It's around 1 p.m., and you're standing outside a new restaurant with Sieun, the kind of place with sleek wooden tables, and a big neon sign writing "Grand Opening!"
The deal's hard to resist—50% off everything, plus an extra 25% off the couple’s menu.
You don't even remember how Sieun convinced you to come along. You were just free today, no classes, no meetings, and she was too, so here you are, dragged into her orbit like always.
Sieun's got her arm linked with yours, her body pressed close, her head leaning against your shoulder as you two approaching insides.
She's in a soft, flowy top—way different from her usual hoodie-and-leggings vibe—showing off her petite frame, her bracelets jangling lightly, she's got this cute, feminine energy today, all smiles and soft glances, but there's still that teasing glint in her eyes.
The waiter, a guy with a clipboard and a skeptical look, glances at you two. "Couple's menu?" he asks, raising an eyebrow like he's heard every excuse in the book. "I got to verify if you're a couple for the discount."
Before you can open your mouth, Sieun tightens her grip on your arm, pressing her chest against you, "Oh, we're not just a couple," she says, "We're actually married, right, husband?"
She holds up her hand, flashing a simple silver ring she slipped onto her finger earlier—then grabs your hand, showing off an identical one she insisted you wear this morning. You didn't think much of it at the time, just went along with her weird whims, but now it make sense, she planned this.
The waiter squints at the rings, then at Sieun's beaming face, and shrugs. "Alright, looks legit. Follow me." He leads you to a cozy booth in the corner, menus already on the table.
Sieun slides in across from you crosses her legs, her smile all innocent but her eyes screaming trouble. "See? Told you it'd work," she says, leaning forward, elbows on the table, chin in her hands. "You're welcome for the discount, husband."
You roll your eyes, but you can't help the grin tugging at your lips. "Where'd you even get these rings?"
"Stole 'em from J's art supplies," she says, twirling hers around her finger. "She's got a box of random props for her sketches. Figured they'd come in handy today."
She flips open the menu, "so, what're we eating, hubby? The couple's special's got a shared dessert. I'm thinking chocolate lava cake."
You shake your head, scanning the menu. "You're leaning into this way too hard. What's with the cute act today?"
She pouts, sticking out her lower lip, but her eyes are still sharp, teasing. "Can't I be cute for my husband? I'm allowed to switch it up." She reaches across the table, her fingers brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make your pulse jump. "Besides, you like it. Don't you?"
You pull your hand back, trying to play it cool, but your face is warm. "Whatever. Let's just order before you start calling me 'babe' in front of the waiter."
She laughs, bright and light, and it's honestly kinda cute—her soft side's throwing you off, but you're not complaining.
You both settle on the couple's special, grilled chicken with some fancy herb sauce, a side of truffle fries, and that lava cake she's obsessed with.
The waiter takes your order, barely glancing at the rings again, and leaves you two alone.
Sieun leans back, stretching her arms above her head, her dress hugging her curves in a way that's hard to ignore. "This place is nice, right? Bet we're the cutest fake couple here."
She glances around, then leans in close, her voice dropping. "Though, if you wanna make it real for a night, I'm game." Her foot nudges yours under the table, slow and deliberate.
You choke on your water, coughing as she smirks, clearly enjoying herself. "Sieun, what the…" you mutter, wiping your mouth. "You're gonna get us kicked out."
"They're too busy to care," she says, her tone light but her eyes locked on yours, all playful heat. "You're having fun. Me, you, fake rings, cheap food—what's not to love?"
You sigh, leaning back, but you're smiling. "Fine, it's not the worst way to spend an afternoon. Just don't expect me to carry you over the threshold later."
She giggles, kicking you lightly under the table again. "Deal. But you're paying for the cake, husband."
The food comes quick, and you both dig in, the chicken juicy, the fries crispy, and Sieun's stealing half your portion like it's her job. She's still teasing, still leaning into the cute act, but it's softer now, less edge, like she's genuinely having a good time.
You catch her smiling when she thinks you're not looking, and it hits you—she's not just messing with you. She's enjoying this, enjoying you.
Lunch wraps up with Sieun practically force-feeding you the rest of her fries, shoving them at you with a grin when you try to protest. "Come on, husband, open wide," she teases, dangling a fry in front of your mouth until you give in and eat it.
Her giggles are infectious, and you're both laughing by the time the plate's cleared. The lava cake's gone too, mostly because she kept stealing bites while pretending to "share."
You grab the bill, waving off her half-hearted offer to split it. "You planned this whole fake marriage thing, so I'm paying," you say, pulling out your card.
She just smirks, twirling her fake ring, looking way too pleased with herself, "such a gentleman," she says, batting her eyelashes dramatically as you both head out of the restaurant.
The afternoon streets buzzing with people, and Sieun's still got her arm linked with yours, her flowy top brushing against you as you walk.
"So, what now?" you ask, figuring she'll want to head back to the house. But Sieun's got other plans, as usual.
"Movies," she says, tugging you toward a nearby cinema without waiting for an answer. "There's a new action flick out, and I'm not sitting through it alone. You're coming, husband."
You roll your eyes but don't resist. "You're really milking this fake marriage thing, huh?"
"Of course," she says, grinning. "Gotta get my money's worth out of you today."
At the movies, she picks seats way in the back, "for the vibes," she claims, though you suspect it's so she can keep nudging your leg with hers during the movie.
The film's loud—explosions, car chases, the usual—but Sieun's more entertaining, whispering snarky comments about the cheesy dialogue and stealing your popcorn. Her hand brushes yours in the bucket, lingering a little too long, and you catch her smirking in the dark.
When the credits roll, she's already pulling you out of your seat. "We're not done," she says, her voice light but commanding. "Let's hit the mall. I need new earrings, and you're my pack mule."
You groan but follow her anyway, the two of you wandering into the nearby mall.
It's crowded, shops playing music, and Sieun's in her element, dragging you from store to store.
She tries on earrings, holding them up to her ears and asking your opinion, though she ignores it half the time.
At one stall, she's eyeing a pair of silver hoops when the vendor, an older woman, smiles at you both.
"Such a cute couple," she says, handing Sieun a mirror. "You two look so happy together."
Sieun leans into you, her arm slipping around your waist. "Oh, we are," she says, flashing her ring. "Right, husband?" She winks at you, and you just nod, face warm, playing along.
"Thanks," you mumble to the vendor, who's already gushing about how "perfect" you look together. Sieun buys the hoops, slipping them on right there, and you carry her small bag of purchases as she leads you to another store.
By 8 p.m. your arms full of her bags—earrings, a new scarf, some random keychain she "had to have."
She's still kept up, though, pulling out her phone to snap selfies with you in front of a lit-up fountain in the mall. She presses close, her cheek against yours, throwing up a peace sign while you try not to look too awkward.
"Smile, husband," she teases, snapping a few more.
Before you can stop her, she's posted them to the group chat: "Out with my fave guy 😘. "
Your phone buzzes instantly—Seeun's sent a string of heart-eyes emojis, Yoon's replied with a sarcastic "Gross," and J's dropped a single "😍." Sumin and Isa haven't responded.
Sieun slips her phone back into her bag, grinning. "They're jealous," she says, looping her arm through yours again. "Today was basically a date, you know. You're stuck with me now."
You laugh, shifting the bags in your hands. "Yeah, you're a real tyrant. Dragging me to restaurants, movies, shopping. I'm exhausted."
She pouts, but it’s playful, her eyes sparkling. "Poor baby. You had fun, admit it."
You shrug, smirking. "Maybe. But you're carrying your own bags next time."
She gasps, clutching her chest like you've wounded her. "Rude! What kind of husband are you?" But she's laughing, bumping your shoulder as you both head toward the bus stop.
Her arm's looped through yours, you two strolling through the cooling night air, the bus stop's just a few blocks away. She's humming some pop song, her steps light, when she suddenly stops dead in her tracks.
Her eyes lock onto a small, neon-lit inn across the street, its flickering sign reading "Moonlight Stay" in tacky pink letters.
It's one of those no-questions-asked places—cheap, discreet, the kind that screams late-night hookups or desperate escapes.
Sieun's lips curl into a sly smile, and she glances at you, her eyes glinting with that familiar mix of mischief and heat. "C'mon, husband," she says, tugs your arm, pulling you toward the crosswalk. "Let's make this date official."
You freeze, your heart kicking into overdrive, the bags suddenly feeling heavier. "Sieun, what—now?" you stammer, glance at the inn making your stomach twist with nerves.
She smirks, stepping closer, her body brushing against yours, her chest pressing lightly against your arm. "Why not? We're married, right?" She winks, her eyes daring you to back out.
Before you can overthink it, she's dragging you across the street, her steps quick.
The inn's lobby is dim, smelling faintly of cigarette smoke and cheap air freshener.
The clerk, a bored guy in his 20s with a buzzcut and a phone glued to his hand, barely looks up as Sieun struts to the counter.
She's leaning forward slightly, "One room, one night," she says, sliding some cash across the counter.
The clerk glances at the ring, then at you, standing there like a deer in headlights with her shopping bags, and shrugs.
"ID?" he mumbles, still scrolling.
Sieun doesn't miss a beat. "Oh, we're just passing through, celebrating our anniversary," she lies, her voice sweet as honey. "Right, husband?" She turns to you.
You nod, throat dry. "Uh, yeah. Anniversary." Your voice cracks, and the clerk doesn't care, just hands over a key with a plastic tag that says "Room 12."
"Upstairs, second door," he mutters, already back to his phone.
Sieun grabs the key, her fingers brushing yours as she takes your hand, leading you up a narrow staircase.
She unlocks the door to Room 12, and it's exactly what you'd expect: a small, bare-bones setup with a creaky double bed, thin sheets, a chipped nightstand, and a tiny bathroom barely big enough for one person.
She kicks off her shoes, her top shifting up as she flops onto the bed, her thighs peeking out as she props herself up on her elbows.
"Put those down," she says, nodding at the bags.
You drop them by the door, your hands clammy.
She pats the spot next to her, her eyes softening but still carrying that mischievous spark. "Come here, husband. I don't bite."
You sit on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking under you, and before you can get a word out, she's on you, swinging a leg over to straddle your lap.
Her shorts hike up higher, showing more curve of her thighs, and her hands slide up your chest, her nails grazing your shirt.
Her lips crash into yours, warm and hungry, tasting faintly of the mint gum she was chewing earlier. You kiss her back, hands finding her waist, pulling her closer, her body soft and hot against you, her top barely a barrier.
"Not bad, huh?" she murmurs against your lips, smirking as she grinds down slightly, feeling your cock already hardening through your jeans. "You're not pushing me away now, are you?"
"This is… fuck," you stammer, your voice rough, your hands tightening on her hips as she rocks against you, teasing. Your head's spinning, caught between her heat and the surrealness of this moment.
"Continue?" she asks, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes with a hint of something deeper, like she's checking if you're all in.
You nod, too caught up to form words, your pulse racing.
She grins, diving back in, her tongue slipping past your lips, her kiss deeper now, messier.
Her hands tug at your shirt, pulling it up, and you help her, tossing it to the floor. Her fingers trace your chest, her touch light but deliberate, making you shiver.
She pulls back, breathless, "Let's shower first," she says, echoing that bathroom moment. "I don't do dirty."
She slides off your lap, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the tiny bathroom, her top swishing with every step.
You both strip fast, clothes hitting the tiled floor in a heap. Her body's petite but perfect—tight curves, perky tits with hard nipples, her skin smooth under the flickering bathroom light.
Your cock's rock-hard, throbbing as she turns on the shower, steam curling up in the cramped space. She steps in, pulling you with her, the warm water hitting your skin, soaking you both.
Sieun grabs the cheap hotel soap, squeezing some into her hands, and starts rubbing it over your chest, her fingers slow and deliberate, trailing down your stomach, teasingly close to your cock but not touching yet.
"Gotta keep my husband clean," she murmurs, her lips brushing your ear as the water falling over you both, her hands gliding with purpose, and you can't help but groan.
You grab the soap, returning the favor, your hands sliding over her tits, her nipples hard under your palms, then down her stomach, her ass, her skin slick and warm.
She sighs, leaning into you, her body soft and pliant. "Good boy," she teases, her hand finally wrapping around your cock, stroking slow, the soap making it slick and smooth.
You groan louder, leaning into her, kissing her neck, your lips grazing her pulse point as she works you, her other hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently.
"Fuck, Sieun," you mutter, your voice lost in the water's rush, your head spinning from her touch.
"Shh," she whispers, kissing you hard, her tongue messy against yours.
Then she drops to her knees, the shower barely big enough for it, but she makes it work. Her mouth takes you in, hot and tight, her tongue swirling around the head, her lips sliding down your shaft.
You grip her wet hair, trying not to slip, your knees weak as she sucks you off, her hand stroking the base in perfect rhythm.
You're close already, but she pulls back just in time, standing with a smirk, rinsing the soap off her hands.
"Not yet," she says, her voice firm but playful, water dripping down her face. "Bed. Now."
You both towel off quick, barely dry, her skin glistening as you stumble back to the bed.
She pushes you down, climbing on top, her pussy hovering over your cock, wet and ready. "Ready, husband?" she teases, lining herself up before sinking down slow, her tightness swallowing you inch by inch.
You both groan, her hips rocking, setting a rhythm that makes the cheap bed creak loudly, the headboard tapping the wall.
"God, you're so tight," you mutter, gripping her ass, thrusting up to meet her, the wet slap of skin filling the room.
She smirks, clenching around you on purpose, making you hiss, "Like that?" she asks, her voice breathy, her nails digging into your chest as she rides you harder, her moans soft but unrestrained. "Cum for me, husband."
You can't hold back, her pussy pulsing around you, her body trembling as she leans down, kissing you messy, her tongue all over yours.
You thrust deep, your orgasm hitting hard, spilling inside her with a low groan. She shudders, her own climax crashing through, her moans muffled against your shoulder as she clings to you, her body shaking.
You collapse together, panting, her body curled against yours, her head on your chest.
She traces lazy circles on your skin, grinning. "Good date, huh?" she says, her voice soft, almost tender.
You laugh, catching your breath. "Yeah. Best fake marriage ever."
She giggles, snuggling closer, her leg draped over yours. "Told you I'm a great wife," she murmurs, her fingers brushing your nipple, teasing even now. "We should do this more often."
It's past midnight, and you're still in the inn's small room with Sieun, the cheap sheets tangled around you both after your earlier round.
Sieun's curled up next to you, her head on your chest, one leg draped over yours, her hand lazily tracing circles on your stomach, inching lower until her fingers wrap around your cock, stroking slow and teasing. You're half-hard already, her touch keeping you on edge as she smirks up at you.
"So," she says, "you've got no feelings for us? there's six girls at home, and you're just… what, chilling?" Her hand tightens slightly, making you suck in a breath.
You laugh, trying to keep it light, "You fishing for something, Sieun? What's the deal?"
She props herself up on one elbow, her strokes slowing but not stopping, her eyes locked on yours. "I'm just saying, you're living with girls now, and you're acting all cool about it. You telling me you don't feel anything for any of us?" Her thumb brushes the tip of your cock, deliberate, and you groan softly, your hips twitching.
"Alright, fine," you say, voice rough. "What if I did? You gonna get jealous if I picked one?"
She leans closer, her lips brushing your jaw as her hand keeps working you slow, "you got feelings then? To whom?" she asks, her voice low, almost daring you to spill.
You hesitate, "You," but you blurt, your face instantly warming.
She laughs, playful sound, her hand pausing as she pulls back to look at you. "Pfft, bullshit. You got the others, don't you? Who? J? Isa? Or… Sumin?" Her eyes narrow, teasing but probing, like she's trying to crack you open.
