miyeon pants, her voice raw, still on her knees over Sana. “Fuck me again—harder this time. I want it.”
You don’t hesitate. You step back behind her, grabbing her hips, spreading her ass again as you line up and thrust in—one smooth, deep push that has her screaming, her voice echoing off the walls. “Fuck—yes!” she cries, her hands fisting the sheets, her pussy still sensitive but greedy, sucking you in like it can’t get enough. You go hard, pounding into her with a force that makes her whole body shake, her ass bouncing with every brutal thrust.
“Take it—fucking take it,” you growl, slapping her ass sharp, the crack of skin on skin cutting through the room. The sting makes her yelp, her pussy clenching tighter, and you feel the heat building in your gut, the pressure coiling fast. “Cum again, Miyeon—cum for us.”
Sana’s still under her, her tongue working Miyeon’s clit in frantic little circles, and she’s begging now, her voice high and desperate. “Please, babe—cum again. I need it—need to feel you lose it on him. Cum all over that fat dick.”
Miyeon’s a wreck, her head thrashing, her moans turning into sobs as the pleasure overloads her. “Fuck—Sana—you’re—shit, I can’t—” She breaks, her pussy spasming hard around you again, wet and wild, her second orgasm hitting like a storm. She screams, her ass pushing back against you, and it’s too fucking much—her tightness, Sana’s filthy pleas, the whole damn scene.
“Gonna cum,” you moan, your voice breaking, your thrusts turning erratic as the pleasure blinds you. “Fuck—Miyeon, you’re too good—gonna blow.”
Sana’s quick, her head twisting up from under Miyeon. “I want it,” she says, breathless, her eyes glinting with something feral. “Wanna taste your cum—first time, fuck, give it to me.”
Miyeon’s slutty side flares—she’s still shaking, still clenching you, but she grins through it. “Yeah—give it to her,” she pants, her voice thick with lust. “She’s begging so nice, huh? Fucking coat her with it.”
That does it. You’re at the edge, your cock throbbing, and you pull out fast, one hand stroking yourself hard, the other gripping Miyeon’s ass for balance. “Fuck—here it comes,” you groan, aiming the tip at Miyeon’s pussy—still wet, warm, pulsing from her orgasm. You rub it against her entrance, slick, red and swollen from the pounding you gave her, and then you’re there—cumming, thick and hot, spilling over Miyeon’s entrance in heavy ropes—white streaks painting her folds, dripping down her slit, pooling in the creases where her pussy meets her thighs. It’s a fucking load, more than you expected, a messy testament to how long it’s been, and it smears across her skin, glossy and obscene in the dim light.
“Sana, now,” you rasp, voice hoarse, your chest heaving as the last of it drips from your tip. “Taste it.”
Miyeon’s still in position, her ass up, her pussy hovering over Sana’s face—she shifts her hips down closer, eager, her breath hitching with a horny little whimper. “Fuck, babe, go for it,” she urges, her voice thick with lust, her fingers digging into Sana’s thighs to hold her steady. “Lick it up—his cum’s all over me. Tell me how it feels.”
Sana’s beneath her, her slim frame pinned to the bed, her head tilted back off the edge—her brown hair a wild spill, her lips parted and trembling. She’s never done this before, never tasted a guy’s cum, and you can see it in her eyes—nervous excitement, a raw curiosity burning behind the flush on her cheeks. Her tongue darts out first, tentative, a soft little flick against Miyeon’s inner thigh where a bead of your cum’s trickled down. She pauses, tasting it—salty, bitter, warm on her tongue—and her breath catches, a tiny gasp slipping out.
“More,” Miyeon coaxes, lowering herself further, her pussy brushing Sana’s lips now, your cum streaking across her mouth. “Get it all, babe. I want you to feel him.”
Sana dives in, bolder now, her tongue sweeping up Miyeon’s slit in a slow, deliberate stroke—dragging through the sticky mess of your cum, thick and creamy, mixed with Miyeon’s own slickness. She moans, low and shaky, the sound vibrating against Miyeon’s pussy, and it’s like she’s tasting something forbidden—something filthy and new that’s lighting her up inside. Her lips close around Miyeon’s folds, sucking gently, pulling your cum into her mouth, and her eyes flutter shut, lost in it. It’s raw, messy—her chin’s wet with it now, smears of white clinging to her skin, and she’s licking harder, deeper, chasing every drop.
“Fuck, yes,” Miyeon groans, her hips rocking down, grinding herself against Sana’s tongue. She’s horny as hell, her voice dripping with it—proud and turned on, watching her girlfriend taste you off her wrecked cunt. “How is it, babe? How’s his cum taste? Tell me.”
Sana pulls back just enough to speak, her voice muffled, lips glossy and dripping—a mix of your cum and Miyeon’s juices shining on her like some lewd, natural gloss. “It’s—fuck, it’s intense,” she says, her words slurring with arousal, her tongue flicking out again to lap at a thick streak sliding down Miyeon’s slit. “Salty… hot… kinda bitter, but—shit, I love it.” She dives back in, her tongue plunging deeper, scooping up more, her moans louder now, needy and unrestrained. She’s sucking Miyeon clean, her lips smacking softly, wet and sloppy, and it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen—Sana’s first taste of cum, and she’s devouring it like it’s her new favorite drug.
