Toshyun Writes

Occasional GG smut writer | Le Sserafim / TWICE / TripleS Fiend | ⁣ Feel free to send fic ideas :) Masterlist | Commision/Ko-Fi

[toshyun]

Introduction + Masterlist

Hi everyone, I'm Toshyun!

I'll be writing pretty much entirely k-pop stories as far as I know. They will mostly, if not entirely, be romance/smut stories. It'll be one-shots, and series too!

Requests and ANY type of feedback are both welcomed and very much appreciated!

~~~

Masterlist

Trying out this masterlist format, please message me if there are any issues!

[toshyun]

dyk what happened to seeunsoon 😭

Hi! Sorry I don’t really know I didn’t really interact with them

[toshyun]

Thank you all!

Thank you all for 2k followers! I've been staring at the count slowly rise over the last few weeks, and I can't convey how happy it makes me to know that 2,000 whole people enjoy the stories I (rarely) put out <3

This I feel is a good time to say that I do have a series set up to be released soon (whatever soon means when it comes to my posting schedule), and I hope you guys will enjoy that too :)

Once again, thank you all!

[writerpeach]

Suffocation

ITZY Yeji x m!reader

11k words

---

Read on Fanprose

"So," Yeji, starts, staring up at the moon, taking another drag of her cigarette. "This is it. The end of our final year. We've survived the exams and everything. We're almost done."

You glance up, not quite sharing her sentiment, watching the smoke leave her mouth and drift upwards. The way her pink hair shines in the moonlight. "Yeah, I guess."

She smiles, looking back over at you, leaning on the railing and then staring out at the city skyline. "You ever think about what would happen when I'm not here?"

"Here, where? The balcony? It's not going anywhere."

Yeji rolls her eyes, taking another hit and holding the cigarette between her fingers. "Not the balcony, idiot. College. You know what I mean."

You take a sip of your drink, one that's a bit too strong for your taste. "No, I don't. Please enlighten me."

"Stop being so difficult," Yeji grumbles, looking right at you. "Once we graduate. What then? Do we keep this up? I can't imagine a life where I'm not blowing you or having my legs spread for you, but, like—it's the real world. We're not going to live like broke, twenty-something year olds forever. Not gonna be able to go over to your place at midnight and let you rail me whenever I'm horny."

"Why the fuck not? You've been doing it for years now. I haven't exactly gotten sick of it yet."

She laughs, taking a long puff and releasing it. "But what if you do? Or if something happens," Yeji sighs, shaking her head.

"What do you mean if something happens to you? Yeji, what—"

"Nothing, nothing at all. I just mean—what if you don't want me anymore. If one day you decide this isn't worth it."

You scoff, finishing the last of your drink. "That's not gonna happen, Yeji. The hell has gotten into you?"

"You don't know that," she says, putting the cigarette out on the concrete and letting the remains fall below.

"Yes, I do. We've been together since sophomore year. We're graduating, and I've been living the best four years of my life. With you."

Turning her head, she doesn't look quite satisfied. "I'm just saying. Things change. We're not going to be these horny college kids anymore. What if I had to move away or something? Like, what if one day, I was gone and—"

"You're not fucking going anywhere, Yeji," you say, turning and cupping her cheeks. She doesn't flinch or turn away.

"I'm not. But what if one day I do and you have to find someone else to be the one that fucks you whenever you want? Unless you wanna hook up with Yuna every once in a while. She'd totally be up for it. And Chaeryeong, definitely."

"Yeji, I can't believe we're having this conversation. How much did you drink?"

"Just one," she says, holding a finger up. "Okay, maybe two. I just—I love you, okay? And I don't wanna lose this. Ever."

"Then you're not going to, because I'm not gonna let you slip through my fingers," you say, pulling her closer and pressing your lips against hers. "I love you, Yeji. You're stuck with me forever. So, stop saying stupid things."

Yeji smiles, but not the one you know. Not the playful, cocky one, the kind where she's ready to make some sort of lewd comment. Not the soft, cute one either. Not even the seductive, lust-filled grin she flashes when she's about to tear your clothes off.

"Yeji, is everything—"

"Just kiss me again," she says, pulling you closer. "Everything is fine. It's fine. Promise. I'm not going anywhere."

---

"Yeji, what are you doing?" you ask, entering the room. The lights are bright, almost blinding, and a tripod stands next to the bed. A camera is set up, pointed at the bed. She's lying there, completely nude, wearing a pair of fuzzy, pink handcuffs and nothing else.

"Oh, hey. Took you long enough."

"Did I miss the part where you were gonna explain why the fuck there's a camera set up and recording?"

"Well," she starts, sitting up from the bed. "We're graduating soon. And, you know, this has been fun. All the stuff we've done, everything we've tried."

"Uh-huh," you say, taking a step forward and trying to focus on something other than the way her body looks right now. "If I didn't know any better I'd think you were about to break up with me."

Yeji scoffs. "No, dummy. Just the opposite. I love you and all that, and I know this is going to sound crazy, but—what if we made a video. Like, a sex tape. For us. A memento, a reminder of all the good times we've had together."

You can't help but laugh. "A sex tape. For us. Yeji, you can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious," she replies, shifting on her knees. "Just think about it—you and me, naked, fucking and making a little memory. It'll be something special, something hot, and something only we get to enjoy."

"Yeji, if this is your idea of a graduation present, you could've just bought a gift card."

"It's not. Look, just sit down and listen. Okay?"

You roll your eyes, knowing full well you're gonna go along with whatever Yeji wants. "You're naked. Wearing handcuffs. On my bed. And there's a camera filming. You expect me to just listen? After all that?"

"What, do you want me to suck your dick first? I mean, I can, if that's what it takes."

"God, you're impossible," you say, moving to sit down on the edge of the bed.

"Yeah, and you love it," Yeji replies, grabbing your hand and guiding you back onto the mattress, taking a seat on your lap. "So, what do you say?"

"Do I even have a choice?"

Yeji smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "No. You know I'm stubborn as fuck. Plus, I'm already handcuffed. Would be a shame if we had to get out the ball gag too."

"As if I'd ever want to shut that pretty mouth up. Fine, let's do this, then."

"Really?" Yeji asks, face lighting up.

"What do you expect me to say, Yeji? You know how fucking hard it is to resist you, especially when you're sitting next to me, naked, and pretty as hell."

Yeji laughs, shaking her head and pushing you back into the pillows. "It'll be hot, I promise. Plus, it'll help me get off whenever I'm in the mood. And you can watch it and jerk off when I'm gone, or whatever."

"That sounds more like a present for you."

"Shut up. It's for both of us. Now if you don't mind, kitten needs a good fucking."

"Please don't ever say that again."

She laughs, shifting to straddle you and waiting patiently. "Meow."

---

"Is that—fucking, god, is that what I really look like when I cum?" Yeji asks, her eyes glued to the laptop screen, watching herself climax.

"You've never watched yourself before?"

Yeji shakes her head. "What, you think I just go around shooting porn all the time? This is my first time seeing me on camera. But damn, it was fucking hot. Holy shit. Like, holy fuck. Watching myself squirt, oh god, I'm like fucking possessed."

"I thought you wanted a memento. A reminder. Why are we watching it back already?"

"Because," she starts, pausing the video. "Because I wanted to see what it looked like. Curiosity and all. It's not often I get to see what the view looks like while you're balls deep in my ass."

"Jesus," you groan, as she presses play and resumes watching.

"Fuck, your dick looks so good pounding me like that. God, I'm such a good fucking slut, just taking it like that. Wow, look at you go—I'm just there, lying down, hands cuffed behind me, and you're just destroying my ass. And then when you pull out and cum on my face, fuck, I could watch that over and over."

You don't say anything, not while she's watching the screen, her hand working underneath her pajama bottoms.

"Look, look, this is the part where you spank me. You really went at it, huh? And I just took it. Fuck, my ass is so red. That was so fucking hot. You were fucking insane."

"I remember, Yeji. I was there."

"Shush, let me have my moment," she grumbles, biting her lip while she watches. "God, my tits look amazing. And your hands feel so fucking good, squeezing them like that. Look, there—I'm getting close. Can you see the way I'm about to cum? That's the fucking money shot."

Yeji looks away for a moment, staring right at you. "What? Aren't you gonna watch with me?"

"It's weird, seeing myself on a screen."

"Well, you can just focus on me," she says, smiling. "Oh look, here's the mating press scene. I didn't realize how hot that looked. Look, I'm totally out of it, not even thinking, just there for your cock. I look like a total whore."

"You're not a—"

"No, no. That's a compliment. I'm a whore, but, like, a high class one. The expensive kind. The kind who only takes it up the ass for you."

"You're ridiculous, Yeji," you say, giving up and focusing on the screen.

"There, see, right there. When you cum in me, right at the end. Your balls are so heavy, smacking up against my ass and just filling me up. Fuck, you were so deep. The way you sounded when you came in me…"

Yeji stops the video, closing the laptop. "We can't watch the rest."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm all sticky and need a shower," she says, climbing out of the bed. "Besides, you didn't even want to watch."

"You dragged me into it, and now I'm invested."

Yeji giggles, pulling her tank top over her head. "Come with me, then. You can get me dirty again."

---

"You know," Yeji says, staring up at you under the spray of the shower. "I think that was the best fucking sex we've ever had. Just—god, you were relentless. Didn't even know you had that much cum stored away in your balls."

"You were being a very, very bad girl, Yeji."

"Meow," she purrs, letting the water run down her chest.

"I'm never getting in the shower with you again."

"Don't act like you don't enjoy seeing me all wet and soapy."

You sigh, grabbing the shampoo bottle. "Fine, you caught me. It's not the worst sight."

"It's the best sight, and you know it," she teases, taking the bottle and squeezing some into her palm. "Here, let me."

You stay still, as her hands run through your hair, digging her fingers into your scalp, massaging and letting the lather form. "You know, we're pretty hot on camera."

"You think so?"

"Yeah," Yeji replies, moving behind you so she can massage your scalp. "Like, it's hot. Watching us, you know? Seeing what it looks like."

"Guess so," you say, leaning back and letting the water do its magic.

"I was thinking, maybe we could make another… video."

"Yeji, seriously?"

She laughs, turning you around to face her. "Yeah, why not. It's hot. I like the idea of seeing myself getting railed by you. Don't really get to see what its like to blow a load all over me from your perspective."

"What did I say about being so horny?"

"That you love it," Yeji replies, helping to rinse out your hair.

"Just think about it—you, me, the bed, a camera. The possibilities are endless. I could be the sexy schoolgirl and you're the pervy teacher. Or we could do the whole nurse and patient thing, or—"

"Yeji, please."

"We could make a lot of money selling this kind of content. I mean, look at me. My ass is a national treasure. And you're not exactly lacking, either."

You can't help but sigh. "What the hell happened to just us enjoying the video? Making a memento?"

"Well, that was before I saw how hot watching you rearrange my guts was. With your huge cock and my pretty face and tits. Come on, we could have a side hustle going."

"Yeji, are you being serious right now?"

"Totally. Look, I'm just saying. We're graduating, and we're not gonna have a steady income. At least not at first. This would help. A little bit."

"Are you really in this for the money or do you just like the idea of people watching us?"

Yeji giggles. "I can't have both?"

"Yeji, the last thing we need is a bunch of strangers jerking off to videos of us. What if our classmates find out? Or the Dean?"

"Who the hell cares? They're not gonna give a shit. And it's not like the videos would have our names or anything. We can put on masks, change the audio, whatever."

"I'm not wearing a mask to fuck you, Yeji."

"Fine, no masks. My face is the money maker anyway. And we can have fun trying out a bunch of different scenarios and stuff."

"Yeji," you sigh. "Can I say no?"

"You can try, but dunno how well that'll work. I'm stubborn. Remember?"

"Yes, yes I do. Fine. Let's make some money then."

"Yay!" Yeji cheers, wrapping her arms around you. "We're gonna have so much fun, I promise. And we're gonna get filthy rich."

"That's not the point of this, Yeji."

"It should be."

---

Everything feels different now.

Graduation is less than a week away, and you've got a nice collection of videos featuring Yeji in the heat of the moment. You've unofficially become a cameraman, having to learn about angles and lighting and a host of other things.

The money is great, too. People love Yeji. They can't get enough of her. The way her face looks, contorting with pleasure. How her voice moans and purrs, the way her tits bounce and her ass claps. The views climb, the comments pour in, the tips come flooding.

You wonder how this is your life now—how you can look around in class and see everyone, normal people, and think to yourself how many of them watch videos of your girlfriend, naked and screaming your name, her pussy creaming all over your cock. Maybe even the professors, too.

The blowjob videos in the bathroom, with the bad lighting. Yeji in her cheerleader uniform, riding you and bouncing up and down on your cock. Her, tied up and blindfolded, being teased and toyed with. The one where she squirted so hard it got all over the camera lens. The ones where she's on her knees, getting face-fucked and waiting for the camera to zoom in, the shot ending with your load painting her face.

And the one that gets the most views, her bent over the bathroom counter, your hands gripping her hips and drilling her from behind.

You think about it in class. How you're sitting next to Yeji, while there's a high possibility that half the students have seen what her pussy looks like being pounded. How she looks when she's cumming, and how her asshole stretches around your cock.

And the fact that they've probably seen you cum all over her face and tits, seen how Yeji moans when your tongue is in her ass, when you're fucking her to tears and she's a quivering, moaning mess, begging for you to keep going.

All of this running through your mind, while the professor drones on and on about some subject or another.

"Hey," Yeji whispers, leaning over. "Wanna fuck during lunch?"

You don't even bother looking, just shake your head. "What do you think?"

"I'm asking because I think you need a break. You've been a little off lately. Everything okay?"

"I'm fine," you reply, a bit too quickly.

"Is it about the videos?"

"Maybe," you mutter, glancing over. "It's just weird, you know? Being in class and knowing at least one person has probably seen me cum in your mouth."

Yeji rolls her eyes. "You can't tell me it's not a turn-on."

"I'm not saying that. But—it's just a weird though. That's all."

"We can stop," Yeji says, staring at you. "If you want. I won't make any more videos. I'll delete the ones we have."

"No," you say, turning to her. "I'm not letting your money go to waste. You're right, it's a good source of income."

"It's our money. We're partners. If you don't like it, we'll stop."

You take a deep breath, sighing. "It's not that I don't like it. It's just that every time we fuck now it's on camera. Like, I feel like it's not the same. It's not like making a sex tape, it's… kind of like working, you know?"

Yeji nods. "I get it. Look, we can slow down. Do one a week. No more. How's that?"

"Yeah, that works. Thanks, Yeji."

She smiles, reaching under the desk to grab your hand. "Good. Now, what do you say, wanna fuck in the bathroom later? I'll wear your favorite skirt. You know, the one that barely covers my ass. And the fishnet thigh-highs. Just for you."

"Why do I feel like I don't deserve you?"

Yeji laughs, squeezing your hand. "You absolutely do. I'm the one who's lucky. Now, what do you say?"

"Yes. Fuck yes."

"Knew you'd say that."

---

"Think I can go again," Yeji gasps out, breath heavy while she collapses against you. "Fuck, I'm sore, but I can totally do it. Just gimme a minute."

"Jesus, Yeji," you laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "This is, what, round three already? My balls need a break."

"I think it's four," she replies, shifting and lying flat against you. "But who's counting, right?"

"Think we made enough content for like, two months, easy."

"I could never get tired of watching you cum in me on camera," Yeji says, smiling and tracing patterns on your chest. "It's hot."

"So you keep telling me," you say, kissing her head again.

There's a long silence, a few moments passing before Yeji speaks again. "What if we did a gangbang?"

"A what?"

"A gangbang," she repeats, propping herself up and staring down at you. "You know, lots of guys. Lots of cocks. All at once. Just, like, a bunch of people. Doing me. On camera."

"Are you insane? I'm not letting a bunch of random dudes fuck you."

Yeji smiles, her hand snaking its way down to your cock, gently stroking. "I was thinking more of like, friends. People we trust. Who knows, might be kinda fun."

"No. No way. Absolutely not."

"I was kidding, you idiot. Just wanted to see what your reaction would be. Nobody gets this pussy but you. That's a promise. But it would be kinda hot, wouldn't it? Seeing how many cocks I could take at once…"

"Yeji," you groan, shaking your head.

"Fine, fine. Just a thought."

"No thoughts like that. Especially not after fucking."

Yeji leans closer, fingers running through your sweaty hair. "What if it was you? With another girl. Just her, and me, together. Would that be so bad?"

"You want to fuck someone else?"

"No, I want to watch you fuck someone else. A girl as hot as me. And I'd just watch. Touch myself, play with her tits while you pound her pussy, sit on your cute face while she sucks your dick, all that."

"You don't want me to fuck you? That's new."

Yeji shrugs, giggling. "Sometimes it's nice to watch. You get off, and so do I. Win-win."

"Is this for the content?"

"No, not everything is about the money. Sometimes it's just because I'm a kinky little freak and I want to make you happy. That's all. See my boyfriend fucking a girl while I cum."

"Jesus Christ, Yeji."

"I mean, if you don't want to, fine, but I can ask a girl in class. Maybe Yuna, she's always had a crush on you. I've heard her talk about wanting your cock, she's said it to my face. I could invite her over, she could eat me out, you could fuck her. Then, I'll join in."

"I feel like you're getting the bad end of the deal."

"No," Yeji says, pressing a kiss to your lips. "Because then I get to see another girl getting railed by you, and I'll have someone pretty to make out with, and I'll be able to taste your cock on her tongue."

"You really are a little freak."

"Aren't I? So, what do you say, wanna invite her over so I can watch you absolutely destroy her? I bet she's super into anal, too, like me."

"Fine, if it'll shut you up. Let's do it."

Yeji squeals, her lips crashing into yours once more. "This is gonna be so much fun. Thank you."

---

Graduation passes and things don't really feel much different. No more classes, no more exams, no more grouchy professors. Just … the real world. A little scary, but at least now you have a stable cashflow, thanks to Yeji and her crazy ideas.

The money is a blessing, honestly. You're still trying to figure things out, and Yeji's popularity continues to soar. The money is more than enough for the two of you to rent a little apartment, order out more often than you ever did, and have a little extra for the future.

With the financial freedom comes a little extra creativity—new lingerie, toys, props, costumes. Better lighting, a better camera, and a new computer for editing. Yeji loves dressing up, posing, putting on a show. She's a natural.

Yuna becomes a part of your lives too. She's a pretty girl, eager to please and happy to do anything, especially if it involves making either of you cum. On camera or off. Yeji loves seeing her get fucked, likes the idea of watching another girl get ravaged on your cock, likes the idea of kissing her while she's riding you. Likes being on her knees next to her, seeing her ruined makeup, the tears in her eyes, the way she gets her face right next to hers, both of them waiting for you to blast all over their gorgeous fucking faces.

The videos get raunchier. You have Yuna over a lot, and the two of them get creative. She's got a nice ass, and an incredible pussy. Yeji seems to enjoy eating her out, and Yuna's not a stranger to doing the same, either. You fuck them, both, raw, one after the other, and watch them lick the cum from each other's wrecked holes, or grind their cunts on each other before you can even think to grab the camera.

And Yeji was right—Yuna loves anal. Almost more than Yeji, and that's saying a lot. Yuna loves being choked, loves getting spanked and slapped and having her hair pulled. Unsurprisingly, Yeji loves seeing it, watching another girl choke on your cock, get her asshole destroyed, get it pumped full of cum so she can eat it out of her, share the load with her.

So the next time you're at a restaurant, all those videos paying for the appetizers, the entrees, the wine, you can't help but wonder what the hell you've gotten yourself into. Yeji looks up and smiles. "Wanna order dessert?"

"Might as well," you laugh, looking back down at the menu. "That threesome video did crazy numbers. You were right."

Yeji beams. "Of course I was. People love Yuna. We should make more videos with her. She's fun. And cute. She looked so good getting spit-roasted."

"Can't deny that," you laugh. "She's good on camera. Really good. Like, you'd think she does this all the time."

"I know, right? I bet people would pay a lot of money to even see solo content from her. Pretty thing just touching herself. Getting all needy and wet, fucking herself with a toy while she begs on camera. Dark rope tied all over her milky skin… that's a gold mine."

"She might upstage us if we're not careful. Girl has that bratty vibe going that just makes you want to ruin her. People eat that up."

Yeji nods, taking a forkful of tiramisu once it's been set in front of her. You're quiet, watching her eat, thinking about how she's gotten even more beautiful. How the videos, the money, the whole situation hasn't really changed her at all.

You're staring, you realize, and she doesn't seem to mind one bit. In fact, she seems to enjoy it. Loves the attention, loves being the center of your world, of the entire universe.

Before you can even speak, Yeji does. "Want a bite?"

You reach for the fork she's holding, but a buzz in your pocket stops you. "Hold on," you say, reaching down and grabbing your phone. "Sorry, gotta take this."

"Sure," Yeji says, her lips wrapping around the fork and pulling the tiramisu into her mouth. You rise, walking away from the table, phone pressed to your ear and head towards the restroom.

When you head back, Yeji's already smiling at your return. "Everything okay?"

With more than a little apprehension, you sit, staring off into the distance. "No. Not really."

Yeji's entire demeanor changes, concern creeping across her face. She stops eating, placing the fork on the plate. "What is it? What happened?"

"I need to leave. Like, now. I need to catch a flight tonight. I'm really sorry, Yeji."

"Wait, hold on, what's going on?"

You pause, taking a deep breath. "I don't—it's family stuff. Don't wanna worry you. Look, just let's get the check, okay?"

"Okay," Yeji replies, still obviously concerned. "Do you want me to go with you? If it's family stuff, maybe I can help."

"No," you reply, almost a bit too harshly. "No. I can't ask that of you. This is my issue, not yours. It's like, a sixteen hour flight and—"

"Hey," Yeji interrupts, placing her hand over yours. "I don't care. I'll go with you. Whatever it is, whatever the problem, I'm here. If you need me, then I'm there."

"Yeji—"

"No," she interjects. "Don't 'Yeji' me. I'm not letting you fly halfway around the world alone. So, we're gonna pay the bill, and then we're going home and packing. I'm going with you."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It's not your fault. If something happened, I'm here. Always will be."

You exhale, trying to find the right words, something more meaningful to say than sorry. Instead, you just nod, squeezing her hand. "Y-yeah. Thanks. I really appreciate it."

"You don't have to thank me. Now come on, let's go," Yeji says, waving over the waiter.

---

You're hunched over the hotel balcony railing, staring off into the night, a lit cigarette between your lips. You don't smoke. Never have. But the occasion seems to call for it. You take a deep drag, exhaling, watching the smoke blow in the wind, and wondering how the fuck things have gone so wrong.

Yeji stands behind you, her hands on your shoulders, rubbing the tension out of your muscles. "It's going to be okay,"

"It's not."

"Don't talk like that," Yeji says, her hands sliding around your waist, pulling you into her. "I'm here."

"I know. I just—I don't know what to do. I never expected it to be this way. What am I supposed to do?"

Yeji sighs, resting her head against your back. "I wish I could tell you, but I don't have any answers. I'm just sorry this happened."

"It's not your fault."

"Still," Yeji replies, sighing. "I hate seeing you like this. How long has it been? Since the last time you saw her?"

You're quiet, the cigarette burning in your fingers. A long, slow drag. Another exhale. "A year at least. When summer break started, I went back. She was fine then. Mostly."

"Do you want me to be there? When you go and visit? I'll come with you. Do you want that?"

"Yeah," you murmur, nodding without even looking at her. "Please."

"Of course," Yeji says, arms tightening around you. "Whatever you need."

You put your cigarette out, turning and facing her. She's staring at you, a small smile on her lips, but you can see the worry in her eyes.

"Sorry."

"You don't have to keep apologizing."

"I know," you mutter, stepping forward and leaning against her. "Just, I dunno, feel like a burden."

"Don't. You're not a burden. It's a tough situation. There's no easy answers. All I know is I'm going to be here for you.

You nod, resting your head on her shoulder. "I really don't deserve you."

"Stop saying that," Yeji says, threading fingers through your hair. "Let's go inside, okay? It's a bit cold out here."

"Yeah," you sigh, nodding. "Yeah, let's go inside."

---

The flight back home is a blur. The only thing that stands out is Yeji, by your side, hand in hand. She holds it the entire time.

It feels surreal. But you do your best to ignore it. Instead, you focus on the present. The here and now.

And in the moment, Yeji is all you need. The best distraction you could ask for.

The videos continue. And, for a little while, you're able to forget everything else. To lose yourself in the fantasy world that's been built. The scenes get rougher, wilder, more depraved. Yeji seems to enjoy it, the crazier the better. And it helps you, or at least you tell yourself that. You feel bad about it. She doesn't.

You don't even care about the money anymore. It's not why you're doing it. The fact is that the more intense the scene is, the easier it is to forget everything. To push everything away, bury the pain, the frustration, the anger, and just… escape. The grip on her throat, the harder you're fucking her, the more it makes you forget. The camera doesn't even turn on, not for this—this is just for you. The aggression, the need, the desperation. It's rough, and Yeji doesn't stop you. Not when you're pushing her head into the mattress, not when you're slapping her ass, not when you're fucking her so hard she can barely speak.

You don't deserve her. Not in the slightest.

"It's okay," Yeji moans, her hands grabbing at your wrist, holding you against her throat. "I-it's okay, you can keep going. I can take it. Fucking ruin me, I-I can take it. Harder, please, please, fuck me. Use me, baby, use me, I can take it."

So you do. Until she's crying and drooling, tears streaming down her face and mascara running, her body a vessel for you, her legs wrapped around you and begging for more. The way you pull her off the bed, pick her up and fuck her against the wall, until she can't take it anymore and she's shaking, trembling, a quivering mess, and you're fucking her through it, through the tears, the sobs, the begging.

When your hands are in her hair, fucking her face, her makeup ruined, spit running down her chin and lipstick smeared, you're not thinking about anything else. Her throat bulging around your cock, her tongue running over your shaft, your balls slapping her chin, and her eyes looking up at you, pleading for anything but mercy.

And the more brutal you are, the harder you fuck her face, the better it is. For both of you. The way you cum down her throat when her head is dangling off the edge of the bed, how you watch her swallow, saliva and tears and depravity all over her face. How she can't stop gagging, can't catch her breath, can't do anything but take it, and when you're finished, when you're completely spent, she's there—a broken mess on her knees, covered in her own spit and yours and your seed, a picture that would give you the biggest paycheck if you weren't so busy worrying about other things.

She's the perfect distraction. You've always known that, but never more than now.

But, at some point, the distraction isn't enough. And the scenes get even rougher, and Yeji still doesn't stop you. You start to worry about her—you've never been like this. And she's never seen you like this.

It gets harder to take the edge off. Nothing's working anymore. You've got your cock buried in her ass, a hand on her throat, but you can't seem to chase that high anymore. All it's doing is making her beg for more, insisting you don’t have to be gentle, but you've given her everything, and it's still not enough.

The videos almost come to a halt. You struggle to look her in the eyes. You know you're taking it too far. And she still doesn't stop you. Seeing the bruises on her body, the welts from the belt on her ass, the bites, the scratches, the marks, they don't go away. She reassures you at every step of the way. It's okay. You're fine. She can take it.

You're not sure you believe her.

The next video you're not in it. Yeji's kneeling in front of the camera, surrounded by men. You don't know a single name, and neither does she. All you know is that they're there to use her. To fuck her, to fill her holes, to ruin her. To do anything they want. It's what she wanted, isn't it? You tell yourself that. You tell yourself this is just a fantasy. Nothing more. That you're forcing yourself to take a backseat, to sit and watch and let her do what she does best.

She's a mess. They all use her. One after the other, fucking her until she can't think straight. Cumming down her throat, on her face, in her pussy. Spitting on her, degrading her, calling her anything but her name. Slapping her face, her tits, her ass, treating her like a toy, and she loves every blissful second.

One fucking her throat, another taking her pussy, another stretching her asshole, a hard, throbbing cock in each hand like it's the most natural thing.

Like she was built for it, like she was made just to be filled, used and abused by anyone and everyone that wants a turn. It doesn't stop, and they keep using her, using your Yeji, treating her like she's a fucking sex doll. Like she doesn't have a fucking name, like she's nothing but a hole to pump and dump into.

You’ve a hand in your pants, almost reluctantly pumping your shaft, eyes fixated on the screen and knowing you're the reason she's being treated like this, because this is your idea of punishment. Because you still think you don't deserve her.

They're all over her, half a dozen bodies surrounding her, using her, destroying her. The finale is as explosive as expected, where she's on her knees, surrounded by the group, all of them jerking their cocks over her. The camera's angle is perfect, a view from above, catching her face, the way their thick cum shoots out of their cocks, landing on her pretty features. And she's smiling. Grinning. Loving every second. Sucking every drop out of them.

She's covered in it, her pristine makeup a forgotten mess, cum dripping down her chin, her cheeks, her forehead. Dripping out of her cunt, her ruined asshole, her lips glistening, her tits coated. And the whole time, you're telling yourself this is what you deserve. What you deserve for using her like a plaything, for treating her like she's not a person, like she's a toy. A fleshlight. Something to be broken and discarded.

The video makes enough money to last you a lifetime. More than enough rent for the next several years, easily. More than enough for a vacation in Tahiti at the drop of a hat.

And now, you're eating breakfast in the kitchen, the sunlight pouring in. Like you didn't just watch your girlfriend Yeji get railed by half a dozen buff guys and get covered in cum. Like it's any other day. Like it's just a job and nothing else. Like everything's normal.

Maybe it's the best distraction, because you're thinking about the way Yeji looked on her knees, getting annihilated, and not the situation at hand. Maybe that's what you're doing.

Yeji steps into the kitchen, wearing one of your t-shirts and little else. "Morning. You sleep well?"

You sip your coffee. It's bitter. "No."

"I figured. Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine. You don't need to be walking on eggshells around me, Yeji."

"I can't help it. Just, I know it's a bad time."

She opens a cabinet, pulling a box of cereal down. Pours some into a bowl, then takes the milk from the fridge and adds some, slicing a banana and adding it on top. Then she sits next to you and eats, like this situation is everything normal.

"You're here, Yeji. No matter how bad things get, I have you. You're the best thing that's happened to me."

"I know," Yeji says, reaching out and squeezing your hand. "I wish there was something I could do. Anything."

"There's not," you sigh, sipping the coffee. "I'll go visit, that's all I can do. It'll be expensive, and—"

"Don't worry about the money," Yeji says, crunching on her cereal. "We have more than enough, and you need to be there. Money doesn't matter."

"But it's your money, too."

"No, it's not. It's our money. Your money, my money, our money. It's all the same."

You stare down at the mug. The black liquid, the steam rising, the bitterness that doesn't even phase you anymore.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Go see her," Yeji says, pausing between bites. "It's all you can do."

"What about you? I don't want to leave you alone."

Yeji smiles, and it's still not one you recognize, reaching out and placing a hand on your cheek. "I'll be fine. Promise. And Yuna said she'll stop by. So I won't be lonely."

"Yeah, okay," you mutter, finishing your lukewarm coffee. "I'll call you when I land? I love you."

---

"Hey," Yeji says, joining you at the couch. She's dressed casually, a loose fitting tank top and short shorts, hair up in a ponytail. "How was the trip?"

"Long. Tiring. Glad to be home."

Yeji nods, settling into the seat next to you, resting her head on your chest. "That's good. I'm happy you're back."

"Me too."

Yeji is silent for a few moments. She doesn't know what to say, and you don't either. There's nothing, not really.

"So…" she starts, trying to ease the tension. "I got a call while you were gone."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Yeji says, shifting nervously. "I—I got an offer. A big one. Like, a contract with a major company."

"Really?" you repeat, not quite sure you heard her correctly.

"Yeah," Yeji laughs. "Surprised me, too. It's like, a lot of money, and it would mean I'd be shooting stuff with other people, and traveling and stuff, and I wouldn't be around as much. But it would help out with travel expenses, and the whole thing would only last like six months. And the payout is huge."

"Six months?"

"Yeah. Six. But it's not like we'd be separated forever. I can come home and visit. But if you don't want me to, I won't—"

"So like, fucking other guys?"

"No, not at all. They told me it's all solo stuff. Nothing like what we do together. So, no one else. Just me. And the camera guy, I guess. I won't have sex with anyone else. Not after last time. I just—I want to know if this is okay."

"Of course. Yeji, that's amazing."

"Really? You're okay with this? Because I can turn them down."

"Do you want to do it?"

Yeji is silent, staring down at nothing. When she looks back down, she nods slowly.

"Then do it. If it's something you want, then do it. It's your choice."

"We'll still see each other though. I only leave for a week at most once a month, they said. We can call, text, video call, whatever. So you won't have to worry about being alone,"

"Yeji," you interrupt. "It's okay. You're going to make a shit ton of money, and you're going to get to travel, and do a job that you're good at, and that you love. Do it. Make some money."

"It's just," Yeji begins, sighing. "I just want to be with you. And I feel bad. Like I'm leaving. Even if it's for six months. And I won't be gone the entire time, so—"

"I said it's fine. Go. Take the contract. You're not gonna get a chance like this again. So take it."

"I love you," Yeji says, reaching forward and placing a hand on your cheek. "Thank you. I love you so much. We'll get through this, and we'll figure it out. But, I can help you with money and everything else, so just focus on yourself."

"Yeah," you say, leaning forward and resting your forehead against hers. "I love you, too. This is a great opportunity. So go."

---

You're on the balcony again. Another cigarette. It's late—almost midnight, but Yeji isn't here this time. She's been gone for a few days now. Off filming, doing her thing. You're proud of her. But you miss her.

It's hard to keep yourself distracted. You haven't slept much, either. It's impossible. When you try, all you see is Yeji's face, smiling up at you, telling you it's okay. That everything will be okay.

You wish you could believe her.

It's cold out, but it doesn't bother you. You're standing outside, watching the traffic pass by. It's soothing almost. Comforting in a strange way. Without Yeji, you're not quite sure what to do with yourself.

You take a drag, blowing the smoke into the night. All you can do.

---

Six months go by. Six months that feel like a lifetime.

"Hey," Yeji says, a smile on her lips. She's beautiful. More beautiful than you remember. And she's wearing that stupid oversized hoodie again that she stole from you. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

Yeji closes the distance between you, wrapping her arms around you, hugging you tightly. You embrace her, feeling her body against yours, her warmth, her scent, all of it.

"How was the service?"

You're not sure how to answer that. How to even begin. So instead, you just stand there, holding her. "Fine. It was fine."

"I'm so sorry," she murmurs, her voice every bit apologetic. "I should've been there."

"Don't," you say, squeezing tighter. "You didn't even know her. It's not your fault."

"But—"

"Yeji," you sigh, pulling back and looking at her. "Seriously. It's not. You didn't have to be there."

"I can't help but feel like a shitty girlfriend. Off in Japan touching myself in front of a camera when you were dealing with that. I feel awful."

"I'm glad you weren't there. I couldn't—I don't want you to see me like that. You shouldn't have to. So don't feel bad, okay?"

"Okay," Yeji says, wiping her eyes. "Are you gonna be okay?"

"No. No, I don't think I'll ever be okay. But I have you, and that counts for a lot."

"I love you," she says, leaning in and kissing you softly. "I'll be here. I promise. For as long as you want me. I love you more than anything."

"I know. I love you, too."

---

You're on a flight again, but this time, it's not heading back home. This time, it's to see Yeji. You haven't seen her in a few weeks, and the distance is getting harder and harder.

The hotel is absurdly fancy. Like the type of place you only see in movies. It's ridiculous. It's more than a suite, it's like a penthouse. The view is incredible, and the size of the place is beyond belief.

And the bed is huge, and Yeji is in the center, lying down, smiling, wearing the same hoodie. Yeji pats the spot next to her, and you crawl into the bed, joining her. She moves towards you, resting her head against your chest, a hand running along your cheek.

"I'm so glad you're here," Yeji says, looking up at you. "I've missed you so much."

"Yeah, me too."

Yeji sighs, nuzzling her head against your neck. "It's been a rough few weeks."

"Yeah. For me, too."

There's a silence, an uncomfortable one. Like there's something weighing on her mind.

"Is everything okay?"

Yeji shifts, sitting up. "Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. It's just—they made me an offer. A better one."

"Better?"

"Yeah. Better. It would mean more money, a longer contract, and—and it's not just solo stuff anymore. It's not even porn.”

"What do you mean?"

"I would be," Yeji begins, swallowing. "It's more of a—a creative producer thing. Traveling around, doing what they need. Going places. It's not porn. It's like, the opposite of porn."

"I fail to see the problem here. That sounds pretty good."

"Because," Yeji says, her lip quivering. "I have to move. I have to move to Tokyo. They want me in Japan. And if I accept, I have to. And I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to leave you. Because then we're even further apart. We won't be able to see each other, not nearly as much. We'll just—we'll be apart. And I don't want that."

"If it's more money, then—"

"It's a lot of money," Yeji sighs. "Like, a lot of money. More than I could ever dream. It would be enough that we'd never have to worry about anything ever again. I would never have to film another video, not ever. And I'd make enough for us. For both of us."

"So, do it."

"But we'd be apart. We'd never see each other."

"Yeji," you sigh, taking a breath. "It's only a few hours. I'll come visit. You'll come visit."

"it's not the same. I want to be with you. I can't imagine a life without you. I can't."

You take a moment, a long pause. Trying to choose the right words, the ones that matter. The ones that will convince her.

"Yeji. If it's a good deal. Take it."

"But—"

"No," you say, cutting her off. "No. Take the offer. Take it and make as much money as possible. I want this for you. For us."

Yeji shakes her head, wiping her eyes. "I can't."

"You can."

"What if," Yeji says, her voice shaking. "What if—what if things don't work out. What if I'm gone and you get tired of waiting and then—"

"That's not gonna happen. Not ever."

"How can you be so sure? I've never been apart from you for that long. Ever."

"Because I love you, dummy. So, take the offer. And when you're done, and you've made enough money to buy a small country, then you can come back. We'll figure it out before then."

"Promise?"

"Yes. Promise."

---

"Happy birthday," Yeji says, giving you a wide grin. "I know it's not for a couple of days, but—"

You didn't even remember.

"Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Did you forget?"

"A little."

"Dumbass," Yeji laughs. "Well, I got you a gift. So, there's that."

"You didn't have to."

"Don't be silly," she scolds, grabbing something off the bed nightstand. "You're my boyfriend, of course I had to. It's not much, but, well, you'll see."

She hands you a box, wrapped nicely, a red bow tied on top. You take it, ripping the paper and opening it.

Inside is a black collar. A very specific kind. A collar with the word kitten written on the front in pink.

"I don't wanna alarm you, but I think this may be a little too small for me," you tease.

Yeji blushes, a faint shade of red. "You're such an ass. It's not for you."

"It's not?"

"No," Yeji says, rolling her eyes. "It's for me. I figured since we're going to be apart, I'll have something to remember you by. And to think about."

"Kinky."

"You're such a jerk," Yeji says and punches your shoulder. "Do you like it?"

"I do. Very much. Wear it for me tonight?"

"Of course," she says, kissing your cheek. "For the whole weekend. Only for you."

---

The goodbyes never get any easier. The flights get longer, and the separation gets harder. Every time you say your farewells, it hurts more and more. And the worst part is, you don't know how long she'll be gone this time.

It's like the longer you're apart, the further apart you get.

It's the third or fourth cigarette today alone. You're on the balcony, again. Without Yeji. Watching the world go by like you're no longer a part of it.

You're not sure when it'll get easier. If it will ever get easier.

---

"Hey!" Yeji says, sitting down next to your stool at your favorite bar, a martini in hand. "Sorry, traffic was a bitch. Long time no see."

"Yeah," you reply, sipping your cocktail. "Been a while."

Yeji is wearing a tight red dress, her hair no longer pink but blonde, long, past her shoulders. High heels, the whole nine yards. You haven't seen her this dressed up in years, maybe ever. And the makeup is perfect, her lips full, her eyes bright, the eyeliner sharp.

"You look nice," you say, staring into her eyes.

"Thanks. I wanted to dress up. You look handsome, as always."

You force a smile. "I haven't seen you this dressed up since, well, I'm not even sure when."

"Well, this is a special occasion," Yeji giggles, sipping her martini. "This is our four year anniversary. Glad I could take off work and fly home."

"Me too."

"It's so good to see you," Yeji says, placing a hand on your knee. "I missed you. And the apartment. And our bed."

"And me."

"Yeah," she laughs. "And you. Obviously."

Everything seems out of place, and yet, normal. Like Yeji being here isn't something unusual. You should be happier. You should be overjoyed. You should be celebrating. And yet, you can't bring yourself to.

"How was Tokyo?"

"Lonely," Yeji says, expression dampening. "I miss you. I miss the apartment, the kitchen, everything. Being here—it doesn't feel the same."

You nod, staring down into your drink.

"What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy to see me. Is it the time? Or—"

"Nothing," you interrupt, sipping your drink. "Just happy you're home."

"Yeah," Yeji says, clutching her cocktail. "Me too."

There's silence where there shouldn't be. You should have a million things to talk about, and yet you don't. There's nothing. It's like there's a distance that wasn't here last time, when Yeji came back for a few days for vacation. Things are different. Unfamiliar.

"I want you to come see Tokyo. With me. It's so beautiful. So romantic. Maybe—maybe not for business. Just a vacation, just the two of us."

You nod absently, taking a sip. "Yeah. Sounds fun."

"Really?" Yeji asks, her excitement not dimming in the least. "Oh my god, I'm so excited. There are so many places I want to show you. It's so different from Korea. And there's this great market where the food is amazing and then, then—"

Yeji is talking but you're not hearing it. It's a distant memory. As if she's talking through static. You just nod, sip your drink, watch her and pretend everything's normal.

Eventually she notices something is up.

"Am I boring you?" she laughs, blushing. "I must be going on about all these stupid things. I know, just a lot on the mind. Can you blame me?"

You for another smile, placing your glass down on the bar counter. "No. I've missed your voice. The sound of your laughter. Seeing you smile."

"Are you sure? Because you haven't been very engaged lately."

"Sorry," you mumble, feeling your chest tighten.

"Stop apologizing," Yeji says. "Don't."

You don't look up from your drink, picking it up, taking another sip. "Yeji—"

"Yes, baby?"

"I'm glad to have you here. Even if it's only a short time."

She reaches out, placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing. Her touch feels quaint. None of this feels real. It's all foreign, it's like some alternate reality, that none of this is happening.

"I would stay forever if I could," she sighs. "I miss waking up next to you. I hate falling asleep without you next to me. This whole deal, it was a bad idea. The apartment they gave me isn't home, not even close."

Yeji is talking, but she's a million miles away, and it's all happening so fast, you can't process it. You can't keep up with her. You want to, but the words blur into each other, and it's impossible to decipher. "You have to try the food while you're in Tokyo. The sushi is so fucking good, I promise you."

"Yeji, I'm going back."

Her face changes immediately, a frown taking over the smile. "Back where? Back home?"

You can't look up, can't face her. Instead you just stare into your drink, watching the light filter through the alcohol. "Yeah. Back home."

"For how long?" Yeji asks. "A week? Two? I don't leave till Monday—"

"I'm not coming back."

The silence is deafening. It's painful. Like a vice around your neck, gripping tighter. You can't breathe, and you know Yeji probably can't either.

"No," she laughs weakly. "What—what do you mean you're not coming back?"

"I have to. You're there, doing your thing. Everything is falling apart back home. They need me. I can't stay."

"I—I'll come back. I can come back with you. I can wrap things up and—"

"You're happy in Japan," you interrupt, finishing off your drink and putting the glass back down on the counter. "I can't ask you to do that. This is your life. Your career. And you're good at it."

"I'll figure it out. I don't care, I'll talk to my boss—"

"Don't be ridiculous," you say, a lump forming in your throat. "You can't. You signed a contract. They can't release you without some penalty. Don't throw it all away. Not because of me."

Yeji stares at you, a mixture of confusion and fear on her face. "Who cares about the goddamn contract, we'll make it work. Like we always do. We'll make it work."

"You're happy in Tokyo, Yeji. Happier than I've ever seen you. Don't fuck that up for me."

She laughs, as if what you're saying isn't making sense. As if any of this isn't really happening. "You think I'm happy over there without you? In my shitty little apartment all alone? With my bad Japanese? I miss you every goddamn day. Everything hurts without you, and I've been a total mess and—"

"Stop," you interrupt. "Stop it."

Yeji reaches forward, grabbing onto your shoulder. "I'm coming back. And when I do, things will go back to the way they were. Okay? I love you, and that won't ever change. I know things haven't been great. I know—I know I'm busy. But that'll get better, you'll see, and—"

"We can't keep doing this," you sigh, turning towards her.

"Keep doing what?"

"This," you repeat. "We can't. It's not fair. To either of us. I have to take care of my family, and you can't just ditch everything and move back home with me. You can't."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Yeji scoffs, tears starting to run down her face. "I would do anything for you. I would."

"And I can't let you do that."

"Don't tell me what to do," she replies, a scowl on her face. "Don't tell me what's best for me. I'll be the judge of that."

"No," you say, wiping your eyes. "I love you. But it's not the same. I can't live a life where we're separated, where we only see each other a few days a month. It's not—it's no way to live. We both know this."

"You think I want that, too? To live apart? To have a cold bed every night? To eat ramen on my couch alone?"

"No," you reply. "I don't. I can't imagine a life without you. But I can't ask you to come back home with me. To abandon your new life."

"You're not asking me to do anything. I'm choosing to. Because I love you."

"And I love you, too," you reply, feeling your heart sink deeper. "More than anything. Which is why I can't keep doing this. Why I won't keep doing this. We deserve better."

"Better than what? Better than us?"

You don't answer her, you can't. If you do, then it becomes real, and then there's no going back.

"Please, don't," she pleads. "Please."

"What the fuck do we do, Yeji?" you ask, swallowing, trying to catch your breath, trying not to lose it. Trying not to break down in front of her.

"I-I don't know. I don't know."

"I don't either. The only thing I know is when I get back on that flight and go back to Seoul, I'm not gonna be coming home to a bed with you in it. And that kills me."

"I can change that. Just give me a week. Two, tops. Then I'll come back with you."

You don't look up, keeping your gaze firmly planted the drink in your hands, trying your damnedest not to lose your composure. Trying not to break, trying to stay strong. For her, because the moment she sees the cracks, she'll break, and then there's no fixing it.

"Are—are you," Yeji stammers, her lip quivering, fresh tears falling, one after the other. "Are we breaking up?"

You can't even believe the words coming out of her mouth, much less that she's the one saying them. That it's even coming up, even a thought. "Trust me, Yeji. That's the last thing I want right now."

She gets up from her chair, walking towards you, her arms wrapping around your neck, holding you tightly against her. "Good. Then we won't."

Maybe you're just selfish. Maybe you're just staving off the inevitable. Maybe you just don't have the strength to break her heart. Maybe you can't bear to watch her cry another tear. Or maybe you just don't know how to say goodbye.

"Okay," you murmur. "We won't."

---

You stare at the silver key in your outstretched palm, the one for your apartment. The key to your apartment in Seoul that Yeji hasn't lived in for a few months. And she's not even here to witness you locking it for the final time.

Not exactly a bittersweet goodbye. More bitter than anything else. You drop the key through the office mail slot, the sound of it clinking against the bottom echoing loudly in the empty hallway. Your phone vibrates.

Yeji: You made it?

Yeah. Call you when I get home.

Yeji: Okay. Love you.

Love you too.

Once again you're on a flight. And once again, Yeji isn't on it.

---

You're in Tokyo. It's been a few months. Yeji invited you for a long weekend, and you were stupid enough to accept.

It's strange seeing her in person, being this close. But also the strangest thing to normalcy, after such a long period of time. Yeji's apartment is in a quieter neighborhood, it's nice. Small, but nice. And the view of the city is beautiful, even from here you can see the skyline, and it's breathtaking.

It reminds you of everything you should have together. The little garden on the patio, the cozy couch in the living room, the quaint little kitchen, all of it. You should be here, in this place. And yet, you aren't. And it's not Yeji's fault. But that doesn't make it sting any less.

"Do you like it?" Yeji asks, bringing two glasses of red wine out onto the small balcony.

"Yeah. I do. It suits you."

You stand against the railing, looking over the city. A light drizzle falls from the sky, as if even the weather is mourning your situation.

Yeji walks up, standing next to you. The smell of her perfume is exactly the same, a welcome aroma you've been without for a while. You missed it. You miss her.

The months without her feel like an eternity, and yet the long weekend feels like seconds. And once it's over, the void will just be deeper. The emptiness more torturous. The distance even greater. You shouldn't be here. But you are. Because you're an idiot, and you'll take any excuse you can get, to see Yeji again, even for a short while. Even if it kills you inside.

"Thanks," she replies, holding the wine out to you. You take it, taking a sip. It tastes like nothing. The flavor is all but absent. Or maybe its because the only taste in your mouth is bitterness.

You don't say anything. It's as if any and all words you might've said, you've already said a hundred times over. And none of it matters, not a bit. You look over at her, and her hair is longer, and she looks even more beautiful, even more breathtaking than you ever thought possible. You just wish you didn't have to see it, not from such a distance, and not for a single weekend.

"I've missed you," she says, looking over at you. "Every single day. You're always in my thoughts, in my head. I'm not me without you. Not even a little bit."

"I'm right here," you reply, trying not to fall into this. "I'm not going anywhere."

"It's not the same. You know that."

"No, it's not."

"So, what do we do? How do we fix this? It's either we continue these weekends, where I only get to see you for a couple days, or—"

"Yeji," you interrupt. "No. Please, don't even suggest it."

She doesn't answer for a while, a long, awkward silence between the two of you. The rain falls heavier now, the wind picking up, a cold breeze cutting right through you.

"I won't. I'm sorry. I just, I hate this. I hate everything about this. This is all my fucking fault for taking that stupid porn job, for taking the offer after. I hate it."

You place your glass down, turning towards Yeji, your arms wrapping around her tightly. She cries into your chest, and you just hold her, rubbing her back softly. "It's okay. Don't say that."

"I-I don't know how I ever thought I could leave you behind."

"Don't. It's not your fault. Don't even suggest it. Not once."

You look up towards the dark clouds overhead, the rain falling harder on the balcony floor. Yeji clinging tightly to you like if she lets go she might never see you again. You squeeze tighter, kissing her on top of the head, not caring that your clothes are getting soaked.

"I'm here, living in Tokyo, making more money than I'll ever need in a lifetime, but none of that matters. Nothing. It means nothing without you. None of this is worth it if I don't have you by my side."

"Yeji, please, stop it."

"No. It's the truth. I know I said this would be temporary. But it's not. I can't. I can't do it. Not even another day, another hour. Not even another goddamn second."

The rain continues to pour. You kiss the top of Yeji's head. The smell of her shampoo brings you back to simpler times, to happier memories, of all the things you wished you still had. "What the fuck are we supposed to do, Yeji?"

Yeji doesn't answer, crying into your chest. She doesn't stop, and neither does the rain. It doesn't feel like it ever will. It's like you'll never find an end to all of this.

"Yeji—"

"Move in with me," Yeji begs. "Don't go. Don't get on that plane Monday. Don't."

You just stare at the night sky above you, the dark clouds rolling over. The lump in your throat doesn't get smaller. "Yeji. Don't make this harder. Please."

"I-I know, I'm selfish. I know, I'm so sorry. I'm being such a selfish bitch. You can't ditch your life to come live with me here. It's not fair to ask that, and I'm so sorry. Maybe we s-should—maybe we should just end things. Tonight. No more weekends. No more flights back and forth. No more—"

Yeji stops, burying her face back in your chest, crying. You squeeze harder, not letting go. Not even a little.

"I can't give up on you, Yeji. I won't."

"Please. I'm not asking you to give up. But we can't—this isn't working. We've barely talked in months. And when we do it's never enough, I want to spend every minute with you but I can't. And I can't keep asking you to give up everything, just for me."

You hate it when Yeji is right. You hate the truth of it. You hate every last goddamn word, but none more than this one. And that makes it all the more real, all the more painful, all the more soul-crushing.

She pulls away from your chest, looking up at you, tears flowing. She looks beautiful even when she cries. It's the last thing you want to see, and it kills you to know this might be the last time you see it.

"Y-yeah," you mutter, your eyes blurring, unsure of what just left your lips. "Yeah. Okay."

She nods, trying to wipe away the tears that won't stop flowing, one after the other. You can't stop them either, and neither of you can do anything but fall further apart. "Okay. I love you. I'll always love you, no matter what. Don't ever forget that."

You kiss her one last time, tasting her for what you might have to believe is the last time, your hands cradling her cheeks.

"I know, Yeji," you say, breath heavy, trying not to let yourself break down completely, but you're already losing this fight. "I know. I love you, too. So fucking much. You'll always be my kitten, Yeji."

Yeji breaks out in a sad, almost-cackling laugh, clutching onto you tightly. "Always, baby. Always."

So you wipe her tears, letting yours run free, unbothered by anything else. Yeji places her forehead against yours, squeezing her eyes shut, her lips quivering, crying even harder.

You know there's a chance of saving this. But this isn't that. It's the opposite. It's letting go. And that's not what either of you wants, but you're so tired, you're exhausted. And the thought of spending even another second without Yeji feels impossible, even for another day, another heartbeat.

But there's nothing else to do. Not a goddamn thing, and maybe letting her go is the kindest thing you can do. Maybe.

[toshyun]

PEACH FICCCCCCC

[toshyun]

Afterglow

IVE's An Yujin x Male Reader

4.4k words

Hello all! I present to you my submission for our server's latest prompt challenge, where my task was to write a story using the time of sunset, and the added challenge of "The story must open with the end of the time duration, then rewind to the beginning and play through again".

Hope you guys like it <3

