A/N: Pinkkura continues to cause irreparable damage to me, and the concert clips certainly did not help.
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
“Hey, hun?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I’m bored.”
Well, isn’t this a case of deja vu.
You’re pointing out the fact that Sakura just got home, not looking away from the monitor in front of you, fingers tapping away rapidly at your keyboard. “And I thought you were finishing up that hat?”
“I would’ve, but I didn’t get to run by the store for some yarn earlier,” she says, moving to sit down on the bed behind you. “Wanted to change up the last bit of it with a different color.”
“Want me to drive you?” You dying in game gets you the opportunity to pause it, spinning your chair around to face her. “We could stop by somewhere for dinner and–” You pause, breath taken away from what you’re witnessing. “Whoa.”
Sakura plays with a few strands of her hair. “You like?”
You’re blinking, a loss of words and idiotically staring dumbfounded at her. “Like?” you repeat, staring at her twirl pink in her fingers. “I love.” Ignore the fact that what she has on can be considered black lace bra on black lace top damage to your brain, pink hair has never suited her more. “I thought you weren’t gonna redye it?”
“I changed my mind. The color was lightening up–” she explains, leaning back and propping herself up with her hands. “And I think it suits me.” She does this cute head tilt, nerdy smirk combo that gets you internally swooning your heart off seeing it. “Don’t you think?”
“Think the color’s made for you, sweetheart.” The smirk softens to a shy smile.
“You don’t have to flatter me that hard, honey.” A hair tuck in between, eyes turning to crescents with that grin you love gracing her features.
“What, I can’t tell my sweet, adorable girlfriend is beautiful?” you tease, sliding your chair forward and closer towards her. You use the bed as a stopper, and you end up right next to Sakura, your arm reaching out to play with her hair yourself, caressing her locks before squeezing her cheek gently. “My cute, pookie bear of a girlfriend–”
“Stop!” She swats your hand away with a giggle, and yet she inches closer to you, the sweet citrus scent of her perfume invading your sense of smell, a furthering of causation for you to fall all the more deeper into her intoxicating allure. “You’re so–” She shakes her head, finger jabbing you in the rib with a faux sound of exasperation.
“Lovable?” You cup her cheeks with one hand and squish her face.
“Annoying.” She rolls her eyes at you, letting out a smile when you squeeze her cheeks like a cute little stress ball. “Go back to your game, you annoying little shit.”
“And here I thought you were bored,” you tease, raising an eyebrow with yet another squash of her cheeks.
“I am bored,” she answers. “But it’s not like I got anything better to do.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, doofus.” She pushes you away, hard enough that it sends your chair sliding backward back to your desk. “Go play, I’ll be here.”
You glance back at Sakura, who decides to get comfortable at the bed. “You sure you can see that far?”
She answers with a wave, telling you that the monitor’s big enough for her to watch; cinematic moves, parrying, dying and all when she lets out a laugh after a few minutes of you fighting the boss and losing.
“It can’t be that hard, hun,” she says, the fight restarting from the beginning for the fifth (or was it sixth?) time. “Can’t you dodge instead?”
“Dodging is for pussies.” You take a breath, the screen turning to black as it loads the fight again.
Sakura giggles, hearing her say that dodging is for the ‘smart people’ as she stares at another sequence of you trying to parry the boss play out. “We might need a tip jar for the amount of times that girl tells you to parry it.”
“I am parrying it, sweetheart.” Cue yet another death screen.
You click on restart. “Not well enough, honey.”
“You try playing it and see what happens,” you retort, doing what you’ve considered the optimal (it wasn’t, and that’s why you kept on dying when you found out) first turn to get the most damage on the boss.
You hear her shuffle around the bed. “I’m good.” Dull, quiet thumps of her feet hitting the carpet follow and Sakura appears right next to you, leaning against your chair to take a closer look at watching you fail to beat this stupidly shitty boss. “Keep going, it’s fun to see you rage.”
Let out a calming sigh, take another whiff of her perfume to recenter yourself, and you lean forward.
That’s the thing with Sakura. She doesn’t need to say or do anything to get you motivated. Her existence alone gets you feeling like you can climb Mount Everest without all the fancy gear from top to bottom in a day. Of course that’s delusion speaking, but man can do many things when the love of his life is cheering him on by his side.
Considerably easily too, when your eyes are being drawn away from the game and into the black hole of a chest that she has. Her fault, you reason, when she decides to do the ever so simple action of leaning into the monitor and having her tits almost shoved into the side of your face (not that you’re complaining, that’s heaven wrapped in lace and Sakura’s embrace) since she wanted a closer look.
More power to her, since you’re getting a closer look at her tits underneath all that black lace. (Have you mentioned how crazily obsessed you are with Sakura’s tits before?)
It throws you off your game completely, the soft, full pair of breasts enclosed under layers of dark fabric luring you in, your attention moving away from the game and onto her chest. Which, can you really blame yourself when it’s right there, a breath’s length away from your mouth.
Causes you to lose again, though the rage is gone, replaced with this hyperfixation on her. The deep pull that her tits are causing irreparable damage to the way you think, and you would love nothing more than to lean in and rest your face, let out a sigh and smile when the cushions of her chest pillow on your face.
Christ, you should start a religion dedicated to them.
That all goes out the window when Sakura asks you something about the game, and you’re stuttering out an answer. Random things about the boss come out of your lips, why you’re fighting it, what’s the whole reason with this party in particular to use against the boss, some other random bullshit fact about the game—and while she leans back against the desk and listens with the soft, lovable look on her face, she’s also seeing through all your words with a follow up:
“You do know I was asking about why you’re using the keyboard and not the controller, right?”
The blank look on your face once the fact that you missed her question entirely registers results in a teasing smile to form on her face, finger tapping your nose; fingers wrapping around your cheeks to squeeze softly. “Distracted again?”
“A girl rubs her tits on a guy’s face, anyone would be,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Your reply makes her scoff, the smile turning into a grin as a finger hooks on the neckline of her top, giving it a tug.
“What, you wanna play with these again?” She makes an effort to pull it down, exposing the black lace underneath (trust yourself when you say that it’s a completely fucked up thing to do when you’re already so down bad for this woman) and you can’t help yourself from ogling.
Her chest has its own gravitational pull, you swear.
“If you’re offering,” you start, scooting yourself over with the chair to sit in front of her. “I’m not saying no.”
She hums, biting her lip to stop the excitement from bleeding through her features. It doesn’t work, of course, seeing her fingers play with the hem of her top. “What about your game?” She makes this innocent little glance back to your monitor, until her gaze turns back to you with this smoldering heat.
“Sweetheart, do you really want me to keep playing?” Your hands rest on the waistband of her pants.
“Well–” Sakura drags it out, straightening up from the desk. “I am bored.” She takes a few slow steps away from you, hands on her top. Swaying her hips as she plays with the fabric before she pulls them up, that defined line of her back showing bit by bit along with her unworldly waist that your hands are yearning to have a hold of.
Brings it to her chest, up her shoulders, off her body and onto the floor, where her hands come back to that snatched waist, feeling herself up; running them through her skin, going higher to the straps of her bra. Pulling them up, letting a strap fall down her shoulder, head turning to hit you with a look that screamed for you to take her—add to that her hips swinging around and for the love of everything unholy you are going to get on your knees just to beg for her to turn around.
And when she does—fuck, when she did you gained tunnel vision, fixated on the one final layer of lace that would ascend you to Elysium. You’re salivating, surely, at this point, and it’s only adding fuel to her flame, her finger letting the strap snap back in place.
Sakura’s asking you so much with so little done; lips curling into a smirk here, a brow raising there, her arm wrapping around her chest to give it a little push and her chest gets fucking bigger and all you can think of is your need to worship her lips, her skin, her tits—
The straps loosen on her collarbone, and the only thing that’s keeping it on her body is her forearm, and an idea; one that will get you on your knees.
“What do you say, hun?” She keeps a hand on the lace while she lets the straps come off her arms, and her teeth biting down her bottom lip does nothing to stop the exhilaration on her face.
“Come play with me?”
Walking backward, a finger on the strap replaces the hand keeping the lace up, baring her soft, large tits to you and your mind comes to the one rational thought that you can properly articulate:
God bless this woman.
You get up as soon as her feet hit the edge of the bed, and you’re on her just as the lace falls down to the ground. Her giggles as she gets tackled on the mattress is music to your ears, and you manage to say the words that will never stop being a fact.
“God, I love you.”
“I know, hun,” she says, hands cupping your cheeks. “You say it all the time.”
“And I’m never gonna stop saying it.” You’ve leaned forward, lips pressing against hers with all the devotion and desire you have for this woman, and she responds in kind.
There isn’t a need for her to say those words back, not when you know in your heart that she feels the same. Her actions dictate them instead, hands on your shirt, tugging away at the cloth.
You pull away only when the necessity arises—when the need to breathe comes, your shirt needing to come off, looking down to unbutton her pants. And when you sadly have to, your peppering kisses everywhere you can on her.
Peck her cheeks, mark her neck, nibble her earlobe. It’s a siren song of breathy moans and cute little whines sent straight into your ears, and you do everything in your power to hear more.
“Here–” Sakura grabs a hold of your hair, directing you to where she wants you to be. Your enthusiasm betrays you, the objects of your obsession served to you on a silver platter as you latch on to a tit, sucking eagerly. “That’s it, hun–”
You're biting down on her nub, eliciting a gasp from her, hands cradling you closer to her bosom; free hand continuing to pull down her pants, her legs helping you tug them down and off her, black silk the only thing left on her body, your fingertips running up her legs, thighs, waist, breast.
Give her other nub the same devotion—kissing it lovingly, play with the hard, pink pebble with your fingers and give it a pinch before coming down to kiss the pillowy flesh, revering them with muted groans that vibrate into her chest, and Sakura is enjoying every single second of it.
Hearing the cute whines that she makes, loving your mouth all over her body, her breathy pleadings of more, yes honey, please; that sweet, filthy version of her I love you’s when Sakura keeps you close to whisper them in your ear as you nibble on her teat.
It has you throbbing under your shorts as you grow messier, her breasts end up lathered in your spit, marks, and love when your mouth comes out to meet hers, the giggles that come out of her making you inch away with a smile. “What?”
“This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked to play,” she teases, resting her hands on your shoulders.
“And what did you have in mind?” Fingers come down to your chest.
“Oh, you know–” Gives you a push, and you’re giving way for her to straddle you, and Sakura is a marvel to gawk at—the smirk adorning her face along with the pink hair that fits her oh so perfectly, her tits red and raw from your efforts, waist that mold to your hands like it was made for you.
And she wonders why you keep reminding her of the fact that you’re head over heels for her.
“Was hoping we could do this instead.” She turns around, back facing you, jutting her ass wrapped in black panties, and as much as you are utterly addicted to her chest, her ass is a thing of beauty in of itself. “Might even get you to shut up.”
She’s shaking it inches away from your face, and you’re licking your lips (getting ready to eat her out and to hold yourself back, of course). “What, don’t want me to tell you that I love your ass?”
“I know you love it.” Her fingers make quick work of your shorts, and you're throbbing in her hands, leaking when she lazily pumps you. “Why do you think I’m asking you to eat it?”
“God.” That alone gets you pulsing around her hand, fingers inches to take her panties off already. You’re reaching up, running your hands over her ass, giving each cheek a squeeze. “What would I do without you, sweetheart?”
Her head turns around to face you, tongue sticking out teasingly. “Jerking it off by yourself?”
You let out a chuckle, playfully smacking her ass. “Ha, ha.” You rub the spot where your palm hit, leaning in to peck the red mark. “You’d be doing it by yourself if I wasn’t here either.”
“Guess I’m lucky I have you, don’t I?” Sakura giggles, blowing you a kiss before she heads back down. Feeling her hot breath on your length, your fingers hook into the lace and pull it aside, her pussy glistening and looking positively enticing to shove your face into.
“Think I’m the lucky one,” you mutter, thumb spreading her ass apart, admiring the way her folds open up. You take hold of her hips, pulling them back towards your face and your tongue gets its first delicious taste of her cunt just as her mouth envelops your cock.
And she tastes as mind blowing as she looks, tongue enjoying every single second it’s in contact with her pussy. Fingers digging in her cheeks to spread them apart to savor all of her, and she’s pushing back against you, even as she bobs up and down your shaft.
It’s making you both groan, both so preoccupied with each other that the noise only adds to your enthusiasm. Sakura starts to hit all your weak spots, tongue lapping against your tip, taking it back in her mouth to swirl it around and getting your legs to twitch at the pleasure. Fingers stroke your length, and the little hum she makes around you starts to make you lose control.
You’re reigning it back in, wanting to stay in her ass as much as you could, so you increase your fervor; tongue pressing flat against her slit, licking upward until you press into her, pushing yourself in her wet cunt.
There’s a long, drawn out moan that Sakura lets out when you do, getting her to pop off of you, a hand to stroke you replacing her mouth as she whimpers. “Hun–”
You don’t understand a single bit of what the hell she’s trying to tell you, your need to drink up more of her nectar. A hand comes underneath to press against her clit, and she’s cursing in the air when the gentlest of pressures start to meet that little nub.
“Oh, fuck–” Sakura’s back on you with a vigor that would’ve gotten you on your knees with how her lips are sealed tight around your cock, the pressure getting the hold you have on her hips to grow firmer.
It’s a competition, at this point, to see who can get each other off first. And you’re matching her tempo; frigging her clit, kneading that ass of hers in your fingers while you drink in all the drip that comes into contact with your tongue.
She’s grinding her ass against your face, taking you deep in her mouth and staying there until she gags, pulling away to trace your length down while she pumps. “Close?”
You pull back. “Are you saying or asking?” She doesn’t need an answer, when it was already throbbing in her hands.
“Mostly asking.” She gives your tip a sloppy kiss, tongue teasing the slit and making you hiss. “Maybe a little bit of saying.”
You don’t believe it for a second, seeing as she’s leaking all over you, thumb playing with her folds. You hum your disapproval, squeezing an asscheek. “Doesn’t look like it to me over here.”
“Yeah?” Her fingers tease all over your dick, nails raking gently around your thighs, coming to cup your balls. “Better get back and finish the job, hun.” She wiggles her ass, and that’s all you need to see for your mouth to press back against her cunt, pushing a finger inside her, and she’s so wet it gets you adding another one to fuck her with.
Your head is dizzy from everything she has; the divine taste of her juices, the soft press of her ass against your cheeks, that damnable mouth of hers sloppily making out with your cock.
Holding it in no longer becomes an option, and you’re losing yourself in the fog of it, desire and need and Sakura the only thing that you can comprehend. Her name comes out of your mouth like a prayer, fingers pumping into her faster, tongue finding her clit as your thumb starts circling her tight, little hole.
“Oh my god–” You know it’s a weakness of Sakura’s, playing with her asshole, and her words turn into shrieks when you press inside her pucker, chanting swears as her thighs start to tremble and press against your head. “Fuck, hun, you–”
Her head lolls to the side, her pants tickling your cock as she starts to convulse, thighs suffocating you, her walls clenching around your fingers as she floods your mouth, lapping it all up as you keep going, prolonging that high as long as you can.
Sakura gets you back, hands pumping away aggressively, forcing you to follow her, and all you can do is comply.
“Kkura, I’m–”
It all comes exploding out of you, moaning into her sopping cunt as she takes the first shot of your load into her cheek, hips bucking against her hand. She takes your tip in, taking the rest of your spill into her mouth as you pulse into her warmth.
Her fingers keep pumping away, milking you for everything you’re worth, Sakura’s throat never ceasing to swallow your cum. Bobbing her head leisurely, a content moan at each batch that she receives until you’re all spent.
You’re left leaving kisses all over her thighs as you feel the aftershocks begin to leave you, and when she releases you from her lips, she moves herself to the side, sprawled in the bed.
“That was cheating, you know,” she mutters, head looking up (or was it down?) at you. “Playing with my ass like that.”
“Like you didn’t enjoy it.” You manage, breathing deep, fingers caressing her thighs.
Sakura lets out a chuckle, slapping your leg. “Shut up,” she giggles, her tongue darting out to lick at the rope of white staining her cheek. She moves, shakily managing to move towards you, your arm wrapping around her shoulder when she drapes herself over you.
Her lips meet your chest, her fingers drawing circles as she lets out a pleased sigh. “Love you,” she mumbles, nestling deeper in your hold. “Teach me how to play that game of yours later?”
“Sure, sweetheart.” A laugh seeps through you, letting out a grin and kissing her forehead. The soft smile that graces her features when you do gets your heart melting, her eyes closing shut as she settles in your hug.
So, let's dive right into things—you're fucking the hell out of Yeji's face.
Getting her teary-eyed, sloppy with it; manhandling her by the hair, stretching out her jaw, feeling her throat gag while you work yourself in and out of the most divine set of lips; sliding deep until her drool's lacquering your balls and it's all too much.
She just looks up at you: would be grinning if your cock wasn't keeping her mouth busy, would be laughing if you weren't choking every squeal back into her, but it's her eyes doing the real work—sharp, wicked; lit with the most depraved fucking intentions.
You've only really known her for a week, but you get her message loud and clear:
“That all you got?”
Like she's winning. Like she's not the one between your legs, poolside, half-submerged, a natural on her knees. One-piece swimsuit hugging nice and snug, fingers digging into your thighs, tears streaming clean down naked cheeks, gasping for air.
You tug her head back, lips gliding off you until your shaft's slipping out—there's a thick strand that follows, saliva bridging her swollen lips to your cockhead, catching the underwater lights, shiny sheen in the dark.
Her chest heaves, nylon pulls tight across her tits; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, it's purely for show—she clearly has little problem getting a bit messy.
And yeah—there's the grin.
You try to slap it off her face with your cock.
“Too much for you?” Yeji asks; and it's probably the first complete sentence you've heard from her pretty mouth.
—
All you've got is half an hour ago: you, stepping out of your suite—Yeji, stepping out of hers. Your temporary next-door neighbour, wrapped in a hotel towel with two thin straps tied at the back of her neck, barely hanging on. A flick of the wrist, that's all it would take.
Would be the closest you'd been to her—except for your adjoining balconies, side-by-side, where you're pretty goddamn certain she'd timed herself to your smoke breaks.
Night after night, leaning over the railing to catch a buzz from her side, a breath through the gap; little choked-off whimpers starting up the same second as your lighter and climbing, shameless and pornographic, until the cigarette had burned down to your fingers.
But face-to-face? She stared you down, dead-to-rights, and let the towel drop.
Gave you a full look at her—that sinful silhouette flooding fantasies into your frontal cortex—shit like getting those long smooth legs over your shoulders; your teeth in the swell of her perky high tits; thumbs digging into the plane of her ridged abs to span that ridiculously tiny waist; just tearing that monochrome chequered swimsuit off her and using her, like every inch of her, head-to-toe, is demanding you take her right fucking now—lips, hips, eyes screaming sex, screaming fuck me, screaming—why am I not already impaled on your big, fat cock?
Putting to shame every single image you'd conjured to accompany the self-fucked schlick-schlick-schlick she'd been piping through your window; until she tired of your slack-jawed, dumbfounded, goon-brained stare, tilted her chin towards the elevator and asked—“Going up?”
(Got your hands on her before the doors shut, looped your tongue around hers and wrenched it out of her mouth, pinned her spine to the handrail—determined to find where to touch to convince her that next time she should just jump balcony-to-balcony, seventy-something storeys up, and hand the heavy burden of making her cum her brains out to someone who doesn't need their batteries replaced.)
—
To now: top floor, infinity pool, suite access only, dark and empty this late past midnight.
You'd have followed her off the roof if she'd tipped her chin at the edge. Basically what she's asking you to do now, busy tonguing the question into the underside of your cock.
“Jesus—fuck—Yeji—” you groan, ripped from your throat, music to her ears.
“You know me?” She hums, lips vibrating along your shaft, curving wider—kinda thing that really fucks you up: lidded eyes, sloppy spit-soaked smile wrapped around the girth of you. Cheeks going hollow, seeing if you can find something to fill them with.
“Looked you up,” slips from you, because, yeah, she's so obviously someone—just how she carries herself, type of girl with a gravity, someone worth idolising. “It didn't take long.”
“Shame,” she says. “I kinda liked the idea of us being perfect strangers.”
“We basically are,” you try, rescuing the thought before it turns to mush with the rest of your brain when her tongue draws a wide stripe from behind your balls, up and over, performs an obscene manoeuvre at the head. “You still don't know my name.”
“True.” She comes up; presses a kiss to your tip, tongue flickering over the beads that seep out, savouring your flavour. “Though something tells me you'll have me screaming it in—oh, five minutes?”
“Two,” you answer, and you're detached, sliding into the water next to her, both hands to her waist, fingertips pressed into that flat stomach (you'll make it bulge soon enough). Ignoring that raised eyebrow, the smirk, the oh, please lead the way, handsome stranger.
A split-second eye-to-eye is all you get for now—so take it: chin tipped up, flawless features soaked and moon-lit. Lashes flecked and clumped, cheekbones that'll scar you, a mouth so soft on a face this wrecked—just stops you dead.
(Yeji from your research, from next door, from now—out from the photographs and fantasies and it's a total catastrophe, more than enough to pull you under and hold you there until it's all you have to breathe.)
That's the taste you get; drink it in then hoist her up, spin her, get her squealing for the first time. Pulling her half out of the pool to brace against the vanishing glass—where it all just stops: water trickling quietly over the lip, the whole city strewn out beneath.
You run a hand over a cheek, unhurried, proprietary. That generous handful, cut to measure—porcelain, pristine, peachy-fucking-keen.
“So. How would you like to be fucked tonight?”
Doesn't even bother turning; throws it out into the air. “Haven't you been listening? I gave you six nights of notes—put them to use.”
Fair enough. “Spread your legs. Hands out.”
You fold her over, palms to the infinity edge; she goes with it easy, gets prone like she's done it in her head a thousand times already. Flawless fuckdoll, posable and pliable, all the perverse shit only the most perfect girls can stir; and there it is—the entire problem, presented.
That tight, firm ass.
You could weep. But things are already wet enough.
Got her hitched up and arched, cheeks pulled taut; gleaming, calling you, siren's song under the starlight. A clean deep line running down the curve of her, and lower and lower and lower. One touch and you know you'll find her drenched. Ripe and open. Fated since that first late check-in.
You need both hands, spreading her open with your thumbs, feeling her flex whole against your palm, watching her clench under the attention.
Taking a sec. A pretty girl's asshole always deserves a level of reverence. It's only good manners.
She clocks the hesitation. Turns her head, ganders over her shoulder. Rolls into your grip—slow. “Knew it.”
Yeah, there's no denying it—you're already pulling the swimsuit over to the side, testing the stretch, peeling it over her right cheek to get a proper view. “Guilty. Not like you've made it easy for me.”
“And yet it still took you this long,” she says—but so what, you've always been one to wait until the water's warm before dipping a toe in. “Just how much are you—”
“An ass guy? Well, for the right one—” You dip low, let the water raise her hips higher, wade in to press her knees to the wall so you can bless the chlorine and salt and skin with a long, lingering kiss. “Incurable. Terminal.”
“So it's a pre-existing condition,” she says, cause, duh, she loves playing the tease, being the centre of attention; her whole occupation. “Since when?”
“It's a whole chronic thing. Flares up seasonally.”
“Seasonally.” Ecstatic; plays with it around her tongue. “Like around the holidays?”
“Something like that. Or I guess, whenever an ass like yours comes around.”
“Charmer,” and it all gets lost in a gasp when you map that unholy crack splitting her in two—from where she's pinkest, sopping, waiting God knows how long, up to the spot she's braced for—and she jolts, frantic and filthy; a whine you push clean through and out her throat.
“Says the girl that's been shoving it in my face ever since I got here.” Just holding her—shivering against your lips, buzzing beneath your tongue—nose buried deep in the undeniably tightest hole that's haunted your entire stay.
She mumbles, then laughs, already breathless; throws your line back at you: “Guess I'm guilty, too.”
(And Yeji's really been your fucking doom—bent over a gym fountain a second too long; ducking into a sauna with a towel desperately hanging on; letting her panties ride up at the buffet line—sending you a wink back, like yeah, you're welcome, catch you at the next loop of amenities.
Gifting you just enough of a taste to put you on edge, type of shit a guy like you can barely handle; forcing you to do the only thing you really could—go back to your room and run the images filthy through every possible scenario while listening to her on the other side.
Fantasies, from top to bottom: following her into the gym showers, fucking her against the tiles with the water still running. Stripping her in the empty cedar heat and sucking the sweat between her toes, right out her pits, drinking what collects along her spine. Bending her over the breakfast bar, scattering the little jam jars, spreading her open right there over the pastries while she's gripping the countertops and telling you to hurry, hurry, hurry—
Well. You've got your buffet now.)
“At least I know you're not boring.” Yeji coos; another slow suggestion, grinding against your nose, down to your chin. “Won't just lay me down, fuck me nice, tuck me in, right?”
“That's not really on the menu.”
“No? What is?”
You laugh between her cheeks, low and mean into her puckered hole; like nice is even an option, like there's another version of all this: drinks at the bar, dinner downstairs, you making a mockery of smart-casual, her in some sheer cocktail dress.
Nah. Fuck that—it'd still end with her in a toilet stall the moment she turned and bent over, silk pulled taut, giving you the slope and the shape and the tuck of her cheeks at the tops of those long legs.
So you settle with: “I think it's pretty fucking obvious, Yeji.”
“Thought so.”
It's holy work; gaping her open with just your mouth. Tentative, then thorough—tongue flat and dragging, then the tip pushed up and in, working spit into that tight ring until it softens and gives. Getting your mouth filthy with it—chin slick, slobbering, chlorine tang giving way until it's just her, Yeji, keening, rocking back onto your lips.
Trying to fuck your face proper, letting you—practically begging you—devour her best you can, until the sun's up and the chemicals in this pool aren't nearly enough to wash off what you've done to her.
She cries out; wails, guttural and nonsensical but you get the gist. The last of her dignity leaving her—ass higher, chasing the thing girls like her are supposed to pretend they're too composed to want; some rough stranger to rearrange their stomachs, fuck them truly brainless.
Makes sense to offer her something to really wrap her pink lips around; slurring it right into where she's tilted up and open and demanding, more honest than her mouth's been all night: “Want to know who I am now?”
“God—” is a good start, might as well be on the money with how you're making her feel; but she's already drifting lanes when your tongue takes another lap. “Yes, fucking—tell me what to scream—”
You give her your name. Then, a spit-slick thumb, sinking knuckle-deep into her cunt—so, so easy, she's soaked enough to take three.
“Oh-fucking-shit—” she whines, wails out; sliding herself down your tongue.
Simply getting her off: thumb curling inside that sopping slit, tongue twisting into her ass; two different rhythms that have Yeji grinding down onto one and back on the other, can't pick, doesn't have to.
Until she's clenching on both at once, flooding your lips, your hand. Cumming apart, so shameless, so noisy, letting every insomniac know who it is that's wrecking their sleep schedules vis-à-vis fucking up Yeji's tightest hole.
Yeah. It sounds so sweet wailed from Yeji's lungs.
So keen to hear it more, over and over, gonna fuck it out of her in every octave.
That has you pulling her along the side to the shallow end, the steps at the corner. Rimmed boneless, happy to be plucked and placed at your discretion—which is a step higher, heart-shaped ass just above the water, buoyant, begging to be broken.
“Where are we going,” she's mumbling, not really asking.
“Somewhere with better traction. Pool water's not the greatest lube. Won't be able to fuck you right.”
“So romantic.”
“I have my priorities.”
Priorities which amount to getting up on your feet, wet cockhead notched against her saliva-soaked hole, pressing at that insanely tight squeeze.
Fuck. It just makes you smile. It makes Yeji laugh.
“What's so funny?”
“Just—” she starts; bending as you please, happily at your mercy, as good as girls get. “One-track mind, aren't you?”
And that gets you to laugh back. Drag the head of your cock down to her cuntlips, making her shiver, before levelling it where you really want it. “Can't help who I am.”
“You could at least pretend to have other interests.”
“Could. Won't. Sorry.”
“Too late to apologise, anyway,” she curses, all fuck-tipsy, “Just gotta find a way to make up for it.”
Yeji opens for you—slow, grudging; the head of you nestled against her then past, breaching, the agonising stretch. Pale around the widest part of you. Tiny little ring, straining to take a brand-new shape.
Each push forces these exhales out of her, shoulder blades pinching together, spine dipping low, and you can hear her teeth grit as she spits—no, she's drooling into the water beneath.
Whining, whimpering through it all, repeating a mantra that gets your blood pumping, cock-to-brain: “so-stupidly-big-so-fucking-good—”
The fucking feel of it. Searing clutch beyond reason, seizing everything it can take, won't give an inch without a fight. Making you work for it.
Her tiny frame trying to decide—keep you out or drink you in—until Yeji cries out something biblical and makes her choice; taking your name, twisting it round her tongue, pulling it as wide as it'll go, until you're seated to the hilt and there's nothing left of it at all.
Mouth agape, lips hanging open. This airy gasp. Fed so fucking full.
You lose her for a moment, somewhere below her own surface, submerged in it all.
Reach down for her: “Yeji?”
“Mm—” and she surfaces, glassy eyes blinking open to find you behind her; shy school-girl crush or insatiable slut, who's to say. The same taunt calls it for the latter—”That all you got?”
You match her smile. “Think you can handle more?”
“I've been handling worse than you in my head all week.” She grins, brilliant, defiant, delirious and spoiling for more; squeezes her ass around you for good measure. “Catch up.”
Game on, starter-pistol fired—pulling almost all the way out, the sight of her clinging on, rim dragging up your shaft, trying to follow.
And then driving your cock all the way fucking home.
Good news—Yeji's got her voice back; screams skimming over the water and plummeting down the building below. You give her no space to shape it into anything but a beg; a plea, one-syllable slurs fucked apart as you set your rhythm.
Something about your cock: size, shape, ability to stretch her so fucking wide and kill any chance of sitting normally for a good while—your hips cracking into her ass hard enough to make it jump, wet swimsuit snapping against the underside of her cheek, the slap, smack of you bottoming out ringing across the empty rooftop.
Yeji happily lets it happen.
“Christ, yes—” throwing her fine ass back to meet you; every pound, piston, piledrive you fuck into her, over and over, “—use me—do anything you fucking want. Bet it's better than any fucking cigarette.”
And this is the real gift of a stranger: no rules either of you signed, no history to handle gently, nothing owed come morning.
You could do anything.
Mark her up, pull her hair, hands around her throat.
The selfish squeeze around you is all the green light you need.
Digging your fingers into the top of her swimsuit, wrenching it down. All that black and white slicking off her wet skin, setting her tiny tits free, nipples going stiff; fabric bunching uselessly at her waist.
“Fuck—” cut off from her when you gather the swimsuit-turned-reins, haul her hips flush; balls-deep in her ass until the sobs choke down into—“More.”
So needy. You bring your palm down on her cheek, a crack across the rooftop. Seeing your handprint bloom pink; a nice little souvenir, something to find in the mirror tomorrow.
“I know you can do better than that,” she needles, primed for worse. “All that eye-fucking and now you go shy on me—”
The other cheek—harder—breaking the taunt into a whiny moan.
“Getting there, but—” she recovers, something mean and vicious being prepped, something that'll deserve punishment; spat back at you with what's left of that grin, “—why are you still fucking me like you're going to see me again?”
Well.
Pulling your hips back; raising your palm high—and cracking both down faster than friction should allow, harder than you should; chasing that fucked-out-pain-pleasure hissed from her lips that means you're finally getting it right.
“Careful.” You reach, fist a wet rope of her hair, wind it once around your knuckles and pull. “You're gonna make me do some shit we both can't take back.”
“Was that supposed to be a threat?” No hesitation. “I fucking dare you.”
(And that's the thing you've had backwards all week. The whole framing, actually. You've been running this as your fixation—your fetish, your problem to drag back to the room and handle quietly, like you'd packed some shame in your suitcase.
When really she's the one who said take it before you'd laid a finger on her. This cockdrunk, corridor-gaped, irreversibly drilled idol folded over a ledge getting her ass carved out—as if you ever had a say in the matter.)
“You dare me?” You push in deep, wincing at the squeeze, the choke; the slap of your balls against her pussy and she's crying, fucking filth filling your ears. “No, babe—you'll beg me.”
Yeji's straight-up creaming for it, so messy; cunt empty yet spilling anyway, running thick down the inside of her thighs, dripping off her pussy into the water below.
Barely touching her pussy at all—this is all ass. But it's turning her inside-out, wet enough to clog the pool's gutters as surely as you're clogging Yeji's.
Landing you on a diagnosis for your apparently flighty fuck-buddy. You deliver it straight away: “Anal slut.”
That has her head whipping around, scandalised, hilarious to act like this now; like she shouldn't be updating her resume to pitch-perfect anal-cocksleeve.
“Excuse me—”
Another pound, another spank; real fucking joy in railing the comeback out of her before she can land it.
“What did you call me?”
“Don't backtrack.” Getting deep this time. Right where she's hottest, plundering your way into that needy mess, letting it all sit. “Dirty little anal slut. That's who you really are.”
“I—”
“Acting like you're here being very busy, very professional—celebrity bullshit.” You bottom out; she chokes, remembers your fucking name and tries to burst your eardrums with it. “But you were really trying to find this.” Mouth at her ear, the grip of her ass tells you she can feel every word fucked into the back of her skull. “Tell me I'm wrong.”
Nothing comes out—nothing can, apparently. The air's gone from her lungs, whatever she had to say strangled somewhere on the way up. This mouthy little anal slut so thoroughly stunned you almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Spanking her back to life. Palm to her cheeks, trying to resuscitate her—get a little juice back in her, enough to see your girl through to the end.
“Yes—” and there's the plumbing breaking, pool flooding, ready to overflow; has to recite the unholy porn-star's prayer, just to let you know: “—fuck, yes, fine, I'm your anal slut, I'm your—I don't even care. I'm your filthy little anal whore. Do it. Ruin me. Treat me like I fucking deserve—”
There she is.
You reward her (reward yourself, really) with everything—on that brutal borderline—the give and take; thick throbs in her aching asshole, pincer pulses back, a fuck-fight in the dark—marble-sculptured ass turned impressionistic watercolour; every shade of purple and red bruising and marking her skin.
“So deep—oh that's not fair, that's—I'm gonna—I'm—”
It's all going to shit—she's getting greedier and greedier with each go, messily squelching and squeezing, gonna be no other way out of this besides flooding her sphincter with enough cum hoping to slide your way out.
“Every night, making me listen, putting on a fucking show,” you tell her, intent on staking your cock into every square-inch of Yeji's rear-real-estate. “Just for this—so I'd know how you sound when you're fucked right. Now look at you.”
“Yes—God, yes, keep it, keep it exactly—”
It's a dead ringer—hearing it up close instead of through the window. Yeji on edge, about to cum, and now you get the full picture of it, the raw feel—knees giving out under her, hands that stop bracing and start clawing, ass that pushes her full weight onto you and makes it your job to see it through—
—and an urgent, stupid need hits you: can't let this happen without getting her even closer.
Reaching for the swimsuit still bunched at her hips—hopelessly stretched out and loose, ready for its last job. Hauling her up by it, hand over hand, until her back comes up and slaps against your chest. Don't even have to tug to manage it, just an honest suggestion—come up, join me, let me fix this geometry and fuck you into next year.
Bent-over becomes upright, and upright leaves her with nowhere to go but down on your cock, deeper into her ass. Gravity doing you every favour—sinking that tight body until she's feeling all of you and you're bulging right through her.
Snaking your hands free, one finds a tit—palming, groping, laying claim, thumb dragging rough over a nipple; she curves whole into it. Throat working around nothing at all, and that just won't do—two fingers under her jaw to turn her head, to find your mouth, your tongue, been waiting for her this whole time.
“You could've just said you wanted to look at me,” she manages, when your tongue slips from the corner of her mouth, lining her jaw, her neck, lost investigating her collarbone.
(Through the static of your brain; any neurons that aren't firing on Yeji grinding herself into a puddle on your cock, catching up late to the rest of her and realising it might be more than just her glorious ass.
Bare-faced. Never needed anything to start with. All she's got on is what you or the pool or the ledge put there: hair shoved wrong in a hundred different directions, lips an angry pink, eyes red and full of tears, a mark blooming under her jaw that'll have company in due time.
Just so—
So annoyingly pretty; this girl who's been crying and climaxing for twenty minutes straight cause she fucking loves being thrown around, and is still, no contest, the hottest piece of ass you've ever got your cock in.)
Giggling, laughing into your mouth; gets the idea of what's running through your head when you kiss her again—her lips plush and soft and sweet and yours anything but.
Yeah, maybe she is winning after all.
Pumping her asshole crimson; too hard, too fast, going overboard. You slip backwards, lose your footing, recover somewhere down the steps and into the water without ever slipping free. Her back still against your chest, the pool climbing warm around your bodies and taking you entirely; a forearm banded under her tits and a hand splayed low on her stomach. Weightless. Feet touching nothing at all, still speared on your cock, where else would she go.
“Come on,” she breathes, head lolling back onto your shoulder, like you even need the encouragement. “Just fucking flood my ass.”
Of course you do.
The water can't keep up. It sloshes, climbs, pours over the vanishing edge in fat silver sheets with every slam of your hips, fucking into her swollen ass; the rooftop, your whole world trying to drain itself over the side.
Just as you've found the pace she likes best—rough and mean; stuffing her dumb. Tugging her down to the root, driving up into her on the buoyancy, feeding her ass full of your cock.
“You can feel it—can't you? I'm gonna cum—you're gonna make me cum so hard—you asshole—it's all you—”
“I know. Eyes open.”
“I can't—it's too—it's so much—”
“Should've thought of that before you—fuck—”
And she cums, and it takes the fucking floor with it—dropping clean out from under your feet, nothing stopping you from crashing through each storey but the clutch of her ass.
All of her—Yeji: dancer's build, shoulders, abs, thighs, lovely-little-tits—seizing and staying seized, rigid against your chest, around your cock.
Her ass, her ass, her fucking ass—fucked wide, mercilessly milking you, godforsaken grip, crushing clutches that make you wince, bite your lip, call her things that'd go a step too far for anyone else but land as nothing but praise for this cum-starved hotel hookup.
Pulling you into the deep end with her—no run-up, straight off the springboard.
“Inside—” in pieces, one hand pawing back at your neck, “—give it to me, make me feel it, don't you dare pull out, don't you look away, please in my ass—”
As if there's any other choice.
Up into her, letting go; balls emptying, spewing sperm, cock throbbing out the last of it, heavy load fucked past her guts and packed in tight to stay.
Taking every fucking drop—each spurt landing flush. Her lip quivering, stomach fluttering under your palm, pupils blowing wider cause she just can't stop cumming.
She wants this.
Wants to be watched taking it—blissed-out face she can't help making, the proof of what you've fucked into her, every bit of it witnessed.
Winds up the best it can—Yeji cries out what's left; voice wrung hoarse to one sound, just your name, screamed like it's always been hers instead of a word your tongue branded into her cunt a handful of orgasms ago.
“Take it,” you say—but you mean keep it, because it's all hers, locked and loaded since she looked your way and turned around to make sure you got the complete picture. “All the cum you want—like a good fucking girl.”
You hold her, buried in her, plugging her ass full, smearing it around her insides, until you pull back just enough to catch it well up and spill. Thick and white, squelching out past your cock, wisps in the water before it's all washed away, obscene and glorious and gone.
—
It all goes still—the water, the rooftop, the pool around you both. The pair of you casually floating like you might have really drowned up here.
But whatever, you'll deal with it all later; you're cummed out, spent, she's orgasmed into a higher plane of existence and yet you can't stop touching her: mouth at her chin, her throat, wet along her shoulder and collarbone and it's impossible to imagine ever having your fill.
Her lips find yours, and you realise she might be in the same boat.
“I don't feel like myself anymore,” she states, matter-of-fact, dragging a hand over her own belly, incredulous. Still feeling you twitching inside her ass. Reaching her conclusion: “Perfect fucking strangers.”
You chuckle. After all that. “Still strangers?”
She goes quiet, considering it—thumb worrying at her bottom lip. “Haven't decided. Who knows if you're even half as interesting as your cock?”
“Probably not.”
“Doesn't mean I won't give you the chance to prove me wrong.” Deciding for you already. “Carry me back to my room and we'll work it out from there. Tell me things. What you do. Where you're from. How you got so good with—everything. Then I'll let you know if I'd rather keep you around a little longer.”
You shrug. “Seems a bit backwards, doesn't it?”
“Isn't that how you like it?” The grin resurfaces, sharpening on the challenge.
She hooks an arm around your neck as you lift her out of the water; turning your back on the city, legs locking around your waist on the way up.
“We'll be efficient about it,” she continues, planning it all out; the rest of your night, hopefully the rest of your stay. Her mouth finds your ear, teeth to the cartilage, tongue to the lobe. “Tell me whatever you want. We'll keep going while you talk—I've got an unused cunt you haven't ruined yet, and you already know how many times I can cum in a row.”
“Dive right in, huh?”
“Deep end.” She bites down. “Only way I know how.”
a/n: for any lurkers here on tumblr still, this will be the last fic i will be posting, on this platform at least. thank you for understanding.
Like all faculty-related events, you were expecting this to be the same: mundane, an agenda on the calendar, gratifying in a way that would sell you a move up in the corporate ladder.
(This here is the kind of scenario you’ve done countless amounts of times - beaming smiles and clasping hands with all the niceties you could mask until it was over.)
That is; at least, before tonight.
A personal rule of thumb; a code, if you will: keep the alcohol consumption to a minimum, two to three drinks at best.
It’s been roughly over two and a half hours since you showed up and the gathering began, and the idea of going back to the bar for a fourth or fifth or sixth was becoming highly likely. Something easy to down - definitely not a Whiskey, but you’d wish - although there’s hardly a complaint with a draft beer.
In a sober blessing, there’s a haven with an open bar present at university occasions. Granted, the Kim-Park estate would’ve splurged a little more in owning the whole place but everyone does like to indulge their drinks from time to time.
Someone smacks your arm from behind, breaking the trance. “Hey- you’re not blanking out on me, are you?” Roh Yunah called your name a couple times but you obviously misheard; you missed the conversation that was clearly no interest in. Hence the circle of eyes are all zeroed in on you, eight pairs a piece.
Yunah arches her brows with a smile, but there’s a forced aspect within her. Always trying to push the right buttons as your senior; plus knowing when and what to say in lightening the mood. Her veneers may feel casual, but it’s unnaturally terrifying.
“Sorry,” you say, apologetic with the lift of the glass. “It’s been a long day for me, well- for all of us.” You’re lucky enough to have a few smiles returned soon after. One person sips into their red wine.
“He means well,” Yunah says on your behalf, “This one is a little timid in stepping out of his comfort zone.” A turn to the group and they all laugh, a miracle action, but maybe an in-joke that you’re secluded from. She sighs, nodding somberly. “Moka loved attending these galas. Though, I can only say so much about missing her.”
Yunah mentions it painfully slow; the tone eerie like trying to break the news to a broken child.
Everyone around you has a sympathetic shine in their eyes, humming and shaking their heads. You can’t hold yourself back in looking at each individual, feel the heartbeat in your chest thrum louder, pounding your ears. Like hearing your name would send you ages back, turns the pit in your stomach into a full on black hole.
None of these people have a single idea about Moka.
You swallow the anger down; Moka despised these events, and you want to shove Yunah to a wall making her pay.
But, you’ll take it with as much light as you can, force a smile into the next topic. The pain is still fresh despite being a little over a year - the wound still fresh at the mere mention of her name. It seeps, then stings, pooling blood over and over and over. Some days the pain is unbearable, a constant reminder of her presence enough to send the mind reeling; on other occasions, you’d wish she were still here and on separate paths.
You think to yourself: one more drink wouldn’t hurt.
It takes most of your body to sift through the crowd surrounding the bar; the heat too suffocating and the press of people enough to roll your eyes at the masks being worn currently. A quartet of guys block your pathing, oblivious. Drinking away laughs which should make you more pissed off. You try to make way with an arm, but get shoved from behind on accident.
Unfortunately, the man swivels around on edge. These kinds of people are the opposite of your liking: in preen-upped suits and with wavy combovers. The tie is neat around his neck and there’s an obvious vein popping out meaning: definitely pissed off. A few men also notice the incident - some still laughing at another joke that’s clearly unrelated.
Grad students and their prestige, on the bankroll of their parents and got a sizable trust fund in their backpocket to be set for life without the worries of student debt. Studying in degrees that probably won’t matter to them since it’ll be a nice mark of pride hung on the wall twenty to thirty years from now.
He curses you out in front of his so-called friends. You scoff at that.
“Just trying to pass through,” you’re saying, hand up in defense and clearly in the wrong. Had it been you from a year prior, a fist would probably be thrown already. Honestly, the glass in your hand needs another refill.
The guy just mocks you and sizes up to your front. It’s awfully pathetic how people have to resort to actions like these. In turn, he bumps to a girl behind him, knocking out her drink with glass shattering to the floor.
More heads look over and the guy is getting pulled by his colleagues. Servers rush in to fix the mess, picking up the shards and wiping the spilled wine. A cue for you to go on your way, getting another glass of whiskey from the bar.
The short girl with fine, embered auburn hair is weaving through the crowd as well, alone.
Like a lonely stick flowing down a winding stream.
–
Out on the terrace; fresh air, granted once the locks click in place and you’re staring out to the distance with the wind passing through your ears.
It’s quiet, and the feel of winter is still apparent in February. Most of the noise inside has been muffled into the glass, looking below from the balcony with your head to your hands. That is- until there’s a gentle clack of heels behind.
It’s the same girl from earlier, in all its whiskey brown shade. Besides only seeing her back profile, the presentation is well worth the wait, and she’s beautiful - light pools of amber in her eyes and with a defined arc to her ears. Part of her hair is tied neatly but resting neatly along her shoulders. Her dress is also another: high-collared and revealing at the collar and waist - yet focused on a stain over her thigh.
You should’ve kept your body against the concrete railing, but you move; met with knitted brows from the woman.
“Oh- I thought I was-” she stutters, taken aback. “If you’ll excuse me,” clutching the dress a lot tighter in her hand, almost concealing.
“No, I’m just here,” you say; a hand up in respect. “I was about to be on my way back inside.”
She glances over rather than giving a response, keeping her attention to her dress. You’re taking a real long look at her before common sense sets in and finally decide to look away.
Right before you were about to step away, a sigh slips out of her lips; there isn’t any offense to it, at all.
“Look- would you mind if I can try to help?” You ask, walking over as she gazes up again. Clearly, she’s confused about what’s happening at the moment.
“I appreciate it, but thank you. Really.” Her voice seems dismissive, but still bearing the casualness of it. Adding an uneasy chill down your spine.
“To be clear, I was the one at fault,” you say. “A mistake trying to get by the poor lad.” She locks eyes with you again and cocks her head. You’re not showing it, but the move forces your heart to palpitate; in the way she studies you, sending spikes to your stomach. With a deadpan like that there’s a necessity of the silence she’d be happy to fulfill.
“Most of the guys you taught way back then were usually like that, flying elbows and everything if they’re hit,” she tells you, and it’s a definite ‘oh shit’ moment that sobers you up.
It starts to click in your head piece by piece: “Wait, have we-”
The lovely woman nods, drawing a light smirk. “I can see the gears turning in your head, sir.”
“Well if you’re playing the stranger card so casually without ever mentioning my name, but that ‘sir’ wouldn’t be thrown around if it didn’t carry some substance of status, ma’am?” You say, smirking. She giggles at that.
In a stupid move, you mention your name again; hand out in hope of her reaching for it.
“I know who you are,” she replies, huffing a laugh out her nose, “Professor.” Dipping her head and flicking her fingers on her dress. Palm to palm, there’s a gentle sturdiness to it, all while being soft. You get caught spacing out - imagining how they’ll look wrapped around your-
“I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t follow?”
“You may not remember me, but I’m Park Minju. I had you for a class about five years ago.” Her words are precise, punctual. With a hint of elegance you can’t really seem to capture.
Appearance-wise, it doesn’t add up. If anything, you’re thinking back to the prior calling of secondary school around that time. Plausible. Yet she’s reasonably old enough.
“A class, yes. Maybe two. But here I am being subjected to a minor existential crisis thanks to you,” you tell her, sheepish.
Minju chuckles; there’s that same palpitation like before. You want to have that same laugh ring your ears more and more. See that sweet grin with those beautifully arched cheekbones and ears.
“If you want to get more- analytical, I suppose. Your lessons about certain philosophical topics were very, what’s the word? Enamoring.”
Here's the answer. You were thinking close around that time and hoping the math was correct. Now, you’re thinking of throwing yourself off the balcony and forget about any form of hope with this girl:
“Don’t get me wrong, I was invested in that curriculum,” you laugh, bracing a hand on the sculpted railing. “What killed it for me was the fact that most of the kids’ papers I was reviewing all had a common complaint of how much bullshit I was teaching was hidden between the lines. Can’t blame them, of course. Though it did hurt for a bit.”
“Hmm, I think it looked like it was one of those other former students earlier tonight,” she looks at the windows inside. “Who knows, maybe they saw your face and threw a fit at the fact that you were still in their life in a different path now.”
You wince. “Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“You should be,” Minju returns.
Oh she knows how to rub the crevices in your brain.
Following a clicked tongue: “What makes you say that?”
Minju hums; quirks a smile soon after. You nick your head before huffing a laugh, before the ice breaks even more and you’re both laughing. She meets your eyes through her pretty, dark lashes; your heart is performing backflips at this point.
You can’t get around the fact how she’s so easy on the eyes, that refined coy in the tone of her voice. It’s getting all the plots twisted in your head, and the proximity diminishes between the two of you.
All the more reason to rub your neck awkwardly; Minju looks the other way and clears her throat.
“For one, you look dashing in that dress. It’s a shame that it got a little soaked,” you say. Ghosting a hand over the opening at her waist, just above the stain. Her arm is quick to hover yours, riddled with goosebumps. It’s cold (obviously), much to the point where the outlines of Minju’s nipples are peaking through the dress; squinting won’t help your case but you’re blinking.
You sharply inhale, file the picture away from your head.
In a natural instinct, you strip your blazer off and and straighten it out. “I realize it’s practically below freezing here,” you’re telling her, tongue-ticked. The fit rests on her narrow shoulders and you’re taking a decent step back. Watching her face look confused, pulling her lips inward and accepting the gesture. Oversized was the inevitable conclusion, but at least the warmth was a plus.
“I didn’t mind, but-” Minju huffs, burying her mouth into the collar. You insist, and she accepts it, giving thanks.
The gust of wind blows a little more forcefully for a moment, pricking into the skin. You’ve definitely hit your quota for drinks - which equates to being slightly tipsy; drunk, perhaps, or delusional; shit, you’re not even sure yourself.
“Are you also here for family responsibilities, Miss Park? Or are you actually going to get some benefit in the classes you’re basically going for free?” You ask her. While it’s out of curiosity; you keep wanting to talk to her. The urge to know more grows by the second.
Minju smirks and nods. “There’s a direction for me.”
Ah, you acquiesce. She’s still an assignment you’re trying to grade.
“Something tells me you’re residing in law,” you presume.
“Actually-” she retorts with knitted brows, tongue to teeth, “-I’m more intrigued in the political science landscape.”
“Really? I didn’t think my lesson plan back then had too much of a punch in the learning experience.”
“Well it’s completely the opposite,” beams Minju, rolling her shoulders with pride. “If it weren’t that, I wouldn’t be talking about it with you.”
“Most of the girls just gave me blank stares while the guys slept through most of the rambling I did,” you breezily say whilst shaking your head.
“Talking too much was a minus, but there was a plus in other aspects,” she then says.
“Like?”
“A thorough outlook from someone that’s-” and her eyes are quick to level yours, with much more refined knowledge and with bare restraint in the attraction - enough to freeze you in place and think back to how she was giving the utmost attention sitting in your classroom, “-well, there’s no better word for it: persuasive.”
Her voice is basically seeping at the corners, low and driven and all the signs toward dangerous. She’s not gonna stop; you should consider ending the conversation while you can. Though, you don’t and stomach the cluttered air riddled within your neck.
“Well then,” you say. “I sure hope you’ve been up to par with your current works?”
Minju bites her bottom lip; widens the opening of your jacket. “Articles, reading, theses, the whole nine yards.”
“That's all you got?
You’re seeing nothing but the dark hazel pooling her irises.
Flaring your voice like that to an esteemed family member that isn’t Minju would probably get you fired, maybe. “Okay? What do you want to know?”
“It’s an open ended question I don’t have the answer for.”
She cocoons the blazer around her again, back to the concrete overlooking the estate. “The last thing I read while coming up with a case study was focused on a theory about specific decisions. Meaning how the factor of choice influences us, weighing those choices, even the impulsive ones on instinct. It’s everywhere, even on a much global scale, deliberating with other countries; the movement of products, weapons, transferring prisoners, any and every deal that’s under or hidden beneath the sun.” Minju looks at you with a hint of worry - much like the times she came during lunch break and rambled about the typical drama with her circle of friends and pressing topics that were flagged under the universal policy.
“Go on,” you tell her. “We’re just up here alone.”
“I”m conscious about what’s there to gain and lose, depending on the deal or the stake of it. Naturally, people hate to lose. There’s a basic rule left unspoken where it can be differentiated between cognitive thinking and instinct - and it’s seen in games and people with status or power, those who-” her mouth drops, cutting it off accidentally.
“Interesting,” you say.
“Besdies that, I think I’ve said too much already,” Minju replies, hiding her chin to the collar.
You don’t think you’ve said enough. Everything about her is a losing game: from her intellect to her age, and millions of statuses above you to even stand a chance. Her theory is right, thinking about an instinct of wanting her that it’s irrational to think about anything else.
“No, Minju,” you laugh, breathless, albeit impressed. “It’s amazing what you’ve done with the opportunities. I hope you tell me more down the line?”
Minju’s eyes flare up, surprised. “Sir- I’m very flattered-
It’s impossible for you to discern whether her cheeks were already in a rosy blush from the cold or from what was said just now. Her cute button nose is also mirroring the same shade - gulping down the urge to kiss that spot. You stare at her bottom lip; she nods in agreement. You could kiss that, too.
“I think I do get ahead of myself,” she then says, moving her head left and right to disregard the compliment.
“Now who told you that?” You ask.
Minju zones out, meets your gaze with a tilt. “Huh?”
“If you think you’re getting ahead of yourself, then that belief is instilled from someone else,” you say, lips pressed with crossed arms. “Out of everyone, you’re the only one that’s talked about a topic with the most interest. Why let another person determine what you can or can not express; besides, they’re stupid.”
Minju, again, shoots her eyes down to her toes, shielding her growing smirk. Suddenly, the space between you two is minimized, even when you try your best to keep the space open due to the cold, it’s definitely waking you up from the suffocating party indoors. You notice her hand skate across the concrete, resting on the balcony after a few twitches.
There’s a literal pull happening here, slowly. Until the both of you are looking out to the vast garden shrouded in darkness ahead, shoulder to shoulder; that is, when Minju faces front and is within extreme closeness of your chest, burrowing like she belongs here, shedding away skin and letting the cold wash her over. Even when the cold is already unbearable, and even so-
Past the thrums of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear Minju swallow. Sighing into your chest as if there was a hidden weight finally lifted after so long.
You don’t stop here. In fact, you don’t even consider stopping yourself at all: leaning down with a slow drag of your eyes to meet hers, gazing down those pretty features. She glances when you treat a loose strand of her hair caught by the breeze, shelf it nicely past the cuff of her ear, grazing your fingernails down her neck.
Minju tilts her head to open up the space, holding her breath from the sudden touch.
Then there’s the fuck-up: she doesn’t want this, of course she doesn’t. You pull your hand from her shoulder, draft up the apology in your mind.
“Wait. We can- just, not here.” She hushes, stepping back with a hand up, scanning through the doors because getting caught would be a shitload of trouble. The tone in her voice drastically switched from being easy and composed - to breathless and on edge.
“Minju, look- I’m sorry-” you get out, because the wrong idea’s already been shown and there’s a small hope of being able to hide it.
“No, I’m sorry. It’s not that- I’d just want-” she tries to reason it out, voice low and hesitant. She swallows the lump in her throat, breathes deep after. “We’d be better off away from people that know us, you know?”
You have a hard time processing what’s happening - probably because most of the blood isn’t going to your head and rather someplace else where the head might be useful in; with your mouth dry and on a similar wavelength to Minju. You feel your pockets again and realize the metal ridges that are typically there are in the coat she’s wearing (and lending).
“It’s dark, for one. But my car is parked in the lot behind the hall. I- I might’ve had a little too much to drink for another and- oh fuck-” you huff, shaking your head fervently. “Wait- sorry. Don’t you mean drinks? I’m afraid I’m not up to-”
Minju stops you with a hand to your chest, laughing.
“You’re not driving home, sir. That’s for sure. I mean if you had a room here at the hotel for the night?”
You’ve been sucked back to your teens, desperate for a girl that hinders your brain capacity. The good thing is: you’re sober enough to drive the few blocks back to the hotel with the room a couple floors up and there’s also the option to take the woman and fuck her into the backseat of your car.
It’s a definite psychiatric work up on your agenda.
“Okay, okay. So you want to-”
Minju grins, licking her teeth. “The number?”
“325.”
“325?” She repeats, eyes shimmering. “You head back there first. I’ll come in fifteen minutes.”
She’s quick to give back your coat with turning heels, slipping effortlessly through the glass doors. You try to track her silhouette, but watch her fade into the crowd. With her light auburn hair as the fateful magnet you can’t escape from.
–
Time seems to stretch for as long as it possibly could, dwindling your bits of hope for every second that comes to pass - waiting for someone who may not even matter to you.
Yet the hints of her scent scattered on your coat, there would be enough confirmation that the whole thing was a measly dream. It’s all stupidity from you: pressing the crease of the covers, hiding a pair of underwear beneath the nightstand; as if the walls in the room were closing in to your deteriorating psychotic episode. Maybe the couch would’ve been better rather than the edge of the bed - you don’t even know anymore at this point.
All of it could’ve been chalked up as a one-time thing - ostensibly, that would be the best possible outcome: instead of inviting a student who’s clearly years younger back into your room, not after the fact that she’s alluring in all her looks and the slip of addiction in the way she presents herself.
Minju could be the end of you - in a lot of ways than just one.
The stupid idea here you come up with: a duo of glasses set on the mini bar - your own concoction of vodka that won’t burn down the throat. Not for the reason to satiate the need of another beverage, but the thought counts. Or so you thought. You’re not in your own head in getting the girl drunk, right? There’s no pressure about it-
Your neck snaps at the light tapping at the door, three times. Quick enough to pull the door open and see Minju waiting on the other end. Legs crossed and hand resting to her side, dress unchanged; a stupid observation considering how much time’s passed. She still has your coat from earlier. Smiles at you before scanning both ends of the hallway; of course she’d rather save the thought of being caught dead in your crosshairs (let alone- your own fucking hotel room) when there might be other peers nearby.
Grinning as the short-lived greeting. “Hi,” she sighs, relieved.
“Someone seems tense,” you say, returning the grin.
Minju blinks, “So um,” the line of her shoulders loosen in a fast second. “Will you let me in?”
“Yes, oh my god. Of course, please. Come in,” you nod without a single thought, hastily shuffling your feet across the carpet beneath. Extending an arm to hold the door as she walks in, meeting her nod as she breezes past your proximity. With the door closing behind and it’s just the two of you isolated again.
She walks to the middle of the room, refined and poised. Like if the world stopped for her and the only thing you can do is to acknowledge her in that moment. Despite how dimly lit the room was, it made her even more strikingly beautiful.
You think that God himself is urging you to not court her; simply because-
Someone like you doesn't deserve that luxury.