Miyeon’s trembling above her, her thighs quaking, her fingers tightening on Sana’s legs as Sana’s tongue works her over. “Goddamn, babe—you’re so fucking dirty,” she pants, her eyes rolling back for a second before snapping to you, wild and gleaming. “Look at her—she’s eating your cum like she’s starving. So fucking hot.” She shifts, pressing her pussy harder against Sana’s mouth, smearing more of the mess across her lips, and Sana takes it—greedy, unashamed, her tongue swirling through it all, swallowing every bit she can get.
Sana’s hands slide up, gripping Miyeon’s ass now, pulling her down tighter, her nails digging into the soft flesh. She’s moaning into Miyeon’s pussy, the sound raw and desperate, muffled by the wet heat she’s buried in. “More,” she mumbles, barely audible, her tongue lashing across Miyeon’s clit where a last streak of your cum lingers—thick and clinging. She sucks it off, slow and deliberate, her lips closing around the sensitive bud, and Miyeon jolts, a sharp cry tearing from her throat.
“Fuck—Sana,” Miyeon gasps, her voice breaking, her body shuddering as Sana’s mouth pushes her toward overstimulation. She’s still horny, still buzzing, but this moment—it’s intimate, just them now, sharing something primal. So she moves, leaving the 69 position to sit facing Sana, because she needs to see her girlfriend's delicate and lovely face covered in pure lust, in pure pleasure, her fingers tangling in Sana’s hair, gentle but firm, holding her there. “How’s it feel? First time tasting him—tell me everything.”
Sana pulls back again, just enough to breathe, her face a wreck—chin dripping, lips swollen and shiny, your cum streaked across her mouth like war paint. She licks her lips slow, deliberate, tasting the last of you, and looks up at Miyeon with this dazed, lust-drunk grin. “It’s—so fucking good,” she whispers, her voice trembling with how much she means it. “Like… I didn’t know it’d be this thick, this warm. It’s—fuck, it’s everywhere, and I can’t stop wanting it.” She leans in, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to Miyeon’s pussy, her tongue darting out one last time to swipe through the mess—your cum, her spit, Miyeon’s slick—all blending together in a filthy, perfect mix.
Miyeon moans, soft and low, her body relaxing into it now, her horny edge softening into something tender. “You’re so fucking cute,” she murmurs, her hand stroking Sana’s hair, her thumb brushing her cheek where a smear of cum still clings. “My dirty girl—loving it, huh?”
Sana nods, her eyes bright, a little shy now but glowing with satisfaction. She crawls up slow, sliding off the bed to sit up, her lips still wet and glistening—your cum and Miyeon’s juices a slick sheen across her mouth and chin. Miyeon follows, shifting to kneel in front of her, their bodies close, intimate. She cups Sana’s face, her thumbs tracing the edges of her lips, smearing the mess a little more, and leans in—kissing her deep, slow, tasting you on her tongue. It’s raw, possessive, but soft too—their mouths moving together, sharing the aftermath, a quiet hum of pleasure passing between them.
You’re slumped beside them, chest still heaving, your cock twitching with the last echoes of your orgasm as you watch—mesmerized, spent, but still buzzing from the sight. Miyeon pulls back from the kiss, a thin string of spit and cum connecting their lips for a second before it snaps, and she licks it away, grinning. “Good, right?” she whispers, her eyes flicking to Sana’s.
“So good,” Sana breathes, her smile small but real, her first taste of you lingering on her tongue—intense, erotic, a memory she’s already savoring. They lean into each other again, foreheads touching, giggling softly in the afterglow.
“Glad you liked it,” you say, voice rough, still catching your breath. “Shit, that was intense.”
Miyeon turns to you, her hand resting on your thigh, casual but warm. “You liked it too, huh? We can do this again—anytime you’re up for it. You’re, like… officially our guy now.”
Sana giggles, leaning in to kiss your cheek, her lips soft and sticky. “Yeah, you’re stuck with us. Such a good friend—taking care of me like that.”
Miyeon follows, pressing a kiss to your other cheek, her touch lingering. “Thanks, dude. For real—for being so cool with Sana. Means a lot.”
You laugh, the sound tired but content, your hand running through your hair. “Anytime. Fucking honor, honestly.”
Miyeon stretches out, her body glistening with sweat, and yawns. “Okay, post-sex vibe check—we’re done fucking, right? Let’s crash here, all of us. Naked, cozy, whatever.”
“Works for me,” you say, settling back against the pillows, the mattress dipping as Sana curls up on one side, Miyeon on the other. Their skin’s warm against yours, their breaths slowing, and the rain outside lulls the room into a quiet, sated haze. You’re all wrecked, tangled, and happy as hell—ready to sleep it off, together.