~~~

"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even now—completely fucked out, thighs still trembling—she's got that fucking pleased little smirk on her face.

You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing. 

There are scratches down your back that sting when you shift position, her nails having carved you up badly when you'd finally pinned her against the mattress.

The sheets are ruined—no saving them. Not with the mix of sweat, cum, and whatever's left of Yujin's makeup smeared across the fabric. She's sprawled beside you, chest still heaving, her hair a complete disaster fanned across the pillow. Her sundress is crumpled by the door, one strap torn clean off.

Yujin rolls onto her side to face you, and you can see the aftermath of everything that just happened all over her body. Her lipstick is smeared from her mouth to her jaw, dark bruises already forming on her neck and collarbones. Cum is still leaking from between her thighs, making a mess on skin that's flushed and marked with your fingerprints.

"Worth it though, right?" She traces a finger down your chest, lazy and satisfied, like she's admiring her handiwork.

"You're impossible," you finally manage.

"You love it."

She's not wrong.

~~~

Six hours earlier, you'd been stupid enough to think this would be a normal date.

Yujin had texted you that morning with a simple "pick me up at 2 <3" and you'd thought—fine, easy. Lunch, maybe walk around, watch the sunset over dinner. Standard relationship stuff. You should've known better the second you pulled up and saw what she was wearing.

The sundress is light blue, thin cotton that does absolutely nothing to hide the fact she's not wearing a bra. It hugs her waist before flowing down to mid-thigh, and when she bounces over to the car, you can see everything move in ways that make it very clear she planned this outfit specifically to fuck with you.

It's working.

"Hi baby," she says sweetly, sliding into the passenger seat and leaning over to kiss your cheek. Innocent enough, except her hand lands directly on your thigh and stays there while she buckles her seatbelt.

"You're evil," you tell her.

"I'm adorable." She grins, adjusting the dress that's already riding up her thighs. "Where are we going?"

"That café you wanted to try."

The drive is only ten minutes, but Yujin makes it feel like an hour. Her hand doesn't leave your thigh, fingers tracing lazy patterns while she chatters about her week. Every time you glance over, she's doing something designed to distract you—adjusting her hair so the dress pulls tighter across her chest, crossing and uncrossing her legs, biting her bottom lip while she looks out the window.

At the café, she orders an iced vanilla latte and immediately wraps her lips around the straw in a way that's just absolutely not necessary for drinking coffee.

You watch her take a slow sip, eyes locked on yours.

"What?" she asks, like she doesn't know exactly what she's doing.

"Nothing," you mutter, taking a drink of your own coffee and trying to focus on literally anything else.

She leans forward on her elbows, and the neckline of her dress dips low enough that you can see the curve of her tits. "You seem tense."

"I'm fine."

"Mm." She doesn't believe you, and that little smirk says she knows exactly why you're tense.

You finish your coffees and decide to walk through the nearby park since the weather's nice and you're clearly a masochist. Yujin loops her arm through yours, pressing close enough that you can feel the heat of her body through that thin dress.

"Isn't this romantic?" she says, full of fake innocence as her free hand traces up your arm.

"Very," you say flatly.

She's already sliding that hand down, lacing her fingers with yours, bringing your joined hands to rest at her hip where the dress cinches.

The park is busier than you expected—couples on blankets, families with kids, people walking dogs. Yujin doesn't seem to care. She steers you toward a quieter path lined with trees, and the second you're out of immediate sight, she stops and turns to face you.

"I want a picture," she announces, already pulling out her phone.

"You take like fifty pictures a day."

"And I'm going to take fifty-one." She steps close, arm around your waist, phone up for a selfie. You're about to smile when her ass presses back against your crotch—a deliberate roll of her hips.

You grab her waist on reflex.

The camera clicks.

Wow. That is not a graceful expression.

"Perfect," she says, grinning at the photo before tucking the phone away.

She doesn't move away from you. You don't let go of her waist. She leans her head back against your shoulder.

"You're being very well-behaved so far."

"I'm being patient."

"And how long do you think that'll last?" She turns in your arms, and suddenly you're face to face with her, close enough to kiss. Her hands slide up your chest, fingers playing with the collar of your shirt. You can smell her perfume, feel her breath against your mouth.

"Yujin—"

"What?" Those big, innocent eyes blink at you, like she's never done a thing wrong her entire life. Her thigh presses between your legs, just enough pressure to make her point. "We're just taking pictures, baby."

Someone walks past on the main path and you step back, mostly to maintain some semblance of dignity in public. Yujin just laughs, bright and delighted, before grabbing your hand and pulling you back toward the park exit.

"Come on, I want to look at the shops before dinner."

The boutique she drags you into is small, full of expensive clothes and a bored-looking attendant who barely glances up when you enter. Yujin immediately starts browsing through racks, pulling out dresses and holding them up against her body.

"What do you think of this one?" A black one that would barely cover her ass.

"It's short."

"That's not a no." She grins and drapes it over her arm, moving to the next rack. You follow behind. Her fingers trail over the different materials, hips swaying just a little more than necessary.

She disappears into the dressing room with three dresses, and you lean against the wall outside to wait. The curtain doesn't close all the way—you can see flashes of movement, the sundress pooling at her feet. Then her hand appears, crooking a finger at you.

"I need a second opinion," she calls out.

You glance at the attendant, who's fully absorbed in her phone, and slip behind the curtain.

Yujin is standing in just her panties. Holding up one of the dresses in front of her body.

Not wearing it.

The dressing room mirror shows everything—the curve of her bare tits, those panties sitting low on her hips, the cheeky smile that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

"Well?"

"You're not even wearing it," you point out.

"I wanted to see your reaction first." She drops the dress entirely, closing the small distance between you. Her hands find your belt, fingers tracing the leather. "Are you going to do something about it?"

"There's a person right outside."

"So you'll have to be quiet." She's already popping the button on your jeans, and fuck, her hand sliding into your boxers is not helping your resolve.

You grab her wrist, stopping her before this gets completely out of hand. "Get dressed. We have dinner reservations."

The look she gives you is pure frustration, but there's need underneath it. "You're no fun."

"I'm RESPONSIBLE."

"I don't like responsible," she pouts, but she lets you pull her hand away and picks the sundress back up. You slip out before you do something stupid.

She emerges a minute later. Doesn't buy any of the clothes she tried on.

She does, however, grab your ass when you're walking out of the store.

"An Yujin."

"Hand slipped!"

The restaurant is one of those places with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the water. You'd picked it specifically because Yujin mentioned wanting to watch the sunset over dinner.

Romantic as hell. Seemed like a good idea this morning.

You’re having second thoughts.

The golden light of the sunset coming through the windows catches in Yujin's hair when she sits down, makes her skin glow in a way that's entirely unfair. She's gorgeous in normal lighting, but with a sunset behind her she looks… unreal.

"This place is beautiful," she says, and she actually sounds genuine for once, looking out at the water where the sun is starting to paint the sky in shades of orange and pink.

"Yeah," you manage, trying to focus on your own menu and not the way the light is hitting her.

The waiter comes by and you both order—she gets the salmon, you get the steak, and she requests a wine she definitely can't pronounce but sounds expensive. (She knows you’re paying, after all).  She's suspiciously polite, ordering without any funny business.

Then the waiter leaves and you feel her foot slide up your calf.

"Yujin."

"What?" She’s staring at the sunset like she’s never done a thing wrong in her life.

"We're in public."

"I'm just getting comfortable." She blinks at you as her foot reaches your thigh and stays there, and you become very aware of how thin her dress is, how the sunset behind her makes it… almost see-through in places…

The wine arrives and she takes a slow sip, eyes on you over the rim of the glass. When she sets it down, her hand disappears under the table, and a second later you feel her fingers on your knee, sliding up your thigh with clear intent.

"Can't you just wait for the food," you plead, grabbing her wrist under the table.

"I'm not hungry for food." She leans forward, and the neckline of her dress dips dangerously low. The sunset behind her creates this halo effect that would be romantic if she wasn't currently trying to get her hand on your cock in a public restaurant.

You don't let go of her wrist, keeping her hand firmly on your thigh and nowhere else. "Behave."

"Make me," she says, and there's that fucking smirk again.

The food arrives. You let go of her hand so the waiter can set down the plates.

Yujin thanks him sweetly. He's barely gone before her hand is back—making it all the way to your crotch before you can stop her.

She palms you through your jeans, and fuck, you're already half-hard from her teasing all day. Her fingers trace the outline of your cock while she cuts into her salmon with her other hand like nothing's happening.

"How's your food?" she asks conversationally.

"Yujin, I swear to god—"

"You should try the salmon, it's really good." She takes a bite, and her hand squeezes you just enough to make you bite back a groan.

The sun is almost touching the horizon now, the entire sky turning brilliant shades of orange and red. The light hits her face and she looks like a fucking angel. 

An evil little cock-teasing angel who’s decided getting you off under the table is way more fun than eating.

"You're so hard already," she murmurs, leaning closer like she's sharing a secret. Her hand works you through the denim, and you're trying to keep your expression neutral while she's clearly enjoying watching you struggle.

"Stop," you say, but it comes out strained.

"You don't want me to stop." Her thumb finds the head of your cock through your jeans, rubbing in slow circles. "You've been wanting to fuck me since I got in your car."

She's not wrong, and you're done.

You grab her wrist, pull her hand away. Harder than necessary. "We're leaving."

"But we haven't finished—"

"Now, Yujin."

Pure triumph on her face. This is exactly what she wanted.

She doesn't argue, just grabs her purse while you flag down the waiter and hand him your card without even looking at the bill.

The sun is halfway below the horizon when you walk out, the sky on fire with color, and Yujin is practically skipping to the car.

She beats you to the passenger side, slides in with that pleased smile still on her face.

You're barely in the driver's seat. She's already leaning over the center console, hand on your thigh again.

"That was mean," she says, not sounding very sorry at all.

"You started it." You turn the key and pull out of the parking lot faster than necessary, and the sky is deepening now—brilliant orange fading to pink and purple at the edges.

"So you're admitting I won?"

"I'm admitting I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk."

The way her breath catches is supremely satisfying, but she recovers quick. "Promises, promises."

Her hand slides higher on your thigh and you grab it, pinning it in place. "You're going to make me crash."

"Then drive faster."

"You… want me to make our crash worse?"

"Just drive, idiot!"

The sunset is in your rearview mirror now, the sky ahead darker where night is already creeping in. You make it maybe two minutes before her other hand finds your belt, and you have to move your grip to catch that one too.

"Yujin."

"What? I'm just sitting here." She's absolutely not just sitting there—she's shifted in her seat so that dress is riding up her thighs, and when you glance over at a red light, you can see the lace edge of her panties.

"You're insane."

"You love it," she says again, and manages to get one hand free to palm you through your jeans. You're fully hard now, have been since the restaurant, and her touch makes you grip the steering wheel hard enough that your knuckles go white.

The light turns green. You have to let go of her to shift gears.

She takes full advantage—gets the button of your jeans open before you can stop her.

"Jesus Christ, Yujin—"

"Keep your eyes on the road, baby." Her hand slips into your boxers, fingers wrapping around your cock, and the feeling of her actually touching you after hours of teasing makes you groan.

You catch her wrist but don't pull her away, too far gone to pretend you don't want this. The sky outside is streaked with the last colors of sunset, deep purple and orange, and her hand is stroking you slowly while you're trying to drive through downtown traffic.

"Let me reiterate. You, me, a semi-truck, all meeting in less than a second if you don't get your stupidly smooth hand off my cock."

She laughs but settles back in her seat, pulling her hand away with clear reluctance. You make it three more blocks before you have to pull over at another red light, and the second the car stops you're hauling her in for a kiss.

It's messy and desperate, her mouth opening for you immediately, and your hand finds her thigh, pushing that dress up until you can feel the heat of her through those thin panties. She's soaked, and when you press against her she makes this needy sound that goes straight to your cock.

Someone honks behind you and you realize the light's green.

"Fuck," you mutter, pulling back and trying to focus on driving. Your hand stays on her thigh though, high enough that your fingers brush against the lace edge of her panties every time you shift.

The sun is gone now, just the afterglow painting the sky, and you can see your building up ahead. Yujin sees it too, and her hand goes right back to your cock, stroking you through your open jeans.

"Almost there," she purrs, and you don't know if she means the building or something else entirely.

You pull into your spot and kill the engine, and then you're both out of the car and you're crowding her against the door, kissing her hard while she fumbles with your keys. She gets the door open and you're inside, kicking it shut behind you, and her back hits the wall in the entryway.

"Now?" she asks breathlessly, and there's triumph in her voice even now.

You don't even dignify her with an answer.

The dress hits the floor before you've even moved away from the door, and Yujin's hands are already pulling at your shirt, yanking it over your head while you work your jeans down. She's in just those lace panties now, and you can see the wet spot where she's been soaked for hours.

"Took you long enough," she breathes, but you shut her up by shoving her harder against the wall and kissing her like you're trying to devour her whole.

Your hand slides between her legs, fingers pressing against the soaked lace, and she gasps into your mouth. "You've been wet all fucking day, haven't you?"

"Since the car," she admits, hips rolling against your hand. "Maybe before."

You hook your fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs, and the second they're off you're dropping to your knees. Her eyes go wide.

"Wait, I thought you were going to—oh fuck!"

Your mouth is on her pussy before she can finish the sentence. Tongue dragging through her folds.

She tastes as good as she looks.

Your hands grip her thighs, holding her against the wall while you eat her out like you're starving for it. Maybe you are, after the torture she's put you through today.

"Oh god, oh f-fuck, yes—" Her hands fist in your hair, and she's trying to grind against your face, shameless and desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking it between your lips, and her whole body jerks.

"Right there, don't stop, please don't fucking stop—"

You don't. You work her with your tongue until her thighs are shaking, until she's practically sobbing, and when she cums it's with your name broken on her lips and her pussy clenching against nothing.

She's still trembling when you stand up and kiss her, letting her taste herself on your tongue. "Bedroom. Now."

"Fuck the bedroom," she pants, already reaching for your cock. "Right here."

Her hand wraps around you and strokes, and you're so fucking hard it almost hurts. But you catch her wrist, spin her around so she's facing the wall, and kick her legs apart.

"You wanted this so badly," you growl against her ear, lining yourself up. "So take it."

You push into her in one thrust and she cries out, hands splaying against the wall for balance. She's so wet and tight that you have to pause, breathing hard, trying not to cum immediately like a teenager.

"Move," she demands, pushing her hips back. "Fuck me already."

"Greedy, aren't we?"

You pull out and slam back in, and the sound she makes is perfect—broken and needy and so fucking desperate. You set a brutal pace, one hand on her hip and the other sliding up to grip her throat, not squeezing, just holding her in place while you fuck up into her.

"Yes, yes, fuck, harder—"

The angle is incredible, and you can feel her getting wetter with every thrust, slick dripping down her thighs. Your grip tightens on her hip, hard enough to leave marks, and she loves it, pushing back to meet you.

"Is this what you wanted?" you ask, voice rough. "Teasing me all day just so I'd fuck you like this?"

"Yes," she gasps. "Knew you'd—ah!—knew you'd s-snap eventually."

You pull out suddenly. She whines at the loss.

Then you're turning her around, lifting her up. Her legs wrap around your waist automatically. You push back inside her, using the wall for leverage.

"Oh fuck, so deep—" Her nails dig into your shoulders, and you can feel her pussy clenching around you, tight and perfect.

You kiss her while you fuck her, messy and hard, and she's moaning into your mouth. The angle has you hitting the spot inside that makes her gasp every time, and her tits are pressed against your chest, nipples hard.

"Gonna cum again," she warns, "don't stop, please—"

"Cum on my cock," you tell her. "Let me feel it."

She does, her whole body tensing and then releasing, pussy spasming around you in a way that almost takes you over the edge. You carry her to the couch—fuck the bedroom—and lay her down, pulling out just long enough to flip her onto her stomach.

"Ass up," you command, and she scrambles to obey, presenting herself to you.

The view is impeccable—her pussy swollen and dripping, cum already leaking out of her. You push back inside and she moans into the cushions, and this angle lets you go even deeper.

You fuck her hard, hands gripping her hips. The wet sounds of your cock driving into her pussy fill the room.

She's babbling now—words barely coherent, just broken pleas and your name and "yes" over and over.

"So fucking perfect," you groan, watching your cock disappear into her. Wet coating your shaft. Dripping down to make a mess on the couch. "Look at you, taking it so well."

"More," she gasps. "Harder, p-please, I need—"

You give her what she wants, slamming into her with enough force that she has to brace herself against the arm of the couch. Her pussy clenches around you, still sensitive from cumming twice already, and you can feel how close you are.

Your hand slides around to find her clit. She practically screams, body jerking. "Can't, too much, I can't—"

"Yes you can." Your fingers rub tight circles. "Cum with me."

She's shaking, thighs trembling, and you can feel her getting tighter. You lean over her, changing the angle, and she sobs out something that might be your name.

"Gonna fill you up," you warn, thrusts getting erratic. "Gonna cum so deep inside you."

"Please," she begs, "please, I want it, want you to—fuck!"

She cums first, pussy spasming around your cock, and that's all it takes to drag you over with her. You slam in one final time and cum hard, spilling deep inside her while she moans. You can feel it flooding her, so much that it starts leaking out around your cock even while you're still inside her.

You stay buried in her for a long moment, both of you breathing hard, before finally pulling out. Your cum immediately starts dripping down her thighs, obscene and perfect, and she's so thoroughly fucked that she just stays there, ass in the air, too wrecked to move.

"Bed," you finally manage.

She makes a sound that might be agreement. You both stumble to the bedroom, collapse onto the sheets.

You should probably stop.

You don't stop.

You're on her immediately, pinning her wrists above her head, and she gasps when you push back inside her. She's oversensitive and so fucking wet—cum from earlier mixed with how turned on she still is—and the slide is almost too easy.

"Sure you can handle one more round?" she teases, but her legs are already wrapping around your waist, pulling you deeper.

"You started this," you remind her, rolling your hips. "We finish when I say we finish."

She moans, head falling back against the pillow, and you take the opportunity to bite down on her neck, hard enough to leave another mark. Her pussy clenches around you in response, and you can feel how swollen she is, how thoroughly fucked.

You let go of her wrists, brace yourself above her.

Her hands find your back. Nails dig in immediately, dragging down your shoulder blades as you thrust into her.

The sting is perfect.

"Fuck, Yujin—"

"Harder," she demands, and her nails scrape down your back again, definitely breaking skin this time. "Give it to me harder!"

You shift the angle, driving deeper, and she cries out. The bed frame is hitting the wall with every thrust, and the sheets are getting soaked beneath her—sweat and cum and her pussy dripping everywhere.

"Look at me," you tell her, and when her eyes meet yours they're glazed and desperate. "This is what you wanted all day, isn't it? To get fucked until you can't think straight?"

"Yes," she gasps, nails carving new lines down your back. "Yes, god, don't stop—"

You don't. You fuck her hard into the mattress, one hand gripping her hip while the other slides up to wrap around her throat. Not squeezing, just holding her there while you fuck her apart.

She's babbling again, that incoherent mix of your name and "fuck" and "please," and you can feel her getting close. Her nails are brutal on your back, scratching hard enough that you know you'll be marked for days.

"Gonna cum again?" you ask, and she nods frantically.

"Can't help it, you're so deep, I can't—"

"Do it," you command. "Cum on my cock one more time."

She does, and it's like her whole body seizes up. Her nails rake down your back viciously as she screams, pussy clamping down so tight around you that it's almost painful. The sensation drags your own orgasm out of you, and you bury yourself as deep as possible, filling her up for the second time.

You can feel it mixing with the first load, so much cum that it's leaking out around your cock, soaking into the sheets beneath you. When you finally pull out, the evidence is everywhere—her thighs covered in it, the sheets stained, her pussy absolutely wrecked and dripping.

You collapse beside her, and she immediately sprawls out, chest heaving. Her makeup is completely destroyed now, smeared down her face, and her hair is a disaster. She looks thoroughly, completely fucked.

Perfect.

Your back is on fire where she scratched you, and when you shift, the sting reminds you of every mark she left.

"You lasted longer than I thought you would," she says between breaths, and even now—completely fucked out, thighs still trembling—she's got that fucking pleased little smile on her face.

You don't have the energy to respond, just managing to flip her the bird while you stare at the ceiling, pulse still racing.