“I made a simple drink,” you tell her, pointing to the mini bar in the corner before the lamp. “It’s vodka with some soda mixed in to ease the bitterness. Only what the hotel provided, anyway,” you stutter, as Minju notices with a few steps in that direction. To which, she takes the offering. Hiding a scowl after the sip with the glass gently set back to its original coaster.
While being the idiot that you are, you’re fidgeting your fingers and trying to keep yourself busy in the compact room: requesting your coat back, taking her bag, insisting her to accept a glass of water as the late chaser.
“Hey,” Minju’s voice cuts through your ears and it stills your heart. That steady timbre, draws your attention back to her, with every step of hers sending blood through your veins invigoratingly fast. One hand is to your shoulder, the other dancing along the tips of your fingers. “I thought you wanted to kiss me now.”
Well, she’s got you there.
Fingers intertwined and closing the distance, chest to chest. The mere want clouding your head is just enough to release the nerves and let the intrusive actions take its course. In those doe eyes filling yours; soft, pretty pink lips parted and waiting. She needs this just as much as you do.
You cup her cheek, gently. She lets the light tilt of her face invoke the message - a final say to reconsider-
And she doesn’t.
Her pupils are foggy, blown. The endless abyss beneath them is a mere pool for you to sink into. You’ve got no reasons to meet her lips, but here you are: kissing so carefully, and it’s messing you up.
That mouth is- so damming and incredibly soft; with a fucked up part of you imagining it just to your liking. Despite the size, they’re addicting to the mix of vodka and ginger ale. You start slow, keep it within the lips. She chases the sensation when you pull back, longing the press more as your nose slides on her cheek, her breasts smothering the cloth on your shirt.
Yet the way she kisses you is a theory to study - teetering the borderline of needy, and feral. Minju’s not the perfect girl you’ve drawn her up to be. Actually- it’s a kiss with such urgency as she drops her jaw lower, slips her tongue through your lips. You oblige and let her have it, tugging on your bottom lip until she’s making you bleed. In fact: no one has ever kissed you like this since you were young. It’s all confusing, for one; though it’s making you hot and the clutch in your pants even tighter.
She’s wrinkling your shirt in her fists, swaying her hips in your hands. A slip of the tongue into her mouth loosens her jaw, opens herself wider. You cup her cheek, bend the angle of her neck. The noises she’s seeping are heavenly, the mere sound of it going straight to your cock, albeit from your mouth first.
Her chest is elevated, heaving. You’re seeing what lies beyond her collarbone, the delicate skin waiting to be defiled. She draws you closer to her neck as she sighs in relief. The pulse point and space behind her ear the only thing Minju can focus on at the moment. Breathing you in; there’s a hint of white sands, a calm sage, something frothy and warm. A sweet spring interlude to a warm summer.
Minju’s knees surrender at the sudden graze of your teeth along her throat. Only to find solace in your mouth once more, pushing you to the edge of the bed. It prods the suggestion to bring her to your lap, hitch the dress up to her thigh, the fabric restricting just slightly. This is the window to stop (in which, you don’t want to); however, it’s a snap of common sense away from the addicting heat of her mouth. You swallow on air that isn’t thick with her taste.
“Wait,” you pause. It's the lifeline of your salvation, “Remind me: how old are you again?”
She stills, watches as you wipe your chin, huffing. It’s clearly one of the three questions you never ask in conversation, which explains the dirty look that’s given.
“Minju-”
“Twenty two. Not that I care, honestly.”
Your eyes roll back. No need to do the math here. The girl’s got your hands before they could retreat off her body, only hiking up more and more of her dress.
“Sir, please.”
Desperation, you conclude. It’s in the way her tone shifts from calm to this. You philosophized that there is an existence of hell, and there’s a certainty that you’ll end up there. Especially with this deity leaning over and kissing you again. Pressing into your mouth sweetly. She meets your eyes, swiping a hair from your forehead.
“Please,” and she’s saying this with lidded eyes.
And that’s all the resolve snuffed out of you.
You’re quick to cup her cheeks and kiss her harshly, with just enough desperation as her. Gasping and laughing when you flip her pretty little body on her back, crawling atop. Every bit of insanity gets worse than before when you part her thighs, push her arms over and around her head when she settles into the duvet. Tongues swiping in a duel with no victor. Your hand shoots for her waist, palm hooking her entire waist. A real live wire, unraveling; her body shivers at the brush of your knee to her thighs, flinching. Everything about her is raw and there’s nothing you can do to save yourself.
Just as you’re ruining her, Minju’s ruining your attire. Pulling and undoing the buttons of your shirt, loosening the tie. You relax and let her work for it until she can’t, pulling off the shirt and the belt to follow. Soon after, she’s trying to undo herself along with the dress.
“It’s okay,” you say, kissing a shoulder blade as she turns on her stomach. Watch her sweep the hair to reveal the nape of her neck as the zipper descends. You eventually get to the end where the metal stops above her ass. The fabric grants you more angles of her curves, where the skin is revealed even more with scattered beauty marks. Only for you to notice that she isn’t wearing a bra - but the lacy waistband that’s resting at the lowest point of her hips. “You’re beautiful,” you praise, kissing her spine as the dress gets pulled by your fingers.
The trail of kisses continues with her .
“You can tell me to stop,” you whisper. Smiling into another kiss.
Minju shoves her head into the pillows, shaking.
“I’m giving you permission to say ‘no’, baby. And I’ll listen.”
“No.”
She’s quivering from your weight. You don’t answer, nor can afford to.
“You really want this?” You then ask. A kiss to a dimple on her lower back.
“Professor-”
“Use your words, Minju.” Her back arches under you, trying to press her ass on your cock. “I need you to tell me.”
“Yes,” she sighs, though it comes as a hiss. Exhausted. “I need it- need you.”
This only makes you realize again,
You’d never think twice with her.
Minju sighs in kind when you roll her back up to see her face, clearly wrecked as you are: those puffy, pouted lips and glassy eyes; hair frazzled, and it’s not doing you any good the way she holds it up in a loose ponytail, giving that extra fringe. The strapless dress is falling at her tits, only to realize that she had nothing underneath - a fantasy that you’ve devised since meeting her outside, it’s a real fucking disservice.
In your eyes, she’s incredibly more perfect than you can theorize: light and toned, porcelain smooth skin. Makes you forget the gap in other places-
You should feel guilty about it.
Despite that, she guides your hand to her breast and makes you grip roughly. You scoff at how eager she is and it soon gets buried in your throat how lithe the feel is in your own palm. Like she’s made for you. A quick graze of her nipple to your thumb and she flinches. You try again and it’s the same jolt in her body, inhaling and makes you hiss through the teeth. The responsiveness is more sudden than the alcohol.
At this point your shirt’s off and Minju’s at your neck, nipping away and will be a real blemish to deal with the morning after. Not to worry - you wanted it. A form of physical proof that shows you let her touch the way she does, reminding you that no other girl in your life has made you feel like this. She squirms when you finally get to her collarbone, see the protrusions of bone along her skin and dance on them with your fingertips with the delicacy of a harp player. Placing a nipple between your lips which prompts her to dig into your scalp with her fingers.
Your hand slips down to her thigh and rests there, amazed with how smooth the skin at her legs really was. While there were some stray hairs along the surface, as if she’d never shave below the knee, it’s a sickening feeling that’s only deepening with no thought of calming - to claim something you’ve got no rights to.
And when your fingers stroke over the lace of her panties, they’re wet. Minju’s legs tense at the touch.
“Good?” You ask, kissing her sternum and making the way down, rubbing circles to her outer thigh and licking her waist.
“I’ll let you- y’know,” she rasps, gripping more of your hair when your hands rest at the grooves of her thigh.
Your brows knit together, unimpressed. It’s too easy to have her like this - too easy for her to give herself in such a way and a little too much. She’s been addicting since the second you met her and you start to notice how open- how willing- let alone pliable she’s trying to be. She’s serious, and it’s there. You realize that she’ll take everything so well at anything you dish out at her.
A subtle bite of her inner thigh, and she softly yelps. “Then let me ask: what do you want, Minju?”
Her legs twitch again, hand guiding back to the center.
“A lot of things,” she answers, “Really, like- oh jesus- everything, actually-”
You nibble at the fabric and she loses it even more. “Is this something you want?”
Minju does her best to keep cool, and then your nose grazes her core through the lace and you’re whispering these lovely sounds of nothingness.
“Fuck- sir, yes.”
You slide her panties off her unbelievable legs and place two fingers over her clit, which makes Minju wince at the first gentle swipe. Learning that it won’t take as much to have her whole body shuddering under you. Once you’ve got a small taste of her, you go back to the gushing heat and let her have it.
Here, you don’t recall having such a feeling like this before or in past experiences. The fact that she’s unbearably hot, her tightness corralling your fingers, leaking into the bottom of your palm. She’s got her head on the pillow when you move, slowly pumping in pace in and out of her. And it’s in the broken silence of these four walls, the sounds of slick slipping from her cunt - Minju’s covering her pretty face into the rumpled duvet and whimpering. You’re panting into her neck while your fingers continue to work her over. Then her hands are searching for a hold; to your sides, to the sheets. Her waist naturally rocks over with the digits you have inside of her, making her chase with those bucking hips.
The other remedy you give is a kiss to her pulse.
Minju glances before she looks the other way, considering that the spot you’re stroking is making her brain mush. Aside from the fact that your wrist is straining between her thighs, you ignore it - the rhythm too good with the noises she’s spilling out from her lips.
“Relax,” you croon, hand to her stomach and waiting at the hip. “Let me take care of the rest.”
Minju rasps at the strokes at that sweet spot. While part of you wants to work it through and see how riled up she can actually get - yet it doesn’t seem like she’s the patient type, noticing how close she was within a short span of minutes. Your thumb brushes her clit in circles, and that gets her whimpering at the feeling alone. You long for a look at her face, pressed tightly to the sheets and pillow. She’s helplessly clenching around your fingers that the drag is taking a toll - her back arches, with legs shaking-
Suddenly, it’s all snuffed out with a stilled gasp. You ignore the tension at your hand, push through the feeling and let the fingers press inside. Minju holds in a breath, knocking the top of her lungs - the contraction enough for you to finally see her expression: a twisted face with knitted eyes shut, bearing the impending wave of euphoria you were about to suck out of her.
Just like that:
Bliss.
Minju comes with a pitched shriek. Easing with a clutch to your shoulder and rolling her hips with the dress sifting with her body. Her thighs slam shut and her sensitive clit is light on your fingertip and responsive.
You kiss her cheek and temple and stroke her jaw. When you finally relieve her of your fingers - sticky and left in her mess, the urge to taste her is all you think about. Sucking them clean and savoring the reward: ravishing, for one, and incredible. “God, darling. You-”
Her lips press at the tent of your pants, enough to focus back on it.
“Miss.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed her that way since the party. A little out of character but worth trying, despite her steeled determination and quick hands working down the button and zipper- fingers wrapped around your growing shaft when you realize it’s going to get a whole lot worse-
Your length gets freed from the elastic and it springs right up to her pretty face. It lands on her button nose and she can’t fathom you being nearly the size of her head. Her tongue is quick to take a salivating lick underneath; swallowing on nothing (again, or- yet, at least).
As if one hand wasn’t enough, her other joins the fray - guiding you to her parting lips, resting the underside against her tongue. Minju’s eyes watch you stare her down with all the naughty things seeping through your endless pools, sliding the head past her teeth and inhales as a test. The mere wickedness of such a simple action would’ve made you bust on the spot. She has another go and brings the length down her mouth to halfway, and you’re increasingly reluctant to pull out. Yes, her tongue is fucking amazing but if you yield to that single temptation alone, there won’t be enough for when you get inside her folds and it’ll be unforgivable.
Minju tilts her head and those bedroom eyes are a true devil’s advocate, attempting to slip your tip past her scraping teeth.
“God-” It only makes you snap and grab her face with both of your hands and push your cock into her throat for a taste. You groan and laugh while sliding out and help her sit up soon after. “You’re wonderful.”
She lets her tongue flick a vein, a kiss soon after. “Hmm?” It’s an insufferable tease.
“I would’ve came if you kept doing that.” You then say, cupping her jaw.
Minju smirks back in satisfaction, and it’s all a jester’s ploy. She lets her face fall one side again with gleaming eyes - confident, arrogant. Like a brat.
You play kindly and tilt down to kiss her. All of that gaudy assurance disappears when she’s reciprocating and moaning down your mouth. Tangling your fingers to her scalp, take that makeshift ponytail and have a hold for yourself and feel her locks spill over the digits. She’s quick to lay back while you discard your lower garments, Minju slipping out of her panties. Your knee presses her center, smearing. The feel of your cock to her inner thigh makes you leak slightly.
Her smile goes lazy when your tip meets her folds, in a testy observance.
“Shit,” you say, groaning. Minju’s barely listening and too fixated at her center. “Fucking christ.”
“Yeah?” and those damn bedroom eyes of hers aren’t doing her any favors.
“Left condoms.” You’re stupidly speaking because it’s something you didn’t consider for years. And it wasn’t like you did this often, anyway.
Minju pouts her lips, still with trained eyes. “It’s okay,” she whispers. Her fucking hips are rolling her cunt on the head of your cock.
“You sure? What about the pill, at least-” it’s a precaution, not much for her hand wrapped to your shaft and guiding you still.
“Mhm,” she hums, eager. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m just- considerate.” You’re barely registering the fact about ruining her and the chance to fuck her with no safeguards.
“It’s fine.” She says firmly. It comes off as on edge, annoyance- probably impatient. You take her word for it and go along the way. Kissing her forehead and temple; feel Minju’s breath hitch when the press is made - lining up with no issue and blanking out for a second.
Minju, from your many conclusions, is: unbelievably-fucking-tight. You don’t see any reason to escape from it, how the slick heat surrounds your length, better than anything you’ve ever felt or experienced. It stills you for a moment, drawing these breaths which should be easy, cupping her head and holding her close. She’s sighing again, eyes shut. Might be a while for her as well. You drag an inch back and hear a shuddered exhale. Which prompts another inch retracted for good measure, and push back in - then another, slowly, this will make you insane. One more thrust siphons a noise from the bottom of her throat; something raw, and cardinally present.
(She’s everything you’ve wanted - what you didn’t know was needed until you had her.)
The both of you stay like that, rucking hips and zeroing on each other’s breaths. Until Minju’s dispelled to these semi-hearty sighs - uncrinkling her brows and slacked in pleasure. Her ankle digs to your thigh, a rescue rope of sorts, for you to focus all the way and bottom her out.
Then her mouth forms an ‘oh’. She shakes.
In the midst of the building pressure, you’re asking: “How’s that? Okay? Good?” Combing her hair to see her face better; another thrust passing through her and she leans to your palm.
Minju’s nodding, maybe the only thing she can possibly do at the moment. Her parted lips take yours with arms around the neck, hooking.
This is a snapshot in your life you want to take and keep forever, recall every sound she’s ringing in your ears, how her hair smells, the way her insides take your cock so well with passing time. Her hips meet yours in the middle, taking your pace deeper. There’s so much time to spend with her; you’d want to stay in her walls forever.
She’s insisting for more, more.
“Sir- sir. Please- fuck me-”
“I got you,” and you do.
For the first time since meeting her, you’re freely fucking into her with purpose. Every inch that’s buried in her lovely cunt makes her stifle a cry into the sheets, your shoulder, your lips, just anywhere where the noise doesn’t wake the nearby hotel guests. She’s so good on your cock it’s fucking hurting; on the up and down and the slide in and out - the mere forth and back and back and forth with much fervence.
Minju isn’t there anymore; she’s completely gone. It makes sense for her case because she’s cursing and gasping at the teeth, failing at biting down her moans. Neither of you can help it - the pleasure is good to you both.
Both of your bodies are flush, moving as one. Every tap of your cockhead inside her is like a gateway to her conscience, joining two heads together. It feels like it; all of your thoughts, claiming and devouring every corner of your brain. Minju’s pitch has raised an octave and it might let alone silence the heavens.
Your hands are holding you upright, while hers is claiming purchase to your body - like two birds fighting in the air and falling, spiraling to the ground. You take her wrists over her head, push her into the mattress more. She doesn’t even try to return the kiss, all she gives back are more moans against your mouth.
Those eyes, again. She’s looking at you like it should be terrifying. With those pools so wide and trusting, sucking you in that endless pit of lust and something more dark that would defile all followings of faith. An impossibility to bear, so you settle with her neck and just focus on how close she’s getting, banking she doesn’t even know it herself. As much as you want to keep pounding her for more than a couple seconds, you’re more desperate to watch her crumble beneath you. Rock your hips to hers and feel her clit rub the base - she’s clenching her teeth with eyes closed.
You keep going with a few more thrusts, as much as you can give her. Her body is basically being pushed up against the mattress and only being yanked back to your cock, meeting her forehead as her orgasm sends tremors to her entire body. Her cunt clenches around you, locking her ankles to your legs.
Checkmate.
She’s holding you to the edge - cumming inside with no escape, leaving ropes to her cervix. The quiet room filled with loud gasps and huffs that will surely have noise complaints later, softening to whimpers.
You collapse on top of Minju, with enough room for her to breathe. Catching your own while your vision comes to. Curse the vertigo, but what good would that bring if it weren’t for the release. She’s shivering to your chest, and every exhale is another shudder of a clattering teeth. You kiss her cheek, then stroke her hair, thumb her hips for a job well done - adoring, in reverence. The mere thought of guilt doesn’t creep in right away, but it will eventually. Right now, all you want is to be close to her.
Minju hums to get your attention, something content or exhausted, massaging your hair and moving a few stray hairs on your forehead. Completely ignoring the fact that you’re still hard inside of her and she smiles with a bump to her button nose. You don’t acknowledge the lurch your heart gives from the look she’s exuberating, ridding the cobwebs and dust - beating proudly as if to say that “this soul still has some life here”.
In reluctance, you eventually pull out of her - and the both of you wince at the loss. You move up the duvet to where you both are within the proximity of the sheet draping over. Her exhales are your inhales, and it’s the same the other way; to the point where the air is shared. Minju traces a finger to your face, thumbing wrinkles that would’ve faded at her touch alone - from your forehead, to the defined cheekbones, that jaw. It’s a gentle touch you’ve had in a long while.
What feels abrupt to an eternity, Minju huffs and sits up slowly, buckling her elbow and coughing. You’re rubbing a shoulder and bridging an arm to hers. “Why not stay?” You ask, seeing her tilt her chin at the question. “I can order us something in the morning,” she listens as you add. “On me. Whatever you’re craving.”
She smirks - it’s pretty, genuine. That flash of teeth is a sunrise of its own in the long night. Then it switches to something more solemn, not too regretful - you settle for wistful.
“As much as I want to, I can’t. Really, I’d take up the offer,” Minju tells you. “I appreciate it.”
While you could feel your heart sink for a second, you nod. The disappointment weighs heavy, and even more heavier as she stands up. Only for you to notice the crimson stain left on the sheets, clearly out of place and defiling the linen.
“Min- wait. Your legs- or something. Are you okay?” You’re concerned, examining closely. She turns around once her dress is on, reaching for the ruined dress.
“Huh? Oh. I- Ugh. I should’ve said something-” she stutters, scratching her forehead.
“It’s fine. Are you- I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Minju shakes her head in lieu of a ‘no’.
“Is that normal? For you?”
You see her jaw flex, shrugging. She’s pulling the dress up to her waist. “I mean, it just sort of happened-”
Half right she is. It still leaves you confused, and then the notion hits you like a bullet.
“Hang on-” your heart quivers, anxious. “You actually never-”
No answer.
“Really. You’re kidding me.” Both of you know what the conclusion is. “Are-”
Her eyes roll and nostrils flare. “The answer is yes. Now is it going to be that big of a deal for you? Or can we move on?” She doesn’t flinch at your connecting dots. You’re staring down the smirking girl in a small shock regardless.
(Here: you don’t actually say it, but the implication was there - she is, or, was, in fact, a little over an hour ago, but there’s no need to go over the details, again.)
Instead your face is between your palms and the guilt could not have spilled over any quickly. Yeah. You’re definitely gonna live with that for the rest of your life, it seems.
“Minju- you- I think a heads up would’ve been nice. At least tell me before-” you sigh and there’s no point in thinking what could’ve been done differently. Which begs the questions: would you have really stopped? What would you do if she had told you? Spare her a little more care? Not be as rough? Let alone the fact you went all the way-
“Listen. Don’t make yourself the bad guy here,” relents Minju, sitting at the desk and beginning to straighten her hair and touch up her lipstick. Looking back over her shoulder, “I wanted it. And, it was good. Simple.”
“Alright, but look if your first time is going to be somewhat memorable, it should’ve been different,” you sigh, buttoning up your shirt and cuffs before the necktie gets thrown around the collar. “Christ. Who am I even kidding? I was gonna have you in the back of my car if you hadn’t suggested-” and you’re rambling; everything about the plot is so fucked for you while she appears to be completely fine.
She chuckles; almost in a mocking form. “Did I give any expression that said ‘i didn’t want you to fuck me?’”
You’ve got your tongue in teeth. It’s unfair for her to be this cruel.
“Well-” and there’s this quick exasperation of disbelief with a dropping hand, “No, you didn’t. That being said, I still-”
You watch her walk over to the mattress and lean on your hip, not exactly straddling but still doing enough to keep you dumbstruck and keep your words stuck in the throat as she kisses you earnestly on the cheek, nodding in kind. “Be a dear and zip me back up.” She shifts her head and sweeps a few hairs, then taps your jaw a few times while she turns around.
Naturally, she’s got all of her hair to the front which reveals her upper back, and you can’t help but wonder how good it’ll look riddled with bruises and bite marks. But that’s just the lust part of your brain doing that while the other is in figurative zombie mode and almost sleepwalker-like - not to mention the guilt and shame and possible court case looming when you finally lock it in place at the top.
Observant as she loosens herself, patting down areas of her dress to ensure they’re comfortable. She still looks untouched - albeit her flushed cheeks still present and fading, her hair wavy and more weathered compared to her straight and clean picture from earlier. You’re watching the mask she bears finally take shape - so neat and prettily like a well-tailored doll.
“Maybe a dinner would suffice,” you propose, a first suggestion to compensate for the mess you’ve gotten into. “Doesn’t have to be glamorous, even. I could just give you my number if you’d like.” The sands of time aren't playing kindly to your efforts, and the main crevice between the both of you is only getting larger.
“Phone. Give.” She commands, extending a hand. You’re patting yourself down only to realize that it was left on the floor with your trousers. Minju watches you over, probably dumbfounded at how stupid you look, but that seems to be okay with her.
You blink as she presses the screen and saves the contact after, handing it over.
“Guess this is goodbye,” she softly says to you. As if she signed her life away and seeing you stay as she goes. You ball a fist and relax, settling the urge to pull her back.
“Good night, Minju.”
You’re holding the door open as she departs with a faint smirk. It hurts you to see her leave the room - even more when she doesn’t turn back whilst down the hallway - and the door has seen the air filled with a single soul riddled in vodka, santal, and remnants of sex.
Once everything settles, you change out to a clean shirt, noticing an unfamiliar garment next to the pile of dirty clothes: a pair of lacy panties. You sigh; of course she left it here. Quick to put it away even before the thoughts creep back into your brain.
–
(When you’re between the pillows filled with her scent, you open up the new contact:
Minju P.
Her phone number is quite elegant as her name and look. You smile at that.
Which only curdles the boiling curiosity even more. A tab with ‘Minju Park Gala’ on the search bar: nothing. ‘Minju Park University event’ added with the date doesn't give you any answers either. Scrolling through a few esteemed articles where she’s credited for a few of them. It’s the same name, but there’s a referral to Minju K. P. There’s something fishy, a fact she left out (maybe on purpose but you don’t want to assume), switching out the P for a K, and vice versa.
This kicker makes you sit up: ‘Minju K. Park’. A photo is seen in the images on the webpage. She’s younger - only by a few years - sat in front of a woman in the center of the photo. The woman behind has her hand resting to her shoulder; you could feel the weight of it from the aged film alone.
You clock it from the face first before the info quote:
Minju Kim pictured with her daughter Minju Park (front) at the opening ceremony of Gillit University.
“Shit,” you exhale.
Minju Park-Kim. Kim Minju’s direct successor of the most powerful institutions in leading education, given the article and a little more scrolling to the side. Her mother’s been playing a pivotal role as her main teacher, from the looks of it.
You spot more photos and see her and the mother across multiple events, some from personal life and at work: she’s poised, a trailblazer in her own right. The catalog goes on for decades, Kim Minju’s personal trophy at the forefront of PR purposes. And her very daughter just lost her virginity in a ritzy hotel to a person who’s years ahead of her while the mother is playing headmaster a few miles away.
It should make you feel way worse than before. Yet-
You actually don’t care.
And shoot a text to her soon after.)
–
A week passes. You both settle at this dingy place that sells decent ice cream and smoothies - far away from any vicinity where your faces are a familiarity.
(Yeah, she tells you, let’s go grab something cold while the weather is nipping at our skin. That’s a great idea. You don’t really care. The ideas were spread thin as it is.)
You’ve had an initial thought of a proper dinner, one well put together with a reservation, a bottle of wine, and the bill going one way. She took her sweet time texting you back. It honestly makes you happy she’s here to go along with the date.
Everything about it goes against your daily schedule: you’re treating Minju Park-Kim to a sweet treat on a random weekday evening. For any consolation from the last time you and her were together, this was the most mundane thing that should have been done in the first place. Unlike eating each other’s faces off and fucking in the hotel room. (For her first, as well.)
Regardless of class or status, it would be kind for you to have some sort of sense to learn about the girl some more that doesn't involve railing her hips off with the legs up but- hey, she doesn’t know you found out the truth.
You order the usual: a double scoop of cookies and cream. She, on the other hand, picks out a nice cherry sorbet. It rests well on her cup and leaves a bit of red on the spoon when she places it there while it melts. See the bottom of her lip curl outward before testing a lick for good measure.
“Funny,” you breathe, smiling. “You told me that ice cream was your thing.”
Minju stabs her scoop as an offense. “Accusing me of lying?”
“Never claimed nor concluded that,” you laugh. “You just look like those workers who scrape gum underneath the lunch tables.”
“Cookies and cream. Really!? Just go freeze some oreos and save the money.”
You roll your eyes and snatch her spoon, scooping a nice chunk of yours to offer as a sample. “Have some.”
Her brows furrow, with a few wrinkles at the top of her nose.
“It’s not gonna hurt you,” you chuckle. Waving it closer to her adorable scowl, sighing. “For me.”
She then closes her eyes, parting her lips as the scoop disappears into her mouth. You catch the quick glimpse of her tongue when she gets a bit off of her top lip, licks them soon after. Tongue in cheek, nodding in approval.
“See?! What’d I say,” you drawl, taking a scoop for your own as a prize.
“It isn’t that appealing,” replies Minju. While you lean back and drop your shoulders, she takes the spoon and gets another piece for herself. Quick to grab her wrist before the scoop ever got anywhere.
“Hang on now. When did I say it’s okay to get another one from me?” Right then there’s this look on her face, with pulled lips as if she’s unimpressed while you make another scoop for her to lick of. Two mouthfuls were enough to suffice her, and you have no complaint spooning her bites across the booth. She then stops after the third, grinning with another lick of her lips.
You’ve drawn up the observation of how pretty she is looking at you like this: the small crescents in her eyes when she smiles, the gentle quirk or twitch of her eyebrow when something is tasty; her light, toffee hair down and resting loosely at the shoulders. The parlor’s small, a quick stop by train on the way to campus - much easier on the eyes, lighter, her head falls like she’s got no worries.
It’s your act of service to wipe your thumb first before leaning across to smear off the ice cream left beneath Minju’s lips. Her mouth drops before closing again where your fingertip rests on her chin, on the nice little space between. Her smirk forms as a tease and those doting eyes - too bright and inviting and blinking to snap you out of it when the second of staring lingers more than it should.
She hums in satisfaction, cocking her head the opposite side.
“I won’t be mad,” and it’s in this telling voice of assurance. “I don’t mind you touching me.”
Your eyes dart to the window, guilty as charged. Yet you don’t smile or frown, but this mixed reaction of being conflicted. “It’s not that,” you say, placing your cup down followed by clasped hands, “it’s the fact that- maybe we shouldn’t.”
Minju pauses, reading into the lines. The level of awareness for someone her age should already be developed, and props to her for noticing the cues. “Maybe,” she answers. “No, you’re right. We probably shouldn’t.”
Facetious, you’ll give her that.
Though you feel her foot on your ankle under the table and she’s just slowly moving it up and down your shin (mind you: her legs are bare, with that knee length skirt and not giving a shit about the cold weather - it should ring the alarm bells in your head but you choose to ignore it). “Actually, you’re a hundred percent right.”
You level your heads and let it sit.
On the other hand, she’s got her hand propping her chin, batting lashes with those wide eyes, with that innocent folly. The fact that Minju’s not doing anything is doing a number on you mentally - thinking that it would be easier this time being around her. There isn’t any alcohol or any bust up with the spoiled kids, nor any excuse to find an out for sleeping with a woman that’s waving all the red flags in your head. No. It’s way worse. Even with the grief and fog of alcohol not in your mind - how clear it’s become of the fact she’s gorgeous and clever; elegant and refined in the manner which she speaks, with those gentle hands and firm knees. Your thumb finds her lips again and remember the feeling of them. Plus, it’s already bad enough you’ve fantasized about her multiple times during the week, even with the missing pair of panties which she also doesn't know about.
You actually don’t notice her mouth moving, the noise blocked out between your ears. The grin she gives is actually lecherous.
“I’m sure you have a staring problem,” she tells you. A tease when she drops the ‘sir’ again to grab your attention, the syllables rolling nicely on her teeth. That same pit in your stomach forms once more and you’re clearing your throat.
“Minju, easy.” It’s a plea, to her - to be the better person between you two. You sigh and wipe your eyelids. “Don’t push it.”
“Mmm? I’m not doing anything,” she relents. God help you. Even if he could, there’s no stopping her foot rubbing your pant leg.
You look down and flinch at the screech of the chair skating across the floor. She’s startled as well, but blinks through it, indifferent to the smug she held just a second earlier. “Look, this- I don’t think it’s a good-”
“Idea?” The question Minju asks; shelves a bob at your throat. Her eyes flicker, coldly. Unimpressed. “In all fairness, you asked me. After all.”
It’s unfair - the feeling of it spilling into your mind all at once - to be so revolting at the actions you’ve committed to be in this position. You knew better (but you didn’t) and still went along with the bad idea, anyway. Playing the paradoxical confusion of not wanting to be close to her but needing her otherwise is daunting. Fearful of getting too close, too fast, dragged by her impending pull and there’s nothing more you’d want than to just submit - which, in a sense, is the right thing to do.
“You’re right. I did. And-” you solicit for her reply: no answer. To that, you sigh, “I’m ready to take you home, if you’re willing.” Instead, what she does is not say anything, standing up from the table and looking at you from up high before heading for the exit. On the way out, you’re jumbling the set of keys in your hand, following her around to the passenger side to open the door. Too bad she gets there first, quickly pulling and setting herself down with the seatbelt on and knees together. You meet on the opposite end and close the door, too.
It’s freezing, the gentle chatter of teeth is heard from her as the breaths are clouding the windows. Even with the overcoat, her legs are visible where the jacket parts. The heat gets turned up to the max, lukewarm air only making it colder. Her fingers curl over her thighs.
“Minju,” you say, hesitant. Her eyes never leave the front windshield.
Her lips part slightly, drawing a breath in. She holds it, exhaling soon after. Seems like some of the anger has grown on her, written all over her face and shown in the fist - like the color leaving from a shriveling petal. It’s oddly frightening how calm she is.
She turns to face you and stare right back. “You remember how to get back to my place right?” A simple inquiry with raised brows, lips perched where it doesn’t flex her cheeks. A completely different persona unlike the coyness personality and teasing that you were used to. Yet it all makes sense - with the surname, the royalty it comes with. She’s able to compartmentalize and slip into a skin that doesn’t have an alias or character.
–
(You find it infuriating, however.
Not because of the difference in class- no, not that. But the pieces that were slowly picked apart from a world you have no business being affiliated with. A want that’s been simmering since the second you met her.
The urge to open her up and engorge yourself of the pieces that make her raw, unadulterated.
Infuriating enough that losing someone like that is worse than any imaginable gain altogether.)
–
The car hums to life and you’re entranced by her easy eyes.
In that instant where the silence is only filled with the gentle beats of your hearts, you make a choice. Because that’s what you can do. Because now that you’ve had her, nothing else really matters. If it wasn’t for her, there wouldn’t be anything for you. The choice is apparent when you cross the center console with just enough grace to not scare her. Minju sees this, albeit blatantly obvious, but her eyebrows lift faster than her lips before she could utter a single word.
Her lips are the same as you remember them from that night. You kiss her gently, hear her softly hum into the touch. She doesn't flinch at your cold hands, cupping her cheek and get your fingers in her hair. Lips sweet as the ice cream you spoonfed minutes ago. The warmth of them makes you forget about the chilly car. It makes you forget about all of that - how deprived she’s been without you, scarfing down air in the gaps and less frantic than the first time.
Her hands form fists to your coat and she pulls. You don’t fight her when she’s off the seat, moving with a purpose that’s so endearing. Her teeth clash with yours; it doesn’t hurt but you both laugh gently at the moment. She breaks with deep breaths, labored, bumping noses. Making her way to your lap and get her feet under. You pause, pinch her unbelievable waist. Minju forces you to look at her as you scan in an obvious spot: beneath the streetlight and still in a semi-full parking lot.
You smile, and all she does is place a nice peck to your lips. “You really don’t want to do this here?” She asks, seeing your shaking head and sighing in defeat. Then stumbling back to her seat and shivering on the way down. “It’s not like they’re gonna interrogate us for being in the car.”
“A lot more serious if it’s a person with a status with someone she shouldn’t be with.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
“You basically wanted to hop and get caught on my cock just now.”
Minju bites her lip at that. It could be the cold or pent-up tension, or both in this matter. She isn’t doing herself a favor when her hand finds its way between her legs.
“I know, I know,” you say, chuckling. “Why don’t we find somewhere else more private, okay?”
–
Neither of you say a word as you’re driving - think of it as some unspoken agreement that was arranged without saying anything. You’re just rolling along with no direction at all, hoping that the landmarks around the town will eventually lead you back to Minju’s estate.
Minju has her legs spread just slightly, making space for you. Hand to her knee. She’s tracing your knuckles on your other hand that isn’t on the wheel. She’s fidgeting. You play along and slide your hand up and up; you don’t actually see it buried beneath the coat, but the softness grazes the fingertips and the breadth of your fingers take up her whole leg.
One of her hands finds your wrist, clutching, urging you to move your hand higher. The grip on the steering wheel goes tight as she guides it to her upper thigh and the sensitive skin that resides. It’s a lot on your mind since she’s shaking at your touch. You turn at the road where it breaks into an empty parking lot, no lights hanging overhead. There’s a corner near the building and the only other car that’s in the lot seems untouched; perhaps abandoned for years, maybe. Your hand leaves her thigh and shift the car to park.
A giggle could be heard from her, following a grin. “What?”
“Really,” she breathes, sighing as your fingers splay her thigh. “A church?”
You lift your brows and she mirrors the same expression. Her gaze goes to the window and you follow.
‘Church of Latter-Day Saints’ is seen on a dimly lit sign, with a dove and cross next to the name.
You shake your head and grin. ‘Didn’t notice that. Real nice.”
“We could always look elsewhere-”
Minju chortles. She lets her head lean to the seat with her eyes on you.
“You’re inclined to take a little risk, you know. Live without rules?”
You roll your eyes at that, letting the fact about sleeping with a former student in your car simmer in your head. There would be something said about this, but instead you tap her thigh twice and nod. “Yeah, I could.”
“There’d be no saving you.”
“No, there wouldn’t be.”
She smirks at that, eyes flickering from yours to lips. And she leans in. You think she might kiss here, but she doesn’t. Her hand goes to your cheek and thumbs the skin, observing the structure so carefully before refocusing.
You lean in to fill the space where she doesn’t and she’s shedding her overcoat, letting it fall to the floor of the seat. Watch as she climbs over the console to the backseat, see her ass in the rearview, skirt riding high up her thighs and the subtle outline of her profile in the darkness. Slotting through the seats easily and turning around to face you.
Minju sees you follow after, putting your seat forward as much as possible without suffocating your chest to the wheel. You can’t move as nimbly compared to her and hell- even your bones are praying for mercy.
Slight change of plans, you just open the door and move to the backseat from outside, right next to her. Minju bites down a grin. Her heels are also discarded to the front, knees underneath where she kneels, sensing your pull and taking that warmth. She gives the same look in her eyes as before, like she knows how much you want to kiss her.
So you get your pair or lips on hers, give each other an easy chase. Opening up at the small increments; sighing, panting, gasping. The heat will make its way eventually, pulling and moving in the little space that you’ve got. You pull her to your lap without leaving her lips, finally having her thighs pressing her properly. It’s amazing how responsive she is, almost natural. For a girl like her to move up in the world with so much simplicity and no struggle - how lived in the unadulterated way she is when you’re together; weak, clumsy knees and smiling with all teeth.
You believe that everything with her is real.
Minju’s hissing down your mouth. “More, more, more-” she croons, her hips grinding hard and pulling your shirt. These nice, little hymns of want seeping at the corners. She’s got her skirt rucked around the waist. You slide a hand up her thigh, around to the curve of her ass, the other to her back and keep her from falling. Her lips break the kiss as she strips the baby blue cardigan and shirt in one clean motion - hitting her head on the ceiling but she’s laughing while you’re focusing on her sheer undershirt that barely covers her supple breasts. You could see the peaks of her nipples, leaning down to suck a nub through the clean fabric.
“God-” she whines, wounding fingers deep into your hair. She hates how good you are at this, indecisive at what she wants; hunching over your head and resting her hips, reaching down to undo the belt between your bodies. “Can’t help yourself, hm?”
You look up at her, leaving her tits wet and slimy with spit, clearly visible through the fabric. “Let me taste you.”
She bites her lips at you, holding your face. “You have to ask more politely.”
“I-” and she’s got a finger to your lips.
“Ask. Nicely.”
The gears in your head short circuit; shit. Your pride went away the second you met her on that terrace, and more of it when she walked in your hotel room.
“May I,” you ask, voice horse and tilting to her tits, biting a nipple. Minju yelps and she can’t give an answer. “Taste you, please. Ma’am.”
She takes a breath - a shaky one - gets her bottom lip to her teeth, and nods. You help her off your lap and lay her back along the backseat with the little space manageable. Her skirt gets slipped off, which left her in a pair of ruined bra and a soaked bra. She’s quick to take those off l, impatient. Your shirt is also quick to go and the clack of the belt buckle hits the floor, too. Beginning a trail of kisses down her front, each one making her shake more than the last.
You pause, get lost in the vast sequin of fine skin laid barren that you’re about to ruin. No corner of her body is left untouched by your hands and lips, blessed by the dim light that’s peeking through the sunroof and windows. From the collarbone to her subtle formation of ribs; she’s bathed in this gentle luminescence in the blue darkness, dipping a tongue to her hipbone, and Minju’s breath hitches closer to her core.
“Good? Okay?” you ask right above her clit.
“Yes,” nods Mnju. The answer itself is a hiss, a vice in her throat. When you look up to her eyes it’s a moment to genuflect: her pools spilling a darkness of want, her breasts heaving up and down. Covering her mouth with her hand and unable to look away. “Ruin me.”
While there’s a fire lit under your knee, trying to make do with the pain, it wouldn’t matter to you. When she’s looking at you with those lidded eyes, desperate for something that she can’t even find the words to. You can’t help but be adorned in grace with what’s presented to you as a gift between her thighs. Her pussy lips; so pretty and pink and well flushed; suddenly you wished for another chance to take her somewhere else where the light from above can bless her angelic offering.
You breathe against her, barely, hot and open, see the twitch at her abs. Fuck. She winces when you kiss right above her clit, well aware that she doesn’t need much. Tonge pressed flat in one, gentle swipe upward. Minju’s grip on your hair goes tight, burning your scalp. An encouragement.
“My god, fuck-” she sighs, and the sounds are a mix of being strangled and relaxed. You keep on lapping her cunt, suck in her entrance and clit - keeping the contact minimal - since you also think it would be overwhelming for her case, contrary to her dripping and soaking the leather beneath her. The taste is already addicting, you have to hold yourself back from shoving your face into her and drink her chalice. Which would be the case had she not clamp her thighs around your head, tensing and untensing; both unbearable and all forgiving with her bucking hips.
Her head is thrown back when your nose brushes her clit, biting down a finger. She’s cooing with your fingers teasing her entrance, with no resistance as you slip inside that slick.
“You’re drenched, sweetheart,” you say. Minju is definitely not going to last. With her insides like silk and her walls clenching and unclenching around your finger, her heels are fighting to stay on the seat. She can’t stay still, eyes shut, jaw hanging open. Seething as your nose rubs her clit and you’re dragging a fingertip to one side and letting the pressure sever her legs - the reflex to them being tense through all the shudders and she could only hold for so long.
“Yes, yes, yes, yes-”
That doesn’t stop you from licking her clean, even with her hand tugging you off her cunt, shakily. You praise her by kissing her inner thighs and plant a mark before moving up to her stomach, rest your palms along her waist where it stops her stuttering breaths, trying to reset, recuperate. Get her seated before moving around and cradling her head, keep her comfortable and not where any craps would form - the best you could offer in such a cramped space.
Both of your bodies are hot, and the leather is left with slick and sweat and Minju’s sweet wine, sticking to her skin. You wipe your chin with the butt of your palm and feel let the stubble capture the stray droplets. “Been wanting to do that since last time,” you tell her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Should’ve just let me suffocate down there.”
“Shut up,” Minju tells you, curling to your chest. She’s making you want to claim what’s yours, be possessive; let all of these devilish thoughts of her seeking for another person’s warmth or sighing into a mouth that isn’t yours, hear the sounds she makes with you. It’s eating you apart on the inside - only for a second, that is - but you have her here and nobody else does.
“I could’ve gone easier,” you go on, smirking as your mouth is back on her, paying no attention to Minju’s hands fast to your waistband. Prodding you to be barren like her and if she had a little more strength from cumming so much, she might’ve ripped off your pants in that instant.
Her determination is something you have to keep getting used to.
“Minju, we don’t-”
“I know,” is all she says, biting her lip at the sight of your length resting between her legs. “But I want to.”
You nod. “Okay.”
Her blessing is all you need to take care of the rest, guiding her one hand to grasp in one place where you’re holding the other. She just smiles into your face and works you up even more as payback for a couple minutes earlier.
“I can’t believe this cock fucked my mouth up last time,” whispers Minju, just twisting the shaft and making you lose brain cells by the second. Her clumsiness is pretty much out the window, and back in control. “You’re sure you don’t want to shove this thick dick all the way down my throat? Get me real messy for it?”
“Don’t push your luck,” you groan. An idea to save for later.
Yet you don’t expect Minju to turn over, pushing herself up with shaking arms; get her palms and knees on the leather, her ass pressed to your groin. Sighing with relief and flipping her hair from one side to the other and with a peek past the shoulder - hooded eyes and everything - like she’s showing you what you have done to deserve her.
Where your palm splays and pushes her down, granting the arch. A presentation. An offering. Something that God himself had wished he let his good-hearted soul fall into temptation for at least once. It makes your eyesight dizzy: seeing her bent over in the backseat, pussy wet and wanting. But you can’t stop holding yourself back.
“Min,” you simply say, “Is this okay?”
She nods in reply, pushing her body back with a deliberate grind of her wet folds to the underside that makes her smile through the absolute fuck of it.
“There’s nothing more that I want,” she rasps as you toy her with just your tip. “Than for you to fill me up-”
“Christ.”
“-and just put me in my place like the naughty little girl you’ve made me become.”
“We don’t have any history,” you tell her. “Not even in the slightest.”
“And still.”
The head of your cock goes in - just that first inch or two - a teaser. You shake.
“I’m not saying no and neither are you.” She mutters. “Fuck.”
“Just tell me if it hurts,” you instruct, but she’s just staring at your hands having way too much fun with her hips, that waist. Your hands feel heavy; so is your cock, leaning back with her ass stuck to your thighs, dragging your length to her folds, preparing. You’re certain she could feel you throb between her legs. And once that press finally opens her up, the line of her back sinks forward. “Oh, Jesus.”
It’s way better than you remembered. God. How excruciatingly tight she was - all velvet and still gripping you vice-tight. Even the audible ‘sclick’ when you drag out for good measure, see the sheen over the ridge and veins. Minju’s holding her breath - knuckles going white as she’s gripping the door handle. It’s slow, the grace period to adjust and find your pace. Nothing more gratifying than to just ravage her ass and chase the heat - like you’d rather die here than to hurt her.
Minju lets it sit for a minute, all the way down to the base. Rolling her hips around. She moves on her own accord, bending her legs lower to take you deeper. You don’t see her face wince, but the sounds coming out of her mouth encourage you to double down the efforts. “Please- just, let me fucking- god, this fucking cock-”
She’s sighing, and then she’s moaning; you’re left in awe at the ripples her ass exhibits beneath the noir-like light coming from above. The slide back and forth, seeing your cock disappear and reappear from inside. Her hand slips from the handle, barely holding up by the elbows. Yeah, she wasn’t gonna last long from this.
Your part fills in the spots where she fails, meeting her moving hips by thrusting with a little force. Not hard. The concept of patience is so important here. Staying firm so that she can throw herself back to your groin. Her head then goes slack.
“Fuck yourself into me,” you moan in her ear, bent over and letting her have it bit by bit. “You’re so good. Feel amazing- shit-” You want to keep praising her, let that being from within compel you to tell her the things you don’t want to admit. Minju’s mouth drops low again.
“Yes, yes-” her head turns until the profile is within your vision, breath faltering. “I wanted this-
“Yeah?”
“-all fucking day. All fucking week.”
Anything would be good to hear her keep talking cock-drunk.
“Your cock- fuck. It’s so good. I just wanted you to ruin me, so badly.”
“How badly?” You kiss her mid-thrust.
She shoves down a ‘very’ right through your throat.
“That’s my good girl,” you say against her hips. Keeping the pace.
Oh, you know she loves the praise. When the attention is on her. Like the world stops for a second and acknowledge someone like her - the name, the notoriety, the status she exudes - but away from all the glittering lights and from her grooming mother, she’s riddled down to this: a wobbling head and jerking with every slide in her cunt that sends shockwaves to the rest of her body. You loop a hand to her waist, pull her up to your chest, head leaned back to your collarbone and she’s trying to find some sort of brace; ends up placing a palm on the foggy window.
Her slick back is flush with yours, her moans rising in octaves. She’s rebounding on your cock and trying her best to not buck over - her walls clamping and unclamping all the same. You pull out and give her these steady strokes, hard and deep, rocking her up with every inch she can possibly take. Minju chokes out a cough, lips to your ear, her hair spilled behind your shoulder, spilling down your neck as well. You kiss the space below the ear - get some of her sweat on your nose.
Nothing. Could be ever more gratifying than having her like this. All to yourself.
She’s got her fingers spread over the forearm at her waist, scratching. Something for you to loo over once all of this is finished. Minju’s just whimpering a river of meaningless words and tongues you can’t decipher. “Please, sir. Fuck- my pussy” for one among the few and “god, i can’t believe you- and this cock-”
“I know, I know,” you’re breathless as ever and her cunt just feels incredible.
You notice the slack in her neck and she can barely put up with the rhythm at this rate. Her whole body is putty - like she could mold with yours - as if she were a missing piece you’ve been searching for so long, all within arms reach.
It didn’t really matter about the difference in class, or what she does, who her family is, the last name - it’s just her. Her.
Minju’s dripping all over your cock that it spreads to your thighs. Taking it well and feeling the full weight of you tearing her insides. “You are- so good, it’s insane-”
You don’t relent; not now, not ever. Even as her body stills and she’s got an inhale clutched to the teeth. She’s really loose and all she can really do is take these long, deep thrusts until the balls of her eyes roll back. “Minju, this pussy.”
One more push breaks the shaking on her back, and she lurches forward. There it is again: she’s coming so far down that she’s laid flat on the backseat, helpless as everything crashes down on top of her. Through every wave and twitch and high-pitched whine that leaks out you’re certain that someone might’ve heard in the building nearby. Let it be the residing Father to discover such a sight of defilement - have you and her confess the sins you’ve committed on God’s doorstep. Besides, you’re one step closer to hell while heaven’s still a whole staircase away.
“Can’t ever get enough,” she coughs out, just barely. You keep on pounding her ass and the pressure’s getting to that point. Fighting every last bit to hold it in, till it becomes unbearable and you’re following her to that high, that sweet chase.
“Never,” you sigh. “Minju-”
You flush your hips with her ass, and cum inside her just like that.
The deep feeling never goes away, as the two of you are left shaking, with limbs tangled and sprawled on the ruined leather when you pull out. Minju’s turned to her side below you, caged by your frame and her arms are to her face. You kiss a shoulder and rub her waist, soothe the bruises and red marks left by your grip, sweeping a few hairs on her back as it’s suffocating your nose. She’s breathing, humming. A delight. “There’s no restraint from you,” she says, in disbelief. “God, that might be worrisome. I can hardly fathom how rough-”
“I try not to hurt you, love. Seriously, you’re a piece of work.” You tell her, stroking her hair. “If I really wanted it, I would’ve finished on your face.”
“You believed me when I said I was on the pill?”
“Are you not?”
Minju smirks. You don’t bother asking and focus on being wrung out in a sweat-slicked mess, sated and with the scent of sex filling the car. She shuffles a bit at your front and you just watch her over like some silent protector. That is, what you think you are, maybe.
“Well,” you breathe, kissing her hair once again. “Minju? Minju.”
She’s already fast asleep.
–
“Over here?”
“Yeah,” Minju points to the right of her, the car rolling along the street. “You can actually just stop right at the front.”
The car quietly grinds to a halt at the front of a decently looking apartment complex. Which is a bit peculiar; y’know, considering a girl with so much on her bankroll, not to mention the repeating details-
“Quaint.” you deduce, admiring the bronze glow of the streetlights above. “Not far from campus as well, too.”
“Yep,” beams Minju. “It’s a friend of mine’s so you shouldn’t have to worry.”
“Why would I worry?” You laugh. “What you do doesn’t faze me anymore.”
She just kisses you, taking in your features one last time. “You’re right. Though-”
“We should be more careful next time.”
“Yeah, that.”
You nick your head in lieu of saying ‘get on going’ and she takes the hint. “I’ll see you around, then?”
Minju dips her head from outside, blinking. “I’ll be in touch.”
She closes the door and starts to walk up the foyer.
And you just wish to be with her for a little while longer.
-
(But the question begs: how long?
How long until you have the capacity to tell her what you (already) know? When would be the next time? When you have to help clean her up and redress, take her back to a place that should be home, though it can’t since that home is tied up with a family name and a mother she can’t fight to escape from.
Despite that, you’ll rest on the fact that it was nice to play pretend. To let her pretend to be someone without status, to make bad choices, eat at a froyo spot and not tell people to sit where they sit and do what they do. To make you pretend that you’re not alone and you’ll do much better without drinking your sorrows away.
You’re not sure whether the future lead with her will be enough.
Yet the past week and a half or two, of crossing paths with Minju, you decide that-
It’s one thing to be playing strip blackjack with your roommate for the fun of it, bored out of your mind because the semester’s over and the both of you decided not to go back to your hometowns for reasons out of both your control. It’s another to be playing strip blackjack when you’re down to your boxers and she’s still somehow halfway to getting into her birthday suit.
You probably should’ve told her to take off her jacket and all the accessories she was wearing. Having each one as an individual piece of clothing is the most bullshit excuse you’ve ever heard, more so when you realized she has earrings and socks on.
“Oh come on,” she starts, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you that scared of me seeing your dick? It’s not that small from what I remem–”
“Fuck you.” You send a middle finger her way. “I'm on eighteen and you’re on fifteen. You hit.”
Playing safe normally isn’t what you prefer doing, the need to throw down another card tempting you. But the odds of getting anything below a three is so goddamn miniscule, you’d be guaranteeing your loss.
And this is not how you thought having Sooin see you naked after God knows how long would go.
Sooin grabs the stack of cards, taking the first off the deck. She doesn’t flip yet, only placing it down next to her two fours and a seven. “I bet this is a six,” she says, tapping on the card.
“And I bet that it’s anything but a six,” you counter, and she graces you with a laugh.
“Willing to bet your boxers on that?” she asks, nodding to said clothing. Your last line of defense to your dignity, pride, ego. But if that saying about a good defense is a good offense applies here, then you might as well use it to your advantage.
“You willing to bet your entire top off for it?” you counter, leaning back on your chair. It’s a gamble, not one you’re sure she’ll bite on, yet you’re desperate. In dire need of a hail mary, and this—this is your one shot to getting it.
Besides, seeing her tits is a major plus.
“Bitch, I’ll bet everything I’m wearing it’s a six.” The way she sounds so confident about it makes you think she’s somehow rigged the deck when though you’ve been the one that’s been shuffling it since the beginning of this whole thing.
She does the job for you, when she slams the cards down on the table. Crossing her arms and smirks at you.
“I’ll even bet something better for you,” Sooin starts, her legs crossing, and the smooth expanse of her skin starts to entice you, her shorts riding up and showing even more of those thighs. “If I don’t get a six, I’ll be free use for you for the entire week,” she states, the glee in her face dropping an offer that only the devil would ever give. “And we got all week.”
“Sooin, what the fuck–” You’ve known this woman for years, since she barged in your life as your roommate in the middle of your sophomore year and called the supposed guest room as hers. With the amount of shit the both of you have gotten up to with all that time—the rare sex with her included—this has got to be the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. “You don’t offer that up like it’s nothing–”
“Sure I can,” she says, rolling her eyes at you. “We’ve fucked before, what’s so difference about this?”
“We don’t have to be betting shit like that.” You dodge the question, your own legs cross to hide the growing erection in your pants. “We can stick to clothes–”
“Boring.” Her fingers twirl around the curls of her hair. “You need some spice in your life. Some flair. And I’m offering it to you.” Her head tilts. “‘Sides, when was the last time you got laid? Was it that Chaeyoung girl–”
“Chaewon,” you correct, shaking your head. Now she has you hooked on the deal being offered. Your entire wager flipped on you, and you can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “And that’s pretty rich coming from you.”
“Whatever her name is–” She shrugs, avoiding your own question by picking up one of her cards and tapping it on the table. “I’m here offering you a once in a lifetime deal. And we’d both be happy at the end of it.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Anytime you want.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Anywhere you want.”
Taptaptaptap—
“Anything you want–”
“If you don’t get a six,” you enunciate, syllable by syllable. “You’ll just–what, do as I say?”
“If I don’t get a six,” Sooin repeats, hand pausing the drumming of the paper. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. No holds barred. No questions asked. You can have me on my knees right now if you win–”
“Jesus Christ, Swim.” Your palm meets your face, in complete disbelief of what she’s saying. You sigh, real fucking deep, gaze going up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to think about the whole thing. Yet your mind’s already made up, and all you can do is ask about the one thing that you’re sure will happen.
“And if you do pull a six?”
“Then you be free use instead.” The answer is instant, and that is where she gets you. When you think about it, it sounds like a win win situation. “Actually, let’s make this easier for the both of us.”
So nice of her, you think.
“If you have a worse hand than mine, you lose.” That’s mildly easier, but still impossible. Besides, only the crazy ones would ever think of hitting on an eighteen. “And the same goes to me.” She points to the one face down on the table. “Shittier hand than yours, I lose.”
“This has to be bait.” The comment slips out, airing out the first thing that came to mind hearing the terms.
“It’s not.” The look of disbelief on your face makes her gape at you. “I’m not joking, it’s not.”
“Sure, and you didn’t rig the deck so you win again.”
“I didn’t rig jackshit, thank you very much. You need to believe in the heart of the cards.”
“Whatever you say, Yugi,” you chuckle. You glance at the deck, and that top card is begging you to take it. Get the whole thing over and done with, the result be damned.
Though, there is an instance of—
“What happens if we both go over?”
“Easy.” She shrugs. “Then we both win.”
Your head leans back in surprise. “How the hell does that even work?”
“I get to fuck you whenever, you do the same. It’s not rocket science.” Another shrug. “Your other head would do the thinking.”
“And I’m starting to think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” you comment, and she graces you with a smirk.
“It’s a win win type of deal.” She ignores the dig, propping her chin up with her hand. “Just depends who wins more.” She gives you a pointed look. “So, you in or out?”
Sooin’s not wrong. It is a win win deal, and you’d be an idiot not to take it.
You sigh.
“Fine.”
Your hand grabs the card, sliding it off the stack and placing it next to your two cards. “Who goes first?”
“Same time?” Sooin asks, fingers ready to flip the card on her side.
You nod, hand prepped to do the same. “This is insane, you know,” you mutter, licking your lips. Foot tapping rapidly—in anticipation or nervousness, you don’t know—and shaking your head at her. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”
“You can always back out.” She takes her time with it, pushing the edges up slowly, her gaze focused on you rather than on the piece of paper in her hands. “Or are you really a pussy?”
Well, those are some fighting words. And you didn’t get raised like a bitch to back off.
“Just fucking do it already, Sooin.”
She smirks, and with a flourish, she turns it over faster than you can. Your eyes land on her hand, and lo and be-fucking-hold, it’s a goddamn eight.
Everything rushes at you, all at once—relief, shock, joy, unease. It’s all there, because on one hand, you just won a bet against Sooin. On the other, the bet’s stipulations scare the utter life out of you.
“Would you look at that,” Sooin scoffs, grinning at you. “We both lost.”
You blink, and you look down to your own hand.
Twenty Eight.
Heart in the fucking cards your ass—
“No fucking way that just happened.” She huffs a laugh, staring at your hands. “Did we seriously both fucking lose?”
“You’re the one that said to believe in the heart of the cards,” you retort, shaking your head at how things have ended up.
“You know what?” She stands up, picking up the cards and fixing them up back into a single deck. “I’m going to hold up my end of the deal.” Doesn’t even let you soak it in, simply takes your hand away from you and places it back onto the set. “That better be the same for you too.”
“What the fuck does that mean–”
“It means,” Sooin cuts you off, placing the deck neatly on the center of the table. “I’m going to be riding the fuck out of you tomorrow. Or, you know–”
She gives you an innocent smile, as if her words are to become a common occurrence in your household for the week. She bends down, her lips so close to whisper temptations in your ear. Whatever you want, she says, your name rolling past her lips. “All week long.”
Leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder as she heads to her bedroom. Doesn’t bother waiting for a response, instead settling for a—
“Goodnight!”
While you’re over here slumping on your chair, staring at her door and shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.
What the hell did you get yourself into?
—
Sleeping late came naturally to you.
The mental gymnastics you’ve done to convince yourself that everything Sooin said was some sick prank she’s pulling on you, that you’d be waking up to another normal day with her, lazing about and wasting another day doing nothing along with all the other reasons you tell yourself—made you lose your mind trying to instill all of that in your head.
Add to trying to understand why Sooin started that bet at all when she really didn’t have to, aside from the obvious one that your brain is telling you isn’t at all the reason, and you’re almost to a point where you need to admit yourself to a mental asylum trying to figure it out.
You’re almost glad that this didn’t happen during exam week, or else you would’ve been failing all of it left and right with the lack of sleep. Or stamina, if Sooin really was serious.
Which she wasn’t, of course.
You don’t know if you can stop yourself from taking advantage of the bet if she ever gave you any form of a go signal. And if she was, you know she would do the same.
Still, all those days trying to survive the term has made your body’s alarm clock ring, causing you to wake up in the early hours of the morning thinking that there’s some eight o’clock lecture you need to be up for. While you could always stay in, as there is nothing to wake up to this early for the next few weeks, your stomach rumbling tells you otherwise.