—
The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting soft, golden stripes across the tangled mess of sheets and limbs on the bed. You wake up slow, your body heavy and warm, sandwiched between two soft, naked forms—Miyeon on your left, her arm draped lazily over your chest, her breath warm against your neck; Sana on your right, her legs tangled with yours, her head nestled into your shoulder. It’s a surreal fucking moment, the kind that makes you blink and wonder if last night was a dream. But the ache in your muscles, the faint sting of scratch marks on your arms, and the raw, vivid memory of their moans tell you it was real—insanely, mind-blowingly real. You shift slightly, trying to stretch without waking them, but your morning wood’s already making itself known, tenting the sheet that’s barely clinging to your hips. Damn, even after all that, your body’s still ready to go.
Miyeon stirs first, her eyes fluttering open, still heavy with sleep, a lazy smile tugging at her lips as she spots your hard-on. “Well, good morning to you too,” she mumbles, her voice low and raspy, thick with that post-sleep huskiness that’s sexy as hell. Her hand slides down your chest, slow and teasing, fingers brushing over your stomach before wrapping around your cock. She strokes you lightly, still half-asleep, her grip loose but deliberate, like she’s just playing with you for now. “Guess you’re not tapped out yet, huh?”
You groan softly, the touch sending a jolt through you, and turn your head to see Sana blinking awake too, her brown hair a messy halo around her face. She yawns, stretching her arms above her head, her small tits peeking out from under the sheet, then glances down at Miyeon’s hand on you. A sleepy grin spreads across her face. “Seriously? Already?” she says, her voice soft but amused, scooting closer to join in. Her hand slides under the sheet too, her fingers brushing against Miyeon’s as they both stroke you now—Sana’s touch gentler, curious, Miyeon’s firmer, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”
“Blame you two,” you mutter, your voice rough, still waking up, your hips twitching involuntarily as their hands work you over. “Fucking waking up like this—who wouldn’t be hard?”
Sana giggles, her fingers tightening slightly, her thumb brushing over the tip where you’re already leaking a little. “Fair point,” she says, then sits up, the sheet falling away completely, leaving her bare and glowing in the morning light. “Come on—let’s take care of that in the shower. You, me, and Miyeon. Sound good?”
Miyeon’s already rolling out of bed, her round ass bouncing as she stands, stretching with a groan that’s half-tired, half-horny. “Hell yeah,” she says, tossing her hair back, her eyes flicking to you with a smirk. “Let’s clean up—and get dirty again.”
You don’t need convincing. The three of you stumble to the bathroom, naked and laughing, the hardwood cold under your feet. The shower’s big enough for all of you—glass walls, a rainfall head that pours hot water the second you turn it on. Steam starts fogging up the space as you step in, Miyeon right behind you, Sana trailing with a shy grin. The water hits your skin, hot and perfect, and Miyeon’s already pressing herself against your back, her tits soft and slick against you, her hands sliding around to your cock again. “Turn around,” she murmurs, her lips brushing your ear, and you do, pinning her against the tiles, the water streaming down her face as you kiss her hard, all tongue and heat.
Sana’s watching, her fingers trailing down her own stomach as she steps closer, the water soaking her hair, making it stick to her shoulders. “Fuck her first,” she says, her voice low, a little daring, her eyes locked on where Miyeon’s hand is guiding you between her legs. You don’t hesitate—lifting Miyeon’s thigh, hooking it over your hip, and sliding into her in one smooth thrust. She’s still tight, still wet from last night, and she moans loud, her head tipping back against the glass, the sound echoing in the steam.
“Goddamn, you feel so good,” you groan, thrusting slow at first, watching the way her pussy takes you, the water making everything slicker, louder. Miyeon’s hands grip your shoulders, her nails biting in, and she’s grinning through the pleasure, loving it.
Sana steps in closer, her fingers brushing Miyeon’s clit as you fuck her, making Miyeon gasp sharper. “Your turn next,” you say, glancing at Sana, and she nods, biting her lip, her hand slipping lower to touch herself as she waits. You pull out of Miyeon after a few more thrusts, spinning Sana around, bending her over so her hands brace against the wall, her ass up and perfect. You slide into her from behind, her pussy tight and dripping, and she whimpers, the sound soft but needy as you start pounding into her, the water splashing around you both.
“Fuck—yes,” Sana moans, her voice shaking, her skinny frame rocking with every thrust, her head bowing as the pleasure hits. Miyeon’s right there, kissing her neck, her hands roaming over Sana’s wet skin, squeezing her tits, making it a messy, horny tangle of bodies under the spray. You fuck Sana hard, then switch back to Miyeon, trading off until you’re all panting, the shower a blur of steam, moans, and slick, wet skin. You finish fast—pulling out, stroking yourself as they kneel under the water, mouths open, catching every drop as you cum, their tongues flicking out to taste you, giggling through it like it’s a game.
After, you’re all dripping and laughing, toweling off in a haze of post-sex glow, the bathroom mirror fogged to hell. Sana’s the first out, wrapping a towel around herself and heading to the kitchen. “I’ll make breakfast,” she calls over her shoulder, her voice chipper despite the wild morning. You and Miyeon follow slower, still naked, flopping onto the couch to catch your breath, her head lolling against your shoulder.