You sigh, running a hand through your hair, your cock throbbing under her still hand. "It's… complicated, okay? To be honest, I like you all. You're all… pretty, somehow. Different, but… yeah, I don't know." Your voice is quiet, almost sheepish, because admitting it feels like stepping into a minefield.
Sieun raises an eyebrow, her fingers starting to move again, "oh, you're such a player," she teases, but her tone's softer now, less mocking.
"Liking all of us? That's bold. You gonna break our hearts, husband?" She squeezes your cock lightly, making you hiss, her smirk returning full force.
"Nah, not trying to break anything," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's just… you're all so prettily different. And you—" You pause, looking at her, her hand still moving, her eyes locked on yours. "You're this mix of cute and trouble. Keeps me on my toes."
She chuckles, her strokes picking up pace, making your breath hitch. "Smooth talker," she murmurs, leaning in to kiss your neck, "you're saying you're into me the most?" Her teeth graze your skin, and you groan, your hand gripping her thigh.
"Didn't say that," you manage, half-laughing, half-struggling to focus. "I'm saying you're all… a lot. This house is a fucking whirlwind."
She pulls back, her hand still working you, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Whirlwind, huh? You love it, though. Admit it." She twists her wrist, and you're fully hard now, your hips bucking slightly.
"Yeah, okay, I love it," you admit, voice rough. "But it's like living in a soap opera. You guys are gonna kill me."
She laughs again, softer this time, and crawls up to straddle you, her hand still on your cock, guiding it to her entrance.
"Maybe we will," she whispers, sinking down slow, her pussy tight and wet around you.
You both groan, and she leans down, her lips brushing yours. "But you'll die happy, right, husband?"
You grip her hips, thrusting up to meet her as she starts to ride you, slow and teasing. "Fuck yeah," you mutter, lost in her heat, her rhythm.
The conversation fades, replaced by her soft moans and the creak of the bed, but her words linger—you're in deep with all of them, and Sieun's just the start of untangling what that means.
She keeps riding, her movements growing faster, her nails digging into your chest. "Don't pick anyone yet," she breathes, her voice shaky but sharp. "Keep it complicated. Makes it fun." Her smirk returns as she clenches around you, pushing you closer to the edge.
You pull her down for a messy kiss, your hands in her hair, her body trembling against yours. "I will," you whisper against her lips, and she grins, riding you harder until you're both lost in it, the night swallowing your moans and the inn's thin walls barely holding the secret.
It's 2 a.m., and the house is already dark.
Back at the house, Sumin's in the living room, perched on the edge of the couch, her phone screen dim but still open on the group chat—those selfies of you and Sieun, her cheek pressed to yours.
She's been there since 8 p.m., barely moving, her jaw tight, eyes burning with something she won't name.
Yoon shuffles in, her hair messy from half-sleep, heading for the kitchen to grab a water.
She stops when she sees Sumin, still glued to the couch, "You're still up?" Yoon asks, cracking open the fridge. "It's 2 a.m. They're probably not coming back tonight."
Sumin doesn't look up, her fingers gripping her phone tighter. "I'm fine," she mutters.
Yoon leans against the counter, taking a swig of water, eyeing Sumin carefully. "Just go to sleep, unnie. They've got their own thing going on."
Sumin's head snaps up, "No!"
"What if they're out there spending the night together, hooking up, screwing, causing whatever chaos in this house?!" her voice cracks, loud in the quiet, her hands shaking as she sets her phone down hard on the coffee table.
Yoon raises an eyebrow, unfazed by the outburst. "Unnie, they're adults," she says, screwing the cap back on her bottle. "They can do what they want. Why's it got you so worked up?"
Sumin stands, pacing now, her loose T-shirt swaying as she moves. "I'm kicking him out tomorrow," she says, she's been building to this all night.
"He doesn't get to just… collect girls here. I'm calling the landlord, telling them he's a creep, messing with everyone. This isn't his playground."
Yoon sets her bottle down, crossing her arms, her expression shifting from tired to sharp. "Come on, unnie. You can't do that to him. That's messed up." She pauses, tilting her head, her voice softening but cutting deeper. "Are you jealous?"
Sumin freezes, her face twisting like she's been slapped. "I'm not fucking jealous," she snaps, her voice breaking, with something she can't hide anymore.
"I just don't want the girls getting played by him! He's living here, messing with J, Sieun, Isa—who's next? He's gonna hurt them, Yoon. I'm not letting that happen."
Yoon steps closer, her eyes searching Sumin's face, seeing the cracks in her armor. "Unnie, you're not their mom. And you're not fooling me. This isn't just about protecting the girls." She lowers her voice, gentle but firm. "You've been off since those photos hit the chat. You like him, don't you?"
Sumin's breath catches, her eyes wide, like Yoon's peeled back a layer she didn't know was there. She opens her mouth to deny it, but nothing comes out. Her hands clench into fists, and she turns away, staring at the wall, her chest heaving.
"It's not like that," she says finally, her voice quieter, almost broken. "I just… I don't trust him. He's too close to everyone, and it's gonna blow up. I saw what happened with Isa yesterday. I walked in on her, and she didn't even care. Said she likes him. He is a mess, Yoon."
Yoon sighs, stepping closer, her hand hovering like she wants to touch Sumin's shoulder but doesn't. "Unnie, you can't control this. Yeah, he's in deep with the house, but kicking him out? That's not fair. He's not some creep. He's just… figuring it out, like we all are." She hesitates, then adds, "If you like him, just say it. Stop hiding behind this 'protect the girls' thing."
Sumin shakes her head, her eyes glistening now, the fight draining out of her. "I don't… I don't know what I feel," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper.
"He's everywhere, you know? Smiling, helping, fixing shit like the water heater, talking to J like she matters, eating with us, and now… he's out with Sieun, probably fucking her in some cheap inn. It's too much." She wipes her eyes quick, like she's mad at herself for letting it show.
Yoon watches her, softening, "you're not wrong to feel something. But you gotta be honest with yourself. If you're mad, or hurt, or whatever, talk to him. Don't burn the house down over it."
Sumin sinks back onto the couch, her head in her hands, the group chat still open on her phone, those selfies staring back at her. "I can't," she murmurs. "Not yet. I just… need him to not fuck this up for everyone."
Yoon grabs her water, heading back toward the stairs. "He won't," she says, glancing back. "And neither will you. Get some sleep, unnie. You're gonna need it."
Sumin doesn't move, just sits there, the weight of the night pressing down, her heart tangled up in anger, fear, and something she's not ready to name.
The house stays quiet, but it feels like a storm's brewing, and you and Sieun are still out there, oblivious to the mess waiting back home.
You're 22, a college senior, lugging a duffel bag and a couple of cardboard boxes to a new boarding house.
It's 9AM, the sun's already beating down, and your T-shirt sticks to your back as you fumble with the key the landlord gave you. The house is a two-story deal, old but sturdy, with peeling paint and a creaky porch.
You're expecting a quiet move-in, maybe a quick nap before orientation tomorrow.
The key turns, the door swings open, and you step into a dim living room cluttered with mismatched furniture—a lumpy couch, a coffee table covered in magazines, and a faint smell of lavender and coffee.
Before you can take another step, a high-pitched scream rips through the air.
You freeze.
A girl, stark naked, stands in the hallway, dripping wet from a shower, her dark hair plastered to her shoulders. Her eyes are wide, and she's clutching a towel that's clearly too small to cover much.
"Who the fuck are you?!" she yells, scrambling to shield herself. "Get out! I'm calling the cops!"
You drop your bag, hands shooting up like you're surrendering. "Whoa, whoa, wait! I'm not an intruder! I'm moving in! Here, take this!" You yank off your denim jacket and toss it her way. It lands at her feet.
She snatches it up, wrapping it around herself while glaring daggers at you, "Moving in?" she snaps, clutching the jacket tight. "Nobody told me about a new guy."
You fish the agreement out of your pocket, unfolding it with shaky hands. "Here, look. Signed it last week. Supposed to live here starting today."
She steps closer, still eyeing you like you might bolt, and snatches the paper. Her eyes scan it, and you catch a glimpse of her face—sharp cheekbones, full lips, and a glare that could cut glass. She's maybe a year or two older than you, with a confidence that makes you feel like you're the one who's intruded.
"Fine," she says, shoving the paper back at you. "But you could've knocked, asshole. I'm Sumin, by the way." She adjusts your jacket, which barely covers her thighs, and you try hard not to notice.
"Sorry," you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. "Didn't know anyone was home. Landlord said the place would be empty this morning."
Sumin snorts, brushing wet hair out of her face. "Yeah, well, the landlord's a moron. The others are out—work, classes. I'm stuck here prepping for a job interview." She pauses, looking you up and down. "What's your deal?"
"Last year, of collage" you say, setting your boxes down. "Engineering major. Just needed a cheap place to crash."
"Cheap, huh?" She smirks, leaning against the wall. "Well, you got that part right. This place is a dump, but it's home. Six of us girls live here—well, seven now with you. Hope you're not a creep, 'cause I'm not above kicking your ass."
You laugh, despite yourself. "I'll keep my ass-kickable offenses to a minimum."
She raises an eyebrow, like she's sizing you up, then nods. "Good. Come on, I'll show you around."
You follow her, keeping your eyes firmly on the floorboards. The house is a maze of narrow hallways and creaky stairs. Sumin points out the kitchen—cramped, with a fridge covered in magnets and a sink full of dishes—and the shared bathroom, still steamy from her shower.
Your room is upstairs, a small space with a single bed, a desk, and a window overlooking the street.
"This is you," she says, pushing the door open. "Don't expect maid service. We all chip in for cleaning, cooking, whatever. You cool with that?"
"Yeah, I can handle it," you say, dropping your bag on the bed. "So, uh, you said job interview? What do you do?"
Sumin leans against the doorframe, your jacket still wrapped around her. "Trying to get into graphic design. Got an interview with some fancy agency downtown."
"Sounds like a big deal. You nervous?"
She shrugs, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe. "A little. It's my third interview this month. The last two didn't call back. Kinda starting to feel like I'm screaming into the void, you know?"
You nod, unpacking a stack of textbooks. "I get it. Last semester, I applied to like ten internships. Got ghosted by nine. The tenth only took me 'cause I knew a guy."
"Fucking networking," she mutters, rolling her eyes. "It's all who you know. Meanwhile, I'm out here with a portfolio and a prayer."
"You'll kill it," you say, and you mean it. There's something about her—sharp, unapologetic—that makes you think she's not the type to go down easy.
She smirks again, but it's softer this time. "Thanks, newbie. Don't get too comfortable, though. The girls'll eat you alive if you're not careful."
You raise an eyebrow. "The others as scary as you?"
"Scarier," she says, turning to leave. "I'm the nice one. Get settled, and don't touch my coffee creamer in the fridge. I'll know."
She's halfway down the hall when you call after her. "Hey, Sumin? Sorry again about, uh, earlier. Didn't mean to catch you off guard."
She glances back, one hand on her hip. "Yeah, well, next time knock. And maybe don't throw your jacket at naked girls. Not a great first impression."
"Noted," you say, and she disappears downstairs, leaving you alone in your new room.
You spend the next hour unpacking, but your mind keeps drifting to Sumin—her sharp tongue, the way she didn't back down even when she was caught off guard. This house, with its creaky floors and six other women, is gonna be a lot. But something tells you Sumin's gonna be the one to keep you on your toes.
Later, you head downstairs to grab a glass of water. The house is quiet, the others still out. Sumin's in the living room, now dressed in a sleek blazer and skirt, her hair pulled back. She's pacing, muttering to herself, a stack of printed designs spread out on the coffee table.
"Practicing your pitch?" you ask, leaning against the kitchen doorway.
She jumps slightly, then glares. "Jesus, you're sneaky. Yeah, I'm practicing. Gotta nail this shit."
"Wanna run it by me?" you offer, sipping your water. "I'm no expert, but I can pretend to be a stuck-up exec."
She hesitates, then shrugs. "Fuck it, why not? Sit down. And don't laugh, or I'll pour that water over your head."
You grin, settling onto the couch as she launches into her pitch. Her voice is steady, confident, but you catch the way her hands fidget with the edge of her portfolio. She's good—really good. Her designs are bold, colorful, with a style that's all her own. You ask a few fake "exec" questions, and she fires back with quick, sharp answers.
"Not bad," you say when she's done. "You've got this. Just don't call the interviewer an asshole."
She laughs, a real one this time, and it's warmer than you expected. "No promises. Thanks, though. You're not as useless as you look."
She nods, gathering her things. "I will. And hey, welcome to the madhouse. Try not to fuck it up."
Sumin's heels click against the polished floor of the downtown agency's lobby, her portfolio tucked under her arm like a shield. The office is all glass and chrome, cold and sterile, the kind of place that reeks of money and egos.
She's early, her nerves a tight knot in her chest, but she forces herself to sit in the stiff lobby chair, smoothing her skirt, her jaw set.
The receptionist, a woman with a pinched face and a headset, barely acknowledges her, pointing to a row of seats.
Sumin sits, mentally rehearsing her pitch, her designs, every curveball question she might face. She's ready. She has to be.
After minutes to house almost wait, a man strides out, his suit too tight, his hair slicked back with enough gel to drown a small animal.
His smile is a predator's, all teeth and no warmth, and his eyes rake over her like she's a product on display.
"Sumin, right? Han, creative director. Let's do this." His handshake lingers, his thumb brushing her knuckles, and she suppresses a shudder.
"Thanks for having me," she says, her voice steady, pulling her hand back as fast as she can without making a scene.
He leads her to a conference room, his cologne a choking cloud of musk. The room's sparse, just a long table, a few chairs, and a window with a view of the city skyline.
Han plops into a chair, spreading his legs wide, like he owns the place. "So, Sumin," he says, his eyes dipping to her chest before meeting her gaze, "tell me why you're worth my time."
She ignores the sleaze in his tone, launching into her pitch—her background, her passion for graphic design, her portfolio's edge. She slides it across the table, her designs vibrant and sharp, a mix of gritty street art and polished minimalism.
She knows they're good, knows they're better than half the shit this agency's been churning out. Han flips through the pages, his fingers lingering too long, his lips curling into a smirk that makes her skin crawl.
"Not bad," he says, but his eyes aren't on the designs. They're on her, undressing her with every glance. "You've got some talent. But this game's brutal, sweetheart. You gotta be… versatile. Know how to play."
She stiffens, her smile a tight line. "Versatile with my work? I can handle any brief, any client, any deadline."
He chuckles, a low, oily sound, leaning forward so his elbows rest on the table, his gaze locked on her cleavage. "Not just work. You're a pretty thing, Sumin. That's currency in this industry. Clients love a hot face, a tight little body. You ever think about using that to seal a deal?"
Her stomach twists, but she keeps her voice even, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm here for my designs, Han-ssi. My portfolio's what seals deals. Want me to break down my process for this campaign?" She flips to a mock-up, bold reds and blacks, trying to steer him back to her work.
He waves a hand, dismissive, his eyes never leaving her. "Yeah, it's cute. But let's cut the bullshit. You want this job, you gotta show me you're a team player." He leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I could do a lot for you, Sumin. Get you in with the big clients. But you gotta give me something first. How about you come to my place tonight? We'll talk… career advancement." His hand slides across the table, brushing her fingers, and this time, it's deliberate, his thumb stroking her skin.
She yanks her hand back, her heart pounding, rage bubbling up. "I'm not here to fuck my way into a job," she snaps, her voice low but sharp enough to cut. "My designs are better than anything you've got on your walls. You want talent, you've got it right here. You want something else, you're barking up the wrong tree."