So here you are, dragging yourself to the kitchen to make some instant coffee that barely turns you into a functional human being, a bowl of cereal made while you wait for the kettle to heat the water. You would have loved to have some bacon and eggs but alas, someone forgot to do this week’s groceries.
Eventually, Sooin comes out of her room looking the complete opposite of you. It says a lot already, considering you look like a dead man walking and she slept like a baby last night. Arms stretching out as she walks towards you, slumping on the chair opposite of you. Greets you with such energy you’d think she isn't the Sooin you know.
And yet she is, staring at you eating your bowl miserably, a smile on her lips as she leans back on the chair. “You look like shit,” she muses, and she doesn’t need an answer from you to know why.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You play along with it, pretend that everything about last night doesn’t have you in a chokehold.
“I bet.” Her elbow rests on the top back of her chair. “Need a little pick me up?”
She’s dangling the entire thing in front of you, gauging to see just how far you’re willing to keep up with this charade. And if you weren’t so mentally exhausted you could have—should have—said no outright, trying to prevent the impending roller coaster that’s coming your way. And yet your brain decides to make things as ambiguous as possible.
“The coffee can do.” You nod to the kettle, where you are waiting for the stupid thing to finish heating up.
“You sure?” She raises an eyebrow, her eyes glances at the kettle herself. “I’m available to help out, if you want me to.”
The wording isn’t lost on you, making you smile as you raise a spoon full of cereal and milk. “Yeah, Swim. I’m sure.”
She grins, her mouth opening to speak until the kettle finally pings. The both of you take a glance at it, steam rising out of the opening. You move to handle it, but Sooin tells you that she’ll do it instead. Need a cup myself, she says as she passes by, leaving you to eat your cereal in peace.
You take the moment to take a few more spoonfuls as you think up ways of conveniently not run into Sooin for the week, but living with her makes that a daunting task. Being a shut in is always an option, but you’d go insane doing nothing in your room eventually. Or go out everyday until the week ends, check out the mall or go on a quick adventure out of town somewhere.
You can feel your wallet begging you not to do it, making you wonder if you can find another part time for a week at some cafe or convenience store. Whatever to get you out and about and not being with Sooin twenty four seven.
Not that you weren’t against the whole thing. Hell, you want it. In the face of last night, anyone would be stupid not to accept it. Much like you are being an idiot about it.
It’s almost like a slap in the face, when you realize that you could’ve had her on her knees right about now.
The doubt slowly begins to leave your mind, when all the signs point towards Sooin taking it seriously come filling in. You’re being a complete dumbass—no, more than that for wasting a perfectly good night’s rest in exchange for losing your mind for something that really, really should not have been worth losing sleep over.
You’ll be losing sleep over fucking Sooin instead.
The chair you’re sitting on gets pulled away from the table, and the soft, warm weight of Sooin straddles you. Her arms wrap around your neck as she takes a spot on your lap, not allowing you to leave.
“Sooin, what are you–”
“I won last night too, you know.” Her hips roll against yours, making you clench your teeth and tense up. A quick glance tells you that she’s taken her shorts off, leaving her in just her panties and a shirt tight enough to let you know she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. “And since you won’t start, I figured I would.”
She pulls you in for a kiss, and everything you thought of—the denials, the doubt—fully goes out the window when you can finally have a taste of her lips once again. And she’s a force of nature, infecting your mind and body with an overwhelming sense of Sooin; how she smells, her grinding on your cock, her lips exploring yours for the first time.
“You taste like milk,” she says, a quiet chuckle coming out of her as your hands find her waist. She keeps her pace tortuously slow, your cock twitching and aching and wanting more.
“I did just have cereal.” Stating the obvious, obviously. “What else did you think I’d taste like?”
“I don’t know–” she teases, arms coming down to undo the tie of your shorts. “But I’d be happy to find out. We have all week, remember?”
You raise your hips, helping her fish your cock out from your clothing. “Right,” you sigh out, her hand caressing your length, lightly gripping it and giving you a few exploratory pumps. “All week.”
Sooin smiles, pecking your lips once more. “There he is.” She straightens up, her hand finding a rhythm in her strokes, and your cock hardens at her touch. “Guess a woman’s touch makes you fold quick, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Sooin,” you laugh, a hand coming down to squeeze her thigh. “I can feel you dripping through your panties, you know.”
“Blame a girl for finally being able to fuck her roommie again, why doncha.” Her words make you the last time you two fooled around.
“I don’t remember that.” You do. Of course you do. It was a drunken affair on both your ends because of some party she was attending at her rich best friend’s house on the other side of town. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but someone apparently needed to pick her up. One thing led to another, and you’re waking up on her bed, tangled in her sheets.
“That’s a shame.” She knows you’re lying. You both acted like strangers for a better part of a month, and the only thing that got things back to normal was yet another party.
Sooin pulls her panties to the side, lining herself up with your dick. Circling her wet folds around your tip, getting you slick with her juices as she slowly plunges down on you. “Here’s a reminder then.”
A deep moan rumbles out of you, head tilting back as her heat begins to wrap around your length. “Jesus, Sooin–” Your grip on her hips grow firmer, your eyes watching her face morph into an expression of such pleasure that the only thing you can do is stare and admire every small microexpression she makes.
“God, I’m going to enjoy this,” Sooin sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment when she nearly bottoms out on your shaft, her walls hugging you so fucking tightly. “Sit back and enjoy, yeah?”
She takes a minute to get used to you filling her, let you stretch her out and leave you simmering in her heat. Doing these little rolls of her hips that gets you twitching inside of her, moans coming out of the both of you. “Missed this filling me up so fucking well–”
“So you did just want to get laid,” you tease, taking your hands off her momentarily to push them underneath her shirt, wanting to feel her skin instead of fabric. “Could’ve just asked.”
A scoff escapes her, her fingers giving your scalp a quick tug. “Excuse me for not wanting to get in between you and that Chaewon chick–”
“Sooin, nothing happened.” Her questioning look makes you repeat your words.
“Uh huh.” She presses her weight down on you, bottoming out and taking your entire length. You let out a groan, eyes closing at the sheer pressure of her cunt taking you. Another tug of your hair gets you quickly opening them back up. “And I didn’t watch you mope around the day after.”
“What? No–” You shake your head, confused to where the hell she was trying to take this conversation. You would think she would prefer that you focus on her considering your balls deep in her cunt, and yet Sooin continues to surprise you. “She was just a fling, okay? Nothing else happened.”
And she was. You met her at a party, you two had sex, you went your separate ways. You moping around the day after was because even after getting laid, it didn’t change the fact that you flunked your exam before it. It’s a miracle you managed to tell her all of that while her pussy pulses around you, her grinding on your cock making you stutter your words.
Fingers tap on your neck, her gaze narrowing at your explanation. “So you don’t have feelings for her?” She slowly begins to bounce on your lap, and the insanity of what’s happening right now is starting to get to you. Interrogated about some girl while getting fucked by your—well, an important girl is something to cross off the list.
“Sooin, we fucked. That’s it.” You squeeze her hips, biting your lip at the sensation of Sooin clenching around you. “Can we pl–please go back to focusing on this?”
She doesn’t answer you. At least, not verbally. Her rhythm goes faster, harder, fucking herself on you like she’s chasing her own high. Her weight presses down on you, pulling herself close to your chest, her breath hot in your ear as her moans consume your senses.
“You fucking focus,” she mutters, her hold on you tightening, ass dropping down on your lap. She’s insatiable, so much more different than the last time. Frantic in how she rides that you can barely hold on with your life. “Just–sit still, stay hard, and make me cum you son of a–”
It’s sending you to the edge fast, barely being able to hang on. Even when you’re trying to hold off and fight back against what your body is demanding you to do. Sooin's increasingly erratic movements; bouncing and grinding and fucking herself on your cock until all you can think of is filling her with your load.
“Don’t think I can, Swim.” It comes out shaky from you, amidst all Sooin’s moans and skin against skin hitting against each other. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in and saying her name. Sooin, Sooin, Sooin please—
“Go ahead.” Her words are a shot to the brain, an unraveling of your entire nervous system and turning a singular thought into reality.
“Cum inside me.”
It’s stupid how quickly you crumble at those words. Your mouth finds her neck, biting down gently as your cock unloads inside her. Each spurt comes with a content moan from Sooin, singing straight into your ears. Euphoria consumes your senses, nipping and marking her neck as your eyes threaten to roll back from the pleasure.
“That’s it,” she coos, her grip vice-like around you, each throb of your cock filling her cunt full of your load. She puts her entire weight on you, unable to leave her warm embrace as you try to fuck your load deeper into her. “Fucking needed this–”
Sooin bites her lip, savoring the entire thing, basking in the afterglow of it all. The grin on her face tells you exactly how much she’s enjoyed it, and you can only imagine what else you’ll be looking at for the rest of the week.
“So,” she starts, lips finding your cheek to leave a gentle little peck. “Coffee?”
You chuckle, licking the spot where you’ve left a red mark on her neck. “Sure, Sooin.” Watch her slowly pull away, your cock leaving her walls and letting the cum that you’ve dumped inside her to spill down to the floor.
Neither of you do anything to clean it up right now, considering—
“Coffee sounds great.”
—
You don’t see Sooin until the late afternoon, coming back to your apartment after a day of finally doing her turn to do the groceries. You would’ve tagged along if not for the fact that you had to do the laundry this week around, and pair it up with helping her stock the cupboard full of what she bought and you’re sinking down on the couch.
“I don’t think we needed that much for this week,” you complain, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Buying almost double of what you two normally get makes you wonder where the hell she got enough cash to buy that, but her reply gets you to scoff in disbelief.
“Supermarket had a sale,” she grunts, sliding down next to you, head on your lap as a makeshift pillow. “Thought it’d be smart to buy as much as I can.”
“Your wallet agree with that?”
“Nope.” She pops the syllable, taking out her phone, tapping away at the screen. “Not like my wallet can’t handle it. At least we won’t have to worry about things here for a while.”
A while is an understatement. She bought enough for you both to stop buying any essentials for a month. And while you know she can afford much more than that, you had to convince her that you're not going to freeload off her in your own place.
Because for all the oddest reasons, the fact that she has fuck you money to spend yet only splurges it on things she likes is such an odd combination. Exactly how she ended up taking your guest room instead of getting her own place.
You remember her words clear as day. Too expensive and high maintenance. Which is, again, a weird thing to say when she can pay people to handle it for her, but she says it's for her own good more than anything. Gotta learn to be independent some day, might as well be now, she said.
“Look at you, being a responsible adult,” you tease, finger reaching down to poke her cheek. She immediately swats it away with a roll of her eyes.
“Fuck off,” she chuckles, eyes never straying from her phone. “We’ve been needing to stock up on all that stuff anyway.”
“I don’t think we needed that much instant ramen though.” Your gaze flicks to the stack of it by the counter. “Seriously, that might be a little too much.”
“To you, maybe,” she says, turning her phone horizontally. “I’ll be eating some too, you know.”
“You mean all of it?” The light jam of her elbow to your ribs gets you laughing.
The conversation ends there, and the only thing left to fill the empty silence are the shooting that comes from her phone and whatever it is that you’ve decided to watch on the TV. It stays like that for a while, and your boredom continues to grow at each passing second, each passing commercial, each movement of Sooin’s head on your lap—
The thought of asking her to, you don’t know, do something to her sounds inane. Breakfast’s events come flooding your memories, and as much as you want to do the same thing to her, you want to test the waters first.
Your arm comes to rest at her stomach, playing with the hem of her top. It gets her to flinch in surprise, gaze flickering up to you.
“What are you doing?” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes; one that tells you that an answer doesn’t need to be told, when she already has an idea of what you want. An eyebrow raises when you slowly drag your fingers upward.
“Nothing,” you say, resting your palm on one of her breasts, covered in layers of fabric. Your eyes are still watching the television—some old cartoon about a cat and mouse—while your fingers play around her chest. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Sooin lets out a scoff, biting her lip to stop the grin on her face as she comes back to her phone. “Do what you want.”
Well, alright then.
Your hands wander; kneading her breasts with light squeezes, running your hands through the curves of her body. They eventually find themselves pushing under her top, wanting to feel the smooth expanse of her tummy up to her tits.
She doesn’t make a single complaint throughout, allowing all this to happen. When you run up and down her body, all she does is let out these hums. When your fingers pull her bra down so that you can play around with her nipples, her legs squirm and push together.
And when you ask if you can use her mouth, she hits you back with another question:
“Are you asking or telling?”
A quick tug of your drawstrings, a little repositioning of Sooin’s head as you take your cock out, already at half mast, and pointing it to her mouth, tongue out and waiting. “I’ll be quick,” you say, a laughable lie as you know you’re going to be taking your sweet time with her.
She does fuck all about it, keeping on with her game as your hand rests on her hair as you thrust languidly into her wet mouth. Your shaft growing to full length the longer you stay inside her throat, and she shifts to get into a more comfortable position. As comfortable as she can get, having a cock in her mouth while her hands are busy playing.
Her cheek bulges, her throat takes you deep, her tongue flattens under your length. Yet her eyes never stray from her phone, hearing the sounds of combos being hit and encouraging cheers from her phone. She mutters words you barely understand, and as much as you want to pull out and ask, she hasn't told you to stop.
That only gets you to push it further, a firmer grasp on her head to drive your hips forward. Spit begins to accumulate around her mouth, dripping down to coat you; a sound akin to a whine vibrates around your shaft as her focus on the game breaks.
Her head fights back against your pushes for a moment, your grip relaxing to let her talk. “Let me finish this match first,” she mutters before her lips meet your tip, wrapping around you and keeping you in her mouth.
It’s absurd, how warm her mouth is. Managing to get you squirming without moving an inch, only the sliding of her tongue up and down the tip of your cock. Tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing gets your thighs flexing from the sheer pressure that she’s inflicting upon you. Your fingers come back resting on her hair, gripping her dark locks, wanting—needing to take back control.
So you do. Hands start to push and pull her around your cock, and she’s spluttering; fingers stumbling around her phone, causing it to fall down to the couch. They find your thighs, steadying herself as she manages to fall down to her knees, using her mouth for the sinful pleasure that she offers. Even with the spittle that starts to fall down her chin, the glare that her eyes are piercing you with, and the slight whine she makes as you so rudely interrupt her game, she makes no movement to stop you.
Hell, it feels like she’s leaning into it. Decency thrown out the window as more drool comes to coat your cock, bobbing her head faster than the pace you’ve set. The annoyance in her eyes fading away for this hunger that you’ve caused.
And you relish in it. Your hips thrust up just as her head comes down, your moans and praises of her lips meshing with the dirty noises that she creates, pushing you further down to your end.
“Sooin–” Your head leans back, hissing in a breath when you make her take you deep, throat convulsing around you. The sheer suction makes you weak, your thighs shaking, the grip on her head loosening. Sooin takes it as a chance to pull away, and you’re already missing the warmth of her lips around you.
“Don’t tell me when,” she says, stroking you with both hands and all that spit on your length makes it feel all so much better than it should. “Just cum in my mouth whenever, alright?”
Sooin takes you back in, and it’s taking everything in your power not to cum right then and there. Her enthusiasm is starting to take control, shining in her eyes and in her actions when her pace grows feral. The squelching and sucking grows insistent, getting your legs to lock up and grow rigid around her frame.
Your hands can’t stop themselves from taking hold of her hair, your breath ragged as you thrust into her mouth. Wanting some semblance of dictating when you inevitably let your load flood her, you take the reins back from her and start to pound away at her tight, wet throat.
Stopping has left your mind; the only thing that needs to be done is feed her your cum, using her mouth as she wants you to—as much as you can for the whole thing. And that single realization gets you to emptying your seed straight into the back of Sooin’s throat.
Each single pump of your hips elicits a moan from you, her hums at every pulse of your cock vibrating around your length. She takes every shot of your cum without complaint, milking you for everything you’re worth. Swallowing it all, even when some manage to spill over, leaking down her lips as the remains of your load begin to tide over.
Sooin makes a slow journey upward, releasing you with a wet pop. “Someone was pent up,” she teases, swiping what she couldn’t swallow off her chin and thumbing it into her waiting mouth. “You made me lose my game, by the way.”
“Yeah, well,” you breathe out, watching her run her tongue across your length, cleaning up any spit and seed that’s coating your length. “Pretty sure you can win the rank back easy.”
Her eyes roll, shaking her head at you with a smile. “Sure, I can.” She taps your cock against her swollen lips, giving the head a chaste kiss. “Can I go back to playing, or do you still need me here?”
“You and your games, Sooin.” Nodding at her with a chuckle, she gives you a few taps on your thigh before she rises up from the floor. Walking away from you for the moment to wash her hands, she comes right back to lay her head on your lap, phone in her hand and continuing her game.
As if she’s ready for you to do the same thing all over again.
The next two games she played resulted in her getting a day ban from going idle too much on ranked games. You tell yourself it wasn’t your fault that it happened.
Not at all.
—
The kiddies gloves come off after that, and the both of you decided to take full advantage of the situation you’ve ended up in. Your reluctance to follow through with this whole free use bet slash arrangement’s faded, and now every waking hour or so is spent with your cock inside of Sooin in some way, shape, or form.
You were eating dinner when Sooin got on her knees to blow you under the table, making sustenance a forgotten necessity in favor of the carnal pleasures of bending her over the table and railing a load into cunt instead.
She’d be in the shower sometime after, and she’s trying to ignore the fact that you jumped in with her, wedging your cock in between her thighs. Lathering her hair up with shampoo as you thrust between the heavenly flesh that she’s blessed with. Painting the shower wall with your cum just as she starts to soap herself up, and you join her in taking a shower after.
Can’t say you two didn’t take an hour in there, considering she wanted a round getting pounded. You’re surprised that you still had hot water by the end of it.
Her bed’s been shared by the both of you by the time you two were heading to bed, Sooin making you remember just how good of a lay she was by wringing a load out of you, the view of her ass rippling as she rides you making her achieve her goal embarrassingly quickly.
And you get her back by waking her up that morning with gentle kisses planted across her neck, your hands roaming around her body and ending up between her legs, two fingers knuckle deep inside her. Getting the sheets wet and ruined by the end of it, and you two end up complaining about who’s gonna do the laundry for it (you will).
The second day was infinitely worse than the first one, when breakfast became brunch due to Sooin wanting you on your knees, eating her out as an alternative to the morning coffee you two normally make. It ends up with the two of you swapping places, using her throat and coating her face with your cum at the end of it.
In reality, it ended when she was fucking herself on your cock right next to where your coffee was brewing, back arched and bucking back against you. It left the both of you tired, and how brunch was the only thing that made the both of you pause.
Absolute fucking degenerates, and it’s only been day two out of seven.
Which was why you invited Sooin out to pay her back for everything she bought by taking her to the mall and—
“Anything I want?” She doesn’t believe you when those words come out of her mouth. Not with how ‘frugal’ you are, or however she puts it when all you actually do is build up your savings.
Excuse you for being a responsible adult.
“Within reason,” you correct, hands on your hips, stern face and all. “I’m not as rich as you are, Miss Bottega Veneta.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves you off, already turning around and walking away from you. “Come on, I know just the place where I can mooch off you.”
“Please don’t tell me it actually is Bottega Veneta.” You can hear your bank account crying out in protest inside your wallet. Quickly catching up to her, you two walk to the elevator. “I literally can’t afford that type of thing.”
“Relax,” Sooin laughs, pressing the up button. Your eyes glance up to the top, where the arrow lights up. “We can check out the department store first. I can probably get something in your budget, you stingy fuck.”
The elevator dings open, conveniently empty. “I’m not stingy,” you refute, entering the elevator first, finger pressing the fourth floor while Sooin follows suit, leaning back against the wall. “I’m trying to budget things. You know, like any adult would?”
“Oh come on–” She’s rolling her eyes at you with a grin. “We’re in college. We can afford to not be adults sometimes.”
“You can,” you argue, hands in your pockets, turning to face her. “I’m on a scholarship and you’re rich enough to probably buy this mall.”
“Let’s not go that far.” Her tone makes you think otherwise, because for all you know she actually could right this second. Another ding rings out, and the elevator doors swing open to your floor. “Come on–” She’s hooking her arm around yours. “Let’s go, Mister Sugar Daddy.”
“What the fuck did you just call me–”
The next hour consisted of you following Sooin around, browsing through the numerous bits and bobbles, clothes and accessories, doodads and thingy-ma-jigs that get her attention. Started off with checking out a new set of tableware (which was maybe needed), to a new TV (definitely not needed), whatever new phone just released (“Sooin, you just bought a new one.”).
You end up by the mattresses, where Sooin jokingly said about buying a king size so that you two can actually fit in the bed and then some. As to which you replied by asking her how the fuck you’ll fit the damn bed into either of your rooms.
And when you start walking towards the clothing section, the oddest combination of dread and excitement settle in your body. Not because you were scared of what Sooin would choose to try out (seeing her in a bikini would be a dream come true for you) but of what she would try to pull with you knowing the bet.
Because you just know she’s going to pull some shit that might get the both of you kicked out the store and the mall.
So when she picks out a few clothes and heads to the fitting room to try them out, it’s no surprise when you get pulled into one of the stalls when no one was watching. You almost let out a yelp but her hand covering your mouth muffles the noise.
Sooin shushes you, a finger on her lips, waiting for you to show some semblance of relaxing before pulling away to close the door behind her. Hanging up the clothes on the wall rack, you were about to ask her the most obvious question on the planet, yet she speaks before you do.
“You know why I pulled you in here,” she states, pulling her jacket off and adding it to the rest of the clothes that she might not ever try out.
“In public?” Because of course you have to ask the second most obvious question.
“We have a room that can be locked and it’s big enough for two,” she answers, pushing you down to the small little chair tucked away in the corner. “Private enough for me.” She’s on her knees, fingers making quick work of your belt buckle and your zipper. One quick tug and she has your cock in her hands, at half mast and lazily stroking you with a sensual smile and a raise of her brow. “Relax, I picked the furthest room for a reason.”
“Couldn’t wait for us to get home before we do this?” It’s not a complaint so much as it is an observation. Your hands are already moving to weave through her locks when she takes you in her mouth, cock slowly growing harder in her mouth.
“We can do it quick,” she mutters, almost inaudible when her lips stay attached to you. “‘Sides, ever wanted to see ourselves fuck?”
Your eyes glance towards the wall, glass ordaining and reflecting you both; Sooin blowing you zealously, that smoky look she gives you through the mirror making you throb in her mouth. Scoffing and shaking your head, a grin begins forming in your features. “Fuck it.” You nod to the wall. “Up against the mirror, Swim.”
Sooin grins, standing up and turning around to face the mirror. Her hands rest on the wall, chest flush against it as she pushes her ass back against you, the shorts she has on pulled down to her ankles along with her underwear to show that beautiful, beautiful fit ass of hers that are paired with her toned legs that you’re wishing would be wrapped around your head again.
Oh, well. Much important matters at hand right now, such as rubbing your tip against her dripping folds. It gets her wiggling her ass back at you, Sooin’s heated gaze through the mirror telling you to hurry the fuck up and dick her down.
You’re pushing in, warm, wet heat enveloping your every inch and a soft moan escaping her lips. Letting yourself be taken away into the tight vice-lip grip she has on you until you bottom out against her the plush cushion of her ass.
Allowing yourself to take your time with her, even for just a small moment, you pull back, taking inch by inch of your shaft out of her until the very last possible moment where you could ram back in, and gasps and grunts begin filling the small space.
She grows louder first, the dirty curses and quiet gasps that can no longer be contained make you thrust faster, pound her harder until the sounds of your skin hitting hers begin to join. And even with the danger of getting caught, her eyes continue to plead with you.
More.
Your grip on her waist tightens, and you’re hammering into her without a care in the world. The sounds no longer matter to you, nor do the dangers of someone unlocking that door and finding you both.
The only thing that’s important to you is to have Sooin leaving this room satisfied and possibly unable to walk, and you’re damn well going to make sure that happens.
You reach out, a palm moving to cover her mouth as your strokes become faster, angling yourself higher to deep that spot that gets Sooin to fall apart in your arms. And you feel the change happen; her moans become loud whines, arm gripping up to yours in an attempt to hold herself together.
Yet you don’t want that. What you want is for her to become undone and flooding your cock with her juices, so you lean in close. Hot breath tickling her ear as you whisper those wants of yours and making them into reality.
She’s quivering in your grip, her eyes shutting tight as your words start to dirty her already filthy mind. “Fuck–” Her voice comes out muffled in your palm as you continue to spout out for her to cum on your cock, to make her wet the floor with how much she’d be squirting all over you.
It does a number on you too, when you feel her walls clench around you so fucking tight that every thrust is a battle of your willpower. She spurs you on, driving you forward into this animalistic urge to rut into her cunt until you spill your cum inside her.
And when her eyes snap open, you can see the need clouding them. The shrill scream that comes out of her is barely contained by your hand covering them, and she’s trembling in your arms, tightening up around your cock that the next thrust in sends you straight spiralling into your orgasm.
Each messy thrust you make spills more of your load inside her, her own dripping down her leg as you trap her between yourself and the wall. You’re leaving pecks on her neck as you fuck your cum inside her, taking your palm away from her mouth, her satisfied sighs music to your ears.
“That was–” You take a deep breath, inhaling her scent; the post-sex smell of her skin that’s bundled with the powdery notes of her perfume calming you down. “Fuck.”
“That’s what we did, yeah.” Her hand comes up to scratch the back of your head, massaging your scalp. “Still think that bet was a mistake?”
“I think we’re a little past that, Swim.” You gently remove yourself from her, and white starts to drip down her legs. “What you might want to ask yourself is if you still want to try those clothes.”
“Nah.” She pushes herself off the wall, fingers coming down to take a dollop of your cum. “Did you have to cum so much?” Even with her complaint, she’s taking it into her mouth for a taste. “Now my panties are gonna be ruined.”
You’re tucking yourself back into your trousers back up, shrugging at her. “Wonder who I have to blame for that,” you say, and that incites a chuckle out of Sooin.
“Right, my bad for wanting a quickie,” she replies, pulling her underwear and shorts back up. “I’ll be sure to tell you to cum down my throat next time so we don’t mess up more of my clothes.”
She gently shoves you away, shooing you off the stall first with a playful smirk. “Head back to the mattresses, I know what I want to get.”
“Sooin, we don’t have space for a bed.”
“Yeah, we do. We’ll just throw away our old ones.”
—
Depending on how you look at it, things either got better or worse the longer the week went on.
Nothing productive has happened inside your apartment the moment you two managed to fit a King size bed into your room, and if there was, it wasn’t for long once one of you got hold of the other.
Getting woken up every morning by her wet mouth enveloping your flaccid length, throating you until you blow a load straight down her stomach or being awake enough to pull her up and get her riding you in bed has become a daily occurrence.
Your breakfasts, lunches, and dinners all end up a messy affair, with her getting you to eat her out or you getting her on her knees after eating. Which oftentimes lead to someone getting bent over or fucked on the chair.
And don’t even get started on when it happens before you two eat. That only gets you even hungrier for food, and even more starved to continue fucking after.
The risque and riskier kinks start happening, when she gets you to plow her right in front of the apartment window, not a care in the world whether anyone sees or not. And you get right back when you get her to suck you off in the apartment stairwell after grabbing dinner outside for once.
“You know that there’s a camera watching us, right?” she asks, not a hint of concern in her face as she follows you to the letter, knees hitting the floor and hands playing with the button of your pants.
“The same camera that we’ve been telling the landlord’s broken?” Your hands pull her hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Yeah, I know.” And you’re fucking her face until you paint her pretty face in streaks of white.
Sooin’s uncaring of it in the end, your cum dripping down her face as you walk back up the steps, onto your floor and into your apartment. The sight has you immensely fucked in the head, and that gets her fucked somewhere in the apartment again.
You two just do it anywhere, everywhere. Not a single place in your apartment is unsullied, a single area in your apartment building untouched. The rooftop, the parking lot, the fucking lobby—you’re not even sure how you managed to get away with that without getting caught.
You’re sure Sooin finds ways to, of course.
The pair of you keep on going and going and going, the days blurring by full of the filthiest sex you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your dick has never felt more thankful while simultaneously begging you to take a fucking break because really, when are you not fucking Sooin nowadays?
It’s second nature at this point. Wake up, fuck, eat, fuck, take a nap, fuck, do some chores, fuck, sleep—it’s a whole process that runs on either one of you telling the other how they want to get laid, where she wants your load, why you’re asking her how foldable she is or the like.
There aren't even any sort of verbal cues anymore. Simply walk up to the other and do what sort of debauchery in mind, finish and go back to whatever it was you were doing.
That last part might need some work, considering neither of you can successfully do that.
Jerk off to her face while she’s playing another game on her phone and watch the cum splatter all over her cheek, stain her hair, have it drip down her phone and all she’ll get angry about is the last bit because she lost her game, that stress released by having her bouncing on top of you until she cums.
Sooin on the phone with one of her friends (you can’t be sure whether it’s Anna or Gawon) when she spots you walking out of your room one morning, gesturing for you to get between her legs and eat her out. You’re amazed at how composed she sounded all throughout, especially when you turn her legs into jelly at the end and the most she’s ever let out was a scream that she disguised by saying that there was a mosquito in the room.
Fucking her in an alleyway on the way home from having lunch at the local ramen shop, the sun in the air adding the high of getting caught up a notch. Getting her on her knees to swallow your load right before you two would’ve gotten caught by some random passerby.
Her getting back at you with the magical treat of her mouth, sucking you off while you drove home. Almost ended in a disaster if you hadn't pulled over in time, another batch of your cum sent straight into her gullet.
Can't go an hour go by without one of you getting handsy, and it's like an average day for you now. Part of your daily life, constantly having sex with her, being readily available to fuck and get fucked.
And to think you were against this whole thing at the start.
So when the last day comes by and you’ve fucked another load into her while she did the dishes, you’re left asking:
“What happens when we wake up tomorrow?”
Sooin pauses, blinks, shrugs. “Dunno,” she answers all casual-like. “What do you want to happen?”
It’s unfair how she leaves the ball in your court. Like she wants to hear your answer before she commits to hers, pretending to not care when she doesn’t bother to even look at you, her attention on the television playing some movie.
“Well,” you ponder, pursing your lips in thought. “We’re either gonna keep fucking or we go back to not fucking.”
“That’d be a shame.” She points the remote to the TV.
Your head turns toward her. “What would?”
“Not fucking.” The channel swaps. “We should keep it going.”
“What?” It’s the fact that she looks so unbothered that’s making you question how serious she is. You sit up straighter, entire chest tilting toward her now. “You’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her knuckles rest on the side of her head. “We’d probably need to stop with the random quickies when the semester starts, and it’s not like we can’t go back to not fucking with the amount of sex we’ve had the entire week.”
Your jaw hangs low, unsure of what to say. Thanks Sooin, that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should also put a label on us too? Sounds like such an insane thing to pull, and you’ve grown quiet to the point that Sooin takes a glance at you.
“You don’t gotta say anything.” She nudges you with her elbow. “It’s a good thing we got going. Long as you’re good, I’m good.”
“And that makes us, what–” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies?”
She laughs. Says sure, it’s not like she’ll be looking for anyone else when she’s got you. Long as you don’t go looking for no Chaewon’s or Chaeyoung’s or whatever name they got she’ll be a-okay.
And you’re scoffing, smiling and agreeing to the whole thing with a kiss to her cheek; getting her to roll her eyes at you and give you another, harder nudge with her elbow.
“Okay, man,” she chuckles. “The kiss was a bit much.”
“Oh come on–” you let out a laugh. “You can take my cum on your face but you draw the line with a kiss on the cheek?”
“Well, when you put it like that–” Sooin lands her gaze on you, smile playing on her lips, mischief in her eyes. “It does sound a little stupid, doesn’t it?”
She closes the distance between you, pressing her lips against yours for a quick kiss. “Happy?”
“Yeah, Swim.” You tap your finger between your lips. “Maybe one more for good measure?”
A shove. “Don’t push it, asshole.” A beat passes. Her hands fumble around your sweatpants.
“We can do one more round for the road.”
—
When the morn comes around after a late night of getting Sooin to ruin the bedsheets again (you’ve discovered that she’s a squirter when you pound her ass up, face down), you wake up to a Sooin-less bed, and that alone gets you up and about. Spot her eating a sandwich with some strawberry jam filling, fighting to stay awake as she stares at her laptop.
Greet her a good morning and sit down next to her on the couch. “What’s got you up so early?”
“Gotta get my schedule sorted out,” she mumbles, taking another bite of her bread. “Why didn’t you tell me we already could?”
“I did.” You slide down the sofa, getting more comfortable. “Like two days ago.” You’re not about to tell her that you reminded her of it while she was getting fucked on top of the laundry machine, of course.
You know when your life is on the line.
She lets out a groan, complaining about her classes being so early, getting the shitty professors and the shitty schedule and all you can think about are her luscious thighs peeking underneath your shirt she has on.
Reaching out, fingers resting on the soft skin, caressing upwards to feel more; all to be stopped with a slap on the wrist.
“Not now, dude,” she says, her hand coming back to slide a finger across the touchpad. “I really want a decent schedule for next semester.”
You blink. Your brain catching up to what you’re body is doing and you remember:
Right. Bet’s over, no more fucking for the fun of it and all the shenanigans that it entails (shame, you’ll miss it immensely). It’ll be a smooth transition (it won’t, you’re already suffering withdrawals not being balls deep inside her right now) from not having sex all the time.)
“Alright, alright,” you relent, taking a glance at the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee?”
“Please,” she replies, making you groggily stand up to make two cups. She stops you with a glance and your name, making you turn back to her.
“Fuck me when I’m done with this?”
You chuckle, roll your eyes and wave a hand in the air.
You know I think people would really understand if you guys just come out and say we are getting monetize/paid or getting some kind of monetary benefit from promoting on Fanprose ( im on fp btw so I'm not one of those haters) i suggest you guys need to be more transparent about it because this cold war about that site is stupid.
I enjoy the ui on fanprose more than tumblr but that's no reason to just post exclusively on that site.
Tumblr isn't like wattpad where u can get banned on random for smut regardless of genre on random (atleast for now).
Tumblr is where most people found you and where most people expect you to post. You posting exclusively on fanprose is basically like turning your back on them just cause the site is better for writers and readers ( i feel the same way btw even tho im on fp😂).
I apologize if I'm being too melodramatic about this. I enjoy both sites but you guys mass promoting and going exclusive on that site seems really cagey for me and I feel like you guys are doing back room deals or some shit. Now I plan on deleting my fp account and making a junk email acc just for fp because at this point I think that site might be collecting and selling my data
I wouldn't be surprised if some of the haters for that site go there just to start a fight since they have less impulse control than normal people from gooning if you guys keep doing this.
Just figure it's worth addressing some of these things:
1. we are getting monetize/paid or getting some kind of monetary benefit from promoting on Fanprose
nope! Many of the authors who have made the switch have done so because they worked closely with the dev(s) as a community project over the last 6 months to make the website grow. We've been hanging out in a discord for years now, mostly all bitching about tumblr.
People who think it's too polished or w.e truly don't know what claude code is capable of churning out, especially for frontend applications.
2. I enjoy the ui on fanprose more than tumblr but that's no reason to just post exclusively on that site.
anyone's free to do what they want! I have no desire to maintain masterlists or deal with tumblr's post system.
3. Tumblr isn't like wattpad where u can get banned on random for smut regardless of genre on random (atleast for now).
I think the content guidelines are a little strict, but it doesn't affect the content that I or many authors originally helped build the tumblr smut community with in the first place.
4. Tumblr is where most people found you and where most people expect you to post. You posting exclusively on fanprose is basically like turning your back on them
true! I also unfortunately don't get paid for this shit, so i'm gonna do what i like.
5. ... you guys mass promoting and going exclusive ...
again, this is a community project that we've all been able to help move forward/move along. We're excited to use the site that we've all pitched in to help build and meet the specific needs of our community.
6. I think that site might be collecting and selling my data
I can't answer this definitively, but just baseline experience: tumblr is 100% selling your data.
7. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the haters for that site
Most of the people hating it are mad they can't post questionable content. It's not like we're missing out on literature from the affected writer circles exactly. I've been pretty okay without seeing the 'YOU ARE A 44 YEAR OLD MAN AND EUNCHAE IS YOUR 18 YEAR OLD DAUGHTER' thinly veiled pedophilia fics. The community of writers that have established a large, productive readership are supportive of this.
No one has to use to any platform. No one is required to do anything. This community of writers has been in discussion about this for a long time, but it's absolutely nothing nefarious.
Hi, as many of you are aware. https://fanprose.com/ is currently an alternative for this genre of smut and I hope if there's any holdouts here on tumblr, you'll respect my decision in only posting from now on to fanprose exclusively.
you can read this story here: https://fanprose.com/stories/birds-of-paradise/chapters/1
Hi, as many of you are aware. https://fanprose.com/ is currently an alternative for this genre of smut and I hope if there's any holdouts here on tumblr, you'll respect my decision in only posting from now on to fanprose exclusively.
you can read this story here: https://fanprose.com/stories/birds-of-paradise/chapters/1
~Ive's Liz (x Male Reader), 6.2k words, Smut, Cafe Cuties Part 7 (previous part)
Read it on Fanprose
A/N:
I'm never beating the allegations
Thank you @bunnsfw for supplying the cover art template! The goat.
Relationship with Chaewon? Restored.
Lonely Eunchae? Plapped.
Yunjin? Befriended.
With that, you can finally get back to your life as a regular cafe worker.
Except you're a supervisor now, and this is no regular cafe. It's Cozy's Coffee & Cakes.
[Ms. Manager (scary)]
EMERGENCY MEETING. STORE. 15 MINUTES.
That's what the text said anyway, and yeah, maybe you’re not so sure if it’s better now that things are normal. Yunjin and Eunchae are already there, a thread of seriousness lining their faces. The little bell jingles, signaling your arrival. It's like a conference room of some top secret facility, blinds drawn low.
"It's not going to work. Our menu has been exposed for months. Those posters we made teased our upcoming drinks. Tch. Cowards probably planned this months in advance." Chaewon says, squinting so hard you can even see them through the sunglasses she's wearing.
"But we have to try!" Yunjin claps back. We can't just let them take everything we've worked for!" She's wearing a blazer, weirdo.
"Hmph, let me do it," Eunchae says with pizazz. What is this, a spy movie?
"it can't be you," Chaewon says curtly, to Eunchae’s dismay. "But maybe…?"
Three heads flick to you, still in your normal casual clothing. "What the hell is going on? Why are the blinds drawn! Aren't we open?"
Chaewon slams her hand on the table, silencing you. "I told you 15 minutes. Try not to make an embarrassment of yourself first week as supervisor!"
Yunjin nods her head for you to come closer. "Bad time to be late, rook."
"Rook? I've been here longer than you! I-I'm your supervisor!" You say, but still follow her orders anyway. "And what the hell is going on?"
She picks up a folder with 'CONFIDENTIAL' stamped across it in big red letters. "See for yourself."
Eunchae tries again, telling Chaewon she's right for the job, and they trail off with their argument. You open the file.
"Baked and Brewed Seoul, grand opening… oh, that's in two days? Is that what all the fuss is about?"
The question draws Eunchae and Chaewon out of their talks.
"What else is in two days, Mr. supervisor?" Eunchae asks.
"Don't call me that!"
"Our new menu launches, Mr. Supervisor," Chaewon answers. "This is planned. Targeted."
Yunjin, the one you deemed to be the voice of reason for her… normalcy compared to the two nods her head in agreement.
"Guys… am I the only one who thinks this isn't a big deal? So what!?"
"We just got to someplace stable! Remember a month ago? We were about to shut down. Now Baked and Brewed Seoul is opening!? Where do they get off! Copying us like that!" Chaewon yells.
"Copying us? Aren't we just like, a regular ca—"
"Finish that sentence!" Chaewon challenges you. "Yunjin!"
"Baked and Brewed. Sound familiar?" Yunjin asks.
"N-no not really."
"What do you bake and what do you brew!" Eunchae yells. “Coffee and cakes. We’re Cozy’s Coffee and Cakes! Clearly, they’re copying us!”
"Are they? I mean, doesn’t every cafe have coffee and ca-"
"No!"
Look, is it a big deal? Maybe. Is it a ‘draw the blinds and whip on the blazers and sunglasses’ big deal? Probably not. But you've been here long enough to not question things. It's still better than getting face caked. So you play your part as they argue about what to do.
"It's simple! We need to infiltrate their ranks!"
"Infiltrate!?" Okay, maybe you're not playing your part, but you're trying.
"I can do it, General!"
"Since when is Chaewon a General?"
"I have a plan."
Eunchae is back in 10 minutes with: a long overcoat and a fake mustache.
"What the hell is this?" You ask.
Chaewon and Yunjin stare at it, deep in thought.
"Our disguise," Eunchae smiles as if revealing a key bit of information.
"Why the hell is it so big?"
"Duh, I'll sit on your shoulders under the overcoat. They'll never suspect a thing."
This is absurd. This is… definitely the Cozy's you remember. "Why do we need a disguise?"
"Because it's more fun. Obviously," Chaewon cuts in.
"Fun? What does this have to do with fun?"
"What's the point if it's not fun!" Yunjin retorts.
God. You might go crazy.
"No, no. Sergeant has a point." Eunchae concedes. “Maybe we don’t need a disguise.”
"Sergeant?"
"Then it's settled."
"Just like that!?" you reply incredulously
"It has to be him and Yunjin," Chaewon decides.
"General, please! Let me!"
"You and me are out of the question!"
"Why?"
"We've been staring into their windows like, 2 hours a day while they trained for opening. They'll recognize us an instant."
“Wait, what the hell is happening? We aren’t using this damn disguise, are we?”
---
It's settled, then. Seems that means ‘no disguise, you and Yunjin will go in normally’. Thank god, although you still don't think it had to be you and Yunjin, but yeah, Chaewon and Eunchae are insane for staring into their windows.
"Ready, Serge?" Yunjin asks from inside Cozy's.
You roll your eyes at the nickname, but nod anyway.
"Make them pay!" Eunchae yells from behind the counter, making coffees for the short line of customers.
You both cross the street, and there's already a line stretching onto the street for their grand opening. Already, Yunjin notes their storefront is more appealing. Posters in the glass windows, a little logo a coffee mug stamped on everything.
By the time you're past the threshold of the door, the line has grown even longer.
"Were you guys this busy when you first opened?"
"No, I don't think so. Me and Eunchae got hired not too long after we opened, but it was pretty dead back then. Until you came, really."
"So I'm tasked with saving Cozy's again, huh."
"Is it really that big a deal though? I get it, it's not great for business, but cafes are one of the most common places. Is this really a threat to the store?"
"See for yourself," Yunjin pushes the door open.
You're instantly hit with the rich aroma of coffee, but also warmth. It's not the clean aesthetic of Cozy's. There's warm light spilling from antique looking lamps, the glowing fireplace in the corner roars, there are fluffy couches and wooden tables of all varieties, like each section of the cafe has a different vibe. A small bookshelf erupts in one corner, and chess set in the other.
If you're being honest, it's the type of place you'd go to to just, chill.
"Shit."
"Shit," Yunjin agrees.
There are already 3 workers moving with practiced precision, steaming milk with ease, counting cash at the speed of a gun.
You being you, of course, notice something else.
"Stop glancing at them! You'll blow our cover!"
"I-I'm not glancing."
Yunjin eyes you suspiciously. "I feel like I've seen that look before."
"What look?"
"That look."
"I'm not giving them any loo-"
"Welcome to Baked and Brewed Seoul, may I take your order?"
She's short, shorter than Eunchae or Yunjin, even Chaewon by a bit. She has a bright face, even brighter smile with cheeks that would probably be as fun to pinch as Chaew—
"We'll take 2 of your lavender honey lattes and a slice of your cheesecake please," Yunjin says in an equally bright voice, but makes a point to emphasize the words to snap you out of it.
You go through the motions, Yunjin paying with the company card ("When did you get a company card? Even I don't have one!), giving the name for the order, and sitting down.
"You falling in love aside, these are really comfy couches," Yunjin says, plopping down next to you.
"They are. Like, really comfortable."
"Try," she says, handing you the latte.
You take a sip, and that first hit of espresso hits you, warm, nutty, rich, followed by the sweet aroma of honey and lavender, and you can't help but close your eyes as it washes down your throat.
"Fuck."
"Good?"
"You try it."
Yunjin omits a similar reaction as she sips the coffee, and an unholy gasp of refreshment comes after.
"Yeah."
You put your coffee down trying your best to look worried, but honestly, it's a really nice cafe. It's like all your stress washed away at the door.
Yunjin probably feels it too, the way she's melting into the couch.
"Should we try the cake?" you ask.
"You go first."
You pick up the plate, inspecting it. It looks pretty. You take the spoon, scooping up a piece and popping it into your mouth.
You smile.
"What? Oh god, is it delicious? Gimme some! I mean, no, throw it out!"
"No, Yunjin!" you exclaim, mouth full of cake. "We got them beat here."
"You're not understanding, we have better cakes than them!"
"That's not enough," Chaewon sighs. "It sounds like the whole ambience of their cafe could put us out of business." She buried her face into her hands, pinching her visage. "What about their drinks?"
"Pretty damn good."
"And their menu? Lots of selections?"
"Oh actually… I'm not too sure."
"What do you mean 'not to sure', what did I send you over there for? Tch. And their size? How many people can they sit?"
"Errr, maybe like, I don't know, a couple dozen?"
"‘I don't know’ this, ‘maybe’ that, did you do anything useful?" Chaewon scolds. "How about their service?"
"It was… good," you admit.
"He fell in love," Yunjin teases. "That's why he can't answer your questions."
"With who?"
"With who?"
Chaewon and Eunchae of course.
"I did not fall in love!"
"Yes you did, you couldn't take your eyes off of her!"
"Who was it?" Eunchae begs.
"Psh, idiot cow falls in love with anything he sees," Chaewon rolls her eyes.
"Who was it!?"
"You know, I think I recognized her," Yunjin thinks. "Wait— wait hold on," she pulls out her phone, frantically searching.
"I knew it!" she says after a short while
"What?"
"I freaking knew it!"
"Who is she?"
Yunjin turns her phone, revealing an Instagram profile with over a hundred thousand followers. It's the same girl who took your order.
"Her?" Chaewon says shocked.
"Who is that?" Eunchae asks.
"She's like, a coffee expert. She makes latte art content, home coffee brewing, she has a whole page dedicated to it!"
"You weak willed cow! I knew it! You're the type to oogle like a chimp at any cute girl!"
"She is pretty though," Eunchae lets up.
"You fell in love with Pham Hanni!" Yunjin laughs.
"I'm not in love!"
"Stop defending yourself! It's decided, my own supervisor is a dope!"
Again, maybe you liked it when there was turmoil with the girls. When everything’s okay, things like this happen. And you're sure of it, you weren't staring. You weren't. And Yunjin just stands there, laughing at the chaos of it all.
"Guy like him probably wants the cafe to succeed."
"First they steal our customers, what, are they gonna steal our cafe cutie too!?" Eunchae cries.
"I'm not going anywhere!"
"Prove it!"
"I'm here! At Cozy's with you all! It's like my second home!" You're crying, grasping at anything to defend yourself, but you're not lying. It's one of your most genuine statements.
At the very least, they take it that way too. Eunchae smiles all big, Chaewon gets flustered, muttering something about how 'we like you too, I guess', and Yunjin just sits back, nodding.
"Listen, yeah she was fairly pret— err, I was just pretending to be a doting customer, you know, playing my role for the mission! But I'm here now. And I'm gonna help Cozy's win!"
They deem it truthful, and the focus is back on plans and action. The steps you're going to take to keep Cozy's afloat.
The effects of them opening are noticeable, yeah, but you're still getting customers. Eunchae even has to leave the kitchen where you were gossiping to deal with customers ("Unnie, please! I just served everyone, let me stay here for a bit longer!")
"Hey, why don't we talk to the owner?" Yunjin suggests. "You know, it's been pretty busy lately, I'm sure they'd let us spend some money for some improvements."
"Yeah, I was thinking of that," you agree. "What if we installed a sound system so we could play music throughout the store?"
"Oh, and we can add some plants, maybe a mirror and some shelves, something to liven the place up a bit?"
"Who is this owner anyway?" You ask.
It looks like a ghost punted a little ghost football through Chaewon's soul.
"What's wrong?"
"Definitely not," her face drops. “We aren’t asking the owner…”
"What, why?"
"It's out of the question!"
Yunjin sighs. "Well, if we don't have a budget, we might just fizzle out. Then BBS wins. If only we had rich friends."
"BBS?"
"Baked and Brewed Seoul."
"Oh," you sigh. "Well, unfortunately, we don't know anyone ri—"
You and Chaewon face each other. "Liz!" You say in unison.
"Liz? Who's Liz?"
"That girl that always comes in. We're like, kind of friends right? She loves this place. She might just invest." Chaewon grabs some fruit from the fridge to prep, indicating the decision has been made.
"She hasn't been here in a while though," you noted, unwilling to concede you know exactly where she lives, "are we just going to wait until she comes in again? Who knows when that will be."
Chaewon smiles. "Don't worry, my dear supervisor. We're Instagram friends!" She abandons the fruit, pulling her phone out, and with a couple of taps, she turns the phone to you and Yunjin.
[_chaechae_1]
Liz! So, we have some ideas for the shop. Would love to hear your opinions as a customer.
The response comes immediately.
[liz.yeyo]
Would love the hear them ;)
Come by tomorrow, you're boy friend knows where I live.
"Boyfriend?" Yunjin gasps.
"How do you know where she lives?" Chaewon (also) gasps.
"There's a space between boy and friend, thank you very much!" you (also also) gasp.
You don't really have a valid answer for why you know where she lives, other than she blindfolded and fucked you on her couch while telling you to think of Chaewon.
"Have you been there?" Yunjin asks curiously.
"Yeah, you cow, have you?"
"I, uhh, I may have walked by her place once."
"Walked past?"
"Y-yeah, just randomly."
Chaewon's lips go into a line, as if weighing your answer. "Fine," she eventually decides. "Take me there tomorrow."
---
"Well, we can't just barge into her house and ask her for a loan. That's insane! We need a plan."
"You should've told me that yesterday! I thought you had everything under control."
"You useless supervisor!" Chaewon jogs to catch up to you as you cross the street. "What were you doing last night, huh?"
"Budgeting! Exactly what you asked me to do!"
Chaewon's demeanor changes into something jolly. "Ehehe~ I took a bath and slept for 10 hours."
"I'm so glad," you say sarcastically, but it's anything but. It's the reason you put up with this supervisor job. If it means at all Chaewon can finally have her rests days after months of overtime, and hours working just to keep the store afloat, you'd take on 10 times the work. "Well, should we get her a gift then… rich people like gifts, right?"
"Everyone likes gifts."
"Yeah, but what if we bring her some pastries from the shop. That seems appropriate, no?"
"Yeah, actually. Not so useless after all, are you, Mr. Supervisor? We can stop by the store on our way."
"Yeah. Uhh, how do we approach asking her then? Just 'cause she's rich doesn't mean she'll give us a loan."
"Let's just appeal to the business woman in her."
"Is she a business woman? Last I checked—"
"Last you checked, what?"
"Err, nothing. Sure. We can frame it like, she can help scale the company. Like an investment."
"Great, so we figured out 'we're going to ask Liz to invest'. That's literally our whole premise."
"You were the one who suggested the business thing!"
"I say we just wing it!' Chaewon lights up. "I have a good feeling about today."
You on the other hand, couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach, but maybe that was just Liz.
It's the first time you've seen Liz in a while, and you want to run away. Her piercing eyes find you, and that sly smile takes shape as her eyes scan you and Chaewon. You've always been conscious of you two around Liz, all the way back to your first time meeting her, when she walked in on you massaging Chaewon's back.
It doesn't help that her dimple has magic powers. Well, it's not like you have hard proof, but you're sure it's up to something.
She pulls Chaewon into an all too friendly hug, winking at you while her arms are wrapped around her, and you think, even though she's not in her elegant getups like she usually is - just a hoodie and some sweats right now - that maybe you don't have to worry. This is Liz. Her and Chaewon have always had some semblance of connection, maybe you could use that to your advantage when asking her to invest.
She brings you up to her penthouse, and the look of awe on Chaewon's face is similar to yours when you first saw it; the centrepiece fountain in the middle of her fountain, all the art pieces scattered around, the pristine marble floors. You feign the same shock trying to keep up with the illusion that you've never been here before.
She leads you to a room you've never been in before, a living room of sorts where she invites you to sit on a grand couch, more comfortable than any you've ever seen.
She sits on a closeby armchair. "So, how can I help my two favourite baristas?" all velvety and luxuriously.
You and Chaewon catch each others eyes, and with a nod, she stiffly places a box of desserts onto the coffee table between you. "I hear you like our chocolate mousse! We brought you some and a couple other things," Chaewon says, and it's slightly odd hearing her customer service voice outside of work.
She shakes her arms in excitement, opening the box. With the pleasantries out of the way, and sensing Liz is clearly in a good mood, you nudge Chaewon with your elbow. "We were also wondering, so uhh, yeah…"
"What?" Liz laughs, looking at you.
Shit, you're bad at this. And that damn dimple isn't helping you feel any calmer.
"What my supervisor means to say," Chaewon clears her throat, "is we want to… make Cozy's a better place."
Liz takes a bite out of a chocolate croissant, chewing slowly. "I think Cozy's is already a wonderful place." It's really quite genuine.
"Well, we want to make it better." Chaewon's demeanor changes into something more serious, and she leans forward. "But to do that— to do that we need money."
It's Liz's turn for a demeanor change, and you don't know if it signals something good. Her face straightens, she leans forward a bit like she means business.
"So, you're here for?" You've never seen Liz like this. She's usually smiling, using that dimple to control, but now, with her eyes are scanning as you ask her for her money, you think you'd rather have the dimple back.
"An investment," Chaewon says with equal conviction.
Liz's face remains, but underneath it, maybe in her eyes you can see amusement. Still, she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms. "And what exactly am I investing in?"
"Cozy's."
"Cozy's, huh. How much do you want?"
"40 million won."
Liz's eyes narrow. She shifts in her armchair probably worth double that. "That's a lot of money to invest in a small coffee shop. What do you make a month?"
"60."
There's a sort of tension in the air, and you don't know what to make of it. Whether it's a bad thing or a good thing, you don't know.
"The store, it's still been busy after that cake fiasco?"
"You saw that!?" you yelp.
Chaewon silences you with a hand on your shoulder. "It's steady now. But it's not enough."
Liz finally smiles. "See Chaewon, I love to invest. But not in businesses. In people—"
"We're good people to invest in."
Her dimple comes out even more now. "You, I can tell. You mentioned he was a supervisor now?" Liz nods to you.
"He is."
"And yet he's been sitting here, lost the whole time. Do you believe in him?"
Chaewon stands. "More than anyone."
The words take you by surprise. All the teasing and scolding Chaewon gives you, you never thought she'd afford you that level of praise.
"Then let's test it. Like I said, I invest in people."
"Invest in me," Chaewon asks. It's bridled with passion, a promise she knows she can fulfill. But it is evidently not enough.
"One person can't run a cafe. It takes a team, and it's time for him to prove himself. Mind if I speak with him alone for a while?"
Chaewon sighs, but turns to you, nodding with a confidence you're not sure you deserve.
"Make yourself at home, then. I'll come find you when were done."
The echoes of Chaewon's footsteps are like drums celebrating your end. You can feel beads of sweat form on your head. It's all up to you now, and you don't know what awaits you.
What awaits you is a smile. And then a laugh. And then that fucking dimple staring at you (have you mentioned you’re scared of her dimple?).
"Uhh, Liz?"
"Well, I was wrong. You two could get even cuter."
"What?"
"Don't you see?" she laughs, "this is perfect! I pretend to test you, decide 'yeah, you deserve the 40 million', and you become the hero!"
"Wait, what? So, you'll give us the money?!"
"Of course I will. You both are just so adorable for coming in here all nervous asking for 40 million. Hell, I'll give you 60!"
Your head is still woozy. "I— I don't understand, why'd you want to speak to me alone?"
Liz stands up, scooting lazily beside you. "Because then Chaewon will think: 'Oh, my supervisor is so reliable'!"
"Again with this! I told you, there's nothing going on with me and Chaewon!"
"Oh really?" She stretches the words, raising her eyebrows. "Didn't you admit last time that 'she's so damn perfect'? Specifically, perfect while you fucked her?"
Oh right, you told Liz you've had relations with both Eunchae and Chaewon. To be fair, you were blindfolded, scared, and more than a little turned on at the time.
"Ohhh, she's gonna be so excited when she thinks you nailed it! You might even fuck again~"
"What the hell is wrong with you!" you yell.
"Oh honey, a lot. I'm rich, remember?"
Realization suddenly hits you. Although, maybe her motives were a little bit… outlandish, you were still walking away with this with your coveted investment! "Oh, thank you Liz! I'll go get Chaewon and let her know."
"Uh uh uh~~" Liz wags her finger. "I wasn't lying when I said I invest in people." Her eyes flick up and down your body, and a hand slides into her hoodie pocket, taking out the same blindfold she used last time.
"Do you just keep that on you?" You yelp, recoiling backwards.
"Oh, fine, no blindfold. You know the rules though, remember?" she slowly crawls to you on the couch. "My name is the safe word, and no looking at me in the eyes. Unless of course, you don't want your money?" She says, curling her lips into an obviously feigned frown.
You lean back, crawling away. Fuck. This Liz girl set a trap, luring you back into her house, and then, you sprung it.
She springs on you, trapping you on the couch. You almost look her in the eyes. In fact, she's looking at you in your eyes, so you don't understand for the life of you why you're not allowed to do the same. You can feel her lithe body against you, and you remember how god damn tight she felt around your cock.
No, you're doing this for Chaewon. Yeah, you're so strong willed that you're going to fuck this girl for Chaewon. At least that's what you tell yourself when she leans in close and whispers: "I'm not wearing anything under this hoodie".
Her familiar citrusy and obviously expensive perfume hits your nose, but you don't pay much attention because she takes your lips in hers. You almost forget that you're doing this for Chaewon, because you accept them with reckless abandon.
Remember, this is Liz, though, so you're not stupid enough to think you're ever in control. Her tongue finds yours and there's nothing behind it, no pretense other than she wants to play with you.
She's in between your legs, pressing her hips against your growing cock when you buck up.
She detaches her lips from yours with a smirk. "Mmm~, someone's eager. Been a while for you and Chaewon? Oh, please, wipe that look off your face, I'm just teasing you, now let's get this out of the way," she says, lifting your shirt off of your head.
You moan pathetically, and you can only hope Chaewon has taken up Liz on her offer to make herself at home, and that she's not waiting outside the room, privy to all the noises you're making.
The thought is wiped from your brain however, when Liz, all sultry, looks at you and says: "would you like to take off my hoodie?"
This has all happened so fast, but honestly, after all the months in these salacious situations with these girls, you're used to it. You nod your head sheepishly.
She props herself up, taking your arms by the wrist and bringing them to the hem of her sweater. You almost look into her large inviting eyes, but stop yourself at the last moment.
You pull the garment up, a little too fast, and she slows you down with a hand on your wrist.
"Slow down, honey."
Actually, you'd rather make this fast, but you guess you've done the deed with Chaewon right next to you, so this isn't exactly the most precarious situation you've been in. You're too stunned to speak anyway, so you slowly lift the sweater off of her, revealing her silky white skin, climbing up to her impossibly pretty nipples, already hard.
The tightness of it all, her lithe form, it drives you over the edge. You lift it up, and like the sweater, you drop, limp, stunned at the girl in front of you.
She hangs over you, controlling smile still dictating you. Until, she closes the gap, tongue poking out of her mouth before she brings it to your nipple.
Your breath hitches in your mouth, and your hands instinctively go to grab her hair. You stop yourself, unsure if it's against the rules, but when her tongue flicks your nipple harder, sending pleasure through your chest, you grab it anyway.