The smell of coffee and bacon fills the house soon, and when Sana calls you over, you find her in full domestic mode—hair tied back, still in just a towel, flipping pancakes like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. She’s good, too—golden, fluffy stacks piling up on a plate, bacon sizzling crisp on the side, scrambled eggs fluffy and perfect. You all sit around the small kitchen table, naked under loosely draped towels, digging in like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The pancakes are sweet, dripping with syrup, the bacon’s salty crunch a perfect balance, and the coffee’s strong, cutting through the morning fog. It’s quiet for a bit, just the clink of forks and the occasional hum of satisfaction, everyone still waking up, still processing the insanity of last night and this morning.
Miyeon’s the one to break the silence, grabbing her phone from the counter mid-bite, syrup glistening on her lips. “Oh, shit,” she says, scrolling quick, her eyes lighting up. “Road’s fixed—traffic’s moving again. Guess the landslide’s cleared.”
You take a sip of coffee, the mug warm in your hands, and nod, glancing between them. “Guess that’s my cue, huh? It was a pleasure meeting you girls. Really.”
They both freeze, forks halfway to their mouths, then look at each other—Sana’s brows shoot up, Miyeon’s lips twitch—and they burst out laughing, loud and sudden, like you’ve just said the dumbest thing imaginable. “What?” you say, caught off guard, setting the mug down. “What’s so funny?”
Miyeon leans forward, still chuckling, wiping a tear from her eye. “Dude, no way. After last night? And this morning? We’re not going anywhere.”
Sana nods, her grin wide and bright, pushing a piece of bacon around her plate. “Yeah, like—we had so much fun. Leaving now would be stupid. We wanna stay the week with you.”
You blink, stunned, the words sinking in slow. “Wait—for real? The whole week?”
“Uh-huh,” Miyeon says, leaning back in her chair, stretching so the towel slips a little, showing off the curve of her chest. “This place just got a million times better with you here. You’re a fucking gem, dude—we’re not letting that go.”
Sana’s still smiling, softer now, her eyes warm as she looks at you. “It’s already special, you know? Memorable as hell. And it’s only been, what, a day? Imagine the rest of the week.”
You laugh, shaking your head, still processing. “Shit, I mean—I’d love that. Didn’t expect you’d wanna stick around, but hell yeah, I’m in.”
“Good,” Miyeon says, pointing her fork at you, a smirk tugging at her lips. “You’re a great find—fun, chill, and you fuck like a goddamn champ. We like having you as a friend.”
Sana nods, popping a piece of pancake in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, you’re open-minded—know how to roll with it, enjoy shit without being a dick about it. And you’re respectful, which is huge. I mean, last night was wild, and you never made it weird.”
You grin, leaning back, the warmth of the coffee and their words settling in your chest. “You two are fucking unreal—the coolest couple I’ve ever met, hands down. I’m stoked you crashed into my trip like this.”
Miyeon laughs, finishing her bacon with a satisfied crunch. “Settled then—no one’s leaving. This lake house just became our little sex-and-breakfast paradise, and you’re stuck with us.”
“Couldn’t ask for better company,” you say, raising your mug in a mock toast, and they clink their coffee cups against it, laughing through the syrup-sticky mess. The road’s open, sure, but fuck going anywhere—this week’s already gold, and it’s only just started.
⤿ 𝐬𝐡𝐮 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 ★ i had this silly idea and so i hope y'all enjoy it. it's really short , but i liked it <3
MINJU first saw the pinkish building while walking out of her company, it's comfy and welcoming design got her inside the place without even meaning to. she just wanted to take a quick look inside and maybe order a piece of chocolate cake. but once she saw you, her body froze, and for a moment she couldn't speak. you were so pretty. minju only managed to speak once she heard your—oh so beautiful—voice asking what did she wanted to order. that was the first time she forgot her usual order, saying the first thing her mind came up with before timidly walk back to a seat.
WONYOUNG can be a flirty girl. it's not uncommon to have the idea of her being extra smiley around someone she may be wanting to see more than not. but it was even worse once she heard of you. there was just this... cute aura in you that made wonyoung want to get closer. when she ordered for the first time in your bakery, she couldn't keep herself from occasionally sending you a few smiles, her heart beating faster once you smiled back.
LIA heard about the bakery when one of her group members, yuna, mentioned it. the way people have been talking about the place got her curious, leading her to lia going there after a long day of practicing. she was enchanted from the moment she stepped inside, your eyes meeting hers as you greeted her with so much kindness. lia accidentally spent five minutes talking to you until someone else was behind her and she had to walk away, but as she waited for her order, she'd make sure to tell her members about this place as well.
MIYEON is a very loud and extroverted person, so when her friends begun talking about this lovely bakery with the cutest owner ever, she just knew she had to go there and see with her eyes. to say she liked it was an understatement. miyeon stayed in your bakery for about two hours, ordering small snacks so she could spend most of her time talking to you when you weren't doing anything in particular. she is so coming back here.