~~~

Sorry for the wait! I have a big project waiting to go, and also maybe another Twice smut that should be out within the next week or two :)

Read on Fanprose here!

[toshyun]

Question for my followers!

Is there a word count that makes you want to read a fic more? In general and also for my stories specifically :)

<3000

3000 - 4999

5000+

I don't care I love whatever you put out! <3

(Please don't pick that option I need real answers)

Voting ended onApr 12

[fuckkkkkklol]

What do you mean Momo returned your heart? Did she return it or are you just too stupid to know basic vocabulary? You use the base form, stupid. Take it down, you look like an idiot. You wanna become a writer? Learn your tenses, stupid.

MOMO RETURN MY HEART (this means u are asking Momo to return your heart)

Momo returned my heart (this means she returned it to you which I'm assuming she did NOT)

Fking past tense enjoyer, stupid! DONT WRITE IF YOU DONT KNOW YOUR TENSES! IT WILL BE DISASTROUS!!!!

how about you suck my fucking cock

i posted that right after soundcheck ended. during the soundcheck, i made a heart with my hands to momo as she passed by where i was standing. i was at the barricade, so i know for sure that it was directed towards me.

why do you think i used all caps for that post, and used the past tense? because it already happened, and i was very excited that it happened.

stop sending anon asks and speak to me with your whole chest, fucking pussy bitch

[toshyun]

Friendly reminder, if you're going to hate at least make sure you read the post carefully :KEKW:

[toshyun]

do you have any plans for the next part of Delivery? want to eat more pizza!

Hmmmmmmmmm there wasn't really a PLAN to write a part 2 but I suppose if enough people really wanted it... But either way there is indeed a Jiyeon related surprise coming out when I hit 2k followers... :)

[ducktoo]

Rent-a-friend

Client 24: Ji Suhyeon

Tags: Fluff, Slice of Life

(9.5k words)

"What? Gaeul signed up?" "Yeah."

"The Kim Gaeul that hired me?" "Who else, dumbass."

You almost miss the turn.

The steering wheel jerks slightly under your hands as your vans run along the road. Sunlight flashes through the trees lining the long road adorned with what you called "money house". The painting is secured in the back, wrapped carefully in brown paper and bubble wrap (Hair tie, 24/09), and delivering to your lovely frequent buyer, the Ji family. Usually the ride is quiet, with the radio tuning on pop music or whatever…

But no, this time is just Sakura yapping.

"The same girl, yes," she says with a tone far too cheerful. "The shit eating girlie."

"It's poop-flavoured curry."

"You told me you two ate literal shit."

You sigh, pinching your nose bridge for a moment. "Anyway, you're telling me she signed up for Rent-a-Friend voluntarily?"

"Fill out the form like us too. Ya, she wrote this long, earnest section about wanting to learn how to connect with people without pressure and trying something unfamiliar."

Ok, that tracks painfully well.

You glance at the traffic light ahead. "Did she say why?"

"Let me check…the form says: inspired by a particular cute guy."

"Don't fuck with me, Kkura." "I'm not!"

Yeah, you don’t believe her one bit, but Sakura still defends herself. "Do you know how excruciating it is to read reviews of you and not mine? Are you trying to rub it off your face?"

You snort. "Your fault for reading it."

"Oh jeez I wonder why?" She continues. "Totally not because management assigned me to train her. ME!"

The light turns red. But you haven't moved yet.

"YOU?!" You shout. “They didn’t think to—oh, I don’t know—assign the person she actually hired?”

"I guess they want the same gender just because."

"Gosh, Gaeul's gonna have one rough time." "You bitch!"

"You invoice people wrong for 3 weeks. I heard from management." "Okay, that was one time."

"She's going to think the whole service is a scam."

Sakura clicks her tongue. "You're just mad because YOU want to be her trainer."

The car honks behind you, and you finally step on the pedal. The road starts to widen now, buildings thinning out, iron gates and tall hedges replacing storefronts. The Ji family mansion isn’t that far, and you can already picture the long driveway, the security booth, the polite nod from the guard who recognizes your car by now.

'Why would I be?"

"Oh please." Sakura laughs. "She's really pretty even from me. And you just want to move on from your ex."

"Shut up and hang up."

"Gosh you are so baby. Anyway, I'll train her well. Just so that you can be soooo happy when you see her."

The wrought-iron gates of the Ji mansion come into view, black and immaculate, already beginning to slide open as your car approaches. You pull into the driveway, gravel crunching softly beneath the tires. The mansion looms ahead, expansive yet pristine as always.

“I’m here,” you say. “Don’t traumatize her.”

“No promises,” Sakura replies. “But hey — if she quits, I’m blaming you.”

And the line goes beep.

-

You wait.

That's usually how it goes when delivering to the Ji family — just some peacefully quiet stretches of nothing before you hit the road again. You stand near the edge of the main hall at first, then drift outside when the quiet gets a bit too overbearing, and the painting is still wrapped tightly.

You always wander around the path, and as usual, always marvel at the cleanliness and the scale. Trimmed hedges, pale stone paths, and a fountain splashing softly somewhere. Don’t even start on the fresh smell of grass mixed with something floral and expensive that probably has a French name you can’t pronounce. It feels familiar, actually, remembering how you peeked over the giant walls of your ex's house while waiting for her to sneak out.

That's when you notice a girl. From afar.

She's further in the garden, under a pergola. One leg against a wooden bench, her body folds with slowed and controlled precisions. The late afternoon light filters through the deciduous trees, casting patterns across her delicate shoulders. She has this dark hair pulled into a neat bun, and a leotard that makes you question if cold is a foreign concept for her.

Who is she, really? You’ve never seen her around here before. Maybe you missed her — the mansion is really fucking big.

Well, curiosity kills the cat, so you just walk to the uncharted habitat. Your footsteps crunch against the gravels and the shriveled leaves, and she turns her head to the noise immediately. Her posture instinctively straightens up before she relaxes again, and her face beams with a smile.

She lifts her hand and waves.

Oh. A little awkward, yourself, but you return it. "Hey. Um…Hi."

She doesn't respond. Just tilts her head slightly, seemingly waiting. Interesting. "Sorry, I was just…" You vaguely gesture around like that explains anything. "…uh, anyway, whatcha doing here?"

She blinks. And then her hands move with such fluidity and precision. Beautiful too, have to include that — she really has long and delicate fingers, yet she moves it to form some sort of symbols so quick as if she has done it her whole life.

It takes you exactly two seconds to realise you have absolutely no fucking clue what she just said. "Ah…ok, that's on me."

She puts one hand over her dainty lips and silently (and politely) laughs. Her shoulders lifting up and down, probably have gotten used to this scenario. Before you embarrass yourself further for your ignorance, you reach into your breast pocket (thank fuck you're wearing polo jacket today) and pull out your notebook and pen.

Quickly flipping through the paper, you hastily scribble. "Can we write?" You wrote.

She reminds you of Pingu a lot when her eyes beam up immediately. Her hands take them from yours with a degree of carefulness, and then write neatly and quickly.

"Hi! My name is Ji Suhyeon!"

Ji…Suhyeon? Ji? The Ji family?

Now it makes sense. The owner usually talks to you about his only daughter inside the mansion busy with her practice. So this is what she looks lik— oh, she's writing something else.

"'Su' as in excellent or long-lived, and 'Hyeon' as in worthy or wise. My name, you can think of it as 'exemplary virtue'"

You stare at the page for a second. Woah, beautiful name, and beautiful explanation too.

"Nice to meet you too, Suhyeon." Your hand quickly catches up with your voice. Your name is written down first, then usual greetings as the notebook is being exchanged back and forth like you have been doing it for ages.

She writes again. "I'm a ballerina, as you can see."

That doesn't surprise you at all. "Yeah, I figured. Don't worry."

She looks amused, and then adds more. "Your paintings are so pretty. It looks great around the houses. My father really likes collecting them."

You give her an appreciative bow. "That is very kind of you, Suhyeon. Guess I will give your dad a discount for this one."

She bites her lips to not let out a smile. She fails, and you swear this girl will be the death of you today. "I often see you from far away when you bring paintings. This is the first time we really talk. Well, writing."

You huff. "Yeah. Writing."

"Kind of like texting on Insta." "Yeah, kind of like tex—" Wait.

Insta?

"Couldn't we just text on SNS?"

Suhyeon looks at the words on the paper, and it looks like the realisation hits her too. She smacks the notebook on her forehead and silently laughs again, her shoulders shaking.

You burst out laughing too. 'Right? We're standing here like back in the 1800s."

She scribbles faster now. "I forgot that you might not know sign language, so I just write automatically."

You follow suit with the line underneath. "I forgot SNS exists, so we're even."

She tilts her head, still somehow keeping the posture since you come over, then writes: "Do you want to add me on Insta?"

How straightforward she is.

You nod quickly, and your hand hastily grabs the phone out of the pocket before handing it to her. She takes it with both hands — careful, almost ceremonial, even — and types in her handle. When she gives it back, the screen is still on her profile: @jiyeon. But the profile picture is the main show. It's not some ethereal and graceful ballerina professional portrait. It's…actually just a zoomed-in selfie, with her cheeks puffed out and her eyes as wide and bright. Kinda like Pingu.

You look up at her, and she is as frozen as the rock nearby her. Her ears are red. Her cheeks are red. Even the tips of her fingers look red.

You look back at your phone.

Then at her.

Then back at the phone.

"…Pff."

She lunges and tries to yank your phone away. You dodge it instinctively, not because you are trying not to break it, but just because her reaction is hilarious. Feeling defeated, she scribbles aggressively in your notebook. "It's not funny!"

You grin. "It very much is. Funny, cute, and elegant.”

Her cheeks turn pink as she writes. "YES, MY IMAGE IS VERY ELEGANT." in all caps.

You look her up and down slowly, analysing the posture, the bun, the breathing, and then back to the puffy cheeks. Then you nod solemnly. "Of course, very elegant."

She narrows her eyes at you. Then, after a second, she writes, with a belated sigh. "Please forget what you saw."

You (fake) contemplate for a moment, then write. "Nah"

She swats your arm with your notebook while puffing her cheeks. And you have to admit it — she looks cuter than Pingu.

The recovery takes a while before a comfortable pause settles between you. No more sounds of scribbling — just the gentle rhythm from the fountains and the rustle of the overhead canopy. Somewhere up in the tree, a bird startles and takes off.

You write again. "I do other work too." You hesitate about writing it down, but you decide to do it anyway. "Rent-a-frien—"

"Oh, hey!" A voice cuts cleanly through the garden. You flinch slightly, instinctively straightening as one of the Ji family’s dealers steps out onto the stone path. He’s already adjusting his glasses, tablet tucked under his arm. Right, time to do my actual business here.

You wince apologetically at Suhyeon. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, tapping the notebook lightly. “I’ve gotta—”

A thumb up from her comes quickly. She hands you your notebook and pen back carefully, fingers lightly brushes yours. You step back, already shifting into your polite-business mode, but your phone buzzes in your hand.

@jiyeon sent you a message.

You look up. She’s holding her own phone now, pretending very hard to look composed. Elegant. Untouched by embarrassment… maybe.

Jiyeon: It was nice to finally meet you properly. (Not like the 1800s writing version.)

You look up at her. “It was,” and this time there’s no teasing tone. "See you around, Suhyeon."

And before you finally leave her alone, you type back one more thing.

You: Modern technology is amazing. See you around…puffy.

Jiyeon: Delete that nickname right now.

-

A few weeks later, you're standing on your tiptoes like a darn moron, purely because you are too lazy to drag the ladder from across the studio.

To be fair, your fresh stack of notebooks is idling on the top of your sketching bookshelves. The ladder — perfectly usable and stable — is leaning against the opposite wall. Yet, instead of grabbing it, you decided that today is the day you deepen your understanding of ballerinas.

Specifically, the foundation of the whole art form. Pointe.

"Okay…" you breathe heavily and rise slowly, one hand braced against the shelf and your calves immediately screaming to stop. "So far so good, I hope."

You rise a little higher anyway, trying to mimic what you remember from the sketches and reference photos. Weight forward, ankles straight, balance centred. Shift your weight forward an- yea, no. No. No. Instant regret. Mayday, mayday. Board the ship. Your calves literally scream, and your toes are carrying the entire weight of your body, and for one horrifying second you understand why ballerinas either deserve medals or lifetime free healthcare.

“Oh this is ba—”

Your phone buzzes. The vibration nearly makes you lose balance. You drop flat onto your feet so fast the impact echoes slightly against the studio floor. Honestly, you almost fell on your butt. But luckily, you catch yourself on the edge of the desk, wincing as blood rushes back into your feet.

“…Ow.”

Finally, you check your phone.

Jiyeon: Are you alive?

You snort.

You: Somewhat. Just studying pointe for sketching practices, and I think my ankles are dying.

Jiyeon: Are you trying it barefoot? You're not supposed to!

You: Oh really?

Jiyeon: You’re stupid. We have paddings in the shoe.

It feels like you're winning life when a pretty girl tells you that you are stupid. Huh, 'she' always called you stupid back then, well until you can't differentiate if it was affectionate or she was just berating.

The thought flickers past and you shove it away quickly.

You: Oh….. Well, ahem. How do you do?

Nice pivot.

Jiyeon: I’m okay. Just practicing a lot. Wyd?

You glance around your studio.

Papers scatter everywhere. Charcoal dust near your elbow. A half-finished study of a foot en pointe (sort of badly proportioned, now after a look.) But after Jiyeon’s explanation about padding, suddenly something clicks in your head. Gotta do it later otherwise you forget.

You: Drawing. Thinking of pulling another all-nighter after you told me I'm stupid. You?

Jiyeon: Just practicing. Recital soon.

You: Nervous?

The three dots linger longer than before. And then it's gon— oh, it comes back.

Jiyeon: A little.

You: You'll do well.

Jiyeon: I searched something.

…That is not the usual response to encouragement.

You: What is?

Jiyeon: Rent-a-friend.

Holy fucking shit. Your mouth — no wait, your fingers — and their stupid slip ups. Why did you even mention that job to her in the garden that day? You start pacing across the studio, bare feet tapping against the floor. But if she hires you… fine. That’s the job. But something about mixing work with someone you actually enjoy talking to makes your stomach twist weirdly. And clients with money (also 'her') always bring complications. Except the Ji family. they’re… nice.

Still. You wipe your palms on your shirt.

You: Ah…it's pretty easy to find, yeah.

Jiyeon: Your profile picture is less elegant than mine.

The ballerina, the witch, and the audacity of this bi—

You: Hold on, what?

Jiyeon: Did you just wake up and take a photo?

You stare at your profile picture in silence. Messy hair. Half-awake expression. Coffee mug in frame.

You: …no comment.

Jiyeon: Gosh, good thing I'm outside to help you out.

“Oh wow,” you mutter. “How kind of her.” Clearly she’s here to save your public image. Maybe recommend clothes. Maybe fix your lighting. She probably has good taste — ballerinas live in elegance and aesthetics after all. And with the kind of money the Ji family has, she could try every fashion style in existence.

…actually, dial back, outside?

You: Outside where?

A knock hits your studio door. Your brain takes a second to catch up.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me." You walk to the door, already rubbing your hands on your shirt to get rid of some of the charcoal dust. When you pull the door open, there she is.

Ji Suhyeon.

Her hair is not a bun this time, just pulled into a high, slightly messy ponytail, soft waves spilling down her back.. She's wearing an oversized gray hoodie that people will think she stole from her older siblings (she doesn't have one, as far as you know), with sleeves long enough to swallow half her hands.

And, annoyingly, the print on the hoodie is a bold, bubbly font: "I'm a bad influence."

"What…the…"

She lifts her phone slightly and tilts it toward you. Oh hey look, it's your DMs with her.

Jiyeon: Gosh, good thing I’m here to help you out.

She looks as proud as the day Leonardo Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa.

"You could've let me know, far out." Yet, you still step aside out of habit as she slips past you into the studio like it's a normal space in her own world. It's only when she stops in front of your working area that she slows down and lets her gaze travel across the room. And now she can see the study sketches that you have been doing. A lot of them — feet en pointe, arches, half-finished poses, the same tragic drawing where the ankle angle looks painful.

"Don't even." you groan, seeing how her cheeks puff up again and trying her hardest to not laugh. "I'm not into feets, ok? Just research. Meeting you got me curious about ballerinas and stuff…yeah."

She just shrugged. How sassy, Ji Suhyeon.

Anyway, you watch as she pulls a clean page from your notebook stack (the same one you almost died retrieving) and scribbles something.

"I want to sign up."

You stare at the five words longer than you notice. "Oh."

She scribbles again. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"Wait, no I didn't mean—" You start writing a reply quickly, but before you finish she lightly smacks your side.

"I'm kidding!"

Trickster, she is. Tricksters.

Ok, then she continues. "I do have…acquaintances, I suppose. But my recital is next week, they will be spending time with their own family and stuff." She sighs for a moment before continuing. "My parents will be busy."

"Business trip?" And Suhyeon nods again.

"I got used to it, sure. But it's quite a big recital in 2 weeks…and I really wonder when I will stop dancing for an empty pair of seats."

The studio feels a little quieter after that. The air conditioner hums. A page rustles somewhere near your elbow. But none of that miniscule detail matters when you look at her, staring down at the paper like something will happen miraculously if she writes it in a magical notebook. Alas, it's not Death Note or the more positive allegory that probably exists somewhere.

Somehow, you do see yourself in her, doing things for someone you adore, only for them to not be…there, watching you. Sigh. Move on already, far out, it's been like 4 years now.

“Alright,” you say, sliding it onto the desk. “You know the terms.”

You open it, and go with the usual clauses: maximum seven days, face-to-face time covered, calls and messages included — the same formula perfectly crafted, really.

Suhyeon is way too excited to even let you finish your sentences, with the way she nods mid-explanation. She literally just signs her name quickly as soon as you finish talking, yet the handwriting is neat and confident. You sign beneath it, the scratch of pen against paper feels louder than usual.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then she stretches to the belly pocket of the hoodie, and pulls out a rather worn out ballerina shoe. Pastel pink no longer shines and soft, the poor lad is no more. The edges slightly frayed, the strings feel like it crumbles up instead of flowing freely.

"It's from my first ever recital." She writes.

Your fingers hover above the shoe before you pick it up. It’s lighter than you expected. Wow.

"Well, guess I'll be in your c—"

Your phone buzzes. You look down.

Jiyeon: Time to update your profile!

You slowly lift your gazes toward her, and she's already holding up her phone, with the camera app open. Grinning.

"Oh FUC—"

-

A few days before the recital, you find yourself parked outside her ballet academy late at night.

The place looks very different compared to the bright, elegant studios you usually imagine when people say ballet school. The building is still beautiful, sure, but at this hour it’s quiet. The tall windows glow warm from the lights inside, stretching long golden rectangles across the damp pavement outside. Somewhere down the street a laundromat hums softly, the smell of detergent mixing with the faint scent of rain-soaked asphalt.

Your engine is off, the window already rolled open. Phone in hand, you are just scrolling aimlessly for the third time. Sigh. You could be back at the studio right now. Cleaning brushes. Priming a few old canvases you’ve been neglecting. Maybe finishing that pointe sketch you butchered earlier. But instead, your fingers end up leading your screen to your DMs with Suhyeon this afternoon.

Jiyeon: After practice… chicken?

You: You’re the ballerina. Isn’t that illegal?

Jiyeon: Only if someone finds out.

You: Your instructors might kill me.

Jiyeon: Well, protect me then, good friend.

And that's how you ended up here waiting patiently for your clie— wait no, that's rude to say that. Your friend. Yeah. (You're technically correct, but still.) It’s your new routine after accepting her request — unexpectedly becoming her chauffeur. 

The studio doors eventually swing open, and the first group of ballerinas comes spilling out into the night. Even across the street, you can tell they just want to rest — make up still on, loose hoodies, puffy jackets, sneakers, tote bags slung over shoulders. Their hair — usually tightly wound into strict buns — is messy now, strands falling around their faces. Some leave in pairs, some in loud groups of four or five, laughing about something that probably happened during the rehearsal.

None of them are Suhyeon though, so you keep watching in the van.  Every now and then someone glances toward the car parked along the curb. Probably wondering if you’re a driver, a parent, or some random guy waiting for someone. (Technically you’re all three.)

Finally, a familiar figure appears in the doorway. Puff— sorry, Suhyeon. But wow, even in casual clothes, she's not that hard to spot — straight spine, shoulder relaxed but not caved in. A tote bag hanging from one shoulder. No tight bun this time — just loosely tied.

But she's alone. You should come out and greet her, yeah? That sounds good.

Not so good when you hear voices nearby. A small group of ballerinas linger near the entrance, clearly not in a hurry to leave.

"…It's always weird me out." "Yeah, me too." "The instructors spend way more time correcting her."

"Right? Like the heck she's some top student." "Pleeeeeaasssee, she's nowhere near Kazuha."

The name does ring a be— ah! It's the top girl Suhyeon mentioned once before when you both were hanging out at her home garden again. The girl who everyone measures themselves against, even Suhyeon.

“It’s just favoritism.” “Exactly. If anyone deserves that level of attention, it’s Kazuha.” "Bet she's only there so that our academy can say we're inclusive."

Soft, obnoxious laughter follows before they fade away like the girls walking out. And Suhyeon is still standing there, a few steps away, and probably waiting for the sidewalk to clear before leaving.

All you feel is your heart seething out of anger and just regret. Regret to not walk over and tell them to shut the fuck up. Regret that you have to stop yourself to not taint Suhyeon's name and her hard work. What rumours can these snakes make when they see Suhyeon is being protected by a random guy they have never seen?

You know her position way to fucking well — exactly what happened to you with your ex.

So a deep breath you take. Let's not cause a drama.

You are simply here to make sure she doesn't go home thinking about those voices without one to fight back. And what you do first is to text her to know that you're here.

You: I'm in the parking lot, Puffy.

Her head turns immediately, and her entire face changes — a tired, neutral look melts into a warm smile. Her cheeks puff up as the corners of her lips go up. She lifts her hand and waves back, quickening her pace as she walks over.

You step out of the car and open the passenger door. "Hey there, Puffy."

Which, for your kind and gentleman-like manners, she rolls her eyes as she gets in.

The moment she sits down, she exhales deeply. You don't even need to ask to know how long the rehearsal was.

"So…Chicken?"

She pulls out her phone and types.

Jiyeon: Actually…ramen?

You glance at her. "Your instructors now WILL kill me."

Jiyeon: I really want ramen, though.

You stare at the message for a second before just…sigh. “Fine. But if your ballet career collapses because of noodles, I’m not taking responsibility.”

Her smile is convincing enough for you to start driving toward the best ramen shop you know.

-

Credit where it's due — even though Sakura works there, the ramen shop is actually really good. Which says a lot.

(Because if you judged the place purely based on her, you assume that the broth will be just the energy drink she stocks up over the months.)

The moment you slide the door open, the little bell above it dings softly. Warm air rushes out to meet you. Steam. Soy sauce. Garlic. The low comforting smell of broth that’s been simmering for hours. It’s a small shop with a small corner. A few tables along the wall. The kind of place that’s always slightly humid from boiling pots and never fully quiet until it's late night.

Immediately, her voice comes out from the counter.

"Oh?"

You look up. "Oh."

There she is behind the counter, hair tied into a lazy ponytail, sleeves rolled up, apron tied loosely around her waist like she half-committed to the job. One hand is holding a ladle. The other is resting on the counter as she leans forward with the enthusiasm of someone who just spotted gossip walking through the door. Her eyes flick to you, then to Suhyeon, then back to you.

“Oh?” she repeats, louder this time.

"Don't even."

For context: the ramen shop belongs to Sakura’s uncle. Family business (more accurately: the only place that willingly allows Sakura’s personality to exist behind a food counter without filing complaints.) She occasionally works here when she feels like it, which is about once or twice a week. Unfortunately, tonight is one of those nights.

“Well well well,” she says, tapping the ladle against the pot. “Look who finally brought a girl here.”

Suhyeon pauses beside you, and you instinctively shield her from your annoying friend/coworker. "Don't worry, she's annoying but harmless."

"I'm not annoying!" "You are."

You walk to the counter anyway and slide onto one of the stools, and Suhyeon sits beside you.

“You going to introduce us,” she says sweetly, “or should I just assume things?”

“You assume things anyway.” “Correct.”

Hah, this girl. "This is Suhyeon." And Suhyeon lifts a hand in a small wave.

Sakura watches her carefully for a moment, then notices the way Suhyeon reaches for her phone and types quickly.

Jiyeon: Hi. I’m Suhyeon.

Sakura blinks once, twice, and then: "Oh." Then her grin comes back even bigger. “Well that explains why he actually behaved himself for once.”

“Sakura,” you say flatly. “Can you please just bring me the usual and give Suhyeon extra toppings?”

Sakura ignores you completely. She leans closer to Suhyeon, elbows on the counter like they’re already friends. "How do you know this idiot?"

You open your mouth, but Suhyeon's fingers are faster.

Jiyeon: We're friends.

The kitchen behind bubbles quietly. A point boils. A fan hums. Then she slowly turns her head toward you. "You did not just bring a client to my ramen shop."

You shrug. "It's your uncle's"

"Don't even." "Hey, we want ramen."

She looks at you, then back to Suhyeon once more. "WAIT! Aren't you part of the family that pays for this guy's drawing?"

Suhyeon's eyes brighten up and enthusiastically nod her head, and not going to lie, it does lift your ego up quite a bit.

“Corrupting ballerinas now? Your employers become your clients, bro.” “Please cook.”

"Bitch, I haven't even asked what she wants for topics." Sakura turns to Suhyeon. "What topping would you like, Suhyeon?"

Suhyeon seems to scroll down something on her phone (A list, maybe?), and then turn around to show her. And uh…it feels like Suhyeon just throws whatever toppings she can think of on her head.

Jiyeon: Chashu, egg, corn, noodle, please.

Sakura can only look at you in bewilderment. "...Isn't she a ballerina?"

"She wants ramen."

Sakura leans forward slightly. “Does her instructor know about this?”

You shrug. And Sakura only laughs.

"Ok buddy, I will make it."

Suhyeon watches her go with quiet curiosity. Then she types something as you look over.

Jiyeon: She’s funny.

You snort. “She’s dangerous.”

From the kitchen Sakura shouts, “I CAN STILL HEAR YOU.”

Her voice pierces through the usual sounds of broth boiling, ladles hitting the side of the pot, the sharp chop of a knife somewhere behind the counter (You really should check if there are any chopped fingers yet.) There's the usual hum of hers while she works, which is slightly concerning when she has something mischievous boiling up in her head.