She doesn't seem to mind, switching from nipple to nipple softly.
Your cock is straining in your pants, and Liz props herself up.
Even with her hair slightly frizzy, she looks divine, unflushed.
You, on the other hand, are huffing and puffing. She grabs your pants by the waistband, mirroring that slow, teasing way of undressing that she forced upon you, sliding it down until your stiff cock is revealed with a pop.
Maybe you were wrong about fucking Liz again, because by the look in her eye, she has no plans to give you anything you want.
"Ready to earn your money?" She doesn't say it maliciously, doesn't say it like you're some street whore, but it has the same effect, probably.
Her hand wraps around you, and it's a bit cold, but only because how fucking stiff and hot your cock is.
"So much precum, maybe I was right when I said it's been a while, hmm?" She's not right, but when she lathers the precum on her hand and brings her palm to lips, licking it, nothing but strangled moans escape your mouth.
Her hand is back on your member, now coated in her saliva. The feeling is indescribable, her strokes are practiced, measured, as if any misstep would cause her to lose control.
"Nngh." Her hand is working you to squirms, her thumb rubbing over your tip in careful motions.
It's getting faster, getting harder to remain still, so hard you're gripping probably two thousand dollars worth of sofa cushion in your hands and closing your eyes in focus.
Every stroke is dangerous, every stroke could be the last as your legs tense. You don't know if it's for this reason that her hand leaves your cock.
You gasp, sitting up and opening your eyes, and of course, the dimple is staring back.
You don't look her directly in the eyes (as per the rules), but you can tell in your peripherals that the controlled look in her eyes is waning, like some untamed beast lies beneath it. You know it does, you've experienced it before. Her hand is still wet with your precum, and she carefully takes her sweats off, positioning herself so your legs are entangled, and your crotches are just inches from each others.
There's a slight huff to her breath now too, and she sits up, facing you. You can practically feel the warmth of her temple as she sits on the couch, and without warning, her fingers, still wet, pierce her sopping pussy.
It's a fucking sight, seeing Liz fingerfuck herself an inch away from your own throbbing piece, but she doesn't let you stop.
"Keep— keep going," she huffs, taking her fingers out. She reaches over and slathers a bit of her own wetness onto your cock, before plunging her fingers back in. "Stroke your cock or you're never getting that money!"
You don't need to be told twice. Her legs are so smooth on yours, and when your hand wraps around your own cock, you can feel her legs shake.
"You're such a good little simp for Chaewon, aren't you? Stroking your cock like that so she can get what she wa- wants," she says. "Y-you must really love her!" The words come out all high and uneven, and she shakes again.
Your own hand is working violently, the sounds of Liz's wet pussy, the smell of her sopping cunt filling the air, it's too much.
You're slightly worried about how disheveled you two will look once Chaewon does return, but it's wiped as pleasure rips through your pelvis.
Your cock strains as you approach release, and you need to see more
"Don't do it!" she yells, convulsing herself, but still staring directly at you. The little space between you and her crotches is soaked wet, and you physically can't obey.
"F-fuck!" you moan, releasing a torrent of cum, but not before locking eyes with her. She looks shocked, bewildered even, but she's still rapidly fingering herself. Your cum flies in arcs, scattering not only on you, but on her. She too convulses as her release comes.
You collapse back onto the couch, catching your breath, but your moment of respite is short lived.
You think she's mad at first, the way her sweaty body appears over you muttering. "You looked me in my eyes."
She hovers over you, hair draping, and funnily enough this isn't the first time you think Liz is going to murder you.
"You said— you looked me in my eyes," she repeats. Before you can close yours, she wraps her hand around your head, forcing you to continue staring into hers.
Instead of the anger you expect, it's that same crazed look, the one that craved pleasure last time, only now it's present tenfold.
Her lips are back on yours, and this time it's different, she sucks on your tongue with abandon. "Why'd you look," she laments through abated breaths and sloppy kisses. "What, do you want me to fall in love?"
You barely mutter a broken response before she snarls at you. "You'll be punished for that," she says, the look in her eyes growing more lustful by the second. She shifts, mouth at your cock and licking up every drop of cum you've spilt.
And then she's back in your vision, and the rules be damned, she can't help but stare into your eyes. Every time you shift your vision, every time you so much as blink, she gives you a squeeze, so you remain, lost in her gaze. It's almost as bad as her dimple. Almost.
She climbs on top of you, eyes still locked. You can't see what's going on below your chest, but you feel a familiar wetness wrap around your cock. Immediately, it stiffens to full mast yet again.
She's ridden you before, but not like this. Finally, her eyes break from yours, and her supple body bounces on your cock. She screams out, turning back to pin you down but working her hips faster and faster.
Turns out, all eye contact does for Liz is turn her into even more of a slut.
She's not a crazy murderer, just a crazy horny rich lady. Cool.
Not cool. You chance pumping up into her as she bounces, but she pushes down on your chest, signaling you to stop. All you can do is sit there as she works to her own release on you.
It's probably coming soon, because her walls tighten around you, hugging, squeezing almost painfully as she quivers, collapsing on top of you.
Her body is shaking and light, and your hard cock is still lodged inside of her quivering pussy.
You wrap your arms around her form, ready to pump even more, but in a surprising burst of strength, Liz straightens up. That elegant look of control is back on her face, and you know even though you're still inside of her, pumping now could signal your doom.
The only sign she felt even an ounce of pleasure is her rumpled hair, and the slight pant in her breath. There's even a hint of disdain as she looks down upon you, slowly sliding up to free your cock. It's throbbing, practically bursting, and when she looks down and sees, her smile returns.
"I think we're done for today," she smiles, giving your member one last pump. "Get yourself in order so we can go let Chaewon know."
Fuck. Maybe you shouldn't have looked her in the eyes. You know how… moody you can get with blue balls. You make a mental note to jerk off later tonight so as to avoid any… repeat situations, but still, right now in the moment, you bemoan your release unhad.
You find Chaewon, twiddling her thumbs nervously in the kitchen. You silently hope she doesn't notice your unkempt hair, and although you've dressed and did your best to appear presentable, you feel dirty. It doesn't help that your cock hasn't fully softened.
She turns to you nervously when you find her.
Liz has this bit, 'to build the suspense', she says so you both walk in with heavy faces, until:
Liz smiles. "Congrats," she says. "Your supervisor just secured you a 60 million won investment."
The look on Chaewon's face is pure ecstasy, and she runs, no sprints towards you, arms outstretched, voice ringing in the air and jumps. You catch her, just to stop her from falling.
"I knew it, I knew I could trust you," she cries.
---
It's a pretty slow morning, which is nice. The coffee machine whirrs as it heats, the oven humming as cheesecakes and pastries bake.
It's supposed to be you and the new hire, but Eunchae texted the group:
Eunchaehey stupid supervisor, this new guy you hired has been staring at every girl customer that's walked in
[Ms. Manager (scary)]
What?
For real?
[Eunchae]
yeah…
[Yunjin]
now that you mention it… I'm pretty sure he hit on a customer while you were in the kitchen last week Chaewon.
I wasn't sure but…
[Ms. Manager (scary)]
Fire him.
Stupid supervisor hired another cow, huh.
So, it's just you opening. No matter, you came in early and you don't open for another 45 minutes.
You're experimenting with milk teas now, something to expand your menu, so you're pouring tapioca pearls into a pot of boiling water when a knock on the glass window rings out.
It appears to be a girl, wrapped in a hoodie to presumably protect against the early morning cold.
Your mind immediately darts to Karina. She always loved to get snuggled up in oversized hoodies, and your heart skips a beat (in a good or bad way, you don't want to deal with at the moment). But then, you realize, it can't be Karina. The girl in the window is nowhere near tall enough to be Karina.
What, just a customer then? You've dealt with this before, customers looking to come early. You ignore them and get to prepping, but she knocks again.
You see a smiling face you faintly recognize. It's warm, welcoming, friendly, all of the damn above of someone you'd let your guard down around, and she's holding a drink with the BBS logo stamped on it.
You shuffle over to the door quickly, confused but curious, and opening it:
"Hi, I'm Hanni! Your new neighbour!"
Small picture.
A/N:
Guys i used to yap so much about my chapters in authors notes but now I don't feel like it #DEALWITHIT
“I thought you said you were going to beat that one game?”
“I just did.” You flop down on the bed next to her, staring up at the ceiling as she continues her crocheting. “Now I got nothing else to do.”
“Don’t you have games that you have to play?” she asks, focus entirely on the yarn in the hands. “You have like, what, ten games you haven’t played yet since the sale?”
“I’m not in the mood to play ‘em.” You let out a deep sigh, fingers rhythmically tapping at the bedsheets. “I don’t even know why I got them in the first place.”
“That’s what you get for buying them all,” she giggles, glancing at her tablet momentarily, holding up the in-progress-cloth. “Why don’t you play that one game?”
“Which one?” You prop yourself up by the elbow, chin on your hand. Watching her fingers deftly weave the wool, admiring how good she looks. Light makeup, glasses that make her look delectably adorable, your flannel over the white top she has on. You’re not sure if she knows that a hint of the black lace underneath is peeking out, but it’s not like there’s anyone that isn’t you have the privilege to see it right now.
“The one with the big number,” she replies, tilting her head. “All about paintings, from what I remember?”
“Oh, that one.” You’re not going to tell her that you bought that game full price and not on the recent sale. A game on the backlog is a game on the backlog, after all. “Maybe I should pick it up.”
“I heard it won a lot of awards,” she adds, face scrunching up cutely when she inspects her work. “And the story’s got everyone hooked.”
“Maybe you can watch while I play?” You grin, knowing that she’ll be taking the controller from you at some point. Even on the intended difficulty, you knew how hard that game was. Add the fact that Sakura gets extremely competitive on wanting to be the best, and you’ll most likely need to add a few controllers to the cart.
“Later, hun.” She smiles, turning to look at you. “I want to finish this hat for Sana first.”
“But I’m bored,” you whine, pleading with your eyes. Silently begging for her to give you some much needed attention.
“You’re so needy today,” she teases, letting out a little chuckle at your dilemma. “Can’t you play it without me?”
“I can, but I wanna play it with you.” That makes her melt, and her hand reaches out to boop your nose.
“Sweet,” she says, making you smile. “I promise I’ll play it with you later, okay?”
“Fine,” you relent, rolling back down onto the bed. Eyes gazing up on an upside down Sakura, who’s gone back to focusing on the yarn in her hands. “Still bored, by the way.”
“I’m sure there’s something you can do,” she says, her tongue sticking out, struggling at this one part.
Her statement gets you to think. No missed chores that you can pick back up, not in the mood to head to the gym after yesterday’s leg day, don’t want to play without Sakura—
Playing with Sakura is a thought. A fun one, upon giving it much thought. You glance back down to where the hint of her bra is peeking out of that tight top she has on, and even your flannel—as loose as it was on her—can’t hide how busty she is.
You move to sit behind her, arms wrapped around her tiny waist. Pulling her close, her arms come up to face level as she leans back against you. The face she must be making would tell you that she has an inkling of what you have in store to get rid of your boredom.
She’ll still ask what you’re doing. Give you that raise of her brow as she gives you a side eye. Roll her eyes at you when you give her a noncommittal answer, like a shrug and a nonchalant “Just watching you do your thing, sweetheart.”
You let your hands slide underneath her top, feeling the milky smooth skin and the contour of her abs, fingers running through the hard muscle. She lets you, of course; continuing on with completing the beige ‘hat’ that you quite can’t tell how far along it is from being one.
Your chin rests on her shoulder, the view of her deep cleavage from the top gets your fingers feeling frisky, and you gulp at the sight. You distract yourself with a whiff of her shampoo and her body wash wafting through your nostrils. It gets you nuzzling into her neck, lips leaving a peck by her pulse, your breath getting her ticklish and getting her to giggle.
“Stop.” The playful way in her tone along with a small nudge of her elbow against your chest tells you otherwise, and your hands come to join. Touching the spots you know where she’s ticklish, getting your fingers stabbing into them lightly that gets her to reveal the melody of her laugh that never fails to get you to smile.
It gets to a point where the yarn falls down to her lap, her own hands trying to get you to stop your assault on her spots. Every giggle, every laugh—it’s intoxicating, such a beautiful harmony that you could never grow tired of hearing.
Doesn’t help that her thrashing to get you to stop is unintentionally making her ass grind against your pants, her short shorts doing wonders for your cock that’s slowly straining against your pants.
Sakura manages to end it, one way or another. In this case she puts her entire weight on top of you, trapping you between her and the bed. She grabs hold of one of your hands, getting you to stop at least half of your tickle attack. With a quick swivel around, she faces you, her messy hair along with the crooked glasses that you’re surprised managed to stay on her face takes your breath away.
God, you could stare at the visage of her angelic features. A goddess, right in your arms—such irresistible pulchritude that you’re even lucky to breathe so close next to. Combined with the fond look on Sakura's face, the softening look in her eyes, the slight shake of her head that gets her hair framing her face.
And that damned smile that gets you all the time.
“Do you have nothing else to do?” she jokes, straddling you properly, her grip on your hand loosening.
The fingers that are on her waist squeeze gently. “Other than doing you, not really.”
Sakura scoffs, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Needy and horny.” She leans in close, her lips inches away from yours. “Whatever will we do?”
“I was thinking if you can maybe, hopefully—” You raise your hips slightly, making her gasp when your erection is against her shorts. “Possibly help me out?”
“After messing up my hat?” You take the chance to look down at what’s happened with her work. It doesn’t look that bad, though that's what your ignorant brain sees. “I should leave you blue balled for that.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, your free hand resting on her thigh, thumb running circles over the smooth expanse under your palm.
She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know how to crochet, hun.”
You reach up to fix the pair of glasses on her face. “I’ll buy you new polaroid film?”
Sakura narrows her eyes, humming thoughtfully. Her answer doesn’t come out quickly, as if she was actually debating on whether she’ll take your offer or not. It comes with a mocking sigh followed by a chaste kiss on your lips. “Deal.” She tilts her head, giving you a smirk. “How does my honey want my help?”
“Well–” you start, already dead set on what you want, running your finger down to give her breast a quick squeeze. “These would be fucking amazing on my face, sweetie.”
Another roll of her eyes. “You and your fascination with my tits,” she comments, shaking her head at your antics.
“Are you complaining?”
“Of course not.” Pulling away to sit upright once more, her legs tuck under into a kneeling position, palms tapping her thighs. “Come on, hun.”
You follow her order, laying your head on her soft thighs while she pulls the flannel down her arms, the buttons of her top becoming undone enough to loosen the fabric and give way for her cleavage. You’re already salivating at the idea of what she’s offering, arm wrapping around her waist to pull yourself closer to her chest.
Your other hand reaches up, parting her shirt in the middle, that lacy black bra of hers an even more thought reducing sight on her than you realize. The exposure has you paralyzed, the one and only action you can do is let out a quiet curse at the fact that you’ll be drooling all over those magnificent tits, followed by—
“I fucking love you so much,” you blurt out, gazing up at Sakura’s smug face, the adoration bleeding through her eyes.
“Love you too, you horny little shit.” The nickname gets you both laughing, and it’s such a stark contrast to what both your hands are doing that it’s a wonder how you two can get into these situations. Hers fishing your cock out of your sweatpants, yours pulling her bra to the side to expose the soft, mouth watering flesh underneath.
Her laughs become breathless once your mouth latches on to the pink little nub of hers, suckling on her teat like a baby. Giving them a little nibble as your other hand reaches up to grab hold of her other breast, wanting to give her as equal attention as you can. And even through all those layers, you’ll never get enough of playing with her chest.
Sakura isn’t idle throughout, spitting down her hand and wrapping her fingers around your length, stroking you languidly. It gets you moaning, your hips bucking up at her hand as your eyes close. The sweetheart that she is, helping prop you up with her palm resting at the back of your head too, making sure that you never leave her soft, warm, delicious embrace.
“You look like a baby,” she giggles, turning to focus her attention to your cock. She thumbs your slit at every stroke upward, brushing against your balls when she reaches the base, her fingers hitting your every weakness like she was getting revenge for your earlier actions. “Take your time, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words only spur you on, getting you to suck harder, grope rougher. You’re in a haze of pleasure, the pink nipple you’re nursing tasting so scrumptious that you wonder how much better it would taste like if milk were to ever come out of her breasts. You can only let out a muffled noise at the concept, biting down on her nub.
Her strokes grow faster on your cock, cooing such dirty provocations watching you lose yourself. The seduction in your ear, whispering how nice and hard you are for her, feeling you throb in her hands. Her giggles are temptation symphonized, words of encouragement coming out of her in droves as you worship her. That’s it, honey, you’re doing so good sucking on my tits.
Feeding you more fantasies at every groan you let out, thrusting into her hand in an attempt to chase your release. Growing desperate in her arms, your hunger grows ravenous as you suck fervently on her bud, with the only thing that gets you to stop was a one, simple possibility that she can turn into reality.
“I bet you want to fuck my tits so bad, don’t you?”
That gets you humming excitedly, head nodding, your eyes finally opening to be greeted with Sakura’s gorgeous face—flushed and warm and grinning down at you. You pull away, and if you could get on your knees to beg, you could. “Fuck, please.”
“Stand up for me.” You scramble, your feet hitting the floor in record time, Sakura sitting in front of you by the edge of the bed. She’s biting her lip at the sight of you positively throbbing, leaking precum because of her. “Already so close?”
“Me and my fascination with your tits.” You’re putty in her hands, jerking you off slowly to keep you wanting more. And more she gives, when she’s taking off her glasses and pulling her shirt off her head to expose her bra.
She makes a show of it, pressing them together to remind you just how deep her cleavage can go, of how big her chest is under all those layers of clothing. Baggy, fit, tight—all that doesn’t matter in the face of genetics.
“Starting to think you love my tits more than me,” she says, taking hold of your cock by the base. She gathers drool in her mouth, letting it trickle down her lips and coating your shaft.
“Kkura, sweetie, you know I love you a lot more than your tits, right?” you begin, hands resting on her shoulders.
“Mhmm.” She’s smirking, enjoying you squirm. “Your point?”
“My point is–” You’re interrupted by the softest sensation in the world wrapping around your cock, your words turning into mush when she slips your cock in between her tits, bra still on to entrap you in the pillowy hold. “Oh for fuck’s sake, can I please fuck the utter shit out of your tits?”
Sakura devilishly chuckles, pressing her tits together, the velvety embrace growing tighter. “Love you too, honey.”
You’re fucked stupid, and you haven’t even started fucking her chest yet. She starts it for you instead, fucking your cock on her breasts with this insufferably slow pace, letting another batch of spit down your cock, pooling into her cleavage. And the pressure is intense, thought shattering, god you need to fuck them—
Your hips thrust up, making your tip peek up her breasts. That alone gets your thighs to tremble at the sensation, and you’re biting your lip in a feeble attempt to delay your fate. “Oh my god.” Another thrust, and that unlocks the flood gates. “I’m never gonna leave your tits alone after this.”
“Not like you weren’t already doing that.” She leans down, pressing her lips against your head when you thrust up a third time, and you can only help yourself with a curse slipping out your lips. “Starting fucking ‘em already, hun.” Another dose of spit falls down your cock. “Or are you all talk?”
The pace you set off the bat is harsh; hands gripping her shoulders firmer as your hips snap upwards. The filthy grin on her face as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts adds to the entire sight. Her hands dig down harder on her tits, the embrace impossibly tight that every thrust has the odds of you cumming down her cleavage.
And Sakura has no say as to when you will. She’s given you the reins, letting you whatever you want to her breasts, looking delighted at the mess you must look like by now. You can barely talk, completely taken over by the need to chase that high, and she knows it.
“Cum for me,” she says, those three words making you growl. Your rhythm goes erratic, and you reach up to hold onto the back of her neck. “Come on, honey. Paint these tits that you love so much.”
“Kkura, fuck–”
“Please?” It’s so innocent, the way she says it. Until the next set of words come out of her mouth, and all you can hear is pure, unadulterated depravity. “Need you to mark me with your cum. Want it so bad, please–”
You come down, taking her lips with your own as your orgasm hits, and your entire body is trembling. Your moans grow muted as the first spurt shoots up her breasts and hits her collarbone. The next few pool in her cleavage, a few strays staining her bra with your seed.
Her tongue plays with yours as you glaze her, her hands coming up to hold you upright. Her chest follows your hips, moving up and down your cock, each pulse sending another streak of white across her skin.
By the end of it you’re almost slumped against her, your forehead pressing against hers. Your lips linked with a string of saliva, her breath hot against your face. You can barely stand up, lungs in dire need of air, the only thing that’s keeping you up are your hands on Sakura and her own on your hips.
Sakura leans up to plant a wet peck on your lips before she pulls your cock off from between her bra, ruined and stained full of white. “Look at that,” she breathes, looking down at the mess that you’ve created. “I’ll need to throw this bra away because of you.”
You let out a shaky chuckle. “I’ll buy you a new one.” You move to sit beside her, but the aftereffects of your high cause you sagging into the bed.
“Hun, please.” She turns to you with a playful glint. “You’ll just ruin it again.” Her fingers run down her cleavage, scooping up a dollop of your cum and taking it in her mouth. “Yum.”
Her gaze cast downward, toward your softening cock. She takes a glance up to your face, that playfulness turning dark before she sweeps down to take you in her mouth. Your legs jolt, the sudden sensation of her tongue swirling around your length such an overwhelming feeling. It makes you crave for it when she pulls away just as quick.
“Happy now?” she asks, all casual and smiles. Like you’re not dead on the bed and on life support.
“Ecstatic, sweetheart.” You barely have the strength to reach up and cup her cheek.
Sakura smiles sweetly, taking your hand in hers, her lips kissing your palm. “Want me to get some water for you?”
“Please,” you say, and with another, parting kiss on your palm she stands up—cum painted in her chest, bra utterly ruined, and completely glowing that make you shout out—
“Have I mentioned how much I love you yet?”
“Multiple times, hun!”
As she leaves to grab some well needed hydration, you can’t help but let out a smile.
A/N: Prompt for @dotoliwrites. Thank you so much for hosting!
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
When the words—
“Do you wanna get married tonight instead?”
Are the first thing you hear after waking up today, you can’t help but reply with—
“What brought this on?”
You groggily walk up to Miyeon, arm wrapping around her waist and giving her a peck on the lips. “Good morning, by the way.”
“Good morning, dear.” Miyeon smiles into the kiss, leaning on you as she lowers the heat on the cooker. “Nothing, just thought it’d be a great day to get married today.”
“Miyeon.” You move to stand behind her, both arms around her waist now. Watching her crack some eggs on the pan, your head coming to rest on her shoulder. Taking a whiff of the morning scent of breakfast and Miyeon’s conditioner. “I thought you wanted to get married in February?”
“I do,” she replies, giggling when you leave a kiss on her neck. “But there’s this meteor shower happening tonight at the venue we were looking into and–” She places a lid on the pan, letting the egg cook. Her hands rest on your forearms as she leans back. “It'd be perfect, you know?”
“You are such a romantic,” you tease, poking her stomach and causing her to yelp in surprise. “All that’s left is breakfast in bed, and I’m sold.”
“I’ll be sure to do it next time then,” she shoots back, rolling her eyes at you with a smile. “Does that mean you’re saying no?” She gives you a slight nudge.
“Well…” You watch the eggs whiten, and you have to admit that her whole idea is enticing. Having to wake up everyday with the woman of your dreams knowing that you’re hers and she’s yours. To spend every waking moment enjoying life with Miyeon—your wife.
You can already picture it. More slow mornings in the kitchen, afternoons doing everything you two could ever want to do or nothing at all. Spending every possible waking moment with her, and ending them in her arms. Being able to call Miyeon home.
It’s the future you’ve seen, when you got down on your knees to propose that day. But the thought of being able to have that sooner rather than later?
“You know your parents would be pissed if we did,” you say casually, arms tightening their grip around her.
A smile slowly curves up her lips. “I’m sure they’ll get over it,” she easily replies, uncovering her pan. “I’m more worried about Sana.”
“I’m sure she’ll get over it,” you repeat, making Miyeon laugh.
“I don’t know.” She turns off the cooker. “She might hate us if we don’t tell her.”
“We can leave her a text.” You spin her around, and she’s wrapping her arms around your neck. “What time’s that meteor shower?”
“Around seven.”
Your eyes glance at the clock. “That’s in eleven hours.”
“That’s enough time to get married.” She raises an eyebrow at you.
You’re thinking of what you need for it to happen. A witness or two, an officiant to get the both of you married, the venue to hopefully accept your last minute and get there in time if they do. The list seemed endless when you keep adding more thing to find—
“You’re thinking too hard, dear.” She interrupts your line of thinking with a boop on the nose. “Yes or no?”
“Let me get this straight.”
“Mhmm.”
“You want to elope.”
“Yep.”
“Tonight.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re completely okay with that?”
“I was the one who suggested it.” She grins. “Of course I am.”
“Okay.” You take a deep breath, giving her hips a gentle squeeze. “Okay.”
“Okay as in you wanna do it?” She tilts her head, the grin on her face somehow getting larger by the second. “Or okay as in you don’t wanna do it?”
You only live once, you might as well live it without any regrets.
And getting married to Miyeon is something you’d never regret.
“Okay as in I will call the venue if they can get us a spot,” you answer, and she squeals in your arms, pulling you in for a kiss. You smile into it, warmth spreading around your body as she pours every bit of love from her lips to yours.
“Promise you won’t regret it,” she mutters into your lips, pulling away just a bit to tell you those three words that get you grinning. Ones that you return affectionately, leaning in for another short kiss.
“I’ll find our witnesses.” Another kiss, and her lips are so, so addicting.
“Is it Sana?” you ask, and all she does is giggle at you, the melody slightly muted when you press your lips against hers once more.
“She won’t know about it until she comes back from Japan,” Miyeon replies, giving you one last peck on the lips before she turns around. “Now, breakfast before marriage, dear.”
—
“And you’re sure they have an officiant?”
“It’s in their package,” you reply, stepping on the gas as you enter the freeway. “Spot to get married, the hotel’s officiant, a makeup artist, and a photographer all in one.”
“How good do they do makeup?” She’s typing on her phone as she asks, most likely talking with another friend of hers that can attend your wedding. “And the photographer–”
“Dunno, didn’t ask,” you tell her, signaling to the left. “I don’t speak makeup and cinematography.”
“Maybe I should’ve been the one talking to the venue.” Miyeon takes a glance at you with that teasing glint you always see from her.
“You were busy talking with Jiwon while packing.” You prop your elbow on the armrest. “I didn’t want to interrupt girl talk.”
“Jiwon–” The way she emphasizes her name makes you tense up. “Is going to be our witness for today.”
“God help us.” It's almost a reflex at this point, hearing that you'll be seeing Jiwon again. The last time had you accidentally traumatizing your cousin because she wouldn't stop talking to him about everything.
“Hey!” she chides, putting her phone down. “She's also making the trip to the venue. Alone, mind you.”
Your lips curl up a tad. “Think she’s already telling Sana we’re eloping?”
Her hand comes to rest on your arm, tenderly brushing her thumb across your skin. “I told her to keep it a secr–” Her phone begins to ring, and you don’t need to look to know who’s calling. “Oh no.”
And so the rest of the trip becomes a free podcast of Sana and Miyeon talking.
For five. Fucking. Hours.
—
“You didn’t tell me you booked the suite!”
“Can’t exactly go to Puerto Rico last minute so I thought we’d make the most out of the place.”
You’re locking the door as Miyeon begins exploring said suite, a luggage bag in hand. And you have to admit, the place is pretty good.
Well, that’s an understatement.
Great view, spacious, a bed that will inevitably be squeaking once Miyeon gets a hold of you and a hell of a lot of amenities—it’s the whole shebang and then some. You’re amazed that the hotel was offering it at such a discount but with everything that you told them you’re a tad bit grateful too.
Really makes you think what would happen if Miyeon did talk to them instead of you.
“Speaking of Puerto Rico–” She makes a spin to face you, her dress flaring out and the way her hair perfectly frames her face, paired up with how the light hits her just right makes her look completely ethereal.
And you’ve seen it all before; whether it was because she was wearing some designer dress, some casual look whenever you two go out on dates, or as she wakes up in your arms.
Yet you never get tired of seeing her look like such an angel.
“Should we book for next week?”
“If you think we can get a ride, why the hell not.” You’re placing down the remaining luggage by the main room, striding over to Miyeon and holding her by the waist. “We could go to Japan too. The cherry blossoms are in season.”
“Sana’s gonna crash our honeymoon if we do,” she giggles, arms around your neck, fingers giving your scalp a gentle scratch. The smile that crosses her features is a constant reminder of why you fell for the woman in your arms, and you can’t help but smile back.
You let out a quiet chuckle. “What?”
“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Just–” She bites her lip, and the action makes you squeeze her hips. “We’re really doing this, are we?”
“Hey, it was your idea,” you joke, causing her to laugh. “Unless you’re having second thoughts?” You’re almost afraid of her answer, but the instant she gave the back of your neck a light tap it all faded away.
“Of course not,” Miyeon replies, stepping closer to give you a peck. “I’ve never been more ready to be with you.”
Her words make your heart skip a beat, the small tears in her eyes make your palm rest on your cheek to wipe them away before they could fall. Your lips whisper her name, and she nuzzles her head against your hand. You can’t tell who said those three words first, or if you said them at the same time.
The only thing that matters right now is Miyeon—her lips on yours, soft and full and loving, your arms picking her up and carrying her to the bed. Hair all splayed around her as she falls on the soft mattress with a giggle.
“Dear, no,” she says with a laugh, yet she does nothing about you kissing her neck, her collarbone, your hands coming to play with the straps of her dress. “Save it for tonight.”
“We can squeeze a quick one in.” You pause to look up at her grinning face.
“You–” She pushes you away with a finger on your forehead. “Need to talk to the officiant. And I need to talk with the hotel to get Jiwon a room.”
You sigh. “Responsibilities.”
“Woe is us,” she adds, propping herself up. “Now up. Go and get everything ready for us.”
“So bossy today.” You’re rolling your eyes at her as you stand up. “At least talk to the photographer and makeup artist when you go down.”
“Not to worry, dear,” Miyeon blows you a kiss. “I’ll handle it.” She glances down to your crotch, and she gives you a smirk and a wink.
“I’ll handle that too tonight.”
—
“You said this spot is perfect for the meteor shower?”
“That’s what they said.”
There were a few people around to set up the ceremony when you and Miyeon arrived at the spot. You know it’s not as grand as Miyeon preferred it to be, but with how tight the timing was you can’t blame the hotel.
You're more worried about your vows than anything. And with time being a precious commodity today you need to squeeze it in somewhere before you see Miyeon walk down in her wedding dress.
“And it’ll be ready before it?”
“That is also what they said, yes.” You turn to her. “Relax, they know what they’re doing.”
“Okay, okay.” Miyeon takes a deep breath. “And the officiant?”
“Is the hotel’s sommelier,” you answer. “I’ve already talked to him, and he’s helping out with the legal papers to get everything sorted out.” You grab her hand, pulling it up to give it a kiss to alleviate her nervousness. “Is Jiwon here already?”
“She is!” She nods to the side. “The hotel was kind enough to give her a room for the night.”
“That’s great,” you say, already thinking up ways to repay the hotel for being so accommodating.
“Got to talk with the photographer too. And the makeup artist.” You don’t like how her face just glowed up when she brought up makeup.
“Speaking of that—”
“I don’t need makeup.”
“You will wear makeup whether you like it or not.”
After getting dragged back to your room and Miyeon’s attempts at getting you to wear makeup, she’s gone ahead and called for backup.
That being Jiwon and the makeup artist.
You’re outnumbered three to one, and you know you’re not going to win this fight. Resisting’s almost optional at this point, even.
But you’ll make sure that you at least go down swinging.
“It’ll be a light touch up,” Miyeon says, crossing her arms. “You can take it off straight after the ceremony if you want, but you will wear makeup.”
“Come on guys.” You’re throwing your hands in the air. “It’s fine–”
“It is your wedding, mister,” Jiwon cuts you off. “You have to look your best.” She’s coming forward, hands on your shoulders as she walks you to the fated chair.
“I’m pretty sure I can look my best without makeup.” You try your best to resist, dragging your feet slowly and making Jiwon work for every step.
“Don’t make me do your makeup instead,” Jiwon threatens (you think, you don’t know if she’s bluffing or not).
“Do I need to be scared?” You turn to Miyeon, because, again, you’re not sure if Jiwon would turn you into a clown for your wedding or not.
“Dear,” Miyeon starts, coming to your other side to help Jiwon and giving you the puppy eyes that she knows will melt you. “Just get your makeup done and I promise I’ll repay you later.”
And you crumble fast.
“Ew,” Jiwon says, pulling away from the both of you. “T M fucking I, you two.”
Miyeon lets out a giggle while you laugh and shake your head.
“Fine, fine, I’ll get my makeup done.”
So much for going down swinging.
The makeup artist does nothing to deter all this, only giving you an apologetic look as you take a seat. You can’t blame them though.
You wouldn’t want to anger Miyeon and Jiwon at the same time too.
Well–
“Can I at least shower first before I do it?”
Maybe you want to.
Just a teeny bit.
—
“Everyone else found out, by the way.”
Your fingers pause trying to secure a cufflink. “What happened there?”
“Jiwon–” That makes perfect sense. “–brought it up at our group chat an hour ago and now my phone won’t stop ringing.” You both take a glance at the nightstand, where both of your phones lay together. “I think Yuqi’s still calling me.”
Her phone lights up with her words, and sure enough someone—Yuqi—was calling her.
“You’d think Jiwon would’ve talked to her,” you chuckle, attention coming back to fix your cufflink. “Or has she?”
“I think they’ve resorted to voice messaging at one point,” she shrugs as she picks up one of her earrings. “I tried to explain it but I was showering and–” She makes a pointed glance at her phone. “I’m more focused on getting ready than talking right now.”
You smooth down your dress shirt. “Such priorities, princess.”
“I’m surprised no one else on your side knows that we’re getting eloped.”
“Only mom and dad know.” You take a pause. “And my boss, I guess.”
Miyeon giggles, glancing at you through the mirror. “Why does your boss know?”
“Cause I needed to tell him why I’m going on a week long leave on short notice.” You make quick work on tying your necktie. “Hee says congrats, by the way.”
“Tell him that I’m not sorry you’ll be gone for a week.” That draws out a laugh from you.
“Of course, princess.” You take a glance around, eventually landing on one of the luggage bags. “Where’d you put the suit jacket?”
“Closet.” She’s standing up to head to said closet, and you follow. “I had the staff steam it while we were out.”
She opens it up, and she reaches out to grab your jacket out from it to hand it to you. And you had to admit—
“White’s an odd choice for a guy getting married,” you comment, pulling it up to head level. “Thought it’d be more your thing.”
“Dear, I would love to wear a wedding dress,” Miyeon replies, taking another hanger out—a vest and a sleeveless dress shirt hanging from it—before closing the cabinet. “But we’re not exactly doing a conventional wedding so–” She makes a pose, vest over her chest to show you what she’ll be wearing for your ceremony. “I thought that I too shall wear a suit for our wedding. Besides, you’ve never used that white suit that I bought you yet, so I thought that this too is the perfect time to use it.”
You blink, envisioning what she’d look like in your head. It’s an odd thing to imagine, seeing her wear a suit of all things to what is the most important day of your lives. You’ve never even seen this woman wear one at all for the entire time you’ve known her. Although, with the epitome of beauty in front of you, it’s hard not to fill in the blanks.
Her figure wouldn’t be hiding underneath all those layers, seeing how that top only comes to cover just above her belly button. The pants she has on does little to hide the curve of her ass, and pair it up with the smile she has on and you are whipped for this woman.
“I know, I know,” she brags, walking back to the bed to place the pieces of clothing down to take her towel she’s used as a top off. A free taste of what tonight will bring. “It’d look amazing, wouldn’t it?”
“It’d look better on the floor.” Your mouth has a mind of its own sometimes. The words weren’t exactly a lie, either way. And while she has her back turned to you, you know in your heart that she’s rolling her eyes.
“Patience, dear.” She’s clipped her bra on before taking the shirt off the coat hanger to put it on her, the smooth expanse of her back hidden from your view. “Just a few more hours, and you’ll have me all to yourself.”
“I’m surprised you are this patient,” you comment, placing the hanger on to the closet handle to take the jacket off it. “We’d normally be by the bed at this point.”
Her laugh is music to your ears. “It’s not good to fuck the bride before her wedding.”
“That’s for seeing the bride.”
“Seeing, fucking–isn’t that the same thing, dear?”
You shake your head, letting out an amused scoff. “I think you might have your superstitions mixed up.”
“Well, whatever they are–” Miyeon’s leaning on the wall right next to you. And God, your imagination did not do her outfit justice because it looks so much more amazing seeing her this up close wearing it. “You get to fuck me after our wedding.”
She’s turned you towards her to adjust your tie, giving your chest a gentle pat. “And every other day after too, while we’re at it.”
“You say all this just before we go out there and I might not let you leave this room,” you say, holding the jacket in your arms as you let her do what she wants.
“That’d be funny,” she muses, taking the jacket from you and gesturing for you to turn around. “Last minute ceremony cancelled by a last minute quickie.”
Miyeon helps you put the jacket on, pulling it over your body. “You think the hotel would mind?” you ask, pulling the sleeves of your shirt as you face her.
“I think the hotel would be pissed.” She gives you a one over, biting her lip as she ‘appreciates’ what you’re wearing. “But it might be worth it when you’re looking like a hot piece of ass in that suit.”
“What happened to doing it after the wedding?” You throw the same argument back she’s using back against her, and her eyes roll, twinkling with amusement.
Miyeon tilts her head, a lock of hair covering part of her face. “We still can.” Her hands come to toy with your belt, which is always a good sign when it comes to her. “But if I only suck your cock, does it still count as fucking?”
Oh, semantics, you wonderful idea.
Before you can ever agree with her line of thinking, a loud ring sounds off in your room, causing the both of you to look at the entrance. Knocking follows it shortly after, and you can vaguely hear someone shouting your names over the door.
“Jiwon?” you ask over your shoulder, eyes still looking at the hallway.
Miyeon sighs. “Jiwon.” She cups your cheek to make you face her. “What a shame, don’t you think?”
What a fucking shame, indeed.
“It’s one way of getting us out of this room,” you smile, hands moving your belt around to alleviate your straining erection. “But we really should go out there.”
Miyeon nods, leaning in to give you a peck. “Love you, husband.”
You grin, ignoring the second ring of the doorbell to kiss her back. “Love you too, wife.”
“I like the sound of that,” she hums, pulling away to smooth her hair. A wink gets thrown your way before she begins to walk to the door. “Coming!”
A palm comes down to slap her ass as she passes by, and Miyeon replies with a promiscuous look. Enough to tell you that she’s excited for tonight just as you are.
Because soon enough you’ll be calling her your wife, and she’ll be calling you her husband.
You shake your head fondly, taking a deep breath and following Miyeon towards the door.
You’re already counting the seconds before you promise to be true to her in the good and bad, in sickness and in health. For richer or the poorer, for the better or worse, until death takes you apart.
Because Miyeon is all you need in this lifetime to be happy.
And if you ever find her again in another, you’d choose to fall in love with her all over again.
The following is Chapter 12 in the Toy series - but it can (mostly) be read on its own.
This chapter is from the POV of Woody.
11,668 words.
---
My mind in a vice grip
Your legs still wrapped around my head
In that hotel suite
Cigarette ashes on my bed
They stain the sheets - I see you nude, dancing around my room
As if you ain’t a thousand miles back home
But it’s cool I’ll probably see you soon
I can’t go to that thrift store
Without smelling sex in the dressing room
Can’t hear my favorite film score
Without sweet nothings played on loop
It’s kind of rude, won’t let me loose
As if you weren’t a thousand miles back home
But it’s cool I’ll probably see you soon
I can still feel you kiss me
I thought I was ready
to see you off on that flight
I said goodbye - but as the clock, it ticks on by\
I realize I’m still holding you close\
As if you ain’t a thousand miles back home
But least we got telephones
Whoever said “out of sight, out of mind”
Fucking lied
‘Cause you’re not by, by my side
Still keep me up at night
I can still feel you kiss me
-Holywatr, “Without U”
---
It’s painful, honestly, the way she does it.
She steps into the cafe like she owns it, despite the oversized hoodie and ridiculously short denim shorts that looked worn out and threadbare but are probably designer and worth more than what you make in a month. The cap on her head, the large sunglasses, and the mask cover her - because without them someone might recognize her face as one that’s been on a million screens, a thousand advertisements, all over the world.
She looks, almost, like she doesn’t care. She looks like any other young woman grabbing an overpriced, oversweetened dose of caffeine that she’ll probably snap a picture of for her Instagram story before leaving half-finished on a sidewalk somewhere. She reaches the counter and mutters an order to a barista that doesn’t deign to even look up from the tablet he punches her order into.
Every movement she makes is painful to you. Her nonchalance - her indifference - stings. It’s a sharp spike poised above your ribs, giving you tiny little jabs of bright pain.
She steps aside from the register and saunters to the waiting area. A hand slips into her oversized tote - which, like the rest of her attire, hid a ludicrous price tag beneath its ragged exterior - to produce a phone that she idly scrolls as she waits.
It’s then that she sees you.
Dark glasses turn. The mask hides her expression. You imagine it’s hiding a regretful sigh, or one of disgust at something unpleasant that she’ll have to take care of - like a full trash can that needs to be emptied.
The barista calls her name - not her real one, not here, out in public - and she takes the plastic caffeine container, loaded with an obscene amount of ice and whipped cream and those stupid fucking chocolate sprinkles she loves so much. She walks over to the corner booth where you’re sitting, sits across from you.
The mask drops. The glasses come off.
Minatozaki Sana was many things. Idol, model.
Today she is just a young woman throwing away a toy she’d grown tired of.
---
“You look like you’re doing well,” she says, flatly. Her eyes, often so full of mirth and mischief and something she wanted people to interpret as joy - they look dull and uninterested today, as though she’d had to force herself to be here, to see you.
You don’t know what to say. What could you say? This was one of the most popular woman on earth, one of the most gorgeous, and you’d spent the last few years catering to her every whim. You’d seen her at her highest, supported you through her lowest, fucked her throughout. Those lips had wrapped themselves around your cock, whispered filth against shower tiles as you took her from behind, spilt her hopes and dreams and deepest insecurities on those quiet nights between shows when all you did was hold her in her hotel room while she cried about how she believed everyone around her wanted her just for her looks and not for the girl beneath them ---
And now she was greeting you with the same interest she had given the barista moments earlier.
“I’m good,” you manage, although the words that leave your lips seem to come from a voice that isn’t yours.
“How’s your mom?” she continues, even as she takes her drink and stirs it absently, taking a short sip of the sugar water within.
“She’s good, she’s good,” you answer. The words cost you something to say, because speaking to her isn’t free anymore, not now. “The doctors say she’s responding well to the treatment. They say she’ll be out of the hospital in a few weeks.”
“Good,” she says. Her eyes don’t meet yours. She takes another sip of her drink. “Which hospital is she at?”
“She just got transferred to the Women’s Hospital, the one on 6th street.”
Sana nods, barely, but doesn’t make eye contact.
“How are you?” you ask, because that was how conversations worked, right? She asks how you are, you answer, you ask her how she is, she answers. You don’t have the courage or the brain cells to manage much more than that - not now, not when the woman sitting across from you is who she is.
Silence. It’s only for a few seconds as he stirs her drink with that green paper straw she hated so much. The world thought they knew everything about Minatozaki Sana, but her hatred of paper straws is something only you know about her. It’s an intimate thing, amidst the myriad of other intimate things you know of her.
But none of that knowledge is able to bridge the silence between you. It lasts only a few seconds, but they feel like forever.
“How are the girls?” you add, hoping a simpler question might prompt more conversation, might produce something, anything out of her to fill this painful, terrible silence.
“They’re good. Tour wrapped up. Just the encores in Seoul to go.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you… how was… uh, the cities?”
She looks up at you, finally, at the random words spilling from your mouth in some vain attempt to maintain some semblance of normalcy. She’s stunning - even without an ounce of makeup or the small platoon of makeup artists and hairstylists that make her look the way she does on those screens and advertisements - but today she looks tired, and uninterested, and done with it.
Done with you.
“They were good,” she answers, finally. Her attention returns to her drink to the sugar, water, and caffeine concoction on the table between you, as though it were a third participant in this awful, painful conversation. Silence returns, for too long.
“Sana, I-”
“Listen,” she says, at a volume and with a tone that rattles you. “We both know why we’re here.”
You don’t say anything. How could you?
“We can’t do this anymore,” she says. Her eyes falter for a moment - just a moment - before she wrestles them back in line. “It was fun. But it was a dream. Time to wake up. It’s over.”
Your words fail you. Two years - two years you’d spent with this woman - and they’re all gone, all over, just like that - a dream to be woken up from, a toy to be discarded.
You want to say something. Want to tell her the past few years have been the best of your life, that you’d seen cities and done things and had experiences that you’d long thought only existed in movies or k-dramas or fanfiction - and that she was at the center of all that, the source of it, the only reason why you were able to experience it all and that you will thank her, with every second of the rest of your life, that she picked you out of the thousands of men at that concert two years, eight months, three days and sixteen hours ago---
“Sana-” you begin, but no words follow.
“I don’t need a manager that will just get up and leave me randomly,” she states, the words somehow sharp and cold at the same time. “I need someone I can depend on. Whenever, wherever. You’re not that person. Not anymore.”
She lets the words lie there in the space between you for a moment that felt much longer than it actually was. Something painful flares in your chest.
“The company will send you the rest of your pay,” she continues. “And the non-disclosure agreement, of course.” The glasses and mask come back on, covering up those gorgeous features of hers. Her eyes catch yours before the glasses cover them up and there’s something there that hurts you - the indifference, the nonchalance, the arrogance of this woman for tossing you aside like some unwanted trinket she’d grown bored of.
But it’s fleeting. The lenses are opaque and dark and you wonder if you’ll ever see those eyes this closely again. She gathers her things.
“Bye,” she says, and for a moment you imagine there’s regret, or sadness, or something soft and fragile in her voice - but then you realize it was probably your imagination, your heart protecting itself from being shattered into a million pieces right there on the floor of some fucking chain coffee shop.
She leaves.
Her drink sits on the table, barely-touched, left behind.
---
“We miss you, bro.”
Pikachu was a good guy. He was on the other side of the world, but the wonders of modern technology meant you could still pick out the genuine tone in his words and the worry behind them.
“Thanks, dude. I miss you guys too. How’s Buzz?”
“Aw, you know,” Pikachu answers. “It is what it is. You know she’s… she’s dating someone else now, right?”
You don’t have to ask who he means by ‘she’. It was common knowledge now, and had been plastered all over the k-pop blogs when news of it broke. The ‘ideal couple,’ they were called, because they both looked like marble statues of the fucking Olympians brought to life.
Buzz, on the other hand, was a little short and scrawny; but admittedly, most men looked scrawny next to her new boyfriend.
“Tell him to keep his head up,” you answer. “He’s a good guy. I heard he’s getting into acting after the tour is done?”
“He is,” Pikachu replies. “The other managers want him to stay on, but I think he wants a break from it all. He accepted a role last week. It starts filming at the end of the year.”
There’s a moment of sad silence between you, a melancholy, an acknowledgement that the brotherhood that had formed between the three of you was reaching its natural end, and there was nothing any of you could do to stop it. It was fleeting, momentary - three men brought together under the most ridiculous circumstances - but you treasured it, cherished it all the same. You shared some of the best of years of your life with them, and now that time was coming to an end.
A dream to wake up from.
“How’s your mom?” Pikachu asks, and you answer - she’s doing fine, the doctors have run the tests and prescribed the drugs, but she’ll need a little more time in the hospital to recover. Pikachu is thoughtful and genuine, and makes a promise to come visit her, and you, someday.
“And how’s…” he hesitates for a moment, knowing he was approaching sore, still-bleeding territory. “How are things with you and Sana?”
You gather yourself for a moment. The wound was still fresh. You’re still trying to get over the way she did it, the way she threw you left you behind like that fucking drink she left on the table. Anger flares for a moment. You hide it.
“We’re done,” you answer, and the words leave a lump in your throat as they pass. “She… she broke things off after I came back home for mom. I saw her last week in person on her way back to Seoul. Said she needed someone that wasn’t going to just leave at random times. You know how she is - needy as fuck. Threw me aside like a piece of trash but hey, at least she did it to my face.”
You manage a sad chuckle. Pikachu is supportive. He’s a bro, he knows what to do. He tells you she was a bitch to break things off with you the way she did, when she did. He tells you she’s a spoiled brat, that she’s used to people doting on her 24/7/365 and couldn’t handle someone who had other priorities. He goes off on how needy she always is, and how she’s constantly seeking the attention and approval of everyone around her, and how exhausting that is for everyone.
He says the right things, and you knew him well enough to know that he meant them.
The call nears its end. Pikachu has a team meeting to attend in ten minutes, where the managers and the crew will be discussing the wrap-up of the European leg and begin preparations for the finales in Seoul. He mentions, offhandedly, that Momo and Chaeyoung have been at odds in the past few weeks, and that management wants him to take care of it before the finales start.
For a moment, you consider telling him something - a secret you’d long held. Something he should know.
“Take care of yourself, bro. I’ll talk to you soon, alright?” he says, before you can formulate the words.
“Yeah,” you answer. The secret dies on your lips.Talking about her was the last thing you wanted to do. “Soon, bro.”
---
At the hospital, your sister tells you to go home - she’d gotten some time off work and could watch your mom for a while. You often fought with your sister in the way siblings do, but you loved her, and she loved you, and her insistence that you “go home and shower the depression off” was her way of showing it.
Your apartment wasn’t as kind to you as you’d hoped it would be.
Relics of the past few years are everywhere - tour merch, clothes and trinkets and souvenirs from the cities you’d visited on tour, photos of you and some combination of Pikachu or Buzz or even a few of the girls at some bar in Mexico City, a coffee shop in Prague, in front of the Space Needle in Seattle. Nayeon and Jeongyeon looking like an old married couple as they posed in front of the Eiffel Tower. Mina looking ethereal on the foggy streets of Berlin. Chaeyoung in Amsterdam at a thrift shop, smiling brightly at Pikachu, standing next to her with arms full with a pile of clothes she was going to try on.
And then, a framed picture - you and Sana somewhere in Tokyo, before the tour. Chaeyoung had snapped it with one of those silly vintage film cameras of hers, and it’s suitably artsy - a little out of focus, a little more candid than either of you were expecting. But your arm is around her, and you’re both a little tipsy from the half-empty wine bottle on the table beside you, and she’s smiling at you like-
You swear. You grasp the frame and hurl it across the room. You don’t hear the crash it makes as it slams into the wall. You bury your face in your hands.
The shattered glass glitters like stars on your living room carpet.
The past floods back, merciless.
---
“It fucking sucks.”
“I know it does,” you answer. “But they don’t know, Sana. They don’t know.”
She sighs, her breath a warm rush of air against your collarbone. She nuzzles closer into your neck, and her hair fills your nostrils with her scent - she smells like springtime, like something new, something bright.
“It’s all they see,” she continues, her voice weak in a way none of her fans have ever heard. “They see the ads, the fashion shows. I’m just a mannequin. The lipstick. The sports bra. My tits pushed up to my chin on stage-”
“They’re great tits,” you answer, softly, a nervous smile wobbly on your lips - one that you’re relieved to find is mirrored on her own.
“They’re great tits,” she repeats, playfully, and she straightens her back slightly and gives them a little shake. They’re small, modest, and on stage they’re more bra than breast - not that you gave a damn, not when they’re there, in front of you, and they’re naked and bare, nipples still tight and taut. After you’ve looked your fill she settles back against you, wrapping an arm around your torso and a warm, naked thigh over yours. You can feel the heat between her legs, and the neat patch of hair above her cunt on your hip. A trickle of something warm drips onto your hip.
“I just wish they saw more,” she continues.
You lie there with her in a long but not uncomfortable silence. She makes a pillow of your shoulder and chest. Your left hand weaves through her hair, the silken strands falling between your fingers at the end of each stroke.
“I don’t,” you say.
She looks up at you, those doe eyes of hers wide.
“You don’t?” she asks, surprised.
“No,” you answer. Your free hand reaches up to the side of her face, brushing a few strands of hair aside and behind her ear. “I don’t want anyone else to see what I see.”
She scoffs, hisses through her teeth in the way she does when you do something silly, which was often. “You’re just saying that because you’re the one that gets to fuck me, and you’re a selfish shit.”
“Maybe,” you answer, “but I don’t think the whole world needs to see the Sana that I see.”
She props her chin up on your chest. Her eyes are wide and her cheeks full and she looks like something someone drew for a manga.
“I don’t want to the world to see the girl that cries over cheesy slice-of-life animes,” you continue. “I don’t want them to know that you hate olives, or that you think Sailor Venus was the best sailor scout. I don’t want them to know what sound you make when you cum, or the way your forehead wrinkles when you’re thinking too hard.”
Her forehead wrinkles. You reach up and forcefully smooth the skin down, and she smiles.
“You’re a real sweet talker. But you’ve already got me naked and in your arms and I’m dripping your cum on the sheets. You can cut the sweet stuff.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
She kisses you, and her lips are soft and sweet in the way your words try to be.
“Let them see the mannequin,” you say, softly. “Let them see the idol, the model. They don’t need to see what’s beneath. They don’t deserve it.”
Her eyes are glassy, watery. “The important people deserve the real Sana,” you continue. “Save the real Sana for the girls. For your family and friends.”
You almost add ‘for me.’ Two simple words, and they’re right there, right there on the tip of your tongue and it would take just a slight rush of air, a small vibration of your vocal chords and they would be there, out in the open, between you and her - a declaration, a statement, a demand.
But the words don’t come. She’s here, in your arms, and her eyes tell you she’s waiting for them, but they don’t come.
The moment passes. She nuzzles back into your neck and you feel something moist hit your chest beneath her eyes.
“You’re too good to me,” she says, and it’s an accusation and a warning.
You ignore both.
---
You’re angry again when you wake up. Did you dream it all? It was all so vivid, so real, that it felt like you were inhabiting your past self for a few moments.
You can almost feel her warm body on top of yours, almost feel her tears on your chest.
But she’s gone, and you’re alone, and the past doesn’t matter anymore, because the past is past, and she’s still gone, and you’re still alone.
The glass still glitters on your carpet - traitorous, mocking shards of light.
---
She liked to dance. Half-naked. Drunk.
You’re in a hotel room somewhere in Europe, a ridiculously expensive one that had a nightly rate that probably approached half or more of your paycheque. You’re a few weeks removed from that quiet night together, when she confessed her discontent with how she was seen by the world. You’re also a few hours removed from when she was on stage, dancing and singing and looking for all the world like the perfect idol, the perfect model - performing for people that saw her as just that and nothing else.
You’d been ready to call it a night and head to sleep after a long day - concert days were always utterly exhausting - but Sana had called, and you’d heeded it. You always did. The other girls were busy, or off doing their own thing, she’d said, and she was bored and wanted someone to drink with.
You knew for a fact that the girls were either off with Pikachu and/or Buzz, or off having their own after-party at some bar in the city - and that Sana wasn’t invited to either. But you keep that to yourself.
She’s gorgeous, all perfect skin and long limbs and long, flowing hair that’s free and unbound, without hairclips or ties or the myriad of ridiculous sprays and products that her stylists use to have her hair fall just so.
She’s wearing a simple thong that does little to hide the curve of that cute little ass of hers - and a sports bra from that brand she hates, the one that presented her like she was a gym rat when in reality she hated even the idea of working out. It pushes her tits together and up, almost to her chin, the way she hates, but right now she doesn’t care. She’s too busy dancing.
She’s dancing to the group’s latest song, the one about having a strategy. It’s a choreography you’ve seen a hundred times, but not while she’s drunk and has a near-empty bottle of some local beer with a name you can’t pronounce in one hand, not while she’s in her underwear, and certainly not for an audience of one - yourself.
“Step four, got you on the floor
Make you say, “More, more, more!”
She sways and flails her arms around in a mockery of the actual choreography, before giving up altogether and taking a long swig from her bottle that drains it. She wipes her mouth clean with the back of a hand, before giving you a wicked smile.
The song continues in the background, playing in shrill, piercing notes from her phone, but all you hear are the words leaving her mouth - each slowed and slurred by alcohol. The drinks blur the sharp edges of the world, and make her more gorgeous than you’d ever seen her.
“Say it,” she says, the words leaving her mouth in a tipsy mumble. “Say the words.”
From the hotel room couch, you stare at her, puzzled and enraptured all at once.
“What words?”
“From the song. ‘More, more, more.’ Say it.”
You smile at her. She’s swaying - drunk, swaying, more beautiful than she was on stage mere hours before, when she was in front of thousands.
She gently tosses the empty bottle at you, which you catch. Her hands go to the hem of her sports bra.
“Say it,” she says playfully, the cutesy voice snapping back like a mask she’d slipped on - trying and failing to sound threatening, her silly smile and blushing cheeks betraying her futile attempt to seem so. “Say it, and I’ll strip for you.”
“Sana,” you say. “You’re drunk. I’m drunk.”
“Say it!” she says, her voice lower now, closer to a growl, but it’s playful, and not at all threatening.
You slouch on the couch, defeated. Your mouth opens. “More, more, more,” you say, out of tune.
The bra comes off. She pulls it over those small, round breasts of hers, over her head and her long, luxurious hair. She lets it dangle from her fingers, before she tosses it at your face.
Before you can even process it she’s on you - straddling you on the couch, hands in your hair, mouth crushing yours. Her lips are eager and hot and slick and you kiss her back, your tongue finding hers, your hands wrapping themselves around her body. Your fingers claw at her, dig at her soft, warm skin, squeezing a firm ass cheek, caressing the dip of her spine.
“You want me, don’t you?” she says, the words a harsh tumble, a breathy gasp between kisses. She’s kissing you hard, pressing your lips almost painfully against your teeth. “Say you want me,” she says - her tone a demand now, a low tone, a far cry from the cutesy tone of moments before.
“I want you, Sana,” you answer, the words coming from somewhere raw and primal inside you, a place of instinct and old desire.
She breaks the kiss. Her face hovers just a few inches from yours. Her cheeks are flush with the alcohol, but her eyes are clear - bright, shining, glimmering in a way that you’ve seen nowhere else in your life.
“You want me, right? Me. Me.”
“Yes,” you answer, on instinct. “Yes, Sana. You.”
She kisses you again. It’s rough and almost painful as her teeth graze your lips - but she soothes it with a swipe of her tongue. She captures your upper lip between both of hers and sucks. Your hands land on her ass and you squeeze each cheek, making her break the kiss to moan softly into your mouth.
You kiss a trail - down her cute little chin, down that slender, swan-like neck of hers, to her upper chest. Your tongue drags along her collarbone. Then you dip your head, find the tight, taut nipple atop her left breast, and latch onto it with your lips. You suckle.
She gasps. She swears. She writhes.
“Fuck,” she gasps into your ear, the word leaving her lips like a growl, sounding very much unlike the idol, very much unlike the mannequin that brands dress in their clothes and trot out in front of the cameras. “Fuck, it feels so good when you do that.”
Your tongue works its magic on her. Months of fucking this woman have shown you what to do, taught you how to wrest a gasp or moan from those sweet lips of hers. The tip of your tongue swirls around her nipple, first clockwise then counter-clockwise, pressure constant, maintaining suction with your lips.
She’s trembling now, her hands digging painful furrows into your scalp. She’s hot and drunk and bothered and she needs more, so you give it to her.
You switch to her right breast, lathering it with the same attention you gave her first. Your hand leaves her ass to squeeze her free breast, streaked now with your saliva. You capture her nipple between your index finger and thumb and give the tight bud a pinch. She moans and gasps. You grunt, deep and raw, against her nipple as she begins to gyrate atop your painfully hard cock, still trapped beneath your sweats.