GEHLEE wished she had known about this bakery way sooner, especially because of you. she wasn't even caring to hide the flirtatious tone in her voice as she talked to you, asking for a pudding, something you could make that was fast, but also gave her a reason to sweet talk to you. gehlee has just found you so adorable, she couldn't help herself, she needed to see your reactions on everything she says.
WINTER was hesitant to go to your bakery at first, especially when karina herself has said things about how you're so, so sweet to everyone. but her experience there was beyond good. winter couldn't keep her eyes off of the cute baker who always flashed a smile to every person who showed up. and maybe she's giving herself false hopes, but she is very sure your smile was a little bigger than the others when it was directed at her.
KAZUHA was excited to finally see for herself what her friends were talking about. the bakery itself was amazing on it's own, however, her attention's fully on you, working so gracefully while talking to people. she doesn't know how do you manage to be so happy all the time. it's not even like a persona, you're just... friendly. and kind. kazuha had to talk to you in person and know more about this lovely bakery.
A/N: Written for a prompt by @suchsweetstories. Much love for hosting!
Cho Miyeon x Male Reader smut
3.3k words
Read it on fanprose
“I already hate it here.”
“You do not.”
“Well, It’s supposed to be spring, right?”
“Mhm.”
“Then why the fuck is it so cold?”
Miyeon doesn’t look up from her phone. She’s too busy squinting at a map of the racecourse. You wager she’s trying to figure out how far the champagne tent is from the betting tables. To her, those are the kinds of metrics that matter.
“It’s Melbourne,” she shrugs. “The weather changes every six minutes. A bit like your mood,” she adds cheekily.
You roll your eyes. “Feels like winter in a wig.”
“Aw,” she mocks, finally sparing you a look, giving your bicep a theatrical squeeze. “Is my big baby cold?”
You glance down at your outfit—four layers deep and still doing fuck-all against the wind. “...Yes.”
“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she says, leaping over a puddle. “This is the perfect weather for betting.”
“I’m sorry, what now?”
“You heard me,” she says, flashing a grin.
“Betting.”
*
So. Miyeon has this habit.
And no, it’s not the gambling. That one’s more of an addiction—chronic, incurable, and one you’re practically enabling at this point. This is more like a side effect. A telltale symptom of the greater illness: the way she insists on solving every problem she has with her mouth.
Not metaphorically.
Not diplomatically.
Literally.
And you don’t mean that in the sense of persuasive debate, or even manipulation—though she’s proven time and time again she’s more than proficient in both. You mean she actually gets down on her knees, flashes those doe eyes, and opens wide like you’re playing here comes the fucking aeroplane.
Take today.
Much like how she got you to fly across the globe in pursuit of the Melbourne Cup—a four-minute loop of men in silks and tiny hats riding million-dollar livestock and whipping them into cardiac arrest—she’s now “talked” you into letting her bet on it.
You resisted, of course. But when she wants something, Cho Miyeon is an unstoppable force, and you are far from immovable object.
She’d cornered you in one of the racetrack bathrooms, leaned back against the sink, spread her legs, flaunted her hair and pouted like the tragic lead of a noir.
“Just one little bet,” she pleaded and you said “absolutely not,” and she said “pretty please,” and you said “no way in Hell,” and she said “I’ll suck your dick,” and you said “Miyeon, we’ve talked about th—oh fuck, okay, alright, Jesus Christ.”
So now you’re zipping your jeans with a sigh, running a hand through your hair and staring daggers into the man in the mirror. In addition to asking him to change his ways, you’re also asking how the fuck he lets this keep happening.
It's like you’re not even a participant in your own downfall anymore. You’re a spectator—front and centre to watch yourself make the same mistakes with the same woman in differing degrees of filthy bathrooms across time zones.
You wash your hands. Not because they need it—Miyeon did all the work this time—but because it buys you a second. A pause. A breath. A reprieve before stepping out into the light where, you know disaster, (Miyeon), awaits.
That and to ask yourself:
How the fuck did I end up here?
*
“The race that stops the nation,” Miyeon had declared with starry eyes about a week ago. She was lying upside-down on your couch, kicking her feet to the ceiling, tossing grapes into her mouth, and making a mess of the misses on your carpet. “You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound appealing.”
You sighed—as you always do when Miyeon suggests travelling half-way across the world to bring you half-way to financial ruin.
“Alright, let me get this straight,” you began, already pinching at the bridge of your nose. It’s a gesture usually reserved for tax season and Miyeon-induced headaches. So, it tracks. “Two-dozen jockey’s ride in a shambolic circle for a few kilometres—no obstacles, no jumps, no real turns—and you want to fly a dozen hours to watch it in person?”
She had obviously realised how shitty of an idea this was on paper (or at the very least it looked that way in your eyes) and decided she needed to sweeten the deal. “We can do other stuff while we’re there,” she pouted.
“Like what? Lose even more money playing ‘pokies’ instead?”