A few moments later, she turns around with two bowls in her hand, the steam rises from them as an invitation. She sets Suhyeon's bowl down first, and holy moly, it's stacked. Rich broth shimmering under the light. Thick slices of chashu layered across the top. A perfectly cut egg. Corn floating around the edges. Extra noodles buried somewhere underneath the mountain of toppings.

Your bowl? Just a small bowl.

"…Why is mine so small?"

"You didn't say extra topping." "You always give me extra even when I don't ask!"

"Well, not today. They're all for Suhyeon." "Can I at least get another egg?"

"No."

You sigh but pick up your chopsticks anyway.

Suhyeon stares at the bowl for a second, probably calculating how much she can really eat until it's too obvious that she is on 'bulking season'. It seems to dissipate the moment you gesture her toward the bowl. And boy, she doesn't hesitate — First bite? Gone. Then another. Another. And another. Her shoulders drop bit by bit as the warmth of the ramen settles in.

Across the counter, Sakura watches her with her chin resting on one hand. "Starving?"

Suhyeon nods mid-bite, already going in for more. Satisfied with the answer, Sakura leans back, glancing between the two of you. "Big recital in a few days?"

Suhyeon nods, giving out three fingers as her mouth is busy sipping the broth. You translate instead as "three days."

Sakura whistles. "Oooft, crunch time."

“Which means she probably shouldn’t be eating this,” you add.

Sakura immediately points her chopsticks at you. "Shut up, carbs are cool."

"Do not become a fitness coach, I'm begging you."

Suhyeon laughs silently beside you, shoulders shaking. Feeling left out (probably), Sakura reaches behind the counter, grabs another bowl, and without asking helps herself to some broth and noodles straight from the pot. And she just sits down beside you two like she's part of the dinner now. (Well, she is, and always will be.)

“So,” Sakura says, leaning her elbows on the counter with a bowl of ramen in hand. “Are you nervous?”

Suhyeon pauses mid-bite, seemingly dropping her eyes slightly to the bowl. She reaches for her phone and types slowly. A lot of backspace, and a lot of typing, and a lot of stopping her own fingers before hitting send.

Jiyeon: A little.

"Good."

You raise an eyebrow. Huh? What? Even Suhyeon tilts her head.

"if you weren't nervous, it would mean you didn't care," Sakura slurps her noodles before pointing her chopsticks toward Suhyeon. “Nervous means you want to do well.”

Gosh, you hate to admit it, but Sakura is making a lot of sense right now, so you sigh. "She's not wrong."

“Oh wow. Write this down. He agreed with me.” "Shut up."

You glance toward Suhyeon. “Besides,” you continue, shrugging slightly. “You’ve been practicing nonstop. That’s what matters.”

"Of course." Sakura nods again. "And ignore loudmouths."

Your chopsticks pause mid-air. Suhyeon’s eyes flick upward. Sakura shrugs.

“You think ballet schools don’t have gossip?” she says. “Please. Any place with competition has idiots running their mouths.” She gestures vaguely with her chopsticks. “You just dance better than them. That’s the only comeback that matters.”

You glance sideways at her. “…That was surprisingly wise.”

“Don’t tell anyone.”

Suhyeon is quiet for a moment, until she slowly sets her chopsticks down fully.

Her phone appears again, typing longer this time. Much longer, until the message fills most of it when she turns the screen toward you both.

Jiyeon: I switched academies a lot growing up. Some instructors didn’t think I should be there. Some students didn’t either. So my parents moved me. Again, and again, and again. This one is the first place that feels like it might work, hopefully. So I just want to do well. If I do badly, it feels like it will make everything look like a mistake.

Sakura sets her bowl down with a small clink. “Hey.”

Suhyeon looks up to find Sakura pointing her chopsticks at her firmly.

“Listen carefully.” Her tone is still casual, but you know her enough that there's an undertone of seriousness there. “You dancing on that stage already proves you belong there.”

She gestures toward the ramen bowl. “You think people who don’t deserve it work that hard? And if anyone talks shit,” she adds, “they can come eat here and say it to my face.”

"Why your face?" "You're just going to stand there awkwardly."

"Fair."

Guess that talk was more than enough for Suhyeon to start eating again.

-

It's today.

The recital.

You may or may not have arrived earlier than the scheduled time. Not because you're excited (lies, you are very excited), just ... .because being late would mean people looking at you, and it still imprints deep into your soul, those judgmental eyes.

You sit among strangers and pretend you belong there. As much as you don't like being surrounded by (potentially) a crowd of pretentious people, Suhyeon needs a little support from those she is familiar with.

After many days of passing by the venue (well, more like Suhyeon dragging you around and introducing every crook of the building), you have finally taken a step into it, and it certainly makes you hyper-aware of everything you do. The way your shoes sound against the polished floor. The way your jacket doesn’t quite match the rest of the room. Even the way you hold the program — like if you grip it wrong, someone’s going to notice.

(They won't. No one's bothered to stare, but your brain doesn't care.)

Soft chatter fills the space, refined and effortless in a way you’ve never bothered to learn. People greet each other like they’ve done this a hundred times, most likely because they have. Names get thrown around casually like they mean something.

“Is Kazuha performing tonight?” “Of course. She’s the highlight.” “I heard her Black Swan last year was unreal.”

A room full of people who came expecting something flawless. So suffocating, this space is. Hence, distracting your self-consciousness, your fingers brush over the smooth paper of the brochure before flipping it open. Names. Roles. Acts. Your eyes skim past all of it until it lands on her name.

Ji Suhyeon, right there. No highlight. No emphasis. No little whispers about her in the room. Just…another line.

You give out a heavy sigh, before closing the program.

-

The lights finally dim, slow at first, then all at once.

Conversations don’t end so much as they’re cut off. Mid-sentence. Mid-breath. Like someone pulled a string and the entire room forgot how to make noise. Movements still in the same unnatural way, as if it had all been rehearsed beforehand. Even the air feels like it tightens, anticipation settling heavy across the audience that makes you sit a little straighter.

Then the curtain finally rises, and Swan Lake begins in white.

Act I moves in a controlled grace and beauty, yet it feels so…distant. The stage fills with soft light, the ballets move in clean and deliberate patterns. Every line is straight. Every extension is precise. It's honestly beautiful in a more untouchable way. Untouchable. You watch the formations shift, the symmetry change, the way every movement bleeds flawlessly into the next. Prince Siegfried comes out next. Then the court scene. It's all there. Perfect. So…perfect.

But you feel nothing.

Well, not really nothing. Your elbow rests against the armrest, your fingers loosely curled near your mouth as your gaze drifts. You follow the movement, sure, but absentmindedly. If anything, you're…bored.

Because she hasn't come out yet, even in act II: The Lake.

White swans flood the stage, and you don’t need to check the program again to know this is what everyone came for. You can see it in their posture: how they lean forward slightly, eyes sharpening, anticipation turning into eagerness.

Odette appears. Ah wait, sorry, Kazuha appears.

It's understandable why her name is widespread, with her soft and ethereal appearance. Controlled down to the smallest fingertip. Every movement floats. Every step feels more like floating. A kind of presence where people don't dare to let out their breath, in case they miss out on a rare sight.

Then, light whispers of praises. Soft and reverent.

“She’s incredible,” “That control…” "Worth the prices…"

It's all white noise to you. Your eyes keep glancing at the wings. Is it time yet…?

-

Somewhere between one breath and the next, Act III begins. Something in the air feels different. It's quite interesting that you feel that before you register the music sharpens. Lighting darkens just enough to stretch shadows across the theatre.

Then, she steps out. Ji Suhyeon. Black Swan. (So this is the secret role she refuses to tell you, huh.)

Everything else disappears. The dancers blur into movement without meaning. The stage shrinks, carved down to fit only her. Maybe because you have done anatomy study of ballerinas, or maybe because you hang out with her long enough to notice how she hesitates. To be fair, it's almost invisible. A fraction of a second where her step doesn’t land as clean as it should. Her shoulders hold tension. Her breathing comes just a little too sharp, like she forced it steady before stepping into the light.

It's funny. Everyone else is watching the idea of the Black Swan, yet you're watching the girl who brings the role into life. And she's…fighting.

Her first turn is controlled, not effortless. There’s weight and intention, then her arms cut through the air with precision, sharper yet grounded. She moves again with a spin and — oh shit, a slight imbalance. The shift in her center, the way she almost tips too far before pulling herself back in. The correction happens mid-motion, quick enough to hide from anyone not looking for it. She grounds herself harder into the stage, sharpens the next movement, pushes the expression further like she’s forcing something out of herself instead of letting it flow naturally.

And you finally pay attention to the whisper behind you. “She’s good.” “A bit tense.” "She has potential."

That clicks a memory in your mind.

"I can’t speak, but I can express myself with ballet."

This is to answer what you ask her, from an artist to another: What makes you do art?

But now you can finally see what she meant. Not the clean and perfect movements you usually associate ballet with. Not the effortless grace filling the stage before her. It's uneven, yet you find it more intrigued than anything else. Every sharp movement carries it. Every turn feels like it’s being forced into control rather than given freely. Her gaze hardens, not soft like Odette’s, but almost a stance, like she's saying something to herself.

Black Swan, from what you remember, is complex and multifaceted. She is portrayed as a seductive and captivating figure, often described as having a sensual and exotic nature. And that is certainly what you see from the Black Swan in front of you now. Her arms slice through the air again, sharper and faster. There’s no hesitation in the upper body anymore, just precision. Of course, her shoulders still carry tension. Her breathing still isn't perfectly hidden. And of course you notice it, but does it really matter when she owns it and turns it into something more deliberate. And that is more complex yet captivating at the same time.

You aren't sure when, but the audience stops comparing her to Kazuha. Not measuring techniques nor whispering critiques under their breath. They're just…watching.

She really does take their attention without a single word.

-

The applause doesn't come immediately. The entire theatre stays suspended in the final act.

And then it breaks, loud and sudden. Hands collide, people rise like something snapped them back into themselves. The sound fills everything, crashes against the walls, pours down from the balcony like it’s trying to make up for that one second of silence.

You don't move just yet, because she's still there, in the centre next to Kazuha, breathing. You can see it even from here, the rise of her chest, just a little too heavy. The way her shoulders don’t fully drop, like her body hasn’t gotten the message that it’s over. The tension clings stubbornly.

Only when the curtain falls, then you finally stand.

Suhyeon, they clap their hands for you now.

-

It's quieter backstage.

Everything that mattered stayed out there — the main character, the supporters, the audiences. What's left is the aftermath. And you know where to find the "villain" without much thought. Turn. Another turn. Then another turn.

And you find her sitting on the floor of the practice room. Alone and changed.

The Black Swan is gone like it never existed, replaced with an oversized hoodie that swallows her frame and loose pants that bunch slightly at her ankles. Her hair’s tied back, not neatly, just enough to keep it out of her face.

Back against the mirror, legs unevenly folded like she didn’t commit to a position before stopping altogether. One hand rests loosely against her thigh, fingers slightly curled. The other is planted on the floor beside her, keeping her upright more out of habit than need.

She looks…ethereal. A déjà vu of your first time meeting her in the garden.

So you just stand there and take it in.

The faint smudge of makeup near her eye. The way her breathing hasn’t fully settled yet. The almost imperceptible tremor in her fingers, like the performance, is still echoing through her muscles.

Then she notices you. Her eyes gleam up, and her cheeks puff up as she waves her hand.

You step closer, slow and deliberate. Close enough that she can see everything you do without having to move. It has been at the back of your mind of what you can do to make this girl…to make her effort feel more recognised. To reach her.

So…um…you raise your hand. First, you form a flat hand and touch your chin with your thumb. Then, you move your hand forward and away from your body. Flat hand down to other flat hand.

Good…

You don’t rush. You let each part land, because it's the singlehandedly most important phrase you have said ever in your life. Then the same hand makes a downward fist and taps it against the other fist twice.

…job.

Good job.

She blinks slowly, like the meaning reaches her first, then the intent, and then you. And somehow that makes her shoulders relaxed gradually. Like all the stress that has kept her tense the whole night. Her expression softens, the tension melting out of it in real time, and then…she smiles. It spreads quickly, unfiltered and almost startled in how real it looks. Her eyes brighten, with the corners crinkling slightly.

Her hand moves quickly, most likely out of excitement and habit. "Wait wait wait, I just learned that phrase."

Her hands stop mid-motion, and on cue, her cheeks turn red, probably realising her image at the moment. Then, she closes her lips as if she tries so hard to not laugh.

A second later, she reaches for her phone. Thumb swipes and quick taps, and then she angles the screen toward you.

Jiyeon: You practiced that?

You shrug, leaning one shoulder lightly against the mirror. "Enough to not embarrass myself."

She squints at you.

Jiyeon: You're already embarrassing. But thank you.

You don't answer immediately, because these aren't just words. It’s the way you notice how she looks at you while you read them, like she's anticipating your reaction, expecting you to downplay it.

"…you're welcome. I'm glad."

She nods to herself, a small one, before locking her phone and setting it aside again.

For a moment, neither of you move. The room hums quietly around you. The light in the corner flickers just slightly, enough to shift the shadows along the mirrors. Her breathing has mostly steadied now, but there’s still that faint leftover energy in her posture.

Then, she nudges your knee. Once. Twice.

"Hm?"

She gestures to you.

"Hm? I'm sitting."

She rolls her eyes (actually rolls them this time) then reaches forward, grabs your sleeve, and tugs.

"Jeez, you bossy puffy." You exhale through your nose, yet you adjust anyway, shifting your position so your back presses more fully against the mirror, legs stretching out slightly in front of you. "Happy?"

Her answer? Scooting closer, turns slightly, then leans back. Her head settles against your chest like it’s always been meant to be there, like this is just…where she goes now when she’s done holding herself together.  Your body adjusts faster, shoulders easing back against the mirror, one hand hovering awkwardly for a second before settling loosely at your side. Her weight sinks in, warm and solid. And she finally exhales, a long one. And she tilts her head back to look up at you. Upside down.

The Black Swan is fully gone, leaving you a puffy Ji Suhyeon in your embrace.

And it hits. That same angle and closeness. Your ex used to do that. Used to stare at you like she was trying to catch something slipping through your expression before you could hide it.

Tsk, can't believe that she still affects you till this day.

Guess Suhyeon noticed too, as the hand that rests against your thigh tightens the grip while she reaches for her phone again.

Jiyeon: You ok?

You shake your head. "It's nothing, don't worry."

Jiyeon: You always say that.

"It usually is."

She doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push it either. Instead, she lowers the phone slightly, still holding it, thumb resting against the screen like she’s debating whether to say more.

She decides to press her head a little more firmly into your chest like a cat choosing comfort over answers. Her breathing slows further, evening out to a steady pace. You can feel it through the fabric of your shirt, the rhythm grounding in a way you didn’t expect to welcome it.

Jiyeon: I don't know if this is enough.

The soft glow fills the room, and your gaze drops to her. She's not looking at you anymore, just staring at the ceiling upside down. You don't ask who is "them", you already know.

"Hey."

Her eyes flick up slightly.

"You don't need to be perfect." you sigh, "You don't even need them to just suddenly change their minds. Um…I guess, you just need one moment where you don't look like you're about to run…and you had that tonight."

There's a longer pause. Her thumb hovers over her phone, then she types.

Jiyeon: What if it's just tonight?

"Then you do it again tomorrow…and the day after that, and the day after that." Your hand brushes lightly against her air. "You just need to keep proving yourself, like you have always done."

And she goes quiet again. No more typing. No more movement. Just steady breath.

Jiyeon: I'll try.

-

By the time you push the door open and step outside, the night has already settled in.

Cool air brushes against your skin, carrying that faint mix of asphalt and distant traffic. The hum of the venue fades behind you as the door swings shut, leaving only the quiet stretch of the entrance and the low glow of streetlights bleeding across the pavement.

Suhyeon lingers half a step behind you. Just…slowing down. Her phone rests loosely in her hand, thumb idly tracing the edge of it like she's still holding onto something from earlier. The oversized hoodie swallows her frame again, with the sleeves bunching at her wrists as she adjusts them unconsciously.

And then, she stops.

You follow her line of sight out of curiosity and….Kazuha? Wait, that is her.

Leaning against the metal railing just off to the side of the entrance, one foot crossed over the other, relaxed posture yet not careless. Even in her everyday comfy outfit, the composure retains — as if the stage never fully left her.

She straightens the moment she sees you two, and hone in her attention to Suhyeon immediately.

You don't think it's comparing, but it doesn't help Suhyeon who shifts beside you. Her shoulders pull in just slightly, slowly scoot next to you like she hasn't decided whether to stay or retreat.

Kazuha raises her hand and waves in a friendly arc.

Hi.

Oh, she said hi…? In sign language? Suhyeon seems to be perplexed too, with how she keeps blinking.

Kazuha continues, movements controlled but softer now, less formal than they were on stage. At this point, you lose it completely. Well, hands are thrown, movements are frequent. But you can't understand it (again, you only learned one praise), so what you're left with isn't the words themselves but the shape of the conversation, the movement, the space between the signs…and more importantly, Suhyeon's face.

Kazuha continues signing, her movements controlled and precise, but softer than they were on stage. Less performative and more…direct, like she's speaking to the Black Swan and only her.

And you see the effect.

Suhyeon’s fingers twitch against her phone, her grip loosening just slightly as her shoulders drop, not completely, but enough that you can tell that right now it didn't go the way she expected it to. Her eyes flick to you quickly, not asking for permission exactly, but checking, or asking for guidance on what to do next.

You don't ask what was said. Instead…it feels right to nudge her lightly with your elbow. "Come on."

She exhales, a small and almost silent one she lets out, and then steps forward.

You're left watching from the side. At first, her movements are careful, measured, her hands staying closer to her body as if she's still holding something back, her expression still neutral and guarded. Kazuha signs again, longer this time, and whatever she says causes Suhyeon's brows to draw together slightly, confusion flickering across her face before she responds, her own signs quicker and more questioning. Kazuha answers in return, short and firm, and that’s when Suhyeon goes still, her hands hovering for a moment before lowering slowly, her gaze dropping and then lifting again, not exactly meeting Kazuha’s eyes but no longer avoiding them either.

From there, the conversation softens.

Kazuha’s movements become less structured, and Suhyeon’s posture follows, her shoulders easing as the tension drains out in small increments. Her responses come slower now, not because she’s struggling, but maybe because she’s actually thinking about them instead of reacting, and the difference shows in the way her hands move with more intention.

There's another pause. But it doesn't feel so awkward this time. Then Kazuha signs something shorter, if you dare to say, more casual.

Suhyeon curls her fingers slightly around her phone again, thumb pressing against the screen like she needs something to hold onto while she decides, and then she looks back at you. You meet her eyes and hold them, not saying anything, just giving her a small nod.

She looks down, her phone lighting up as her thumbs move quickly across the screen, and then turns it toward you.

Jiyeon: She wants to hang out. Talk about ballet. Is that okay?

“Why are you asking me?” you say, your tone is light but steady enough that she doesn’t mistake it. And to be clearer, you nudge her forward slightly. "Go have fun with your new friend."

She exhales again, this time with a faint huff that is more relief. When she turns back, her hands lifting with less caution, like the relationship has loosen up for her to be a little more herself. Kazuha smiles, and the two of them fall into step together, their signs picking up as they walk, hands moving in the rhythm you still can't follow but don't need to. It looks like…Suhyeon can carry herself now.

You are certain she can take care of herself now the moment your phone pings up.

Jiyeon: Thanks for being by my side all this time. See you next time…good friend.

You stay where you are for a moment longer than necessary, watching as they disappear further down the path, Suhyeon’s posture gradually relaxing with each step until there’s almost no trace left of the girl who stood beside you just minutes ago, caught between pressure, hesitation and doubt.

Then you turn to your car.

-

By the time you step into your studio, the night has already settled. The familiar scent greets you immediately — paint, canvas, that faint chemical sharpness that never really leaves. It brings you back to your home faster than anything else could, pulling you out of the lingering echo of the theatre and into a space that you own.

The canvas is exactly right there where you left it.

It's her shoe. The one Suhyeon gives you as payment.

Even now, you can still recall the moment she handed it over. It sounds casual, like it was just an old thing she no longer needs. But you, of all people, know how hard it is to let go of something that means so much to you. Her grip lingered for a fraction too long before she pulled back, as if she had to gaslight herself it was okay to give it away.

Looking at the canvas again it looks….perfect.

Too perfect.

Every line is clean, deliberate, controlled down to the smallest detail, the kind of precision that usually satisfies you because it proves you got it right. The proportions are exact, the curvature of the arch carefully measured, the ribbons falling in smooth, elegant lines that look like they belong in a display instead. The shading is soft, seamlessly blended, giving the fabric a pristine finish that almost glows under the light.

It's polished and refined.

And that’s exactly why it feels so fucking wrong.

You remember the way the satin had dulled in certain places, the faint fraying along the edges where repetition had worn it down, the subtle discoloration near the toe where pressure built up over time, over countless movements, countless landings, countless moments where she forced her body to hold just a little longer than it wanted to. You remember how the sole didn’t look pristine but softened, shaped, moulded, carrying the imprint of every step she had taken in it.

This isn't that. Not even close.

Your hand reaches for the brush, the motion automatically and naturally. You just let it run its course — fracturing the smooth gradient, uneven stroke, pigments catching in places it wasn't supposed to, disrupting the clean surface you worked so carefully to maintain. Your brain itches to fix it immediately…

But you leave it exactly where it is.

Your movements become quicker. Shadows deepen in patches, mimicking the way wear accumulates over time, how certain areas darken under pressure while others remain lighter, how nothing is ever truly symmetrical when it’s been used and worn. Yes, that's it! The clean softness disappears. The ribbon draws your attention next, its curve too elegant, too intentional, like it was designed rather than lived in. You pause for a second, studying it, then drag the brush across it just enough to disrupt the flow, introducing a slight twist, a small imperfection in the way it falls.

You step back to see it as a whole.

It's not perfect anymore — asymmetrical, rough finish. Yet, it looks far closer to what you remember. The wear and tear, and the countless tribulations and ridicule that Suhyeon has gone through, you let it stay that way…

 …and hopefully it represents Suhyeon and her effort the best.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note:

Tada! Second part is here! Evidently, one of the more experimental fics I wrote too. Genuinely fun to write someone without being able to speak and I get to be creative with how I "voice" Suhyeon.

My apologies for the long wait with all the research and the IRL stuff going on. I can't guarantee when the next part will come out, but hope you all stay tuned!

Special thank you to @toshyun (the only reason I write Jiyeon, really.)

I have seen some good guesses from you guys regarding the mystery 4th person, so here's the next hint to help yall.

(HINT: a maknae)

Thanks for reading! Cya~

[toshyun]

WHOOPEE DUCK JIYEON FIC

[toshyun]

Announcement!

100k word smut fic releasing today! Will involve the majority of the most popular idols; Chaewon, Karina, Jennie, etc.

[starconstruction]

Analytics and 'Anal'ytics

Yena x Male Reader (smut)

Word Count: 6623.

SPECIAL THANKS TO @gangplanksorenji FOR THE COLLAB, I LOVE YOU. They are truly awesome and oh my lordy, Yena is life. And an honourable mention to @bunnsfw for the help with a transition.

Work is a bitch, definitely. 

There's a boat load of reports– they climb your desk and everyone elses, sometimes you walk in and consider jumping out the window in an any% suicide speedrun. Those sleep deprived nights and coffee fueled days all become worth it at the end.

And by end, you obviously mean in the middle of the work day. Where you and your favourite co-worker find an opportunity to have a break, hiding in whatever unoccupied space you two can find. It’s been an established thing for a while now, you and Yena had a moment in the bi-annual ‘please stay with us party’ with some non-alcoholic beverage that was spiked with something certainly alcoholic. It motivated her to make a bold decision, a kiss and a blur.

She ended up in your bed that night. 

Things shifted from that point, Yena got braver. She’s never explicitly stated if she likes you or she just likes to please, she doesn’t tell and you don’t pry. 

Today's private space of choice is the janitor's closet, small and devoid of people. It’s dimly lit and reeks of bleach but it does get the job done.

She's all giggly when she descends to the floor, her presence forces you against the door. It's locked, you quadruple checked. "Have you done any of your papers yet?" she asks, fiddling with your zip.

You sigh, the answer is yes because you got here early– get home at 11pm, get there just before dawn and haul ass. "Barely, feels like the pile hasn't budged."

"That's because it hasn't." She states, your office trousers sit in a pile by your feet. Yena gives you that same excited, slightly needy look. It's her that started this and her who continues it. She has an oral fixation that she always tries to keep satiated. From the lollipops she crams in her desk, to the straws she has for every drink. 

To the cock currently in her hand.

"Work's a bitch." You groan, partly because of the statement and partly because she's dribbling over your tip. Her soft hand stroking it with twisty motions. It feels incredible, looks incredible. Her office outfit, the blazer mainly– she looks so professional and so ruinable.

"Tell me about it, we only have 5 minutes if we get coffee."

"How much time if we don't?"

"We're getting coffee." Yena wastes no further time, her hungry expression being satisfied when your tip slides in between her lips. She doesn't have time to be slow, your cock is already hitting the back of her throat. She sucks and slurps, getting you messy. Your hands claw at the wall despite wanting to ruin her hair, not enough time to fix it.

"F-fuck." It's suffocatingly warm, half trapped in her slick mouth and the other half being squeezed and pumped. She moves quickly, thoughts of work and the timer disappear and crumble to dust when Yena bobs her head up and down.

Yena hollows her cheeks, a tandem act with her fingers. You moan and struggle, Yena sucks faster at your sounds. "You really want this coffee huh?"

She doesn’t laugh but instead keeps her lips firmly around your length. She was desperate for you to cum, her other hand reaching to massage your balls. Yena takes advantage of the overwhelming stimulation, your coworker knows exactly when you are about to cum. No need to vocalise it here at least, under different circumstances she wants to hear it.

Right now she wants you to cum and not get caught.

So she braces herself, working just a bit harder. Closing her eyes as you begin to throb, the orgasm hits you like a truck. Body locking up stiff as Yena's mouth gets filled with your pent up load, the stuff you've been holding while far too busy to even make five minutes. She's a professional in everything though, taking it without so much as a struggle.

When she's done, she gets off her knees. Unable to resist the urge to kiss you so you can taste how well a job she did. "I didn't get any on my outfit right?"

The excuse is pretty obvious, she twirls around and despite the fact most of her body is clad in office attire that leaves practically everything for the imagination she's still the hottest woman ever conceived. If you had the time she’d have her bottom half removed and you’d go to town, alas, the minutes are up so you'll have to settle for the imagination and the opportunity to touch her before saying a simple no.

"Good, it's annoying to wash out at a sink. Time for coffee!" She's swapped back to her normal bubbly office mode, the one that would make nobody suspect she just blew someone inside the janitor's closet. She leaves first and you wait thirty seconds before promptly following.

The office floor feels the same as before you left, unsurprising given your break was painfully short. It’s loud with its standard fluorescent hospital lights.Yena’s already back at her desk, looking like she’s been there for hours. She’s got her blazer back on, another lollipop and she’s typing up a storm with the focus of a girl who definitely did not just have her throat full in the janitor's closet.

And the coffee was the last remotely enjoyable part before you two had to lock in. Even though you work right next to each other most of the time there was no room to have a conversation, first off– your boss seemed hellbent to put a knife to the atmosphere, make sure no joy was happening on her dime.

Then there was just all of the work, you could take a building, double it then double that and still you'd probably run out of room. It's not just the quantity or even the quality you have to produce, it's just so fucking boring. This should be illegal, how repetitive this is. Money talks and you can't pay rent on your desires to abolish the concept of reports.

So, you get it done.

With a few shushed conversations in between, words may not be banned but are sure heavily discouraged. "So... why do you think our boss is always so uptight?" You ask with your head still buried in work, "I swear she wasn't like this."

"She wasn't. It's a stressful time with everything going on. Her bonus relies on us doing well." Yena replies, scribbling something. "Perhaps she should try a similar arrangement to ours, lots of co-workers call her smoking fucking hot."

"You agree though, I see the way you stare at her tits in that shirt.” You jab, it’s no secret. Yena becomes a cartoon with outstretched eyes whenever your boss bends over. “Imagine that, maybe we wouldn't be whispering."

“Shhh… it’s not so obvious right?”

“Super fucking obvious.”

And you two continued until dinner time, where you two finally got another break. Not to fuck, you two aren’t that depraved. Grabbing a quick bite to gossip over before walking yourself back into hell. Or perhaps purgatory would be more apt, hell implies active torture.

Post-dinner quickly became a deep night. The tapping of office equipment slowly disappeared, people vanished and the AC shuts off. Past the time they are willing to pay for, everyone has left. Except for you and Yena, it’s sort of your obligation to work to the bone.

Yena had taken off her blazer and had it donned over her chair. Sipping on another coffee, caffeine is her lifeblood at this point. The lack of focus was clear as day, she's twiddling with her thumbs, radiating ennui and spending more time stargazing than anything else.

"We could just go home." You say bluntly, the only reason you are here is for her and the inverse seems true. "It's a big enough dent."

She stretches and looks at you like you suggested something royally ridiculous. "No way, but we can stop working."

It's your turn to look weird.

"Think about it, we're on the clock sure. But who's going to know what we are up to?" She gets off her chair, 'towering' over you with a playful smirk on her face. "Exactly, you already get the picture."

"So you want to get paid to suck dick?"

"Wouldn't be the first time…"

"what?"

"what?"

You don't know how to transition from that, Yena leans forward and gives you one lone peck on the lips. Letting the taste of coffee on her breath hit yours, it's palatable when it's her. It lasts awhile, no longer being rushed to work and able to enjoy the moment.

Yena pulls away, dropping herself to one knee. Her hands are eager even with the given time. "Mmh, I was thinking about this. Five minutes was not enough." All barriers to the cock she wanted were gone. "Bet you were thinking about it more though."

"Only work." You lie, it gets a pout and her hand dry pumps your shaft. You relax into your chair, this is stress relief you plan to enjoy.

"Meanie." Her hand is replaced with her tongue, she eyes your cock like a prize– a snack that's been hidden away. She licks upwards one side of your length at a time, leaving a thin layer of saliva in her wake. "You were thinking of it, the way my lips will feel. How badly you wanted to grab this fucking ponytail and force my head down."

Fuck. The thought breathes out involuntarily between your lips, she gives a few more slow licks to the base and ensures it's well lubricated. "Maybe I thought about it once or twice…"

"All day maybe." She gives one swipe over the pre-cum pooling out, her plush lips closing around your tip. Her desire is palpable and exciting, she craves your taste like candy. Her hand is just as soft, working in tandem with her mouth. No matter how many times she sucks you off, no matter how often she makes you cum. It's just as exhilarating as the first time.

"You look cute."

She pauses. Just for a second, not long enough to stop, long enough to register your words. Then she sucks a little harder, like that's her answer. Her mouth is definitely your favourite part of Yena (sexually of course, as a friend it'd be her personality.) And her answering makes that more apparent. The softest pillows that feel good against yours or wrapped around you.

Yena lowers half way, she's a messy cocksucker to her own benefit. She drools and it dribbles downwards onto your balls. She takes notice and flaunts her complete oral talent, fondling your balls with her hand. You let out a very audible groan, thrusting upwards involuntarily into her mouth.

"Keep doing that, fuck Yena." She listens, bobbing her head up and down, continuing her worship. It's leisurely and as casual as dicksucking can be, accidental glances keep you grounded to your location and for once in an office environment you feel calm and even more so.

Content.

Something changes in the blink of an eye, Yena has a seductive smirk before unsheathing your erection. "You love me sucking this cock right?"

"So much."

"Mmh, I like to hear that." Yena runs her tongue over you again, starting at the base and going upwards. This time she's sloppy, pushing past the idea of filthy. Spit gets everywhere, every time she gets to the ridge she lets a river of saliva flow outwards. It's a sight straight out of your imagination, saturated in your cute co-workers spit.

She rubs your sensitive balls in firmer circles, this is truly the epitome of getting worshipped. "Do you think I'm the best in the office?" It's unfair of Yena to be asking this right now of all times, she has the advantage of being in the moment. Plus who could you compare this to? But you aren't blind, even when she hits a particular spot and forces your eyes shut.

"With a mouth this good? Absolutely– fuck Yena."

That was what she wanted to hear. She goes for it and descends down, taking as much of you as she can. You disappear into her mouth, the warm bliss is short lived by her gags. Forcing her to regrettably pull away. "Right answer, I'd have left if you said anything different."

"Don't lie."

She doesn't meet your eyes, still huffing. "shush."

Yena falls back into her rhythm, alternating between tongue adulation and bobbing praise. A grunt and a sigh escapes your lips, she’s so fucking good. The mess, the slurps. She’s attentive, dipping her tongue into your messy slit helplessly leaking pre-cum.

“You keep getting better.” Your praise is acknowledged with a flurry of quick bobs, relishing in your taste and scent. Yena seems dedicated to wringing you dry, not stopping and or slowing. 

Minutes pass just like that, she pushes you right to the edge– has you throbbing and buckling but stops before you finish. “Mmh, do you like the way I kiss it?” She kisses it so firmly it makes a pop. “And suck it?” She demonstrates with a few more filthy movements of her head.

“So much.” You are completely at her mercy.

“I need you, I’m so fucking wet…” She pushes her face against your shaft, taking your balls between her lips and sucking hard. The last perverted act before she gets up. “Fuck me.” She leaves no room for denial, not that you would of course.

“Start undressing yourself, give me a show if you want it.” Your request is mainly to recover from Yena’s ridiculously good blowjob. She listens eagerly, starting with her black vest. Unbuttoning each one slow as one can, letting each pop. Slowly the fabric opens.