“Ohh, you like that, do you?” she hisses in your ear, a question with an obvious answer - one that leaves your mouth in an involuntary groan.
“You like fucking me, don’t you? Love having the hottest, most popular girl in the group - in Korea - on your cock.”
“Fuck, Sana, just-”
“You love knowing the girl from the stage, the girl in all the ads, the girl on everyone’s phone - you love that she’s gonna ride your cock until you fill her with your cum, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sana. I do. Just fucking put it in-”
“What would the fans think? What would they say, if they found out their perfect angel from the MVs and variety shows and makeup ads loves begging for her fucktoy’s cock?”
“Sana-”
“-like a fucking dirty little whore.”
“You’re not, you’re not just a-”
“Say it, Woody,” she says, your pet name leaving her lips in a hot, sexy hiss directly into your ear. “Say it again, toy.”
She grinds on your cock - and you can feel her hot wetness, even through her soaked thong and your moistened sweats - from the base of your cock to its tip.
“More-” you hiss through your teeth. “-more, more.”
One hand grasps the back of your scalp, pulls your head backward so her eyes can look directly into yours. They’re dark, those eyes - half-lidded, dark, filled with something dark and dangerous.
There’s something else in them, too. Something that looks like insecurity. Something that looks like sadness.
The other hand reaches between you. They grasp the waistband of your sweats and pull them down, freeing your painfully stiff cock.
“Such a good little toy,” she spits. “Suck a nice cock for me to fuck myself on. A good fuck. That’s all you want, isn’t it? A good fuck. That’s all you ever wanted from me.”
Silence - for a split second. Something flickers in her eyes.
“Sana-”
She frees your sore scalp from her hand, uses it to reach between you and pull her flimsy little thong aside. With her other hand she guides your tip to her cunt and in that split second before she slides down your shaft you can feel the heat of her on your tip.
A drop of her juices drips from her lips and onto your shaft. She slides down your cock.
The breath leaves your lungs and hers. You’d had this woman probably hundreds of times in the last two years, and this moment never failed to take your breath away - or hers. You’d had her in every way imaginable, in every place, sometimes with other men or women sharing the experience. But you never tired of the excitement, the intensity, and the pleasure of this moment.
She doesn’t waste her time. Not tonight. Not when she was needy and full of your cock and more than a little drunk - on alcohol, on the adoration of her fans, on you.
She rides you. The alcohol lends her passion but takes her coordination in exchange, and she’s sloppy and her rhythm isn’t what it is when she’s sober. It’s rough and messy. Her pace falters, then quickens when she realizes she’s slacking, then slows again when your tip hits a particular spot inside her.
For a few moments you’re paralyzed by the sight and feel of her. She’s gorgeous and naked and sweaty and you watch as a drop of sweat makes its way down her neck and upper chest and onto your tongue, where you lick it off her slick skin. She’s hot and tight and wet. She’s moaning and sighing and gasping. She’s everything and it’s already almost two much, just a few minutes in.
Your hands tighten around her hips as they grind up and down on your lap, taking your cock in and out of her body with each movement. Her own hands brace herself on your shoulders. She’s sober enough to remember what you like. She’s lucid enough to remember that you loved it when she moved her hips in those small little circular motions - a motion that grinds her slick, taut clit against your crotch with each movement.
Those small, round breasts of hers sway in front of you, nipples taut. The sports bra she hated so much left sore red marks on her skin where they confined and shaped her torso into something it wasn’t. You bend and drag your tongue along the horizontal line beneath her breasts that its ribbing left behind. One of her hands grasps the back of your skull again, and pulls it towards her left breast. You suckle from her nipple again.
“Such a good fucking toy for me,” she says, the words leaving her lips in a messy, half-slurred tumble. Your mouth on her nipple draws a gasp from her throat before she continues. “You feel so big inside me, baby.”
You switch to her other breast, taking her nipple between your mouth and sucking hard. She moans in response. Her back arches, giving you more of her. Her pace quickens.
“Fuck, fuck,” she gasps. “Love your- ah - love your mouth on my tits.”
You want to respond, but couldn’t tear your lips away from her sweat-slick nipple long enough to say anything.
“They’re so small,” she says, softer now, a little quieter. “Not - oh, fuck, yeah right there - not as… as big without the bra. The fucking… the fucking fanboys want the big tits, though-”
That’s when your mouth leaves her. Your eyes find hers.
“You’re perfect-”
Your words are cut off when her hand finds your scalp again, nails digging deep into your scalp this time. She ceases her movements, leaving you hilt deep inside you. Her eyes find yours. They’re red and glassy - from the beer and the pleasure and something else. She’s angry and upset and somehow fragile, all at the same time.
“Shut the fuck up,” she snaps. “Shut up. Just shut up and fuck me.”
She releases your scalp. She resumes her pace. Your cock slides in and out of her slick, hot little cunt. You want to say something, want to stop, even - but she’s one of the most gorgeous women in the world, quite literally your dream girl, and that stupid, all-consuming, primal need for pleasure overcomes your concern for her wellbeing. The animal part of you wins. It often did.
You grasp her hips instead. That same animal part that renders you unable to think of anything else drives you, gives you that irresistible need to claim her, make her yours. You drive up with your hips as best you can despite your position and her weight on your lap, spearing your cock into her slick cunt, timing each thrust to meet the moment she grinds down on you.
She gasps, moans, screams at one point when you hit a spot inside her that makes her see stars. She whispers filth - about her body, about her ownership of you, about what you’re doing to her cunt.
But you hear none of it. You hear something else - something she’s not saying.
I’m lonely, she says. I’m afraid they love me for my body and for my face and not for my heart.
Her head, which had been thrown back after a particularly deep and throaty moan, bends forward to find yours. Her hair falls around her face, framing it in waves the color of chocolate. Her eyes look for and find and lock on to yours.
“Gonna… fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Do it, Sana. Show me.”
“You want it, don’t you? Want this hot cunt to cum on your cock. Want this fucking whore from the ads to- to-”
“I want you, Sana-”
“Fuck, fuck, oh god, fuck!”
Her body surrenders to something deep and primal within her. Her torso locks up; her thighs quiver as they tighten as best they can around your hips; her spine arches as she throws her head back and lets a broken, throaty moan leave her spit-slick lips. Her cunt squeezes and pulsates around your cock, almost painfully.
It takes her a while to recover. She collapses into your arms, breathing heavily. She’s buried her face in your neck. You stroke her hair with one hand, trace the elegant line of her spine with the other. You feel a trickle of her juices slide down the base of your shaft and down your balls.
Eventually, she gathers herself. She brings her mouth to your ear, and with a voice that is a far cry from the cutesy, airy tone she uses in front of the cameras, she whispers.
“Your turn.”
You grasp her torso, press it to yours, and turn her onto her back on the couch. She lets out a soft little yelp, and her breasts give the most adorable little bounce. Her lips curl into a surprised smile. You smile back. You stay there for a second, on top of her, your cock still buried inside her and a drunk, silly smile on both of your faces. It’s short, fleeting, but it was there.
Then you start fucking her.
She gasps and moans and cries. The same mouth that was making cutesy noises and talking to her fans is swearing now, spilling filth and obscenities with each thrust you make into her tight little cunt.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck me harder, god, just fucking use me-”
Her pleas are cut short when you hook your arms under her knees and push them against her chest. She’s folded in half now, her legs near horizontal against her own chest. She’s defenseless. You start drilling her into the mattress. She can’t do much else than just take each hard, deep thrust - not that she would want to.
You fuck her so hard into the mattress that you’re grunting with each thrust, heavy exhalations of air with each movement, as though you were powering through a set at the gym. She’s quiet now - the voice fucked out of her - her mouth open in a frozen O, her eyes curling towards the back of her head. There’s only the hot, repeated slap of skin, the protests of the couch beneath the two of you, and the slick, wet sound of your cock slamming in and out of Minatozaki Sana’s tight little cunt.
“You like that, Sana?” you manage to spit through gritted teeth. “Like how I fuck you?”
“Y-yes-” she answers, just barely. Her fingers claw at your biceps, seeking something to ground herself amidst the assault your fucking is placing on her body. It’s almost too much, and her body screams at her to beg you to stop - but the thought doesn’t even enter her mind. Not when it’s too good, you’re too deep, and you’re pushing her closer and closer to-
“You’re so fucking tight, Sana,” you spit as you lean down to kiss her deeply. She moans into your mouth. You’re fucking her all the while. Her knees bounce up and down in your peripheral vision, and her feet dangle helplessly above your head. “So fucking tight. I love using this pussy. Love using you-”
You almost regret saying the words as they leave your mouth. It’s almost too much. It reduces her to something less than what she is. It reduces her to a toy. It makes her a-
“Yes! Fuck, fuck yes - ah, oh god - just use me. Use my body. Cum inside me, breed me, just fucking use me!”
You fuck her harder. Your cock pistons in and out of her body and you forget any semblance of care for her or her wellbeing, physical or mental. She’s just a cunt now, just a warm wet hole - one that’s tight and pulsating and squeezing around you and she’s hissing now, begging in your ear, begging to be used just as you currently are, begging to be bred and filled with cum-
“Fuck, Sana I’m cumming, gonna cum inside you-”
“Do it, yes, use me. Use this fucking body. Use this cunt. Cum inside it!”
You bury yourself inside her. Her legs are pressed almost flat against her torso as you drive as deep as you can inside her tight, grasping cunt. You let go, and you fill her with thick, warm cum - long ropes of semen that paint her cunt white.
“Oh fuck, there’s so much - I can feel it. So warm. So thick. You’re filling me up, breeding me, fuck-”
You bury your face into her neck. It takes a long time for your senses to return to a functional state. You breathe deeply. Every inhale carries her scent - sweat, sex, something sweet, something Sana.
You let her legs fall from your arms. She keeps them tight around your hips. You give her small, grinding thrusts with your softening cock as you push your cum as deep inside her as it can go. She lets small whimpers leave her throat with each movement you make. They’re light, airy sounds. Wordless, but passionate.
You eventually gather the strength to raise yourself from her neck. Her face is one you’ll never tire of seeing - blissful, blushed, fucked-out and satisfied.
But her eyes are glassy. They look fragile. There’s something there-
-and it’s gone. A mask - that of the sly, sexy vixen she likes to occasionally wear with you and a select few others - snaps into place.
“Fuck, that was good,” she says, a wicked smile curling her lips - one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You fuck me so good, baby.”
You bend to kiss her. She kisses you back, her lips saying things that her voice never could.
She thinks she has you fooled, thinks you can’t see the version of her that is soft and vulnerable and more than a little insecure with her belief that no one would want to see it. She thinks her masks are too thick, her walls too high, and that all the world wants from Minatozaki Sana is the pretty mask and the pristine wall - but she’s wrong, even if she doesn’t know it.
Tomorrow the two of you will get on a flight to the next tour stop, right along with her group members and the dozens of other crew that are needed for such productions. Tomorrow night she’ll sing and dance and laugh and smile at thousands of fans, and for just a few hours, mask in place, she’ll belong to them.
But the Sana behind the masks and the walls belongs only to you, only if she only appears from behind them for a few seconds at a time.
---
“They don’t know what it is,” your sister says on the phone - six words that no one around the world wants to hear, followed up by three more: “They’re running tests.”
“Jesus Christ,” you swear, running a hand through your hair, damp with sweat. You’re suddenly sick. You hold your hand over your mouth for a moment, as though you were keeping this morning’s breakfast in your stomach.
“She doesn’t… she doesn’t look well,” she continues. “She says she’s fine, tells me not to worry, but-”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“No, it’s fine. For now. You shouldn’t come until we know what it is. Where are you, anyway?”
Your sister knew little about your job - enough to know that you did “backstage work” for some k-pop group and were often travelling, but that was the extent of it.
“Barcelona,” you answer, but it’s irrelevant now. “I’ll… I’ll talk to my boss, get some time off and-”
Your sister says your name. She says it in the tone she uses when she wants you to listen to her - the same one your mother used when she wanted the same.
“It’s fine,” she says. “Really. I’ll let you know as soon as the doctors talk to me. Then you can come visit if you can. But there’s no use in you taking time off work just to come home and realize this is all appendicitis or something stupid like that.”
You let a sigh out through your nose.
“Alright,” you relent, watching as Pikachu and Buzz struggle with a particularly large container of the girls’ stage costumes and other gear. Buzz motions for you to help. “You’ll let me know the second you hear anything?”
“Of course. Take care of yourself, you dipshit.”
“You too, shitface.”
You end the call, tossing your phone into your pocket. You hustle over to the guys and help them with the container. It takes all three of you to successfully heave the large black travel container into the back of the waiting truck.
“Woody!”
Each of your heads snap to the venue door, where Sana has poked her head out. She waves frantically to you, motioning you over. She’d probably lost her phone or her airpods or her camera again and needed help finding it - or rather, needed someone to find it for her.
Pikachu gives you a tap on the shoulder as you turn to head back to Sana.
“Everything good, bud? Call looked serious.”
“Yeah,” you answer. “Nothing crazy. Just some stuff from back home.”
“Need help with anything?” Buzz asks, genuine. You glance over at the venue door. Sana is standing there with arms crossed, foot tapping.
“No, not right now. I’m good. It’s just my mom, she’s going through some health stuff. That was my sister… she said they don’t know what it is yet, but that they’re gonna run some tests-”
“Woody!” she calls, again, a little more impatient this time.
You give Pikachu and Buzz an apologetic look.
“Hope the pussy’s worth it, bro,” Buzz says with a sigh, before turning towards the rest of the containers that were awaiting loading. Pikachu shoots you an apologetic look of his own before joining him.
You hurry over to Sana.
---
A lesser man would have been more distracted. Or would a lesser man have been less distracted? It’s hard to say. Your moral compass had been somewhat warped by the last two years and the ridiculous rollercoaster of events you’d found yourself on.
Moral quandaries aside, you had to admit - you were a little distracted by the news from home, even given what was happening in front of you.
The hot, wet slap of your hips against Sana’s ass was steady and grounding, in a way, giving you something to latch on to amidst the swirl of emotions and worries and general catastrophizing going on in your head. The usual chorus of moans and sighs that accompanied the slap of your hips against her ass was muffled somewhat, replaced by the occasional wet, slick gurgle and gasp that managed to escape her lips past the thick shaft filling her mouth.
You and Pikachu fall into a familiar rhythm as you take Sana from both ends, spitroasting her at a pace that threaded the line between being too rough and being just right. It was far from the first time you’d taken Sana with someone and it spoke of her own familiarity and ease with the arrangement that she was currently taking you both without a hint of discomfort.
“Fuck, she’s so good at this,” Pikachu hisses between gritted teeth. His hand glides through the dark chocolate strands of Sana’s hair, grasping the back of her skull as he thrusts into her mouth. “So good at taking cocks. One of the best in the group at taking more than one, honestly.”
“Yeah,” you agree, after a moment. As much as it shamed you to say it, your mind was elsewhere, despite being balls deep inside one of the most gorgeous women on earth. “She’s… she’s such a good slut for us,” you manage.
The praise sends a shiver down Sana’s spine - and results in her cunt squeezing just a little tighter around your cock as it pumps in and out of her. She lets something like a moan out around Pikachu’s shaft and it wrests a groan of pleasure from his throat, too.
She lets his cock slip from between her lips.
“Fuck,” she hisses. Saliva and pre-cum drip from the corners of her mouth and down that tiny little chin of hers. She nuzzles Pikachu’s cock, slathering her own, spit onto her pretty cheek, making it glisten in the low light of the hotel room. She looks back over her shoulder at you, and the intensity in her eyes grasps your full attention for a moment. “Fuck, you like using me, don’t you, boys?”
A reply forms on your lips. You knew this dance well, knew that she liked being praised for being a dirty little fucktoy even as she’s used like one. But the words don’t come. Thankfully, Pikachu had no such hesitations, nor your preoccupations.
“Fuck yes, Sana,” he snaps. “You’re being such a good fucktoy for us. So good at taking both cocks at once.”
“Then keep fucking me,” Sana sighs, eyes locking onto his. “Fuck me until you both cum inside me.”
She slips his cock back into his mouth. All the while you’re been fucking her, sliding in and out of her tight little cunt. The spitroast continues. The bed protests, singing its own song of squeaking springs and a wobbly frame as it supports the rough movements of the three people atop it.
Sana moans and Pikachu groans and you do your best to fuck her, to keep your mind in the present, but it’s not. Your body responds, though, thankfully, even if your mind and heart didn’t.
“Fuck, gonna cum,” Pikachu spits. He grasps Sana’s head with both hands and his pace quickens. Sana lets a wet gurgle of a moan out of her throat even as Pikachu uses it.
The telltale pleasure at the base of your spine builds. “Me too,” you manage, and for a moment the pleasure is all that exists, all other worry momentarily forced out by the sheer satisfaction of watching this woman, this woman from all the screens and ads and concerts, being used by you and one of your best friends.
“Fuck!” Pikachu hisses, and suddenly he’s holding Sana’s scalp against his crotch as he fills her throat with cum - and the sight of it triggers your own, and your grasping her hips tight enough to leave bruises as you bury yourself inside her cunt and let go.
Sana’s hands fly to Pikachu’s hips, nails digging into his thighs as she’s filled with hot, thick cum from both ends. The sensation of it triggers her own orgasm, and for a few wonderful moments the three of you are locked in a pleasure so deep and all-consuming that it burns away anything else resembling a coherent thought.
Sana eventually wrests her head from Pikachu’s grasp, his slick cock slipping from between her lips. Some of his cum dribbles from her lips, but most of it is still in her mouth and the back of her throat, and you watch as she locks eyes with Pikachu before swallowing it all down.
You pull out of her, slowly, delighting in the sight of her well-fucked cunt quickly dripping your semen, appearing from her lips as a thick white mess before falling in heavy drops onto the ruined sheets.
Sana drops onto her side. Well-fucked, slick with sweat, chest heaving. Cum drips from her cunt and the corner of her mouth.
She locks eyes with you, but the look in her eyes is empty.
---
“You were distracted.”
She’s on her side, facing away from you, sheets drawn up to her chest - something she only did when she was upset with you. Everything about it was an accusation. You reach out and trace an idle pattern on her shoulder. Pikachu had left soon after the fucking had ended, mumbling something about catching up with Chaeyoung, leaving the two of you alone in a Barcelona hotel room that felt heavy with something unsaid.
“I wasn’t,” you lie. “I was just…”
“Just what?”
“Just… I don’t know. I’m tired. Been a long day.”
She finally turns her head to look at you. Brow furrowed, and eyebrows curled in a look of disbelief. She doesn’t say anything, just holds your eyes for a second before turning back to her side.
“Sure,” she says. “Whatever.”
“Sana-”
“You’ve been somewhere else since before the concert tonight,” she says.
It’s quiet for a moment. It was true; your sister’s call and your mother’s condition had been at the very top of your mind, even throughout the entirety of the concert and the post-concert sex that usually followed each event.
“I… just some stuff from back home,” you admit. “I might need to take some time away.”
Even with her back turned, the effect of your words is obvious. She tenses up, curls a little more into her pillow.
“Then go. Leave.”
Her words hit you with a little more force than you were ready for.
“Sana, you don’t understand. I don’t want to leave, it’s just-”
“Just what?” she says, turning onto her back. The sheet slips from her chest, leaving her breasts bare - but she doesn’t move to cover herself. “Now that you’ve fucked me all over the world you don’t need me anymore, is that it?”
“That’s not what I said, Sana.”
“It’s what you want to say,” she says. She turns onto her side again. “Go. Leave. I’ll tell the other managers you quit.”
The word upsets you - the idea that you would willingly leave this life is so ridiculous to you that it takes you a few moments to gather the words for a response.
“Sana, I’m not going to quit. I just need some time away, that’s all.”
“Whatever,” she says. “I can always find another man. Pick another toy out of the next fucking crowd.”
Her words hit hard, cause a lump of something unpleasant to form in your chest.
“Sana, please. You’re being unreasonable.”
“It’s fine. Go, leave. Quit. I’m used to being alone.”
“Alone? You have the girls-”
Sana lets out an indignant breath through her nose. “Please. They all hate me.”
“What?”
“They all hate me,” she repeats. “They barely want to work with me. You must know it by now. All that OT9, friends forever bullshit. Just a fucking act.”
“But … Momo and Mina? Your unit-”
“They hate me the most,” she answers, voice soft and vulnerable in a way you’d never heard it. “They all do. They think I’m some spoiled, attention-seeking brat. Nayeon tolerates me, and that’s because I do what she wants. You’re the only one that-... the only one who-”
She stops herself. She curls a little more into the side of the bed, as though she were protecting herself.
Silence reigns. She was right - the past few years of working with the girls had made it clear that the closeness they showed in front of the camera had been a well-orchestrated act, a perfectly-crafted mask, one put in place by the label to sell albums on the idea of a tight-knit, unbreakable bond between the girls. In truth they were like any other group of people - some got along, some didn’t, some were loved and some were hated.
You want to tell her about the call from your sister. You want to tell her about your mother. But you can’t, because you never could tell Minatozaki Sana the truth. From the moment she extended her hand and pointed at you at that concert two years ago her wish had been your command, and the very thought of upsetting her was anathema to you. The guys and some of the girls had teased you about it - about how you were more whipped than the others, more slave than fucktoy.
The truth was Sana had changed your life two years ago at that concert, and through her you’d been able to experience things that you could’ve never imagined in your wildest dreams - the sex, the travel, the money. The others saw it as slavish devotion, but in truth it was thankfulness. If being at her every beck and call was what you had to do to express even a modicum of the thankfulness she deserved for the life she had given you, then you did it gladly.
Some days, you thought that what you were feeling was something akin to love, and you deluded yourself into thinking that perhaps the great Minatozaki Sana might share in your feelings. You saw it sometimes in the way she nuzzled into your neck after sex, the way she smiled at you as she passed by you in a concert venue, the way she told you things she’d never tell the others - not even the girls. You spent most of your days together. Somedays, your face was the only familiar one she saw. You knew her better than you’d known anyone else in your life.
Your life revolved around her. She was at the center of it all. She was everything. She was, in many ways, the most important person in your world.
Your family was the only thing more important.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” you say, because it’s all you can say in that moment.
“No, you won’t,” Sana says. “You’re going to leave me. You’ve spent two years fucking the idol, making her your whore, and you don’t need her anymore.”
“Sana-”
“Leave,” she says, in a way that brooks no argument, even if her voice begins to waver. “Leave. Quit your position, or I’ll tell the managers to fire you. Either way, you’re done with us. With the company. With me.”
She doesn’t turn to face you. Not even when you leave the room.
---
The next week is a blur. The very next day you got a call from someone at the JYP head office, informing you your contract with the company had been terminated at the request of someone in the group. You were on a plane back home the day after that.
Pikachu and Buzz did their best to intervene, but in this company the word of the girls was law. The second Sana expressed a desire to get rid of you, the company moved quickly. Before the week was out the whirlwind of the last two years had suddenly and painfully drawn to a close, and you found yourself back home in an apartment that felt very little like home.
---
The month that followed seemed surreal - in the way that normal life seems when you’d spent the last two years living a high that you still weren’t sure was actually real.
But spending too many hours next to a hospital bed had made everything depressingly, soberingly real.
Sana had spared the time to drop by your home city on her way back to Seoul from the final show in Europe. It was on the way, she’d said, and she had some other business in the city to attend to. Probably some appearance at a fashion show, or some brand hiring her to put on their jewelry or dress and look pretty for a few hours. You had no idea. You weren’t privy to her schedule, not any more.
And so she dropped by, broke your heart in a coffee shop, and left.
Clips from the girls’ European finale concert in London stream on your phone, its tinny speakers and tiny screen a far cry from the deep thump of the music, the rush of coordination between managers and makeup artists and stylists and backup dancers and the rest of the small army it took to put on a show.
You should have been there. You should have been running around with Pikachu to ensure Dahyun’s piano was on stage in the right place in time for her solo. Jihyo always needed reassurance that her mic was in working order and you were one of the few people she trusted enough with her equipment. Jeongyeon had a silly habit of throwing her cowboy hat into the pit between the stage and the crowd with each solo performance, and the task had fallen to you to retrieve it every night.
But you weren’t there, in London, in a packed arena amidst thousands of fans. You were in your home city, next to a hospital bed. You watch on your phone as Sana begins her solo.
She was so far away.
---
Few things in your life could measure to the relief that came when the doctor gave you and your sister your mother’s diagnosis. Her condition could be easily managed with medication, and after some recovery while her body got used to the drugs, her quality of life would be near where it was before her hospital stay. You could almost feel the giant, oppressive weight being lifted from the shoulders of you and your sister, and while you often bickered and fought the way siblings do, you’d both spent a few minutes hugging in the room after the doctor had left.
You’re getting ready for your mother’s discharge from the hospital when you and your sister approach the nursing station to inquire about the bill.
“Your mother’s good to go,” said the nurse, a middle aged woman with kind but tired eyes.
Your sister gives you a look before turning back to the nurse. “Right, so, uh, should we expect the bill in the mail? Or-”
The nurse gives a sigh as she hits a few keys on her keyboard. Something flashes up on the screen.
“No, you’re settled up.”
You stand there in silence for a while.
“I don’t understand,” you say. The nurse gives another tired sigh, not bothering to look up at either you or your sister. Her mind was clearly already on her next patient.
“Your bill’s been paid,” she states, with a tone that one uses when they want to end a conversation. She gets up off her chair, gathers a clipboard, and leaves the nursing station - off to help another patient. “Make sure you don’t leave anything behind in that room. Have a good day, dears.”
---
“Things are good,” Pikachu says between sips of his beer. “And yeah, things are… good with her.”
“That’s awesome, bro. I’m happy for you two.”
“Yeah,” Pikachu says, a small smile perking up the corners of his mouth. “I still have to pinch myself sometimes. The Son Chaeyoung? Wild. I’m living a fucking Tumblr fanfic.”
You raise your own beer in a toast. He taps his against yours and you both take a long sip.
“Bro,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “Now that I’m out of it… I… I hope you figure things out between Chaeyoung and the girls.”
Since you’d left the company, Pikachu had been candid in sharing Chaeyoung’s issues with the rest of the group, Nayeon in particular. The last conversation you’d had with Sana about her tense relationship with the girls was still fresh in your mind, and the last thing you wanted to see was Pikachu getting caught in the group’s internal conflicts.
He sucks air through his teeth. “Yeah,” he admits, “shit’s not great between her and the rest of the group. They all have their little rivalries, their little squabbles. Some more serious than others. The other managers and the company haven't picked up on it yet, but it’s there. They hate each other. Some of them do, anyway. You know how girls are.”
“Yeah,” you agree, taking a long sip from your beer. “I do. But you should know - it goes deeper than you think. Nayeon’s sneaky. I’d watch out for that one. Same with Momo and Mina. They… have ulterior motives, I think. I… might have overheard things about them plotting to break you two up.”
Pikachu doesn’t seem surprised, which is both surprising and worrying. “That doesn’t surprise me. I… I’m going to work through it with Chaeyoung. Hopefully find a way that doesn’t involve the group imploding.”
“Good, good. How’s Buzz?”
Pikachu sighs, steering his gaze out the window of the bar and onto the streets of Hongdae. “He’s… he’s alright. He’s filming his drama, so I don’t see him as often as I used to. He’s good, otherwise. Just busy.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah… anything to distract himself from her, I guess.”
You didn’t need to be told anything further. You wished you’d been there to comfort Buzz the way he’d been there to help you while you dealt with your mother’s hospital stay.
“We need to hang out before I head back home,” you say. “The three of us. I’m here until the end of the week.”
It hadn’t been that long since you’d last been in Seoul - really only two months had passed since you’d left for the European leg of the girls’ tour that had seen Sana get you fired from the company - but it already felt like a homecoming of sorts. With your mother doing much better, you’d finally had the time to head back to gather your things from the Seoul apartment the company had set you up in while you worked for the girls. Pikachu and Buzz had been helpful in getting your stuff packed and in the mail to be sent back home.
She hadn’t contacted you, despite Pikachu and Buzz telling her you were in town. No calls. Not even a text.
“For sure, bro,” Pikachu says. “Maybe we invite some of the girls? You know Jeongyeon’s always down for a drink. Tzuyu’s birthday’s coming up, and you know how wild she gets after a few. Dahyun, maybe? I’ll bring Chaeyoung... I think the other girls might be busy, though…”
No mention of her, though. Pikachu catches on to what you’re thinking.
“Hey man, I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and her,” he continues. “She was… she is… she’s a bit of a handful. The things Chaeyoung’s told me about her…”
“Honestly,” you begin, “it’s good that she ended things with me when she did. It forced me to go back to my family. If she hadn’t gotten me fired I would’ve stayed. My mom’s okay now, but it was touch and go there for a little bit. If I hadn’t gone home, and if something shitty happened and I missed it… I never would’ve forgiven myself.”
“It all works out, I guess,” Pikachu says, but his eyes are on his bottle of beer, his fingers picking away at the label, thoughtful.
“Thankfully, the company paid for the hospital bill.”
Pikachu’s eyes shoot up to yours, and his brow furrows. “What?”
“The company. JYP. They paid for my mom’s hospital bill. It was a pretty hefty one too, considering all the tests they ran and the treatment plan they have for her. I’m dropping by the building later to thank the big guy himself, personally.”
Pikachu stares at you for a long moment, before a look of disbelief washes across his features.
“Bro, there’s no way the company’s gonna pay for some random staff member’s family hospital bill. JYP’s not a bad dude, but we’re supposed to be the girls’ secrets, remember? There’s no way JYP would pay for your mom’s hospital bill and risk having it linked back to the girls or the company - let alone go all the way over to your hometown to pay it. How would they even know what hospital your mom was at, anyway?”
“Then who… You? Buzz? You were in Europe with the girls. No one else knew about my mom. Who would-”
The two of you stare at each other for a while. Realization dawns.
The smallest of smiles appears on Pikachu’s lips as he takes another sip of his beer.
---
Just as coming back to Seoul felt like a homecoming of sorts, so too did going to the concert feel like slipping back into a life you thought you’d left behind.
The boom of the music, the staff members and security hustling around in the background and beneath the 360 stage, carrying mics and bottled water and discarded cowboy hats - it all felt intensely familiar.
But you were in the crowd, not behind the barriers. There was no earpiece in your ear with the head manager telling you to fetch a new flat of water, or to find Momo’s mic, or get in place to set up Tzuyu’s bars for her solo performance. There was just the boom of the bass and the shouts and screams of the fans next to you - fans that had no idea that the man next to them had, just a few months ago, lived a life that they would have killed to experience with the girls they were paying to see.
Pikachu had been a real bro and set you up with VIP tickets for the pit, just a few feet from the stage. And there she is - right there, her back turned as the central stage covering rises and the concert begins to thunderous applause. She hasn’t seen you yet.
It doesn’t take long. It happens right at the end of the first song, when the group formation brings her in front of you.
Minatozaki Sana sees you. Her eyes lock onto yours - the same way they did two years ago, when she smiled and pointed at you and quite literally picked you out of the crowd. Her eyes widen in surprise - and then soften. Seconds pass. Her eyes are glassy.
You smile at her. She smiles back. She raises her hand - slowly, tentatively, and points at you.
She picks you again.
---
Author’s Note: That song’s been in my head for years now and I knew I had to write a story around it. And Sana is Sana, so…
…honestly, I probably fumbled a couple of the details with the ongoing Toy storyline. That’s what happens when you go a literal year and a half between entries. I’ve been thinking about wrapping up the story and I think I’ll do that in the next couple of chapters, just so people finally get some closure on this. See you in 2030 for the eventual Toy finale ;)
Thank you all for your ongoing support, despite my now bi-annual fic drops. Kazuha fic still in the works, and maybe more Ryujin.
Be excellent to yourselves and to each other. The world needs it. <3
It's raining again. Not a light drizzle, but a steady, torrential downpour, and there's one person to blame—you know this. The fact that you're having to get up from your comfy chair, put your mug down on the table and walk the several paces over to the front door because she, once again, is at it.
You find it surprising how whenever it rains, the moment that thunder echoes across the city, there's an almost frantic knock that follows. And of course, once you finally open it, the culprit is right there on the other side.
Ning Yizhuo. Your annoying, meddling, definitely too-involved, overly-attached-and-obsessed, whatever the fuck you wanna call the relationship you share with the girl. You'd call her an ex, but you never officially ended anything. Even with an ocean between the two of you, she'd still find a way, at some point or another, to show up at the doorstep in the middle of the night,
So you sigh at her presence—yet, not because you hate seeing her. No, quite the opposite. It's only out of some kind of spite that you keep her waiting, lingering there outside your house in the rain. Like this is the universe punishing you for past transgressions.
Against your better judgment, you open the door, checking if the doorknob is hot first.
There she stands, looking too attractive in all black, thin stockings, torn somehow, a way too tight skirt hugging her waist. Low cut top, visible through a dark coat, with far too much cleavage to defend against.
And somehow, nothing looks out of place—despite having no other option but to brave the rain to see you.
"Is this your doing, I assume?"
The expression on her face drops from hopeful to annoyance in mere seconds. Ningning rolls her eyes and takes a step forward. You take a step back.
"What, the sky? Please, not even I can control the weather."
"Then why do you always show up whenever there's a storm?"
She pauses, folding her arms. "Call it a coincidence. Now, aren't you gonna invite me inside?"
You hesitate as the storm begins to worsen. Not only the rain but the booming thunder and lightning that chases it, so bad that the entire street lights up. In all honesty, you know that you don't really have another choice. It's not like she'll physically enter the house if you don't allow it, yet she's just insufferable enough to camp in the driveway until the sun comes out.
"Do you even get wet, Ning? You're practically standing in a monsoon out there, and not a spot on you."
"Depends if your pants are still on or not," she fires back, that wicked smile always wide and ready to strike.
You've made worse mistakes than this, you suppose—even though a little voice at the back of your mind urges otherwise.
"Come inside," you say, already regretting the words the moment they leave your lips, gesturing to the open door.
Ningning can't help but smirk. "If things go right tonight, that's what I'll be telling you later, baby."
And just like that, she moves past the doorframe into your place—heading inside like she owns the place.
There's no point in pretending that this isn't an impromptu visit from your not-ex. She kicks her heels off, hanging her coat on the rack beside the door and making you wonder just how many times Ningning has shown up completely dry in the midst of pouring rain.
"So, what did I interrupt that was so important that you took forever to open the door?" Ningning asks, standing around as if she didn't show up uninvited, as if you're expected to drop to your knees just because she's arrived.
"Enjoying the peace, Ning, that's what. It's late," you reply, feeling an incoming headache at having to deal with her. "Maybe if you sent a warning—"
She ignores everything. Stares as you sit back down on the couch, your tea more than a little cold now. "Typical."
You roll your eyes, fighting not to pick an argument while she surveys the place. "Typical what?"
She ignores you again. Somehow unbothered and distant, focused entirely elsewhere—just as if nothing has happened between the two of you. The absolute gall, she has.
"Well, I'm glad you're up at this hour. Even better you're alone."
Now you're the one ignoring her, leaning back down on the couch to finish the last sips of tea, a nagging feeling brewing the pit of your stomach—because there's only ever one reason why she shows up late at night, and it's not to chat over tea.
Much to your chagrin, Ningning looks directly at you, but she moves close—very close, until there's a dangerous look in her eyes while she smiles. "Have you eaten yet?
"A bit, but not really—"
Ningning shakes her head, taunting with a feigned annoyance at your response. "How is it you never have food in this damn house?"
"Don't get hungry often enough, I guess," you say, fighting to keep your eyes off of her outfit.
She nods in response, crossing her arms. "I see. Well then—"
The storm rages on outside the living room window, but your focus is stolen entirely away as Ningning approaches, positioning herself in a spot right in front of your line of sight, as if to distract. Not that it's a hard thing to do. Not when she's wearing a tiny little thing she calls a skirt, stockings that do her legs far too much of a favor, and a top that struggles to contain much of anything.
"Yes, Ning?"
There's a moment that passes by where Ningning stares long enough that you're uncomfortable, long enough to where you feel as if the moment can shatter at any second.
"Look, before I say anything else," she begins, still standing in place as those eyes stay locked on you. "Had to take the train here. Nothing was fucking available. Then a taxi—since you had to live out in bumfuck nowhere. I'm tired, and sore—I'm absolutely starving. Not for food, obviously."
"Obviously," you repeat, hardly in shock with her direct nature. She's hardly ever subtle. "Then take what you need. Don't have to ask twice."
Her lips curl up. "Thanks, sweetie. Knew there was a reason why I liked you."
Without anything further, Ningning is quick—far too quick for your liking while she climbs atop, legs on either side, straddling you—close enough so you can feel the heat on your skin. You sit idly by and soak it all in.
"This'll hurt just a little bit—" she says, before her lips press deep so she can pepper several kisses along the side of your neck. "Just keep still. I'll be quick."
"Don't be."
You don't even register the words that come out of your mouth, not fully, at least. Ningning smirks, running her fingers through your hair, smiling in satisfaction that you've somehow fallen into her trap yet again.
"Darling, I will tear you apart if you let me have my way."
You'd damn near let her.
Ningning's not the type to wait around, tilting her head back so she can bare her glistening fangs, primed and ready to devour you whole in the process. They sink in at the crook of your neck, piercing the skin with ease—almost at the exact same spot you remember from the last time.
Sharp pain shoots through your body in a matter of seconds, as blood flows out without pause, succumbing to her hunger, letting Ningning takes what she pleases. You hiss at the sensation—a strange mixture of pleasure and pain, not sure which is winning out, only able to watch her drain you, eyes locked in an almost sinister trance while she feeds.
Then, just like that, Ningning pulls her head back, lips stained with a crimson red that she wipes off with the back of her hand. She looks more vibrant, alive—eyes that pierce deep, more than satisfied for the night.
"Thanks, love. That's enough," she replies softly, running her fingers over the bite mark before planting a little kiss on your cheek. "Took a little more than usual. Hope you don't mind."
You laugh, looking up, lost in her gaze. "What am I gonna do, Ning, take it back? Don't worry."
"That'd be very inconvenient," Ningning says, smiling at that. "You should rest a bit, yeah? How do you feel?"
You shrug. "I'll manage. Little dizzy, but I'll survive."
"Because you have nothing to eat in this shithole. You sure you're good?"
You nod, smile returning to your face as you glance up. "Yeah, of course. Nothing I haven't handled before."
"Good." Those devilish fangs fully on display linger for one more moment until they retract. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little disappointed.
"So, is this the part where you tell me why you showed up at midnight, wearing next to nothing?"
Ningning presses her body close, offering just enough cleavage for your eyes to wander. "Like it's a surprise I'm here."
You say nothing, and somehow, that's the one thing that actually bothers her a bit. Ningning rises, turning away, more annoyed than offended—a bit different than her usual arrogant nature. "Haven't seen you in a few months. Didn't think I needed an invitation."
"And maybe there's a reason for that."
Surprisingly, Ningning says nothing else for a fleeting moment. Laughing in spite of it all. "Wow. Is there another vampire bitch here giving you what I can't? Because last time I checked—"
"Of course not," you answer immediately, ignoring the tone in her voice.
"Good. Like I was saying, nobody fucks you like I do, and I don't think there's anyone else out there that can."
You sigh, attempting not to feed that overzealous ego even more. "Ning—"
"Don't Ning me," she snaps, the fangs exposed again, retracting within seconds. "You should be so damn grateful that I'm here right now."
"For what, so you can have a midnight snack?"
Ningning ignores that entirely, moving quickly to straddle you once more, wrapping a set of slender, ice cold fingers around your neck.
Her eyes burn into you, and you're too powerless to look away. "Say it. Say I fuck you the best. I won't leave. Not until you say it."
You ponder whether or not to comply, the air leaving your body bit by bit. Ningning squeezes just the right amount—just enough to leave you wanting more, leaving an ache between your legs.
"You're unbelievable."
"In bed, yeah, I am, aren't I?" she purrs, bringing her lips to yours, crashing them into you, hard. You kiss back, already done with resisting, because like it or not—you need Ning as much as she needs you.
"If you didn't look so sexy right now—"
Ningning cuts off the thought, shoving her tongue down your mouth to silence you. "When do I not? You've seen me at every point possible, at every hour, dressed up, down. Sexy is just the norm for me."
"Always so fucking cocky," you mutter under your breath, diving back in for another taste.
"It's not cocky, it's just the truth," Ningning says, sliding off your lap so she can lower to her knees before you. "Let me prove how accurate that statement is. Let's get these pants off…"
You're far too weak to say no, and not because of the blood loss. One swift movement from Ningning, and she has her fingers hooked at the waistband of your pants.
"May I?"
So polite. With a nod, she tugs them down, just far enough for what she has planned, revealing your boxers that aren't doing a very good job at hiding how aroused you are.
"Mmm, yeah," Ningning purrs, satisfied at what she sees as she begins to palm you over the fabric. "Was kinda worried, but got plenty of blood pumping here..."
There's only one thing left, to let Ningning do whatever she pleases, shove your boxers down so your cock can spring out, the tip practically oozing already.
"All this for me? Gonna milk you dry tonight."
Again, there are no words that come from you, not a single thing outside a gasp. You try and keep your focus on Ningning herself—on that depraved stare when she strokes you. And she gets right down to business, pressing her tongue against the underside of your cock, flicking it a few times before taking a long drag down.
"I really missed this, baby," Ningning admits, planting several teasing kisses from base to tip, giving such satisfying strokes that make your stiff shaft leak.
You barely catch what she's saying—too focused on her touch, one that you haven't felt in far too long, by the person that knows you best. The heat from her mouth as her kisses linger along each and every inch, every vein that her hand travels down, familiarizing herself once more.
"Missed this inside my pussy, feeling how deep you fill me. Missed sucking it, missing making you cum just from this," she murmurs, staring up through those long eyelashes at you while she presses those full lips around your sensitive head, peppering it with affectionate kisses.
You simply moan, unable to get anything else out with her wet tongue swirling all over the head, savoring the taste.
"You missed me too, didn't you?"I know you did. That's why you won't push me away, or kick me out. That's why you won't ever tell me to stop."
Before you have a moment to breathe, Ningning wraps her lips around the head of your cock, trapping it in warmth, sinking down slowly. You can't hold what comes next, another loud moan that escapes as she gives a pleased hum in response, fondling your balls while her head bobs between your legs.
"Ning—"
She descends again, satisfied with that. And keeps at it—never fully down, never allowing her throat to be too full. Just slow, steady suction and delicious warmth while her tongue teases all over, sliding along base to tip, and back down, using all her tricks to draw your bliss out.
"This beautiful cock, fuck, missed the way you taste. The way you throb, how sexy you sound when you moan, mm," Ningning says, pausing just to run her tongue down every last throbbing inch. "And so, so fucking big. Mine. All mine."
Her head lowers, so sloppy and desperate, popping off just to spit on your stiff cock, spreading it all over before that heat envelops your shaft once more. All you can do is stare, every bob of her head drawing you closer to the back of her throat, a sight far too beautiful not to watch.
"God, Ning. Your fucking mouth…"
"Feels amazing, right? Nobody can make you feel this good. Nobody takes care of you like I do, baby? "
Ningning's right—of course, she's right, just like she always is, and you couldn't fight her words even if you wanted to. Because those lips know what they're doing—know how to please you, how to make you groan so pathetically, like her mouth was made just for your cock.
"I could suck your dick all day."
And you'd let her. Let Ningning take everything she wants and more. Everything feels too good—each flick, each slurp, the heat of her mouth—everything is taking you away, especially when she holds your gaze, until she finally swallows you whole in one fluid motion, nose pressed to your stomach as her lips seal tight.
"Fucking hell—"
It's almost a mistake to watch, to watch how her lips slide to the base and back down, this constant urge to please as her throat fills with every inch, tongue out with every stroke. The wetness that covers your shaft with every pass, mouth engulfing you, and all you can do is grab the back of her head, not to guide, not to control, but to simply indulge.
"Feels so fucking good, shit, nobody can do what you do, Ning."
She just stays still, eyes wide, appreciative at your words with her hands caressing your thighs, hardly any strain on her expression to have your entire aching cock buried in her throat.
"The best part is watching you lose yourself," she murmurs, popping off as saliva connects to your tip, breaking that connection so shes can stroke your the spit-covered shaft. "Lucky for you, I have no use for breathing, so I can have that big fucking cock just where it needs to be.
You're practically trembling, so close already it won't be difficult for Ningning to finish you off. That devious look she gives when reaching down to pull up her tight skirt without her lips leaving you. And it takes all you have not to lose it once you realize she has absolutely nothing underneath, her pretty, wet cunt for your viewing pleasure.
"It's a good thing you had an appetite," she says, shifting position just enough so you can see her fingers rub at her bare pussy. "Because my cunt is about ready to devour you."
Ningning says that as she picks up the pace, one finger between her legs, other hand resting on your thigh—bobbing her head at a frantic rate, taking you down and back up like nothing, not a single gag or struggle. You can't do much more than moan and stare, mouth parted and helpless, balls so tense the longer she keeps going, until Ning mercifully pops her lips from your throbbing cock.
"Thinking about how bad I want to ride you, baby. Or maybe you should have me bend over—fill me from behind and slap my ass as you give it to me. Or get all sprawled out, wrap my legs around you so you can't pull out, pound me while I scream how bad I need you. Lots of options for you to ravage my pussy, isn't there?"
The room is practically silent except for the sloppy, hungry sounds of Ningning awaiting your response, bobbing up and down your cock, tongue gliding flicking along every wet inch.
"Upstairs," you say, all out of breath—and it's all she needs to hear.
Ningning swallows you one more time, leaving a wet kiss on your swollen tip once she pulls off, ignoring your body's pleas to stay.
"Well then, lead the way my cute little fangbanger—but do be careful, I did just drain you."
In more ways than one, that's for sure.
There's a surge in motivation as you begin the trek up the stairs, Ningning close behind. Every footstep up the stairs, each thud echoes, like a countdown to your fate that awaits. You can only think of what's about to happen, the way she will take your body, and the sinful things you're going to do to her own in turn, nothing holding either of you back.
Once you arrive at the foot of your bed, Ningning is quick to shove you back with surprising force, giggling as she watches your weakened frame stumble back and land. She steps away, positioning herself close to the window, so you can see everything illuminated in the moonlight.
Ningning is unreal. Her ethereal beauty too much to handle as she undresses, her complexion glowing, that pale skin more beautiful than anything else. Those painted nails that have dug into your flesh almost as much as her sharp fangs, and your thoughts wander, watching each piece fall until a pile of her clothes lingers on underneath her bare feet.
You nearly faint once she's fully naked and turns to face you.
Every delicious curve for your eyes only, you feast on that naked skin, those pretty nipples, hardened by the cool air, those hips, luscious legs—every single inch of her more than overwhelming you. The silhouette of her body can't compare to the real thing once she closes the distance, climbing your lap in record time, hovering dangerously close to your erection.
"Been a while since you last fucked a vampire," Ningning teases, the heat of her cunt teasing the tip of your cock.
"And just whose fault is that?"
Ningning glares, spreading her wetness over the head and doing little else. "Now you're blaming me? When you made it so difficult just for me to see you?"
Before she drops her hips, Ningning allows her fangs to extend again, almost a reminder of her advantage over you. She's grazing over your chest, not using the full force just yet, merely playing with you. Little lovebites left scattered over her favorite parts of you, as if you won't remember the deep ones on your neck from earlier.
"Fucking love you like this—vulnerable, compliant, all fucking mine," Ningning purrs, catching her breath in between bites. "Bet you'd let me do anything to you tonight."
"I'd let you do anything you want anytime," you admit, realizing what comes from that statement.
She smirks at that, at your sudden honestly. Her tongue swipes the side of your face before trailing the shell of your ear, sucking on the soft flesh of your lobe. "Aren't I the lucky one, then?"
Without anything further, Ningning continues her path of destruction, trailing kisses and licks down your body. Like she's for the right moment to strike, or at god knows what else she has planned. Her lips catch a nipple, giving a few swirls that don't allow the pleasure you need, kissing down your abdomen and grazing the flesh with those fangs—those sharp things coming dangerously close, the thought of them puncturing the skin sending an orgasmic mixture of fear and arousal.
"Don't be nervous, baby," Ningning murmurs, lips tracing lower, planting kisses right below your navel that make you gasp. "Would never hurt you or do without warning. Well, without prior permission."
There's no time to give a snarky reply, nothing witty coming from your mouth as she looks at your skin she's made so sensitive, appreciating her work.
"Not nervous, Ning."
"Oh? Then I might wanna let you do what you want for a change," she murmurs into your skin. Ningning's lips hover right above your inner thighs, her hot breath enough to make you flinch, the anticipation of the bite, the delicate tease making every muscle tense up.
"You'll let me?"
Ningning laughs at your question, tongue dancing from where she left off. "Yeah, I'm giving you a freebie tonight. Have your way with me, darling."
It's a hard bargain—you don't trust her intentions, but there's no time for negotiation.
You lift her off with little effort, almost as if your strength returns without warning. Ningning's on her back, legs spread wide, glistening folds exposed to you as she waits for your next move.
"Yeah, this'll do," you say, drinking in that gorgeous view of her pretty cunt that's about to be made yours.
Ningning just smiles at the gesture. "Always knew you were a stickler for the basics. It's cute, really."
That's what she thinks. With that, you lift her legs up, resting both on your shoulders and folding her tiny frame, each of her feet by your ears. In an instant, her face changes from one of disappointment to realization, just at that split second before the plunge.
"Okay, this is different. I've misjudged, it seems—"
You say little else as your cock buries every inch in, sinking inside that soaking mess, making sure you fill her aching pussy perfectly. The groans slip out at her tightness, the wetness that consumes you, the way that Ningning looks once the motion of your hips start.
"You're fucking mine," you growl at the next slam, while her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head, her intoxicating cunt swallowing you up and clenching to make sure you won't dare leave.
"Ah, f-fuck!" she whimpers once you start to fuck her the way she needs. The way you think she deserves, the way you know the bed is going to protest to. No time for her to adjust, Ningning's tight little cunt clamps down with each desperate thrust, making sure you bury every last inch inside her.
"You're so tight—" you grunt, sweat gathering on your forehead already. "Feel too fucking good—always feel so fucking good.
Ningning looks gorgeous when she takes your cock. Hair a tangled mess, all spread out, completely at your mercy. "And you're so deep, so much deeper this way, damn, baby."
"Don't act so surprised, Ning."
"Oh, don't think I can be surprised? As if I expected this? You're never this aggressive."
"Maybe you pulled it out of me," you admit, hips snapping, watching Ningning's expression falter with each slam to the hilt. It's addicting to see her fall apart for a change, to watch those moans escape, pummeling her cunt like there's no other way, no other alternative—like your dick belongs inside her at all times.
"God, baby, look at you go," Ningning huffs out, parting her lips at the forceful treatment you're dishing out. "Making my pussy feel so good, ah—I haven't been fucked this good in ages."
"Then allow me to remedy that situation," you start, taking pleasure in the way she crumbles, the gasp she makes when you withdraw, the frantic moan when you hilt back in.
"Fuck yes, baby—give it to me. Harder, can feel you in my guts, shit," Ning cries out, throwing her head back, content to bask in the pleasure each time your cock disappears fully into her tight little pussy. "God, I needed you so bad. Needed you to fill me up so well."
"Here I am, Ning. Not going anywhere."
There's this rare moment where she can't find any witty comeback, not when that mouth hangs wide open, no snarky comments falling, nothing but pure unadulterated bliss. She's squirming, nails digging into the sheets, lifting her hips higher to let you reach places she'll feel for days.
"Fuck! Fuck, please, god yes," she pleads, struggling to find the words, staring at you through in hopes that you'll get the memo. "Please. Fuck me deeper, wanna feel all of you, want that cock to ruin me."
And that's precisely what you do—holding that position and looking Ningning right in those pretty eyes as you sink deep, pound that wet pussy until she's clinging for dear life to the sheets. She's powerless to you, or at least, pretending to be, words lost to lust as you fill her again and again.
Knowing that for once, she isn't the one in control—there's no strings attached or manipulating factors—that Ningning, that bloodthirsty, cunning, dominating vampire who can bring anyone and anything under her power, is nothing but a toy under you now. She's yours to do whatever with.
That sets something off inside of you, makes you want to push things further, take things to the next level. You shift, spread those legs wider and lift them off you until her knees almost meet her chest, folding her in half even.
Ningning's expression is filled with approval once you do, hips thrusting wildly with no mercy on her drenched pussy, hitting deeper than even before.
And now she looks delirious with pleasure, and your knees are digging into the mattress so you can get that little extra leverage, more power behind those harsh thrusts, hips working to the max, determined to ruin Ning—if it were even possible.
"That's it, destroy me, baby, make my pussy yours. Isn't it funny—you've got me in this, what do you humans call it? A mating press? And it's almost a shame that you can't breed me—makes me wish you could. Give all that hot, yummy cum something to do besides make my pussy gush."
"That's the last thing we need, another Ning. One of you is more than enough."
"You wish you had two. One to suck your hard cock in the morning and another to sit on your face. Yeah, you'd love that."
Your mind can't seem to even grasp the reality of that, picturing it all for a brief moment, only to continue hammering Ningning's tiny wet cunt. The urge, the carnal need to bring her to her brink and beyond consumes you—your hips working without rest, giving the girl no chance to recover, fucking her over and over in that delicate position with no way out of it.
Her body can't keep up with the intensity, and you can't almost either. Pinned against the mattress with nowhere to go, all that attention focused on her soaking cunt—too sensitive, too wet, too inescapable, each thrust becoming impossible to handle. For both of you.
You take pleasure watching her fall to pieces with each thrust that fills her, savoring every gasp that you cause, each plea for you to keep on driving in deep and hard.
"You, baby, keep pounding me like that—fucking my pussy and ruining it. Giving it to me so hard because you know I can take it, I can handle everything you give. Keep it going, keep going and give me what I deserve, empty those balls inside me like you own this pussy."
Hard not to when she's so convincing—staring at you, demanding your load, pleading to keep hammering that greedy cunt, your balls smacking against her asshole more than ready to dump it all in her.
"Get ready then," you say, hips losing all control—that pussy just won't relent, sucking and squeezing all around and making it harder than ever to keep going any longer.
"Oh, baby, please—I was ready to be pumped full of cum the moment you invited me in. You're gonna cum so hard, I know, fill me, make my pussy so messy. Get that hot load nice and deep in me," Ning pleads, bracing for the inevitable, too far gone for anything else.
"Don't you fucking worry, Ning, this tight pussy is getting everything," you say, sheathing yourself deep in that wetness for as long as you can stand.
"Good, then you know what to do—cum inside me."
You groan out—more than compliant with those demands, no longer fighting against the pressure boiling deep inside. No fight left from that tightness you can't escape from, so you give in, unloading as your cock empties into Ningning. The relief is heavenly, each violent throb, each hot spurt that floods her insides, her cunt clenching to demand it all, keeping you captive while you fuck it all deep.
Ningning follows not a second later, struggling to keep her composure as her own orgasm hits, face contorting in pleasure at her reward, toes curling, walls tightening even more as the sticky mess mixes with her own juices together in her hot depths.
And before you can even finishing pumping it all inside her, your fresh load leaks out that sopping, ruined cunt, pooling underneath your pleasure-stricken bodies.
"That's it, fuck… can always count on you to fill my pussy up, baby, just how I need," Ning groans, a tired smile creeping up on her face as she embraces her own bliss. "So fucking hot."
You linger in your high, and do little other than fall against her body and embrace the relief, cock slipping out enough as your cum begins to spill out and ruin the sheets further, something Ningning wears in such satisfaction.
"See?" Ning asks, a bit of smugness returning her voice, playing with your hair. "Aren't you glad you kept that sexy ass mine? "
Your body shifts, so you can focus your gaze on her beautiful complexion. Even if things may end messy again, you have no regrets. For now, all that matters is being right in the arms of the person who's never been more certain.
"You know how much I missed you, Ning," you respond, watching the way her breasts heave with the breaths that follow.
Ningning glances down at you, like that's an obvious conclusion. "Typical."
Too tired to even roll your eyes, too tired to put up with Ningning's usual antics. "Alright, sounds like its time to go back home, and—"
She wraps her legs around you, preventing movement. "And why do you think that is?"
"You got what you wanted, you drained my blood and my balls. Now you can go."
Ningning's quiet as she ponders, just long enough for a mischievous smile. "No, I don't think so. It's late—let me sleep on your sofa."
"Sleep? You don't sleep until morning."
Ningning just giggles, peppering you with kisses that break down your protests. "Then you get to entertain me until then. Deal?"
"And what if I want to sleep?"
She squeezes tighter with her legs around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. "Then you let the wrong girl inside. Do you think I'm done with you?"
Well, no, you certainly don't. That's something she'll make abundantly clear.
"Okay, fine, I'll stay up—but let me take a shower. You really made a fucking mess."
"Me? You were the one that dumped all that cum in me."
You simply stare at Ning, glaring right back at you. The more you stare, the more you both burst out into a fit of laughter, any attempts at acting serious not lasting more than a few seconds.
"No, I think your pussy deserves some blame. It had my cock trapped pretty tight—"
"But you had me all folded like a goddamn chair. Pinned and begging for your cum, that's on you."
Her eyes narrow and Ningning raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow in disbelief. You just remain there, hands lingering atop her waist. "Oh, my apologies for how rough I got with your pussy. Wasn't aware my precious Ningning was so delicate."
Ningning scoffs, using her strength to move your hands off. "I'm a goddamn vampire, don't talk to me about delicate. You can't hurt me no matter how hard you fuck."
"Is that a challenge?"
Her glare continues. "Don't get fucking cocky, love. You'll hurt yourself more than me."
"Hm, sounds like a challenge to me."
"You're such an idiot. You could literally use both hands to choke me with no mercy and I'll just laugh at how pathetic you look. Nothing you can do."
You tilt your head. "Does that mean you'd enjoy the idea?"
"I didn't say I was against it. Just won't do anything, is the point."
There's little sense in debating the merits of that claim. And you're so exhausted that you wouldn't even try. For tonight at least, you can let Ning have this victory.
The rain eventually calms down, enough for the two of you to head outside the balcony and enjoy the weather without risk. Freshly showered, with Ningning in nothing but a stolen shirt from your closet. It's late—so late, but you don't really care.
"Are you planning to make a habit of this?" you ask, knowing what you're asking might be dangerous territory.
Ningning's head turns, the grin on her face looking devilish from so close as she leans over the balcony railing. "Would it upset you if I did?"
An hour ago and you'd have a very different answer—now you aren't so sure. "No, not really. I mean, not like I can ever stop you."
Ningning just takes in your reaction, her own expression not changing a bit. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me."
You sigh, staring up at the night sky as she inches a little bit closer. "A pretty girl shows up at my door and lets me do whatever I want, lets me fuck her hard against the shower wall—yeah, maybe a little."
Ningning laughs, her hand creeping around to find yours, fingers interlocking and thumb rubbing slowly against your flesh. "Is that all it takes? For me to show up, suck your dick and let you empty your balls into me, then I'm suddenly a good person?"
"Hey, I never said that—"
"Darling," she says, tightening her grip, bringing her head right next to yours, warm breath ghosting over your ear. "I'd bend over and do every dirty little thing you ask without complaint. I'd worship your cock just for the sake of making you happy. All I need is for you to say you want that. That you want me."
That gets your attention. You can't say that this night has been anything but wonderful, despite your trepidation in at the beginning. Your fingers squeeze tightly around hers, eyes focused on Ningning's pretty face in the dark, moon illuminating her features.
"God, what am I getting myself into.."
She laughs, flashing that bright smile before turning back to face the city skyline. "Hopefully me again, love."
You snake your arms over around her small waist until she's tight against you. With no shame whatsoever, you slide your hands underneath, squeezing Ningning's bare ass and pulling her into a kiss.
"But what if I wanted to do all kinds of crazy things to you, Ning? Or wanted you to do them to me?"