Miyeon hesitated for a moment. You could practically see the responsible answer try to claw its way to the surface. But as always, self control eluded her.
“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me…”
“Oh Miyeon,” you groaned. “For the love of Go—,”
“Okay fiiiiiine. We could… explore the city!” she offered. “Try a museum or two. Go to a vineyard. Maybe pet a kangaroo!”
“Those all sound awfully like things you’ll forget about the moment you see a betting table.”
She rolled onto her side, head in your lap. “Come on. I’ve never been to Australia. And the Melbourne Cup is iconic!”
“So is the Titanic,” you retorted. “Doesn’t mean I want front row seats to the sinking.”
Miyeon simply grinned. “Except instead of drowning in water, it’ll be in our newfound wealth!”
A hand went over your face, you needed to massage your eyeballs. “Let me make something very clear, Miyeon. Even if we do go, there will not be—under any circumstance—any bets placed. No chips traded. No casinos entered. No horses backed. If you so much as glance at a gacha machine, I will not hesitate to cancel every card we have.”
“Okay, okay. Jeez, I can live with that.”
“That includes the secret debit card you keep behind your license.”
“NO! PLEASE! ANYTHING BUT THAT,” she was practically screaming, shaking your shoulders like maracas.
It was your turn to grin. “Then promise me something,”
She was nodding like a puppy.
“No betting.”
Miyeon straightened like a soldier and folded an arm over her chest. “Hand on my heart,” she declared.
You nodded, almost satisfied. Obtusely unaware of the mistake you were making.
“Well,” you said, completely smug, “at least that makes your promise valid.”
She blinked. “My what?”
“We haven’t decided on going yet. The trip’s still up in the air.”
Miyeon blinked. You could see the wheels turning.
“Oh,” she said, full of sudden inspiration.
You barely had time to blink before she was crawling into your lap, lips arriving at yours. “Then maybe I should convince you,” she whispered, one hand dragging down your chest, the other already plotting its path toward your jeans.
And you, in your infinite wisdom, said nothing.
Suffice it to say: you went to bed that night very, very convinced.
*
She talks like she’s an expert.
Like she’s spent years refining her own scientific method. Like she’s read the stats, studied the field, hand-picked the jockeys and trained the horses herself. Like she’s here with a plan—all permutations of intentional, calculated and precise.
She has none of that.
What she does have are the very same things she always brings to the betting table: blind optimism, questionable fashion choices, and a gambling history that reads like a case study in the sunk-cost fallacy.
She’s lost money on mice, cats, dogs, vulturine guinea fowls, fantasy stocks, actual stocks, motorsports, chess, video games, tabletop games, competitive rock-paper-scissors, a crab race in busan, one underground mahjong league in Okinawa, another in Kabukicho, another in Dohtonbori, and about a dozen shogi matches with the homeless in Yokohama.
She put six-thousand dollars on the World Cup final based solely on how hot she thought the coaches were.
There was a brief but financially devastating stint with marble racing.
She’s placed money on rock skipping. Celebrity baby name predictions. Whether or not the next Pope will be left-handed.
(As well as another few dozen cases you didn't end up committing to memory. Tack on another few dozen for the times she's undoubtedly gambled behind your back.)
And yet, no matter how many times she’s been burned by Lady Luck—how many “can’t-lose” bets are lost anyway, or how many hot tips go cold the second they’re placed—Cho Miyeon simply does not quit.
She adjusts her sunglasses—not for the sun, which has yet to make a single appearance today, but for dramatic effect. Then she plants her hand on your shoulder, squares herself toward the track like she’s on a TED stage, and resumes the yap.
“And that’s the neat part,” she’s saying now, continuing on from a spout of nonsense you were lucky enough to have tuned out of, “the odds are just a reflection of the pool, right? It’s not real probability. It’s not math-math, it’s like… vibes-math. It’s what everyone else thinks is going to happen—which is already flawed because people are fucking idiots. So really, by betting on the thing no one bets on, you’re actually smarter than everyone else. It’s kind of meta if you think about it.”
You don’t think about it.
“Like, take today for example. Look at these poor, unfortunate, not-winning-shit, souls.” She scans the crowd for a moment, searching for a target. “Oh, like that guy over there? Fedora and the double Windsor? Amateur. You can tell purely by the way he’s dressed he’s betting based on bloodline and track record. Rookie mistake. That’s how you lose money. The real winners—me for example—we bet with instinct. Intuition. Gut feelings. And sometimes alcohol.”
You raise an eyebrow.
Miyeon nods solemnly, as if that makes it gospel.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” she continues, even though you’re very much not thinking anything. “You’re thinking, ‘But Miyeon, didn’t you once lose 700 dollars betting that the royal baby would be named Gundalf?’ And to that I say: yes. But also, the UK had a chance to make history. They chose George. Fucking George. Cowards.”
She doesn’t even pause.
“Or maybe you’re thinking about the crab race in Busan. Which, to be clear, I still maintain was rigged. Oh, and that sperm race in LA? You can’t convince me those weren’t tampered with. You think one swimmer wins by ten lengths without pharmaceutical assistance? Please.”