Han's smile doesn't falter, but his eyes harden, a glint of something ugly in them. "Oh, come on, don't play hard to get. You're not some naive kid. You know how this works."
He stands, stepping around the table, closing the distance between them. He's too close now, his hand grazing her shoulder, his breath hot against her ear. "You're hot, you're desperate, and I'm offering you a shortcut. Take it, or you're just another wannabe with a pretty portfolio and no gig."
Sumin's on her feet in an instant, her portfolio clutched to her chest like armor. "Touch me again, and I'll break your fucking hand," she hisses, her voice trembling with fury. "My work's worth more than your sleazy ass could ever offer. I'm done here."
She turns for the door, but Han grabs her wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. "You walk out, you're done in this city," he snarls, his facade cracking. "I know people. You'll be begging for scraps."
She wrenches her arm free, her eyes blazing. "Threaten me again, I'll make sure everyone knows what a pathetic creep you are. My portfolio's my ticket, not your bed."
She storms out, her heels echoing in the empty hallway, her chest tight with anger and humiliation. The elevator can't come fast enough, and when it does, she leans against the wall, her breath ragged, her hands shaking.
Outside, the city's noise swallows her, but it's not enough to drown out the memory of Han's hands, his eyes, his voice. She pulls out her phone, her fingers trembling as she types into the group chat with the girls.
Sumin: Interview was a fucking nightmare. Guy tried to grope me. Threatened to blacklist me if I didn't play along.
Sieun: WHAT?! Are you okay? Name and address, I'm coming for him.
Yoon: Sumin, holy shit. Get home. We've got you.
Sumin: I'm fine. Just pissed. Be home soon. Need to burn this day out of my brain.
She pockets her phone, her jaw clenched as she starts the walk home.
It's 3PM, and Sumin sits at a wobbly plastic table outside a convenience store, a cold beer sweating in her hand. The city alive around her—cars crawling through traffic, pedestrians weaving past.
Her portfolio sits on the table, its edges worn from months of being hauled to interviews that led nowhere. She cracks open the beer, the hiss cutting through the noise, and takes a long sip, the bitter chill grounding her for a moment.
Her blazer's draped over the chair, her skirt wrinkled from the walk, and her hair's starting to escape its tight bun. She looks like she's been through a war, and in a way, she has.
Her phone buzzes, and she glances at the screen. A text from her mom.
Mom: How'd the interview go, sweetie? Did you impress them?
Sumin's thumb hovers over the keyboard, her chest tightening. She can't tell her mom the truth—not about Han, not about his hands, his threats, the way he made her skin crawl.
Her mom's already stretched thin, sending what little money she can scrape together to cover Sumin's rent at the boarding house. The last thing she needs is to hear her daughter's dreams are being crushed by creeps like Han. Sumin types, her fingers heavy.
Sumin: Didn't go well. Didn't get it. I'll keep trying.
She hits send, then sets the phone face-down, staring at the beer can's silver rim. Six months. Six fucking months since she graduated, and she's still unemployed, living off her parents' dwindling savings.
Every transfer feels like a weight on her shoulders, a reminder she's not pulling her own weight. The boarding house is cheap, but even that's a stretch—her share of the rent eats up nearly everything her parents send, leaving her scraping by on instant noodles and borrowed Wi-Fi.
She's 24, talented, and stuck, her portfolio a stack of dreams no one seems to want. She takes another sip, the cold biting her throat, and lets her mind wander to the what-ifs.
What if she'd taken a different path? What if she'd stayed in her hometown, taken some safe, boring job? What if she'd never believed she could make it in this cutthroat city?
The crunch of footsteps snaps her out of it. She looks up, and her stomach drops. Han. Fucking Han, strutting toward her like he owns the sidewalk, his suit jacket slung over one shoulder, that same greasy smirk plastered on his face. He's got a cigarette dangling from his fingers, and his eyes lock onto her like a predator spotting prey.
"Well, well," he says, stopping a few feet away, his voice dripping with mock surprise. "Fancy seeing you here, Sumin. Rough day?"
She grips the beer can so hard it dents. "Get lost," she says, her voice low, dangerous.
He chuckles, taking a step closer, ignoring the warning in her tone. "Come on, don't be like that. You're still pissed about earlier? I was just being real with you. You've got potential, babe. I could make things happen for you." He leans down, his hand resting on the table, too close to hers. "Why don't we grab a drink somewhere private? Talk it out. You know you need this job."
Her eyes flash, and she stands, the chair scraping against the pavement. "I said back off," she snaps, loud enough that a couple passing by glances over. "You touch me again, and I'll scream this whole fucking street down."
Han's smirk falters, but he doesn't back off. Instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping to a low, ugly whisper. "You think you're too good for me? You're nothing, Sumin. Just another desperate girl with a pretty face. You'll come crawling back when you realize no one else wants you."
Her heart pounds, rage and fear twisting together, but before she can respond, you appear—seemingly out of nowhere, a grocery bag in your hand. You must've been walking by, maybe heading to the store yourself, but you catch the scene and step in without hesitation.
"Hey," you say, your voice calm but firm, planting yourself between Sumin and Han. "You okay, sis?"
Sumin blinks, thrown for a second by the "sis," but she catches on quick. You're giving her an out, a shield. She nods, her jaw tight. "Yeah. This guy's just leaving."
Han straightens, sizing you up, his smirk twisting into something sour. "Who the fuck are you?"
"Her brother," you say, stepping closer, your eyes locked on his. You're not huge, but there's a steadiness in your stance that makes Han pause. "And you're done bothering her. Walk away, or we're gonna have a problem."
Han laughs, but it's forced, his eyes darting between you and Sumin. "Brother, huh? Didn't know she had one. Look, we're just talking business—"
"Doesn't look like business to me," you cut him off, with cold voice. "Looks like you're harassing her. I'm not asking again—get the fuck out of here."
For a moment, Han holds his ground, his cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Then he flicks it to the ground, grinding it out with his heel. "Whatever," he mutters, his eyes lingering on Sumin one last time. "You'll regret this, sweetheart." He turns and stalks off, his jacket flapping as he disappears around the corner.
Sumin exhales, her shoulders slumping as the tension drains out of her. She looks at you, her expression a mix of gratitude and exhaustion. "Brother, huh?" she says, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "Quick thinking, newbie."
You shrug, setting your grocery bag on the table. "Figured he'd back off faster if he thought you had backup. You okay?"
She sinks back into her chair, taking a long swig of her beer. "Not really," she admits, her voice quieter now. "That asshole was my interviewer earlier. Tried to feel me up, said I'd only get the job if I played along. Now he's stalking me at a fucking convenience store."
"Jesus," you say, sitting across from her. "What a piece of shit. You gonna report him?"
She snorts, bitter. "To who? His buddies at the agency? The cops who won't give a shit? I've got no proof, just my word against his."
She pauses, staring at the can in her hand. "Been out of work six months. My parents are killing themselves to send me money for rent, and I can't even… I can't even get a break."
You lean forward, your voice gentle but steady. "That's not on you, Sumin. Guys like him, they're the problem, not your talent. Your designs are great. Someone's gonna see that."
She looks at you, her eyes searching, like she's trying to decide if you're just being nice or if you mean it. "You don't even know me," she says, but there's no bite in it.
"I know you're not someone who gives up," you say. "And I know you scared the shit out of me this morning, so I'm betting you can handle more than you think."
She laughs, a small, broken sound, but it's real. "Thanks for the save. Didn't expect the new guy to have my back like that," she says, finishing her beer.
"Anytime," you say, standing. "Come on, let's get back to the madhouse. I'll carry your portfolio."
She grabs her blazer, slinging it over her shoulder, and falls into step beside you.
The walk back to the boarding house is quieter than you expect, her portfolio swings in your hand, and she's got her blazer slung over her shoulder.
"So," she says, glancing at you, her voice lighter but still edged with exhaustion, "where'd you come from just now? Stalking me at the convenience store, or what?"
You laugh, adjusting the grocery bag in your other hand. "Nah, nothing that exciting. Just wandered around the neighborhood after I finished unpacking my room. Checking out the area, you know? Needed some air after hauling boxes all morning."
She nods, kicking a stray pebble down the sidewalk. "Fair. This place isn't exactly glamorous, but there's a decent coffee shop a few blocks over. You'll need it with the girls around. They're loud as hell."
"Speaking of," she adds, glancing at you again, "you met any of the others yet? J, Sieun, Isa, or any of 'em?"
"Nope," you say, shaking your head. "Just you and your, uh, dramatic entrance this morning. House was empty when I got back from my walk. Figured I'd make some coffee to stay awake, but…" Your voice trails off as a sudden realization hits you, "Shit. The stove."
Sumin stops walking, her eyes narrowing. "What about the stove?"
"I was boiling water for coffee," you say, your stomach dropping. "I don't think I turned it off."
Her eyes widen, and for a split second, you both just stare at each other. Then, without a word, Sumin bolts, her heels clicking furiously against the pavement. "Move it you asshole!" she yells over her shoulder.
You're right behind her, your grocery bag bouncing against your leg, Sumin's portfolio tucked under your arm as you both sprint toward the boarding house.
The streets blur past—corner stores, parked cars, a guy shouting at his phone—none of it matters.
Your heart's pounding, not just from the run but from the image of the kettle screaming on the stove, maybe worse.
Sumin's cursing under her breath, her skirt hitching up as she picks up speed, and you're impressed she can move that fast in heels.
"Fucking hell," she pants, "if you burn down the house on your first day, I'm killing you!"
You round the corner to the boarding house, the old two-story looming ahead. The porch creaks as you both leap onto it, and Sumin fumbles with her keys, her hands shaking from adrenaline.
"Come on, come on," she mutters, finally jamming the right one into the lock.
The door flies open, and the shrill, piercing whistle of the kettle hits you like a siren. It's loud—too loud—filling the house with a high-pitched scream that makes your ears ring.
You drop the grocery bag and portfolio on the living room floor and sprint to the kitchen, Sumin right on your heels. The kettle's rattling on the stove, steam pouring out, the burner glowing red-hot beneath it.
You lunge for the knob, twisting it off, and yank the kettle to a cooler burner. The whistle dies down, leaving only the faint hiss of steam and your own ragged breathing.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Sumin says, leaning against the counter, her hand pressed to her chest. "You trying to set a record for worst roommate ever?"
You run a hand through your hair, your heart still racing. "I'm so sorry. I swear I thought I turned it off. I was just gonna make coffee, and then I got distracted—"
"Distracted?" she cuts in, but there's a glint of amusement in her eyes now, the panic fading. "You almost turned the place into a bonfire, newbie. What's next, leaving the oven on with a pizza inside?"
"Don't jinx it," you say, managing a weak grin. "I owe you one. Big time."
"Damn right you do," she says, crossing her arms.
She glances at the kettle, still steaming faintly, and shakes her head. "You're lucky the others aren't here. Yoon would've ripped you a new one."
You groan, sinking into a chair at the kitchen table. "Yeah, I'm getting that this place doesn't mess around. I'll be more careful, promise."
Sumin grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with water, taking a long drink before eyeing you over the rim. "Better be. I'm not running back here every day to save your ass from burning the house down."
"Thanks for earlier at the store. Seriously." She sets the glass down, her fingers lingering on it, and for a moment, the kitchen's quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the distant sound of traffic outside.
"It's nothing, had to do something," your voice falter.
"You wanna talk about it?" you ask, leaning forward. "The interview, I mean. Or Han. Or… any of it."
She hesitates, then shakes her head, her smirk returning but not quite reaching her eyes. "Not yet. Maybe after that beer you owe me. For now, let's just make sure you don't set anything else on fire, okay?"
"Deal," you say, standing to check the stove one more time, just to be sure.
Sumin grabs her portfolio from the living room, tossing it onto the counter, and you both settle into an uneasy calm.
The front door creaks open, announcing someone's arrival. You and Sumin glance up from where you're standing, her leaning against the counter with her glass of water, you still double-checking the stove like it might betray you again.
Footsteps shuffle in, accompanied by the faint thump of bass from a headset. A girl steps into the living room, her head bobbing slightly to whatever she's listening to.
She's younger than Sumin, maybe 20 or 21, with a messy bun of dark hair and a backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. Her eyes, sharp and curious, land on you and Sumin, and she pulls the headset off, letting it rest around her neck.
"Well, damn," she says, a grin spreading across her face as she looks between you two. "Unnie, you move fast. New boyfriend already?" She nods at you, clearly amused, her tone teasing but not mean.
Sumin chokes on her water, coughing as she sets the glass down with a clink. "J, what the fuck?" she snaps, her cheeks flushing slightly, though you're not sure if it's from embarrassment or just the leftover adrenaline of the day. "He's not my boyfriend. He's the new roommate. Moved in this morning."
J raises an eyebrow, her grin not fading. "Roommate, huh? Sure, unnie. That's what they all say." She winks at you, and you can't help but laugh, even as Sumin glares at her.
"Shut up, J," Sumin says, but there's no real venom in it. She gestures at you, introduces you, "Try not to scare him off on day one, J."
J drops her backpack on the couch and saunters into the kitchen, her sneakers squeaking on the floor. "No promises," she says, eyeing you like she's sizing you up. "I'm J, by the way. Welcome to the chaos. You survive Sumin's wrath yet?"
"Barely," you say, leaning back against the counter with a grin. "Almost burned the place down, but she hasn't kicked me out yet."
J laughs, a bright, unrestrained sound. "Oh, you're gonna fit in just fine. Anyone who can piss off unnie and still be standing is okay in my book."
She turns to Sumin, pulling a sketchbook out of her bag. "Anyway, unnie, I need your help. Gotta revise some designs for my class project. Professor's being a total dick about my color palette again."
Sumin sighs, rubbing her temples, but you can tell she's already shifting gears, her focus snapping to J's request. "Fine, let me see," she says, motioning for the sketchbook. "But if it's that neon green mess again, I'm burning it myself."
J sticks out her tongue, handing over the sketchbook. "It's not that bad. You'll love it this time, I swear."
You watch as Sumin flips open the sketchbook, her eyes scanning J's work with a critical intensity that reminds you of her portfolio earlier. Despite the shit day she's had, she's already zeroed in, pointing at a sketch and muttering something about contrast ratios.
J leans over her shoulder, nodding, arguing back in a way that's half-playful, half-serious. It's clear they've done this before, their dynamic easy but layered with a kind of unspoken trust.
You grab your grocery bag from the living room floor, figuring it's a good time to give them space. "I'm gonna put this stuff away," you say, nodding toward your room. "You need anything, Sumin?"
She glances up, her expression softening for a split second. "I'm good. Just don't touch the stove again, pyro."
"Scout's honor," you say, holding up your hands as you head upstairs. J snickers, already back to debating with Sumin about font choices.
As you unpack your groceries—mostly instant coffee and some snacks—you can hear their voices drifting up from the kitchen, J's animated chatter mixing with Sumin's sharper, no-nonsense replies.
The house feels alive now, not just a creaky old building but a place where people collide, messily but genuinely.
You're still processing the day—Sumin's run-in with Han, the kettle scare, the way she's carrying so much weight but still helping J like it's nothing.
You haven't even met the other girls yet, but already, this place is pulling you in, tying you to its chaos.
Downstairs, Sumin's voice cuts through J's. "If you use Comic Sans, I'm disowning you."
J laughs, loud and unapologetic. "You're such a snob, unnie."
You smile to yourself, shaking your head. This house, these people—they're gonna be a handful. But maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what you need.
You're finally settled in your room, the small space starting to feel a bit like yours after a day of chaos. The single bed is made—barely—with your duffel bag shoved underneath, and your textbooks are stacked haphazardly on the desk.