Ningning struggles not to smile, doing all she can to not succumb to the giddy laughter that tries to emerge. "Just tell me a time and date then. So I can catch that goddamn train."
Not letting up, you steal her lips, tasting them, savoring how soft they feel against yours, running your hands all over her cold, bare skin.
"Why catch a train when I have a perfectly good sofa for you to crash on?" you ask between kisses, trying to spend as much time pressed up against her body as possible.
"Darling," she interrupts, almost annoyed, staring directly into your eyes. "Please be serious right now. Don't treat me like I'm some random hookup."
You raise an eyebrow, confused. "I wasn't. I'm offering you a place to stay."
Ningning breaks out into a little laugh. She stops herself when you show no sign of joking.
"Wait, you're actually serious? Really? Stay?"
You interrupt her with another kiss. "Isn't that what I said? Not gonna make you sit on some shitty train for hours just to get dicked down at some ungodly hour. Stay with me. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Whenever you want."
She doesn't know what to say to that, only that her smile is spreading from ear to ear. "Of course I'll stay—thought you'd never ask. I'll happily get dicked down any time I come. Suck your dick the moment you wake up. Make breakfast, talk dirty to you while you stroke and cum on my tits, all kinds of crazy, naughty things—"
"Ning, you already have an invite, you don't need to try so hard."
She laughs it off. "What can I say, I get excited by the idea of seeing that cock at any hour."
"Christ. Is that the only reason you want to live here? Just so you can drain me dry every hour on the hour?"
The little giggle that Ningning gives is enough of an answer, knowing she can't deny the fact that it's a strong motivating force behind her plans. "No, of course not, baby. I also need you around so I can take your blood whenever I need it."
You scoff at that, threatening to leave the balcony altogether. Ningning, laughing again, wraps her arms tight around yours, refusing to let you out of her grasp. "I'm not a buffet, Ning."
"Mm," she hums, nuzzling into your neck. "You're whatever I need you to be. Your cock certainly is. Your thick, juicy, delicious—"
"Ning—"
"Yes, darling?"
"Come inside. It's freezing and the rain is starting up again. And you're not wearing anything to speak of."
Ningning laughs, clinging to your side. "Or what, I might die? Vampire, love. I could do this all night."
Another sigh escapes, pulling away only to lift her up into your arms, getting a good grip under her ass so the resounding sound of her squeal fills your ears once you carry her back inside.
"Someone is eager to go again," Ningning says, more than happy with where things are heading. You pretend that the thought doesn't cross your mind.
"No, I'm freezing and wanna go to sleep. I have work tomorrow," you say, depositing her ass right onto the cushions of the sofa before she can put up a fuss.
"It's the weekend, love," she reminds, pulling you down on the couch with her, legs already wrapping around and taking the fight out of you. "Which means you're stuck with me until Monday."
Nothing you can do but laugh at her persistence. You kiss her, once, and then pull away. Staring into her eyes, taking in her beauty, wondering if it would always be this difficult for you to escape.
"Should have listened. When people say you shouldn't feed strays. Because they always keep coming back."
Ningning's expression changes, lips turning into a far more offended pout. "Are you calling me a stray? What the fuck—"
"You always show up on my doorstep, wanting scraps and a place to rest. Is that not far off the mark?" you tease, only to be cut off by her lips.
"Rude," she mumbles between each kiss. "There are plenty of places I could be. Men to see. Bars to visit. Places to collect victims. Yet, here I am. Guess where I've chosen."
"Just sounds like you don't have anywhere else to go if you ask—"
Ningning's kisses stop abruptly, grabbing your head and guiding it down between her legs. "I didn't ask, thanks. Now if you don't mind, be a good boy and eat my pussy before I need to feed again."
There's no argument there, nothing that would ever stop you. All comfortable on your stomach before Ningning, her creamy thighs about to consume your entire existence. You might spend the entire weekend here, you think. And maybe forever.
A/N: Halfway into the Bro Zuha's second set! Last one should be soon, barring any surprise BFHs.
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
Like, seriously, if there is one thing you don’t get about Kazuha, is that she does things without letting you know sometimes.
You’ve learned to get used to it, really. You’ve stopped wondering how in god’s green earth this happened, or why the universe decided to send it to your end of the world.
The Chaewon incident that started this whole thing coming to mind, which you weren’t opposed to at all, considering the events that occurred afterwards. A few more surprises here and there with her closest friends with the other, the more recent one being Kazuha coming home, drunk off her ass along with the girls.
That was a rather interesting Friday night, you’ll say. Your body has never felt so sore in your entire life the next few days after.
Extremely worth it, for all intents and purposes however.
But, to your point, she doesn’t let you know about things that you would very much like to know beforehand. Like today, for example, when you come home from what you thought was going to be an ordinary Wednesday until—
“Hi!”
“Jesus–” This was not what you were expecting when you came home from work. Luggage bags left in your hallway, a woman that is most certainly not Kazuha sitting on your couch, sipping on one of your yogurt milk drinks as she waves at you. Which makes you question where Kazuha is. “Uh, hello?”
“You must be Kazuha's boyfriend.” The woman continues sipping on her drink, the loud slurps coming from the straw pausing as she smiles prettily at you. “She said you'd be here around this time, so I thought of saying hi.”
“Right.” You are, for all intents and purposes, extremely skeptical of this woman. Don’t know who she is, where she came from, why there’s so much of her shit scattered in your hallway. She’s just here, for reasons you have zero idea of.
You walk to the kitchen counter, placing down your backpack before turning towards her. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Oh!” She practically jumps out of the couch, and skips straight towards you with a grin on her face. “Name’s Rei. Naoi Rei.” She outstretches a hand.
You take her hand and shake it gently, tell her your name and be answered with a cute little nod that you swear is not making you cringe on the inside or make your heart race from how adorable it was.
“So you are Zuha’s boyfriend!” she repeats, and before you could come up with a reply for it, the front door swings open once again.
“Looks like you two are getting along.” Kazuha's striding in, a shopping bag in one hand, and a small handbag in another. She stands next to you, smiling and leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before she hands the bag to Rei. “Here's some extra pillows you can use.”
Rei gasps, and you're confused on whether this woman's a walking adorable little thing or not because every action she does looks way, way too cute to be normal.
“Thank you so much, I'll pay you back before I leave,” Rei says, pulling out a pair of pillows from the bag, the paper falling down the ground.
“Don't worry about it,” Kazuha replies, placing her bag next to your pack, and you watch as Rei squeezes one of the cushions between her arm, picking up the bag on the ground and walking back to the couch with another thanks.
Which leaves you with Kazuha. You turn to her, blinking slowly and giving her a pointed look. Your hands gesture towards Rei, who's gotten in her own world on the couch, setting up her makeshift bed on it. “So.”
“So,” Kazuha repeats, eyes following your hands. “That's Rei.”
“That is Rei, yes.” Your palms rest on your hips. “Why is Rei here with a bunch of luggage, exactly?”
“She’s asked if she can crash for a few days,” she explains, leaning her elbow on the kitchen counter. “Traveled all the way from Japan for some music festival this weekend.” Said Rei would be gone by Wednesday next week, Kazuha swears. “She won’t cause us any trouble, trust me.”
You turn your gaze back to Rei, legs up in the air while she’s hugging one of the pillows and scrolling down her phone. You can faintly hear the sounds quickly shifting from one topic to another as her thumb swipes up every so often. “And when you say trouble–” Queue your finger air quotes. “You mean she’s not going to be involved in one of your plans?”
Kazuha only smiles at you, hand rising up to pat your cheek fondly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” There’s that familiar twinkle in your eye that you spot—one that you’re not sure whether to be excited or wary of what she’s cooking up—before she walks away.
Sighing and shaking your head, you take another look at Rei. Still busy with her phone, paying you no mind and not causing any trouble, just like Kazuha said.
You can’t help but add a ‘yet’, though.
—
Trouble, you’ve realized, decided to come in small batches over the course of the next few days.
Nothing that would get you arrested or caught in an indecent way, no. For the most part, it was you doing your usual routine with the added intrusion that Rei is living in your living room. And it causes a few odd encounters with her every now and again.
Like when Kazuha decided to jump you the following Thursday when you got home, kissing you right there in the doorway just as you opened the door to your apartment. And while it was an unexpected surprise that you would normally, wholeheartedly welcome with open arms, seeing Rei pretend that you and Kazuha are not sucking each other’s faces off wasn’t weird at all.
At least, not for Kazuha. It was odd as all hell for you when you realized that Rei was looking pretty earnestly until she got caught.
Or on Friday, where you swear to all manners of religion out there that you heard moaning outside your bedroom door when you woke up in the middle of the night because the bathroom was calling you. Suffice to say it was a quick run to and from the bathroom to avoid interrupting Rei’s potential ‘her’ time.
And you won’t lie, needing to be quiet in your own home because a guest was touching yourself was incredibly awkward, considering that’s not something anyone would ever stumble upon. Even more so when you were left alone on Saturday, when Rei was out at her festival, Kazuha coming along with her when Rei said her friend wouldn’t be able to make it.
“It’d be a great way for us to really catch up!” You remember Rei telling Kazuha before they left this morning. And for the most part, you kinda agree with her. The three of you never really seem to have a good time to sit down and hang out, outside of the two of them since they seemed rather close. You in particular, given that you’re mostly out on the weekdays that Rei started living in your apartment.
And as much as they wanted you to come with, the extortionist pricing to get tickets this late made all three of you exclaim profanities so loud that you were afraid of finally getting a noise complaint.
Aside from the rather relaxing afternoon you had cleaning up your home while watching the weekend motorsport race in an attempt to get rid of any lingering thoughts about Rei touching herself on your couch—one that you sat on for quite a while after doing the chores (you need to clean this couch soon)—and making some dinner for yourself after getting a text from Kazuha that they’ll be coming home late, you decided to call it early tonight and catch up with the two in the morning.
Which gets completely derailed when you wake up in the wee hours of Sunday, where you are awoken from the sounds that are coming from your living room. It causes you to groggily get out of bed, the intimate familiarity of your home allowing you to walk on autopilot even without fully opening your eyes.
Or have your senses wake up until you flick the light on to find Kazuha and Rei making out by the kitchen counter, the former practically shoving her tongue down the latter.
You blink like an owl. Slowly, peculiarly, until the scene before you registers in your mind and you start looking like a deer in headlights. Then your brain finally catches up to what you’re seeing and—
“Well, good morning to you girls too.” Dragging a palm across your face, you decide to head over to grab a cup and fill it up with water. “Did you have fun earlier?”
Rei lets out a blissful hum, letting out a gasp as Kazuha leaves her lips to kiss down her neck. “Great,” she gasps, holding onto Kazuha’s locks. Rei lets out an even loud gasp when she gets hoisted up onto the counter by Kazuha, and even you were raising eyebrows at how assertive Kazuha is being tonight.
Or today, you’re not sure yourself.
You take a good, long drink of your cup, downing it all in one go, a quiet, refreshed noise coming out of your lips before putting it down. You have half a mind to walk up and join in on whatever debauchery Kazuha’s planned, and another to go back to bed and let them have their fun, considering they’ve already started without you.
Kazuha might not even know you’re here, what with her buried completely in Rei’s chest, her hands pulling the jacket she has on away before her fingers begin to pull Rei’s top up to expose her chest and holy shit Rei being even more stacked than you thought was not in your bingo card.
Not that you were looking, of course. You were simply appreciating the times her cleavage was in display. Totally not looking down whenever you had the chance, no.
Your bro will never let you live it down. But then again, anyone would be happy to have their faces shoved full of tits, especially ones as big as Rei’s.
Kazuha included.
Speaking of, she’s finally gotten her head out of Rei’s tits and turns to you with a grin. “Hey.” Is all she says, like this is another Sunday for her (and for the most part, this was a normal Sunday before you two were a thing, the player that your girlfriend was. Still is.) “Had a good day doing nothing today?”
“I cleaned, thank you very much,” you answer, walking up next to her, arm wrapping around her waist and leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek, like this is another Sunday for you. “I’m guessing this is how Rei is paying you back for staying?”
“Oh this was for the pillows I got her,” Kazuha says, taking your free hand and placing it on Rei’s bra-covered breast, and even with the fabric in the way you can feel how soft and large they are in your hand. Rei encourages you further, pushing her chest out for the both of you and your fingers can’t stop themselves from squeezing. “Now she’s paying us back with her pillows.”
“They are some very nice pillows,” you mutter, engrossed in the soft flesh.
Kazuha chuckles, a hand coming down to cup the bulge growing in your shorts, fondling you through your clothing. Her lips come close; kisses starting from your neck, journeying her way up to your cheek all the way until she can nibble your earlobe, cooing a question that you’ll ever answer. “Better than Kkura’s?”
Whether it be because you don’t want to hurt Rei’s feelings (especially cause you’re getting a feel of her tits), Sakura’s feelings when Kazuha eventually tells her (cause you know Sakura’s going to come barging in your apartment one night when she learns about it), or your own physical being, you can’t be sure. What you are sure of is that all three can be an option, but you’re too busy fondling Rei’s breasts to give Kazuha an answer anyway.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kazuha sing-songs, tugging your shorts down to your ankles. “Rei, be a dear and help me out here, why don’t you?”
“On it!” Rei’s hands come to the waistband of your boxers, and they end up right above your shorts. Your cock twitching and leaking and Christ her hands feel amazing stroking you so gently it makes you moan.
It makes Kazuha giggle; a sound that makes you fall deeper into this whole rabbit hole of fucking yet another one of her friends. “Excited now, are we bro?” And it’s like she’s reading your mind, even when she’s on her knees and looking at you with those doe eyes. Knowing that you’re just as turned on as she is, that you’ll be sharing Rei between the both of you.
That, or it could be the other way around and she’s sharing you with her friends.
“Well, don’t worry too much,” Kazuha continues, inching closer to your cock. “Let Rei and I take care of you for the night, hmm?” Her tongue gives a quick lick at your tip, making your thighs clench.
“Let me guess–” you exhale, glancing back to Rei. “Is this your thanks for letting you stay?”
“Nope!” she says, her entire face lighting up. She leans in and gives your cheek a quick peck then drops off the counter to follow Kazuha on her knees. “I’m doing this cause I’m so fucking wet right now.” Rei gives that same quick kiss to your tip, holding you by the base all while Kazuha watches by her side.
“Rei’s a little bit of a horndog,” Kazuha adds, nudging Rei lightly. Rei only nods in agreement, her tongue coming out to lick your shaft; from the tip going down to the base of your cock, she leaves no surface safe from her pretty pink muscle that’s eager to get you ready. “And she is very adventurous.”
“I can tell.” Just by the way Rei is worshipping your balls, taking each one in her mouth and rolling them with her tongue, sucking and licking away at them so goddamn well it makes you lean back onto the counter to brace yourself for when Kazuha inescapably joins in. “Christ, Zuha, you’re making me think you’ve fucked all your friends.”
“Not all of them,” Kazuha snaps back, a smirk on her lips. She gets closer to your dick, hot breath tickling you, and the air you need in your lungs gets exponentially bigger the moment her own tongue comes out to have her fun. “I’m thinking we should double team someone one of these days, though.”
Jesus, this woman truly is after your own heart. Even the mere thought of Kazuha wearing a strap, pinning Rei down and getting to stuff her in both holes sounded insane. And here she is, telling you that she’s ready and willing to go; might not even need to be Rei at all.
“Hot,” Rei comments, like her mouth isn’t preoccupied with your balls. “Can that be me? Please let it be me.”
The shit eating grin on Kazuha’s face when she hears that, paired with her eyebrows wiggling at you causes a shaky laugh to spill out of your lips. Knowing that it really, actually, might be Rei that’s going to get stuffed by the both of you in the near future makes you throb harder, pulsing around Kazuha’s hand.
Something you’ll anticipate for later, when the time comes. Right now you need to focus on not cumming too early when both Kazuha takes your cock in her mouth, tongue swirling around your cockhead just as Rei manages to take both your balls in hers. It makes you grip the counter tighter, hissing a curse and looking up at the ceiling just so the view won’t make you explode in record time.
Not that it matters, you’re only delaying the inevitable when it comes to Kazuha.
“Z-Zuha–” you stutter, a hand coming to rest on her hair, running your fingers through her locks when she takes you deep. Mouth locked firmly around your length, she sucks eagerly, cheeks hollowing out as she bobs. Up and down and up and down and down and down until her nose almost reaches your crotch. Letting out a gag before she comes up for air, stroking your spit covered cock and looks up at you with a smile.
“Problem?” The tilt of her head partnered with the grin playing her face is fucking you up seven ways to Sunday, and your fingers curled up in her hair tightens in response. Combined with the fact that Rei’s never let up on your balls, and it’s a constant barrage of pleasure that you do not have the strength to win against.
“I–fuck–” It’s embarrassing to admit, having to lose so quickly against these two, but waking up and having your dick sucked wasn't exactly what you were expecting to happen. “I’m not gonna last long.”
Rei pauses, coming up and finally giving you a moment's rest, and she is a mess. Droll running down her chin that she doesn’t bother wiping off, only slurping what she can in her mouth as she grins at you two. “Can I do the thing please?”
You turn to Kazuha. “What thing?”
“Course you can, Rei.” Kazuha gives Rei a kiss on the cheek.
“Yes!” Rei leaves one last kiss on your cock, her tongue making out with the tip and the surprise almost makes you kick your feet up.
“Holy shit–”
She doesn't stay for long, kissing you cock one last time before she stands up. Before you can know it Kazuha is pulling you away from the counter, getting you to stand upright.
“Dude, what is she talking about?” You hold on to Kazuha's shoulders, the clothes around your ankles being a pain to move forward.
Kazuha only grins and gives you a wink. “When I said Rei was adventurous–” You can feel Rei behind you now, her hands on your shoulders, face peeking out from behind to kiss you dangerously close to your lips but pulls away to smooch you on the cheek. “She’s really adventurous.”
Rei must know what'll happen if she decides to have a taste of your lips.
Clothes rustling behind you pique your curiosity, making you want to turn around to see Rei's breasts out of that damn bra. Wanting to feel the weight of them in your palms, pinch and play with her nipples, give them a nice, good squeeze—
A squeaky, girly noise comes out of you, shivers up your spine, your skin tingling all over the place, body locking up; it happens all at once, overloading your senses and almost making you double over if not for Kazuha holding you upright. You don’t know how to react, your body running on instinct at the burst of pleasure that’s hit you, all because of a wet intrusion poking in your taint.
“What the fuck, Rei–” The letters that constitute pronouncing her name slowly become gibberish in favor of a long, drawn out moan, your hands grabbing Kazuha’s head in an attempt to find solace. Even if you must look so fucked stupid in front of her, that smile Kazuha gives you is somehow both endearing and problematic at the same time.
“Relax,” Kazuha says, and that one word—that one, simple word—is enough to let you know that there is, in fact, a problem. “Just let go when you need to, alright?”
And when Kazuha starts to double down on the assault of pleasure being inflicted on you, you just know that you’re not going to last much longer. You’re almost hyperventilating at how potent the feeling is, the tingling becoming a numbing sensation over your body from it all.
The sensation of Rei licking around your pucker, circling it with her tongue before she does a few pokes to test your reaction. Kazuha’s head a blur from how fast her head is bobbing, blowing you so eagerly. Rei digging her fingers in your ass once her tongue plunges in to rim you. Kazuha’s gaze never losing its focus away from you, her lips suctioned at your tip, tongue circling around, flicking the slit of your cockhead while her hands stroke you.
You’re seeing stars. Blots of white start blocking your vision, the hold you have on Kazuha’s head getting firmer to hold yourself together. It’s useless trying to fight back against it, not when these two are tongue fucking you on both sides. You try to warn either of them that the inevitable is happening, but all that comes out is garbled mutterings of a man gone mad.
It just happened, is what you eventually tell the both. When your eyes roll back and your cock erupts straight into Kazuha’s waiting mouth, filling up with cum at each pulse. The hum that vibrates around your cock along with the tongue slowly licking around your taint coaxes more and more of your load to come out, and it all seems neverending.
Rei comes out from behind, leaving your backside to kneel next to your leg. A finger feathers around your taint, even as she stares at Kazuha prolongs your load. And Kazuha manages to stay attached to your cock, jerking you off to gain more of your spunk, swallowing what she can even as it starts to spill out of her lips. The wonder in Rei’s eyes as she watches, the perverse anticipation in her lips—and all you can do is moan and let it all happen.
“There you go,” Rei mutters, her thighs pushing together. “Give her all that cum. Give her everything so I can have some for myself.”
Kazuha’s lips leave your shaft and you’re crumbling to the floor, feeling like you just ran a marathon and back from the experience. Rei makes sure that you don’t hurt yourself, getting your back against the counter before she gets pulled in for a kiss by Kazuha.
Cum gets swapped between their lips, lips savouring the taste, their tongues sliding together and sharing what Kazuha has milked from you. Some spill down, some stick to their lips, most get swallowed from both. It’s all so messy, and they don’t care at all.
Somehow, someway, your cock comes to life from the view. You don’t understand how, and you’re genuinely scared to find out what happens when you figure out that your body is overruling your sense of survival for more of this.
They part, Kazuha turning to you as Rei licks up any leftover cum that’s fallen down to the former’s chest. “You look like you enjoyed that.”
“I look like I’m a fucking corpse,” you reply, causing Kazuha and Rei to giggle. “What the hell was even that?”
“Just a little thank you for cleaning up the apartment while we were off partying.” Kazuha closes the distance between you two, coming to your left. She cups your cheek, and her lips meet yours.
Arms wrap around her waist to pull her close, and you relax. Letting yourself get swept away by Kazuha’s soft lips for a moment, whispering such a rare phrase to you in between all of the kisses that it makes you smile. You say it back, just when you feel a wet pressure around your length.
It makes you flinch in surprise, pulling you away from the moment, from Kazuha. You look down, and Rei’s in between your legs, cock popping off her lips.
“So about that double team,” Rei starts, slowly stroking you. It was enough to ease you back into hardness. She’s careful with you, making sure that the pleasure doesn’t become pain from overstimulating you. “Can that be my payment for staying here for the week?”
"It’s fifty-fifty. It either happens or it doesn’t."
You set your glass down on the table so hard it nearly cracks. "It is not fifty-fifty."
She shrugs—Chaewon’s quintessential uncaring attitude about anything you say—as she falls down into the couch. "But it is, though." She pops open another beer like she hasn’t had enough to drink already.
She always does this. Chooses some ridiculously wrong position to dig her heels in. Like if she just believes it to be true, the universe will bend to her will out of sheer exasperation. You should just ignore it, and just let her believe what she wants to believe. There really is no point to it with her. You drag a hand down your face, because you've been here before. You’re always here. There is a universe where you’ve been having this argument since the dawn of time. Monty Hall sits upon his cosmic throne and watches you suffer.
"You pick a door," she says, holding up one finger like she's making a serious mathematical point and not actively committing a war crime against logic. "And then Monty—whoever the fuck he is—opens another door. And now there’s two left. So, you know. Fifty-fifty. You either win the prize or you don’t win shit."
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
And she still doesn’t care. If anything, she revels in your frustration, grinning and taking a lazy sip from her beer.
“I thought you liked your girls a little stupid,” she muses. You like Chaewon. Always have; since before her rejection and until now.
She might be onto something.
“That’s what I saw earlier at the club, anyway,” she mumbles, and it’s pointed, a sharp dagger concealed by a hushed voice.
You pay it no mind. It’s just Chaewon being Chaewon. Doing everything in her power to annoy the fuck out of you. You shake your head. “I like my girls with a basic understanding of probability.”
She hums, her gaze dragging over you, and it lingers. Long. Too long. So long it’s causing the alcohol induced haze to retreat from your brain. Then she just smiles again, takes another sip, and the buzz is back.
Chaewon stretches, arms flexed into a peak above her head, sliding against the backrest of the couch, her head landing against the armrest of the couch opposite of where you're sitting. Her legs stretch out off of the floor, her dress riding up, clinging to and stretching on her hips.
It’s a performance, designed to squeeze out resistance from any sap that would dare defy her. It’s impossible to tell if this is just Chaewon’s purest form, her instincts kicking in to naturally make any man submit, or if it’s a carefully crafted weapon, deliberately utilised and aimed with immaculate precision. Either way, it’s fucking lethal.
Lace-trimmed thigh-high covered feet land in your lap, crossed. You glance down at them. Stifle a thought of fucking the exposed part of skin right below her dress and above her socks. Breathe out through your nose, annoyed.
She sees. She was waiting for you to see, to be more exact.
“What?” she asks, but she knows the answer. Feigning innocence, but the chances of it convincing you are slim. “Is the view not to your liking?”
You flick your eyes up to meet hers. Flat. Unamused. Stern. “Jesus, Chaewon.”
She cocks a half smile, hands up in the air like she’s being put under arrest but confident she can flirt her way out of it. “Relax. It’s just a joke.‘
Right. Just a joke. One she’s been playing at for far too long now. One you’re absolutely not in the mood for tonight. One that is quintessentially Chaewon. Mean. Sloppy. Reckless.
That’s what alcohol does to her. She gets all handsy and touchy and feely, disregarding any feelings or reservations you’d have about being touched meaninglessly by the girl that didn’t want you.
And the joke is not exclusive to you either. You’ve seen her like this before, with other guys. Hands on their shoulders and theirs on her hips, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. It’s just her usual mess. It doesn’t mean anything.
She’s warm, just warm enough that you can feel her through your clothes. But warm enough to make you fear the sparks could ignite something that shouldn’t be. Before you can have any more prohibited thoughts, you shift, trying to nudge her legs off of you.
She doesn’t budge. Deliberately. Straight up refuses to even acknowledge the attempt.
You sigh. “Get your legs off of me.”
Chaewon blinks at you, lashes fluttering faster than your heart can beat, her lips pouting— a poor substitute for saying she can’t believe you’d say that to someone this cute. She chuckles, transforms it into a smirk, and tilts her head.
“Make me.”
She presses the arch of her foot against your crotch. It’s right on target. Light. Testing. Provocating.
It’s impossible not to react. You could sit here, not do anything, let her rub your hardening cock through your pants a bit, enjoy the feeling of her getting you worked up. But that’s not what this is about. You know this pattern. As soon as you acknowledge it, it stops, and even if it didn’t, it would all be meaningless.
So you react. You grab her ankle, and shove her legs off of you.
She lets out a soft “oh,” before laughing, low and amused. She works herself back up right, shifting her legs underneath her, but she doesn’t look the slightest bit deterred.
“Wow,” she mocks. “Sensitive.”
You roll your eyes, reaching for your drink. It’s water. Unlike Chaewon, you know when to quit, much to her annoyance. “Stop being weird and focus.”
“I am focused!” she retorts, all tension and energy. “Are you focused?” she says finally, slow, saccharine, like honey that's taking its sweet time to drip from a spoon into your mouth. “Not too distracted by how fuckable I look in this dress?”
You don’t acknowledge it. Again, no point. You set your glass down with a deliberate clink— any noise to replace what she just asked—then reach for three random objects on the coffee table; her phone, a book, and a coaster.
“We’re settling this tonight.”
She puts her beer back on the table, folds her hands in her lap, and sits with her whole body pointed at you. She shakes her body loose with slight movements. Then, slowly, she smiles.
“Please,” she says, voice sultry and teasing. “Teach me a lesson, professor.”
You’ve probably explained the theory to Chaewon more times than there are episodes of the show that inspired the discussion. It’s time for a practical run-through. You grab the three nearest things you can find and leave standing upright to function as make-shift doors—your phone, your glass of water, and a book Chaewon has been quipping from for the past month, How to Date Men When You Hate Men—and you form a neat row of three. “Let’s drill it into your skull. Three doors. One has a prize. Pick one.”
And for all the effort you put in, she barely looks. Eyes on you, finger pointing in a different direction. “The book.”
“Right, and that was a random choice out of three, meaning—”
“That I was either right or I was wrong. Fifty-fifty.” She shrugs, and shuts the door on this method of having her understand.
She’s perfectly frustrating. “it’s not fifty-fifty—”
She shifts the opposite way from her previous slide, her head landing in your lap. Her cheek rests against your thigh, and her provocation pokes at your heart. She gazes up at you, lashes fluttering a hypnotic rhythm. “This is more comfortable. Keep going.”
How could you?
“Chaewon.”
She hums, but she doesn’t acknowledge your protest. “What? Does having a cute girl’s face this close to your dick make you nervous?”
Ignore it. If you acknowledge it, it only gets worse. You push it down, she’ll eventually grow bored, and as long as the boulder doesn’t slip from your hands, you’ll be done with this forever. “Okay, so now, Monty—”
“You’re looking a little serious,” she muses, herself looking anything but. “Would you look like that while getting head? All furrowed brows, all focused?” Her lips curve deviously like the curveballs she’s throwing you. “Or would you be more relaxed? I can go deep, you know. No need to worry about me.”
Every cell in your body is telling you to push back, take her up on what she’s offering, and let her ruin this night. But you know. You’d get your hopes up, but she’d just call it a silly joke. Keep ignoring it. She’ll get bored.
You take a slow breath. Slow down your rhythm. “Are you done? Monty opens a door that isn’t the prize. That leaves two doors with potential. Your first pick was only right one-third of the time, so if you switch—”
“Aaaah.” Her mouth opens, tongue peeking out like a landing strip, eyes fluttering shut like she’s waiting for you to shove your cock inside.
That’s it.
You shove her off, not rough, but firm, standing up from the couch you might have sunk in immediately. “Can you cut it the fuck out?”
She’s back upright, giggling, back landing against the couch, legs curled beneath her. “What’s wrong? Blood rushing away from your head?”
“Do you ever stop?”
Her arms stretch over her head again, and you’re starting to see a pattern with the way her dress is stretching against her hips. “Not when I’m having fun.”
It’s maddening. Talking with Chaewon is selecting a door, continuing to talk with her is being shown the wrong door and choosing to take it willingly. “You really don’t care how frustrating you make the Monty Hall problem, do you?”
She smirks. She must think she has it all figured out. “I already told you. Either something happens, or it doesn’t. Fifty-fifty, dude.”
“That’s really not how probability works.”
“That’s how life works.”
You shake your head, and accompany it with an equally disappointed sigh. “You just don’t want to admit when you’ve made the wrong choice.”
She stills, and it’s eerie. It shouldn’t have happened. Then, like a mask slipping back, she recovers with a sly grin. “Or maybe I just like my way better.”
Before you can argue, she makes her move, getting up, pressing against your arm, chest squishy, warm and deliberate against you. “But you can explain it to me as many times as you want.”
She’s impossible. “Chaewon—”
And she leaves no room for response. “Go on,” she purrs, pushing her tits smush against your bicep, molding around the way your muscles tense. “Teach me.”
Your patience and her dress have one thing in common. They’re both razor-thin. “I mean it.”
She hums, and she smiles, and she’s convinced you’re going to give in any second now. “Not a fan anymore of me touching you?” Her voice drops, all warmth and provocation. “Would you rather reverse the roles, have you touch me? Be careful. I’m sensitive.”
Your fingers wrap around her wrist, pulling it high with a firm and stern motion. “Cut it out.”
She clicks her tongue, and scowls in return. The joke is over, and you ruined her fun. “You liked it plenty when that slut at the club was all over you.”
“That’s different,” you say, your jaw tightening up. She knows it is, and it’s not fair. Does she think she can get away with it just because you’ve got a thing for her? Or, used to have, you try to convince yourself.
She’s so clearly unimpressed it’s almost hurtful. It wasn’t a lie though. It was different, that girl at the club never tore your heart out. But none of that matters when Chaewon wants to have her fun. She scoffs. “Must’ve been nice. You didn’t even flinch when she touched you. Just leaned into her, didn’t push her away like you do with me.”
You don’t answer. You let go of her wrist, sit back down, unsure what to make if anything yourself. You could have gone home with ‘that slut’. Had a great evening. Instead, you’re here, keeping your promise to Chaewon that you’d make sure she got home safe, wasting another night on a girl that should have long been in your past already.
That same girl plants both her knees next to yours on the couch, dress creeping above her hips, exposing the slightest hint of black and lace panties straddling your lap, settling against you.
You hate how right she feels here.
She rocks her hips down, just slightly, just testing the waters. And like an experienced professional, the joke’s back on. “You sure you don’t want to have a little fun?”
Your hands clamp around her waist—not pulling her closer. Pushing her off.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Just concedes as the distance grows.
“Come on,” she murmurs, trying to make sense of it all. “You used to love looking at me.”
Your arm extends fully, pushing her as far as your body allows. “That was a long time ago.”
She lets out a small scoff, more hurt than the lost one, finally relenting and shifting off your lap. The joke is no longer fun for anyone in this room.
You just have to bite the bullet. Separate her from yourself, let the alcohol fade from her system and figure out what to do after that. “Go to bed,” you exhale sharply, a forced sense of finality in your voice. “I’ll sleep here, and be gone before you wake up.”
Chaewon stares at you like you just suggested the unthinkable. Her eye twitches, a habit you’ve long learned to associate with her being so upset that something is going to break. Then, she exhales sharper than you did, standing up. “Fine. Whatever.”
She turns, stomping toward her bedroom, her pumps exploding with sound every step of the way. “It’s still fucking fifty-fifty, by the way!” she yells, right before she slams the door.
It’s suddenly silent. Silent enough to hear your heartbeat going crazy.
She’ll calm down soon enough. Hopefully.
The heat of her body still burns against you, scorching where she was pressed against you. But if you ran after her now, you’d get burned alive. You rub your hands down your face, sinking into the couch, staring into the ceiling as you mentally prepare for what’s bound to be a sleepless night. There’s no escaping those as long as Chaewon is a part of your life.
----------------------------------------
Sleep doesn’t come.
You want to blame it on the horrible way this couch is digging into your back. Or the sounds of the city being ever present. Or the dim glow of some street lights seeping into the living room through Chaewon’s curtains that never managed to fully close. But comfort isn’t the issue.
It’s your damn mind, that can’t shut the fuck up.
Too many thoughts, all tangled together like a string of memories that wrapped around itself far too many times. Her hands, her voice, her weight in your lap. Her unusually prickly temper, and her enhanced sloppiness.
It all feels too fucking familiar, and the moment you admit that, there’s no holding it back.
It started as a night much like this one. You and Chaewon, at her place, sitting too close for friends but too far apart for lovers. Laughing at everything and nothing. Drinking just enough to make the lines blur. You had thought—maybe. Hopefully.
And for a moment, you know, you had been right. It seemed like the kind of night you’d eventually be able to tell your kids about. An edited version, to cut out the once-in-a-lifetime pounding you intended to give her, but still, magical in its own way.
The way she let you kiss her. The way she kissed you back. The way her eyelashes fluttered to pull you into the kiss. How her left thigh rode up yours. The way her fingers locked behind the nape of your neck. The way you told her you liked her.
Then the way she pulled back. The hesitation in her eyes. The way her voice broke when she said “I don’t think we should do this.”
The way a crack formed on your heart, barely being pushed together by the rest of your more logical organs as you forced yourself to nod and agree, to act like it was fine. Like you were fine. Like you hadn’t just managed to secure the right door, only to be forced to step into the wrong one.
And the way your heart formed a second crack when you saw her again. She was still the same. Still Chaewon. Like nothing had happened.
But something did happen to you.
Your phone buzzes.
It’s not easy to ignore. Chaewon is an addiction to you, the next hit of this sweet obsession entering your veins as your screen lights up.
Chaewon: You awake??
You know you should just be failing at sleeping again. This can only lead to misery.
You: Yeah.
It’s quiet for a bit, but a new message makes its way to you all the same.
Chaewon: Cant sleep
If only she knew how she cursed you with the same fate. If not for her you’d be sound asleep in your own bed right now, or even better, in the bed of that chick you met at the club. What did she say her name was again? Kazuha? Instead, you’re here, repeating old patterns with exhausted probability.
You: That sucks.
Your answers are curt. Too perfect with punctuation for your usual back and forth. She doesn’t respond right away. She might be stubborn and annoying about things she’s convinced she’s right about, but she’s never been oblivious.
Then:
Chaewon: Are we okay?
You’re upset, but not heartless. It tugs.
You: We’re fine, Chaewon
Chaewon: Thats not a yes…
You might just scream out of frustration, your phone dropping on your chest, but obviously you can’t. She’d hear. She’s impossible. So fucking stupidly impossible. And yet, you find yourself typing anyway.
You: Do you want me to lie?
The pause is longer this time. Should you feel bad or just so tired that it doesn’t matter anymore?
Chaewon: No
Chaewon: Idk
Chaewon: I just get nervous when ur like this
You: Like what??
Chaewon: Distant
Chaewon: Careful
Chaewon: Upset with me
Your fingers hover over the keyboard without action. She’s not wrong. You are being careful. It’s her fault. She’d break your heart a second time in less time it took for it to beat. That’s dangerous.
You: Idk what you want me to say Chaewon
Chaewon: Idk either…
Chaewon: But I miss how we used to talk
The memories flood in of the two of you just shooting the shit, countless evenings. Still…
You: We’re talking now.
Chaewon: U know thats not what i meant
And she’s right. You do know, but this is just easier. For you, for her. For the both of you.
Chaewon: Cant you just come over here and talk w me?
Chaewon: I miss you…
And before you can even overthink it—
You move.
----------------------------------------
There is a thought that creeps into your mind as the door creaks open and you step into her room. Something about a lion’s den, and then another one following it up about it actually being the lionesses that do the hunting. There’s no point to it. They all fade in an instant. She’s no huntress right now. She’s vulnerable, like prey, enticing you to be the hunter, looking so ready to be pounced on; curled up beneath her blankets, only the soft shape of her against the sheets to lure you in.
“Hey.” It’s a solid way to start a conversation, but you can’t help but expect more from her after calling you in.
You nod, eyes fleeing from hers, shifting awkwardly by the door. “Hey.”
It takes a while before you move. The same goes for her. She’s squinting, her eyes getting used to the darkness. She’s always been stubborn about letting you help her get a blue light filter on her phone.
She finally stops, and for a moment, your eyes meet hers. She carries a soft smile, the kind that made you fall for her in the first place. But there’s a difference in it; barely perceptible; most definitely flown under the radar by people not so obsessed with her face. There’s precaution sewn into it. The sides of her smile are constantly shifting and trembling, like she doesn’t know whether to keep it there or to switch to a more neutral expression. Then, she shifts, her left arm pulling out from under the cover and tapping the sheets next to her, an unspoken invitation.
You sit down with a sigh, back turned towards her. You’re not far, but you’re not close either. A safe distance, you think to yourself. The mood isn’t tense, but also not comfortable. Just… unsure.
You can hear her laps part, exhale, almost say something, and then close again a couple of times. It’s not until you finally turn to face her that she speaks.
“Do you remember that summer at the beach?”
Your eyebrows raise on instinct, disbelief unmistakably painted across your face, impossible not to notice, not even in this darkness. “How could I forget?”
The muscles on her face relax as her eyes drift away from your eyes, seemingly getting lost into her pillow, which she clutches tight. “You remember how you were so worried about me you gave me a piggyback ride back to the house?”
“No,” you scoff, “I remember you guilt tripping me into carrying your soaking wet ass across the sand.” Your face turns away from her again, hands clutching the side of the bed as your eyes veer off into the distance past the window; letting the glass serve as a canvas to project your memories onto.
You hear the sheets rustle behind you as she works herself upright, before reminding you exactly why you helped her back then in the first place. “You weren’t complaining back then! You were way too busy copping a feel of my ass.”
“Okay, now that’s not fair,” you snap back much too fast, much too flustered. “I wasn’t copping a feel, I was keeping you from falling. And besides, you weren’t helping either! Just hanging there all limp, mumbling you’d never be able to walk again.”
“I mean, it just hurt so bad. That jellyfish really fucked me up,” she chuckles back, and you can feel the pressure of her back leaning against yours.
There’s a soft silence, the one drenched in feelings you’d much rather stay in, instead of moving on to an uncomfortable reality. So you keep painting, hoping the window holds your memory-scape just a little longer.
“Do you remember what we kept talking about? To keep your mind off of the pain?”
You can tell she knows in the way she responds with an “Oh my god.”
Both of you say it at the same time.
“The fucking Monty Hall problem!”
There’s a beat of silence. First it’s a chuckle. It turns into laughter, and it quickly grows uncontrolled, unstoppable. The kind that makes the memories seem brighter, makes your body feel lighter, the kind that makes you throw your head back as she does hers. You both open your eyes staring at the roof, now sharing the same canvas to display footage of past days.
“God,” you breathe, your head locked in place but your eyes drifting over towards her face. “I miss those days.”
She giggles, nose scrunching. “I don’t miss what that jellyfish did to me.”
The laughter fades, and you think that maybe, just maybe you could forget about earlier and go to bed without feeling like shit. You shift, and she does too, turning towards her as she moves back to her original spot, leaning against the headrest, crawling underneath the blankets with her legs.
Your breath catches as you look at her. Your stomach turns. “Chaewon.”
She blinks, glancing up at you. “Hmm?”
“Did you—” You inhale sharply, but you can’t afford to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Did you seriously invite me in here just to talk un-dressed like that?”
Her brows furrow. Then she follows your gaze, shifting slightly, and—
Fuck.
Black lace, delicate, thin. Your favorite.
She freezes. "Oh."
Oh? Fucking oh?
“Why the fuck are you like this?” you explode.
Her eyes widen. "No! I—" She scrambles, tugging the blanket back up over herself. “I wasn’t—”
“You said you wanted to talk, Chaewon.”
“I do!” Her voice pitches up. She’s pulling the sheets up hurriedly, using them as a shield from you, all you can see is her cheeks changing color ever so slightly. This time because of the embarrassment instead of the alcohol. “I promise… I do…”
It’s hard to believe that. It’s all so familiar, and all so fucking frustrating. “You know, this is just like you to do,” you ramble, and it’s hard to stop once you get going. “Always so fucking obsessed with getting a reaction out of me, never stopping to think for a second about how I feel!”
Her face softens, and the way she looks at you makes you sick. Like she thinks you’re right. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?”
“I swear!” She shouts, looking panicked and it’s enough to finally get you to shut up. “I was still out of it all, too mad and too drunk when I got back here. I just wanted to sleep. I didn’t—” and a big, shallow breath interrupts her, the kind that just appears and leaves you with less air than before. “I wasn’t thinking, okay?”
You want to believe her. But tonight has been too much. Too many provocations, too many lines blurring that she would turn back from, and in turn, you would let form scars.
Then you sigh, sitting back down. “Okay.”
“Are you…” her voice trembles as she tries to figure out the specifics of your answer. “You’re shaking. Are you mad?”
Your mind is still trying to slow down, and answering gets forgotten. She takes that as an answer, obviously. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not so mad that I’d be shaking, you idiot.” Your voice is quiet. “It’s just way too fucking cold in here. And I was thinking.”
There’s no hesitation, because that’s just how Chaewon is as she shifts, making room. “Get under the covers.”
“Chaewon, please—” you start, but she’s not having it.
“I won’t try anything, okay? I promise,” she interrupts you, sounding calmer already. There’s a touch of pleading in it, but not the whiny kind she uses to get you worked up. It’s more desperate, more real. “Just give me a chance to prove I’m being serious.”
You don’t move at first. Stubbornness is inherent to both of you, after all. She tugs on the sheets impatiently. You sigh, but it’s obviously performative, a last jab at her to let her know you’re only doing this just because you’re cold. And she wasn’t lying. She properly keeps her distance, just sharing the warmth of the bed. It’s immediate and comforting, but you don’t allow yourself to sink into it.
“See?” she murmurs. “Not a trap.”
Not yet. You don’t dare say it, but you don’t have to. She sees the thoughts in your eyes. So she shuffles, turning away from you.
The silence stretches so long you start focusing on the noises it can’t beat into submission. Your breathing. Her breathing. The creaking and crumpling sound of the bed and the sheets as you move.
“I wanted to talk, and we talked so… that’s—that’s good. I guess,” she whispers. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind talking some more.” She lets a little space in between for you to insert yourself into. You never do. “But if you’d rather pretend like I’m not here, I get that too. I’ll shut up.”
It’s endearing, and your response is a little mean, letting her wait in silence for just a little longer before replying.
“I’m not pretending. I need somebody to blame the lack of space I have in this bed.”
She smiles, soft. You can’t see it, obviously, but you feel it. Somehow. She shifts under the blanket, closer but not touching. She’s apprehensive. And she meant what she said.
“Is this the first time we’ve slept in the same bed?” she asks, but she masks her tone enough that she could play it off as talking to herself if you decided to not respond.
“Nope,” you correct her. “There was that one time in sophomore year. You showed up at my door at, like, three in the morning. Absolutely shitfaced, mind you.”
She lets out a small, embarrassed groan, and you know you’re on the right track.
“I remember that,” she mumbles. “Barely.”
“You couldn’t figure out how to get to your dorm. Said not even Monty Hall could help you find the right door.”
“How do you remember all that?” Chaewon questions, like you had no right to have that memory.
“Are you kidding me? How could I forget? I told you to take my bed, and that I was gonna crash on the couch,” you continue explaining, your lips curling upwards.
“But I didn’t let you?”
“Nope. You didn’t trust my roommate worth shit. Which, fair.”
She doesn’t say anything. You keep going though, less for her alone or you alone, both for you both.
“You grabbed my wrist when I tried to walk away. Looked me dead in the eye and said, and I quote, ‘Don’t leave me alone with that guy here, he smells like crusty socks and assault.’”
Chaewon lets out a strangled sound that’s half mortified laugh, half groan. “Oh my God.”
“So I gave in. Got in bed next to you. Fully clothed. On top of the covers. Like a gentleman.”
“You didn’t sleep for a second that night, did you?”
“Of course not. You starfished. One arm across my chest, one leg thrown over me like a fucking seatbelt. You had me trapped, dead to rights. Didn’t help you made me paranoid that my roommate was actually going to do something.”
She laughs—really laughs. Warm, unguarded. Then she rolls onto her side, facing you again. Her eyes search yours. "It was easier, wasn’t it? Back then. In college. At the beach. You carrying me like an idiot, me acting like I couldn’t walk, and you trying to turn probability into a personality trait."
You laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. More like one of those nose breaths that accompanies an abbreviated text. “Because it was.”
Her smile fades. “You never needed me to ask. You always just… stayed.”
You shift slightly, your fingers brushing the edge of the blanket. Her eyes drop there, then rise again.
“I think I’m a leaver,” she says. No warning. No lead-in. Like she had to say it fast before she lost the nerve.
“What?” It leaves your mouth before you can even blink.
But Chaewon swallows, her eyes retreating downwards. “I think that’s just who I am. Some people stay, and some people leave. You’re the kind of person that stays, and I’m a person that leaves. Because if I go first, I don’t have to wait until you become a leaver just like me.”
She looks at you like she’s afraid you’ll flinch. Like she’s already bracing for the recoil.
“I know it’s selfish,” she adds quickly. “But that night… when you kissed me, and then said you really liked me—I panicked. I did what I always do. You were giving me a choice, and that scared the hell out of me. So I picked the choice I always make.”
She breathes in. Exhales slow. Really takes her time, her eyes drifting slightly upwards now.
“And for a while, I told myself it was just another fifty-fifty. You know? Just a game of chance I lost. You either leave or get left. You either lose something or end up lost. And I thought—" she breaks off, swallowing again, part of her voice getting swallowed with it, "—that it would go away like the rest. That I’d forget. That it’d stop mattering."
You stay quiet.
“But it didn’t. It stuck. You stuck.”
She shifts again, knee brushing against yours beneath the blanket. Her voice cracks a little.
“And I started noticing things,” she says. "Little things. Like the first time you didn’t wait for me to text goodnight. Or when you were with someone else and you had that smile that I thought was reserved for me. Or when you stopped arguing with me about dumb shit just to keep talking."
Her voice wavers.
“And then I realized I didn’t just pick wrong. I watched the right door shut. And then I heard it lock. And that’s why I know your stupid fucking Monty Hall problem is wrong. I should’ve had another shot. Another choice. But life didn’t open a wrong door—it just took the right one away. And that’s why I know it’s just fifty-fifty. And I lost my coin toss at happiness.”
There’s a second of silence where your brain short circuits.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” you mutter.
She blinks, but it helps her to finally look at you. “Ouch?”
You sit up, tossing the blanket off like it offended you. “No, I’m serious. You think my door shut? You fucking locked it.”
She opens her mouth, but you cut her off, your pace quickening. “The fact that I stayed around all this time is proof enough that my door is still unlocked. It wasn’t up to me to reopen that door.”
“I—”
“But you had to try.”
Chaewon’s eyes flicker—not away, but deeper. Her breath hitches, and you swear it’s the first real sound she’s made in a while that didn’t have a smirk behind it. She shifts forward just slightly, only enough that her leg brushes against yours again, like she’s testing if the signal’s still green.
“You’re saying… it’s still open?”
You drag a hand through your hair, eyes rolling ceilingward before locking onto her again. “It was never fucking closed.”
Her lips part. They’re trembling now. She’s not teasing this time. “Then why—why didn’t you ever—”
“Because I’m not gonna beg,” you cut in, sharper than intended. “I’m not gonna crawl through the fucking keyhole when you slammed the door in my face.”
She flinches. Just barely. But enough.
“I didn’t need you to beg, just…” she says, softer, like she’s going over the math again in her head. “I don’t know… I—” Her voice dips, trails, then steadies. “I’m here now. I’m trying.”
You look at her. Clear as day in the middle of the night. She's curled up next to you, defensive and ashamed and stubborn all at once. Her eyes are too glossy, her hands fidgeting with the edge of the comforter like they’re looking for somewhere to hide.
And then she breathes, and her voice breaks.
“I just wanted you to want me still.”
And that? That fucking cracks something open.
You reach for her—no grand gestures, no cinematic swoop—just firm, necessary motion. You cradle her jaw, fingers sweeping her hair back, and when you speak, it’s low and final and absolutely everything you’ve been holding back.
“I never fucking stopped.”
There’s no pause this time.
No “but what if—”
No “are you sure—”
No more fucking Monty Hall.
Just her lips crashing into yours, messily, hungrily, like the apology she couldn’t say and the forgiveness you weren’t ready to offer have decided to cancel each other out with tongue.
It’s not careful. It’s not gentle.
It’s honest.
She’s on your lap again, only this time it’s not a joke. Her knees bracket your thighs and she grinds down with purpose, gasping when she feels you through your boxers. Her hands slide beneath your shirt, nails catching skin, and you curse under your breath as heat swells in your gut, undeniable and urgent.
You break the kiss, forehead against hers. “Still cold?”
Her laugh is shallow, much too distracted with making sure she can properly share in your body heat. “Yeah. Make me warm.”
“And here I was thinking you were hot enough as is.”
She smirks, and it’s real this time. Like the one you saw when you barely knew her, but knew enough already. Not a mask. Not a trap. Just her.
And she whispers, “Don’t stop this time.”
Like you could. Besides, you’re not even sure it’s only meant for you. With the way she’s tugging and removing your clothes, kissing your shoulders and pulling you tighter, it’s like she’s making up for lost time. For every second spent being careful. Your hands trace her body, taking your time to really make sure every curve and beauty mark is stuck in your mind forever.
“God,” you mumble under your breath, pressing your lips to her cheek, her neck, her shoulder, working your way down until you’re kissing the edge of a black lace bra that was almost the reason you stormed off earlier. “I can’t believe how beautiful you really are.”
Her breath hitches. “I know.”
And you’ve missed that, too. Her confidence. The way she can say things like that without irony, because she knows exactly what she’s worth—she just never thought she’d be worth it to you once more.
You kiss her through the black lace, and she shivers when you nip at the edge of her bra, as close to her nipple as you can get. She doesn’t waste any time herself flicking open the button of your jeans. You’ve always thought she needed a helping hand, both of yours pushing your pants further down. They’re not even off properly when she pauses, eyes blown wide, honing in on the tent in your boxers leaving little to imagination.
“Wow,” she says, and it’s almost weird to hear her say it without sarcasm.
“Wow?” your voice is rough, coming out in a single breath.
She nods, and her lips part as she yanks your boxers down, eyes almost dazed as she takes you in. “Wow.”
It’s a reverent look. It’s a look that suits her as long as it’s directed towards you, you think. Her fingers reach out like she’s about to wrap them around you, but she stops right before she makes contact, and the look in her eyes changes. Smug now. Knowing.
“I need a moment,” she says, and you know she’s up to no good. “You can’t just swing that in a girl's face and expect me to make it easy for you.”
A throb shoots through your cock, hips twitching without your consent. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
But she just smirks.
“Chaewon.”
“Shhh,” she says as she shuts down any and all protest, and her voice is the perfect combination of exasperating and enticing. “I’ve got my own Monty Hall problem lined up for you.”
You groan, but it’s more of a plea for mercy than a protest. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m serious,” she purrs, fingers grazing the base of your cock before pulling back again, making you hiss.
“Three doors,” she says, and the way she looks at you is obscene. “My front door, my back door, and my... ehm... mouth door?”
You’re gone. You’re fucking gone. “You are so lucky you're fucking hot.”
She keeps going, relentless. Her grin is pure mischief. “Which one have I imagined you fucking me with the most?” She rolls her hips, testing you. “Pick right, and you get to fuck it.”
“And if I guess wrong?” Your voice is rough, needy, everything you never let her hear before tonight.
Her eyes burn. “Then you eat me out first.”
It’s a rigged game and you both know it, but you play along anyway, letting her set the rules and stack the deck and deal each card. You lean forward, drag your lips up the line of her jaw. “That’s an impossible choice. You want all of them.”
She moans, a hiccup of laughter and want, and the weight of her shifts in your lap, urgent. “You wish. You only get one.”
But her hips are grinding now, a rolling, deliberate pressure that tells you exactly what her body needs. The answer is and always has been: every option, at once, and all of them leading back to you.
You palm her ass, fingers splaying underneath the lace edge, and the way she shivers tells you she wasn’t expecting you to touch her with that kind of certainty. For all her bravado and gamesmanship, this is how you win: you move first, and you don’t hesitate.
“Let’s see,” you murmur, mouth against the shell of her ear, making her gasp. “Back door—” a squeeze, a knead that pulls a little yelp from her, “—doesn’t seem like your style. At least not as a first move.”
“Don’t count me out,” she breathes, and you hear the competitive edge in her voice, the same edge that made her stay up all night just to prove you wrong about some irrelevant, beautiful, dumb thing.
You laugh, slow and low, and she shakes against you. “Mouth door,” you say, and you can’t help but grin at the way she’s already licking her lips, hungry, needing to prove something. “Obvious contender. But I think you want it right here.” Your hand finds the heat between her legs, cups her through those ridiculous panties, and her eyes go wide, her breath gone.
You wait a beat. She’s never been great at waiting, but she’s trembling now, lips parted, waiting for your verdict.
“And if I told you it’s definitely not the back door? Does your answer change?” she pants.
You consider your odds. “I think—” you start, but she interrupts.
“Actually,” she says, and the way her voice drips with satisfaction is almost enough to make you lose. “I don’t give a fuck. I want your cock. Right here.”
She grinds against you, and you can’t help but think you’re never spending another day without that feeling.
“Fuck,” you groan, because she won this round, and she knows it. “You don’t play fair.”
She bites her lip, smiling, then reaches between you, fingers wrapping around you with a perfect, firm pressure. “And that’s why you love me.”
She’s right. She’s wrong about so many fucking things, but she’s right about this.
You thrust up into her hand, and she moans, her body arching, her hair falling down her back. You reach for her hips, hooking your thumbs under the lace, and she lifts herself up, letting you pull it down, off, away. She doesn’t care where it lands; she’s already lowering herself back onto you, and you’re closing the distance, guiding your cock to her needy cunt.
“Fuck you,” you breathe, so close to her you can taste it, the subtext of admission against her skin. “I’m not saying it first. I’ll force you to.”
She rocks her hips, taking you deeper, her breath catching with a shudder. “Yeah? You think you can make me?”
You grit your teeth, the friction of her tight around you making it almost impossible to think. “I know I can.”
“Big words,” she gasps, riding you faster, harder. “Think you can back them up?”
You reach between you, your thumb finding her clit, and she cries out, her whole body shaking, her walls clenching around you. “You first,” you growl, and you can tell she’s sensitive. “Say it.”
Her eyes roll back, her lower lip caught between her teeth. You know it, you have her dead to rights, this is your win, and then—”Nuh-uh.”
You thrust up into her, relentless, and the pressure builds, mounting, and she’s so fucking tight around you, and you want her to say it, need her to say it.
She grinds down harder, her nails dragging your shoulder blades, and it’s too much. Too good. Too fucking hot. “You’re gonna say it,” you gasp, your thumb circling her clit faster. “I know you.”
“And I know you,” she pants, her head falling back as she rides you with abandon, her whole body trembling, her breath hitching with every thrust. “I know—oh fuck—you.”
You watch her face as she rocks against you, her lips parting, her eyes wide and desperate and defiant. She’s so close. So close you can feel it, the way she’s fighting it, wanting to hold out, wanting to win.
“Say it,” you growl, thrusting up into her again, harder, not easing up on her clit.
She gasps, and this has to be it. She’s trembling, tightening, drowning in ecstasy and she’s— “I’m—Fuck, I’m cumming, you fucker,” she manages to choke out, and she cums hard. Her head drops forward, no further admission, still no winner as her whole body shudders, her walls clenching around you like she’s weaponizing her orgasm against you, trying to pull the words from you.
You swear, a rough sound that’s almost a surrender, and she laughs, breathless, smug, still shaking in your lap. “You first.”
Your grip tightens on her hips, and you’re so fucking close, but you hold on, hold out, your breath ragged. “I’m not going to give up,” you groan, thrusting up into her in a wild frenzy, loud clapping of flesh colliding now strangling the room. She lets out a strangled sound, and her eyes go wide letting you know she didn’t expect this.
Didn’t expect you to only go harder, to keep fucking her through her orgasm, keep pushing her over the edge again and again and again until she might pass out. You thrust harder, deeper, and her voice breaks, her body wild against yours.
You hold on, and she holds on longer. She’s so tight, so wet, and the heat is building, and you feel her clench around you, feel her mold to your shape. Her mouth opens, and you can’t tell if she’s about to say it or if she’s too far gone, and then—
She pulls off of you. You watch, stunned, as she drops to her knees and wraps her mouth around your cock, and the sight alone is enough to make you lose it. You groan, a deep, ragged sound, and she moans around you, the vibration pushing you over the edge. Your hands tangle in her hair as you come, hot and hard, spilling ropes of cum into her mouth.
“Fuck, Chaewon,” you choke out, the last of your breath leaving your body as every drop of cum you had does the same, her lips still tight around you.
Then she pulls back, and her eyes are on you, wide and bright and triumphant. She cups a hand beneath her chin, opens her mouth, and—
“I love you,” she says, letting your cum spill out over her lips, and there’s a laugh behind it, a tremor of amusement, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Like she knows she just won all over again. She wipes her mouth, cum streaking her chin, her neck, her chest, and she looks so absurdly beautiful you can’t even be mad.
“Chaewon,” you breathe. It’s exasperation and wonder, the way you’ve said her name so many times before. “You’re fucking impossible.”
“Really?” She bats her lashes with a coy look, licking her lips like she’s savoring every last drop of the chaos she’s caused. “Aren’t you supposed to say it back?”
You grab her by the waist, pulling her back up to straddle you past your softened cock, and she giggles, squirming in your lap. “You’re such a fucking brat.”
“And you can’t get enough of it,” she teases, her smile widening,
You stare at her, chest heaving, the words settling into the spaces that were empty for so long. Then you let out a breathless, helpless laugh, pulling her face up to yours, kissing her despite all the filth she let drip out to cover her sweetness.
“Fuck you,” you say between kisses, but there’s no heat behind it, just the weight of relief and joy and everything else you’ve been holding back. “How do you win even when you lose?”
She smiles against your mouth, and you feel it in every part of you. “I guess I’m just smarter than you.”
You do. You say it like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like you’ve spent the last year waiting for your chance.