You try to interrupt.
You choose not to bother.
“Anyway, the point is—betting is about more than just numbers. It’s about story. Narrative. You have to feel the arc: that upward trajectory that comes from being overlooked. You want the underdog, but not too under. You want mystery, but not scandal. You want a horse with baggage, with a little trauma sprinkled in for spice. Something to prove is what I'm saying.”
She gestures toward the big screen showing a replay from the previous race. A horse in bright orange silks is dragging itself over the finish line, dead last.
“Not him though. Orange is the worst color. Proven fact: Bad luck. Studies show it interferes with the horse’s chi or aura or whatever. I don’t remember where I read that—a subreddit, maybe—but still. Reliable source.”
Then she spins around, squints down the stretch, and points at a brown mare doing a very unbothered trot.
“But Whispering Sheila?” she says, near reverent. “That’s a horse that gets it. That’s a horse who’s seen some shit. I mean, just look at her. Not flashy. Not showy. Just focused. Professional. She’s got the legs to take her to the end and back!”
“She was disqualified last race for biting the handler.”
“Exactly! She’s got edge!”
Miyeon folds her arms, completely satisfied, the sunglasses now fully askew on her nose. You stare at her, and consider, deeply, the cosmic imbalance of power between your ability to say no and her ability to not give a fuck.
She smiles.
“So. Shall we?”
“If I say no, are you going to drag me to the bathroom again?”
“Perhaps,” she beams.
You sigh the deepest sigh.
“Guess I have no choice then.”
Because truly, you don’t.
*
You’re not expecting a lot. That much is a given.
You’re standing there, arms crossed, mentally preparing yourself to watch twenty-four tiny men in coloured silk slap the shit out of their horses for a couple minutes and call it sport.
You’re also prepared to lose.
In fact, you’ve been conditioned to lose.
You are the emotionally battered war vet of betting by proxy. Weathered by half a decade of Miyeon induced headaches, panic attacks, and bankruptcy scares. So it goes without saying that you’ve long since made peace with the inevitability of financial ruin.
Which is why what happens next makes absolutely no sense.
The gates open with a clang. And then Whispering Sheila—Miyeon’s pride and joy, her bet of the century, her four-figure “hunch”—takes off like a fucking torpedo.
You blink.
Then blink again.
Your mind isn’t playing any tricks. Sheila's in front. Not just in front—she’s leading the charge like a horse-shaped war general. Her strides are long. Her form is beautiful. The wind parts for her like Moses at the Red Sea. And for the first time in her presumably disappointing life, Whispering Sheila isn’t just exceeding expectations.
She’s shattering them.
And beside you, Miyeon is absolutely losing her shit.
“She’s FLYING!” she screams, hopping up and down on the concrete. “Look at her—LOOK AT HER! Did I not say she had the legs?! I TOLD YOU SHE HAD THE LEGS!”
You don’t dare answer. Don’t dare jinx it while the impossible unfolds.
Sheila holds the lead through the turn. The crowd roars. Miyeon screams louder.
You feel it then.
Not belief, no. Not that strong.
But… suspicion. Suspicion that Miyeon might’ve—against every possible odd, against the universal laws of cause and effect, against the deeply rigged simulation that is your life—actually gotten one right.
God, are you naive.
Because just as the final stretch begins—just as Sheila is poised to make history—
She stops.
Not because she trips. Not because another horse cuts her off. She just… stops. Veers off course. Loses interest. Maybe remembers an existential crisis she was having earlier.
One moment she’s a champion.
The next?
She’s taking a scenic detour near the fence, tail swishing like she’s out for a casual trot—all while the rest of the field barrels past like a freight train.
Miyeon goes silent.
The crowd does not.
Laughter breaks out. Even the drunk guy next to you mutters a heartfelt “Jesus Christ” into his stubby.
You watch, horrified, as the horse Miyeon picked using nothing but “vibes” and a conspiracy theory about saddle colour, trots across the finish line somewhere around a full minute behind the rest of the pack.
Dead. Fucking. Last.
You don’t say anything right away.
You don’t have to.
The anger radiating off your body could power a suburban home.
Broken, shattered, hollowed, you shakily ask:
“…Did we just lose four thousand dollars?”
There’s a pause.
A suspiciously long pause.
Then, from beside you:
“Okay. So.”
You turn.
Don’t fucking say it, Miyeon.
“...I may have added an extra zero.”
*
So. Miyeon has another habit.
And no, it’s not the rambling, that one’s ingrained in her personality—endless, vexing, endlessly vexing, and one you always just have to kinda sit through. This one is embedded in her DNA:
After every catastrophic loss, every burnt dollar and ruined future, Miyeon’s only instinct is to fuck about it.
Biological, you’ll call it.
It’s like the humiliation hits her bloodstream, and she can’t metabolize it unless she’s writhing on your lap, hissing that she’s “so fucking stupid,” crowing that you “should punish her for it,” and then, in the same breath, telling you to “shut up and fucking choke me.” Perhaps it’s some kind of sick evolutionary adaptation. Perhaps it’s just the way her neurons have always crashed and burned together. Perhaps it’s simply a coping mechanism.