Your laptop's open on your lap, the glow of the screen lighting up the dim room as you sink into a game, some fast-paced shooter that's just enough. The sound of gunfire and explosions hums through your earbuds, and for the first time all day, you're actually relaxed, slouched against the wall, fingers flying over the keyboard.
A knock on the doorframe snaps you out of it. You glance up to see J leaning against the doorway, her headset still dangling around her neck, her messy bun even messier now. She's swapped her sneakers for fuzzy socks, and her grin is as mischievous as ever.
"Hey, roomie," she says, eyeing your screen. "Whoa, what are you playing? That looks intense."
You pause the game, pulling out one earbud. "Just some Call of Duty. Old habit from high school. Keeps my brain from overthinking."
J snorts, stepping into the room without invitation and flopping onto the edge of your bed. "Nice. You any good, or are you one of those guys who rage-quits when they get sniped?"
"I hold my own," you say, smirking. "Wanna try? I'll go easy on you."
She laughs, waving you off. "Maybe later. I'd probably kick your ass, and I don't wanna bruise your ego on day one."
She leans back on her hands, glancing around your bare room. "You settling in okay? Not spooked by Sumin's death glares yet?"
"She's intense, but I'm still breathing," you say, closing your laptop and setting it aside. "You guys always this… chaotic?"
"Oh, you have no idea," J says, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Wait till you meet Yoon. She's gonna love you or hate you, no in-between. Speaking of—"
She sits up, clapping her hands together. "Yoon's shift ends soon, and she's grabbing pizza on her way back, like usual. You in? We all pool money, split the cost. Keeps things cheap."
"Pizza sounds perfect," you say, already reaching for your wallet on the desk. "Count me in. How much?"
"Ten bucks should cover it," J says, hopping off the bed. "We go hard on toppings, so it's worth it. I'll tell Yoon you're good for it." She pauses at the door, turning back with a grin. "Oh, and pro tip: don't touch Isa's pepperoni stash. She's territorial as hell."
"Noted," you say, handing her a crumpled ten from your wallet. "Anything else I should know to survive this place?"
J pockets the cash, her grin widening. "Yeah. Keep up with Sumin's coffee creamer rule, and don't leave dishes in the sink unless you want a lecture from Seeun. Other than that? Just roll with it. You'll figure out the rest." She gives you a mock salute and disappears down the hall, her fuzzy socks sliding on the floorboards.
You lean back, exhaling, the quiet of your room settling around you again. You reopen your laptop, the game still paused, but your mind's not on it anymore. Instead, you're wondering what Yoon's like, how the rest of the girls will size you up, and whether this chaotic boarding house might just be the kind of mess you've been needing all along.
Downstairs, you hear J's voice, loud and teasing, probably on the phone with Yoon. "Yeah, the new guy's cool! Already almost burned the house down, though!" You groan, shaking your head, but there's a smile tugging at your lips. This place is gonna be a lot—but you're starting to think you can handle it.
Time slips away, and after J leaves, you feel the weight of the day crash over you.
You kick off your shoes, sprawl out on your bed, and let your eyes close, the muffled sounds of the city outside lulling you into a nap.
When you wake, the room is dim, the light outside gone dusky.
Your phone says it's 7PM, and your stomach growls, reminding you of the pizza J mentioned.
The house feels different now—livelier, like it's waking up too.
You hear voices downstairs, laughter, the clink of dishes. Some of the girls must be back. You roll out of bed, rub the sleep from your eyes, and pull on a fresh T-shirt, figuring you should join the pizza party and meet the rest of your new roommates.
As you step into the hallway, the floorboards creak under your weight.
You're halfway to the stairs when you notice the door to the room next to yours is slightly ajar, just a crack, enough to let a sliver of soft light spill into the hall.
You pause, your hand hovering near the banister. There's a sound coming from the room—low, rhythmic, unmistakably wet.
Your curiosity spikes, even as a part of you screams to keep walking, to mind your own business. But, in a house full of strangers, and that sound is… unmistakable.
You take a cautious step closer, your heart picking up speed. The door's open just enough to give you a view if you lean in, and against your better judgment, you do.
Through the gap, you see her—a girl you haven't met yet, her back against the headboard of a messy bed, sheets tangled around her thighs. Her face is flushed, eyes half-closed, lips parted as she bites down on them, trying to stay quiet. Her dark hair is loose, sticking to her neck with a light sheen of sweat.
She's gripping a sleek, black dildo, moving it with slow, deliberate strokes, her other hand pressed between her legs, circling. The sight hits you like a punch, heat rushing to your face—and elsewhere—as you realize you're watching something intensely private.
You should leave. You know you should leave.
But your feet feel glued to the floor, your breath shallow as she lets out a soft, stifled moan, her head tilting back.
You don't know her name—Isa? Seeun? One of the others?—but the way she moves, lost in her own world, is hypnotic. Your mouth goes dry, and you're about to force yourself to step back when the floorboard under you groans, loud and traitorous.
Her eyes snap open, locking onto yours through the crack in the door. For a split second, you're both frozen, her hand stilling, her face a mix of shock and something else—anger, maybe, or embarrassment.
"What the fuck?" she hisses, yanking the sheet over herself, the dildo disappearing beneath it. Her voice is sharp, but low, like she's trying not to alert the whole house. "Who the hell are you?"
You stumble back, your face burning, raising your hands like you're warding off an attack. "I'm—shit, I'm sorry! I'm… the new roommate. I didn't mean—I just heard something and—" You're rambling, your words tripping over each other as you try to explain the unexplainable.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't scream or throw something, which you take as a small mercy.
She pulls the sheet tighter around herself, sitting up straighter. "You heard something, so you decided to play peeping tom? Real classy."
"I wasn't trying to—fuck, I'm sorry," you say again, your voice low, desperate to keep this from escalating. "I'll go. I didn't see anything. I mean, I did, but I won't—shit, I'm going." You turn, ready to bolt downstairs, but her voice stops you.
"Wait," she says, and there's something different in her tone now—less angry, more guarded.
You glance back, and she's still glaring, but her cheeks are pink, her breathing uneven. "Just… don't say anything, okay? To the others. I don't need this getting around."
"I won't," you promise, your hand already on the banister. "Swear. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
She studies you for a moment, like she's weighing whether to believe you. Then she nods, sharp and final. "Good. Now get the fuck out of the hallway before I change my mind and tell the other you're a creep."
You don't need to be told twice.
You practically sprint downstairs, your heart hammering, the image of her burned into your brain despite your best efforts to shake it.
The living room's alive now—J's sprawled on the couch, scrolling on her phone, and you hear Sumin's voice from the kitchen, arguing with someone about pizza toppings. The smell of melted cheese and garlic fills the air, grounding you back in the chaos of the house.
You take a deep breath, trying to act normal as you step into the kitchen. Sumin's there, slicing a pizza with a pair of scissors—because of course that's how they do it here.
Another girl, tall and sharp-eyed, leans against the counter, a beer in her hand. Yoon, you assume, from the way she's barking orders about who gets what slice.
"New guy!" Yoon calls, spotting you. "You're late to the party. Grab a slice before J eats it all."
You force a grin, your mind still reeling from upstairs. "Yeah, thanks. Smells good."
Sumin glances at you, her eyes narrowing slightly, like she can sense something's off. "You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost."
"I'm fine," you say, a little too quickly, grabbing a slice of pepperoni and hoping your face isn't as red as it feels.
She doesn't push, but her smirk says she's not buying it. You shove the pizza in your mouth, focusing on the burn of the hot cheese, trying to erase the memory of the girl upstairs—her flushed face, her soft moans, the way her eyes locked onto yours.
You're leaning against the counter, keeping your head down, when the front door bangs open again. Footsteps shuffle in, and a new voice cuts through the noise—a little softer, a little tired, but sharp enough to carry. "I swear, if there's no pizza left, I'm burning this place down."
Yoon snorts, not looking up from her beer. "Relax, Sieun. New guy chipped in, so we got extra. You're welcome."
You glance up, and there's Sieun, kicking off her sneakers by the door. She's got a backpack slung over one shoulder, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, and a tired but defiant look in her eyes, like she's just survived a war with her college professors.
She's shorter than Yoon or the others, with a quick, restless energy, and her hoodie's sleeves are rolled up, showing off a stack of colorful bracelets on her wrist.
She spots you and raises an eyebrow, sizing you up. "New guy, huh? You the one J's been texting about? The stove arsonist?"
You wince, swallowing your bite of pizza. "Yeah, that's me. Didn't mean to almost torch the place, I swear."
J cackles from the couch, her mouth full of garlic knot. "He's got potential, Sieun. Give him a week before he blows something up."
Sieun smirks, dropping her backpack by the couch and grabbing a slice of pizza from the counter. "Great. Another disaster to babysit. Welcome to the madhouse."
Before you can respond, another set of footsteps comes down the stairs—slower, deliberate.
Your stomach twists as you realize it's her, the girl from the room next to yours. She steps into the kitchen, her dark hair now tied back, her face composed but still carrying a faint flush.
She's in a loose T-shirt and sweatpants, but there's no mistaking her—those sharp eyes, the way she moves like she's daring the world to test her. Your mind flashes back to the cracked door, the wet sounds, the dildo, and you nearly choke on your pizza.
She glances at you, her expression unreadable, and you feel your face heat up. "So," she says, her voice cool but pointed, "this the new guy?"
Yoon nods, oblivious to the tension. "Yeah, Isa, meet him. He's already survived Sumin's wrath and a near house fire, so he's basically family now."
Isa's eyes flick to you again, and there's a glint in them—half warning, half something you can't quite place. "Isa," she says, introducing herself, her tone giving nothing away. "Hope you're better at knocking than you are at cooking."
The room laughs, but you catch the edge in her words, the subtle jab at what happened upstairs. You force a grin, trying to play it off. "Yeah, I'm learning fast. Nice to meet you."
Sumin, who's been watching the exchange with her usual sharp gaze, tilts her head. "You two already know each other or something? What's with the vibe?"
Isa shrugs, grabbing a slice of pizza and leaning against the counter, her shoulder brushing past you a little too deliberately. "Just making sure the new guy knows the rules," she says, biting into her slice, her eyes never leaving yours.
You swallow hard, your throat dry despite the beer you snag from the counter. "Rules. Got it. I'm a quick learner."
Sieun, oblivious to the undercurrent, flops onto the couch next to J, stealing a garlic knot from her plate.
"Rules, huh? Like don't touch Isa's pepperoni stash? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you already broke that one, J."
J gasps, mock-offended. "Lies! I only took one, unnie. Okay, maybe two."
The room erupts into bickering—J defending her pepperoni theft, Yoon threatening to hide the stash, Sumin rolling her eyes and muttering about "children."
"Hey," Sieun calls, snapping you out of it. "You in for movie night? We usually pile on the couch after pizza. Yoon picks some godawful action flick, and we all pretend to hate it."
"Sounds good," you say, trying to sound casual, "What's the vibe? Explosions and bad one-liners?"
"Pretty much," Yoon says, cracking open another beer. "You got a problem with that?"
"Not at all," you say, raising your can in a mock toast. "I'm here for it."
As the girls settle into their routine—J and Sieun arguing over the remote, Yoon raiding the fridge for more beer, Sumin cleaning up the pizza boxes—you try to shake off the lingering image of Isa upstairs. She's eating her slice now, laughing at something Sieun says.
J looks up from her phone, her brows furrowing. "Where's Seeunie? She's rarely late to come home. Pizza's gonna be cold by the time she shows."
Yoon, leaning against the fridge with a fresh beer, shrugs. "She's got more time with her professor. Last year, last project. You know how she gets—probably rearranging her entire thesis for the tenth time."
J snorts, tossing her phone onto the couch. "Classic Seeun. Isa, you're not half as stressed as her, and you're in your last year too, right?"
Isa, still leaning against the counter, takes a slow bite of her pizza, her eyes flicking briefly to you before settling on J. "Yeah, but I can manage my time," she says, her voice cool, "Seeun's got that perfectionist face—probably stressing over a single comma in her project. I'd rather get shit done and move on."
Sumin, tying up a trash bag, glances over with a smirk. "So we got three people in their last year here—Isa, Seeun, and…" She nods at you, raising an eyebrow. "You, apparently. Engineering, right? You stressing like Seeun, or you more like Isa?"
You swallow a sip of beer, feeling the weight of everyone's attention. "Somewhere in the middle, I guess," you say, leaning back against the counter. "Got my senior project breathing down my neck, but I'm not losing sleep over it. Yet."
J laughs, kicking her feet up on the coffee table. "Oh, you will. Wait till deadlines hit. You'll be pulling all-nighters with the rest of us."
"Speak for yourself," Isa says, smirking as she wipes her hands on a napkin. "Some of us don't need to cry over our laptops at 3 a.m."
Sieun rolls her eyes, tossing a crust into an empty pizza box. "Says the girl who redid her entire portfolio in one night last semester. Don't act like you're above it, Isa."
Isa shrugs, unbothered, "I get it done," she says simply, her tone closing the subject as she grabs another beer from the fridge.
Yoon claps her hands, breaking the moment. "Alright, enough academic bullshit. Movie time. I'm picking, and no one's allowed to complain."
J groans, flopping dramatically onto the couch. "Ugh, not another explosions-and-dudes-with-guns flick. Can we watch something with, like, a plot for once?"
"Explosions are the plot," Yoon shoots back, already scrolling through the TV's streaming app. "You'll survive."
Sumin nudges you, her smirk returning. "Better get used to this, newbie. Yoon's taste in movies is a war crime, but she's got veto power."
You grin, trying to shake off the lingering awkwardness with Isa. "I'm good with explosions. Beats setting the kitchen on fire."
"Low bar," Sumin says, but she's laughing as she hauls the trash bag toward the door.
Sieun stretches, yawning. "I'm gonna change before this movie torture starts. If Seeun's not back soon, I'm eating her share of the garlic knots."
"Don't you dare," Yoon warns, pointing a beer can at her. "She'll know."
You grab another slice of pizza, settling onto the edge of the couch as Yoon queues up some action flick with a title that promises at least three car chases. You're trying to piece together the house's dynamics, slotting the girls into place like a puzzle.
Sumin, graduated and unemployed for six months, her sharp confidence masking the weight of rejection and her parents' dwindling support.
Sieun, who just got back from class, must still be in college—maybe a master's program, given her tired-but-driven vibe and the way she talks about professors like they're a daily gauntlet.
Isa and Seeun, both in their final year like you, though Isa's cool detachment makes her seem older, while Seeun's perfectionist streak—mentioned by Yoon—hints at someone buried in their work.
Yoon's the one with a job, her take-charge attitude and shift-work schedule pointing to something demanding, maybe retail or barista, given her casual mention of "shifts."
And J, the youngest energy in the room, is in her third year, all playful chaos and sketchbooks, probably an art or design major like Sumin.
J's voice cuts through your thoughts, her feet still propped on the coffee table. "This guy's gonna die in, like, five minutes. Who runs toward the exploding car?"
"Someone with a death wish," Sumin says, dropping onto the couch next to you. She's swapped her blazer for a hoodie, her hair loose now, and she looks more relaxed but still carries the day's weight in her eyes. "You surviving, newbie? Or is Yoon's movie gonna finish what the kettle started?"
You grin, leaning back. "I'm hanging in there. Explosions are a nice change of pace from almost burning the house down."
Yoon snorts, cracking open another beer. "Keep talking, pyro. You're on dish duty tomorrow to make up for it."
"Fair," you say, raising your hands in surrender. "Just don't make me watch this movie twice."
Isa lets out a low chuckle from her corner, the first sound she's made in a while. "You'll live," she says, her voice dry but not as sharp as before. "Yoon's taste is shit, but it's better than J's rom-com obsession."