“I love you, you idiot.”
She makes a soft sound, and for a second you think she might cry, but it’s just a laugh, bright and giddy and so fucking happy. “I’m glad you do.”
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” you say as you shake your head, trying to hide the cartoonishly large smile she forced upon your face.
“And you’re stuck with me,” she says, kissing you again, her body melting into yours, all softness and satisfaction. Her voice dips, teasing, warm. “Or did you forget?”
“Never,” you murmur, and you mean it. Hell, you’d bet on it.
Her body shifts in response, her being melting into you, her skin sticky but hot against yours. “So,” she says, and it’s light and breezy like that summer day still stuck in your memory, like you’re somehow back in a familiar rhythm, but new nonetheless. “You really think you can handle me?”
You laugh, wrapping your arms around her. “I’ve been handling you for years without the benefit of getting to fuck you.”
She pinches your side, but it’s playful, and you can tell she’s trying not to smile. “Asshole.”
“Yeah,” you say, kissing her forehead. “But I’m your asshole, now.”
She nods, and that alone was worth all the suffering. Because it’s honest.
“Shit,” Chaewon breathes, your skin stuck together with dried cum, pulling loose from you. “We’re a fucking mess.”
“Yeah, well, it’s your fault for trying to be funny,” you say like you’re not covered in it too.
She shakes her head, and it’s like she’s saying it’s your fault for not being the first to say you love her. “We can’t go to bed like this,” she proclaims, trying her best not to get too much filth on her sheets. “C’mon. Shower.”
“Together?” you ask, and she just rolls her eyes like that was the stupidest fucking question you’ve ever asked.
You follow her to the bathroom, the air chilly and the tile cool underfoot. She turns on the water of her shower, letting it heat up as she looks back over at you, one eyebrow lifting like she’s pondering if she should just keep it to showering or not.
“Get in,” she says, pushing you towards the shower. “I’m not letting you sleep until you’re clean.”
She’s already stepping toward the shower when she realizes you’re still standing there. Her eyes narrow, but her lips curve. “What? You’re dawdling now?”
You shrug, and she laughs. It’s not the sound she makes when she’s trying to get under your skin, but the one you’d almost forgotten she could make. Uncomplicated. Real.
She starts taking off the only thing she still has on—her thigh high socks that were the main culprit in why you failed to pick up a girl earlier tonight. You were way too busy admiring how good Chaewon looked, and it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Don’t tell me you’re expecting me to do it for—”
You catch her hand, stop her from peeling them off. She freezes, looks at you like a deer caught in headlights.
“Let’s pretend I lost your three doors challenge,” you murmur, and you hear her breath catch. “It’d be a shame not to eat you out with how good you look in those.”
“So you were staring! I fucking knew it,” she shouts gleefully.
You don’t give it a response. You just hoist her up, and she wraps her legs around you like it’s instinct, gasping, more eager than surprised, as you let her ass meet the bathroom counter. You spread her thighs open to admire, sink to your knees in between them, and look up, getting lost in the way she looks down.
“Oh my god,” she sighs out. “Are you really—”
You don’t let her finish. You drag your tongue up her slit, and her head falls back, the sound of the shower almost drowning out her moan. Almost, but not quite.
“Fuck,” she gasps, the first of many. “Right there. Oh, right—”
You swirl your tongue around her clit, and her hips buck, her whole body trembling. She’s close already, too close, and you know you could end this in seconds, but you don’t. Not yet.
Your hand slides up her thigh, and she shudders as you press a finger against her asshole, teasing, gentle. Her breath catches, and you feel her body tense, then relax, opening for you.
“Shit,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”
You don’t stop. You don’t even slow down. You work her with your tongue and your fingers and your everything, and she’s shaking.
“Holy fuck,” she gasps, her voice breaking. “You’re—shit—you’re better at this than explaining math problems.”
You groan, a low, rough sound, and the vibration makes her shudder. “Careful, I might bite.”
She laughs, knowing you’re all bark, and her fingers tangle in your hair, not quite pulling you closer, but not allowing escape either. “Don’t stop,” she begs, and she wears it so well that ideas flood your mind. “I’m so fucking close.”
feel her body tense, tight and perfect around you. “Right there. Oh—” You curl your finger, the final bit of tension she needed to release, clenching hard, her hands in your hair, her body on fire. “Oh God, oh—”
She cums hard, her body arching, her legs closing around your head as she cries out, the sound raw and desperate and so fucking good. Your finger slips out but keep your mouth on her, not letting up until she’s shuddering, breathless, her hands tensed up tugging at you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she gasps, and you feel the last tremors of her orgasm as they ripple through her. “How did you—I can’t—” She’s lost for words, and it’s ammunition for next time you fight over something stupid.
You don’t move until she tugs at you weakly, pulling you up, and the look in her eyes is almost enough to make you drop to your knees again.
You grab her hand, pulling her toward the shower, but she doesn’t budge. Instead, she drops to her knees, fingers splayed on your thighs. “I’ll admit, you’re pretty fucking good,” she says, her eyes gleaming with challenge. Everything’s a competition with this girl. “But I’m better.”
You don’t have time to respond. Her mouth is on you, hot and wet and perfect, and you groan, your head falling back. She works you with a skill you didn’t think she had, her tongue swirling, her lips tight, and all you can do is hold on.
She pulls back, and the sudden loss makes you gasp. “Feel free to cum wherever you want,” she muses, and your mind floods with options. All too enticing.
Her pace is relentless, precise, and you feel her smile around you, a smug curve against your skin. She’s rapidly proving her point.
“Chaewon,” you groan, and you’re not sure if you’re leading into begging or commanding. “Fuck, that feels—”
She hums, a low, teasing sound, and the vibration makes you curse. Her fingers slide down, cupping your balls, and you feel yourself throb against her tongue.
You’re close, too close, and she knows it. You can tell by the way she pulls back again, her lips glistening, her eyes wild. “I’m not done with you,” she says, and you swear you might die.
“Fuck my face,” she says, and you tremble, your whole body going tight.
“Chaewon,” you gasp, but she’s already got you begging for more, her hands on your thighs, guiding you inside.
You thrust, and she takes it, takes you, her mouth so fucking good you can’t believe this is real. She moans and gags around you, and it’s a sound you’ll hear in your dreams for the rest of your life.
She looks up, her mouth full, and the sight is obscene, incredible. She’s not stopping, not giving you a second to catch your breath, just letting you use her, and it’s all too fucking much.
You’re so close, the heat building, your control slipping. You fuck her face, your hands tight in her hair, and she’s caught between you and the counter, letting you use her, letting you lose yourself.
“Oh God, Chaewon,” you groan, your thrusts erratic, desperate. “I’m gonna—”
She pulls back, and you gasp, her lips getting pressed against the tip of your dick. She strokes you, her lips swollen and wet, and—
“Do it,” she commands, tilting her head back, presenting her face and her tits and her abs and every target you could choose, her eyes pleading to cover not one but all. “Come all over me.”
That’s it. That’s fucking it. You cum hard, your whole body tensing, and she moans as your release hits her face, her lips, her cheek, her chest.
“Fuck,” you groan, and she smiles, licking her lips, and you’re so spent you almost collapse right there.
Then she’s pulling you down, kissing you, and you taste yourself on her tongue.
“At least I was worth the wait, right?” she murmurs, and you pull back just far enough to see the way she’s grinning, the way she’s looking at you like she thinks she won. If only she saw herself right now, you’re clearly the winner.
“Think I’m ready for that shower now,” you say, and you can’t help but smile back, because you’re a mess, and she’s a mess, and you came into this room specifically to be less of a mess; and you love it. You love her.
The water is still running, heating up the room, and you both stand up. She pulls you with her, and the water makes quick work of the art you just made. What a waste, but a waste you love to spend with her.
She notices your face change as the cum disappears from her visage, and chuckles lightly. “You’ll get plenty of other chances.”
You wash her and she washes you back, and it’s slow and easy and comfortable. Like you never thought it could be again. But better. No rush, no desperation. She works the shampoo into your hair, but you can’t stand to not annoy her for another second, pulling her under the spray and rinsing her off.
“Hey,” she protests, but she’s smiling, her eyes bright.
“Hey yourself,” you say, dragging your thumb across her cheek, her lips, her collarbone. “Think I like you like this.”
“Wet?” she asks, and she’s teasing, but there’s a softness behind it.
“That too. But no. Mine,” you say, and her expression shifts, her eyes going soft, her hands coming to rest on your chest.
“You know,” she says, her voice quiet, thoughtful, “That makes you equally mine.”
You tilt her chin up, kissing her, and she melts into it, into you. “I guess that means we both won today.”
She laughs, and it’s the best sound, the best feeling, the best everything. “Guess I can get used to it if it’s with you.”
Eventually you turn off the tap, and she shivers as you wrap her in a towel, pulling her close. “Bed?” you ask, and she nods, simple and easy.
She helps you dry off, and you help her, and you just can’t let each other be right now. She tugs at you, at your hand, constantly leading you, hair still wild and just damp enough to be okay going to bed with. She slips beneath the covers fully naked, but it’s too cold to worry about any of that, so you follow.
You pull her against you, or she pushes herself into you. It’s hard to tell who’s more desperate. Point is, her back is against your chest, and it fits perfectly. Like she was made for it.
“So,” she says, her voice a sleepy mumble, “are you gonna lose your shit if I say it’s fifty-fifty again?”
You groan, exasperated and affectionate, and she giggles, burying her face in your neck.
“Chaewon,” you say, and she turns just enough to look at you.
“Hmm?”
You wrap your arms around her, holding her, holding everything. “You’re fucking annoying. Never change.”
She smiles, soft and genuine, and you know this is the real win. Not the game, not the challenge, not the give and take of a thousand heated mathematical arguments—but this. Her. You. Together.
“Promise,” she whispers, and you feel her breath slow, feel her body relax, feel the unlikeliest odds settle in your favor.
You hold her tighter, and the silence this time is comfortable, a weightless, blissful quiet that lulls you both toward sleep. You barely hear her next words, but they seep into you, the last sweet, stubborn thing you need to know.
It's finally out! This was a bit hard for me to write because I had to minimize scene cuts and lessen the plot (this is literally porn what plot) but I hope you enjoy nonetheless. One more iz girl to go :')
Girls like Chaewon don’t belong here. They belong on Vogue covers, runways, stages before roaring audiences who clamor for her attention.
But it’s exactly what happens. And it changed your life for the worse.
That’s the only explanation for you meeting Chaewon at a party, because otherwise, it would be at risk of being labeled as fate—and boy, are those dangerous waters to explore.
And now, she’s ruffling her hair like nothing happened, having just taken a shot of something strong enough to get her ears red. You don’t know which; the party’s buzzing with probably each type of vice, liquor, and sin. You don’t usually attend parties for that reason. You don’t need a bad influence in your life when it’s so easy to get hooked onto the wrong thing.
Yet when your eyes find hers in this pool of bodies, you realize you’re just relapsing into an old dirty habit.
It’s written all over her easy smile, the way the fringe falls over her forehead. Chaewon turns up her chin and says, “Why don’t I know you?”
The audacity of this girl, really. Her voice is saccharine sweet. Her words sound like the lyrics to a siren’s song. You’re already six feet deep into the waters and she’s holding you down.
Yunjin rolls her eyes. She’s your best friend, but she’s also Chaewon’s best friend, which means she knows exactly how this is going to play out. It’s an old story. Chaewon does that seductress act, preying onto some poor guy, and the next thing she knows, they’re making out in the master bedroom.
“Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re already flirting with him.”
“I’m not flirting with him,” says Chaewon, but she’s not even looking at Yunjin, her hand already ending up on your forearm. “What do you take me for, Jennifer? A slut?”
Yunjin thoughtfully places her fingertip on her chin. “Well—”
Chaewon bursts into laughter and tells her to shut up. God, even her smile is gorgeous. She’s a goddess up close—not a pore or a blemish anywhere on that flawless skin. Her scent is faint and sweet, some fragrance you can’t buy for four digits anywhere. You hate that you notice it. It just makes you think how far behind you are to Chaewon. Girls like her don’t look at guys like you.
Hanni catches Yunjin’s attention, dressed in a heart-shaped little top and fairy boots, looking like a butterfly. She squeals when she sees Yunjin, and their reunion leaves you and Chaewon to yourselves. The tension between you grows thicker. It’s impossible to breathe.
“Don’t listen to her. She’s just jealous I get to have you.” She tilts her pretty head and squints thoughtfully. “What was your name again?”
You can’t believe she’s talking to you, out of everyone in this house party. But you tell her your name anyway, and you can already tell it’s something her mouth will keep to memory. She’s circling you like you’re prey.
Don’t you want to fight back? Don’t you want to puff out your chest and say you know exactly how girls like her work? You’re just standing there, trapped by that golden voice and deadly silhouette. You’re not even pretending you want her to fuck off.
“It’s a nice party,” continues Chaewon. “Kazuha did her big one with it. Invited all the rich guys, the buff ones, the hot ones…” She pauses her stroking on your flesh to finally look you in the eye. “Tell me, are you any of those? Because if not, I’m packing my stuff.”
“I—I’m sort of—”
The serious look is immediately shattered from her face with a gorgeous laugh. “I’m just messing with you,” Chaewon assures you. It’s a cruel thing to joke about but she’s so pretty that forgiveness is instant. “I’m here to take my mind off things like you are. I’m not trying to do anything.”
But you should know by now that Kim Chaewon is a liar. From the very first second, she lied to Yunjin, lied to you about just messing with you. Her hand brushes yours as she reaches for a drink. Then it’s on your arm. Then it’s under your chin as she talks her way into a bedroom.
You don’t stop her.
The yellow lamplight casts shadows over Chaewon, contouring her figure into a tiny silhouette on the wall. That tiny dress that reveals her back looks better in the dark. All you’re thinking is that this only ends one way, and how it shouldn’t because she’s trouble and you’ve already got problems without Kim Chaewon on your mind. What more are you looking to add?
She’s talking about her friends as she sits on the bed. And she’s got a lot of them—Yunjin, the girl she’s forever linked with; Kazuha, the biggest party girl with somehow the most innocent face, and; Sakura, who’s pretty much an introvert. She likes to stay home and crochet. It’s more fun that way, she had argued, and Chaewon rolled her eyes. This time though, she agreed to wait down in the lobby just in case anybody needed a designated driver.
“But if you ask me,” she says (you didn’t), “Eunchae dresses best among all of us. I think it’s the sort of Gen Z fashion the older girls can’t master. Knows how to do her makeup, don’t you think?”
You realize here that Chaewon is kind of full of herself, only masking it behind asking your opinions then building another story about herself from that. Every word is a plot device leading to her, the main character. It’s something you find in too many people. They think that everyone and everything orbits around them.
It’s actually a pet peeve of yours but you have to give it to her: Kim Chaewon has every right to be narcissistic. Pretty face, great body, a great bank account to back her vices. She’s the girl every guy wants and every girl wants to be. It’s probably a statement made about girls less attractive and magnetic than her, but you know at the end of the day, it’s a title that only becomes true when given to her. She’s a carnal desire, something you cry about when you confess it to a priest.
“I guess I wasn’t really looking at her,” you admit.
“Oh?” Chaewon sets her drink down. Her voice drops even lower. “Who were you looking at then?”
It’s a trap. It’s a fucking trap. But before you could tell her you’re leaving, Chaewon’s already kissing you.
She tastes like vodka and sin and everything you shouldn’t be indulging in. But you do anyway.
She gets on her knees like she’s done it plenty of times for you. You get an idea of how an angel would react when they get a taste of sin when she cums around your cock. Her eyes shut, her body curls around you like it’s the only thing in the world she can hold onto. She looks fucking perfect.
Girls like Chaewon give you heaven for a night then leave you forever. They leave you wanting more but never give it to you even if you get on your knees and pray.
But Chaewon obviously likes something about you. And come on—she’s no fucking angel anyway. You both can go to hell.
-
You have a place of your own, but most of your time nowadays is spent in Chaewon’s luxurious Gangnam apartment. You raise this concern to her as she does her makeup in the living room mirror. The lipgloss makes her lips look plusher, the mascara enlarging those pretty eyes. You raised concern over her vanity as well, but she dismissed it. You love it when I look pretty for you anyway.
(And you hated to say that she’s right. You love when she puts on lipstick that ends up all over your neck. You love when she wears the sexiest dresses of all so you can take them off. So you zipped your mouth shut and waited another hour for her to doll up.)
“Friends share, don’t they?” she replies. Her ass looks great in those cycling shorts. She said she’s going to the gym, but if she sticks her ass out at you one more time, she’d have to delay.
You laugh. “Even friends with benefits?”
“It’s in the name, baby. Friends with benefits. Your benefit is staying in this chic place with me, while my benefit is that cock of yours.”
At least she’s clear with the fact that she’s using you. Sure, she likes that you’re easy to talk to and that there are no strings attached. But the feeling of your cock in her is too good to let pass.
And right now, Chaewon’s eyeing you like she’s up to no good.
You know that look. “Now?”
“What, you think I’m just horny 24/7?”
Chaewon walks and talks like she’s willing to go against each word. Those toned, perfect legs stride over to you. Her voice is sultry enough to stir a heat inside of you that, ironically, only she can put out.
She adds fuel to the fire by sliding onto your lap, her favorite seat. The curve of her cheeks perfectly aim at your bulge. You groan as Chaewon starts to circle her hips around you, all while she looks back at you with a bite of her lip.
You close your hands around her waist. “Thought you were driving to the gym?”
“I could do a different type of exercise here instead.”
“The membership is like, a fortune per month, Chae.”
You’re struggling to get your words out already. Damn those stupid shorts. Chaewon’s practically humping you. The feel of fabric upon fabric and her plump flesh pressed against yours is dizzying.
“Doesn’t matter,” Chaewon says. Her breaths shorten but she doesn’t stop moving. The sports bra cups her tits that bounce with each rotation. “I can think of certain ways to pay it back.”
“And what could that be?”
She’s already giving you a hint with the hypnotizing sway of her hips.
The graze of your clothed cock against her clit makes Chaewon gasp. You haven’t even gotten inside her, nor have you taken off that bra that pushes up her bouncy chest. But the feel of her gyrating against you, knowing exactly how you like it, is enough to make you go over the edge.
Not yet.
Chaewon rises from your lap. You almost groan if not for the show she’s offering you this time. She makes a show of stretching upwards, drawing your eyes to her tight midriff, before turning her back to you. Her fingers hook around the hugging material of her shorts to hike them slowly down her thighs. That bubble butt almost pops out of the fabric.
Only a thong. No wonder the wetness soaked through.
She bends over a little as she shakes her cute little ass to you. You can see how wet she is, arousal sticking to the tiny thong snug between her cheeks. You quickly remove your pants as well because you know how this goes with Chaewon. She’s fucking insatiable. She never takes no for an answer.
And you never give no as an answer either. You’re a match made in hell.
“I was thinking…” Her knees dent the sofa beside your hips. With her palms on your chest, she works your cock, grinding her swollen clit on the head. Both of you gasp.
“That’s new.”
“God, shut up.” Chaewon’s whimpering now. “Y-you know how we fuck like animals, right?”
She sinks onto the first few inches, her walls pulsing and fluttering around you. You let out a deep sigh. The sight of your cock disappearing into Chaewon’s tight little pussy never gets old.
She warms your member for a few delicious seconds, her walls pulsating around you. Chaewon bites her lip and throws her head back.
“Kind of stating the obvious here, Chae.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” she says in that irresistibly cute voice. It doesn’t seem too cute anymore when you compare it to how she begins to ride you, her hips rolling forward as if she’s trying to feed her cunt more of your cock. “But who’s to say we can’t use it to our advantage?”
She isn’t even explaining herself yet but already it sounds like all sorts of bad ideas. Chaewon herself is a bad idea. You told yourself that at the party, but she ends up on your cock anyway.
Like right now: her clever hips snap downwards, and there’s that timeless feeling of her walls clenching around you. You lay back on the sofa and try to take deep breaths. Chaewon’s done this before, more than you could tally, but the way she fixes herself onto your cock feels new each time. You have to reacquaint yourself with how tight she actually is.
The toned line of Chaewon’s back arches beautifully. You can’t take your eyes off it. Your abs tighten up as her ass bounces on your cock.
“Let’s see: we’re both pretty fucking hot—” You laugh, the sound drowned out by a moan of your own. Chaewon bites her lip. “And we both have a pretty hard time keeping our hands off each other. Imagine the money we could make off that.”
Chaewon’s going faster now. Her strangled groans collide with the sound of her thighs slapping against yours.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” you ask, because the more Chaewon bounces on you, the more you can’t think of a reason it should be a bad idea.
Her melodic moans strike every chord. How she could even get words out from how hard she’s riding you, you’ve no idea. Chaewon is a strategist anyway. She knows how to make do. So she rises from your lap, letting each pulsing inch leave her cunt, before ramming them all back inside her.
You groan. Chaewon laughs, but in spite of it, her languid movements never stop. When she gyrates to and fro, you start thinking about how this is probably a ploy to get you to agree. Look, her body seems to talk to you, in all its little motions and curves, look how good it is to see me stuffed with your fat cock. Look how good you make me feel. Wouldn’t you want to see it all on camera?
You both know what the answer is.
Chaewon’s smirking. “I’m saying we should make a movie.” She starts rubbing her clit, and her breath hitches between her sultry words. “And god, baby, we don’t even have to have a script or anything. It could just be me and you, doing what we do best.”
Her voice gets higher. Her hips start to move faster, more frantically than you could handle. And lord knows you’re the only one who could handle Chaewon. If it weren’t for you, who was going to keep her satisfied?
“And you know the camera’s my best friend. I’d look good getting stuffed by that hard cock from any angle. Anyone can watch you fuck me, but they know they could never be as good as you. They could never own me like you do.”
This has to be illegal. It’s the way she’s egging you on, knowing exactly what to say to ruin you, combined with the orgasmic choreography of her hips that renders you defenseless against her. And what harm could be done? Chaewon looks great on camera, even greater when it immortalizes into pixels how her face looks when she cums. It could be something you’d look back at when you’re worked up and she isn’t there (although that rarely happens), or sell with a reminder taped onto the plastic case that she’s yours. They can watch her get her little pussy destroyed but ultimately, at the end of the day, your bed is where she ends up.
You hate to say it, but all in all it sounds like a pretty fucking good idea.
“Fuck, Chaewon…”
“Is that a yes?” she asks eagerly. The lethal grip of her pussy starts to feel overwhelming. “It’s a win-win situation… please, won’t you say yes? Please, please, please—”
You could never say no to her, honestly. Not when she turns to look back at you with those sparkling doll eyes, and definitely not when she’s milking you.
You watch your cum drip outside of her like a waterfall. It’s hard to take your eyes off it, but then there’s Chaewon’s face, sweaty and lost to bliss. Yeah, she would look great on camera. And you did remember thinking back then, when you first met Chaewon, that she was never the type of girl to not be captured by a camera lens. You admit that your idea was pictorials and Vogue covers, not porn videos.
But later on, after Chaewon goes for a shower again to clean your mess up and actually works out, you find yourself setting up an account. Of course, there needs to be a discussion of some kind of how far you actually want to go with this.
“Do you want to be like… a full-on pornstar?” you ask. The question makes your ears burn. It’s not something you’d ask the average person, but you’ve been through this a million times; Kim Chaewon is not an average girl.
It’s late afternoon and you’re on a videocall with her as she drives home. The gorgeous interior of the Mustang looks almost mediocre when put next to Chaewon’s gorgeous face.
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “I’m not made for Pornhub, sorry to disappoint.”
“How is that disappointing?” you ask in disbelief.
“I dunno. A lot of people wanna see me do porn, but it’s just gonna be a side hustle for me.”
Nod as you get the verification code from her email. You realize that you share everything with Chaewon. You know all her passwords and she knows yours. Your bank accounts are intertwined with each other. It’s a bad idea, seeing as there isn’t a clear definition on what’s going on between you.
But right now, you’re literally creating an account to do porn together. It can’t get worse than that.
You pick Chaewon’s prettiest photo for the avatar—one of her in that tight Diesel top with her fingers through her hair. It parallels with the small rectangle in the corner of your screen.
“It’s asking for your age,” you tell her.
Chaewon rolls her eyes, hands tightening on the wheel. “You know the names of all the positions we’ve tried but not my birthday?”
Cowgirl at Eunbi’s house as you try to be quiet, 69 at that suite after your promotion—okay fine, maybe she has a point.
“I do know your birthday. I just can’t do math.”
“You’re an idiot,” she says. There’s sweat rolling down the sides of her face. It shines on her chest and drips down the fabric of her sports bra. You can’t stop thinking of how her skin looks so good, flushed and stretched.
Do a little mental math, eyes up to the spiralling ceiling fan. “Was I still an idiot when I made you cum thrice last night?”
Chaewon’s face burns red. The memory’s still fresh in that pretty little head of hers. “Shut up. Just fix my account and I’ll call Minju to give us advice later.”
“Park Minju or—”
“Please use your head for once. Is there another Minju who’s both a friend of mine and a pornstar?”
Alright, so she’s talking about Kim Minju. Pretty face, cute voice, thighs that could crush you. The girl’s a socialite who only does all the indie films for fun—the talent fees mean nothing to her.
That’s probably why she does the whole porn thing so well. Top creator minjugato.__. earns millions a month from just a camera, her bed, and another girl. She’s fulfiled a whole niche: not too famous to get into an actual scandal, not too invisible for the common guy to recognize her from a small platform movie and think hey, I don’t mind paying for this.
You look at her slim, composed figure fixed on the edge of your own bed. “How long have you been doing this?”
Minju smiles. “Not long enough,” she says teasingly, leaning over the PC. She’s typing in a caption for your first livestream. So far she’s helped you get a fair amount of followers with a helpful promotion post.
minjugato.__.: hi all!!! any weekend plans? :3
mine is to watch my best friend ssamuwon’s new movie later tonight. maybe you should come by!! it’s pretty explicit but i don’t think that would be a problem 👀
The stats rise by the minute. Five thousand people await Chaewon’s debut to start. Everytime you look away the number seems to get higher. There’s clear demand for Chaewon, the hottest girl in Gangnam, perhaps even the whole of South Korea itself.
No need for second-guessing. Chaewon’s in your lap, wearing the tiniest tube top known to man. You’ve seen her in less clothes and without them completely but this one’s just explicit. It accentuates her waist and lets a little skin show before her black shorts—somehow even tinier—hug her hips.
It’s no wonder at all she managed to convince you to fuck her for work. They’ve said to avoid capitalizing off your hobbies, but let the record show that you won’t ever get tired of fucking Chaewon.
Minju makes a final click on your keyboard. “You’re live in five minutes. I set up a few ground rules in the corner just in case they get wild.” She fires you a wink.
Chaewon reads the box of rules sent in the chat, pinned to the top of the stream. It’s all pretty basic. No scat, no invasion of privacy, just the usual. Minju conveniently added that requests paired with high donations are prioritized. You shudder. What would the viewers make you do to Chaewon? There’s too many fantasies to pick from.
“Thanks for helping me slut myself out, Minju,” says Chaewon with a smile too sweet for what she just said.
It doesn’t faze Minju at all. She actually laughs, the crease of her eyes making her look like a sly fox. “You know what they say: you have to learn from the best.”
Oh, the best, alright: Minju’s videos speak for themselves. They’ve gotten billions of views, spread across every social media platform to the point she had to commission someone for a watermark. It’s all good publicity anyway. More people watching meant more traction and discovery of her account.
The air in your room is thick with excitement. The ringlight casts a perfect shadow over Chaewon’s body. There she is, much smaller than you while your shadow alone could overpower here.
And of course, Minju’s hourglass shape is there as well. It doesn’t look like she’s leaving anytime soon. You honestly don’t mind it.
One minute to showtime. Chaewon holds your face in her hands. She’s as flawless as the day you met: perfect skin, thick lashes, eyes that could kill. There’s an evil smile sewn on those glossed lips.
“You ready, baby?” she asks. You’ve often wondered how she does that: she could speak in her usual high, cheerful voice most of the time but when the world dissolves to nothing more than you and these sheets, it drops to this ridiculously sexy low note. She’s insane. She’s unpredictable. But she’s also the sexiest woman you know.
If you had to be honest—
“Never been more ready.”
Chaewon is actually the perfect girl for this job.
When it comes to porn, it has to be specific. Every detail should be. The average viewer looks for something that they can’t get anywhere and it’s her job to be that. When every comment’s assumption about her is different, she has to put on a multitude of faces, all to keep their interest.
And it comes as nothing to her.
anonymous_lurk_79: she’s way too cute to be on here
NumberOneMinjuLuver replied: it’s the cute ones that are the freakiest
i said the same thing about minju
The red light blinks beside the lens. So does Chaewon, getting on her knees before the camera and batting her lashes. She’s whatever they want to be.
“Hello, is this thing on?” Chaewon smiles sweetly, as if she isn’t discussing being fucked for an audience of seven thousand and counting. “It’s my first time doing this stuff. I hope you all go easy on me.”
She looks up at you then at your growing erection. She giggles. “But I hope this one here goes as hard as he likes.”
Minju giggles, too. Chaewon was a natural.
“Shall we start?” she asks. “How do you want me?”
mingmingult: she looks a lot like the girl in minjugato’s videos
whenidiethr0wmyphoneintheocean donated $****: suck his cock first like a good girl
Four digits already?
Chaewon does as she’s told. She wraps her small hand around your cock, giving it a few hypnotic strokes. Feels like your heart is beating right there in her palm, too. She could feel every hot throb of arousal.
She then wraps her luscious lips around your cock and starts to suck. She suckles on the first few inches, letting her tongue dance around the sensitive bits, before she moves on to take more. You can see her shorts ride further down her ass as she pushes her face on your cock.
You pick up the camera and generously give the viewers a POV shot. Chaewon blinks slowly at the camera, breaking the fourth wall, and sits on her heels so they could see some of her cleavage. She looks even more enticing and tight in this angle. Try to keep your breaths controlled so it doesn’t drown out the sloppy sounds of Chaewon making out with your cock.
“Such a good little slut,” you murmur. Use your other hand to grab Chaewon’s short hair. She moans happily. Her seductive chuckle vibrates and sends ripples of electricity throughout your body.
1800hotnfun donated $****
Chaewon sloppily presses more of your length down her throat. Her breaths arrive shorter. You have no idea if she’s looking at you or the camera. You get the advantage either way; the juxtaposition of those large innocent eyes and the way she’s blowing you could make any man cum in seconds.
nsfwizone donated $**
69__jonginkang donated $*****: what a fucking tease
ANTIFRAGILENTHUSIAST donated $******: need to see this pretty little whore’s mouth filled w my cum
That would answer your rent for the next few months, with money on the side to really get this gig going. Plus, Minju did say that large donation requests should be prioritized.
And if whoever this guy was wanted to see Chaewon with cum overflowing from her lips, then so be it.
Your grip on Chaewon’s hair borders on painful. You pull it back, angling her chin upwards. Film from the side and the viewers could see how your cock dents Chaewon’s throat, rapidly filling it up again and again. Her nipples are already hard. Her lips provide a tight suction, her hands on your waist an anchor for balance.
You’re really giving it to her now. Chaewon’s helpless little whimpers do things to you, and apparently to the other eight thousand viewers wishing they were in your shoes. The chat is filled with obscenities. The donations rank up higher. Everyone’s waited far too long to see Kim Chaewon get her face fucked.
If it hurts, Chaewon doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t even push you away or tap out. She lies there with her knees red and grazed, taking every shot you eventually pour into her waiting mouth. Each swift plunge makes her tits bounce in that tight top. Your cum fills her soft cheeks to the brim.
The flash makes the tears in Chaewon’s eyes sparkle. “Did you get every drop?” you ask.
Chaewon nods.
“Show me.”
She looks directly at the camera as she opens her mouth. As expected, you’re given a view of the pool of semen she kept for herself. She swallows it all obediently.
pipipi: fuck that was so hot
Bunnybaby: we have a new supreme
You look at Minju for approval. It’s tens across the board for her—she looks flushed, squirming on the chair. There’s a lazy smile on her face.
“Was I a good girl?’’ Chaewon asks. The chat responds quickly. It’s flooded with emojis, donations, and dirty remarks. “Shouldn’t I get a reward for swallowing your cum?”
What reward? There’s a million things you want to do to her. You could bend her over the bed, creampie her, then fuck her ass until her cheeks are red. The possibilities are endless.
You look at the stream for suggestions. One particularly dirty comment points out how hard Chaewon’s nipples are, poking through the tube top in need of attention.
Chaewon reads it, too. Her fingers run up the shape of her figure coyly. “Can Chaewonie touch herself, please?”
She cups her boobs, slowly placing her fingers over the soft flesh. A groan immediately leaves her used mouth. She makes sure to look at the camera when she bites her lip.
She pushes the top down until it bunches just below her perfect breasts. The fabric pushes up her tits even more, as if coaxing the spotlight to focus on them.
She starts to pinch her nipples, tweaking and pulling them like they were made to be. You can see her getting worked up already. Each roll of her fingers over the hard nubs makes her soak through her lace panties. The little sounds she makes could kill you.
“Please?” Chaewon pouts. “I’m so, sooo sensitive. Can you help me out, daddy?”
You don’t have to say anything for her to know your answer. Your job is to be silent after all. It’s Chaewon they’re paying for, not you.
You set the camera back in its place and gently push Chaewon to the mattress. You tower over her. You’re taller, bigger, stronger; and it’s even clearer when there’s the lack of proximity between the two of you. She could barely reach your shoulders. It’s the little things like that the audience looks for.
It’s the little things like that which set you off.
Chaewon looks good in any angle. She constantly proves that with her Instagram photos, where even closeups make her look like a goddess. But she looks the best when she’s underneath you, writhing for your touch.
You don’t stall more than you need to. The hot kisses on her neck are just foreplay. You attach your lips to a stiff nipple. She arches her back, but you keep her pinned to the soft cloud that is your mattress—she’s not going anywhere yet. You make sure of that by pinching the other nipple, giving both sensitive breasts equal attention.
“F-fuck…” Chaewon’s whimper is nearly inaudible. The rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic. She pushes her tits into your hand as you lick and suck. “You’re so good at that.”
You’re not selling yourself short, but these easy reactions are easily drawn from the fact that she’s sensitive. Dangerously so. The trail of your hand across her body leaves one of goosebumps. The thrill of getting her face fucked still runs high, and you discovered early on that the easiest way to make Chaewon melt was play with her tits.
You squeeze her hard enough to make her whine. But your other hand’s grown tired of kneading her breast. It’s more interested in the soaked patch of arousal in the center of Chaewon’s shorts. Her legs immediately lock around your wrist, making you finish what you started. You can’t just play with her nipples then leave her to fend for herself.
“Don’t stop,” Chaewon gasps. Your digits start to work between her legs. Her thighs tremble and her breath hitch in that particular way that drives you wild. The tight fabric of the shorts makes it difficult for you to intensify your movements, but you make do. Chaewon deserves to get fucked within an inch of her life. It’s what she so desperately wants anyway.
It shows in how she’s pushing herself up against you, tangling her fingers in your hair, hoisting her hips up so you could go deeper. The wet squelch of your fingers driving into her cunt is deafening. It makes her blush, but she’s got no reason to be ashamed. The viewers love it. They’re throwing money at her and betting on how fast she can cum.
Chaewon finally makes a mess on your fingers and screams at the top of her lungs, shaking and whining. When the bliss overtakes her features, you suddenly become sure of something:
You’re about to be the richest guy on the planet.
-
“Jesus.” Minju claps her hands together, looking very impressed. “You two are naturals.”
It’s been three days since Chaewon’s debut, but the profit you made could fit five months. Chaewon’s doll eyes go wide seeing the numbers on the screen. You’re surprised as well at the followers you got in so little time. Other creators needed months of work to get this kind of traction.
“This is insane,” you say. Hand Minju a cup of tea while Chaewon measures the damage she did on the internet. Mini tabloids are going crazy. And of course, people on your street are starting to look at her differently. They know too much about what goes on inside Chaewon’s luxury apartment, but they can’t tell the world how they found out.
Minju accepts the cup gracefully. For someone who’s been doing this for so long, she’s massively impressed by the quick success. Chaewon’s follower count will match hers in little time.
“I knew we were gonna do well, but not like this,” you tell her. “Thanks for all the help, Minju.”
Chaewon giggles. “Not that we needed any.”
“Little brat can’t even be grateful,” you say disapprovingly. Chaewon pouts, but doesn’t look regretful in the slightest.
Minju’s laugh is as charming as she is. “She’s not wrong. I don’t think getting money would be a problem, but you have to keep the hype going. You don’t want to peak so early.”
She sounds like a PR manager for all the beautifully fucked up films you’re going to make with Chaewon. You trust her word, though. This was a woman who knows what she’s talking about.
Chaewon studies her nails, painted hot pink and only long enough to scratch your back. “Maybe we could open up requests.”
“That’s a good idea,” Minju agrees. “People would pay a lot to see you live out their fantasies.” She sits back on your couch. A look of amusement crosses her face. “One time a guy paid me five hundred for feet pics.”
You raise your brows. “Feet pics?”
Minju doesn’t recognize the implication and only shrugs it off. You couldn’t believe people were actually into feet. It sounds pretty mild to Minju. She’s probably been made to do worse. “It’s easy money. He could’ve gotten videos with that amount.”
Chaewon thinks of that for a second. It doesn’t sound too bad. It would take less effort than setting up a camera and managing through violent orgasms. But she thinks she likes the latter more anyway.
She used to hear older people give her advice when she was a student. They said to make money off what she liked to do, and she’d never have to work a day in her life. She smirks. How would they react if she told them how she made her money now?
“You could paywall the more intense stuff,” Minju’s suggesting now. “Don’t ever downplay how good you’re doing. If people want to pay for it and would pay for it, let them. But don’t post too often. You want to keep them wanting more.”
“Biweekly sound fine?” Chaewon asks. Oh, she’s serious about this. You wonder how you’ll survive the next week.
“Perfect, actually.”
You butt in the conversation for a moment. “What about equipment?” Sure, you had a ringlight and a PC, but there’s nothing more. You imagine that this would take a lot of work and stuff, like a professional camera and neon lights.
Chaewon was wondering about that as well. She looks at Minju, who shakes her head, much to your surprise.
“You won’t have to worry about that. The average person isn’t going to Pornhub anymore to get off. They want something unscripted now.”
Minju’s fox eyes dart pointedly at the two of you. “They want something real,” she stresses.
Her gaze is sharp with accusation. Chaewon laughs and rests her head on your shoulder. You don’t say a word to deny it.
-
Just in case anybody clutches their pearls over it, you’ll clarify here that you still have pretty normal jobs. You’re not totally prostituting yourselves for money, although you hate to use that term and you’re not desperate for the extra income.
You work a corporate job and volunteer at your nearest charity when you have time on your hands. (Taking note of the latter is advice you have to take yourself because it seems you live off sin 24/7.) It allows you to split the rent with Chaewon and buy food.
As for Chaewon, she also works a regular job. You think? Wait, you realized that you have no idea what she does for a living. You simply assumed that with all her vices and expensive clothes, she must have a job keeping her busy somewhere.
Come to think of it, you’ve never heard her complain about work. It’s been a while since you moved in and got to know each other, but all the sticky notes about deadlines on the fridge are yours.
“Chaewon, I have something I want to ask you.”
She turns to you, her legs swinging off the seat at the bar. You gulp. All of her beautiful legs are on display thanks to that tiny brown dress. The only things that bother saving anything to the imagination are her boots.
That stitched cowboy hat too, if it counts. And it does the opposite of what it should. It makes you think of how well it matches her dress, and the way it makes her look like a cowgirl who could ride—
“Yes?” she says, still bopping her head to the music.
“Where the hell do you get all your money?”
Chaewon ponders over this for some time, then takes a sip of her margarita. “Oh, I don’t know.” Seeing the surprise on her face nearly makes her spit her drink out from laughing. “Seriously, I don’t know! I think it just shows up in my bank account. I guess our little collaboration helps, too.”
She winks at you. Your breaths shorten.
Nope. Just because she’s the hottest girl alive doesn’t mean she can lie to you. “Liar.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“What was I supposed to think, Chae?” you say as diplomatically as you can. You gesture to your surroundings. “We’re in one of the most expensive bars in Hongdae where the fucking senators’ kids create scandals. You’re wearing another designer set.”
You had a point. Chaewon shrugs off the offense she took. “My fault for assuming you’d think about anything other than me in this dress.”
She stands up and twirls around. The skirt floats around her thighs. Those safety shorts are way too tiny to be considered safe. Chaewon gets a hit out of teasing you though, grinning when the realization registers on your face.
“Don’t you want to take pics of me?” asks Chaewon with a pout. She doesn’t wait for your answer and hands you her phone. It’s the latest one, pink and sleek. “So we have content to upload later!”
While you have qualms about taking pictures of Chaewon in her ridiculously provocative outfit, she’s right. It’s been a few days since your last upload. Minju said it was important not to post too often, but too long in between posts could throw your followers off.
So here you are again, playing the role of a photographer. You snap several photos of her within minutes. Chaewon switches between poses like they’re nothing. You have one where she’s bent slightly over the bar, a finger on her lips as she looks coyly at her short skirt. There’s one in the bathroom where she looks at the mirror instead of the lens. She’s holding the cowboy hat on her head and winking.
All that skin, that shameless seductiveness… it feels like you’re getting drunk off of these sexy photos instead of the alcohol. Chaewon is too hot for you to handle.
You return to your private booth to upload them. What would she do without you? You’re her fuckbuddy, best friend, and social media manager all at the same time.
anyone know where i can find a ride? ❣️🤠
It’s difficult to think of a good caption. Choosing which photos to post is ruining you. Not to mention the filtering to bring out the brown of her eyes and the sunlight. It makes you stall. You have to keep staring. You have to take note of every detail, every delicious curve of her body. Images of Chaewon posing, winking, and showing off are burned forever into your mind.
Your hands shake as you hit post. Turn your phone off. Focus on having a good time and dancing and singing and whatever you do, do not take another look at those pictures.
“Oh, you poor thing.”
Oh no.
Chaewon sounds smug as ever as she takes a seat on your lap. “Hard already? We aren’t even in the bedroom.”
You don’t need this right now. Getting an erection could not come at a more inconvenient time. You can’t say anything provided that you can’t even meet her eyes.
“Don’t worry,” she purrs. “I’m gonna take care of that.”
There’s a hunger in Chaewon that needs to be satiated today. You can see the fire in her eyes as she pulls you out and wraps a fist around your stiff cock. The sight of her small, dainty hand compared to your shaft is provocative by itself. Those large, deceptively innocent eyes stay on yours while she drags her delicious touch up and down, preparing you for her.
“Been needing you so bad lately…”
Chaewon lifts her hips slightly. She allows your cock to rub between her slick folds, teasing at her entrance but never quite giving her what she needs. Her breath hitches when you hit her clit.
“Promise to fill me all the way up,” she whines. “Don’t leave a single drop.”
You wouldn’t dare. There hasn’t been any penetration yet the wetness of her puffy lips feels like heaven. In your hands, her core works her waist into circles. More precum ends up grinding and mixing between your sexes.
Chaewon whimpers. “Promise me.”
“Fuck, gonna fill this pussy up, Chaewon.” Her nipples poke through the thin bikini. Her grinding grows more desperate as you groan out your obscene promise. “Gonna breed this perfect pussy. Just ride my cock like the pretty little fuckdoll you are.”
She can’t take it anymore. Chaewon slams herself down on your cock in one go.
The stretch hurts so good. Her head throws back with a breathy moan. Her soft walls immediately hold onto you, throbbing and needy.
The music is a dull thump through the walls. You could feel the bass in your heart time with Chaewon’s bouncing. Her back is against the door.
“There,” she gasps. “Right there, don’t stop…”
Her eyes are dim with pleasure. You bring a hand up to pinch and roll her nipple, circling the taut peak with your thumb. Immediately Chaewon’s internal muscles clench around you like a vise.
Her hips start to lift and dance in a little choreography of an impending orgasm. You hold her down, pinning her to your lap while you thrust up in her. The tightness becomes harder to push past through. She’s so tense that you have to rub your thumb against her clit to get her to relax.
Your eyes meet. Jesus, she was a sight for sore eyes. The toasty, sunkissed color of her makeup makes her look like she’s blushing. The two of you are flushed either way. There’s forbidden excitement in knowing one of the servers could walk in here at any moment and see Chaewon riding you harshly. You shouldn’t be doing this here. There were important people who could raise this complaint to the higher-ups and get you banned forever.
You can stop the bullshit. When has hesitation saved you from getting in trouble? When has anything convinced you not to fuck Kim Chaewon?
-
You didn’t even mean to execute this request so well.
It just so happens that this is how a day in your life looks like with Kim Chaewon. While they pay to place themselves in your shoes and see it happen, you’re the one who actually gets to touch her.
A guy who went by the username hanyoooojin sent a large amount of money the moment Chaewon announced requests. Unlike the other ones who filled up the rest of the slots, he didn’t want anything overly specific.
Netflix and chill anyone? 😉
That was the caption you set for the video. It’s something enticing even with its simplicity, and come on, people would watch anything if it had Chaewon in it.
The camera records everything. It starts out with Chaewon dressed in your shirt. It’s way too big on her, and if the fabric were any more see-through, it would be clear she only had a bra on. She’s lying next to you on your bed as a movie plays on your TV.
The volume is low, almost to complete silence. It’s only static background noise to what’s going to happen.
Chaewon snuggles against you. Her body is already warm. But she does a good job of acting like she’s interested in the movie. She called it boring a million times before, and you remain convinced it was an attention span issue.
“I fucking hate when movies are slow,” she had said. She rolled her eyes. “What’s the point of making me wait thirty minutes for something exciting to happen?”
“Sounds a lot like you to hate taking things slow,” you replied easily, earning you a punch in the shoulder.
Maybe that’s why her hand slips under the blanket a little too early. You’re supposed to be a sweet domestic couple. It’s just a role you have to play for cash to come in. Chaewon’s the sweet girlfriend and you’re the boyfriend who still wants to hang out with her even when you’re exhausted. You watch a movie together, as requested, pretending you have no idea of what she’s about to do.
Her creamy thighs folded against each other hide her wetness. Chaewon’s become a master at angles. She knows to lift the blanket a little above your thighs so the camera captures her hand in your shorts.
You look down at what she’s doing and laugh. “Thought you wanted to watch a movie,” you say.
Her lazy strokes work you to full mast. You remind yourself that this was supposed to be unhurried, but there was no delaying gratification around Chaewon.
Chaewon takes her eyes briefly off the screen to smile at you. “I do.” Her voice is soft and unfazed. She looks adorable in those puppy pajamas. It really sells the fantasy. “But I can do two things at once, can’t I?”
Her thumb circles your tip with maddening precision. Chaewon kisses you with the same gentleness she uses to jack you off. You can tell she’s struggling not to pounce on you. This isn’t the kind of sex she was used to. Sex for Chaewon was trading orgasms until one of you confessed you ran short.
For this one, she has to keep herself sane. She has to be tender with it. She takes your hand, squeezes it in hers, and places it right where she needs you. The tiny pajama shorts allow easy access to her cunt.
“Just keep watching,” she whispers.
The hair at the back of your neck stands up. Your lips find Chaewon’s again. You run your fingers up and down her slick folds while she jerks you off. Aside from a few heavy breaths and twitches of her tight body, she doesn’t take her eyes off the movie. She’s equal parts engrossed by it and focused on getting you off.
Chaewon’s voice runs into a whine as you go faster. Her thighs start to get messy with her own arousal. It’s taking everything in her not to strip off this shirt and ride you. She can do that later, something even the audience can’t pay to see.
Even though you’re needy and throbbing in the soft grip of her fist, you smirk. “What’s the matter, baby? I thought you said we should focus on the movie.”
Chaewon is still intent on keeping up the pretense. But it’s clear she wants this, too, the handjob no longer the unhurried routine she initiated.
You thrust your fingers against that sweet spot she’s been aching for you to reach. Chaewon’s body curls around you tightly. Her fingernails find purchase scratching on your forearm.
She can’t do this any longer. You’re the only actor she can watch now. Her gaze seals onto yours as her movements grow more frantic, like she’s willing you to do the same. You have one common goal here, really. It’s evident from the precum leaking onto her wrist, her cunt pulsing around your digits. This could only end one way.
That’s one of the many requests you and Chaewon fulfill. Besides the need for real stamina, especially for longer videos, it’s actually not that taxing. It’s no construction job anyway, but fucking Chaewon comes easily to you. It takes no work at all when it’s as natural as improv.
Over the weeks, you get people tipping generously just for photos, and you remember what Minju said about them. People paid a lot to see a pretty girl naked and doing whatever they wanted.
“It’s up to you if you want to do them,” you remind Chaewon. It’s one of those lazy afternoons where you’d rather bask in the airconditioning than do anything productive. While you’re fully conscious, your body’s still in sleep mode, draped in the duvet and Chaewon’s form.
Chaewon rolls her eyes. You don’t really see it since she’s clicking away at her phone, but you know her so well that it’s like watching a movie you got a first look at unfold. “Look at you getting all mushy. I told you I don’t break easily.”
You know that, too. You’ve folded her in half and split her legs apart so many times, but you learned not to let her small stature fool you. In no makeup and just an oversized shirt and shorts, Chaewon’s the most antifragile person you know.
You wave a hand in the air. “Of course you won’t break down. You’re the most dick-addicted girl in the world.” Chaewon snorts at that. “But we’re doing homemade porn for a reason. This isn’t a corporate or something. You don’t have to do every request there is.”
Chaewon sees where this is leading up to. She shuts her phone and shifts on the bed, the ocean blue sheets rustling above her. Her arms rest on your stomach.
She tilts her head to the side like a puppy. There’s an amused smile on her face.
“First of all, you should stop worrying so much,” she tells you. The faux sternness in her tone shouldn’t be this cute. “And second of all, nobody’s making me do anything I don’t want to do. I’m a big girl, you don’t have to worry about me.”
Right. It should be common sense already. Chaewon’s always done things of her own accord. She’s not the malleable type of girl who takes no trouble to convince. It’s honestly one of the traits you admire about her outside of the bedroom. Maybe, if you had Chaewon’s heart of steel or one-track mind, you wouldn’t have let her fuck you at that party. You wouldn’t be in this bed with her.
But god, were you glad you’re here.
You lose yourself in these thoughts for barely five seconds and she’s already suddenly too close. One wrong move and you’d end up kissing her. There’s that warmth again, radiating from her body in what you figured to identify as a sign. You get one too many good omens from Chaewon.
“And you know what I really, really want to do?” she asks breathily. Every word is a sultry huff against your lips.
Very few could stand a chance against her. You think it’s why she likes you so much and keeps you around, regardless if she’d admit it. You’re the only guy who could look her in the eye like you are right now and reply, “Do I even have to guess?”
It doesn’t take long for it to happen. These spontaneous sessions are becoming a bad habit. But how can you help yourself when Chaewon looks like that? You’ve no defense against those lithe legs and tight midriff, much less against that even tighter pussy.
It just so happens all this looks great on camera.
You close the gap between you until it feels like your bodies are bonded together. They’re impossible to break apart. You have one hand closed around Chaewon’s wrists, the other on her hip. The pillow muffles her screams as you thrust into her mindlessly. Her ass is sore and red.
“God, all that talk was for nothing, wasn’t it?” It’s always worth it in the end. You completely own her. Her pussy was just made for your cock, clinging wetly onto your girth and doing so even tighter when you back it out. “You just wanted to rile me up so I can show you you’re my good little slut, taking my dick like you were born to do.”
Chaewon’s crying out, messy little sounds tumbling out of her drooling lips. The pillowcase bears her weight and those tears of bliss. The truth is she wouldn’t trade this for anything else. She could spend all her life on the end of your length, whining her tiny waist into your palms and her ass perked and ready for you. She wouldn’t know what to do without hearing the sound of your skin snapping against hers.
“Feels so—fucking—good!” Chaewon sobs into the pillow. Senseless words are all you could fuck out of her. She can’t think much when you have your dizzying grip on her wrists like that or when you’re completely destroying her tight hole. “I’m just your personal cumdump, I’m all yours, you’re going so fucking fast—”
She’s absolutely dripping around you. Her body responds to you so well because this is exactly how she likes being fucked. She likes being fucked as if you’re trying to get her cunt to memorize the shape of your member. Not one spot on her body is left untouched. Her pussy tightens dangerously when you drive up into her cunt and those messy moans could be heard even with the fabric against her mouth.
And it’s incredible without all the lighting and ignoring the camera blinking next to you. You’ve got a great view: Chaewon bent over and her ass up on the bed, the hourglass shape of her waist to her hips even more appealing from this angle, and her toned back shining with sweat. Her tits swing back and forth in response to the force you’re taking out on her. It could make any man go crazy.
You should’ve known to put towels on the bed, because the ending’s always the same when Chaewon feels the entirety of your control, when she’s being fed every thick inch of your cock, being handled like she’s nothing but a doll to release into—
“Oh my god!” Chaewon cries out, the lightning before the thunder, the thunder before the storm. Her scream is equal parts bliss and awe—she’s shaking all over, and the swift deep drills of your cock draw out her squirt.
Neither of you expect it. The sharp sound of it makes you slow down. She hasn’t stopped pushing her ass into you. The puddle gets on your thighs and hers, splattering on the sheets. You feel suspended in mid-air staring at the mess she’s making. It feels even more surreal knowing you did it to her.
Chaewon collapses forward, her cheek against the softness of the pillow. It’s ridiculous how good she looks in spite of the messy hair and kiss-swollen lips. Always the temptress. The camera shines light on her exhausted, satisfied simper.
And of course, there’s the evidence that will prove this happened. It will back you up even if Chaewon randomly decides not to post this video on the internet or worse, call everything off. The fresh mess she left on the blanket—the same one you had just been cuddling in a few hours earlier—is all the proof you’ll need.
Chaewon laughs breathlessly. She arches her back beautifully as she pulls away from your cock. It’s the perfect ending scene.
-
All entertainment industries are parallel to each other in a way. You could work in film (legitimate films, by the way—not whatever you and Chaewon are making), music, or K-pop but what they don’t tell you is they all work the same. They manufacture and process things that appeal to the consumer. You could play the usual tropes, tunes, or concepts. Go down the loveteam road or make another generative pop song. If you’re brave enough, you can search for a niche and make it your brand.
You can do anything—release an Oscar-winning film or write a critically acclaimed album, pick your poison. It all boils down to one thing everyone is looking for anyway:
A big break.
It will solidify your place in the industry and make sure you stay there, and if not, it makes sure you get a higher spot. A big break would earn you a loyal amount of followers and more money in your pocket. Very few get their big break. Some, although deserving, don’t get theirs at all.
In Chaewon’s situation, her big break was that video. Everyone’s talking about it and everyone’s absolutely obsessed with it. You see it posted in places you don’t expect seeing it: Instagram group chats, the NSFW side of Twitter, and the first Google result that pops up when you search Chaewon’s name. It’s gotten so much traction that you start putting a watermark of her username over the videos, along with a link to her social media profiles should they ever get crossposted again.
It’s an overnight success. You grin when you see Minju’s messages, supportive as always.
minjugato.__.:
Hi chaewon <3 you’re a star!!!! so proud of you for doing well on your own
i always knew you could do it
if you ever wanna collab w me, hmu! i’ve got a great idea thats going to break the internet
lmk if you’re up for it. for old times’ sake, right? ;)
There’s a message in a bottle, and it has your name on it. You could probably open it if you tried. You weren’t the one that hid it, all you did was find it.
Now, you could break it. Burn it. Get rid of the whole thing altogether. But you can’t bring yourself to read it.
For now, you just leave it where it is.
—
Early June, and summer is off to a head start. The sun is beating down on you relentlessly. Chaeryeong doesn’t seem to notice, skipping ahead like the earth isn’t turning fast enough for her.
“Can you slow down? It’s way too hot for you to be this energetic right now,” you call out in a failed attempt to keep her near you.
“Absolutely not. Can you speed up, instead?” she retorts, and you can’t blame her. Turning twenty-one and no longer having to sneak around to get drunk is a big milestone, after all. Nothing past your first sip the day you celebrated your birthday made it into the permanent memory bank.
Go figure she’s brimming with the same kind of anticipation, the kind that makes her shine. Blonde hair swaying in the wind like rays of the sun itself as she turns to look at you with mock anger. You. The one who promised to treat her to a drink of choice, after all.
“If I die of heatstroke, I can’t buy you anything,” you grunt.
“I could just take your wallet off of your body if you die.”
She’s always been like this. Sharp, faster and more deadly with a comeback than you could ever be—when she’s paying attention. Relentless in her teasing, and most certainly one of those weirdos that has ragebaiting as their lovelanguage.
By the time you reach the liquor store, you’re drenched in sweat. But that’s just you. Chaeryeong—unlike you—looks pristine, like she’s made out of porcelain, like sweating is below her, but still chooses to wrap her arms around one of yours like she doesn’t care about any of those observations, she’s just happy to usher you inside.
“So, what are we looking for?” you ask as you browse the seemingly endless shelves. Chaeryeong is scanning each shelf, her pace significantly slower, like she’s in no rush to decide. A joke is begging to burst out of you, but you keep it locked up, lest you speed up her process and waste precious, air-controlled minutes inside.
She hums as her eyes scan up and down, thinking it over until she brings you up to speed. “Iunno,” is all she gives, though.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” you ask, kind of incredulously.
“I don’t know. What? Can’t a girl pick her first drink based on vibes?” she asks back.
“I don’t know. I guess? I knew what I wanted my first drink to be long before I got to it.”
She stops walking, holding you in place with her as she turns her gaze away from the endless bottles towards you. “Really? What did you get, again?”
“Whiskey,” you answer with a misguided sense of pride, like it’s supposed to be a cool answer. “You know, like, a real man’s drink.”
She just stares at you, one corner of her lip curling upwards into a smirk, and she doesn’t need to waste any words on mocking you.
“I just figured I would find a nice bottle of something screaming at me,” she teases, poking you in the side with a finger, the rest of her hand still wrapped around your arm. “And if it’s expensive, that’s your problem.”
“Your plan is to let the bottle choose you?” you question, again.
“Worked out fine with you.”
That gets you. A chuckle escapes you, and she looks up at you, proud of herself. Worst part is that she’s completely right. She gave you shit for weeks for how long you waited to ask her out.
“Brat,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
She adjusts the black bow tied into her hair like she’s checking to see if you didn’t boorishly ruin her pristine sense of style, shrugs her shoulders when she’s satisfied with its current fit and smiles up at you. The intent is all too clear. She gracefully accepts your admission of defeat.
Finding something that suits Chaeryeong's taste might prove impossible. She’s got high standards for her likes to clear. Nothing really seemed to strike a chord with her, that is, until you reached the wine department.
“Oh. My. God. That is the one,” Chaeryeong exclaims with glee, rushing towards a black and pink bottle of rosé champagne, adorned with pink, red and lilac ribbons etched into the glass. She grabs it off the shelf, carefully turns to you and holds it up for you to inspect. “Isn’t it so fucking cute?”
It’s just north of a hundred dollars, a lot more expensive than the cheap forty dollar whiskey you celebrated your coming of age ceremony with, but that thought gets shoved down the moment you see the joy on her face.
“It suits you,” you say as you take the bottle in your hands.
“You think?” she questions back, and you just nod to answer.
Bottle in one hand, her hand in the other, you head towards the register, making good on your promise. A fine bottle of champagne for an even finer girl. She kisses you on the cheek the moment the cashier hands you back the bottle.
—
There’s an empty black and pink bottle of rosé champagne, adorned with pink, red and lilac ribbons etched into the glass. Inside, there’s a piece of paper, rolled up, and it would only make sense to have your name on it.
Chaeryeong must have left it for you to find.
Three years have you had it like this. Three years since she vanished from your life—and, as far as you can tell, hers as well.