“I look good in this outfit.” She throws it somewhere before moving onto her white button-up. “I’m going to look even better naked and full of your cock.” She starts at the top, her shirt’s collar falling away to show the first inches of her smooth skin. It’s a shame her black bra intervenes from seeing her breasts, a short-lived problem though, easily distracted as she unbuttons the rest you get a sight of her abs. you don’t know how she stays in such shape and works this many hours a week. And she won’t share. 

She twirls around, bending backwards giving a prime view to her ass while she wiggles out of the final piece of office attire. It’s another great part of her, so full and worth a feast, but she wants to get fucked too hard for that.

“If you want to see the rest you are just going to have to do it yourself.” She smirks and you take it as the challenge it is. Getting up, stepping out of whatever’s pooled at your feet and pushing her back onto her chair. 

You grunt something as her bra unclips into your hand, her tits on full view for you and you alone. If she wasn’t looking at you with those eyes, the ones that say ‘I’m five seconds from losing my mind.’ There’d be a lot more enjoyment of her body, it’s a crime really.

One of those ‘oh no my duck is too juicy’ situations though, tugging the remains of her underwear and putting it somewhere nearby. She lifts her legs up and scoots closer to the edge, putting her in the perfect position to get fucked right then and there.

You lock the wheels to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, don’t want to run a marathon while plowing your co-worker. Her slit is dripping with desire to get fucked five minutes ago, she’s greedy and you oblige.

Her lower lips welcome your swollen, spit covered head as it pushes in. Yena’s tight enough to choke every inch her walls grab onto, it’s addictive, requiring you to pace yourself very carefully.

“H-hurry up.” She whines, the way she breathes it out with pure need elicits something more sinister within you. An urge to do the exact opposite of her request. So you slow down. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I mean you could say please.” You tease.

“Please, are you happy now?” You’ve bottomed out, but you aren’t satisfied with her answer. 

“Mmh, do better.”

“Please.” And that’s much more your speed, how quickly she submitted resonated something within you. How far could you push that boat out? 

Maybe you’ll test her later. Her inviting warmth demands to get fucked and you go for it, thrusting in and out. She screams loudly at how you go from zero to one hundred, how big your cock is. (That was a fun confession she spilled by accident.) 

“That’s fucking good!” Yena’s chair is just as loud as her moans, you withdraw and fill her back up to the hilt without struggle. She’s well lubricated thanks to all the exhaustive cock-sucking foreplay, adding another layer of filth to your length.

“T-tight.” You forgot to say the rest, mindmelted by her hugging cunt. Relentlessly plowing her, wet skin slapping against wet skin. “Fuck.”

“Fuck all that boredom into my slutty cunt!” The call to action is already being followed but you are happy to continue. “Mmh!”

“I’m planning to, until you cream all over my fucking cock.” Then a spark of motivation from a stray glance of her ponytail.

You pull out, yank her onto the floor, grab onto her hair and shove your cock right back into her mouth. “And use this mouth.” Yena gags and nearly chokes but she doesn’t tap or resist. Her fingers work at her clit while she gets facefucked.

It’s glorious, pushing your cock deep into Yena’s throat. Spit flooding out the corners of her mouth. As quickly as you start, you stop. Letting her breathe. “Oh my…” Yena is given a few seconds before you hoist her back over her desk, using the only free spot to have to ram her from behind.

Time melts away as she takes your harsh railing, clapping against her backside. Every thrust feels like therapy after a long day and her body is the stress toy. “Fuck me, fuck me harder!” 

The ponytail feels just as good being used to release her moans as it is to silence them. Pulling on it harshly every few thrusts, you two have fully succumbed to lust and desire. With her screams and your loud groans the office space is completely encapsulated in your act.

You hope the janitors aren’t in the building.

“Yes, yes!” She tries to think but all she focuses on is the same repeated thrusts, you want to use her mouth like her pussy again. Throwing her roughly back on the ground, shoving yourself back into her mouth. 

“Yena…” Her ponytail is frazzled but that’s quite fine with you, it adds to the picture of her ruined body. “Take it.” 

Her vocals fail her, words being replaced with “gluk gluk gluk.” 

Then you bend her back over the table, alternating between her holes recklessly. Continuing that pace. “Wait, fuck.” You sober up for a moment, “Doesn’t this office have ‘a nobody in past twelve rule?’”

“AH! Yeah– what time is it?” You swipe your phone, slowing your thrusts involuntarily to focus. 

“Eleven fifty five.” 

“Better fucking hurry up!” Yena’s previous work meant this was lightwork, rubbing at her clit with your spare hand. Fucking her as fast as you physically could, chasing both of your thrilling climaxes. 

A few more thrusts and Yena screams, spilling her orgasm all over your cock. It doesn’t stop your pounding against her reddened pussy, fucking her through it. There wasn’t much time, so for the final time you infiltrated her mouth. 

“Take it..” For the second time today you fill her mouth with your load, she doesn’t struggle at all. Swallowing every drop with a smile on her face. There was no time to recover, staying on your shaking legs as you and her got dressed in an impressive dance.

You get out at twelve on the dot.

Yena’s a mess, her clothes are fine but anyone who saw her would know she just got fucked. There’s an aura around her that screams ‘I just got a good fuck.’ 

“Thanks for the fuck co-worker.” Yena’s about to leave for her car, but you stop her.

“I have another idea.”

"I still can't believe you convinced me to call in sick to fuck my ass." Yena's not really that shocked, it's something that's entirely expected of you in the same vein it's expected of her to agree. You are both getting paid for this, which is fitting considering it feels like work pegs you all the time.

"We can admit we were faking it and then you can do some documents if you want."

She shakes her head. "And waste this cute outfit? Not a chance!"

It's a pretty cute outfit, one that radiates far too much effort for nine in the morning. Pre-planning has its perks, the white and red shirt that's entirely held up by her shoulder. Untethering it will make the entire thing pull down and from the small nubs visible through it she's forgoed the bra.

Then there's the shorts, somehow even shorter than booty shorts. Red and significantly less reserved than any of her office fits. It exaggerates her ass perfectly, revealing some of her cheeks before you pull them down. She's waiting for you to do something, an expression that's basically screaming 'fuck me.'

You grab her, tugging her shorts off– Yena wasn't wearing any underwear, her pink slit already slick with anticipation. Look lower and there's a pink plug bedazzled with sparkles, your hand naturally reaches out to touch it. "You really like pink hm? Looks good on you."

"Yeah! It's the sluttiest colour and that's what I am right?" She's teasing you for all that you said. "Just a cock sucking, desperate, addicted little whore."

"Am I wrong?" You challenge, your finger teases her slit. "You are dripping without being touched, that's pretty slutty." You push inside, a singular digit is enough to get moans out of her mouth. Last night was just the beginning, there had to be reservations.

Here though in her bedroom?

The only thing that will stop you is stamina, and even that won't stop you.

"So what? You won't do a thing about it." She'll regret those fighting words later, her face slips for a moment. Caught off guard by a second finger pushing inside. Her wetness is laughfully abundant, you have to resist the urge to shove her legs up and push into her wet cunt. Make her scream and lose her mind. And you manage.

"Would you like to bet?" It's back in her hands, like how your hand is embedded in her. Whatever she says next determines it all. The wet squelching noises of Yena are the backdrop to it all, she stains your fingers.

"I said you won't do shit." She reiterates and that's the last straw. Your hand withdraws, wipes the mess on her smooth skin. You are irritated, falling for the bait. Grabbing the lube off her bedside table, left so easily within range. So intentionally nearby.

She stays smug even as you pull the plug out of her tight rim, already lubricated but you plan to add more. "You're going to regret saying that," You sneer.

And then, while you lube up your cock. Yena does the unthinkable, she laughs at you– challenging and bratty. "Am I?"

You see red, taking all of your willpower to not immediately shove yourself inside and make her scream. Regret being the way she is, you are barely holding on. She laughs again at your struggle , trying to get the reaction she wants.

She won't get it.

Not now at least.

The oil in her drawer didn't catch your eye at first, but with her acting like this you have a new perspective on it. The large bottle fits nicely in your palm. Clicking it open and pooling it all over your hand, "You are such a brat, it's not going to give you what you want."

You smear oil all over her puckered rim, reacting to the coldness even if she didn't. Just attempting to mock you again. "You can just admit that you won't do anything."

Her sensitivity betrays her exterior when your middle finger pushes inside, just to the knuckle. It's a small catch, a little moan. She's dedicated to it now, the route she wants to take. Your hand is dripping with both shiny oil and helpful lubricant, glistening in artificial light.

"You'll be the one begging for it, remember last time?" Your finger pumps in and out slowly. "'Fuck! Turn my mouth into your filthy worthless fleshlight!'" You mock, repeating what she said last night after the whole affair. She huffs, eyes rolling to the right while she attempts to make an excuse.

"I was taking pity! Trying to make you finally fuck like a real man." Her excuse makes little sense, and you add a second digit. "And see? Just using your pathetic fingers because you can't handle it."

You keep fingering her, it's lack of pace is misery for your poor cock. It's desperate for Yena's hand wrapped around it, to be inside her holes or fuck her mouth. Every second untouched frustrates you, but it's the fact your bratty coworker is even more so that pushes you forward. Her facade can't hide every trace of frustration.

That makes it worth.

Minutes pass and your own need eclipses your desire to make Yena wait, fingers retracting. "Turn yourself around, you can handle simple directions right?"

"Hmph– make me, fucking loser." You grab onto her waist, flipping her over so hard the bed shakes.

"Fucking brat." The sight of Yena's bubbly butt makes your mouth water, smooth bare and begging to be defiled. "Useless for everything but making me cum."

"And doing reports, you'd be drowning without your best co-worker."

"Sometimes, mostly just a fucking distraction that gets us in trouble with the bosses." You pour a deluge of oil all over her ass. A stream of transparent thickness bending light on its way down. Your hands rub it all in, groping and admiring her firm cheeks.

"Oh no, my smoking hot co-worker sucks my dick twice a day! Whatever will I do?!" Yena's smirk can be heard alongside her sarcasm even while turned around, it's something you punish immediately with a brutal spank. She yelps and pushes her ass forward, silently begging for another hit.

"Shut up."

You get into position, your swollen tip rubs over her messy slit first, you push it in for a moment. Her walls grab onto what you give and her unsatisfied body's actions whine out for more.

But that's all she gets, her wet warmth was not the target this morning.

The little moans she tries to hide with snark are pure ear candy, her puckered rim resists your cock. Ungodly tight and impossibly difficult, the highest form of consummation as it starts to relent. Inviting you inside, but you aren't in a rush. Yena's an impatient brat and you'll break her into begging soon. Inch by inch takes its sweet time to slide in, disappearing between her cheeks and inside.

"Why are you so slow? Scared you'll blow too early?" Her words don't carry the same roughness when she's quivering, her hole sensitive to getting stuffed.

"Brats don't deserve to get fucked." The words leave your mouth breathily as you bottom out. That's all she gets, no thrusts or external stimulation. Just the feeling of getting stuffed.

"Does my bratty ass not deserve to be ruined? You are already inside of my slutty hole. Just waiting for you to stop being a loser and take it." It's a masterclass in bait, the degradation of herself slips casually off her tongue and for a moment you nearly concede.

"You don't deserve it, you are just a tight cockwarmer and nothing more."

"Fine, I'll do it." Her hand moves– sneaking around and attempting to give herself the relief. Two fingers aiming to grant the pleasure you refuse to give.

You stop it before she starts, seizing her wrist in your hand. She tries to wiggle it out but your firmness triumphs.

"Not a fucking chance." You punish her sly deed with a flurry of swats on her right asscheek, blooming red underneath

"What's the problem sweetheart? Worried I can make myself cum, worried I don't need you?" Her other hand gets locked and pinned.

"Need you?" You chuckle deeply, taken aback by the sheer audacity to say those words right now. When she's just an outlet for your pleasure. "I don't need you, I could jerk off and you'd be worthless." You aim for the words to get a reaction, the second before she replies is a reaction enough.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Hm? How so?"

Yena lowers her voice, seductive and lacking levity. "Because the feeling of my holes hugging your dick of yours is better than your hand could ever be, sweetie."

You pivot. "We both know you'll crack eventually, cock addicted brat." Yena's walls can't stop clenching around you, it's in her DNA to please even when you give her nothing. You could cum just off this if given enough, though that wouldn't be satisfying. You live for the triumph over Yena in this moment, to prove her wrong for the love of it.

"Ngh, asshole." You let her hands go as a test, to see if she can be trusted to keep her hands to herself. And in a way, she does. Because she immediately tries those antics again. And this time you've had enough, looking at the belt you have on the ground. You didn't come here wearing clothes that needed a belt, it was solely for the premonition you'd need it.

Fortune favours the bold, you suppose.

You don't remove yourself from Yena's snug ass, keeping yourself firmly embedded as you lean down. She leans alongside, with a stressed lunge you manage to swipe it. "Keep fucking still." You growl, tying the belt around her arms. Locking her movement behind her back.

"Just fuck me sweetheart, get it over with." The nickname really gets on your nerves, a simple diminutive. And it's designed to cause you to lose your mind. It's so close, but you exhale. Spank her one more time.

"Beg for it." Then you can hear a pindrop. Absolute silence.

"No. Do what I say." She tries to be stern.

But she doesn't have the authority here, tied up on her bed. "Sweetheart." You take her diminutive and throw it back at her, finger teasing her slit she tried so desperately to touch. The slick is even more abundant now, it's comical how worked up she is.

It feels like an eternity how long you two sit in this position, a back and forth. You push Yena to the edge, rapid fingering for a second then a minute of barely touching. She starts to crack at the seams, she doesn't have that same umph or defiance. It's beautiful to see.

Then finally.

"please…" Yena's too quiet for your liking, but you are fair. Moving deliberately, pulling out leaving just the tip and then just as languidly back in.

"Come on, you can be a bit louder if you want to do that badly."

"Please..! Pound me." A bit better, you speed up.

"Say what you are, prove you want it."

"I'm your slut! A needy brat who needs her ass fucked! Please." The last part sounds pathetic, makes you feel so powerful. All your pent up frustration snaps, an obsessive urge to make her scream more.

She screams so deliciously as her tight hole gets fucked with all the force you can muster, sudden whiplash scrambling her mind. Your hard length pummels into her, making her oiled cheeks jiggle. Yena's getting fucked like a fleshlight, the humanity both of you have is replaced with a compulsive urge to ruin & be ruined. "Ah! Fuck you mi–ght r-uin me!"

"Good! That's what you fucking wanted right?" Yena slumps into her bed, you grab her sprawled out hair. Forming a shoddy ponytail before yanking her upwards, she cries out euphoria while she takes all the pain and pleasure.

"Fuck! Yes, yes!" Yena's unable to adjust, moaning out shrilly. "It's s-o fucki--ng good– more!"

"Don't tell me what to do, take what you are given– fucking brat." Your cock twitches, her desperation is so fucking addictive. You ram into her without care, balls slapping against her slit. Her bedroom is scorching hot with sweat and sin, it's dripping down your forehead and fuck.

"O-okay!" You overwhelm her, getting into a proper rhythm. Every thrust is followed by a disrespectful spank and a tug on her hair. "Thi-s!"

She's fucked stupid in record time, crying out while you abuse her hole. It's easier now, your cock stretching her out and claiming the space as its own. "Taking it so fucking well!" you continue treating her like the slut she is, all on her mind was the feeling of her asshole getting ravaged.

"Ru-in– me! Fuck, plow my ass! T-reat me lik-e your person-al bratty– whore!"

"That's all you fucking are, worthless slut."

"Yes! Please, please! Fuck! I'm so close!"

"Tell me when."

You keep slamming into her body, letting go of her hair to deliver the harshest fucking you can. The same repetitive motions push her right to the edge, so close to her climax. She moans and then finally shrieks "I'm going to- fuck!"

That fuck screams desperation and frustration as you pull out, her gaping hole clenching around nothing as it begs for your cock. She grinds against the air in an attempt to get something, anything. "W-Why?" Yena's voice croaks.

"Do you think you deserve it? After all of that?" You tease, chuckle. "Defiant, difficult brat."

"I'll listen to whatever you want! Please just let me cum…" Her voice is laced with as much need as her body sweat, you pull her forward and redirect your slaps to her rock hard pink tits. Getting fun delirious moans, it's the only pleasure she'll get.

"Beg, sweetie."

"Please! Take advantage of my ass and just make me cum! Fill my slutty hole with your cum, do anything! Just. Please." She grovels, you are very horny otherwise Yena would have to wait a lot longer. You flip her back around and get on top of her. She lays prone as you take her.

"F-fuck! I'm so close, please just let me!" Yena's a desperate whore and you don't mind letting her cum if it means you cum.

"Cum." With your words Yena loses her mind, one last piercing moan and she orgasms all over her bed. You decide there's only one place for your load, "Fuck, going to flood this tight ass."

Your orgasm hits you just as hard as it hits Yena, thick spurts of your load coat her anal walls. Completely and utterly filing her up, she moans at the warmth. Pulse after pulse she's made yours, thrusting to extend it as long as possible. When it's done you pull yourself out, watch as your filthy load gets pushed out.

"Damn." You lay next to her, heavy pants fill the space as your chest heaves.

"Y-yeah.. woah." It seems like you are both coming back down to earth, the intensity of it all.

"Can you untie my hands now?" You freed her sore limbs from the belt's shackles, giving her freedom.

Yena gets herself up, climbing off the bed and gingerly limping her way to the shower. Though that sight confirms you weren't finished, the shared cum on her thighs. The messy, frazzled hair. Her red and flushed body.

You leap forward, Yena's shock is seen on her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup and all the other useless stuff on her desk. You are still rock solid and Yena's ass welcomes you back inside, every snap of your hips forces your cum back in deep. The mirror grants the view of her robbed while she was on the bed, her squeezed shut eyes, her forced open mouth that has an endless stream of moans.

"Fuck! Oh my god!"

"Did you think we were done? Not until this ass can't sit down without remembering my cock ruining it." Her hands press against the wood, it does little to stabilise herself. She's at your complete mercy, your hands fondle her tits. Just letting pure desire motivate you.

"Yes! Make me cum again!"

"Don't fucking hold back, cum your brains out." You watch in delight as her body already seizes, orgasming onto the carpet. You've really done a number on her, continuing to ram into her overstimulated body. Reveling in the whole scene, her tamed state stares back at you for a brief moment before her eyes involuntarily close enough.

"Keep going!"

You pull out of Yena just long enough to take her to the floor, pushing her feet up by her head as you slide into her ass one more time. This angle was perfect, she's fucked out of her head. Just a wailing moaning mess desperate to cum again, you commit to giving her one more. It's primal and unapologetically raw, you have no energy left to tease or mock.

Just to finish.

You chase it, ignoring the feeling of burning muscles and increasingly exhaustion. Just focusing on the deep, impactful, forceful slaps against her crotch. Yena's overwhelmed body cums again with an orgasmic screech and that's what pushes you over the edge. In a last second move you leave her snug warmth, climbing over her body as you stroke yourself to completion all over her pretty flushed face. Watching as a load just as strong as your first defiles her. Thick white paints over every inch, a stray shot splashing over her tits before you fall sideways onto the carpet.

She pants, you pant, both desperate for oxygen that refuses to enter your lungs. All of the adrenaline seeps out of your bodies and is replaced by ache. "You really did a number huh?" She breaks the tension, voice hazy.

"You okay?" Your eyes look at her, if you weren't so exhausted it'd inspire a third round. Her cum stained face angled towards you, though the filth blocks her from being able to see. It's also on her thighs and her tits. Marking your co-worker/brat and claiming her as yours. Despite the mess you give her a comforting kiss on the lips.

"Never been better, just help me to the bathroom please?"

Yena sat scrolling on her phone, an additional mattress of pillows underneath her body. It's like nothing's ever happened, like you two didn't just fuck like rabid animals for the last hour or two. "Ow…" She whines when she readjusts.

"Are you alright Yena? Like, honestly." You move the hair out of her left eye, still slightly damp from half assed drying. She smiles and you feel like a few weights have been taken off your shoulders.

"Of course, that was… intense. But, it's a day off and all."

You want her to say more, but she hasn't any other time.

She won't, that's part of the flair you suppose. Maybe she's not comfortable letting herself be herself, doesn't want to say too much. It's not something you'll push on, not something you have to.

It isn't your place.

If she wants to be reductive, wants to keep things simple. You'll let her.

Especially if it keeps you two doing this arrangement, feelings are overrated.

Maybe.

[starconstruction]

thanks for the support on this btw, my stars <3

[defmaybe]

extended training track

ryujin x male reader

7k words

"Welcome to South Korea."

The immigration officer's tone is not too enthusiastic. They probably act similarly with everyone — long shift and everything. You don't take it too personally.

Incheon International Airport is rather bustling and loud, as to be expected for airports on a Sunday during winter. There are announcements echoing all over the airport for last calls and lost belongings. Through the people, you make way for yourself with a roller suitcase to the metro station and take a ride into the heart of Seoul.

The importance of this stint is as deathly crucial to you as it is to your university back home — a four-month compulsory graduation internship, and a gesture that signifies the bond between JYPE and your institution. You're not so sure regarding the number of years they've been on the ends of the connection, but surely, you're not letting it crash into rubble with your performances.

The ride into Seoul continues. There's a rolling of wheels running against the rails from under you. In the cabin, you watch the afternoon clouds and the snow-covered buildings run past you in a blur. Your compartment is playing a comfy lo-fi tune you don't recognize. Of course, you don't expect them to play K-pop all the time, but something you can tap your fingers to would be nice. They would make you feel more familiar with this place.

You reach your desired station eventually, and you drag your roller suitcase for a few hundred meters out of the station to the employees' dorm. Your body shivers in the freezing cold air of the city at three post meridiem. It's quite grueling, but you manage to withstand the temperature until your destination is right in front of you.

Your room is on the modest side. It's a little smaller than what you have at home, but you'll live. The space has everything that you need for survival: a bed, a heater, bathroom. You transfer your belongings from your suitcase to the closet, and in a heartbeat, you've made this place your home for the next four months.

—

"Don't forget the hashtags. The interns always forget them."

You type hashtags into your Notes app as Hyunjae — your supervisor — gives you a rundown of the ins-and-outs of your job. The inside of the JYPE building feels modern and sleek, probably from all that TWICE and Stray Kids income. This kind of design gives you a bit of comfort against the blues of working in a foreign country alone. It's not a complete package of coziness, but it'll work for now.

"There's also common sense stuff, but I'm sure you have it, right? Or they wouldn't have sent you here." Hyunjae scoffs before she gives you a questioning look. "Right?"

"Yeah, I have common sense, yeah," you respond to her, typing common sense into your Notes app and opening Safari. It's just to check if you're a well-mannered person.

Hyunjae smiles at you approvingly. "Alright, I'll go grab the passwords. Do whatever the hell you want until then."

—

The next few days pass by quickly. You're burying yourself in the work of posting the approved social media posts. There's TWICE. There's Stray Kids. There's ITZY. In the meantime, you've started to gain the ability to separate the Stray Kids members after years of boy band neglect. You've never missed a hashtag as well. That's the feat you're proud of.

"Why did you wanna be here? Like, why not somewhere close to your home?" Hyunjae quizzes, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with chopsticks. There's a small shot of soju at her side. There's a small shot of soju at your side. Just half a bottle of soju should suffice for this chilly Friday night.

"I just wanna be abroad," you answer. It's a simple answer to roll off your tongue. "Is that enough of a reason?"

There's a soft whir of the heater in this restaurant, working hard against the sub-zero temperature outside. The place smells of food and alcohol. There's a bit of woodiness in there as well.

"You don't get homesick?" Hyunjae asks. "I'm more concerned than curious right now, if you don't mind," and she chuckles softly.

You give her back a smile. "I live in a dorm during college, so this isn't very new to me."

Hyunjae just nods before picking up another piece of rice cake into her mouth. You figure you should grab a piece as well. Hyunjae is still in her blazer from work with a white undershirt. Her wide-legged pants look wonderful on her.

"So, who's your ultimate bias? Like, the greatest of them all." Hyunjae asks as she chews her food, a hand covering her mouth for politeness. "Not limited to just JYPE!"

"She's in JYPE, actually," and you chuckle. "It's Yeji."

Hyunjae nods receptively. "Nice, so what do you like about her?"

"She's my type! I like women who's on the more, what's the word, aggressive side?"

"Ryujin is aggressive as well — even more than Yeji," Hyunjae challenges, and that makes you think a bit. Yeji instead of Ryujin with assertion as the criterion is certainly something.

After a few seconds of thinking, you shrug out of surrendering to your supervisor's point. "Maybe I shouldn't have said aggressive."

Hyunjae chuckles. "It's fine. Sometimes we kinda just vibe with people, you know?"

You just smile at her before taking another piece of tteokbokki into your mouth.

—

The weekend passes by, and you find yourself sitting in your chair posting the activities and approved personal photos of your assigned groups on Monday. You stretch from time to time to release the fatigue building up inside your muscles. The atmosphere inside the office smells of air freshener and tea, while the sight is tinted blue from the lights installed above your head.

A Slack notification appears in the top right corner of your MacBook.

Han Hyunjae, 11:49: Itzy's in the building today

Han Hyunjae, 11:49: Wanna meet them?

You click on the notification to type a sure as a reply. Finally, you're meeting your ultimate bias up close!

Han Hyunjae, 11:50: Come to the cafe when you're ready!

—

The coffee shop on the ground floor is cozy and warm. You order a cup of iced Assam tea despite the harsh winter outside, with two pairs of tuna sandwiches from the cashier before settling yourself in front of Hyunjae at a table.

"They should be here in a few minutes," Hyunjae states, sipping her hot latte. There's a small mark of cream on her lips.

"You got a, uh," and you point at your upper lip. "Milk foam?"

"Oh, thanks." Hyunjae wipes the white stain off her mouth before gazing at the cafe entrance. You turn in her direction of sight as well, and you see them — ITZY — all five of them.

You've expected that they're people just like you — flawed and unique. Still, you can't help the quickening of your heartbeats for Hwang Yeji under the cafe lights. Your index finger taps on the table frantically as the women come closer to you and Hyunjae. You alternate your eyes between the five girls, but your focus seems to incline towards Yeji a bit more than the others. She looks different from what you've seen her in the photos and videos. Hwang Yeji just looks so damn tangible here — unfiltered, human.

You hear Hyunjae chuckle beside you. She notices you being star-struck seeing Yeji in person for the first time, though she just gives you space to get nervous seeing your idol.

The women settle themselves at a table not too far away from you. You turn back to Hyunjae, eventually, to see her smile tenderly at you.

"You wanna say hi to them?" she asks, pointing in ITZY's direction with her thumb.

You stammer out, "Yeah, sure. Do you have to, like, come with me?"

Hyunjae shrugs. "Up to you! They're used to the seniors from your college, though, so don't worry too much."

You give her an investigative look — lips tight, squinted eyes — before getting up from your seat and telling her: "Can you come with me, please?"

Hyunjae just laughs and stands up. "Alright, follow me."

You walk behind her at a somewhat close distance, watching ITZY's relative position getting closer to you. They chatter about something you can't make out against the waves of sound from the entire cafe.

"Hey!" Hyunjae greets, and the women turn to her and you. Yeji tilts her head slightly, perhaps curious about your presence.

With a drag, "Hello!" Yuna says first, happily, followed by a few waves and greetings from the other members.

"My new intern wanna say hi to you guys," Hyunjae says, presenting you simply with her hands.

"Hi," you stammer out shyly, trying to look cool in front of the girls despite the rapid heartbeats behind your ribcage. "I'm the new intern."

"The university intern from abroad, right?" Yuna asks with curiosity. So, it seems that there's only one foreign university MOU with JYPE according to her statement.

"Yeah," you respond politely, almost with a bow. You're awfully socially anxious for them here.

"So, he's our Instagram admin now?" Yeji asks your supervisor, pointing at you with her thumb. Her voice is so deep, unlike the tone you've heard on the stages and clips. You find it attractive, of course.

"Yep, until early May, unless we give him a post-internship contract," Hyunjae answers. "He hasn't forgotten a hashtag in the posts yet. That's some achievement!"

Your heart floats a little at Hyunjae's praise. The tension in your shoulders dissolves slightly.

Yeji smiles approvingly before asking you, "Would you stay if you get the contract? Barring the visa and logistics and all."

"Yeah!" you reply swiftly. "It has been great for me so far," and you add small gestures with your hands to show the excitement at the prospect. You'd jump at the chance of working abroad.

Yeji nods. "Well," and she pauses. Perhaps she's thinking of something to tell you, only to come up with nothing. "No, yeah, I don't have anything to tell you. Do you guys wanna say something?" Yeji asks the other members.

"Just don't be afraid to talk to us," Ryujin utters coolly, arms resting on the cushion behind her. She seems chill with you, and that's wearing your guard away a bit more. "Don't use the main account, though."

"Sure, I'll do my best," you tell Ryujin with a smile. And feeling brave, you hint, "I have just your public Instagrams for now, still."

Ryujin chuckles, giving you a knowing look. "You want our private accounts?" and the rest of the women laugh as well.

Your body freezes, not thinking straight at Ryujin's forward proposal. You just asked for ITZY's personal Instagram accounts, how brazen!

"Chill out, Ryujin. Let him settle in with the company first," Yeji states, and she turns to you. "Come to the end of the month party. We can, like, talk a bit more there."

"Party?"

"Yeah, we have a party at the end of each month," Yeji answers. "Everyone gets wasted and has deep talks — fun!"

"Everyone?" you ask another question, brain imaging the entirety of ITZY slurring and throwing arms around.

"Unless you're tolerant to alcohol, then yeah, everyone who's in Seoul on that day," Ryujin says, "I saw Hyunjae making out with—"

"You saw nothing," Hyunjae quickly halts Ryujin with a finger point, who's now laughing merrily.

Lia chimes into the conversation, "It's fine, Hyunjae. We're happy that you finally found someone!"

"Fuck off," Hyunjae curses, face already red with embarrassment. "I didn't make out with anyone. I'm a woman in her twenties who can look after herself!"

"Doesn't mean you have to be single!" Lia teases with a shrug.

"Again, fuck off," Hyunjae curses once more, and you just watch the banter unfold like that for a while until Chaeryeong gestures them to stop escalating the verbal onslaughts.

"No fighting in public, girls," Chaeryeong says, prompting a grumpy huff from Hyunjae and a giggle from Lia.

"Two tuna sandwiches and Assam tea!" a barista announces from behind the counter. That's your order.

"I'll go to the party, I promise," you tell the women, turning back and forth between your food and them. "Thanks for the welcome, really."

"See you around," Yeji says warmly.

"You're my bias, by the way," you say to Yeji.

She touches her chest with kind eyes and an aw. "Appreciate that, see you around to the power of two then."

You just smile back and nod at the girls before leaving the table with the now-beet-red Hyunjae.

"Who was it?"

"Oh my God, fuck you too."

—

The next three weeks move by rather slowly. Your job still consists of being present and posting media on your assigned groups' and members' accounts. The relationship between you and Hyunjae develops into something warm and comfortable in the meantime, and she helps you settle into living in South Korea by a large margin. It's not quite a place of home yet, but it's much better than four weeks ago.

Party day arrives, eventually. You've been spinning your chair for the last few hours out of excitement to get drunk under Hyunjae's supervision. Your state of mind has been fortified since the last day of your last semester back in your country. Intoxication in a foreign country has been a far-fetched concept to you, but you're going to experience it firsthand tonight!

From the side, you see Hyunjae walking towards you merrily in a blazer and a pair of wide-legged pants, humming some tune you don't recognize.

"Hey!" she starts with a blooming smile, and you wave back to her. "Have you posted the Hyunjin images yet? For his personal."

You check the Instagram feed for a bit — hynjinnnn. The latest post was 34 minutes ago, and you nod at your supervisor. "Yeah, half an hour ago."

"Splendid. Well, let's go now, shall we?"

You look at the time. It's about half past four post meridiem — not the time to clock out yet. You shoot her a puzzled look.

"Party day! We can leave early, don't worry," Hyunjae assures you. "We reserved the entire restaurant from five to eleven, and I don't wanna be late."

"Oh, alright, okay, sure," and you quit the apps on your MacBook before shutting it down. You put your belongings into your backpack and leave the premises with Hyunjae.

—

It's almost five. The restaurant is big — unbelievably big.

"How many people will there be again?" you ask Hyunjae. There's quite a number of people at the tables already, waiting for other employees and all sorts of meat and vegetables to be served.

"Last time was two hundred and twenty-one. This place can handle two hundred and fifty, though," she responds. "If there's fewer people, we get more soju."

You give Hyunjae a judging look.

The two of you settle yourselves at a long table that should fit about twelve people. There are already a few bottles of fruit-flavored soju on the table with shot glasses. You're waiting for more people to join the party, still. And while waiting, you pick up your phone and scroll through Twitter fan-wars and memes mindlessly.

As minutes pass, more and more people enter the restaurant, sitting at the tables all around the place. You're still surfing through Twitter, reading sombr-ending tweets and the somehow-still-ongoing war between BLINKs and ARMYs.

A hey from Hyunjae is what calls you back to the chatter of the diner.

At the entrance, you see the five girls of ITZY waving in your direction. They tread towards your table with Yuna almost jogging to you to say hi. She hugs Hyunjae and sits down beside her, across from your seat. The other members haven't even reached the halfway point yet.

"Intern boy, right?" Yuna asks you.

"Yeah," you reply with a soft smile, putting your phone back into the pocket. A server hands you the menu.