J gasps, clutching her chest like she's been stabbed. "Rom-coms are art! You're just heartless, Isa."
"Heartless?" Isa raises an eyebrow, sipping her beer. "I just don't need two hours of fake crying to feel something."
Sieun, who's back from changing into sweats and a loose tee, flops onto the couch next to J. "Can we not start the rom-com war again? I'm too tired for this." She grabs a slice of pizza, her bracelets jangling. "My professor spent an hour tearing apart my presentation today. I need food and brain-dead entertainment, not a debate."
"Rough day?" Sumin asks, her tone softening, and you catch the way she shifts into big-sister mode, even after her own shitshow of a day.
Sieun groans, biting into her pizza. "You have no idea. Grad school's kicking my ass. If I have to rewrite my methodology one more time, I'm dropping out."
"You won't," Yoon says, pointing at her with a garlic knot. "You're too stubborn. Besides, you're almost done. Suck it up."
"Easy for you to say," Sieun shoots back, but there's a grin behind it. "You're out there making bank while I'm drowning in citations."
Yoon rolls her eyes. "Bank? I'm slinging coffee and dealing with Karens all day. You want my shifts, be my guest."
You listen, filing away the details—Sieun's in grad school, probably a master's like you thought, and Yoon's working a grind of a job, probably at a café or something similar.
J nudges you, her grin back. "So, you're in your last year too, right? You, Isa, and Seeun are gonna be stress zombies together. Got any big plans for after?"
You shrug, taking a sip of your beer. "Finish my engineering degree, hopefully land a job that doesn't make me want to pull my hair out. Standard stuff."
"Standard, boring," J teases, dodging a napkin Sumin tosses at her. "Come on, you're living with us now. You gotta have some spice."
"Spice?" you say, raising an eyebrow. "I think almost setting the kitchen on fire counts."
The room laughs, even Isa cracking a small smile, though her eyes still carry that guarded weight. You feel the tension from earlier—her catching you at her door—hovering like a shadow, but she's not calling you out, not yet. Instead, she leans back, sipping her beer, letting the group's noise wash over her.
Sumin glances at the clock, frowning. "Still no Seeun. She's gonna miss the whole movie if she doesn't show soon."
"She'll make it," Isa says, her voice calm but certain. "She's probably perfecting her project to death. You know how she is."
You nod, trying to picture Seeun—this perfectionist you haven't met yet, who's apparently as intense as Isa but in a different way.
The front door creaks open, and a new voice cuts through the noise, sharp and exasperated. "Finally! I'm starving, and you better not have eaten all the pizza." A girl storms into the living room, her long hair slightly messy, a heavy-looking tote bag slung over her shoulder.
She's got a polished but frazzled vibe—dark jeans, a fitted sweater, and glasses perched on her nose, like she's been buried in books or a laptop all day. This must be Seeun.
Yoon glances up, smirking. "Chill, princess. We saved you some. Your slices are on the counter."
Seeun drops her bag by the door, kicking off her boots with a dramatic sigh. "Thank God. I've been dreaming about pepperoni since noon."
She heads to the kitchen, and you hear the rustle of a pizza box, "Who ate the rest of my share?" she says, reappearing with a single slice on a paper plate, her eyes narrowing at the group.
J points at Sieun, grinning. "Blame her. She's been sneaking garlic knots and extra slices all night."
Sieun, mid-bite of a crust, freezes. "Lies! I only took what was mine. Mostly." She winks, dodging a napkin J throws at her.
Seeun rolls her eyes, flopping onto the couch next to Sumin. "You're all animals. I'm slaving away on my thesis, and this is the thanks I get?" She takes a huge bite of her pizza, chewing with exaggerated relish, but you catch the exhaustion in her posture, the way her shoulders slump. She's in her final year, like you and Isa.
Sumin nudges her, her tone softer than usual. "Rough day with the professor?"
Seeun groans, pushing her glasses up her nose. "You have no idea. He made me rewrite my entire conclusion because it wasn't 'impactful' enough. Impactful! Like I'm supposed to solve world hunger with a graphic design thesis. I've been at it for hours."
"Perfectionist face," Isa says from her armchair, her voice dry but not unkind. "Told you."
Seeun sticks out her tongue, but there's a flicker of a smile. "Yeah, yeah. At least I'm not slacking like you, Miss I-Can-Manage-My-Time."
Isa smirks, unfazed, sipping her beer. "Slack? I'm just efficient. You should try it sometime."
You're quietly taking it all in, it's a lot, but it's starting to make sense, like pieces of a puzzle you're still figuring out. Seeun's eyes land on you, and she tilts her head, sizing you up.
"You're the new guy, right?" she says, wiping pizza grease from her fingers. "Heard you almost set the kitchen on fire."
You wince, but manage a grin. "Yeah, that's me. Bad first impression, but I'm working on it."
She laughs, a short, sharp sound. "Better be. We don't need another disaster around here." She glances at Sumin, her expression softening. "Heard about your interview, unnie. That guy sounds like a total creep. You okay?"
Sumin's jaw tightens, but she nods. "I'll live. Just another asshole to add to the list."
Seeun frowns, but doesn't push, instead turning back to her pizza.
The movie's still blaring, some car chase scene that's got J yelling again, and Yoon's threatening to mute the TV if she doesn't calm down.
You settle back, your beer half-empty, feeling the house's energy wrap around you. It's loud, messy, and a little overwhelming, but it's real, surrounded by these women who are all carrying their own battles, and somehow, you're starting to feel like you belong in their orbit.
The night drags on, the action movie on the TV reduced to background noise, its explosions and cheesy one-liners half-forgotten as the energy in the living room winds down.
The pizza boxes are empty, save for Seeun's lone slice, now cold on her plate. Beer cans litter the coffee table, and the air's thick with the lingering scent of garlic knots and the faint hum of the city outside.
J's curled up on one end of the couch, her head lolling against a cushion, eyes half-closed as she fights sleep.
Yoon's still in her armchair, her phone forgotten in her lap, her breathing slow and steady, on the verge of dozing off.
Sumin's stretched out next to you, her hoodie bunched up under her head like a pillow, her eyes fluttering shut every few minutes.
Seeun's cross-legged on the floor, picking at her pizza crust, her glasses fogging slightly from the warmth of the room.
You're slouched on the couch, your own beer long gone, trying to stay awake but feeling the day's chaos pull you toward sleep.
Isa's the only one who seems alert, still in her armchair, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching the room like she's guarding it.
Sieun breaks the sleepy silence, her voice soft but clear, a little playful. "You know, it's weird. Never been a guy living with us before. It's not bad, actually." She glances at you, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "It's like we've got one 'husband' to share, right?"
The room stirs. J snorts without opening her eyes, mumbling, "Speak for yourself, unnie." Yoon cracks one eye open, her lips twitching, but she doesn't say anything, just watches.
Isa, though, leans forward, her smirk sharp and teasing. "That's just you, then. You're, like, into him already, Sieun-ah."
Sieun's face flushes, and she tosses her pizza crust at Isa, who dodges it with a laugh. "Shut up!" Sieun says, but she's grinning, her bracelets jangling as she waves off the comment. "I'm just saying, it's nice having a guy around. Balances things out. Plus, he's already saving Sumin from creeps and almost burning the house down. That's husband material, right?"
Sumin groans, pulling her hoodie over her face. "Don't drag me into this. I'm trying to sleep."
You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck, your face warm from the attention. "Husband, huh? I'm flattered, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment. I can barely handle the stove."
"Low bar," Yoon mutters, her voice sleepy but amused. "You better step up, newbie, or we're trading you in for someone who can cook."
J, half-asleep, chimes in. "He's gotta survive Isa first. She's got that death stare locked and loaded."
Isa rolls her eyes, but there's a flicker of a smile as she leans back, sipping her beer. "Keep talking, J. I'll make sure you're scrubbing dishes for a month."
Seeun yawns, setting her plate aside. "Okay, I'm tapping out. Thesis is calling, and I'm not failing because of this shitty movie." She stands, stretching, her glasses slipping down her nose. "Nice meeting you. Try not to set anything else on fire."
"Alright," you say, grinning, and she laughs, heading upstairs with her tote bag slung over her shoulder.
Sumin sits up, rubbing her eyes. "I'm done too. If I stay here, I'll pass out and drool on the couch. Not cute." She glances at you, her expression softer than usual. "You did okay today, newbie. Thanks for… you know, earlier."
You nod, knowing she means, "Anytime."
Sumin heads upstairs, leaving you with J, Yoon, and Isa.
J's fully asleep now, snoring softly, her head buried in a cushion. Yoon's not far behind, her phone slipping from her hand as her eyes close.
Isa's still awake, though, her beer empty, her gaze steady on you. The movie's droning on, but it's just noise now, the room quiet except for J's snores and the occasional car horn outside.
"You're not running yet," Isa says, her voice low, almost a challenge. "Most guys would've bailed after a day like this."
You meet her eyes, feeling that same spark from earlier, the one that's been simmering since you caught her upstairs. "Takes more than a creepy exec and a screaming kettle to scare me off," you say, keeping your tone light but steady. "Plus, the pizza's good."
She laughs, a soft, throaty sound, and for a moment, her guard slips, just enough to show something warmer underneath. "You might survive us yet."
She stands, tossing her empty can into the recycling bin. "Night, newbie."
"Night," you say, watching her head upstairs, her sweatpants swaying with each step.
The room's quieter now, just you, J's snores, and Yoon's slow breathing.
You're slumped on the couch, the weight of the day pulling at you, figuring it's time to call it a night. You reach for the remote, ready to shut off the TV.
"I'm still watching," Yoon's voice cuts through the haze, her tone low but firm, startling you.
You jump slightly, your hand freezing on the remote. "What the—shit, you scared the hell out of me. Thought you tapped out."
Yoon smirks, her eyes glinting in the dim light of the TV. "Not yet."
She shifts closer, sliding across the couch until she's right next to you, her thigh brushing against yours. She's got that take-charge energy, but there's an edge to it now, something deliberate.
The air shifts, charged with something new. Her hair's loose now, falling over her shoulders, and her tank top rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin above her jeans.
"It's really heavy duty, you know," she says, her voice softer, almost confiding. "Being the only one working around these girls. Feels like I'm babysitting them half the time."
You nod, glancing at J's sleeping form, her mouth slightly open. "Yeah? Sumin's gonna work it out, right? I mean, she's trying."
Yoon sighs, her fingers tapping against her beer can. "Yeah, but that girl… she keeps trying, I keep cheering her on. She's the eldest here, but…" She trails off, shaking her head. "Nothing, nevermind." Her eyes meet yours, and there's a warmth there, mixed with something heavier—exhaustion, maybe, or just the weight of carrying everyone else.
"You're cool, you know. Working, taking care of these girls," you say, gesturing vaguely at J. "You're like the glue around here."
She laughs, a low, throaty sound, and leans closer, her shoulder brushing yours. "Glue, huh? That's generous."
Her hand moves slow, resting on the couch near your leg, her fingers grazing your thigh. The touch is light but electric, sending a jolt through you.
"It's finally good having a boy… man… guy in this house," she says, her voice dropping to a whisper, her breath warm against your ear. "I've waited for this too long."
Your pulse kicks up, the room suddenly feeling smaller, the movie's noise fading into nothing. Yoon's close now, her body angled toward you, her hand creeping higher, brushing your thigh with more intent.
Her eyes lock onto yours, playful but challenging, like she's testing you. "So," she murmurs, her lips curving into a sly smile, "what are you? Boy? Man? Or tough guy?"
The question hangs in the air, her fingers lingering, firm but teasing, just above your knee. Your mouth goes dry, and you're hyper-aware of her closeness, she's pushing boundaries you didn't expect to cross on your first night.
"I'd say… man," you manage, your voice steady despite the heat creeping up your neck. "But I'm not here to make things more complicated."
Yoon chuckles, her hand sliding a fraction higher, her thumb brushing against the seam of your jeans. "Complicated's my specialty," she says, low, almost a purr.
"You're in this house now. Things are gonna get messy." She leans in closer, her lips inches from yours, her eyes searching, daring you to make a move—or back off.
J's snores break the moment, loud and abrupt, and you both freeze, glancing at her sprawled form.
Yoon pulls back slightly, her hand still on your thigh, her smirk softening into something amused but no less intense. "Guess we'll have to be quiet."
Her hand creeps higher, fumbling at the waistband of your jeans, her fingers brushing the zipper with deliberate intent.
"Yoon, fuck, we can't…" you start, your voice low, strained, your heart pounding as you try to keep your head clear.
"Can't?" Yoon whispers, her lips curling into a wicked smile, her breath hot against your neck.
"Why can't we? Some of us are… you know, and I wanna be the first, before anyone else," her hand slips lower, palming the bulge already forming through your jeans, her touch firm and teasing.
"Got an interesting thing you found here?" she asks, her voice a low purr as she rubs harder, sending a jolt through you that makes it hard to think.
"I… I…" you stammer, your brain short-circuiting as her fingers trace the outline of your cock, the pressure making your breath hitch. You're torn between pushing her away and the heat pooling in your gut, but she's relentless, her eyes locked on yours, daring you to stop her.
"You what? Spill it," she says, her hand slipping under the waistband of your jeans, brushing over your boxers now, her fingers finding you hard and straining. She rubs harder, her touch confident, almost possessive, and you can't hold back the truth anymore.
"Caught Isa… touching herself with a dildo," you blurt, your voice barely above a whisper, your face burning as the words spill out.
Yoon snorts, a sharp, amused sound, her hand pausing for a moment but not retreating. "Isa? That girl… really." She leans back slightly, her eyes glinting with something between surprise and mischief. "No wonder she's been giving you the death stare all night. You walked in on her little private party, huh?"
You nod, swallowing hard, still hyper-aware of her hand, now resting lightly on your cock through your boxers. "It was an accident," you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady. "Door was open. I didn't mean to—"
"Oh, I bet," Yoon says, her smirk widening as she resumes her slow, teasing strokes. "Bet you didn't mind the show, though. Isa's got that whole 'don't touch me' vibe, but she's not as innocent as she plays." Her fingers tighten slightly, and you stifle a groan, your hips shifting involuntarily. "You're in trouble now, newbie. She's gonna hold that over you forever."
"Maybe," you manage, your voice rough, your head spinning from her touch and the way she's talking, "But this—fuck, Yoon, J's right there."
Yoon glances at J, still snoring, her face buried in a cushion. "She's out cold," she whispers, leaning closer, her lips brushing your ear. "And I'm not stopping unless you tell me to. So, what's it gonna be, tough guy? You want me to be your first in this house, or you gonna chicken out?"
Yoon's pushing every button, her eyes locked on yours, her breath hot, teasing, her fingers deftly tugging at the zipper of your jeans, slipping inside to free your cock from your boxers.
It springs out, hard and throbbing, and Yoon's eyes widen for a split second, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp.
But then that wicked smirk returns, her gaze flicking up to meet yours, all mischief and challenge, "Damn, newbie," she whispers, her voice low and husky, barely audible over the movie's noise.
"You've been holding out on me." Her fingers wrap around you, warm and firm, and she starts moving, slow at first, her grip testing your limits.
Your breath catches, your hips twitching involuntarily as she sets a steady rhythm, her hand sliding up and down, her thumb brushing the tip just enough to make you grit your teeth.
"Yoon, fuck," you hiss, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes darting to J, still passed out, her face buried in a cushion. "We're gonna get caught."
"Let's not," she murmurs, leaning closer, her lips grazing your ear, her breath hot and teasing. "Just stay quiet, tough guy." Her hand moves faster now, her strokes deliberate, confident, like she's done this before and knows exactly how to push you to the edge.