Three years since you’ve worked together on turning that bottle from full to empty.
Looking at it makes the taste linger on your tongue.
—
"It's so fucking good," Chaeryeong practically moans. "It tastes like the world's most expensive cherry is making love to fizzy grapes on a bed of flowers, somehow?"
The shade of her favorite red lipstick paints the edge of her paper cup—courtesy of the room and wildly unfit for the quality of the drink—and she hands it to you. There’s still some champagne left at the bottom. You press your lips to the edge, already tasting a small hint of cherry from where Chaeryeong’s lips left a stain, and finally take a sip.
The fizz tickles your nose, teasing floral notes, a sharp contrast to your first drink, which could only be described as sandpaper fucking mudwater on a bed of burnt wood.
“Well?” she asks, tilting her head. She’s already claimed the center of the bed, lounging back on her elbows with a light grace that makes the room feel classier than it has any right to. “Did I pick the perfect drink or what?”
“It’s alright,” you lie, obviously, even though you’re already making a mental note to buy this exact bottle for every future celebration. You take another sip, finishing the paper cup, crinkle it in your fist and throw it in the trash can.
“Liar,” she chirps, kicking out a leg. Her foot, encased in a soft, ivory-colored wool thigh-high sock, pokes you right in the chest. “You can’t try to act nonchalant while also going for a second sip.”
You catch her ankle, the fabric soft and surprisingly warm against your palm. You don't let go. She doesn’t want you to, either. It’s obvious in the way her pupils are as big as they’re allowed to be, unwaveringly fixated on you. Every inch your hand slides up her leg causes another twitch in her calves.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. She's known ever since she wore this exact pair for the first time and you both lost your virginities. She wore these specifically because she fucking knows they turn your brain into mush, that seeing the little stretch of skin on her thigh between where the sock ends and her miniskirt begins makes you simply obsessed.
“You’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter without making eye contact, gaze fixed at her legs. Throw her a smirk, and pull her closer to the edge of the bed.
She’s won, celebrating her birthday with all the right beats. She hooks one of those wool-clad legs over your shoulder, the texture dragging against your neck, pulling you closer into her, into the mattress she reigns over.
“You’re so pathetic when I’m wearing these,” she whispers. Her tongue pushes through her lips, wets them, and leaves her mouth just slightly agape long enough for you to nearly close the distance. Those cherry covered lips should be on you, but instead they continue to taunt. “I wore them in a heatwave just to—” she huffs, smiling when your grip tightens, “—see you look at me like this. Like a dog waiting for permission to eat.”
“You’re a brat, you know that?” you growl, but you’re already leaning in, your hands sliding up the back of those socks to the soft, squeezed skin of her upper thighs. “A horny, attention-seeking brat.”
“I’m your princess,” she corrects, her eyes beaming with contradictory hunger. She reaches down, her fingers brushing against your knuckles before she pushes your hands away so she can take over. “And princesses get what they want. Right now, I want to see how much of a mess I’ve made you.”
A sly smile plays on your lips as you slide her leg off of your shoulder, and steal the bottle of champagne out of her other hand, taking control of the pace.
“Not so fast, princess. I’ve paid for three hours off this room, we can take our time,” you retort in a competitive growl. She watches you with wide, surprised eyes as you take a long, deliberate swig, letting fruits dance on your tongue. Swallowing would be a waste now.
No. You reach out and snag the black bow in her hair alongside some of her silken strands, and grab a nice fistful.
With a firm tug on it, just enough to jerk her head back, you force her gaze off of your straining bulge and onto your face. Her mouth falls open in a small gasp of shock, corners of her lips going up into a defiant smile. The distance between you two melts away with reverent intention until you press your lips against hers. You let the sparkling liquid seep into her mouth, sweet and fizzy flooding her mouth and catching her off-guard.
She scrambles for purchase on your shoulders, tongue mixing with yours as she takes all you can give, letting out a muffled and desperate sound as she swallows the mouthful you’ve gifted her.
“There,” you mutter as your lips part, your thumb swiping a stray drop of rosé from her chin. “Happy birthday. Now we can be a mess together.”
“I’m going to cry if you don’t take your pants off soon,” she moans as drops of champagne that you couldn’t quite get into her mouth spill down her chin. No time is wasted licking them up from collarbone to jaw. “I’m making you buy a new bottle and doing this every birthday I have from now on.”
That earns her a muffled laugh against her skin.
“Every birthday?”
“Every single one,” she answers without a drop of hesitation. “Even yours.”
—
There’s an empty bottle that still faintly smells of cherry, grapes and spring flowers.
It’s also the last bottle you bought her.
The note inside is still there. It’s impossible not to think about, and what it has to say, why it has your name on it.
If you open it, the memory of that June afternoon finally breaks. The memory of the wool against your skin and the cherry on your tongue will have to face whatever reality she wrote down.
For now, you just leave it where it is. Because as long as the bottle is sealed, she’s still in that love hotel room, smiling up at you, waiting for her next drink.
Despite all that, you still had to learn how to live without her.
You’re not good at it.
Not when you’re losing her over and over again. See, the thing about a person vanishing from your life without an explanation—or, in your case, an explanation you don’t think you can deal with—is that it’s not a one time thing.
Sure, you lost Chaeryeong the morning she didn’t come back to your place. Then, you lost her again the first time you saw a funny video and wanted to share it with her. Again when you found a strand of her dyed blonde hair on your winter coat.
You’ve been constantly losing her in small increments. Three years of small losses, compounding interest, your mind begging you to keep her memory intact.
It’s not as oppressive during the day. It’s the nights that are the most silent. It makes sense, those were your favorite times as a couple. You still can’t bring yourself to sit in her spot on the couch.
So, nights require distractions now. Hobbies that don’t stick, endless scrolling of short-form content to beat your brain to death with, midnight snack and alcohol runs.
Tonight isn’t one of the worst nights. Tonight is just a Tuesday in late May, and you need milk for your coffee tomorrow morning, and the only convenience store still open is a 7-Eleven on a forty minute walk away. The distance doesn’t bother you, it fills time that way. Earbuds in, a nice long walk, and check out a undoubtedly similar store to all of their other locations, but it keeps you occupied all the same.
Meditation, you call it. Obsession is what your friends call it. The way you spend every moment you’re not occupied thinking about what you’d say to her. It’s all painted on the inside of your skull, flashing before you the moment you close your eyes.
The way you wouldn’t give an inch. Ask her to explain herself. The way you’d hold yourself when you asked it, having practiced the exact beats for “where did you go” and “did it ever occur to you how I felt.”
But most importantly, you practiced not letting her know that all she had to do was ask and you’d forgive her like nothing happened.
You’re so lost in it again you almost miss her entirely.
She’s crouched at the bottom shelf of the snack aisle, picking out different cans of pringles, examining them and putting them back one by one. Her hair is black now, shielding her line of sight from you. Her lips peek through, a similar shade of midnight, not something you’ve ever seen her entertain.
You have about ten seconds to walk away and she would never know. You stand there, three years of questions disappearing in the span of two seconds.
She shifts her weight, the hem of her coat rides up, and you see the nail in your coffin.
Black lace. Same strip of skin at the top of her thigh. A floral pattern engraved. Three years clearly not enough to erase a decade of habits.
“You trying to find a snack that’s just screaming at you?”
She freezes.
Her head turns slowly, eyes finally meeting yours, trembling in place like she’s seen a ghost.
“Oh,” she breathes. Her fingers clench and then unclench around the canned snack. “It’s—hi.”
“Hey,” you respond, arms now crossed. Just like that, three years of questions, righteous anger and rehearsed confrontations evaporate into stale air.
“I didn't—" she starts, then stops to fidget with the hem of her coat. It’s a nervous habit of hers, once she’s had since she was little. You instantly pick up on it like you’d stumbled over a tripwire you’d laid for yourself years ago. “You shop here now?”
“No, I don’t,” you respond curtly. She can’t meet your eyes when you say it. “But the one we used to shop at is being renovated. And I needed some milk for my coffee tomorrow morning.”
She nods, gaze flickering between your face and the floor. “That makes sense.”
None of this makes sense if you think about it. Has she always been here? Just out of reach, less than an hour walking from your normal life? Just—what? Living her life without you?
It only raises more questions you never rehearsed. Also stretches a silence between you, filled only with the humming of refrigerators and flickering of fluorescent lights. All you manage to do is blurt out something mundane.
“You stopped dyeing your hair.”
Her hand reflexively touches the ends off her hair draped over her shoulder. “Yeah. Do you, ehm, you like it?”
Any color Chaeryeong has ever had has instantly become your favorite color, only occasionally dethroned by the shade of her lipstick. Telling her was never a problem when you were still intertwined, but what if this is just temporary? A stroke of misfortune for her, a blip on the radar, and all you’d accomplish was making her uncomfortable.
“Yeah,” is most you can start with. “I like it.”
The black color of her lips contrasting against her pale skin helps you spot the faintest of smiles, disappearing as fast as it came.
She shifts her weight around and looks down at the can in her hand like she’s forgotten why she’s even picked it up. It couldn’t be more clear, whatever brought her here tonight did not account for seeing you again.
You both go through the motions, asking how you’ve been, and you lie that you’ve been good. Maybe her “I’m doing okay,” the truth, maybe it's a lie, and both would sting just the same. Where you’re working now, if you still live in the same place, and how nothing has changed and you’re practically been frozen in time since she left.
It’s not the same for her, obviously. She looks like you could never have even begun to imagine her.
She shifts again, her coat follows the movement, and you just can’t help but catch another glimpse of those fucking black lace stockings. Some things never change. Stop yourself from wondering why that detail hasn’t. If you do, you might get a lump in your throat so big no more words could come out.
Thankfully, she breaks the mold. “Um,” she starts, then stops. Takes a breath, and her shoulders stiffen up. “Can I ask you something stupid?”
“Sure,” you answer, impossibly bracing yourself.
“Do you remember that champagne bottle we shared on my birthday?”
Of course you remember. The champagne bottle with a message in it. But she’s not asking about the message, the note.
“The rosé one? Yeah, what about it?”
She takes a deep breath, meeting your eyes properly for the first time, brow knitted together. “I was just wondering if you still had it. I liked the way it tasted.”
“I’m not sure,” you lie. “Maybe? I could check when I’m home.”
There’s something you can’t quite make out playing across her face, not with everything new about it. Is it relief? Disappointment? It’s gone before she nods again.
“No, that’s okay. You don’t have to go through the trouble,” she assures you.
You nod. There isn't much else you know to do.
“Yeah,” you say, even though there’s nothing to agree with. “If you say so.”
The silence that follows is different this time. It’s about as obvious as the void in your chest when you look at her. There’s no awkwardness or sensitivity to it. It’s merely there to kill a story.
She swaps the can from one hand to the other, forcing her focus to change, to do anything to not drown. “I should probably, y’know,” she gestures the can towards the register. “Pay for this.”
“Right,” you answer. “Yeah.”
You stand there frozen, unmoving, freezing her with you.
For a second, it’s almost like one of you is supposed to say something else. Like you’re missing the pop-up for another dialogue option, like there’s a version of this reunion that ends with you and her in each other's arms but you just can’t see the bridge that connects the now to that.
And it fades, gone as soon as it arrives, draining through your fingers like water.
She nods to herself, more than to you, and steps around you. Not too close. Not too far either. Just, around you.
Her scent gets trapped in your nose.
It’s hard to snap out of the scene, and you linger longer than you can respect yourself for. Just staring at the spot she just was now isn’t, before reluctantly moving on to what you came for.
Milk.
Stupid fucking milk, that you just grab any carton of, whichever comes first, and just rush with towards the register in the most delusional hope of catching up to her.
By the time you reach the register, she’s already left the store.
It’s when you step outside she surprises you again.
Chaeryeong hasn’t left.
She’s standing just past the automatic doors, under a particularly strong lamp, scanning the horizon. She looks at you the moment the doors hiss shut.
“Found your milk?” she asks, squeezing together her lips.
“Yep,” you blurt out without much thought spent on what to say next. She fills in the void pretty quickly.
“Which way are you headed?”
“Same as always.”
She nods slowly. Clicks her tongue, her eyes dart up and down, hoping you figure something out without having to spell it out for you. She speaks when you don’t.
“It’s really late,” she says, and the tone of her voice is the same one she used when she really wanted you to get up from the couch and go grab her a snack.
“Is your new place far from here?” you ask, and you pray you don’t come off as a creep.
“It’s not super far,” she answers in the same tone.
You sigh. “Will you make it home safe?”
“I’d feel safer if you walked me.”
You agree like you’ve always agreed to anything Chaeryeong asked of you. Old habits dying hard, or maybe it’s you forcing them alive despite the weathering of time. It’s all the same in the end, a simple excuse to talk some more to her.
“Which way are we headed?” you ask.
She tilts her head left, and you fall in beside her.
For the first couple of hundred meters, nobody says anything that made it into your practiced conversations. It used to be so easy and comfortable to be in silence together, and now it feels like you’re both asking permission for just that. Some light conversation does happen. Chaeryeong asks if you’re still working the same job, which you are. You ask the same, which she obviously isn’t, you’d have found her. She works in childcare now, and you tell her it suits her.
It takes a while for the first thing you can latch on to surfaces. Chaeryeong asking if you still have the same phone number. She asks it carefully too, like she’s bracing herself for a lie from you.
“Yeah,” is all you say.
She slows down half a step, grabbing her phone from her coat pocket. She fiddles with it, and you feel your phone buzz as she stashes her away again.
“Now you have mine,” she smiles, and skips once or twice to catch up to you.
You don’t grab your phone to read what she sent, trusting it’s not as important as just making sure you have her number. You’d rather be here, on this street, in this fragile thing, hoping she tells you she made a mistake and wants you back.
She notices. It’s obvious in the way she looks at the pocket you’ve kept your phone in since you were fifteen for a second longer than necessary, and then back at the road ahead. There’s no figuring out Chaeryeong when she has an idea or what that entailed, but it was never a secret from you whenever she had one.
That’s when the conversation starts to move. It almost tricks you, moving the way it used to, simple thoughts flowing from one into another.
But it’s not the same.
It flows the way a river flows when a natural catastrophe has changed the lay of the land, quietly rerouting, touching different banks.
You can feel yourself swim against the current, trying to close the distance with a reference only she would get—something about how she’d totally zone out any time you started talking about your day—and she smiles, she gets it, she even picks it up and runs with it for a sentence or two. But then it trails off. Lands somewhere just shy of where it would have, three years ago. Where she would have grabbed your arm, leaned into you, kept teasing you until you were so annoyed you’d stop her from talking by kissing her.
Instead, she just smiles, and looks ahead.
You do the same.
Her phone lights up in her hand. She glances at it briefly, types something without breaking stride, and pockets it again. You notice. You don’t say anything about it. It’s the second time since you left the store.
By the time you turn onto her street, you’ve both made peace with the gaps. Or you’ve both agreed, silently, to pretend you have.
The building she stops in front of is narrow and clean, a row of small potted plants lined up outside the entrance like she had a hand in that. It’s nice to believe she did.
She stops, turns to face you. Pulls her coat tighter. Her eyes shine , but it’s soft and careful, like she’s been working up to what she’s about to say a few times over.
“I’m glad I ran into you,” she says, and you believe her. That’s not the problem. “And I—“ a small pause, “—I hope we can talk again sometime. If you want.”
If you want.
The words land somewhere low in your chest and turn upside down.
Three years of losing her in pieces, of practicing what you’d say, of sitting on the side of the couch that was always yours because you couldn’t bring yourself to take hers, of carrying a bottle you can’t open because opening it means it’s real. She has the audacity to stand here, putting it in your hands. Like it was ever up to you. Like you were the one who needed convincing.
“If I want,” you repeat, and you hear the edge in your own voice before you’ve decided to put it there.
She blinks, takes a step back. “I didn’t—“
“No, I just—“ you interrupt. Stop to collect your thoughts, resurface the script you’ve practiced over and over. Start again. “I just don’t think that’s fair of you to say. Not after everything.”
She doesn’t move. Her expression has gone still in the way it does only when she doesn’t know what to say, and you know she’s not going to fight you on it, which somehow makes it worse.
Already stepping back, already putting distance between you and the bottom step and her face, which is doing something complicated that you can’t afford to look at for very long before your lungs are ready to work again. “I’m glad you’re okay. I am.” You shake your head. “I’m not.“
You don’t wait for her to respond. There’s a final “Goodnight” you throw out hastily after you turn, walking away, and the night air hits you cold and immediate and you don’t look back. Your hands find your pockets. Everything blurs, your feet keeping your pace even, controlled, the same way you’ve controlled everything since she left, and you keep walking.
You don’t stop. Not until you’re back in your building, up your stairs, through your door and in your bedroom.
She’s on your mind until exhaustion finally lets you drift away.
—
It’s the morning after seeing Chaeryeong for the first time in three years. You’ve got three messages on your phone. Chaeryeong sent them to you.
All from yesterday evening.
The first: “i hope you dont mind me having kept your number lol“
It’s unfair to open with that, as if her having kept your number isn’t cause for celebration, to open a fancy bottle of champagne. You save her to your contacts and leave the bottle closed for now.
The second, sent maybe ten minutes after the first: “thanks for walking me home btw, im not usually out this late and it makes me feel a lot more at ease to have you here“
You stare at the screen. The time gap between the second and final message proves the last one is from just after you stormed off yesterday. It reads as follows: “im not good at this. i understand if you dont reply to this“
Eventually, the screen dims. You put the phone down on your chest and look at the ceiling for a while. From where you're lying you can see the bottle on the shelf where you keep it. Black and pink, the ribbons etched into the glass catching the flat morning light. The note still inside it, rolled tight, a different kind of taunting aura now. It holds your gaze for a long time. Then you look back at your phone.
There's a version of you that opens the bottle today. That finally breaks the seal and reads whatever she couldn't say to your face and lets that be the thing that decides it.
You pick up your phone instead. Stare at the messages she sent you. Sit with the blank text field for a moment, write a couple of words that don’t feel right, delete them, stare at that stupid fucking bottle again and almost put your phone away. There’s a million questions you want to ask her, but there’s no point in even pondering them if you can’t even ask the simplest question first.
“Can I see you?”
You put the phone face-down on the mattress and go make coffee, because you need something to do with your hands, something to distract you from checking your phone every two seconds to see if she answered.
You’ve barely picked out a cup when your phone rings.
“now?”
It’s conveniently inconvenient. The timing alone is enough to spike your heartbeat for the rest of the morning. A response that’s way too fast for someone that’s supposed to be a closed door, so fucking fast that you realize you won’t be able to put your phone down the moment you figure out how to respond.
Because there’s an even more annoying question being asked back to you now. What the fuck does she mean? Just that, no further context, infuriatingly drives you to consider two totally opposite possibilities, two divergent interpretations.
But that’s the trick of it. It doesn’t matter. It’s been three years. It is that urgent. A second without her or at least a resolution longer is one too many. So you just take a chance on it being the second choice, and fire back.
“Whenever you can”
You send another text almost instantly, correcting yourself.
“Now, actually, if thats not too weird”
You hover over the send button, delete “if thats not too weird” and just send the first part.
She doesn’t take much longer to respond. Says she’ll be over in an hour, if that’s not too weird. You instantly respond to her, letting her know it isn’t.
What follows is not an hour of pacing, not an hour of relaxed waiting, casually preparing. No. It’s an hour of the worst kind of anticipation, with every minute making your heart beat faster like it still could accelerate, driving your anxiety to a point it makes you feel like you’re going to shit all your organs out on the floor and die there.
See, running into her unexpectedly is one thing, but doing the inverse—meeting with her at an agreed upon time—is far worse.
It’s an hour of cleaning everything in your apartment—or at least the part you expect to host her and her apology. Any sign that could give away a hint that you are not in control has to be eliminated. All of the conversations you planned start flowing again, and you try to force them away knowing damn well none of them will matter the moment she shows up at your door.
You buzz her in almost exactly an hour after her last text.
Yesterday’s black was not an accident. She’s still all winged liner, smoky eyes and inky black lipstick. Your eyes zip down once and spot the same poison as yesterday. A single strip of skin, with a floral pattern slightly further down. You don’t ask. You can’t manage much more than a “hi” anyways.
You let her in.
She knows your place blind. Like a cat who just returned from her evening stroll, she walks straight to the couch and sits, knees together to the side and feet half tucked under her, hand clutching her phone. It’s far too familiar how she sinks in.
Before any of the conversational explosions that have their fuses lit in your chest come out, you make your way to the kitchen, pouring both of you coffee. You speak loudly, letting her know that you happen to have some milk, if she still takes her coffee the same way she used to, which she lets you know she does.
You pour your own and join her, but on the opposite end of the couch. You fit into the memory better there, after all. Now that she’s here, you don’t even know where to start, or how to even explain without sounding desperate why you invited her over.
She puts her cup down, turns to you and says, “I want to apologize again for last night. I was—I’m really bad at this. I didn’t mean to make you feel like shit.”
You don’t turn. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologize to me before.” Take another sip of your coffee, then put it down. “The sound of it is just all wrong.”
She blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“Yeah, no, please stop,“ you say, your whole face tightening with cringe. “It’s like hearing a cat bark or something.“
“Shut up?“ she responds just a bit too much like she used too.
“Chaeryeong.”
“Ew?” she responds in instant and total disgust.
“What do you mean, ‘ew’?“
“Don’t say my name like that.“
“Like what? Chaeryeong?“ You turn to face her properly for the first time since you sat down.
“Please fucking stop,” she says, recoiling and scrunching her nose as if you just mentioned hating puppies. “It’s horrible.“
“I’m literally just saying your name.“
“I know, and it’s horrible, and I hate it.“ She shifts on the couch, pulling her knees tighter to her body. “You never used to say my name. I literally think the last time I heard you say my name, we might have been like, I don’t know, eleven years old?“
“Chaeryeong,“ you say with a smirk.
“I’m going to punch you.“
“For saying your name?“
“Yes! You used to call me princess.” She physically winces at the sound replaying in her head. “Hearing you say my name just makes it sound like you’re so upset with me.“
You face her head on with a smile you can’t seem to stuff down. “I am upset with you!“
“I already tried to apologize!“
“I’m upset because of you apologizing, idiot.“
“You know what, actually? Call me an idiot. That’s much better. I prefer it over you saying my name.”
You stare at her for a long moment.
“You’re actually an idiot,” you say, flatly, because some things never change.
“Thank you.”
You shake your head, pivot back toward the conversation before it escapes you entirely. “My point is—you don’t apologize to me. That’s not a thing you do. You apologized to your dance instructor for being late when your subway literally broke down. You apologize to delivery guys when they’re late because—” you raise your fingers to form air quotes. “It’s not their fault we live so far away.“
She tries to stop you, but you raise your finger like you’re scolding her and continue: “You’ve apologized to your mom for weed Chaeyeon hid in a cookie jar. I’ve watched you do it. You’ve never smoked in your life.” You gesture vaguely in her direction. “You apologize to everyone. Everyone except me. Or—“ you catch yourself, measured, “—at least, never with words.”
A beat passes. Then she laughs. Not the polite kind, not the deflective kind she’s been deploying since yesterday like a smoke screen. The real one. The one that starts low and tips forward and makes her press a hand over her mouth when it gets too loud, the one that used to make you feel like you’d won something.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she says, riding out the coattail of her chuckle, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. “I won’t apologize for yesterday if you tell me why you really invited me over. Clearly, it wasn’t to hear me say sorry.”
You take a long sip of your coffee. “I wanted to talk.”
“You wanted to talk,” she repeats, flat.
“Catch up.”
“Catch up.”
She watches you, waiting, eyes taunting you to start ‘catching up’. You set your cup down on the coffee table, link your hands together, and decide to just walk straight into it.
“Yeah, catch up,” you start carefully. “Like, for example, ask you questions like—“ you pause, roll your eyes trying to think of an easy transition into the barrage you’ve prepare, “—ever since we broke up—“
“Wait,“ she interrupts you, holding up a hand and furrowing her brow with theatrical precision. “We broke up?“
All you can do is stare. Blankly. It’s so utterly tactless, shot straight from the hip and missing its mark by a mile.
“I’m just saying,” she continues, utterly oblivious to how unable you are to laugh this joke away, “I don’t remember a breakup conversation happening. Technically.”
“Chaeryeong.”
“There it is again,” she mutters, scrunching her nose.
“You disappeared,” you say, and the word lands heavier than you intend it to. “For three years. That’s the conversation.”
“I’m sorry,” she scrunches her mouth, and looks away. “And you said my name just now so we’re even for me apologizing.“
You exhale through your nose, letting out a single chuckle in hopes of preserving some of the earlier momentum. “Idiot.“ You look back at her, and she can feel it, turning to meet your gaze. “As I was saying, ever since we broke up, have you been seeing anyone?“
It’s not the first question you wanted to ask. It mostly just slipped out, some kind of honest response to her eyes connecting with yours. It’s the question you’re stuck with now, forced to to face whatever answer she gives.
She tilts her head, wiggles her toes. “Have you?“
You should have known she would never answer before you. “You’re unbelievable,“ you say as you tilt your head towards the ceiling, hands dragging down your face.
“It’s payback. I deserve an answer first,“ she says simply, and before you can even question it—because she knows you will—she already continues, “because you called me an idiot.“
A big sigh escapes your lungs. There’s no point in arguing with her. At this point, the only outcomes are nobody answering, or you answering first, so you do. “No,“ you say. “I haven’t been seeing anyone.“
Her gaze burns on the side of your face like it always has when she’s going to ask you a barrage of questions you can’t avoid. You resist turning towards it.
“No one?” she asks.
“No one.”
A short pause. “Not even like, a one night thing? Someone you met at a bar, charmed your way into her pants and then never have to talk to her again?”
“What? No.”
“Didn’t pay anyone?” She says it carefully, measuring it. “Like, even just for—“
“No.” You say it before she can finish. “No.”
“Not even a kiss? Holding hands?“
You finally turn back to her. “Not even that. Not once. Nothing.”
She sits with that for a moment. The apartment is very still around you. You fear to move, lest the couch makes a sound and ruins this fragile moment you don’t know what to do with.
“Don’t you miss it?” she asks, and her voice has lost the teasing edge. It’s just a question now, plain and without judgement.
And the thing is, the word ‘it‘ is doing a tremendous amount of heavy lifting. She might be asking about the abstract concept of physical intimacy or the general act of human contact.
But you can’t help but be hit by a flood of ‘its‘. It’s the wool against your palm. It’s the cherry on your tongue. It’s a black bow coming loose in your fist and sifting through your fingers like sand only for strands of blonde to remain. It’s legs hooked over your shoulder like an anchor you never got tired of keeping steady. It’s the wiggle of toes anytime anything exciting happened. It’s countless nights spent whispering that you still think she’s the prettiest girl in the world.
You miss it the way you’d miss breathing.
You don’t say any of that.
You don’t say anything for long enough that the silence becomes its own kind of answer.
She watches you. Then, softly, she offers you an exit: “You probably don’t miss having a girlfriend that never apologizes, right?”
It’s a joke. It’s meant to be a joke. She’s giving you the out, the laugh, the reset.
The bad ending.
“I miss all of it,” you say, and it comes out with so little air, quiet and meek. Like something you’ve been keeping in a locked room for three years that just walked out on its own while you were still figuring out if it could stand.
She goes very still in response.
Not the kind of stillness she’d couple with contorted faces to buy her more time to think of something clever. A kind you’d never seen before. One that starts in her eyes and slowly creeps all over her body.
You catch yourself staring at her, but it’s impossible to stop. She blinks once—no, twice—and then shifts, chuckles, breaks the silence.
“All of it,“ she repeats, hollow. Like she’s not allowing herself to taste the words. She shakes her head, looks down at her cup and smiles softly. “I’m sure you could go without a lot of it.“
That’s when you see it. Clear as day, eyes wide open. The next hour, the next week, the next three years. The whole thing passing you by like the trail of a bullet that barely missed.
It goes like this: You don’t say anything meaningful to respond. She doesn’t dare push. You try one more safe attempt to reach out, and it doesn’t connect, the conversation swerving to something safer, more mundane, decidedly not dangerous. You’ll finish your coffee first, and she’ll check the time on her phone and say something along the lines of her needing to get going. You’ll walk her to the door, and she’ll say it was really good to see you, and she’ll mean it, and you’ll mean it back, and she’ll leave, and you’ll close the door, and you’ll stand in your kitchen for a while staring at her cup before eventually deciding to wash it, and you’ll sit on the couch wondering what the message inside the bottle is and not opening it, and nothing will have changed. The weeks pass. Maybe she texts, maybe you do, and it won’t matter who does, because all it will be is something simple and dismissible, a meme she thinks you’d like or a check-in when a song on the radio reminds you of her.
But the door between then and now stays shut, and the time between texts grows, and you’re losing her again like you did over the past years except this time you watch it happen and choose it anyways because the bridge looked too burned to cross.
And that’s the current trajectory of the reality you’re allowing to come to pass.
So you reject reality.
You close the distance.
It’s not graceful. It’s fucking desperate, moving too fast, the cushion shifting under you, and she turns at the movement, shifts back slightly but doesn’t move further than that, holds her breath with her mouth open, clutches her hand into a fist and you blink and—
You stop.
A centimeter. Maybe less.
That’s the full distance left between your faces the second the bottle—engraved on the inside of your eyelids—freezes you in place. What if her answer was no, and still is no?
“Why did you stop?“
You look down. You can’t look her in the eyes, because frankly, there’s not an answer you can give her after boldly lunging at her only to stop right before impact. Your eyes land where they always do. The strip of skin left untouched, like a line stopped before completion to make sure you know she still can stop wherever she wants. The floral pattern woven with near equal artistry to the squish of her thigh where the hem of the sock bites into her skin.
“Why are you wearing those?“ you ask.
She’s quiet for a moment. Long enough for you to let your eyes find hers.
“Because you like them,“ she says.
You close the distance, and your lips find hers.
It lands a little off-center, your nose bumping hers, and she makes a small sound of surprise that dissolves almost immediately. It’s compounded interest all paid back at once, your hand finding the side of her face and her hand finding the front of your shirt, and the taste of her is coffee now instead of champagne but the mechanics of it are so familiar.
You pull back just far enough to look at her. Her eyes are still closed for half a second longer than yours, and when they open they’re darker than usual, a little undone, intently focused on you. The black lipstick has migrated, a small smear at the corner of her mouth, and you have the absurd, overwhelming urge to fix it and ruin it further at the same time.
Her other hand comes up and finds your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of it, the same way she used to when she was in a particular mood, a quietly possessive habit she’d never have admitted to.
“Are you sure about this?“ Her thumb has stopped moving. Her voice quieter, barely audible over your own heartbeat.
You look at her, and she doesn’t look at you.
“I was gone for so long,“ she continues, and she tucks some hair behind her ear, then fixes it immediately. “I don’t want you to regret—“
“You’re here now.”
It’s unbelievably trite, and the Chaeryeong you knew would have wasted no time at all giving you shit for it, but it’s also completely, undeniably true and that makes the instant lack of response that much scarier.
She blinks, her surprise barely masked before she bursts into a laugh that’s mostly exhale, then leans in so her forehead rests against yours. “That’s genuinely the corniest thing you have ever said to me, and I still remember the poem you wrote for me in high school.”
“Thank god,” you respond with an embarrassed smile, “I was worried that I might have had another Chaeryeong in my home if you didn’t make fun of me for that.”
“I had to, no matter how sweet it was,” she whispers, and before you can feel any more stupid about it she’s swinging a leg over you and settling into your lap in one fluid motion, and then her lips part and so do yours again. Her mouth is on yours, open and needy, tongue’s clashing unlike the first one and beneath the coffee there is—absurdly—the faintest taste of cherry coating her.
How dare she.
You level the playing field. Hands finding her hips, planting themselves there, keeping a firm grip on her, and you can feel the way she melts into it, her spine relaxing as she sinks slightly forward. She shifts again when your hands slide up. Her waist first, then onto her ribs, accompanied by the small jump of muscle she always has when you graze a particularly sensitive spot just beneath her ribcage, your thumb pressing into flesh.
There’s a fast rise and fall to it, and you let it linger, stopping there, causing her to look down at you after breaking the kiss, hair falling over her face.
“You stopped again.“
“Look,“ you say, and it starts deadly serious. “There’s a lot we haven’t talked about yet. I know that—like, it’s bad,“ you stop, and she pulls back ever so slightly, her hands drifting. “And, I want to talk. I do.“ You stop to breathe. She holds her breath.
“But right now, I just really—really want to fuck you.“ She exhales, and you don’t stop. “Like, desperately. That’s kind of where I’m at.“
She looks weirdly relieved at that. Then she smiles, her eyes narrowing but staying focused on you.
“I don’t mind not talking right now,“ she says. “I’ve been thinking about not talking ever since you lunged at me the first time. So.“
"You sound pent up."
She doesn’t bother denying it. Instead, she turns, shifts her whole weight around in your lap like she's decided its time for you to drown in troubled waters—although they’re only thigh-high—and settles her back against your chest. Your arms close around her, and her head tilts back over your shoulder so she’s looking up at you from below, her eyes looking even more dark and enticing with the long line of her throat exposed.
She grinds her hips into you, your hands dig into her skin, and she exhales into your neck.
"You also feel pent up," you say.
"I haven’t fucked in three years," she says simply, finally answering your earlier question you’ve already long exposed yourself to. You tighten around her waist, slightly squeeze the air out of her, and pull her as close as she can possibly be. "Keep that in mind, because I am going to be—" she pauses, eyes hooded and looking up at you—"sensitive. Everywhere. I will probably cum embarrassingly quickly."
Her head tilts, and her mouth finds your neck. She speaks into your flesh. "That’s not a warning, by the way."
She lightly nibbles on your skin, teeth teasing but never with any pressure.
"No?" you ask.
She settles back against you. Completely at ease.
"I'm bragging."
You move your hands carefully around all the safe spots. It might be you savoring the moment, or maybe you’re just asking permission. Either way, she can tell, and after a moment slides her hands over yours.
“You can touch whatever you want,“ she says, and then her hands are moving yours, guiding them up and under the hem of her top. “I won’t stop you.“
She looks forward again. Shifts, making herself easier to reach, accommodating in a way that feels almost pointed. She’s exactly the same as you remember, which is to say, still a perfect handful, her hands resting atop yours, perfectly cooperative.
"You're being very good about this," you say.
"I know," she says with a smirk, like you haven’t yet figured out the price you’re going to pay for this. A soft moan escapes her as you find her nipples still fit perfectly in between your digits. "I'm very well behaved when I want to be."
"And when you want to be is—"
"Right now," she says. "Obviously." Her fingers press down lightly over yours, guiding without urgency. "You should take advantage of that."
“You’re just making excuses. I think you’re just being needy for my fingers to curl inside of you.“
She doesn’t dignify that with a verbal response just yet. Instead, her fingers interlace with yours, dragging the combination downwards. Off her ribs, past the soft give of her stomach, lower still, until the hem of her skirt glides under your fingertips, not stopping until she lets your palms rest on that strip of skin right between the hem of her socks and the—if the sensation of lace against your thumb is correct—same material panties.
She presses your hands down, makes sure you feel how much they still mold to your grip.
“Okay,“ she says with a smile, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “So what if I am needy?“
She spreads her legs a little, her hands letting go off yours. Her right arm wraps around and her hand finds an anchor point on the back of your neck, keeping her steady as she slides ever so slightly down. Her left hand bunches up the damp fabric of her underwear to the side.
“So what?“ you chuckle once with disbelief. “I told you I wanted to properly fuck you, not just give you princess treatment in my lap,“ you correct her, and push your hips forward once, letting her feel what her provocations have done to you. There’s no way she can miss it, the way your cock is straining against her ass, pressing up into her.
She grinds back, riding the pressure, exposing your own sensitivity. “You think I couldn’t tell how hard you already are?“ She rolls her hips again, slower, more precise, like she’s making a promise for later.
“I know what you want,“ she says. “I want that too, especially if you keep calling me princess.“
“I didn’t call you—“
“But I’ve imagined your hands on me again and again and again,“ she continues. “Every time I closed my eyes.“ Her hips shift. “Yesterday, too. You crossed your arms and I just—“ She moans. She fucking moans, right in your ear. “I came so fucking hard, thinking of them on everywhere. My waist. My throat.“ Her left hand finds yours again, slides it up until you can feel her pussy press against your palm. “Here.“
She’s absolutely soaked.
“Chaeryeong.“
“Don’t say my name like that,“ she protests, whiny, and bites your neck in retribution.
“Okay, princess,“ you smirk and she’s already shaking. Two of your fingers push in, slow, your palm pressed against her clit and her precious little spine curves, her lower back getting pushed away. Her hands hang on tight, like they need the stability.
“Fuck I missed—“ she pushes through an inhale, a small moan follows out, and after an exhale she manages to say the rest. “All of that.“
"You can have this one," you say, unhurried. "You're going to remind me how much after I’m done with you."
She’s writhing in your lap now, hands clutching your flesh and you’re sure she’s going to leave a mark, pulling your head to hers so she can bite your lip between words. “I told you—” she pants, and you want to tell her to go ahead, but she beats you to it—shudders, legs kicking out, and clamps around your fingers so tight you think you’ll never get them back.
“Embarrassingly fast.“
You keep going. Not nice, not considerate, not gentle. You want every ounce of her, want her to lose herself, and the more you work her, the more she gives.
Her spine curves further, impossibly. She’s so small against you like this, tucked in and shaking, and you push both fingers fully in her and she jolts, her breathing going shallow, bitemarks being made in your neck, your thighs getting battered by her heels.
“Tell me when,” you say quietly.
“When,” she says immediately, and you waste no time using the base of your palm to press down on her above her cunt, fingers trying to curl back into your hand inside of her, holding her through her tremors. You can feel it in your own chest, your ribs quaking like a second heartbeat overlapping yours. She looks beautiful. She always did, but it’s easy to miss this; the way she falls apart fully, the way she whimpers your name, the way she smiles after like a radiant goddess.
Her orgasm mellows out eventually, and she’s breathing hard, lifeless limbs hanging against you, and you keep her steady. Let her come down at her pace. You let fingers glide out slowly, slipping free, and she mewls involuntarily, whimpers something pathetic about the loss of your touch.
She lays there, slumped into you, and you’re staring at her lips.
Not just because she’s smiling, or they’re black, or that their hue is clearly infinite with how perfectly coated the still are despite the many traces she’s left on your body. No, you’re just staring because she’s got you so worked up that you’re lost in the memory of her lips wrapped around your cock, back when her lipstick was a shade of red or nude, and those never left any marks.
“You’re staring,“ she says, hopelessly out of breath.
“Just thinking that I like the color.”
“I doubt that’s the full extent of it.” There is no chance Chaeryeong lets you off the hook. “You’re staring at my mouth like you want to fuck it.“
Nobody could ever come close to knowing you like she does. Call it a side-effect of growing up together. There’s no point in denying it. It’s harder to find a way to confirm her observation without feeling like you’d waste the chance, but apparently staring at her does the trick.
“You want your dick in my mouth so bad you’re not even pretending to listen to me.“ Her hand draws tiny circles on your wrist, limp fingers brushing skin lightly.
“I’m listening, I’m just visualizing all the ways I can appreciate your lipstick. It’s a beautiful shade,“ you say, eyes drifting towards the ceiling in mock consideration.
she lifts your hand by the wrist to kiss your knuckles, the slightest stain of black remaining on you. “You want to see what it looks like on your cock?“ she asks and you look down at the disgusting sincerity she brings it with.
“Can I?“
“Sure,“ she muses. “You can mark your territory, or whatever. I don’t mind.”
She doesn’t let you consider it. That’s the thing with Chaeryeong. There’s no pleasing her if she’s not teasing you. She needs you to know that it’s her choice when she slides down out of your lap, onto the floor, splitting your legs and staying there, head tipping back at the edge of the couch to look at you as she delivers the sucker punch.
“Seems like you need it.“
You chuckle wryly, bend over forwards and plant a kiss on her forehead. "I hope you know I'm not stopping until there's a black ring around the base of my cock."
“Good.“ She smirks. You stand up, walking around the coffee table, savoring the moment. “I’d prefer you doing all the work right now.“
“You’re really going to just sit there and let me fuck your mouth?“ you tease back, stopping to loom over her.
“Are you complaining?“ she pouts, flutters her eyelashes. “It’s not my fault you fingered the fine motor controls right out of me.“
You put your hands on your hips, cock your head and bend slightly forwards, over her. “Still a brat, huh?“
“Yep!“ she responds, gleefully, proud with a smile, tilting her head. “Which means that this offer expires soon. Whip out your cock you’ve been harassing my ass with, or I’m keeping my mouth shut until I’ve cummed on your face.“
It can’t be overstated how fast you switch up and wrestle with your belt, trying to maintain a facade of composure. “I thought you were supposed to be a princess?“
She opens her eyes, shrugs, and drifts her eyes towards your belt. “Princesses have to eat.“ She lets her head hang back, opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue. It’s like she’s asking you to lose control.
Your cock is out before either of you even process it, stiff and aching, veins bulging like never before, as if ready to explode.
“Jesus,“ she says with reverence bordering on worship, no intent of hiding her awe, “I forgot how hot your dick is.“ She stays perfectly still, leaning back against the couch, hands slack next to her on the carpet, the very picture of defiance and submission contradicting herself with minimal effort. “I might actually cum just from choking on it.“
“I forgot how much you talk,” you reply, and admittedly, its a bit snarky. But you know Chaeryeong, and that gambling with a line like this always has a payout.
“Then make me shut up.“
You answer by pressing your cock to her lips, pale pink to her beckoning black. She opens, wide and compliant, her tongue flat and eager, and you glide in. It’s impossible to play this cool, not with her on the floor and your pulse ticking in your ears, not when the black of her lipstick makes her mouth look like a void designed to swallow you whole.
The first pass into her is slow. Her lips slip easily over your cockhead, soft and cold on her lips and then suddenly impossible warm inside. You steady yourself with a hand on the couch cushion behind her, fully leaning over her and she—despite years of proving to you she couldn’t let a single opportunity to take control over you go unchallenged—just lays there, letting you push at your pace. She’s making sure her lips are pressed to the full circumference of your cock, every inch of skin covered, spare the sides she just can’t help but skip—courtesy of the smile pulling the corners of her mouth up.
“You look so fucking good with my dick in your mouth,“ you groan, making sure to put extra emphasis on how possessive you sound. Her eyes do a slow half-blink, satisfied.
You hold her there, cock halfway buried in her, hips already shaking, and pull out slowly. You want to watch the lipstick smear, the drag of her color a tangible scar tracing your shaft. Her eyes squint as she figures out what you’re doing, lips sucking tighter around you, and she hollows out her cheeks.
The black sticks, two perfect half-moons adorning your cock’s top- and underside, stretching in different intensities across your shaft.
“Good fucking girl,“ you hiss, twitch in her mouth, and her eyes close, her eyebrows getting that little wrinkle in pleasure. It’s hard to know whether that’s from the praise, the sight of you losing it or both. And normally, you’d find pleasure in the current state of affairs. It’d be enough, feeling your cock halfway down her throat and seeing her enjoying herself.
But right now, there’s a combination of something you can’t deny and a reckless streak that allows you to explore it. She doesn’t gag. Not yet, at least, but you want to see if you can make her; you want to see how much she’ll let you take, how far you’re allowed to conquer.
So, deeper you push; past the first point of resistance, past the point where she looks up at you with eyes that are looking for something carrying tears in the corner, past her limp hands choosing to grip the fibers of the carpet instead. It’s all too much, she’s right there with you, neither of you able to think straight each time you slide back into her mouth, fucking her face like you need it to survive, Chaeryeong totally passive and not resisting.
Not helping, just letting you help yourself.
“You can take it, right, babygirl?“ you ask, but you don’t care to let her answer. She tries to, though, bobbing her head ever so slightly, letting out a throaty, gurgling sound about as close to a yes as she can manage.
You bottom out, cock fully enveloped by her tight throat, tears running black down her cheeks, and she takes it with a focus that’s almost meditative, eyes drooped and drunk on your pleasure, drowning together with you in desperation.
And that’s when you feel it, the heat in your core, the jolt up your spine, the embarrassing and traitorous tingle of only managing one pump deep down her mouth before you too succumb to your sensitivity. You try to slow, try to savor just a couple seconds more, and she looks up at you like she’s asking if she’s doing something wrong and her throat contracts as if to push you out despite her head staying perfectly still, consciously fighting the subconscious to hold herself open for you.
How could you not comfort her, give in to what you both want by rutting into her face?
It’s inevitable at this point, and when the first shock of it hits you, you try to pull away, try to get ready to paint her face white and see how it mixes, but she holds you, moves for the first time since hitting the floor and dives deeper, nose pressed against your stomach, hands flying up to grip the back of your thighs, swallowing the first spurt like she’s starving.
“You fucking—“ you grunt, hands finding the back of her head and tangling her hair into a fist, “slut!“
You yank her off forcibly, she gasps and you hold her there. She’s got this look in her eyes like she’s won a prize off of you, easily wiped out when the second rope of cum hits her in the cheek, across her lips, then down her collarbone and finally a weak spurt dripping out of your cock onto the squish of her thighs, perfect white streaks against her tear-shed mascara, smudged lipstick and porcelain skin.
“Good to know you still cum like a firehose,“ she says, accompanied with a smirk, unbothered by the mess.
“You always knew how to bring out the worst in me.“
She pushes you down into the couch. Turns around with her stomach against the couch cushion and drapes her arms over your legs, cheek resting against your thigh. “The worst of you tastes pretty good,“ she muses, licks her lips, and brings a hand to your cock. “You want me to clean you up?“
You can barely breathe, so a nod must suffice.
She leans in, laps at the slit of your cockhead, down the shaft for any stray drops, then her own wrist, her thumb, and finally the gooey mess she scooped onto her hands from her thighs. The rest of her face stays as is, wearing your cum like jewelry.
“Mmmh, like, so fucking good,“ she moans, excessively.
“There’s something wrong with you,“ you shoot back, and it lands in her chest, a laugh joining her.
“Did you miss that too?“ she teases. She climbs up, into your lap again and burrows her nose into the crevice between your neck and your shoulder.
“All of it,“ you reaffirm with a long exhale, reality dawning back on you now that the heat of the fuck-fever subsides.
She stays that way for a while, snuggling closer to you, silently just making herself small on top of you.
“Hey,“ you whisper, fingers twirling with strands of her hair, soft strokes matching her breathing. “You’re getting cum all over my shirt.“
“Don’t care.“
It’s kind of cruel. Not what she says, no, that’s just Chaeryeong like you know her. It’s how it reminds you of the Chaeryeong you don’t know. And it shouldn’t bother you, not with the world outside collapsed into a void and her wrecked against you and the warmth you both share. It should be enough.
But there’s a message in a bottle, and it undeniably has your name on it. Or she wouldn’t have asked yesterday. And you could try to ignore it, and just throw it away when she’s not looking and act like you know no better and you never find out why she left and let it eat at you every single day and let it ruin your fucking—
“Are you going to tell me why you left?“ you ask, stopping the idle patterns you were tracing on her thigh, going dead still.
She freezes too.
“Did you read the message I left?“ she asks, voice thin.
“The one in the bottle?“
“I knew you were lying,” she answers, with only half a smile. She gets up from your lap, turns your back towards you and starts walking towards your bathroom. “Give me a minute. I’m not having this conversation with cum on my face.“
You don’t try to stop her. You just wait for her, find your pants and get somewhat dressed again, settling back into the couch when you hear the faucet stop running and the door open again.
She emerges eventually, her skin wiped clean, any trace of the revelation you just shot onto her face removed. She sits down, next to you instead of on top of you, a little further tucked into the corner than before.
“So? Did you read it?“ she asks again, staring blankly ahead, undecipherable.
You stop looking at her. Sigh, rub your eyes. “No.“
“Why not?“ she follows up, her voice breaking a little. It’s hard to stop yourself from derailing the conversation.
You think about lying, and then about the consequences of instantly being caught lying, because Chaeryeong could always tell and the truth comes out easier than you expected it to anyways. “I wasn’t sure if I could still believe you’d ever return if I read it,“ you say, shaking your head. “I don’t think I could handle that.“
You turn slightly towards her.
She nods. Pulls her knees up to her torso, and rests her cheek on them, turning towards you. “Can it stay that way?“
It’s the kind of question that needs time to think about. What exactly is the question asking, what is the full context, what happens if “it“ does not stay “that“ way?
When the silence stretches past a point she can bear, she starts to retreat.
“You know what, never mind,“ she crumbles. “That’s an insane thing to ask, obviously it can’t,“ she rambles, unfolding like she’s about to give up, obvious in the fake smile you’ve managed to see through ever since first learning about it. She unfolds slightly like she’s about to bolt for the door—the nuclear option. “You can read it, obviously you’d want to—“
“Can you just chill the fuck out for a moment?“ you intervene. You grab her wrist. It’s cliche, but you’d rather be cliche and hold her here now then let her walk out.
She stops.
“What happens if I read it?“ You look at her, grip unwavering.
She can’t meet your gaze. She tries, but she can’t. She just mumbles a couple of words. “I’ll probably cry again.“
It’s a simple reason, one that doesn’t really let you know anything specific, but when it comes to Chaeryeong, do you really need more to listen to her?
“Why?“
Her eyes manage to reach yours. “I don’t want you to see that version of me,“ she answers. “Because once you do, that’s all I’m afraid you’ll see.“
The room is very still around you. You swallow the questions coming up in your throat, the parts of you that want to pry anyway, and allow the truth to stay in her chest for now.
She trembles in your wrist, you sigh and release your grip. She doesn’t move away.
“I’m not asking you to just—let it go forever,” she says, hands clutched to her chest. “I just need it to come from me. Not who I was. When I’m ready, if you can wait for me.“
A single laugh—breathy and pushed through your nose—escapes you, and it’s almost a cosmic joke. If you can wait for her. You look at her, this idiot of a woman you've been losing in small increments for three years, who showed up in a convenience store at midnight and walked back into your life like she'd only stepped out for a moment, who is sitting here trembling with her hands clutched to her chest asking if you can wait for her like she genuinely doesn't know the answer.
“Idiot.”
She looks genuinely staggered by this. “What?“
“I have kept the one thing that could give me closure on you locked away for three years—maybe would have been locked away until the day I fucking died if you hadn’t shown up—only to be able to hope that I could see you again one day,“ you ramble, voice growing as you stand up and face her.
She blinks, searching across your face, something fragile inside of her breaking.
This could be temporary. A mistake, a pattern that might repeat itself, a karmic miscalculation that will cause you to be locked in an endless repeating chase of losing and finding and losing and finding her again. There’s a real chance hurt is waiting on the other side of the door, and there’s no way of knowing until you figure out why she even left in the first place.
But that doesn’t matter. It’s worth it, for the moments where Chaeryeong fits into your arms, however fleeting or forever.
“What makes you think I can’t wait for you to be ready to tell me, you idiot?“
She looks at you like she’s experiencing every possible emotion all at once with just a slight tinge of disbelief heavier in the mix, eyebrows pinching together upwards.
A laugh gets stifled by her, then resurfaces louder, and she lovingly calls you an asshole. Then, as if genuinely blindsided by it, her eyes fill and stray tears slowly fall down her face, blinking like she can’t quite account for where they came from, hands scurrying to her cheeks to wipe them away with yet another laugh and even more shocked “What the fuck?“
You let it all happen. The laughing, the crying, the attempts to get it under control. She succeeds, eventually. Mostly succeeds. There’s still evidence of it in both the corners of her eyes as well as the corners of her lips, and when she finally looks back up at you, she looks slightly mortified and slightly luminous, entirely a wreck.
“Don’t you dare,“ she says, her eyebrows furrowed at you and her head tilting downwards mockingly.
“Excuse me?“
“You did this.“
“I did?“
She drops her hands. Looks at you with wet eyes and the most unguarded expression you've ever seen on her face in twenty something years of knowing her.
One of your hands wraps around her waist, the other grabs her hand. You close the distance. Not urgent, not desperate, nothing like when three years came crashing down at once. Just your hands finding her, and you kissing her slowly. Like you have the time for it now. She doesn’t let you pull back the first time you try, just pushing further into your space.
When you eventually do end up separate, the first couple of minutes is just spent staring into each other's eyes, even as you move back to sitting on the couch, her making her comfortable in your lap for a third time.
She bites back a laugh and speaks first: “Okay, so, since we’re already just saying embarrassing shit,“ she says, stops, bites her bottom lip with a full smile and her eyes filled with the same joy. “I have a confession to make.“
“Okay?“ you say, hesitantly. This could go anywhere.
“I actually could have arrived here like half an hour earlier.“ She stops to twist her mouth, eyes flickering everywhere and back at you rapidly. “But when you asked to see me, I went home first. I literally changed outfits because I thought it'd be smart to wear these.“ She flexes her thighs, places her hands on them, drawing your full focus to the fabric taut on her pale thighs. “I didn’t think jeans would be of much assistance.“
You choke out a laugh. “You were already out and went back home just to change for me?“
“I saw the way you looked at me yesterday,” she retorts, but her fingers find your chin and pull you back to her mouth before you can comment.
She nips your lower lip, laugh muffled. “You’d be less assertive if I wore jeans, is what I’m saying. Probably wouldn’t find the courage to fuck my face like you did.”
You consider the counterfactual. There’s no universe where you don’t want her, but the comparison of both images in your head, side by side, has you inclined to agree.
“You might be on to something,“ you agree with a slight smirk.
“Thank god I still have what it takes to make you pathetic,“ she preens, twisting her shoulders to show off. “In fact—“ she tugs at your shirt, pulling you in until you are close enough to count her lashes, “I think we should see exactly how much these new socks help you lose composure.“
You try to kiss her, but she stops you with one finger. Instead, she stands up, not bothering to fix her skirt that’s been riding up. “I’m going to your bedroom,“ she says, walking around the coffee table swaying her hips, knowing damn well where you’d look. “I’m going to take off everything except these socks. You can join me after you’ve cleaned up here.“ She stops right before stepping into the hallway, looks over at you and speaks a final time: ”Don’t make me start by myself, because I will.”
There’s no point to bothering with the facade of taking your time or doing this of your own volition. You sweep the half-empty coffee cups, pick up your phone, trash some scattered napkins and try your best to remove any already dried up cum that made it onto your furniture.
You realize it, then. This is just part of her play. The game. You are never, ever more adored by her than when she’s dangling a reward in front of you and watching to see how fast you shower her in attention for it.
It’s intoxicating.
You make your way to your bedroom door as fast as you possibly can, leaving a trail of stripped off clothing behind, your underwear last to fall. Everything must go, because you’re not the main character in her script unless you’re showing up naked and a little bit desperate.
You swing open the door, and the room is painted in the diffused sunlight of early afternoon, a lazy brightness you’ve never really been around for, not until it snuck in here to illuminate her.
She’s sat against the headrest of your bed, propped up by a pillow, naked except for what she promised to keep on. Reapplied black lipstick and a black choker thrown in as a bonus. One hand between her legs, you can see it barely through the gap in her shins, idly teasing herself, the other hand cupping her tits and rolling them slowly. She’s playing with herself, her pride and your arousal all at the same time.
“Wow,“ she says, in that deadpan, smug way of hers, “not even going to let me undress you, huh? That eager to rail me?“
It’s not long before you are on top of her, wrists in one hand and cunt cupped in the other. “You’re going to help me get what I want,“ you say, and she looks smug, way too smug for someone with slick running down her thighs staining your bed.
She curves her spine at your touch. You drift your hands down to the hollow of her knees, soft mesh squeezing under your grip, and you press up until she’s almost folded in half, thigh’s pressed to her chest.
You’ve got her in checkmate, a press to match it and properly breed her, and you slide in so frictionless that you almost forget you’ve both spent years molding yourselves to each other.
With a single measure thrust, you bury yourself fully in her, pushing her further up the bed, and her head rocks back into the pillow with a thunk. She curses, which turns immediately into a moan.
You can feel her thighs-socked and shaking–the rough texture digging into the sides of your chest.
There’s nothing gentle about your rhythm. It’s desperate, same as her sounds. The bed creaks to complete the symphony. Her tits bounce with every thrust, black-painted nails holding and digging into them, doing the job you can’t as you hold your steady above and next to her head.
She tries to say something, but it comes out as a punched-out “fuck—!“ that loses coherence as soon as you bottom out again. You don’t bother pretending like your sounds are any better.
She breaks first—still embarrassingly sensitive—hands flying to your shoulders, nails digging in and pressing half moons into your skin, her voice cracking as she begs for more, for harder, for anything you can still give her. “Please,“ she whimpers pathetically, “Inside—“ and you realize she’s asking for something she never has before.
“Yeah? Inside?“ you taunt back through your own nearing doom.
“Mmmhm,“ she nods, giving up on words entirely.
“Want me to fill you up, princess?“ you continue, smacking into her harder, surely bruising something. All she can do is throw her head back and look at you like she’s hoping you’ve somehow learned how to read minds. “I’m going to make you walk around full of me for the rest of the day.“
She almost sobs as she cums, a sudden and sharp gasp accompanies her whole body shaking; the vibrations and the begging for you to finish with her causing you to chase her through it, losing your own composure, your strength, your vision.
You collapse on top of her, she lets her legs wrap across your waist, holding onto you as you ride out the aftershocks. Sweat sticks together, and once you think you’ve found the strength to roll off and pull out, she tightens her legs around you, keeping you in place.
“Don’t move,“ she whispers against the shell of your ear, a hand playing with the hair on your head. “Stay inside me until you’re hard again so you can fuck another load into me.“
You don’t talk about much except the feeling of your cock going soft inside her, the smell of her perfume, the lack of proper interior decoration you’ve done in the time she was gone, and then the feeling of your cock slowly stiffening up inside her again.
She rolls her hips when she feels it, speeding the process along. “I want lots of kissing this time,“ she clarifies. It’s a simple order. It’s so soft, and normal, and mundane you don’t realize nobody has even said it until after you’d let it slip.
“I love you, princess.“
Her head falls back into the pillow, she bites her fingertip, and smiles like she was waiting for that.
“I love you, too,“ she hums, kisses you with lots of tongue, and rocks her hips into you to make sure you’re as connected as physics would allow.
It’s hard not to oblige, taking her breath away as you restart with a softer pace.
—
There’s a message in a bottle, and it has your name on it. It’s gone largely ignored for a week now. You’ve made plans with Chaeryeong to throw it out—or at least, just the message inside—today.
She’s been with you every day for the past week, effortlessly slotting back into your life, and you into her new one. The make-up stays dark most days of the week, but some days she lets you see her in red.
A lot of time has been spent on making up for any of it you’ve lost, though. It’s impossible to keep your hands off of each other.
One day, she wakes you up with your cock in her mouth, hoping to have a slow morning, only to find out you can’t skip work and ends up being so frustrated for the rest of the day that she can’t stop herself from spending her entire lunch break in a disgusting bathroom sending you videos of herself dripping, making sure you know you’re expected to get even.
On another day, she texts you that she’s got her nails done, and asks if you want to see only to send a video of her playing with her pussy from the back. You showed her you still have the handcuffs she bought you that evening.
All she cares about is making sure you still are infatuated with her.
Hard to deny, considering the events. So, today, you text her the moment you leave work to let her know you’re on your way. If all is well, she’ll have taken care of things.
She’s already waiting for you when you get home to your little lover's nest. She’s got her hands behind her back, holding something.
As soon as you step inside, she plants a kiss on your cheek, and reveals her little secret.
There’s a present in her hands, with your name on it.
“I wrapped it in a way I thought you’d like,“ she says. Green, with blue ribbons on it, shaped like a bottle.
You take it from her hands and start unwrapping it–revealing a bottle of whiskey you told her about.
She stays quiet while you read the label, connecting the dots, and then she tucks herself under your arm, her favorite spot. She always did prefer watching you discover things she already knew you’d love, and says: “I found it screaming at me.”
Valentine Drifter @valentinedrifter - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