"Hello," Yeji greets as she appears beside you.

Your eyes widen — star-struck, shocked, almost dropping your menu. You can only stutter out, "Hi, Yeji."

She laughs joyfully before taking a seat next to you. "Well, nothing soju can't do."

Chaeryeong and Lia sit on the other side of the table, while Ryujin finds her seat on Yeji's left. There she is: Hwang Yeji, your ultimate bias, sitting beside you in a restaurant for a dinner with alcohol involved. This is going to be the most stressful meal you've ever had.

You order the food through the server, and they go back into the kitchen to prepare your meal. Your body is still trembling with anxiety with Yeji sitting beside you.

She seems to notice your nervousness still, and she kindly sparks a conversation with you with a giggle. "Do you drink often? Back in your country."

Still shaking, you stammer, "Yeah, kinda." And with shyness, you start pouring grape soju into the shot glasses for the surrounding girls, and you hand out the glasses to each person, trying not to drop them.

"Thanks," Yeji says. "Ever blacked out before? Sorry if this is, like, too personal," she continues to probe tenderly.

You appreciate the sentiment, really, but you still can't shake the apprehension away. A part of you remains sensible with her, at least, telling you to keep answering and asking the questions back. It'll break the barrier between you.

"Yeah, in my sophomore year," you reply, attempting to knock this fear out. "I woke up at a bus stop on my campus."

Yeji chuckles. "Well, I've blacked out before as well! It was at our dorm, though. So, yours was obviously more exciting."

"She puked all over herself," Ryujin chimes in, earning a shy laugh from Yeji. "Shit was fucking messy."

The image is not pleasing to your eyes at all, whatever melts the ice, though.

You share more of your experiences. "I remember my teeth probably hitting the edge of a toilet, and the bouncers carrying me down from the second floor."

Yeji laughs. "We're equally fucked, then."

You chuckle back at her. The tension begins to dissolve into something more domestic and casual. You can feel your bones relaxing inside your body, and you start asking more about Yeji. "So, how do you, like, get your stuff? You guys can't just go to a store and buy soju, right?"

"It's usually our bodyguards, yeah. They can carry a lot more than us, though, so it's probably for the better," Yeji answers with a shrug before taking a shot of grape soju, and you hand her the bottle to pour more. "How about your college life, though? Aside from that blackout."

"Difficult," you reply. "Having good friends helps a lot, at least."

Yeji nods with an ooh leaving her lips, then, "What do you guys usually do together, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It's standard college stuff, you know: eating, studying, taking classes. You probably—"

You notice Yeji's expression soften into something that almost resembles sadness, and you have to stop yourself from talking to empathize with her first.

"Yeah, and?" Yeji asks, almost sniffling with tears now. "I just, yeah, wait."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't—"

"No, no, keep talking. I just gotta manage myself a bit," Yeji responds with a slight stutter in her voice. She's wiping her eyes with the back of her hand now, and you shake your head profusely, adamant on not telling her about your college life further.

"Let's talk about something else," you comfort, eliciting a smile from Yeji's face. "Like, do you watch sports?"

Still with a slightly shaken voice, Yeji answers, "Yeah, I do watch F1 on some weekends, yeah."

With almost minimal knowledge of car racing, you ask her, "Can you tell me about it?"

Yeji's sniffles turn into a look of unease instead, putting your thoughts to a halt. "You're testing me or something? Is it because I'm a woman, is it that?"

"Misogyny, boo," Ryujin adds from behind Yeji and gives you a thumbs down. She's still apparently listening to your conversation intently.

Your eyes widen in fear of misunderstanding. You deny the accusations with haste. "No, no, no. Oh my God. I didn't mean to, like, question you like that. I'm so sorry."

Yeji stares at you blankly for a few seconds, letting you bask in the apprehension of being mistaken. You look at her fearfully, at least until she laughs at you, and Ryujin laughs at you as well.

"Just fucking with you, don't worry," Yeji assures. "I'd be happy to tell you about F1, and Ryujin too. We watch it together whenever we have a chance."

You let out a long sigh of relief. "Thanks. I really don't know shit about this."

—

"That's why I support them," Yeji states.

"And Hwang Yeji is cursed for years of torment and suffering of being a Williams fan!" Ryujin announces as she hugs Yeji from behind. "Should've been a Bearman fangirl like me."

Yeji chuckles. "I think I'd be dead before Williams has a top-three season."

There have been a few shots of soju since the start of F1 recap from Yeji and Ryujin, and you're not particularly tolerant of alcohol. So many things are flashing through your head right now: math problems, laundry, making out with someone. You feel a lot lighter than you're supposed to be. The sound of sizzling means shit right now as your brain decides to loop your favorite song on repeat.

"I'll go to the bathroom a bit," Yeji says as she gets up from her chair, leaving just you and Ryujin behind on your side of the table.

You go back to grilling meat and vegetables as Yeji disappears behind the bathroom door. Suddenly, Ryujin scoots over onto Yeji's chair, equally drunk as you are.

"Does she live up to your expectations?" Ryujin asks, bumping her shoulder to yours softly. "Yeji Hwang, your bias."

You reply without looking at her, still flipping food on the grill, "She's great! I mean, I don't expect her to be a perfect angel like that. You guys are human like me."

Ryujin nods. "That's a great mindset to have," and she joins you on the fire, helping you flip the food carefully.

"Thanks."

Ryujin helps you flip a few more pieces, then she pours you and herself a shot of soju. An oh leaves your lips. You don't expect Ryujin to do this for you. Still, you thank her and gulp down the shot alongside her.

"I think I'm gonna go outside a bit. Wanna come with me?" Ryujin asks you, evenly distributing the meat and vegetables to the other side of the table and not keeping one to your side.

"Me?" and not Lia or Chaeryeong or Yuna?

"Cultural exchange, wait," and Ryujin pauses for a thought. She looks at your supervisor. "Hyunjae, can I have your man for a bit?"

Hyunjae, drunk, replies with a reference to Jemima Kirke, "What the hell, sure."

Ryujin stands up from her seat in an instant, adjusting her leather jacket slightly. "We won't be long," she promises. The other members at the table just give each other a certain look as you stand up along with Ryujin. Your difference in height isn't much — you being taller than Ryujin by about an inch or so, but it feels like she's holding all the power against you here somehow. Maybe it's her assertive personality. Maybe it's her social status. Maybe it's the fact that you're a foreigner.

"Alright, follow me," Ryujin says before leading your steps towards the door to the outside. She grabs her coat from the seat, reminding you to take yours into the cold air as well. As you tread along the walkway, you two draw a few unwanted pairs of eyes. You're too drunk to raise a concern to Ryujin, though.

The door opens. You're met with the chilly late-January atmosphere, and it's making you shake immediately at the first contact. Your hands are tucked between your arms and flanks to preserve the body temperature. The air smells of smoke and asphalt. Ryujin continues to walk a few more steps against the stillness of the night, though, and you just have to follow her into the outside.

Ryujin stops a few meters away from the door as you struggle to walk under the cold. She chuckles tenderly at your inexperience in handling this temperature. Your body keeps shivering against the air uncontrollably. You reach Ryujin eventually, still.

She smiles almost awkwardly at you before starting. "I'm gonna be honest, I have no fucking idea what to talk about." She has a puff of air coming out of her mouth.

"It's fine," you scoff, smiling. You notice a puff of air coming out of your mouth as well. "Normally, I don't open myself up, though, so maybe I'll vent to you."

Ryujin laughs, leaning against the stone wall of the restaurant. The faint chatter from inside can be heard. "Thanks for trusting me," Ryujin says.

You just smile back at Ryujin, leaning against the stone wall beside her.

The silence goes on for a while. It's not suffocating — not the case of it's appropriate to say something. You notice that Yeji doesn't come out to get you back inside, but you don't raise your concern to Ryujin. Your body is still shivering in the cold, and Ryujin seems to notice it. She moves a little closer as if to warm you with her body.

You feel her warmth.

"Do you have a partner back home?" Ryujin cuts through the tranquil.

Mind in disarray, you answer succinctly, "I did."

She looks at you with a small sigh. "Sorry about that."

You scoff, turning to her as well. "It's fine — almost two years now. If anything, I'm a better person because of that."

"I used to have someone like that too — pre-debut," Ryujin says. "Life gets in the way, kind of thing. I'm sure yours is worse still."

You chuckle dryly. "It's not a competition. Don't invalidate your feelings," you assure her in the drunken stupor, moving closer towards her body a little more until your shoulders touch each other. Her eyes are a mix of longing and sadness. It's almost as if she's about to bawl in front of you, and you can do nothing but give her a warm smile against the cold air.

"You're so fucking sexy when you tell me that, you know?" Ryujin suddenly says, almost a scowl, and you just giggle, almost timidly. It's awfully forward, but you decide to ride the wave.

"Never counted you as a feeler," you reply with a tilt of your head, getting witty and brave to shoot a banter all of a sudden.

"I think more than feel, of course," Ryujin tells you. "But I'm not emotionally inept — suppressed, more like."

"Sorry to hear that."

Ryujin scoffs, "It's fine." She glances around her — the empty street, the buildings, the lights — and you do so as well, looking around until your eyes meet each other's. It's not the most magical moment you've ever been through — moderately drunk in the cold air. It's nice to have someone by your side at least, looking into your pupils and giving you the much-needed warmth.

"Do you wanna make out?" Ryujin utters. There are no signs of embarrassment or second thought on her face. You're not too shocked either. It's as if kissing celebrities is a normal occurrence for you.

You laugh quietly before responding with another question, "Do you do this often?"

"Making out?"

"Isolating an intern from abroad before, yeah, making out with them."

"You're the first man."

"Not the first person?"

Ryujin smiles awkwardly before propelling herself off the wall. She wraps her arms around your neck, slightly shaken from the alcohol. You see her cheeks flushing red under the nocturnal streetlights. "You're gonna judge me for that? Do I have to boo you again?"

You giggle in front of her, eliciting a mutual laugh back from Ryujin. Her breath smells of grapes. You're sure that yours is the same. The image is not as sensual as portrayed in the films, but it's certainly tangible.

"What if someone walks out and mistakes this for an affair?" you raise a concern, though half-hoping that Ryujin will just shut you up with her lips already.

"You're just quoting bullshit," she dismisses mischievously, apparently catching your tribute to a niche community. "Also, I don't plan on getting attached, since I won't be the only one having you."

You blink consciously, a tad surprised by the notion. Still, you're too hellbent on having Ryujin's grape-flavored tongue inside your mouth, so you tease, "You have me tonight, though."

Ryujin pouts with an aw, and she kisses you, like that.

She enters your mouth with little to no resistance from your body. Her tongue sweeps around the inside of your orifice, spreading her grape-ish taste and tasting your grape-ish taste simultaneously. Your hands cup her face gently, feeling the warmth of her cheeks. You're then pushed back up against the wall by Ryujin's sheer strength, and the act becomes even hungrier. She moans needily into the kiss, eliciting whines from your vocal cords. Your body shivers from the concoction of cold temperature and Ryujin's searing lips. You cannot think properly with everything that's going on, but your body is working on its own accord — flushing, shaking, moaning. You're so love-struck right now.

Ryujin gets a tad friskier with her hands, traveling down your frame from the back of your neck. She finds your arms. She finds your waist. She finds your thighs, and she gives them a totalitarian squeeze. You jolt, of course, and she chuckles against your lips.

Suddenly, with her core strength, Ryujin lifts you up against the stone wall of the restaurant. You yelp helplessly against her mouth. Still, you can't help but melt into her completely, submitting entirely to her.

"Wrap your legs around me, baby boy," Ryujin half-slurs, half-commands. You follow instantly, and Ryujin holds onto your supple ass firmly, using her body to push you up against the surface. Your cock twitches wantonly under the thick fabric of your pants, so eager to be freed and stimulated even more. It's pressed between your body and her taut abs. Never have you been pinned against the wall and wrapped your legs around someone like this. It's an utterly brand-new experience — one that you begin to appreciate more and more with the passing seconds.

"Ryujin," and a needy moan into the kiss. The lack of control over your body is awfully evident here, and you're more than ecstatic to let Ryujin take your place. Her lips taste of grape and a bit of smoke from the meat and vegetables. She gropes your rear authoritatively, not giving you an area to protest against her reign.

"God, you have such a nice ass," Ryujin hums, trailing her kisses to your cheeks and making you moan whorishly in Seoul's nocturnal air. She bites your ear with her lips. That's your erogenous spot, apparently, and you just collapse weakly into her. Ryujin is carrying your body now. It's a good thing that you're rather light for her. Then, she finds your neck, sinking her teeth into your skin playfully, almost dangerous in drawing blood. You find satisfaction in her acts, at least.

She keeps planting her kisses on parts of your face for a few more heartbeats until you hear a sound of clinking coming from the inside. The two of you are reminded of the party going on in the diner, and you're the first to come to your rational senses.

"Ryujin, we should, fuck," you stutter out weakly as she bites your lips. "We should go back inside."

Ryujin gives your lower lip a final tug before letting it go. "Yeah, we really should," she agrees with a chuckle, and she slowly lowers you down onto the floor. You let your feet settle on the asphalt surface of the street, and you feel like you can breathe and see things properly again.

You adjust your clothes a bit, doing your best to avoid raising suspicion from other employees. Ryujin does so as well, tugging at her coat hurriedly, setting her hair to its former state.

"Do we go back in together?" you ask with a little bit of nervousness.

Ryujin scoffs, "They'll know, definitely."

"Maybe," you cut her off, making Ryujin laugh heartily.

She continues, "They won't say a thing, though. Don't worry."

"If you say so."

—

The people at your table just exchange glances and giggle at one another. You're not giving them a harsh stare, but just smile and blink awkwardly at them as you sit back down beside Yeji. The sound of food sizzling reverberates through the air as Ryujin sits back in her seat as well.

"I didn't smoke," Ryujin starts, picking up a piece of meat with her tongs. "He didn't smoke."

"It's unhealthy!" you add. "No cigarettes or vapes involved in cultural exchange."

"That's encouraging, baby boy," Yuna jokes, and a wave of drunken laughter erupts from everyone at the table but you and Ryujin. You two can only look at each other as you wait for the hilarity to dissipate into the air.

—

With all the shakiness in the world, "So, you do smoke?"

Stern, "Vaped — past tense."

Ryujin's bed creaks weakly under her movement — mostly as a result of her hips thrusting.

For what happens between you two, it's the similar steps: making out, stripping off, lying down. The path from her door to the bed is smooth. Her room is damn tidy. Your clothes are all over the floor now, though. You don't flag the current activity as bizarre, just that it's your first time doing this with someone else.

Your back is lying against Ryujin's mattress, arching up each time the tip of her silicone cock jabs at your prostate. The moniker rolls off your tongue so easily as your asshole is being plowed open.

"Daddy."

You do this cute little quiver every once in a while when your G-spot is attacked at the perfect angle. Your real cock twitches pathetically, spewing droplets of precum out of its slit, painting your tummy with your juice. Ryujin's face hovers above yours, just centimeters away. Her breath still smells of grape soju from the restaurant with each exhale, mouth slightly agape to let out sinful moans. She looks into your eyes with hunger and desire to conquer you wholly, and the best part is: you just let her take all of you like that.

Ryujin cups your face tenderly, still thrusting her plastic dick into your untouched warmth. "Daddy's loving this virgin boypussy so much," she coos. "Taking my girlcock so well."

You don't reply, instead letting your eyes roll into the back of your head with each of Ryujin's thrusts. There are soft, pitiful whines leaving your mouth rather weakly. You feel a tad cold from the strap-on's length splitting your hole open, though Ryujin's body is warming you up nicely. Your legs are opening wide to accommodate the sheer girth of her cock. You want to be witty and sharp under her — a power bottom — but all that comes out is just a whorish moan.

The pleasure isn't one-way. There's this little nub on the other side of the harness pressing against Ryujin's clit. She's indulging in the pleasure as much as you are, just with less outward expression — small stutters, soft moans, shaking limbs. You want to reach out for her pert breasts sitting above your chest, but the pleasure of being penetrated by the silicone phallus is just too much for you to dictate a movement. Her chocolate-colored nipples have already hardened from the power that she holds over you, and you can only alternate your eyes between those pebbles and her face.

"The other girls are going to love you so much if you keep this up," Ryujin says airily, a hint of exhaustion in her tone. It sparks a bit of curiosity in your mind about the identity of the other women, though.

Ryujin's hips make contact with your ass at each loving thrust, creating these sounds of flesh smacking into each other that echo all over her room. Your body keeps trembling under her every time her cock jabs at your core, and she just smiles cheerfully at the pleasure of having you converted into her baby boy. It feels heavy — each attack on your prostate — but you hold on against the urge to cum all over yourself.

"Who are the other girls, Daddy?" you ask with your feeble, completely pathetic voice. Your hands grip the bedsheets tightly, creating these crumples in the fabric.

Ryujin chuckles at your question above you, and she just kisses you as an answer. Her tongue pushes yours back into your mouth with ease, sweeping the leftover taste of grape soju from the surface. Her hand cups your face lovingly in the soft moonlight from outside, shining through the window. She ups her pace by an ante, thrusting her synthetic cock into your tight asshole a tad quicker. At this speed, you almost lose control over your pliant physique — loosening grips, quivering limbs, rolling eyes.

She pulls back, satisfied with the kiss after a short while. A thin string of saliva clings to both of your lips — a link in the space between you. "Daddy's keeping it a surprise," Ryujin responds teasingly, licking her lips to taste you — still the grape soju. You whine needily at the view.

With Ryujin's intensity in splitting your asshole open, your orgasm arrives dangerously quickly. You feel the doom building up in your nerves down below, and you just have to announce, "Cumming, Daddy."

Ryujin just smiles — not rushing, not slowing down. She keeps her fervor steady, building you up towards the precipice under the soft moonlight.

"Daddy!"

Ryujin stuffs your mouth with her fingers, stifling the ecstatic wails from disturbing her bandmates, and your entire body goes stiff as your cock shoots ropes of cum out. It's painting your tummy and chest white. Your eyes roll into the back of your head with the surmounting pleasure wracking through your frame. Some of your semen lands on Ryujin's stomach and chest. She keeps pumping her hips into your ass to coax all of your juice out, and the result is your length twitching pitifully under her — drops into droplets that drizzle out of your slit. And as your orgasm subsides, all that's left is your cock leaking the last few globs of sperm down its length.

Ryujin laughs tenderly at the sight of your naked body utterly ruined by her fake cock, mouth sucking her fingers submissively. She languidly drags her phallus out of your asshole, and you can feel yourself expanding and contracting around her needily. It leaves you with a soft pop, lube spilling onto the mattress. Your warmth feels so empty without her filling it to the brim.

"Daddy," you mumble weakly against her digits, prompting Ryujin to pull them out of your mouth. All that leaves your mouth is a soft whimper, though.

Ryujin pulls your cheek playfully. "Who's Daddy's little cockslut?" and a hum.

"I'm Daddy's little cockslut," you respond, still weak in your tone. Your eyes slowly settle back into their normal positions, and you see her smile at you in a mix of hunger and affection.

"Good boy," Ryujin coos, giggling above you. She then plants her lips on your forehead fondly. Warmth blooms from the spot. "Let's take a shower together."

"Are you gonna fuck my ass again, Daddy?" you ask, mind still hazy with lust and complete compliance.

Ryujin purses her lips, thinking for a heartbeat. "Eat Daddy's cunt first, okay?" She caps the sentence off with a firm squeeze of your ass before getting off of you, and you feel like you can breathe properly again.

"Come here, baby," and Ryujin pulls your arm, getting you up from the mattress. You muster every ounce of your energy left to stand up in front of Ryujin, and you trudge after her into the bathroom.

—

A cunnilingus and a pegging in the shower later, you're lying on the bed together, facing each other with only the outside light illuminating your features.

"How's quitting smoking going?"

"Not good," and Ryujin giggles.

You don't bother putting your clothes back on, but let the heater and each other warm your body in the frosty night. Ryujin's expression makes it clear that she's still in the high of fucking your pretty asshole and gushing her juice all over your face. Her mouth smells of mint toothpaste now. The two of you figure just to share her toothbrush. Your finger circles around her dusky nipple gently, and Ryujin lets out a quiet whimper from time to time in pleasure.

"I started a few months after the debut, and Yeji found out because of my bad breath. I smoked like two packs a day. She helped me keep it a secret, though," Ryujin recounts, hand caressing your face affectionately. "Then I switched to vapes during SNEAKERS."

"Oh, yeah, I remember that."

Ryujin chuckles. "Yeah, and then I forgot to hide it one day. News was out and stuff, so I've been trying to quit it since."

You sigh, hand moving to her cheek now. "I appreciate you for trying in the first place."

"Really?"

"Really."

Ryujin smiles, receptive to your words. "Thanks."

You smile back at her, and you lean in for a kiss — a peck on her lips. It feels less passionate than the earlier making out sessions, but it's still surely sincere from the bottom of your heart.

"So, like, I'm being passed around you girls now?" you ask.

"If you do consent, then yeah!" Ryujin answers. "You can be a whore for the next few months if you want."

You consciously blink at her statement — whore. Not that you're going to say no at the chance of having sex with your hot co-workers during internship, though.

"What the hell, sure."

[limemrys]

Sonic Satiation

Gong Yubin x Male Reader

Genre : Smut

Word count : 4.6k

Tags : BFH, Public sex, Clothed sex, Multiple orgasms, Anal, Some piss ig, Just pure filth, Barely any plot

"Yubin, are you serious?"

"Uh-huh! Come on, it'll be fun!" Yubin giggles, already tugging at your arm towards the hallway. She brings you over to a particular spot before diving into your lips, moaning lustfully into you. You sigh and kiss her back, she utterly disarms you with her lips. "You are fucking insane, Gong Yubin! Right here?" you ask when your lips aren't on hers.

"Yeah, right here! Everyone's gone home already, and this is a CCTV blindspot, it'll be fine! All in good fun," she kisses you again, harder and hungrier this time.

CCTV blindspot, really. If Yubin put as much effort into her studies as she does into trying to fuck you anywhere and anytime, she'd make top 10 in the school ranks easily. But no. Instead, she's devouring your tongue like she's trying to map the inside of your mouth, letting out breathy moans that get both of you all charged up. 

Yubin pulls you in until her back hits the wall, unlatching from your lips to work away at your belt. You scoff at her urgency, licking your lips. "You're a proper lunatic, you know that?"

"Tsch. All these...accusations..." She unzips and pulls your pants down to your knees, cupping the tent in your briefs. "...and none of them are saying 'no' to this. To me." She tugs your underwear down next and grins at the bead of precum on your tip, glancing up towards you. "This thing definitely isn’t saying no," she giggles, kneeling to give a quick slurp at your head, causing you to flinch and groan.

"You make it—ah! Real hard to say no, Yubin," you pant, extending your arm to hold on to the wall. Yubin hums and stands up, taking out a flat silver packet from her front pocket. "So why do you keep acting like you're unsure, like I'm crazy?" she asks, tearing the packet open with her teeth.

"One, because you are crazy, and two..." You lean in next to her ear. "...because I know you love it," you purr. Yubin squeals in excitement and grins, taking out the condom and rolling it onto your rock hard shaft. 

You shudder as she puts it on, gulping and looking around. All the students may have gone home along with most of the staff, but there's no zero chance that someone is still on the premises and will walk in on the two of you.

"Hey! What're you looking at? Just look at me, baby," Yubin coos, turning your head towards her with a thumb. You take it into your mouth, suckling on it briefly. Yubin giggles and turns around, presenting her ass to you. You grab the hem of her skirt (which is a bit too short for school regs to begin with) and hike it up, baring her plump buttcheeks to you. Not only is she not wearing shorts underneath like she's instructed to, her panties are of the alluring black lace kind, visibly drenched in her juices which coat her inner thighs.

Your hand slides over her butt and gives a good kneading, eliciting a hum, then a yelp from Yubin as you smack. "You naughty girl. Really planned this out the whole day, huh?"

"Mhm. So...so make it worth and—gyah!" She yelps again as you land another smack. "And...and fuck me already."

You hum and tuck her panties aside, exposing her puffed, sopping wet pussy to the air. Your fingers do a pass of her folds, pushing out a choked grunt from her gut. Slurping your fingers to get a taste, you rub her again, pushing harder this time, her nectar leaking all over your hand.

Yubin twitches and whimpers upon your touch, panting heavily as she looks over at you. "Put it in me already! Please, baby...I'm so wet, so hungry for it," she begs.

You lather her juices over your condom, lining up with her cunt. With a deep breath, you breach her, bottoming out in one go. Your hand flies up to her mouth just in time to cut off the scream she would've let out otherwise; it's instinct at this point. 

That's one thing about Gong Yubin. She is inherently, unapologetically loud. She doesn't even have to try very hard before her volume knocks on the comfort threshold of most people.  

And her moans from getting her pussy pummeled is no different. You've learned to muffle her by any means whenever she pulls one of these on you. It's part of the experience of dating her, something you've grown to find endearing. Even though she does exponentially increase the risk of getting caught. But is that really such a bad thing?

"Damn, Yubin. You're so fucking tight and hot, can't believe it!" you growl, pulling in by her mouth and impaling her hard despite your moderate pace to minimize the claps echoing down the hallway.

"You know—ahh, shit!" you whisper as you lean next to her ear. "We could still get caught out here. Anytime, some janitor could—come around and...see us doing this."

Yubin makes some dazed noise into your palm, her eyes fluttering. "But you love that, don't you? You love the idea that we could get caught. That...some janitor could—fuck! Catch me pounding the—lights out of this tight little pussy while you keep begging me for more. Don't you?" 

Yubin begins to whimper, shrieking when you nibble on her ear and moan into it. Her breaths become ragged and heavier, her walls palpitating around you, oozing out more and more nectar onto her thighs.

"You're...close, aren't you baby?" you ask, your thrusts also losing their rhythm. Yubin groans and nods firmly, her eyes looking at you with a deep need. You release your hand from her mouth and kiss her, breathing quivering moans into each other.

"You want it? You wanna cum on my cock? Say it," you whisper, giving another kiss before letting her breathe and speak. "I—I want..." she rasps, her voice high and thin. " ...want it so bad! So, so fucking bad, I wanna cum," she sobs.

"Good girl. Now keep yourself quiet, I'm gonna make you cum." She nods and puts her own palm over her mouth. You resume your hammering at a slightly higher intensity, one hand squeezing her clothed tits and the other jamming her hips onto you.

Yubin arches her back—crying, sobbing, wailing out of pure ecstasy. Your pelvis claps relentlessly against her butt on this final sprint, resonating in the empty hallway. 

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming! K–Kiss me...ki—mmhhh!" You promptly satisfy her request and lock lips right as she snaps. A guttural cry is torn from her throat, her body quaking and constricting in electric waves. Her cunt clamps down so tight you wince and grunt, slowing right down as Yubin’s orgasm peaks. 

You whimper and cum yourself moments later, shivering as you burst into the condom, filling it to capacity. Yubin somehow senses this (or simply hears your sounds) and orgasms again. Her lips slip away from yours, letting a hoarse cry escape into the air as a second rush of pleasure wrecks her.

"B–Babe...did, did you cum?" she sniffs, glancing between your eyes and where you're joined. 

"Y–Yeah! What do you think? Fuck..." you huff, resting your forehead on her shoulder. Yubin whines and rolls her eyes, tapping on your leg. You grunt and pull out, her pussy clinging to your spent rubber slightly. She stumbles forward to her knees, panting and sniffling. 

"I wanted...I wanted it in my mouth," she moans. "Well, you should've told me! Your pussy was too much, Yubin," you argue, leaning against the wall. Yubin grumbles and rolls the filled condom away from your cock, making you hiss. She watches the white pool of cum on the bottom, hanging the rubber between her fingers. 

Sticking out her tongue, she squeezes out your cum onto it like a toothpaste tube, mewling as her tongue gets coated white. The sight makes you gasp, your softened cock already getting hard again.

Yubin notices and giggles, squeezing the condom dry and showing off her cum-covered tongue before swallowing a thirsty gulp. "Mmhhh, you taste so good, baby. I want more." She shifts on her knees towards you, pushing your hips against the wall and stuffs your sensitive cock in her mouth. "Ahh! Yubin, not yet—fuck!" you cry out.

Yubin doesn't listen, guzzling on your shaft, drenching it with saliva leaking all around her lips. She hums and murmurs onto you, whispering "gimme" on her short breaks to take breaths. Her relentless slobbering brings you to the edge again in no time, your breaths becoming shorter and higher.

"B–Baby...Yubin! Yubam—ahhh!" you whine, grabbing her hair as you spurt another load down her throat. Yubin growls fanatically, slurping, sucking, swallowing every drop.

She unsheathes your cock with a satisfied sigh, making you hiss at every centimeter. A bridge of spit and cum stretches between your tip and her lips as she grins, snickering "Worth it."

You slide all the way down to the floor, utterly spent.

***

Towards your finals week, Yubin's antics don't really change. It just changes venue and position, mostly. From blowing her back out in the school hallway to her straddling you in the tutor academy's small restroom, letting out your frustrations in expletives and ejaculations.

You both complete the exams with fairly decent scores (yours have been gradually slipping in the three months you've dated Yubin). Decent enough to call for...celebrations. That celebration being thrusting up into Yubin's hungry pussy in the restaurant's restroom stall. The hem of her black dress is bunched up around her waist, serving as anchor for your wet jabs. 

During one of those jabs, the unthinkable—or rather predictable—happens. Somebody else enters the restroom. Your motions stop dead, your breaths held as you hear them unzip and use the urinal. They're not going into one of the stalls, thankfully.

In the middle of this, Yubin gets the bright idea to roll her hips torturously slow, clenching extra hard at the same time. 

"What are you doing?" you mouth silently, glaring at her. "Finishing it. We gotta get back to Mom and Dad soon," she mouths back, angling her hips to grind on her G-spot, throwing her mouth open. Yubin quietly cums moments after, the squelches and squirts of her pussy masked by the stranger's stream against the urinal.

You shatter at the same time, gripping her ass and biting your lip hard as your release fills the condom. At this point Yubin must've spent more on condoms than she has on food throughout your relationship, which is saying something since she's a big eater. Just one perk of having rich parents, you suppose.

In addition to the school's formal graduation ceremony, there's a gathering that the students independently organize. Somewhat like prom, but informal. And being the prestigious school that it is, the venue is no less extravagant; a massive grand ballroom near the suburbs. Even though your parents do pretty damn well, well enough to put you in this school, the sight of such a venue still leaves you stunned. Not as stunned as when you lay eyes upon Gong Yubin though.

She's dyed her hair back to black, which gives an air of elegant sharpness, falling gracefully around her face and in tone with her grey halterneck top, brandishing the smooth expanse of her bare back. The hemline ends just short of her skirt, teasing a sliver of belly. Speaking of her skirt, it's a matching grey, more flared and yet slightly longer than her uniform skirt. It's the perfect length; covers enough to be appropriate from some angles, but also dastardly teasing from some others, especially when she lifts a leg behind her to show off to you.

Yubin slides her arm under yours with you still wide-eyed and breathless, letting out a feminine laugh unlike her usual. "Stopped staring yet?" she whispers, kissing your cheek. 

"Uh...er—mm, you...wow, babe. Gong Yubam," you stammer, your eyes drifting to that porcelain back of hers. She giggles, smoothing out the lapels of your tailored suit. "You look pretty damn good yourself, handsome." She kisses you softly on the lips, whispering "Can’t wait to be screaming your name later." 

She laughs maniacally after that remark. You gulp and walk her to the main atrium, your mind less on the event and more on when, where or how Yubin will pounce later.

Yubin behaves quite well throughout the event, greeting people with an grace you seldom see from her. Not that it's a bad thing, you love her chaos. Some of your friends who poked fun at you for landing the "crazy girl" even express their envy now. Not going to lie, it is going to your head a bit.

After some time, both of you start to grow tired of the crowd. So you two make your clandestine exit, off to wherever she takes you. Which is quite a ways away from the main atrium. In fact, Yubin takes you all the way across the building to the other wing, one that is currently not being rented so is technically not open. 

No one's really enforcing that though, what with the big event going on in the other wing. Some doors are inevitably left unlocked, all of which you manage to find.

Finally, she stops in the middle of a big marble staircase, one which mirrors the one leading to the other main atrium. "Right here, baby. I want it here," she utters before diving into your lips, making out with needy, luscious noises.

As always, you're initially hesitant, kissing back out of pure instinct. But then you realize; this is the perfect place for these kinds of fantasies she—and by extension you—have. It's not being used and technically off-limits, so there isn't supposed to be anybody here. But it's also wide open, big windows right next to the staircase; it's still public space.

With that in mind, you unleash your own pent-up lust, your hand snaking around her back and nape, devouring her lips and tongue as if you're starving and allergic to everything else. Yubin chuckles at your unusual ferocity, addressing it when you separate to catch a breath.

"God damn babe, what's up with you? Where's the usual 'pushing back even though I love it anyway' talk?" 

You reply with another fiery kiss, sighing and biting her lower lip. "You, that's what. You're causing this. Picked out a perfect place." Yubin hums excitedly, her body melting under your touch which gets spicier, cupping her breasts and kneading her ass.

You take the initiative and flip her around this time, Yubin giggling as her hands crash on the railing. As you unbuckle and unzip, she reaches into her handbag for a condom as usual, but you grab her wrist. "Uh-uh. No condom. We're gonna try something different this time."