She's relentless, her fingers tightening just right, her pace quickening as she watches your face, clearly enjoying the way you're unraveling. "You didn't tell me you caught Isa in the act," she whispers, her voice dripping with amusement.
"Bet you liked it, huh? Her with that dildo, all flushed and needy." Her hand twists slightly, and you bite back a groan, your head tipping back against the couch.
"Fuck, Yoon, please," you manage, your voice strained, barely holding it together. You're close, too close, and she knows it, her smirk widening as she leans in, her lips brushing your jaw.
"Please what?" she teases, her hand moving faster, her grip perfect, relentless. "Spill it, newbie. You want this, don't you?"
You can't answer, not with words, not when her fingers are working you like this, pushing you toward the edge with every stroke. Your hips buck slightly, and she presses closer, her thigh against yours, her free hand resting on your chest like she's anchoring you.
It hits you hard, a wave of pleasure that makes your vision white out for a second. You clench your jaw, stifling a groan as you cum, your release spilling over her hand, hot and messy.
Yoon doesn't flinch, her strokes slowing but not stopping, milking every last bit out of you until you're trembling, your breath ragged. She pulls her hand back, wiping it casually on a tissue from the coffee table, her smirk never faltering.
"Well," she purrs, "Guess you're not just a boy after all." She leans back, picking up her beer like nothing happened, her eyes glinting with satisfaction as she takes a sip.
You're still catching your breath, your heart pounding, your jeans half-open and your mind a mess. J's still asleep, thank fuck, and the movie's still playing, some explosion lighting up the screen.
You fumble to zip up, your hands shaky, your face burning as you try to process what just happened. Yoon's sitting there, casual as hell, like she didn't just jerk you off in a room with a sleeping roommate five feet away.
"You're insane," you mutter, your voice hoarse, but there's a grin tugging at your lips despite yourself.
She shrugs, her smirk softening into something almost warm. "Consider a welcome from me. Things get wild here." She glances at J, then back at you, her voice dropping. "Don't tell Isa I know about her little show."
You nod, still dazed, your body buzzing with the aftershock. The house is quiet now, save for J's snores and the TV's hum, but it's a restless quiet, like it's waiting for the next spark. You're in deeper than ever—and it's only your first night.
Yoon sets her can down, stretching with a yawn that's more performative than tired.
"Alright," she says, her voice low to keep from waking J.
"You're on J duty. Carry her to her room. I'll clean up this disaster." She gestures at the coffee table, littered with cans, napkins, and pizza crusts, her eyes glinting with that same teasing edge.
You blink, still processing, but nod. "Yeah, okay." You stand, zipping your jeans fully now, your hands still a little shaky.
You step over to J. She's curled up on the couch, her face flushed from sleep, her mouth slightly open. She's light as you scoop her up, one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, her head lolling against your shoulder. She mumbles something incoherent, her breath warm against your neck, but doesn't wake.
"Careful with her," Yoon says, already stacking pizza boxes. "She's small, but she'll kick your ass if you drop her."
"Noted," you mutter, adjusting your grip as you head for the stairs.
J's lighter than you expected, her body soft and warm against you, and you're careful not to jostle her as you climb. The hallway's dark, the house quiet now, save for the faint creak of the floorboards under your feet.
You nudge open the door to what you assume is J's room—Sumin pointed it out earlier during the tour. It's a cluttered space, sketchbooks and art supplies scattered across a desk, posters of anime and indie bands plastered on the walls.
Her bed's unmade, sheets tangled, but you set her down gently, pulling a blanket over her.
She stirs, muttering something about "stupid professor," then rolls over, still out cold.
You step back, exhaling, the weight of the day settling in your bones. J's safe, tucked in, and you close her door softly, leaving it slightly ajar.
Downstairs, you hear Yoon moving around, the clink of cans hitting the recycling bin, the rustle of trash bags. The house feels like it's finally exhaling too, the chaos of the day giving way to a restless quiet.
You head back to your room, the small space still unfamiliar, your unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. You flop onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling, the day replaying in your head like a fever dream.
Sumin's naked introduction, her disastrous interview, Han's sleaze at the convenience store, Isa's private moment you stumbled into, and now Yoon's risky handjob on the couch, through it all.
Six women, each a force of nature and you, caught in the middle, already tangled in their lives.
You close your eyes, your body heavy, your mind racing. This is your home now, this creaky, messy boarding house with its secrets and storms.
Day one's done, and you're already in deeper than you ever expected. Whatever comes next, you know one thing for sure, this place, these girls, they're gonna change you.
You wake up It's 6 a.m., the house quiet, sunlight barely creeping through your window.
You groan, trying to shake your morning wood off, and throw on a T-shirt and sweatpants, hoping a quick trip to the bathroom will clear your head.
You step into the hallway.
There's Isa, fresh from a shower, her dark hair damp and clinging to her bare face, no makeup, just her natural glow. She's in a loose tank top and tiny shorts, her skin still flushed from the hot water. Her eyes drop to your sweatpants, spotting the obvious bulge, and a sly smirk spreads across her lips.
"Morning problem?" she teases, her voice low, stepping closer. Before you can stammer a reply, she grabs your wrist and pulls you into her room, shutting the door with a click.
"Isa, what—" you start, but she's already on her knees, tugging your sweatpants down. Your cock springs free, hard and throbbing, and she doesn't hesitate, wrapping her hand around it, her grip firm and warm.
"Shh, let me help," she murmurs, her eyes locked on yours, all mischief and heat. She strokes you slowly, her thumb brushing the tip, making you suck in a breath.
Then she leans in, her lips closing around you, her tongue swirling as she takes you deeper. You grip her shoulder, your knees weak, trying not to groan too loud.
"Fuck, Isa," you whisper, your voice rough as her mouth works you, her head bobbing with a rhythm that's driving you crazy. She hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and you're already close, the intensity of her sucking pulling you to the edge.
She pulls back for a second, her lips slick, smirking up at you. "You're so easy," she says, then dives back in, her hand stroking what her mouth can't reach. It's too much—her heat, her confidence—and you lose it, cumming hard with a stifled groan, your release spilling into her mouth. She swallows, licking her lips as she pulls away, standing with that same sly grin.
"Better?" she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, casual as hell.
You nod, still catching your breath, pulling up your sweatpants, "Fuck that was…" Your face is burning, but she just laughs, soft and low, stepping back to grab a towel from her chair.
"You're welcome," she says, her eyes glinting. "You're gonna need it in this house."
You sit on the edge of her bed, "Hey, Isa," you say, rubbing the back of your neck. "About J… I fucked up yesterday, yelling at her like because she's too clingy. How do I make it right?"
Isa leans against her desk, crossing her arms, her tank top shifting to show a sliver of her stomach. "J's sensitive, even if she acts all wild," she says, her voice softer now. "She likes you, probably more than she's letting on. Just talk to her, be real. Say you're sorry, but don't make it a big deal—she hates that. Maybe do something small, like grab her a coffee or sketch something with her. She's into art, so that'd hit her right."
You nod, taking it in. "Got it. Just be straight with her, thanks, Isa."
She shrugs, her smirk returning. "Don't screw it up again, big guy." She shoos you out, "Now go, before the others wake up and start asking questions."
You slip out of her room, your heart still racing, the day already off to a wild start.
You head downstairs to the kitchen, your throat's dry, and you need water to cool off and clear your head.
The house is still quiet, you grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with tap water, gulping it down as you lean against the counter, trying to focus on how to make things right with J.
The stairs creak, and Yoon comes down, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, dressed in a loose tank top and sweatpants. She's carrying a laundry basket, her arms wrapped around it, heading for the small laundry room off the kitchen.
You glance over, and your eyes catch the pile in her basket—a tangle of bras and panties, lacy and colorful, spilling over the edge. A black bra with a little bow and a pair of red panties stand out, and you quickly look away, your face heating up, trying not to stare.
"Morning," Yoon says, her voice casual but tired, like she's already dreading her shift at the coffee shop. She sets the basket on the counter, sorting through it, completely unbothered that you're standing there. "You're up early again. What's with you and these dawn raids on the kitchen?"
You shrug, sipping your water, keeping your eyes on the glass. "Just grabbing some water." You're trying to sound normal, but your voice is a little tight.
She glances at you, smirking as she catches your quick look at her basket. "Eyes up, pyro," she teases, tossing a pair of panties into the washing machine. "It's just laundry. You act like you've never seen a bra before."
You choke on your water, coughing slightly. "I—uh, wasn't looking," you mutter, your face burning now. "Just… zoned out."
"Sure you were," she says, her smirk widening as she keeps sorting, her movements quick and efficient. "This place is gonna eat you alive if you blush every time you see some underwear." She grabs a handful of bras, tossing them into the machine, and you can't help but notice the way her tank top shifts, showing a hint of her curves.
"Anyway," she continues, slamming the washer door shut and starting the cycle, "I'm doing laundry before my shift. Gotta look semi-decent for the Karens at the coffee shop." She leans against the counter, crossing her arms, her eyes flicking over you. "You good? You look like you just ran a marathon."
You set your glass down, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, just… long morning. Got a plan to fix things with J, though."
Yoon raises an eyebrow, grabs her basket, now half-empty, and heads for the door to the laundry room. "J's probably in her room, sketching or sulking. Hit her with a coffee and an apology, and you'll be fine. Just don't let her climb you again—she's like a koala when she's clingy."
You laugh, the tension easing a bit. "Got it. Thanks, Yoon."
She waves a hand, already halfway out the door. "Don't burn the house down while I'm gone, alright?" she disappears, leaving you alone in the kitchen with your thoughts.
You're rinsing your glass, when you hear footsteps stumbling down the stairs.
It's Seeun, looking like she barely slept, her glasses slightly crooked, in a baggy sweater and leggings, her hair in a messy bun.
"Morning," she mumbles, barely glancing at you as she heads straight for the fridge. "Gotta make breakfast before class." She pulls out eggs, a pack of bacon, and some green onions, moving like she's on autopilot.
"Need a hand?" you offer, setting your glass down, figuring you could pitch in after yesterday's kitchen teamwork, keeping busy might help you stay sane.
Seeun shakes her head, already cracking eggs into a bowl with one hand while flipping open her notebook with the other. "No need, I got this," she says, her voice firm but not rude.
"You helped yesterday, so you're off the hook. Just don't touch the stove again." She shoots you a quick smirk.
You laugh, leaning against the counter, "Alright, I'll stay out of your way."
You watch as she moves with that same precision from yesterday, whisking eggs and chopping green onions like it's second nature. Her sweater's sleeves are rolled up, and you can't help but notice the way her leggings hug her curves, but you force your eyes back to the counter, remembering her catching you staring yesterday.
Sumin shuffles in, still in her loose sweatshirt, her hair a little less messy now but her eyes still heavy with the weight of her job hunt. "Morning," she says, yawning as she grabs a mug for coffee. She glances at Seeun's setup and raises an eyebrow. "You making enough for everyone, or is this your personal stress-cooking session?"
Seeun snorts, tossing bacon into a sizzling pan. "Everyone, unless J tries to steal half of it again. Grab the rice, unnie, and help me out. I'm not your personal chef."
Sumin rolls her eyes but grins, setting her mug down and pulling a bag of rice from the pantry. "Fine…" She measures out rice into a pot, her movements slower than Seeun's but steady, like she's done this a hundred times. "You're lucky I'm here, Seeun-ie. Otherwise, you'd be stuck cooking for this whole zoo alone."
"Zoo's right," Seeun mutters, stirring the eggs. She glances at you, her smirk softening. "You sticking around for breakfast?"
You nod, "Yeah, breakfast sounds good. And… working on the J thing. Gonna talk to her soon."
You leave the kitchen, the smell of bacon and rice still lingering as Seeun and Sumin keep the breakfast prep going. Your bladder's screaming after all that water you chugged to calm down from Isa's morning surprise.
You head upstairs to the bathroom, figuring a quick piss will give you a moment to spare out your mind.
The bathroom door's closed when you get there, the faint sound of running water coming from inside. Someone's in there—maybe Isa, fresh off your earlier encounter, or J, hiding out after last night's mess.
You lean against the wall, waiting, trying not to think about the chaos of this house or how it keeps pulling you into these wild moments.
The door swings open, and it's Sieun, wrapped in a small white towel that barely covers her thighs. Her skin's flushed pink from the hot shower, her petite frame glistening, her short hair damp and sticking to her neck. Her perky tight breasts press against the towel, and you catch a glimpse of the curve of her hips before you force your eyes to the ceiling, your face heating up.
"Morning, husband," she says, her voice light but with that teasing edge she's so good at. "Stalking me again?"
You stammer, caught off guard, your eyes darting to the floor. "No, I'm not—I didn't know you were here. I'm… I'm sorry." You turn your head away, trying not to stare at her body, the towel doing a shitty job of hiding her curves. Your cock twitches, betraying you, and you curse yourself for not having better control.
Sieun's eyes flick down to your groin, spotting the obvious bulge in your sweatpants. She smirks, stepping closer, her towel shifting slightly. "Looks like something's excited," she says, her tone playful but sharp, like she's testing you.
"I… I just need to pee," you mumble, your voice rough, your face burning as you try to sidestep her and get to the toilet. You're dying to defuse this before it spirals like everything else in this house.
She doesn't move, blocking the doorway, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "Hmm, I'm curious how guys pee works," she says, her voice dropping, almost challenging. "I wanna see it."
Before you can protest, she grabs your wrist and pulls you into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you with a click.
You freeze, your heart pounding. "Sieun, what the hell—" you start, but she's already leaning against the sink, her towel barely holding on, her eyes locked on you.
"Go on," she says, nodding toward the toilet. "Pee. I'm watching."
Your face hot, but you're too stunned to argue. You step to the toilet, pulling down your sweatpants just enough, your cock half-hard and making this way more awkward than it should be.
You try to focus, staring at the wall, feeling her gaze burning into you. It takes a second, but you finally manage to pee, the sound loud in the quiet bathroom. You're hyper-aware of her standing there, her presence making your skin prickle.
When you finish, you shake off and turn to pull your sweatpants up, but Sieun's already moving.
She steps closer, her towel loosening just a fraction, and grabs a washcloth from the sink. "Hold up," she says, running the cloth under warm water.
Before you can react, she's on her knees, the towel slipping slightly to show more of her chest. She takes your cock in her hand, now fully hard from the tension and her closeness, and wipes it gently with the warm, damp cloth. "I don't do dirty."
"Sieun—" you start, your voice hoarse, but she cuts you off with a smirk, tossing the cloth aside. "Shhh," she shushes, her fingers wrapping around your cock, stroking slowly.
Then, without warning, she leans forward, her lips brushing the tip before taking you into her mouth.
You gasp, "Shit—" your knees buckling as her tongue swirls, her mouth hot and tight around you.
She's slow at first, teasing, her eyes flicking up to meet yours, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose.
Your hand finds her damp hair, not pushing, just holding on as she works you, her lips sliding further down, her hand stroking the base.
"Fuck, Sieun," you mutter, your voice rough, trying to keep quiet in case anyone's nearby.
She picks up the pace, her mouth moving faster, her tongue flicking in ways that make your head spin. You're trying to stay steady, but your hips twitch, urging her on, and she takes you deeper, her throat tight around you.
It's too much—the heat, the way her petite frame looks kneeling in front of you.
You're close, your breath hitching, and she senses it, pulling back just enough to whisper, "Go ahead, husband," and she dives back in, sucking harder.
You lose it, "Shit, I'm—" cumming with a low groan, your release hitting hard as she keeps her mouth on you, swallowing every drop.
She pulls back slowly, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, standing with a grin like nothing happened.
"You're welcome," she says, adjusting her towel, her cheeks still flushed. She grabs her washcloth and tosses it into the sink, brushing past you to the door. "Don't take too long. Breakfast's probably ready."