And if so, right now—back at the hotel, with her panties jammed in her mouth, your cock in her cunt, and one hand clamped around her throat—she’s coping.
Hard.
You can feel her smile against your wrist—cheek pressed there, eyes half-lidded, lashes glued with mascara and tears. Her skin is deeply flushed from effort and oxygen deficiency and maybe just a little bit of deranged satisfaction.
Her hips grind back harder.
Because Cho Miyeon doesn’t regret. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t learn.
She fucks.
Like she thinks if she moans loud enough, grinds desperate enough, takes you deep enough, the universe might reverse time. Whispering Sheila will cross the line first. The crowd will roar. She’ll be a genius again. A prophet.
A fucking billionaire.
But right now, she’s just a mess. A mess you’re making messier.
You tighten your grip around her neck. Her eyes roll. And with your other hand gripping her hips, you drag her back into you like this is a problem that can be solved through sheer physics.
She lets out a muffled scream—half pleasure, half penance. The soaked lace in her mouth dampens it, but not enough to keep the neighbours guessing. Her body’s trembling now, pitchforked between orgasm and complete oblivion.
She chooses the former.
It starts with the twitch—spine arching, legs kicking out like they’re trying to run from the heat curling up her nerves. Then, the sound, clawing its way past the gag, echoing around the room and putting a ruthless smile across your face. Her whole body convulses, clamps down, seizes up like your cock is the only thing tethering her to reality. She writhes on it like it owes her money. Like if she cums hard enough, she might get that extra zero back.
You hold her through it. Don’t ease up. Don’t slow down. You fuck her through the climax until she’s gasping through the lace, until tears are dripping onto the sheets, until every broken sob sounds like the word “sorry” in some dialect only she understands.
“Shouldn’t’ve added the zero,” she’s groaning, garbled and guilty and absolutely destroyed. “Shouldn’t’ve—shouldn’t’ve—fuck, I’m so—”
You slam into her again.
Harder.
She chokes on her words.
Good.
Let her regret it. Let her wear it. Let it bleed out of her one desperate cry at a time.
You lean down, lips ghosting her ear.
“Say it,” you growl.
She whines.
“Say what?”
You pull her head up by her hair, your other hand still a noose around her throat.
“That you’re my stupid fucking girl.”
And Miyeon, of course, barely hesitates. Because shame isn’t something she avoids.
You loosen the panties just enough for her to gasp:
“I’m your stupid fucking girl.”
Then—without even being told—she adds:
“Now ruin me for it.”
So you do.
*
After, it’s quiet.
She’s still breathless. Still warm. Still glowing with that dumb post-catastrophe grin like losing forty-thousand on a mare with anger issues was just a minor hiccup in an otherwise flawless plan.
And to her, maybe it was.
You brush a thumb over her temple. She nuzzles into it, half-asleep, humming like she didn’t just obliterate the budget. Like you’re not going to have to explain this on the phone with your bank at 8 a.m. Monday morning. Like she didn’t promise—hand on heart—not to gamble. Again.
And still, some pathetic part of you is already bracing for the next one.
The next bright idea. The next sugar-slick pitch from her upside-down on your couch. The next whispered “babe, hear me out,” followed by airfare, adrenaline, and another financial obituary with her name scrawled across it in hot pink pen.
You’d like to say you’ll draw the line.
You won’t.
Because tomorrow, there’ll be a new scheme.
New odds.
New disaster.
And for some inexplicable reason, you’ll be right there beside her. Wallet lighter. Heart heavier. Lips already forming the words:
You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.
The surprise is that she knows you.
Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.
"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.
"I would like to make a purchase."
"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"
She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."
You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."
She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.
"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."
There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.
Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."
You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."
Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."
You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"
"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"
"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."
"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.
"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."
She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.
"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.
You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.
"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."
She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.
"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.
She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.
She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"
"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."
Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."
You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.
The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.
"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.
You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"
"Do it." She's insistent.
A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.
There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.
Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.
"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.
"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"
"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."
Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.
"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"
Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"
You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."
"You're going to manually record?"
"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.
She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.
A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.
A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.
"Where are we?" you ask.
"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.
"When are we?"
"2024."
"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"
She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"
"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"
She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."
Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.
"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."
"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.
And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.
"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.
She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.
"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.
Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.
It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.
You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.
She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.
You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.
Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.
She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.
You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.
You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.
"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."
You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.
"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."
You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.
You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.
"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.
"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.
Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.
Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.
You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.
"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.
Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."
She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.
You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.
"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."
"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.
"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.
She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."
You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.
A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.
You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.
Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."
"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."
You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.
The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.
"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.
It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.
"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."
Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.
From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.
Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.
And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.
"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.
"Like you wouldn't believe."
"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"
"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."
"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.
"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.
You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...
"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."
You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.
She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.
"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.
There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.
"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.
You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.
"Incredible," you breathe.
Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.
"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.
"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.