Before Yubin could question, you dive to your knees and lift up her skirt; nothing but lace panties underneath, soaked through already. Typical Yubin. You plant your face into her ass, taking a deep whiff of her musk. Yubin lets out a low groan as you suck hard through the wet fabric, as if trying to absorb all the moisture. Her pussy ensures that won't happen though, leaking continuously.

Having had your appetizer, you pull her panties down and away, Yubin lifting a leg to help you. You stand up and stuff it into her mouth as a makeshift muffle. She snickers through the fabric, then yelps as you land a firm slap on her ass. 

"I'm about to ruin this tight little ass," you growl, taking out a small bottle you've prepared for this. "That's a promise."

You pop the cap open, drawing Yubin's attention to it. She raises a brow, taking out her panties to ask, "Is...is that lube?" You answer by pouring a healthy puddle on your hand and lathering it on her back entrance. Yubin shudders at the sensation, groaning long when you push a finger in, coating her anus.

"Fuck yeah, this is gonna be tight. And when did I say you could talk? Put those panties back in," you snarl. Yubin nods and complies, her eyes fluttering in excitement. You lather the rest of the lube on your hard cock, swiping her folds again to add her juices to the mix.

"Alright. Breathe and relax, okay? Don't be too tense," you say gently. Yubin nods again, and you push your tip past her rim. Immediately she shrieks; her asshole is much tighter than her pussy. You grunt and stay there for a bit, pushing the rest of the way centimeter by centimeter. Yubin writhes and whimpers along the way, breathing heavily.

Once you're buried to the hilt, you moan and revel in the feeling of not only being inside her raw, but also doing it in her other hole, stretching it out to its limits. You begin moving a minute later, drawing out another cry from Yubin. "Are you okay? Hurts?" 

Yubin shakes her head, and you take that signal to begin thrusting, which is no small feat with how tight her puckered hole is. Every dredge of her ass causes you to grunt, holding onto her hips and shoulder for support. Yubin herself yelps and snarls at every impact, every jab into her wanton ass.

"You like it? You like...getting your little shithole pounded?" you grunt, reaching over to take the panties out of her mouth. A loud cry slips out before she answers "Yes! Yeah, fuck my tight little ass, baby! Fu–uck!"

You groan at her reaction, stuffing her panties in your jacket instead of her mouth again. "Fuck being quiet. We got—all this—to ourselves. And if...if someone does come, let—fuck! Let them watch, let them hear! Oh my God!" you roar, ramming into her.

Yubin's loud moans turn to howling as you rub her clit at the same time, blowing fuses in her brain. With your filthy noises echoing in the vast indoor space, you reach the edge in no time. "Y–Yubin! I'm close! I'm gonna cum inside you! I'm gonna cum inside your ass!"

"Do it...cum in my a—ahhh!" Yubin's hazy plea breaks into a strangled shout as she climaxes, both of her cavities clenching hard. A flood of juices gushes out of her folds, drenching your leg and trickling on the marble floor. 

You erupt just after, fingers digging into her hips as you spill into her asshole, painting it white. You bend over and rest your head on her now sweaty back, breathing hard as you wait for her aftershocks to subside.

"Yubin...baby...are you okay?" you ask her softly, kissing her back. Yubin lets out quiet sobs in reply, but you feel her nod. "G–Good! Babe...it...so...too goo–ood. Mmhhh..."

You chuckle tiredly and continue to plant little kisses all over her back, suckling on her sweat. You get to her neck and turn her face towards you; it's a mess of tears and ruined makeup, but her overwhelming joy is evident. Satisfied, you smile and capture her lips gently, closing your eyes and letting the world around you disappear.

You pull out after a minute, her sore hole still clinging onto you. With a pop, your tip exits her rim, along with a thick white cascade of your seed. Yubin whimpers and farts suddenly, sending it squirting out. "Wow...Yubam, I–I came inside your ass. There's...it's leaking so much!"

Yubin breathes a weak laugh, sliding down the glass railing. "Baby...h–help me to the bathroom," she murmurs. You put your pants back on and crouch near her, looking with some concern. "You okay, babe? Here." You throw her arm over your shoulder, pulling her up. "I–I'm good, just..." Yubin titters. "Can’t...walk straight. You f–fucked me real good, hehe."

You chortle at her explanation, reaching down around her legs to carry her bridal style. Yubin squeals in delight, peppering you with little kisses.

***

Arriving at the equally deserted yet functional bathroom, you go to the disabled stall since it has more space and set Yubin down on the toilet. You unbutton her skirt and pull it off, initially under the pretense of easier cleanup.

But as you stare at her bare crotch with the bidet sprayer in your hand, the little dribbles of your cum and her puffy, slick folds give you other ideas.

You mate your mouth with her pussy, guzzling up her wetness and flicking your tongue. Yubin lets out a strangled bellow at your sudden assault, but grabs your scalp and pushes you deeper. Your senses become entirely occupied with her taste, her scent, her texture. Your efforts become laser focused with eating her out, to savor the delicacy that is Gong Yubin's pussy like never before.

Yubin's ragged moans break apart into desperate, stuttering rambles as your fingers join in on the action, working away at her clit. Your mouth and fingers swap places a few times, making her see stars. 

"Aughhh! Right ther—ahh! Fuck! I'm...gyaahhh!" Yubin emits a deafening wail as she detonates, her nails digging into your scalp and her thighs locking you in place. The toilet bowl audibly rattles from her explosive quakes. Her dams burst with vengeance, drenching every square inch of your face with her nectar, practically waterboarding you.

It takes ages for her climax to plateau, by then you're starting to black out. She eventually does, her limbs falling away limp. You fall backwards while coughing and gasping, catching some much needed oxygen.

You look up to see Yubin reduced to frail whimpers, her eyes drunk with bliss. A chuckle at her state causes you to choke a bit, inhaling some leftover juices. Your collar's soaked with her release as well, so you take off your suit jacket and toss it away as you stride towards her.

"Are you alive?" you scoff, standing above her. She mouths incoherent murmurs before returning to vaguely verbal speech. "I can't...that—I don't think I've ever...c–cum that hard before, baby. Hhhh..."

You hum proudly, looking down at the utter mess she made. The seat, the floor below, all with a huge splatter of her essence. "You made a real mess, babe. Still with me?"

Yubin nods. "Good. Cause I'm not done with you yet," you growl, unbuttoning your shirt. Yubin tilts her head and hums, watching you shed your clothes with haste. You free your cock that's back to being achingly hard, then rub her slit again, getting her still dripping juices on your fingers. 

Yubin's caught off-guard by the grope and yelps, bucking her hips. Her body shudders as another stream of liquid trickles from her hole. It's warm and slightly yellow; she's so overstimulated that a quick grope triggered her bladders. 

Somehow the filthy sight only turns you on even harder, stroking yourself with her cum as you watch her relieve herself. As soon as she's done and trickling, you shift forward and line up, tracing her folds with your tip.

Yubin goes wide-eyed and groans, her arm reaching out for your hips. "W–Wait, babe...condom—"

"I said no condoms. I'm gonna fuck you good and—" You growl and drive into her in one motion, causing both of you to cry out. "—raw! Oh my God!" Even though your cock is no stranger to her cunt, this is the first time unprotected. And boy, is it different. You knew she was tight, but you didn't know she was this...velvety, moist, textured. 

"Babe..." Yubin wheezes, tears beginning to fall again. "That...feels, s–so real! You're really—aughhh! You're even better like this!"

"Yeah? You like my bare cock stretching you out? Filling up this—" You pull out almost all the way and slam back in. "—pussy?"

Yubin screams to kingdom come at the impact. "I lo–ove it! More! More!" Your thrusts are deep but controlled, revelling in the carnal warmth around your naked shaft. You use this opportunity to undo her top, throwing it away to God knows what corner. Her strapless bra stands as the last frontier and you damn near tear them off.

Yubin is at last completely bare under you, something you witness rather scarcely with how often you do it in public. You ogle her round, supple boobs, bouncing with every rut into her cunt. Your eyes zero in on her taut nipples, and you dive down to capture one in your mouth. 

Yubin's whines spike into another deafening wail as you lap up her perky buds, kneading the other breast with your hand. You switch between them, at the same time ramping up your thrusts. They become less about savoring and more about impact, which is reflected by the loud claps of skin against skin.

"Fuuckkk! Yes, baby! Yes! Yes! Ha–arder!" Yubin roars, her legs and arms enclosing around you. You don't stop with her tits, and before too long she's overstimulated, climaxing again. Violent as her spasms are, you fuck her through it, chasing your own pleasure.

Yubin's downright bawling at this point, crying out your name along with various desperate and drunken expletives. Another crashing orgasm of hers brings you close to the edge, and you pull off her mounds to let her know.

"You are such a dirty fucking slut, Yubam. My dirty slut. Say it!"

"I–I...I—aagghhh! Am your...dirty, fucking s–lu–ut!" she sobs. 

"Uh-huh! And I'm gonna—cum inside your needy little cunt! I'm gonna do it!" you hiss, your legs becoming sore from how hard you're railing her. A flash of surprise and anxiety lands on her tear-streaked face. "I–Inside me? In...in my—hghhh! Pussy?"

"Yeah! I'm gonna fucking breed you, whore! Gonna—pump my seed deep in your womb!"

Yubin lets out a long trembling shriek, then hugs you as tight as she can, making damn sure you can't pull out. "Uhhh...fuck it! Do it! Breed me, breed me, breed me! Breed your filthy whore, baby! Ahhh!"

You keen and shatter, shoving yourself as deep as you'll go and staying there. Hot, strong pulses of your seed burst out your tip, right up her cervix. It's somehow even stronger and longer than your last load, surging rope after rope that paints every crevice of her walls white.

Yubin's fifth orgasm is so draining she only lets out a hoarse, primal grunt, but her cunt is hungrier than ever, pulsing and coaxing every single drop of your cum into her depths.

You both briefly black out from the intensity, your body slumping towards her in entirety. When you regain consciousness, you're panting, wheezing against each other, your heart rate through the roof.

"Y–Yubin...baby. Can you...hear me?" you croak, reaching up to tuck away her damp hair. "Yeah. I...I'm here," she rasps in response, her voice hoarse from all the action.

"That was...I can't describe it. It's–it's nothing like we've done before, babe. It was...wow."

Yubin weakly nods and opens her glassy eyes, searching for yours. "I...I can't believe how g–good it was, but I don’t...I don’t actually wanna get pregnant. I can't have a baby yet!" she sniffles.

"I know, Yubin. I know." You gently caress her cheeks, wiping her tears. "We'll get some pills so that won't happen, okay? And clean you out real good." Yubin sniffles and nods again. You hum and lean in to kiss her, a stark gentle contrast to your earlier vigor. "Plus...if you start taking those pills, we can do this a lot more often," you chuckle.

Yubin laughs also, a soft, vulnerable version she only lets you hear. "I...I'd like that, babe. Thank you so much."

"I love you, Gong Yubin."

"I love you too," she whispers. You return to each other's embraces, neither in a hurry to get back to the event. Or just the outside, in general.

a/n : Hi. Yes, I lied. The poll voted for other non-tripleS idols. I had a draft, but wasn't happy with how it was panning out, deleted everything to rewrite. Then I became busier than I thought, and before long it was pushed far down the queue. I'm sorry. In the meantime, have some simpler, shorter fics, mostly on @xianambrose. Pardon the mindless filth that this is, it was meant to be short and goony. But it became too long and goony for that damn blog, so I'll break my rules again why not I'll post it here thanks for reading bye mwah

[toshyun]

GONG YUBAM RAHHHHH

[toshyun]

hello toshyun toshyun toshyun toshyun

cutie cutie cutie

thank you for writing jinsoul

wanna be the chuu to my yena <3

Hello Starconstruction Starconstruction Starconstruction

cuter cuter cuter

thank you for writing Jiyeon

absolutely, as long as you’d be the momo to my dahyun

mwah

[toshyun]

Would you write ARTMS :3

Done XD

[toshyun]

I just found your writing and oh my god you're so talented, never stop writing !! 🩷🩷

Tysmm!! Always makes my day when someone leaves a nice message like this, I hope you have a good one! <3

[defmaybe]

intangible

hyerin & stella x male reader

11.5k words

A/N and warning: Some discussion of eating disorders, death, and suicide. There's also name-calling. Thanks to @xantithesis, @kwilquib, @limemrys for the beta in the early parts. Thanks to @sinswithpleasure for the sex scene design.

—

"Your ugly ass is dragging the group down, whore."

"And you're giving the girls fucking ED."

The groups aren't that big (say, aespa and LE SSERAFIM big), but it's going to be worth a lot, nonetheless.

The steps are rather straightforward: a new Gmail account under VPN, with the header being an enquiry about their public images, then a large sum of deposit on your bankbook statement. You've done this a number of times — domestically and abroad, from nose picking to illegal substances, boy groups and girl groups. There's a line being drawn, of course: no one under the age of eighteen. Still, the industry is pretty fucked; you are aware, and you are awfully fucked in the head; you are also aware. The money's audaciously fantastic, though.

(Caveat: the writer doesn't know shit about sending an anonymous email, really.)

You have your associates — accomplices, a team. You get your videos, photos, or whatever media; they get their slice of cake. They are around the world — elusive, secretive. The security measures are tight. Every movement has to be careful. The cash has to be wisely spent.

However, those are not enough.

Since the dawn of your career three years ago — a discovery through a platform by accident lulling you into this tangled web of treachery — you've had two flatliners. That's the term. Their streams of texts just stopped after one day, and you don't know their fate, really. Your best wishes for them are that they find a path that's better than sitting in front of their computers and threatening companies to release scandals of their employees' wrongdoings. However, death is entirely possible in this field. They won't appear in the news, or if so, it's suicide, or it's an accident. It's just bleak.

Let's shrink the scene a bit. So, what the hell is actually happening here?

You have this little snippet of a fight — Music Show backstage, Jeong Hyerin of tripleS and Kim Dahyun, slash Stella Kim, of Hearts2Hearts. R-rated profanities were thrown around between them — fucks and cunts and a shockingly wide array of socially distressing insults. It was something about the stature of their groups: Hearts2Hearts is more famous, Hyerin is more talented, Stella is prettier, tripleS has a better discography. Whatever the fuck they were verbally abusing each other about, you don't care. It's your annual salary's worth of motion pictures here from SM and Modhaus, and oh, it's just so sweet to hear them scream these words over and over again — ass, whore, fuck.

Let's shrink the scene even more.

There are occasional vibrations from your server as your professor lectures about the basics of IP addresses. You look at your phone screen from time to time — pings for everyone, a bounty to claim — and you click on some of them: the usual trivial stuff. They're waiting for someone to attach them to emails and, as explained earlier, be traded for a currency.

It's another normal day, really. You wake up; you go to class; you hang out with your friends a bit; you go back to your room and sleep peacefully; rinse and repeat. The cadence (author's favorite word) has been perfect for the last three years here. You wouldn't change a thing, really. It's beautiful to the ear. It's where you can settle. It's harmonious.

The clock strikes four, eventually. You gather your belongings into your bag and head for dinner around campus with your peers — another garlic and crispy pork on rice at your favourite diner. You guys talk about mundane things: classes, homework, relationships. Maybe it deviates from those topics sometimes, but more often that not, it's these things that bond you together over time — these little things. Even if your supposed threats aren't looming over their lives, you'd be glad to take a bullet for them. You love them that much.

You bid farewell after dessert, grab a bike, take an elevator up to your floor. It has become a banal routine to which you've grown accustomed. Your mind races towards the activity you're going to do tonight — another client, another job, another email. It's your life.

In a heartbeat, you're on your roller chair, scrolling your feed unenthusiastically for an illicit job on your tabletop computer. There's nothing today. It happens; you're not too bothered about it. Scandals don't happen every day. There's an abundant chance that you'll live to see tomorrow's sunrise. You've been defensively sound. You've been careful. They won't get to you soon.

On a side note, SM and Modhaus haven't replied to your email. Perhaps the requested payment is too hefty. You might let it hang for a few days before renegotiation. If nothing comes by, well, to say it simply, Jeong Hyerin of ex-tripleS and Stella Kim of ex-Hearts2Hearts will be seen hurling scathing insults all over the internet.

And you just plant yourself under your comfy blanket like that.

:bceSleepPeaceful:, you send it into your server.

—

You wake up to three soft knocks on your door. Your take a look at your phone screen: 1:35, six hours before your daily routine repeats itself.

You tread carefully toward the door. There's a quick scan through the peephole, a safety measure. At the front of your door stands a person wearing a white surgical mask. They're as tall as you are, hair neatly kept under a cap.

They look abnormally shaky, though. Perhaps they need a—

No, it's not safe for a person with your activities. You can't be opening your room's door to someone who you can't even see their face.

"Please," a female voice pleads against the closed door. "Help me," she sounds awfully desperate. Plus, no one can access your dorm without a proper face scan this deep into the nocturne (speaking of a convenient plot establishing). What could be the harm? It's someone in your own building!

The door creaks slightly as you open it. She doesn't immediately lunge at you, and that makes your body relax a bit. Her eyes look fearful through her clear glasses, and she just keeps looking around herself as if keeping an eye on an unknown threat. She also doesn't look incredibly strong — won't stand a chance against you in a fight. The black sweater kind of hides a lot, but to say that you're intimidated by the possibility of her hiding her muscular arms under the fabric is a stretch.

"I'm sorry for knocking on your door this late, but," she starts, voice trembling with apparent fear, "my boyfriend, we, we had a fight. He's drunk, and," and her voice just trails off, unable to finish the dreaded sentence. Her eyes remain aware of her surroundings as ever.

You squint your eyes, examining the poor woman, trying to undermine her situation with your doubts, and nothing just comes up, really. You're not recognizing her with the mask on. Still, she just doesn't have that deadly edge. The thorns just don't seem to be there. So, you stick your head out into the quiet hallway, half-expecting another associate to knock you out and kill you for good. You've been quite a shithead to these big corporations for years, and you have grown to accept that fact.

There's none in the hallway, luckily — no blind-spots, no shadows, just her. Also, with her standing in your eyes' dead-spots beside you, she could've just knocked you over and stabbed you with a hidden blade into a blood-soaked lump of flesh. Finally, the unpleasant wariness under your skin retreats to dormancy, and eventually, you let out a small sigh of relief.

With safety likely ensured, you make way for her. "Come in," and you kind of realize how drowsy you sound.

The shrouded woman hastily enters the room, and you close the door with a soft thud. She settles herself on your bed, and you hear these erratic breathing sounds through her mask — chest rising and falling. Her eyes lay on the floor. She needs space. She needs time.

The risk remains high, still.

To have someone knocking on your door a little past one-thirty in the morning is definitely unusual, even if there was nobody knocking you out initially in the hallway. She needs to be screened, at least with basic questions as a precaution.

Flatly, with hands on your hips, you start, "What happened, Miss?"

The woman remains unresponsive to your question, still trying to adjust to the atmosphere of a stranger's room. There's this soft hum of your air conditioner working against the outside heat, and you really hope she'd be able to hold on to that. You remain careful of her presence in the room. Still, maybe it's something inside your detached heart. You figure you should help her despite the low, constant purring of the threat.

Okay, water might help her.

The fridge, you open it, and a bottle, you give her.

She places it beside her on your bed after you handed it to her, though, not opening it yet. The droplets on the bottle are going to make the mattress wet, but again, you don't have the heart to stop her from doing so. She just seems to be in a state of shock and won't act rationally. She's not you. She's not as methodical as you are.

"Take your time," you utter, almost not believing the words that just came out of your lips, and you sit in your roller chair. You just watch her hyperventilating and breathing abnormally under the dark night. There's a streak of moonlight being cast through the window, draping over her body. It looks like she's glowing in your room, really.

A voice leaves her lips, eventually. It's unintelligible at first, more like a cry, but they become proper words after a few utterances.

"He, he went out drinking again," she stammers out, almost a whisper. "And he came back," and suddenly, she grabs the hemline of her sweater. You just sit in your chair dumbly. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

Your exhaustion is gone the moment she takes off the sweater. There's a bruise on her right shoulder — purplish, wide, brownish. Her arms look rather muscular for a woman of her size. She adjusts her mask slightly, with most of her face still hidden. You squint your eyes as if questioning the believability of the mark. Not being an expert in the field is detrimental to you, though, so you can do nothing but believe her words for now and wait for her next move. You hope she won't feel too cold against the chill of your AC, with her upper body being just in a piece of bra.

"You have to call the police," you state. It's a logical move for her. It's also for you. She gets shelter, and you get to—

"I can't," she cuts your train of thought shakily, making you branch through the possibilities. Perhaps he has a relation to them — a son, a decorated one. Perhaps they're too incompetent. "They can't get involved in this," she continues, almost crying now. You hear her sniffle, and immediately you hand her a box of tissues from your table. She grabs a few pieces to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Still, with the heart to push the problems away and lingering fear for your safety, you ask, "Do you have friends? Do you have, like, someone you can stay the night with?"

She sniffles a little more. "No," a rather succinct reply with her teary voice, and she just doesn't explain more — no acquaintances, zero friends. It feels more like a stalling process than a genuine answer, as she's now covering herself with your recently washed blanket. You need to probe a bit more.

"What floor do you live on?"

"Third," another blank reply, and it's the fifth here — speaking of logistics.

You poke back, "So, I am selected out of, what, eight floors, then twenty-four rooms to hide from your police boyfriend? That's a bit coincidental, isn't it?" What's twenty-four multiplied by eight again?

She looks up at you, and you can see a glint of anger in her eyes. That was crass, sure, but you can't risk—

"What the fuck? Why, why would you say that?" The sniffles seem to have stopped now. Her voice deservedly becomes a tad more enraged. "Are you saying I deliberately got myself abused by my boyfriend just to whore myself out for you?" and she stands up from the bed, your blanket falling onto your bed. You shake a bit, really. This is the first time tonight that she looks genuinely terrifying—

Okay, wait, you've heard this intonation of the word whore before. You tilt your head slightly. It's definitely recent enough for you to recognize—

Why does the bruise become smeared—

Three trains of thoughts in a row being cut short, and the woman starts laughing — so fucking close to being a hysterical one. You watch her bending backwards slightly as she just screeches out of the depths of her lungs.

Your ugly ass is dragging the group down, whore.

Stella Kim.

Oh, shit.

They have found you.

Your first instinct is to run. The gears in your head are turning as if to devise a plan to get you the fuck out of this premise. Your life is on the line here! The door is almost within your reach — a step away (well, a huge step away). You can punch Stella's face or knock her out in some way (her muscles, however, pose a substantial threat). Maybe you should kill yourself now! (This is the most feasible solution.)

"What do you want?" you ask almost blankly, although not without a tremble in your voice.

"You're smart. I'm impressed, really," Stella says, sauntering towards you like a fucking predator as you remain frozen in your roller chair. The opening of running away becomes diluted with each second that passes. She pulls down her mask and takes off her cap in the same beat, revealing her face that glows against the moonlight. Her blonde hair sways gently with her tentative steps. "We've expected that — figuring me out in, how long?"

You look at the clock beside your bed: 1:42. "Seven minutes," you stammer out, and Stella just chuckles devilishly.

"Seven minutes in heaven!" she exclaims with her celebration hands, tilting her head to the side ever so chillingly. Her expression just sends shivers down your spine like that — the eyes, the laugh, the grinning behind the mask. "So, here's what's going to happen:"

Flatlined — that's your fate. Disappearance, death — there's no leeway or workaround for this. She edges even closer, and you can smell her rosy perfume at this distance. She bends down, and you're face-to-face with her.

"I, no, we," and a sly wink, "are here to send a message, obviously — hearts to hearts — to this super secret society you're in," and she just grins as if impressed by her own group name's drop.

Also, we, she's not here alone?

"I'll let you guess first. What is it?" and Stella giggles mischievously. The tension does not deflate, indeed. The complete control remains in her hands, and inside whoever the collaborator is. Perhaps they're waiting for this grand moment to enter and bury a bullet inside your brain — a gun-to-the-forehead suicide, definitely, maybe plausible.

You don't let an answer escape your lips. You and she both know it by heart.

"Rude!" she utters another reference — so iconic. "Come on, let's have some fun!"

You exercise your right to remain silent despite Stella's status of not-a-cop, tightening your mouth shut stubbornly.

She just gives you this slightly annoyed expression, then, "Tough crowd, fine. So," and she takes a deep breath. "You're going to be a flatliner after tonight!" she presents rather proudly. Imagine a salesperson selling a promotion; she's like that right now.

"But—"

"Who the fuck said it's up for negotiation," Stella growls, and you jolt back with the sudden aggression. "God, you're lucky I haven't strangled you to death yet."

There's this scoff from the other side of the door — a dangerous presence, an observant. (At least) two against one — you're against the world here.

Stella's arms look muscular enough compared to your lanky frame. Again, you won't stand a chance against her. A headbutt might suffice for a few seconds of daze, slash stunned. It's a somewhat sound combat move, really, but it takes more than, well, a few seconds to open the door and get the fuck out of here.

(Then, there's another figure with a silenced pistol in front of your door. There's no escape without your mortality being discontinued, really.)

"We're here to have some fun, still," Stella diminishes the tension slightly with her remarks, despite the looming dread, despite the power in her hands. It's not the exact case of a threat being completely nullified by the aggressor themself, but your body relaxes a bit. You feel like you can be a tad cockier and more playful with her, even if you're unsure how the hell it's going to benefit you.

You tilt your head slightly, clicking your tongue to indicate your willpower to fight, at least mentally. "And that is?"

Stella just smirks at you as if promising a predicament. "I'm not the best at explaining things, so," and she takes a deep breath before yelling at the door to her unknown teammate, "Alright, showtime!"

This needs a little more environmental storytelling to show that your dorm uses a keycard system. Therefore, whoever enters a room must've acquired its matching key. A part of you wishes that whoever is standing in front of the door will just kick it open with sheer force, because the method of hacking and the beeping sound of your door unlocking are much, much more terrifying. It's a disturbance to your ever-perfect cadence, at least until you're done with college.

The light from outside glows against Stella's teammate's back menacingly. At first, you cannot see their face properly. They step into the room, letting the moonlight cast across their features ever so slowly. Each second that passes fills you with horror as the identity of the figure becomes clear. Oh, what a dramatic entrance!

Jeong Hyerin.

So, both SM and Modhaus have found you. Hyerin may have a gun holstered on her belt, ready to plant a metal pellet in your brain, splattering blood everywhere on your table. The assumption is overly pessimistic, yes, but with the risk involved in your field, you can't help—

"Fucking bitch," Hyerin cuts over your train of thoughts flatly. God, how many times has that happened today? Also, that utterance of fucking is definitely matching the cadence you've heard in the clip. It's really her: glasses, white shirt, dark-colored slacks.

You bite your lip, seeking something to hold on to. Your hands are balled into small, trembling fists on the armrests. "Just, just kill me, will you?" you mutter shakily. "Make it quick, for fuck's sake." Oh, you don't sound firm at all. Two grim reapers are standing in front of you in your own room, ready to take your soul to the blazing netherworld.

Hyerin scoffs as Stella watches expectantly with hands on her hips, still in just a bra and a pair of brown slacks. Well, your death is much less grandiose than you've expected — quiet, vengeance-ridden, too soon. Heroism is nowhere to be found here, just a guy existing as another job to wrap up for the entertainment industry. The women's eyes are filled with brimming lust for more power despite already having an abundant advantage. You close your eyes shut, preparing yourself for the impending doom.

"As Stella said," Hyerin starts, "we're here just to send a message. The matter of life and death will be there," and she moves closer until you can smell her perfume, classier than Stella's, "if you choose to ignore it — discard it, dismiss it."

You gulp, a little confused by the entire ordeal as you open your eyes again. "So, so you're not here to kill me?"

Stella chuckles, relieving the tension somewhat, though fiendishly enough to keep you on edge. "Not yet! We're just here to warn you. The next time won't be as pleasant as this!" she says with a glint of cheerfulness in her voice — not funny — and she cups your face, eliciting a flinch from you. Her hand feels soft against your cheek. "I'm sure you're smart enough, right?" she teases, running her hand down your quivering body sitting on the roller chair — neck, chest, stomach — and she just lingers there, circling around your belly button. There's some implication to be drawn from this — the physical contact — but you're not assuming it too quickly, not while your fatality is actively being tossed around as a trivial topic.

Ready to accept all of their demands, you choke out, "Fine, I won't leak the video!"

"Every video," Hyerin adds, winking. "We have all of your details now — SM, Modhaus, JYP, Hybe. I've heard that the bounty hunters are waiting for their moment."

Your breath hitches at the thought of yourself becoming their target, sitting in the place of the stars you've preyed upon for the last three years.

"And we're not hesitating to use them for the greater good," she tells you with a shrug, with a head tilt. The whole matter seems to be so unimportant to her — a job, a task, a prey. Stella is grinning along with Hyerin's threat as well, still raking her painted nail around your belly button on the flimsy fabric tentatively. The action locks you in your place — an elusive restraint you can't break free from. Hyerin continues, eyes burning with power over you, "So, a simple question for you: do you wanna live to see another day?"

"Yes," you utter instantly.

"Good boy," Stella calls, eyes raking over your feeble body that's sinking into the chair. You feel a pang of something you can't quite name forming in your heart. There's this little strain under the fabric on your lower half.

Oh, shit.

Really?

Stella's eyes find it in a heartbeat, and you can only close your eyes and grit your teeth. You know she's fucking smiling. You know she's eyeing it akin to a prize. You know she's going to make you her plaything for tonight.

"What do we have here? Does someone like being called a good boy?" Stella remarks coyly, trailing her finger down towards your crotch. "Or is that a gun pointing at us?"

You feel a harsh flick on it that makes you jolt, probably Hyerin. "Bitch boy slut." Yeah, it was definitely her. You feel yourself pulse against the strain of your pyjama trousers — twitching, surely leaking. This is indubitably wrong — arousal under threat. You aren't supposed to be like this! It's probably the case that the allure of being cruelly beaten and humiliated by a woman (or in this case: women, two of them) is finally getting to your fortified mind.

Stella gasps in faux-shock and artificial fear. "Be careful, Hyerin! It might be an ICA19 Silverballer from the Hitman World of Assassination franchise!"

Hyerin does not say a thing except a scoff, instead blanketing your bulge with her warm breath. You keep leaking and twitching pathetically under the fabric, so needy, so eager to be freed. Hyerin hums, satisfied with your conflicted antics of avoiding eye contact while yearning for their touch. "Should fit in my mouth perfectly."

"And mine too!" Stella chimes in enthusiastically, and in an instant, your pyjama pants are yanked down your legs. Cold — that's the first sensation you feel on your legs. And when you open your eyes, you're greeted with the sight of Hyerin on her knees, ogling you with boiling desire. Fuck, she's even licking her lips at the sight of you. Her breath mingles on your skin. Stella kneels beside her promptly, and here you are: sitting in your ergonomic chair with two of your now-former victims about to suck your hard, dripping cock. Your hands are clutching your armrest tightly, unable to leave the premises at your will.

Your mind wanders towards the about-to-happen: Hyerin and Stella slobbering and perhaps making out on your cock; spit drenching your shaft obscenely. You're still shell-shocked by the sudden conclusion of your wicked slice of life, but at least their smiles and eagerness to swallow your dick are soothing the pain of that.

To establish, never have you been surrounded by two women of such stature to wrap their lips around your cock before. Spending most of your out-of-class time in your room really helps your dating life flourish and propel you through the hierarchy of college in this post-COVID world — zero matches, zero talking stages, zero girls.

Cutting back, Hyerin doesn't wait for formalities, instead wrapping her lips around the tip of your cock with immediacy. You shriek instinctively at the warmth of her mouth — so wet, so tight — and you moan pitifully into the chilly air of your own room. Your nails are digging into the armrests desperately. You roll your eyes to the back of your head under the punishing pleasure. They're everything good boys would do when they get their cocks sucked, really.

Stella keeps the situation from being predictable, and she starts squeezing your balls in a fashion that does not exude mercy at all. It's mixed feelings down there — Hyerin's heat and Stella's sentence. The sensation is undoubtedly a barrage on your nerves, breaking and rewiring them over and over again. Your vision is all blurry from the overstimulation, and the women become these blobs of blue-like colors in the night.

Your body quivers even more as Hyerin starts taking you in deeper towards her constricting throat. Her tongue lies flat against the underside of your cock, heightening the sensation to keep this from being an ordinary session — not another blowjob! She keeps sliding her lips down your length eagerly, eyes definitely locking with yours despite the daunting (your last grasp of words to put you in control) size of your dick. So, you try to concentrate on her with the last drop of your willpower. It's a success, and you get to see Jeong Hyerin's mouth enfolding around your cock without a single ounce of leniency for your mind that's about to break.

"Isn't she a wonderful cocksucker?" Stella teases, pressing her fingers on your ballsack a tad harsher. The pain is even more prominent than before. Hyerin's throat and lips are still subsidizing it with bliss at least. "Dick-sucking lips, cute eyes, leader vibes — how could you not submit to her?" and Stella pouts just to emphasize her point.

(Caveat: the writer doesn't know what the hell he's talking about right now — Stella pouting to emphasize her point, subsidizing it with bliss. Shit's messy as hell.)

You keep shifting out of the blending sensations in your ergonomic working chair. It creaks and rotates lightly along with your body, but there's still not enough force to break it into pieces from your weight, thankfully. Again, Hyerin's orifice and Stella's palm are working on your entire cock in tandem — the heat, the texture, the aggression in their words earlier. Everything about them just feels so right, even if you're being flatlined after tonight.

Long gone is the junior-year student who puts ethereal-looking idols in jeopardy, replaced by a bitch boy slut who's getting his dick sucked by his targets-turned-hunters.