You're left standing there, your heart still racing, your sweatpants barely pulled up.
You take a second to catch your breath, splashing cold water on your face, trying to process what just happened, and you're starting to realize this house doesn't have an off switch.
You head back downstairs, the smell of bacon and rice hitting you as you enter the kitchen. Seeun's plating up breakfast, Sumin setting out dishes, both of them in their groove. You slide into a chair, trying to act normal.
"Food's up," Seeun says, sliding a plate of bacon, eggs, and rice in front of you. "Don't let J steal it this time."
Sumin glances at you, smirking. "You look like you saw a ghost. Everything okay?"
"Yeah," you say, forcing a grin, grabbing your chopsticks. "Just… just."
The kitchen's warm with the smell of food, but the vibe's a little off without J's usual chaotic energy. Everyone's here except her.
Seeun's scarfing down her food like she's got ten minutes before class, Sumin's sipping coffee and scrolling through job listings on her phone, Yoon's half-asleep over her plate, and Isa's eating quietly, her eyes flicking to you now and then, Sieun's next to you, all casual in her hoodie, acting like she didn't just blow you in the bathroom twenty minutes ago.
"No J today?" Yoon asks.
You scoop some rice, hearing that though your gut's twisting with guilt from last night.
Sumin looks up from her phone, her expression serious. "She's in her room. Probably still sulking for him," nodding at you. "He's shouting at her yesterday hit her hard. She's not used to that."
Seeun nods, pushing her plate away. "Yeah, J's all loud and clingy, but she's soft underneath. Gets her feelings hurt easy. Give her some space today, okay? Let her cool off, especially you," she points the fork at you.
You nod, feeling like shit. "Yeah, okay. I'll give her space. Didn't mean to hurt her."
The table goes quiet for a second, everyone focused on their food, the clink of chopsticks and plates filling the silence. You hate the idea of J holed up in her room, upset because of you, but you trust the girls know her better than you do.
Breakfast wraps up fast. Seeun's the first to bolt, grabbing her tote bag and muttering about a morning lecture. "Don't eat my leftovers," she warns, pointing at everyone before dashing out.
Sieun's next, her bracelets jangling as she heads off to tackle her grad school grind, "Catch you later, husband," she teases with a wink, making you choke on your water before she disappears.
Yoon stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Off to deal with coffee shop hell," she says, her voice dry as she heads for the door.
Isa lingers a bit, rinsing her plate before she grabs her jacket and slips out without a word.
It's just you and Sumin now, she's still at the table, her laptop open, her coffee mug half-empty, as you start clearing plates, remembering your dish duty, the clatter of porcelain grounding you.
It's 10 a.m.
You're in your room, shoving textbooks and your laptop into your backpack for another meeting with your professor at 11.
Yesterday's feedback was solid, but you're still tweaking your last project, you sling your bag over your shoulder, head downstairs.
You find Sumin in the living room, looking sharp in a neat blazer and skirt, her hair pulled back, a stark contrast to her usual messy sweatshirt vibe. She's checking her phone, her face a mix of nerves and focus.
"Hey," you say, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. "You heading out?"
Sumin glances up, a small smile breaking through her tension. "Yeah, got a on call this. Interview for some graphic design gig. Fingers crossed it's not another creep like Han."
She adjusts her blazer, smoothing it down. "You off to campus?"
"Yup, professor meeting at 11," you say, grabbing your jacket from the couch. "Gotta get roasted on my project again. J around? I still need to talk to her."
Sumin shakes her head, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "She left already. Saw her slip out about an hour ago. Probably at her art class or hiding out somewhere. You'll have to catch her later." Her tone's gentle, like she knows you're still beating yourself up about yelling at J.
"Damn," you mutter, rubbing the back of your neck. "Haven't seen her all day. Hope she's okay."
"She'll be fine," Sumin says, heading for the door. "Just give her time. She's tough, even if she's a softie underneath."
She pauses, glancing back. "House is gonna be empty with both of us out. Don't worry, though—the other got a key, don't forget yours"
You nod, following her to the front door. "Good luck with the interview. Hope it's a good one."
"Thanks," she says, flashing a quick grin. "Don't let your professor grill you too hard."
She steps out, her heels clicking on the porch, and you lock the door behind you both, the house falling silent as you head to the bus stop.
You and Sumin walk together for a bit, her heading to a different bus stop for her interview. She's quiet, probably mentally prepping, and you don't push for conversation.
You part ways at the corner, Sumin giving you a quick wave before heading off. You catch your bus, the ride to campus a blur of city streets and your own thoughts.
By the time you reach the university, it's 10:45, and you hustle to your professor's office, ready to dive into your project and put the house's chaos on hold for a bit.
The coffee shop's a zoo today, the lunch rush hitting hard with a line of impatient customers and the espresso machine screaming like it's possessed.
Yoon's behind the counter, her black polo soaked with sweat, her ponytail slipping loose as she juggles orders.
Some Karens already complained twice about her latte being "too foamy." Yoon's forcing a smile, but her eyes are screaming murder.
She's just handed off a cappuccino when the bell above the door jingles, and Sumin walks in, still in her sharp blazer and skirt from the morning, though her hair's a bit messier now, like the day's taken a toll. She looks tired, her bag slung over her shoulder as she weaves through the crowd to the counter.
"Hey, where've you been?" Yoon asks, wiping her hands on her apron as she leans against the counter for a quick breather.
Sumin grins, sliding onto a stool at the counter, dropping her bag at her feet. "Interview call. Some graphic design firm downtown. Went better than I expected, honestly. They seemed into my portfolio."
Yoon's eyebrows shoot up, a rare genuine smile breaking through her usual sarcasm. "Finally, you got a real job now? Congrats, unnie."
Sumin laughs, but it's cautious, like she's not ready to celebrate yet. "Not yet. I gotta wait for them to call me back, and I'm praying they don't ghost me. Had enough of that shit with the last three places."
She runs a hand through her hair, sighing. "Fingers crossed this one's legit."
Yoon nods, grabbing a rag to wipe down the counter while keeping an eye on the line. "You'll get it. You're too good for them to pass up. Unlike me, stuck here dealing with assholes who don't know the difference between a flat white and a macchiato."
She rolls her eyes, tossing the rag aside. "Want a coffee? On the house, since you might be employed soon."
"Make it quick," Sumin says, smirking. "I'm not trying to get you fired."
Yoon whips up a quick iced Americano, sliding it across the counter. "So, what's the vibe at the house? I left early, but it felt weird without J bouncing around. Pyro still freaking out about her?"
Sumin takes a sip, nodding. "Yeah, he's feeling like shit for yelling at her last night. J slipped out early, probably dodging him."
Yoon snorts, steaming milk for another order. "Kid's in over his head. J's probably drawing angsty sketches of him as a villain right now. She'll come around, though. Always does." She glances at the clock—2:15 p.m. "You heading back to the house?"
"Yeah, gonna crash and wait for that call," Sumin says, finishing her coffee. "House'll be quiet for once."
"Lucky you," Yoon mutters, handing off another drink to a customer. "I'm stuck here till 6. Tell Pyro not to burn the place down if she's back before me."
Sumin laughs, grabbing her bag. "No promises. Thanks for the coffee." She heads out, the bell jingling behind her, leaving Yoon to face the next wave of customers with a sigh.
Sumin steps off the bus, the afternoon sun warm on her shoulders, her blazer a little wrinkled from the long day.
The interview went better than she expected—real questions, no creepy vibes, just people who seemed to care about her work. Maybe things are finally turning.
The front door's unlocked when she gets there, which is weird. She pauses, hand on the knob, frowning. Someone's back already? J? Isa? The house is usually dead this time of day.
She pushes the door open, the familiar creak greeting her like an old friend, and steps inside, the cool quiet wrapping around her like a blanket.
A delivery guy appears on the porch, when she's about to shut the door, holding a small brown package. "Name of Isa?" he asks, checking his tablet.
Sumin nods, taking the box. "Yeah, Isa's here. I'll give it to her."
"Just need a signature," he says, handing over the stylus. "You're Isa?"
"No, her roommate," Sumin says, signing quickly. "I'll make sure she gets it."
"Thanks," he says, tipping his cap and heading off.
Sumin closes the door, turning the package over in her hands. Probably another online order—Isa's always buying random shit.
She heads upstairs, her heels clicking softly on the wood, and stops at Isa's door.
"Isa, your package is here," she calls, knocking once before pushing the door open—not thinking.
"Unnie, wait—don't open!" Isa's voice cracks, sharp and panicked.
But it's too late.
Sumin freezes in the doorway, the package slipping from her fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thud.
Isa's on her bed, legs spread, a thick dildo buried deep inside her, her hand frozen mid-thrust. Her face is flushed, lips parted, eyes wide with shock and shame as she yanks the sheets up to cover herself, clutching them to her chest like a shield.
Sumin's stomach drops, "What the hell are you doing?" she whispers, her voice tight, a mix of shock and anger rising in her throat. "There's a guy in this house now, Isa."
Isa's breathing hard, her dark hair sticking to her sweaty forehead, her eyes narrowing as the shock fades into defiance. "Why do you care?" she snaps, her voice low but sharp. "It's my room."
Sumin says, stepping inside and closing the door behind her, her voice trembling with frustration. "What if he walked in? What if he saw you like this? You think that's okay?"
Isa sits up, the sheet slipping slightly, her jaw tight. "Why? does it matter to you?" she fires back, her tone cold. "I don't mind if he catches me. It's not like he didn't see you naked on day one."
Sumin's blood boils. She steps closer, her voice dropping, raw with emotion. "Watch your tongue. I don't like you being so easy on him, Isa. This isn't just about you anymore. We all live here. You can't just—" She stops, her throat tight, the words catching. "Have some shame."
Isa's eyes flash, "What the fuck did you say?" she hisses, her voice breaking, not with hurt but with rage.
"You don't get to judge me. You don't get to walk in here and act like you're my mom. I do what I want. I like him. I'm not ashamed of it."
Sumin stares at her, the air thick with tension, the package forgotten on the floor.
She wants to say more—about boundaries, about respect, about how this house is already fragile and adding sex to the mix is a bomb waiting to go off—but the words die in her throat.
Isa's not listening. She never does when she's like this.
Sumin turns, her hand on the doorknob, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just… lock your door next time."
She steps out, closing it behind her with a soft click, her heart heavy, the hope from earlier crushed under the weight of this place and the people in it.
It's 4 p.m., and you're finally done with your professor. The meeting went better than expected—he actually liked your revised methodology, just told you to tighten up the data analysis and "stop overthinking it."
You're feeling lighter as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head out of his office, the campus buzzing with students heading to late classes or chilling on the quad, you catch the bus back to the boarding house.
By 4:45, you're walking up the porch, your key in hand, the house looking quiet from the outside.
No music blasting, no J yelling, no smell of Seeun's cooking. It's weirdly calm, and you're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad one in this place.
You wonder if Sumin's back from her interview—hope it went well after all the crap she's been through. Or maybe Isa's home, or Sieun, or even J. You still haven't seen her all day.
You unlock the door and step inside, the creak of the floorboards loud in the silence.
The living room's empty, no bags or shoes by the couch, no signs of life. You head to the kitchen. The counter's clean, dishes done—probably Sumin's work.
A note's stuck to the fridge in Seeun's neat handwriting: Leftovers in the blue container. DON'T TOUCH MY BACON. You smirk, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge instead.
The house feels quiet without the loud from girls, and you're not sure what to do. You head upstairs, Sumin's door is closed, no light under it. Isa's door is shut too, and J's room is silent.
You pause outside J's door, your hand hovering, wanting to knock, to check if she's back and finally talk, but the girls' warnings echo in your head—give her space, let her come to you. You drop your hand, sighing, and head to your room.
You flop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, your phone buzzing with a campus group chat notification you ignore.
You grab your phone, scrolling aimlessly, wondering who's coming back first and when this place will feel alive again. For now, it's just you, the quiet, and the hope that tomorrow won't be as heavy as today.
It's 7 p.m. and the house is still dead quiet. You're starving, your stomach growling louder than your thoughts.
You head downstairs to hit the kitchen. The fridge has Seeun's blue container of leftovers—bacon, eggs, and rice from breakfast—but her note's still glaring at you: DON'T TOUCH MY BACON.
You grab the container anyway, figuring you'll replace it later, and pop it in the microwave to reheat, the hum filling the quiet.
The front door swings open, and Yoon walks in, her black polo untucked, she's lugging a big black plastic bag, the smell of fried chicken and soy sauce wafting out.
"What's in the house, pyro?" she asks, kicking off her shoes and dropping the bag on the counter.
"Just leftovers from breakfast," you say, nodding at the microwave. "Want some? I'm reheating."
Yoon grins, wiping sweat off her forehead. "Perfect timing then. Brought takeout—fried chicken, tteokbokki, the works. Call the others, I'll set this up." She starts pulling containers from the bag, the kitchen already filling with the spicy, savory smell.
You pause, the microwave beeping as your food finishes. "What, I just knock on their doors?" you ask, grabbing a plate.
Yoon snorts, rolling her eyes as she arranges the takeout on the counter. "Use your damn phone, pyro. You're in the group chat, right?"
You freeze, scratching the back of your neck. "Uh, no. Didn't know you guys had a group chat. Hell, I don't even have you guys' numbers."
Yoon stops, her hands on her hips, looking at you like you just admitted to living under a rock. "Aww, that's deep, pyro," she says, her voice dripping with mock pity. "What's your number, then? I'll add you to the group."
You rattle off your number, and she pulls out her phone, typing fast. "There, you're in. Welcome to the chaos. We use it for grocery runs, complaining, and Seeun yelling about dishes."
Her phone pings, and she smirks. "Already sent a message—'Food's here, get your asses down.'"
You check your phone, and sure enough, a new group chat pops up, already blowing up with emojis from Seeun and a "finally" from Sieun.
"Thanks," you say, grabbing your reheated leftovers and sliding them onto a plate. "Didn't realize I was so out of the loop."
"Newbie problems," Yoon says, tearing open a container of tteokbokki, the red sauce steaming. "Grab some chicken and sit. They'll trickle down soon."
You nod, piling some fried chicken onto your plate, the house starting to feel alive again with Yoon's takeout.
Yoon tearing into a drumstick like she hasn't eaten all day. You're halfway through your plate, the mix of breakfast leftovers and takeout hitting the spot, when the stairs creak.
Sieun's the first to appear, her bracelets jangling, still in her grad school hoodie, her eyes lighting up at the food. "Hell yes," she says, grabbing a plate and piling on chicken and rice. "Yoon, you're a saint."
"Tell that to my manager," Yoon mutters, mouth full. "He made me stay late for inventory."
Sieun plops down next to you, nudging your shoulder. "Missed you at breakfast, husband," she teases, her voice low enough that Yoon doesn't catch it. You choke on a bite, she just smirks, popping a piece of chicken in her mouth.
Next comes Isa, her dark hair loose, still in her tank top and shorts from earlier, her steps quiet but deliberate. She doesn't say much, just nods at Yoon and grabs a plate, loading it with tteokbokki then sitting across from Sieun.
Sumin's next, her blazer gone, now in a loose T-shirt, her face tired but less stressed than this morning.
"Hey, how's the interview going?" you ask glancing at her going downstairs.
"Interview went okay," Sumin says, answering as she grabs food. "Waiting on a call. Fingers crossed." She sits next to Isa, but there's a weird distance between them, like they're avoiding eye contact. You catch it but don't say anything, focusing on your chicken.
Finally, J shuffles in, her messy bun lopsided, her oversized T-shirt slipping off one shoulder. She looks like she's been out all day, her eyes a little red, maybe from exhaustion.