Your tip reaches Hyerin's throat, eventually. You can feel her contracting around the sensitivity of it. There are these choking, retching sounds coming from her larynx. Her doe eyes are getting wetter with the intimidating (again, your words) size of your cock. At Jeong Hyerin's height of 162 centimeters, it translates into a smaller orifice and a shallower mouth, resulting in less capacity to take your cock. Still, that also means her mouth will feel unbelievably tight for you, and you'll just be moaning and writhing in your comfortable chair with that unforgiving warmth.

There's still this soft whir of your air conditioner working against the spring heat outside, but it's now obscenely sprinkled by the squelching sounds of Hyerin choking and Stella encouraging her cocksucking endeavor and taunting you with filthy words. There are also the pathetic wails from your lungs, but you're too dazed and confused to consider that right now.

Hyerin stops, finally, pulling herself away from your cock. She doesn't cough, leaving just a trail of her saliva linking her lips and you together. The sight is your dick being awfully lathered with her clear spit, shining against the moonlight akin to a sacred object (it really is). You're twitching and leaking precum pitifully under the serene nocturne. Your chest heaves up and down frantically with your uneven breaths. The women won't let you stop just here, still. You're not getting away with your crimes so easily.

Stella scoots into Hyerin's position as the latter gives her the place, wiping her lips and attempting to regain her composure after your cock left a mark in her esophagus. Stella lets go of your now-bruised balls before she flashes her wet tongue at you, hot breath mingling on your drenched-with-Hyerin's-spit cock. God, the view is just so fucking pornographic.

Not the eyes rolling up as well, shit.

"Do you want me to suck your cock as well, baby boy?" Stella quips, tongue almost touching your hardness. "Do you want me to whore my lips out on you?" and the intonation remains as confident as ever — that seductive cadence, that recurred utterance of whore just to prove a point of unyielding dominance against you. You can't do anything to resist that power, really.

Awfully desperate, you respond promptly, "Yes, Stella," and there's a please as well — polite.

Stella hums approvingly, drawing a line up the underside of your sizable erection with her red-painted nails. It twitches with boiling need and a handful amount of appetite for her mouth. "You said the magic word! Alright, consider this your birthday present!"

Your birthday is in—

"Fuck!"

Standing two inches, or five centimeters, taller than Hyerin, Stella can definitely take more of your cock before she makes these ugly sounds from her throat (in the case that the math is correct). The sensation does not feel much different from that of Hyerin's — still warm, still wet, still completely tight. Some personal touch would be Stella's hand jerking you off around the base and humming into your taut flesh. It's stylish, less totalitarian than Hyerin's lack of flair.

You're still making stupid noises in your chair. The wheels are rolling softly against the floor as Stella pushes her mouth deeper and deeper on your pathetic erection induced by the threats on your mortality. She looks at you with her smug eyes. She just knows that this is a one-way street of their dominance and your submission (such a basic analogy).

On the side, Hyerin recollects herself and starts unbuttoning your shirt. You protest with nothing from your vocal cords. (Well, there are still weakly expressed moans, of course.) She takes off the upper half of your pyjamas in a practiced motion, and eventually, you're naked and goosebumps-ridden in your chilly room, cock completely used and abused by your subjects of almost-dishonor.

Hyerin sings, "You're so pliable, bitch boy, manageable," circling her black-painted nails around your hardening nipples and making you shriek. "Thought you'd be stronger, to be honest."

The lack of muscles is clear and prominent on your body — arms, abdomen, legs. Gym isn't your commonplace, not really. Running and weightlifting consume too much time for you — changing clothes, carrying a water bottle, and the terrifying distance of five hundred meters from your dorm. Look where it got you, getting your cock sucked by two idols you were about to expose to the entirety of South Korea. What a horror!

Dick buried inside Stella's mouth and utterly ashamed of your physical attributes, you stammer out a plea, "Can you please just make me cum and leave? I can't do this anymore."

Stella chuckles against your cock, spit leaking out from the tight space between her lips and your skin. And beside her, Hyerin gives you a blank expression before saying, "Then you should've considered the consequences of your actions, perhaps?" and she grabs your chin to crane your neck towards her face. Her eyes lock with yours firmly. "You're fucking lucky the upper echelons sent us first."

You just give Hyerin a soft whimper, unable to undercut her point. You've never been a good debater during your time on Earth.

Hyerin retreats herself to a spot beside choking Stella, watching her lathering your cock with spit intently. Hyerin doesn't push her friend's head down to give you more pleasure inside the tight esophagus, instead running her nails on your taint ever so slowly just to overwhelm you.

"Shit, fuck," you groan, doing your best not to wake your neighbors up at two in the morning. Hyerin smiles wickedly as she patiently waits for her baton from Stella.

After a short while of retching sounds, Stella releases your dick from the confines of her warm throat, and you just slump weakly into your roller chair — shaking, pulsing, twitching. You hear the women scoffing at the lump of flesh called you.

"Two deepthroats and you give up? Really?" Stella asks with a tad of raspiness decorating her voice. If you're not having your soul sucked to the point where you question your life choices now, you'd find it sexy.

"Weak ass," Hyerin utters. You're still too exhausted to dispute the claim.

"Should we show him that we've reconciled?" Stella quips before a giggle leaves her lips. Where are they going with this? "I'm so sorry for calling you that. I think you're beautiful, Hyerin."

Hyerin sighs ironically, then: "Me too! I think you're not being a bad influence on the girls. You're perfect as you are, Stella."

You open your eyes to see the girls looking at each other tenderly in front of your leaking cock. Stella pouts. Hyerin pouts.

"Can I kiss you?" Stella asks, pointing a finger to her lips. They're a little thinner than Hyerin's, you observe, but speaking in an awfully lusty haze, she probably has the best lips compared to Carmen, Jiwoo, and Yuha.

Hyerin tilts her head a bit. "Sure!" and she leans in towards Stella, only to be halted abruptly by the latter's finger.

Stella looks at you with pretend sympathy before saying, "Does baby boy wanna get involved? Attendance? Participation?"

You nod profusely and stupidly at them, immediately regaining the energy to press your lips against theirs. You sit yourself back up properly on the chair—

Stella's lips land on your cock promptly, placing your body into a melting point from the right. Then, Hyerin joins her from the other side without another word. You moan raucously from the depths of your lungs as you feel their flesh on your dick. Within your blurry vision, you see their lips touching on top of your shaft. The sensation is unreal, heavenly even.

Again, to tell it simply, they're making out and settling their earlier controversies on your cock.

Giving them some distinctiveness, Hyerin's kissing style feels more aggressive, as if to consume you entirely with just her mouth. There's this hunger to dominate and conquer you on the left-hand side. Her spit gets sprayed everywhere on your length. Stella, literally, on the other hand, remains sensual and a bit more playful than her ex-adversary. She seems to be more controlled of her movements and saliva management — not so messy, not so outwardly hungry. They're making you shake uncontrollably, regardless of their styles of blowjobs.

"I love you, Jeong Hyerin," Stella quips, eyes shut.

"I love you too, Stella Kim," Hyerin utters in a similar fashion.

Their wetness and warmth, as nature has designed, are propelling you towards the precipice. The sight helps a whole lot as well, again: two idols making out with tongues on your erection in the middle of the night. Hyerin's dick-sucking lips and Stella's hot mouth — they're making your mind go completely, totally haywire. Your fingers dig into the armrests of your chair badly as your toes curl helplessly between the girls. There'll be remnants of debauchery after this, surely.

It's only a matter of time before you explode between their lips, shooting spurts of semen onto the floor. Hyerin and Stella show zero signs of halting their obscene activity on your cock. Stella's hands unbutton her jeans down below before she slips her hand under her panties, jilling herself while sucking you off. You hear her moan needily on your length. Hyerin's focus remains on you, however, placating the dispute with Stella with full concentration of her leader-coded mind. What a single-minded woman!

There are a few more unintelligible utterances from your lips. The ache inside your thighs grows rapidly with the feelings and the gorgeous view. Your balls tighten under their pillowy lips making out on the shaft. Time to cum!

Hyerin seems to sense it, though, and she pulls back from your dick abruptly. The act leaves you in the unfulfilled high of pre-orgasm. Stella keeps kissing the right side of your cock for a heartbeat. Perhaps she realizes the absence of Hyerin's plumpness, and she releases your cock from the heaven between her mouth. Of course, you frustratedly groan into the air that's now starting to reek of sex.

"What the fuck?"

Hyerin laughs almost wickedly. You try to jerk yourself off with your hand only to be stopped by hers — firmly held, locked, chained.

"You really think we're gonna just let you cum that easily, bitch boy?" Hyerin taunts, flicking your length with her fingers. It swings from side to side pathetically.

Stella piles on the misery, pouting. "Ladies first," she sings, standing up from the floor to reveal her half-undone jeans — unzipped, unbuttoned.

Hyerin gets up as well, still holding your hand from jerking off and finishing the tormenting deed. "Get on the fucking bed," she scowls, and you jolt up suddenly from your chair. Hyerin doesn't let you react to her decree, though. Instead, she manhandles you with her trained strength at once and pushes you face-first onto the mattress. You flip yourself over on the bed, watching them strip themselves of their clothes before you.

As the clothes come off, you do your best to resist the urge to relieve yourself at the sight of their exposed bodies. Your hand tries once or twice, only to be attacked by mean looks from the women. "Don't you fucking dare," Hyerin commands.

In a heartbeat, Hyerin and Stella become naked in front of you. They don't give time for you to ogle their features, of course, rather approaching your bare body with haste at the same time under the moonlight shining from outside.

At the first contact, you feel Hyerin's supple tits press against the right side of your chest. Her lips look even more fitting for a dick-sucking session when you're eye-to-eye (and through a layer of lens) with her. She circles your taut nipple with her nail, making you shriek under the chilly air. Stella, also still in her glasses, lands on you a tad farther from your face. Her hand caresses your flat tummy languidly, humming approvingly as if satisfied with your lack of physicality.

"Should've hit the gym, baby," Stella breezes, moving up your frame until she's level with Hyerin. "You're like a fucking chopstick," then Stella flexes her arm. It does look strong and muscular.

"Undisciplined, yet you're still trying to expose us. So hypocritical," Hyerin adds, teasing her thumb on your thin lips. Stella joins as well, hovering her thumb over your mouth, baiting for your lips to part.

The absolute lack of agency, their insults, and the prospect of their fingers in your mouth make you twitch down there needily. They don't notice, but you know they are fully aware of the effect they're having on you — debuff, influence, dominance.

"Does my baby boy wanna suck my finger?" Stella teases with a pout, running her digit on your parted lips. You stick your tongue out, trying to get a taste. Dissatisfaction comes forth, though, as she and Hyerin just pull their thumbs away from your orifice. Your frail abs are not helping you sit up from the mattress to chase their hands as well, resulting in you falling onto your bed with a thud.

"Really bad boy," Stella playfully sneers, giggling at another reference that's being made.

"You're much, much worse than we thought," Hyerin coos. "What a nasty little slut."

You whine disappointedly at the delayed gratification and Hyerin's epithet, cock pulsing pitifully against the thick air of your room. The need to be sexually satisfied keeps soaring with their denials. It's tormenting, and you're not sure how long you could resist it before your mind is shattered under them.

"Please," you beg pathetically. The message is received, indeed, as Stella gives you a mischievous grin, and Hyerin tilts her head a little.

"Please, what, baby boy?" Stella asks, wiggling her hand in front of your face mockingly. "You want something in your mouth?"

You whine, then: "Your fingers, please." You just sound so deplorable — completely exploited and broken — but the shame is deflected by the need for their digits inside your mouth. God, to get a taste of their smooth flesh, it would be more addictive than anything that has ever graced your tongue.

Stella laughs, almost tenderly, if not for the mocking edge. You know the cadence to be kind, and it's just almost there. She turns to Hyerin for a question: "Should we let him suck our fingers?"

Hyerin does not hesitate to give a yes as a reply. You can feel that there's this blazing need to corrupt you wholly in her eyes (even if you are already, and utterly rotten), and she just does nothing to resist that desire. She's letting it take over her soul, letting it be her second nature with you, letting you be on the receiving end of her craving for authority.

Then, the thumbs you've been craving disappear into the space between your lips, and God, for the first time tonight, you feel like a pure, unfiltered, unrestrained slut.

It's mostly the taste of their hand creams that fills your mouth, mixed with the raw scent of their sweat and skin. Nevertheless, your cock responds to the confusing flavor by twitching eagerly under the cold air of your own dorm room. You close your eyes shut just to feel their thumbs with more intensity. You've learned from somewhere that turning a sense off results in the others being heightened, and you get to apply the knowledge to sucking Jeong Hyerin's and Stella Kim's thumbs like a—

"Bitch," Hyerin growls, shifting on top of you slightly. Her chest is pressed against yours on the right side — supple, soft — and you kind of wish that you'll get to slot your cock between her tits after finishing with her digit, fully drenching it with your spit. "Maybe you'll get more than our fingers if you are a good bitch boy slut for us."

You fall into decadence that easily, really, as you just reply to Hyerin's scathing insults with: "I'm a good bitch boy slut for you, Miss Jeong."

(With Hyerin's and Stella's thumbs exploring your warm mouth, you're pronouncing it pretty clearly and easily understood. That's something to be admired.)

Stella whines softly. "You're a good bitch boy slut just for Miss Jeong?" she asks with this tiny tinge of disappointment at your choice of words. "What about—"

"I'm a good bitch boy slut for you too, Miss Kim," you utter clearly again before she gets to finish her question.

Stella makes this aw sound out of fondness. Your tongue keeps twirling and licking their digits with overflowing determination from your beating heart, and the girls just hum with approval as you become their proper bitch boy slut.

"I think he deserves more than this. Do you agree, Stella?"

A moment of thinking from Stella, then: "Perchance. Should we play with his natural dildo now?"

Natural dildo — what a fucking way to put it.

Regardless of the name of itself, though, your cock twitches with anticipation of their body pleasuring your cock eagerly and dominantly. Hyerin is the first to pull her thumb out of your mouth, leaving a lewd string of your spit linking your lips and her hand. It's the same image with Stella on your left side, and now, your mouth just feels so empty. You need their digits back, even if they're still on top of your body. You open your eyes again to see Hyerin and Stella looking at each other, thinking, devising a plan to ruin you into an irreparable state of mind.

"I wanna spit into his mouth before we, like, ride him," Hyerin starts, blowing a small bubble with her saliva at Stella — so indecent, so enchanting.

"Okay, me too! Open your mouth, baby boy," Stella approves promptly as she turns to you, and you can do nothing but loosen your jaw at the declared decree. You roll your tongue out to accept their fluid.

Stella starts first. You hear her gathering the spit inside her mouth. You watch her cheeks move from side to side, preparing your appetizer for tonight. Hyerin does so as well. Her mouth movements are weirder than Stella's, but you are awfully well-equipped for their essence, nonetheless.

After a few breaths, Stella breaks the waiting game. "Okay, rate it on a scale of five stars!" and she hovers her mouth over yours. She creates a narrow slit with her lips, and you see her spit falling from her mouth into yours. Of course, you accept it gleefully.

Your dick pulses in the air wildly the moment her taste explodes on your tongue. It's full of her mint toothpaste from earlier, you assume. The texture is nothing but smooth on the tongue. She's perfect, really. Your toes curl with the pleasure and satisfaction of drinking Stella Kim's dirty (and minty) spit. She watches you with a smile above your face, at one point caressing your cheek even, and you just swallow her down your throat.

"How many stars, baby boy?" Stella asks lovingly.

Without hesitation, unanimously between all of your brain cells, "Five stars, Miss Kim," and she laughs on top of you, giving you one last rub on your temple before giving the spotlight to Hyerin.

"How the fuck am I supposed to beat that?" Hyerin jokes. "Maybe I'll just place my spit on your tongue. What do you say, bitch boy?"

You nod profusely and stupidly at the offer. And for the second time, Hyerin doesn't wait for formalities, instead diving straight onto your thin lips with her plumpness — a kiss, messy, full of saliva.

Hyerin's flavor is saltier, likely from the salt toothpaste you've seen on television. Her hands cup your face, fingers digging into your cheeks with an aggression that almost becomes painful. Your dick turns into this leaky, sentient joystick down below. Hyerin pushes her tongue into your mouth, and you just let her do it without an ounce of resistance. Your toes curl as the sound of wet lips clashing into each other rings inside your ear — obscene, filthy, debased. Her tongue wrestles with yours and becomes a fight for dominance inside your mouth. Stella hums from her throat at the romantic sight, running her hand on your strained body with care.

(Speaking of the fight, it's Hyerin's rout, can barely be called a competition, really.)

"Can I join?" Stella asks from the side, and Hyerin moves a bit to create a space for her into a three-way kiss instantly.

Kissing two people at the same time is quite a hassle, especially when you're the primary target that's under complete submission. They will constantly try to invade your mouth with their dexterous tongues. And for now, you feel completely overwhelmed by Jeong Hyerin's and Stella Kim's tongues and lips and eagerness for you. They keep moaning into your mouth desperately — their nasty little bitch boy slut — and you can only do your best to treat both of them at the same time with your thin lips.

The kiss goes on for a while — overwhelming, drenched, sensational. More and more precum leaks out of your slit, and you swear that you feel a sizable pool of it on your crotch already. Hyerin and Stella keep kissing you skilfully and ardently — passionate, unadulterated, commanding. Their hands are getting more wanton and wanting for the ownership over your pliant little bitch boy slut of a body. They're roaming all over your abdomen, leaving trails and trails of fire in their wake.

Hyerin pulls away from the mess, finally, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and Stella follows a heartbeat later, leaving you hungry for more of their pillowy lips to be on yours. You attempt to sit up, though only to be reality-checked by your non-existent abs, and the girls just giggle cruelly at you failing to act on desire.

"There's so many things we can do tonight, baby boy," Stella says, still chuckling. "Such a shame that you can cum for us just once," and she frowns, apparently disappointed by the nature of your penis.

You want to deflect, to protest, but never have you cum twice in rapid succession before — a double tap that never happened. There have been attempts to achieve such a feat, though you could never resist the post-orgasm oversensitivity. So, there's just your silence persisting through their solemn looks at your pathetic, erect, and single-use cock.

There exists an optimal coordination while considering your ability to cum only once while the sex drives between yourselves are high. You don't have headcanons about these women, still. In your endeavor to expose their doings for personal luxury, you've been too greedy to form any opinion regarding their bodies, so you'll have to just ride along with whatever position and power dynamic (which is crystal right now that you're as good as six feet under) they put you in.

"Maybe you can fuck my ass — zero pregnancy risk," Stella proposes with a grin, biting gently at her finger. "Hyerin's ass would feel better on your face."

Hyerin doesn't say no to Stella, and she gets up from you suddenly. Her tits look utterly audacious under the soft light and dark shadow — so voluptuous, so supple, so eager for your touch. And obviously, you reach forward for her, albeit only to have your hands parried away by Stella's — perfect timing, zero damage done.

"Really bad boy," Stella scolds with a hint of mischief in her voice and a bit of reused reference, and she gets up from your abdomen. Her chest is on the smaller side compared to Hyerin, nipples already erect with need. Still, you cherish every kind of breast equally, really.

(You're not reaching for Stella's chest this time, though — lesson learned from her earlier deflection.)

"You have lube, right?" Hyerin asks, placing her weight on your ribs through her hands a bit forcefully. She's pinning you in your place, and the lack of freedom to move and breathe kind of gets you going more, to be honest.

You stutter out, "Yeah, it's in the," and you point towards your nightstand's drawer. Stella promptly opens the wooden cabinet and grabs your unused silicone-based lubricant, ready to lather it all over your cock. Then, she squeezes a sizable portion of liquid out of the bottle before enveloping your shaft with her hands to paint it with the clear, thick wetness.

On the other side, Hyerin mindlessly rakes her dark nails over your upper body, not harsh enough to cause pain, giving you euphoric shivers on top of the room's chill. She keeps licking her lips hungrily, and she looks hot doing that, really. Stella said it a few minutes before: Hyerin's dick-sucking lips, and you're agreeing with that wholeheartedly now, finally seeing them in action in front of your eyes. Despite being without makeup, Hyerin's lips look utterly plump and thick. It's no wonder that you were converted into a whore for her with those around your length earlier — such a pair of mind-breaking lips, a pair to die for.

(Okay, maybe the glasses play a part as well — both Hyerin and Stella. They just look unbelievably hot naked and in specs.)

Hyerin seems to catch your attentive eyes after a while, ogling at her lips without a tinge of decency.

"You want this around your cock again, bitch boy?" Hyerin asks, pointing at her mouth with nothing but pure derision for you.

You nod silently for Hyerin, only to be met with a scoff.

"I'm not tasting the lube," she denies cruelly, resulting in a disappointed whine from you.

On your left, Stella climbs on top of your lower half, lining up her asshole with your wet cock. It's not without preparation, still. Hyerin watches amusedly as your cock is pressed flat against your tummy. A teaser, one might call it. Stella Kim's asshole is about to tighten and milk your cock, and your desire for it can be heightened through whatever she's doing on your lap right now — sliding back and forth on your dick before letting it enter her. You feel the entrance to her ass run past your cock repeatedly, and that friction pushes you closer to the explosion a little more.

"You should fit inside me, baby boy," Stella half-whines, half-encourages. "Such a big cock for a little man."

That's quite a compliment. Your heart flutters at her words and whatever.

Hyerin doesn't add to the conversation. She mounts your face in an instant, suffocating your nose with her sensitive taint, closing your mouth with her pussy, blinding your eyes with her meaty ass. Her scent completely overwhelms you — musky, slightly sweaty. You feel the salt on your tongue that's darting out to taste her, and Hyerin moans at the contact. There's a technique to be done for her, of course — focus on the clit, keep the pace steady — though Hyerin seems to be overly sensitive to your flesh.

"Fucking splendid fucktoy," Hyerin whines, and she begins grinding on your face instantaneously. You start to feel her arousal painting over your face in a line — a kind of masculine makeup, to call. Your tongue laps her cunt in a deliberate, consistent rhythm, tasting her fluid that's slowly being gushed out and coating both of you — her folds and your face. Desperate, you reach for her ass bared before your eyes, though your arms are met with Hyerin's restraining force onto the mattress immediately. So, you can only try to focus on the swollen nub located just above her hole. Apparently, it requires much, much more proficiency in the field to concentrate your efforts on the clit. You're lucky that Hyerin's pleasure is triggered rather easily.

Down below, Stella decelerates her pace of sliding on your cock, eliciting a whine out of your lips into Hyerin's cunt as the warm bliss fades. Stella lifts herself off you, though, before she fiddles with your moistened joystick at all the angles possible. She's seemingly lost in the newfound ability to rotate it around the base. (It's fun to play with, to be honest.) Still, your mouth is too busy to declare your ineptitude to wait any longer for Stella Kim's snug hole, fully silenced by Jeong Hyerin's wet cunt.

After a few breaths of Hyerin's scent and your face being a tad messier, you finally jolt at the sensation of Stella's entrance resting at your tip. She hums, satisfied with your cock inching close to her asshole. "God, you're so big. It's gonna split me open so good," Stella coos with her honeyed voice. "Bet you wanna knock me up. Am I right, baby boy?"

You only make unintelligible sounds against Hyerin's damp folds as a yes, and you hear a chuckle from Stella down there.

"You're so hellbent on ruining my life, aren't you? Almost exposing me for peanuts, then trying to put a baby in my womb — so fucking determined!" Stella rambles in apparent frustration at your behavior. You can only moan whorishly against Hyerin's meaty thighs. "Guess what? You get just my asshole instead for being one!" she huffs rather dramatically.

Stella's tightness is many things: dreamlike, unbelievable, extraordinary. These adjectives should be used for something else instead, say, a piece of art — a film, an album, a painting. Somehow, though, you find them fully fitting to describe the tight, fleshy heaven that is Stella Kim's asshole.

Your tongue remains as diligent as ever on Hyerin's pussy, of course, while Stella's warmth welcomes you gleefully as though she has been preparing herself for your fat cock. There are these squelching sounds down below from the lube on your dick, and you can do nothing but whimper pathetically against Hyerin's frame as your nerves are torn apart by Stella's anal opening.

Stella pushes and pushes herself down your cock to envelop it fully inside her hole. The warmth and tightness are just heavenly, empathically beating your right hand. That feeling is heightened into a richer experience with Hyerin's cunt on your handsome face. She's suffocating you with her (positively) fat ass and blinding you completely, shutting down one of your sensory instruments.

There's a hum from Stella. "You're so big, my baby boy," and a grunt when she starts to move back and forth with your length still buried deep inside her snugness. You think it can be better: her moving her ass up and down your cock, letting the wet friction deliver you to paradise. The grinding feels good, still.

"I kinda wanna try this dildo now, to be honest," Hyerin scoffs, pressing her pussy on your face a little harsher as she keeps moving. "Maybe session number two in the shower?"

Oh, you're going to be completely dry by sunrise.

The tip of your nose is mashed a bit, resulting in breathing difficulty on your end. Your willpower remains intact despite this minor inconvenience. Your tongue is as eager as ever to lavish Hyerin's arousal juice and make her moan with your dedication.

Down below, Stella gets a bit more brazen with her movements. Her actions become these slow bounces on your cock. They start lazily, surely, and you can properly feel her warm, tight walls fluttering around your cock this way, so adamant on milking your balls into a state of drought. "It's so fucking girthy, God," she rasps needily into the cold air. "Fucking tearing my ass open."

Then, Stella quickens her sinful moves. Her languid bounces turn faster and more intense. You feel the muscles of her inner walls hugging your cock so tightly that it's making your body tremble furiously under her and Hyerin. And despite everything — every sensation you're feeling — you can only spew out profanities along the lines of fuck and shit into Hyerin's ass as a form of expression. At least they seem to be receptive to your words and hasten their depraved exercises on your body, using you as another ride — a living fucktoy, an explosive object, a warm dildo-slash-vibrator.

(Caveat: the writer has no more analogies to compare your body to — creatively stuck, to put it simply.)

Hyerin's pussy quivers around your tongue, gushing out more and more sticky, clear juice onto your lips and tongue. She moans wantonly into the air of your room, and you're not so sure whether it reeks of sex now. Regarding her being vocally energetic, it's not a case of an actual contrast against her personality earlier, but seems like a complement to each other. You feel Hyerin's pulse throbbing against your face — beat, beat. Her thighs lock your head in place without any consideration of the possibility that she'll snap it clean off your neck. (Though, you're not really troubled by the notion. Like Holly Humberstone said: to die with them here is to die happy.)

A little groundwork for establishing your sexual activities — you get the idea of women's escalation in their expressions as they're about the reach their climaxes. You've read about it from quite a number of sources, with and without intent. And right now, you're rather ecstatic to apply that knowledge over Hyerin's and Stella's orgasms grinding and bouncing on your body, using it as a living canvas for their holes.

So, Hyerin is rubbing her cunt on your face as fast as she can. It's the speed she can go without exhausting herself on top of you (though still with disregard to your ability to lavish her nectar). Her moans grow mindless and debauched with the seconds that pass, and you can feel her folds clenching above your lips needily. It's a lot, surely, but you'd be awfully stupid to announce a session termination right now.

Stella remains vigorous in bouncing on your cock. Her walls contract around your length powerfully, drawing moans and whines out of your vocal cords with each time she moves. You can feel her ass latching onto the entire surface area of your length, not wanting to let go as Stella shifts. Each heave of her asshole on your cock snaps and rewires your nerves mercilessly in the cold air. The sound she's making from her throat grows louder and more depraved, and right now, the room becomes this tightly packed capsule of sinful stimuli under the moonlight.

"I'm gonna cum," Stella announces — whiny, reckless with the volume — but fuck the neighbors (and Stella's ass), really. Her hands grab your legs, perhaps bending her body backwards at an angle. She's fucking herself with your cock at a pace that's making your brain go haywire — the friction, the tightness, the warmth. You're never jerking yourself off without thinking of Stella Kim's perfectly snug asshole again.

Hyerin doesn't declare a thing — none of that I'm close nonsense — but you can sense her impending calamity building up against your face as she rides you with greater ferocity. Those breaths are going more and more frantic. Her thick thighs tremble against your cheeks in a mania. She's about to unleash torrents of her girlcum into your mouth, and dazed and confused and all lusted-out like this, you're quenching your thirst with all that she has.

To do it conveniently, there's this tsunami raging from afar. It's about to strike you in just a matter of heartbeats, making your body stiffen under the women helplessly as your cock paints Stella's insides with your cum. You can't announce, of course, utterly muted by Hyerin's pretty pussy brushing your face with slickness. The glee of participation is still there, at least — to be a vessel for the pleasure of two women.

You don't babble nonsense anymore, just pressing your tongue hard against Hyerin's cunt. It's the same response for each iteration: you lick, she moans, her moans spur you on, yadda yadda about the other lesser details. The notes fall into their places perfectly for you and Hyerin, and the same goes for you and Stella. Her asshole is tight — fact. Your cock is big — debatable. You two can't find your rhythm — bullshit. Everything is synchronized, just at the cost of half your life. It falls into a cliché of living a double life, but that's the best you can compare it to at this moment.

It approaches a little sooner that you've expected, and you gain this urge to hold on to something while you ride your climax out inside Stella. The instinct points towards something meaty enough for your fingers to bury themselves into fully. Therefore, your hands latch onto the globes of Hyerin's (again, positively) fat ass, and she groans exasperatedly.

"Fuck, grope my ass like that, bitch boy," Hyerin screeches — huffy — followed by moans that are blending with Stella's to make the room a sanctuary of debauchery.

You're not completely certain who among the girls cums first — A New Hope problem, but non-fatal. Perhaps there's a split-second difference in Hyerin's salty squirt coating your tongue and Stella's hot juice splashing on your tummy. Regardless, you keep squeezing and kneading Hyerin's cheeks desperately under the two women who are wetting your body. The climactic whines are rather loud and unrestrained, and those are going to wake someone up right now, surely.

(One might say it's a late-night shower for the funny, but this amount of water volume won't wash any filth away from you, even more so applying another layer onto your skin.)

For you, maybe it's the taste of Hyerin or the sensation of Stella on your stomach that makes your cock pulse angrily. You feel this shock through your body, and your length twitches inside Stella's warmth as it shoots the first spurt of your cum into her wanting hole.

"Fuck, you're, you're cumming in my ass," Stella cries between the spurts of her squirt. Your cock continues shooting ropes and globs of semen deep into her. Most of the bodily responses are common to you at this point — stiff spine, hitched breath, rolling eyes, et cetera — just that it happens inside Stella Kim's asshole in lieu of your right hand this time.

The three of you bask in the high of your orgasms for a moment before settling down on Earth once more. Everyone is tired. Everyone is spent. Everyone is satisfied. The veins in your cock pulse against Stella's fluttering walls surrounding it. Hyerin collapses face-first onto your drenched tummy, probably getting a taste of Stella's nectar in the process. Her pussy remains heaving on top of your face, although you just have no intention (and stamina) to move your face out of the way. Your air is just the smell of her cunt, and you're content with that.

"Fucking hell," Hyerin manages weakly, body still quivering on top of yours. Her warm breaths make contact with your frame, shivering you a little more with the closeness. "Maybe I'll come back to you, bitch boy, my bitch boy."

You just chuckle against her body feebly before letting go of her ass. Down below, Stella pulls herself off your cock as well, letting a copious amount of cum dripping from her spread asshole onto your mattress. You're going to have to clean it tomorrow (or today), certainly, but you want to lie here first, even if just for a short while, with your fatigued mistresses.

"You came so much, baby," Stella whines, voice barely above a whisper. "Good thing it's not in my pussy. I don't wanna get pregnant yet," and she giggles.

And for a moment, the three of you just lie there, letting the sound of your air conditioner envelop you after a round of sinful debauchery. Hyerin shifts her ass a bit to give you space to breathe in the sex-stricken air. You close your eyes, trying not to give in to the exhaus—

—

The sound of the alarm — Radial — is the first thing you hear. You scramble for your phone and slide the modal off promptly — half past seven ante meridiem.

You're naked, of course. The room smells of your spring air freshener — a contrast to the outside world's autumn and its brownish leaves.

You look around the room groggily, finding your pyjamas sitting all crumpled by the roller chair. There's this stain on the mattress just in front of your crotch — your cum. You feel sick to your stomach, and you're certain that it stems from the lack of sleep.

Last night definitely happened — Jeong Hyerin and Stella Kim barging into your room and having mind-blowing sex with you.

You get off the bed with your leg aching. Then, your phone dings a notification — Messages.

Unknown, 7:31 AM: hey mister flatlined

The user is still typing another message from the other side.

Oh, yeah, you just remember that half of your life is basically gone because of last night's event, and you realize how lucky you are to be alive right now. Your fate is much, much better than the other flatlined figures.

Luck's still in your favor.

Unknown, 7:31 AM: you know what happens if the clip is out

Unknown, 7:31 AM: [Skull]

You can do nothing but gulp in fear, watching the three dots lingering over your message box. Your body quivers at the potential of your life being evaluated by SM and Modhaus. You're going to be priced. You're going to be hunted.

You're going to be flatlined — for real this time, dead.

A bit of a tonal shift — the anonymous character doesn't leave you in a state of dread, at least.

Unknown, 7:32 AM: thanks for last night tho

Unknown, 7:32 AM: call us if you want another round

Unknown, 7:32 AM: [Kiss Mark] [Kiss Mark]

You wait for a few seconds for another message. It doesn't come.

You don't know what feeling it is, but you just stand by your bed, naked, chuckling softly against the morning glow from the window.

Your life is not going to be the same after this.