The room quiets for a second as J grabs a plate, her movements slow. She doesn't look at you, just piles on some tteokbokki and sits at the far end of the table, picking at her food.
Yoon glances around, wiping sauce off her fingers. "Where's Seeun? Thought she'd be here sniffing out food by now."
"Probably still on her way," Sieun says, checking her phone. "Group chat says she's stuck in a study group. Thesis hell."
"Figures," Sumin mutters, her voice flat. She's still not looking at Isa, and J's still silent, her fork poking at her plate.
You clear your throat, trying to break the ice. "Food's good, Yoon. Thanks for this."
She grins, leaning back. "Anytime, pyro. Just don't eat my share next time." The girls chuckle, but J stays quiet, her eyes on her plate. For now, you all eat, the clink of chopsticks and low chatter filling the kitchen, the house finally feeling full again, even if it's not quite whole.
The front door creaks open around 8:15, and Seeun stumbles in, her tote bag slung low, glasses fogged up, hair a mess. She smells like library dust and instant coffee. "Food?" she croaks, dropping her bag by the couch.
"Food," Yoon says, already rinsing her plate. "Chicken, tteokbokki, rice at counter. Eat fast before J finishes the spicy stuff."
Seeun beelines for the kitchen, muttering about citations and deadlines. The rest of the girls finish up—Yoon first, then Sieun, Isa, Sumin—each grabbing their dishes and drifting upstairs without much chatter.
J slips out last, plate scraped clean, eyes on the floor. She doesn't say a word, just heads for the stairs.
You wait a beat, then follow. J's halfway up when you catch her arm, gentle but firm. "J… I'm sorry," you say, voice low, rough with guilt. "I really shouldn't have shouted at you yesterday."
She stops, shoulders stiff. For a second she doesn't move, then slowly turns. Her eyes are red-rimmed, not crying now, but like she's been fighting it all day. "It's fine," she mumbles, but it's not. Her voice cracks on the last word.
"It's not fine," you say, stepping closer, keeping your grip soft. "You didn't deserve that. I was tired, frustrated, stupid and I took it out on you. That's on me."
J looks down at your hand on her arm, then up at you. Her lip trembles, just a little. "I just… I like being around you," she whispers. "And then you yelled, and I thought… maybe you hate me now."
"I don't hate you," you say, shaking your head. "I like you being around. You're fun. You're you. I just… still figuring this live out. I'm sorry I was stupid."
She sniffs, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her oversized T-shirt. "You called me too much," she says, voice small. "Like I'm annoying."
"You're not annoying," you say, squeezing her arm lightly. "You're loud, yeah. Clingy, maybe. But that's not bad. I just need to learn how to handle it better. I'll do better."
J looks at you for a long moment, searching your face. Then, slowly, she nods. "Okay," she says, barely above a whisper. "But… don't yell again. It scares me."
"I won't," you promise. "And if I do, you can throw a pillow at me. Or draw me with devil horns. Whatever works."
A tiny smile tugs at her lips. "I already drew you with horns. And a tail."
You laugh, soft and relieved. "Fair. Can I see it?"
"Not yet," she says, but she's smiling now, small and shy. "Maybe tomorrow. If you're nice."
"I'll be nice," you say, letting go of her arm.
She grabs your hand, pulls you toward the narrow staircase at the end of the hall. "Come," she says, voice soft but sure.
You follow her up the creaky steps to a small door you've never noticed before. She pushes it open, and a gust of cold night air hits you.
You step out onto the rooftop, the city sprawling below—lights flickering, cars humming, the faint sound of music drifting from somewhere far off.
There's a rickety wooden bench by the edge, paint peeling, overlooking the quiet neighborhood. The sky's clear, stars scattered like someone spilled salt across black sky.
"I didn't know we had a rooftop," you say, rubbing your arms as the cold bites through your T-shirt.
J sits on the bench, patting the spot beside her. "We used to hang out up here all the time," she says, pulling her knees up, hugging them. "Tried to barbecue once. Nearly froze our asses off. Realized it's way too cold for that. Now we just do the backyard, or the living room with blankets and snacks." She smiles, her messy bun catching the wind.
You sit next to her, close but not touching, just breathing in the quiet. The city feels far away up here, like the house's chaos can't reach.
You glance at her—her soft side profile, her lips slightly parted, eyes on the skyline. She's not crying anymore. She's just… here.
"J," you say, voice low, "I'm really sorry. I can't stand seeing you quiet. Not talking to us. Not talking to me. It felt wrong all day."
She turns to you, her eyes soft, a little glassy. "I'm… sorry too," she says, voice barely above a whisper. "I was being too much. Clingy. Annoying. I just… I like you. A lot. And I didn't know how to stop."
"No," you say, shaking your head.
You reach for her hands—cold, small, trembling just a little—and hold them tight. "Don't apologize for being you. Don't change. I like you like this—loud, messy, all over the place. I just need to learn how to keep up. I'm the one who should've understood."
She looks at you, really looks, and something shifts in her eyes—relief, maybe, or trust. She leans in, slow, giving you time to pull away.
You don't. Your lips meet—soft, warm, a little unsure at first, then deeper. Her hands slip from yours to your neck, fingers threading into your hair. You pull her closer, one hand on her waist, the cold forgotten.
The kiss isn't wild or rushed. It's quiet. Real. Like saying I'm here without words.
"I really like you, roomie," J says suddenly, pulls back just enough to look at you. "I haven't… I haven't gotten close to a guy like this before. Not until you."
Your heart stumbles.
You've seen J loud, chaotic, clingy—but this? This is different. She's Vulnerable. "J…" you start, not sure what to say, your hands still on her waist.
She doesn't wait. She leans in again, kissing you deeper this time—hungrier, more certain. Her lips part, her tongue brushing yours, and you respond without thinking, pulling her closer. The kiss turns heated fast, her breath warm against your mouth, her hands sliding up your chest, fingers curling into your shirt.
Then she moves—swift, bold, like she's done holding back. She swings a leg over, straddling you on the bench, her thighs pressing against yours. The cold night air hits your skin, but she's burning, her body flush against you, her hips settling into your lap. You groan softly into her mouth as she grinds down, feeling her heat through your jeans.
"J—" you breathe, but she kisses you again, cutting you off, her hands in your hair, tugging gently. She's not playful now. She's needing—needing you, needing this.
You slide your hands under her oversized T-shirt, palms against her bare back, skin soft and warm. She shivers, not from cold, and rocks against you slowly.
Your cock hardens fast, straining against your jeans, and she feels it—lets out a soft, breathy laugh against your lips.
"See?" she whispers, voice shaky but sure. "You like me too."
"Yeah," you admit, voice rough, one hand sliding up to cup her neck, thumb brushing her jaw. "I do."
She kisses you again, deeper, her hips rolling in a rhythm that makes your head spin, her thighs tight around your hips.
"It's really cold up here," she pulls back, her lips brushing yours. "Your room or mine?"
"Yours," you say without thinking. "Mine's a disaster."
A laugh bubbling out of her, "You've been here three days and your room's already a disaster?" Her hand slides down, palming your cock through your jeans, squeezing just enough to make you hiss.
"T-that's a man thing," you manage, voice rough, trying to play it cool even as your hips twitch into her grip.
"Man thing?" She smirks, groping you harder, fingers tracing the outline of your bulge. "Including this?"
"Ye—yeah…" you choke out, half-laughing, half-groaning as she teases you.
She grins, wicked and soft all at once, then slides off your lap and stands, "Come on, then," she says.
She grabs your hand and pulling you up. Her fingers lace with yours, leads you back through the rooftop door, down the narrow stairs, into her room.
She shuts the door behind you with a soft click, then turns, backing you against it. She doesn't give you time to look. She's on you again, kissing hard, hands sliding under your shirt, nails dragging lightly down your chest.
You pull her close, lifting her slightly—she wraps her legs around your waist, and you carry her to the bed, laying her down gently. She tugs your shirt off, then hers, tossing them aside. Her skin's warm, soft, and you kiss down her neck, her collarbone, her breath hitching as your hands roam.
"Still cold?" you murmur against her skin.
"Not anymore," she whispers, arching into you, fingers in your hair.
You tug her oversized T-shirt up and off, revealing a simple black bra hugging her firm, tight tits—small but perfect, the kind that make your mouth water. You trace the edge with your fingers, slow, watching her chest rise and fall.
"Definitely not your first time, huh?" she teases, voice breathy, eyes locked on yours.
You smirk, but you want her to feel seen, not just another notch. "No," you admit, leaning down, lips brushing her collarbone. "Are you?"
"Same," she whispers, fingers threading into your hair. "Did this back in school."
"You're kinda bad, you know," you murmur, kissing along her jaw, finding the spot behind her ear that makes her gasp.
"You too," she shoots back, arching into you as your hands slide under her back, fingers fumbling with the bra clasp. It snaps open with a soft click, and you peel it away, tossing it to the floor.
Her tits spill free—perky, nipples already hard—and you don't hesitate. You take one into your mouth, tongue swirling slow, sucking gently, then harder when she moans.
Your hand cups the other, thumb brushing the peak, rolling it between your fingers. She writhes under you, hips lifting, fingers digging into your shoulders.
"Fuck," she breathes, voice cracking with need. "Yes… more."
You switch sides, mouth hot and wet, teeth grazing just enough to make her whimper. Her skin tastes like salt and vanilla, her body trembling as you worship her slowly, like she's the only thing in the world.
Your jeans are a struggle—belt buckle stuck, zipper catching—but you finally kick them off, boxers following.
Your cock springs free, rock-hard and aching, the cool air hitting it before J shifts closer, her eyes dark with hunger. She's on her knees now, between your legs, her small hands wrapping around your thighs.
She leans in, lips brushing the tip, and you groan low. "I wanted to do this yesterday," she murmurs, voice husky, "when I caught you jerking off. But… it felt kinda wrong."
"And now?" you ask, voice rough, your hands sliding into her messy bun. You gather the loose strands, tying them back with the hair tie from her wrist—gentle, careful, making sure it's out of her face so she can move easy.
She looks up at you, eyes soft, then smirks. "Feels right," she says, and takes you into her mouth.
Warm. Wet. Tight. Her lips slide down slow, tongue flat against the underside, and you hiss, hips twitching. She starts bobbing—steady, eager, like she's been thinking about this all day.
Your fingers stay in her hair, not pushing, just holding, grounding you as she works you with her mouth and hand in sync.
"Fuck, J," you breathe, head tipping back against the headboard. She pulls off for a second, licking a stripe up your length, then dives back in, taking you deeper, cheeks hollowing. Her free hand cups your balls, rolling them gently, and you're already close, the heat building fast.
She pulls back with a soft pop, her hand wrapping around your cock, stroking slow and deliberate. Her lips are swollen, eyes glassy, looking up at you like she's waiting for your next move.
You don't make her wait.
You haul her up by the waist, kissing her hard—deep, messy, tasting yourself on her tongue. She moans into your mouth, hands clutching your shoulders.
You spin her, guiding her back to the bed, and she falls with a soft laugh, hair fanning across the pillow.
You crawl over her, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her shorts. She lifts her hips to help, and you peel them down slow, savoring the reveal—smooth thighs, the curve of her ass, then the thin black panties clinging to her.
You toss the shorts aside and settle between her legs, pressing your mouth to the damp fabric.
She gasps, hips bucking. You trace the outline of her pussy through the panties, tongue flat, feeling her heat, her wetness seeping through.
You hook a finger under the edge, pulling it aside just enough to taste her—salty, sweet, hers. You lick a long stripe up her slit, then circle her clit with the tip of your tongue.
"Fuck—yes," she breathes, fingers tangling in your hair, thighs trembling. You keep going, slow and steady, savoring every shudder, every soft moan, the way her hips roll into your mouth like she can't get close enough.
You pull back from her clit, her taste still on your tongue, and spit on your fingers. You slide one inside her—warm, tight, slick—and she arches with a soft whine.
You work her slow, curling, scissoring, adding a second when she starts rocking into your hand. Her pussy's dripping now, ready for the next.
You hook her panties with your thumbs and drag them down her thighs. They catch on one ankle before you toss them aside. Her pussy's pink, swollen, glistening—perfect.
You line up your cock, and lean over her, elbows by her head.
"Tell me if I'm too much," you murmur, brushing your nose against hers.
She nods, biting her lower lip, eyes locked on yours—nervous, trusting.
You push in slow. The head slips past her entrance, and she gasps, "Fuck!"—sharp, surprised. You swallow the sound with a kiss, deep and steady, letting her adjust. She's tight, so fucking tight, clenching around you like she's never had anyone this deep.
"Your cock's so big," she pants against your lips, voice trembling. "It's… I'm like… it's like my first time."
"Is it?" you ask, voice rough, holding still. "You like it?"
She nods fast, eyes fluttering.
You move—slow at first, pulling out just an inch, sliding back in. She moans into your mouth, legs wrapping around your waist. You set a rhythm, steady and deep, each thrust stretching her, filling her. Her nails dig into your back, hips rising to meet you, the bed creaking under the pace.
You kiss her neck, her jaw, whispering, "You feel so good, J… so fucking good."
She whimpers, clinging tighter, lost in it—lost in you.
"Harder, please," she begs, voice breaking, arms wrapping tight around your neck.
She pulls you down, chest to chest, like she's scared you'll vanish if she lets go. Her breath is hot against your ear, her body trembling beneath you.
You don't hold back. Your hips snap faster, deeper—each thrust slamming into that spot that makes her cry out. The bed shakes, headboard tapping the wall, but you don't care. Her pussy clenches around you, wet and hot, pulling you in like she never wants you to leave.
"Fuck, I'm—" she gasps, body locking up. Her hips jerk violently, thighs shaking, and she comes hard—walls pulsing, milking your cock, her moan muffled against your shoulder as she bites down to stay quiet.
You grab her hips, fingers digging in, and thrust wildly, chasing it. One, two—then you pull out fast, "J—" your cock pulsing as you cum, thick ropes spilling across her pussy, dripping down her thighs, marking her.
You collapse beside her, both of you panting, sweaty, tangled in the sheets. She's curled into your side, her head on your chest, one leg draped over yours.
"Hold on," you shift, careful not to jostle her too much, and reach for the box of tissues on her nightstand. You pull a few out, gently wiping between her legs, cleaning her up slow, tender. She watches you, eyes half-lidded, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"You don't have to," she says, but doesn't stop you.
"Want to," you reply, tossing the tissues into the bin by her desk. You grab her discarded T-shirt from the floor, sliding it over her head. She lifts her arms to help, giggling softly when it gets stuck for a second.
You pull your boxers back on, then crawl under the covers with her, pulling the blanket up to keep her warm.
She snuggles closer, face pressed to your neck, fingers tracing lazy circles on your chest. "That was…" she starts, then trails off, shy.
"Yeah," you say, kissing the top of her head. "It was."
You reach for the water bottle on her desk, cracking it open and holding it to her lips. She takes a sip, then another, before pushing it back. "Thanks," she teases, voice soft. "You're good at this."
You set the bottle down. You grab her hand, lacing your fingers with hers. "You okay? Wasn't too much?"
She shakes her head, squeezing your hand. "Perfect. Just… stay here tonight."
"Not going anywhere," you promise again, pulling her tighter. The house is quiet, the night deep, and for once, the chaos feels far away.
She yawns, eyes fluttering shut. "Coffee tomorrow?" she mumbles, already drifting.
"Coffee," you whisper, kissing her forehead. "And pancakes. My treat."
She smiles, small and sleepy, and you hold her until she's off.
You close your eyes, the weight of the house settling around you—not heavy, not anymore. Just home.
