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usedpidemo · 5 hours
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if you had to choose one pokemon type to use for the rest of time which would it be?
Water for all the rain strats 💧
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usedpidemo · 7 hours
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hi! can I request for a bratty! Karina and a frustrated gp! Reader? Like after going home from work, reader wants to have a peaceful time with Rina. But, Rina decided to be a brat, forcing the reader to give her some lessons of discipline and putting her on her place
Sure! Just sign here and we can get started. 😊
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usedpidemo · 8 hours
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Saccharine | Act One
Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi
Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]
Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)
media darling.
an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.
an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.
absolutely spotless.
nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—
What a load of shit.
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They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.
You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.
As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.
Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.
Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.
It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.
The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.
You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.
Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.
After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.
You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.
The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.
All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”
And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.
And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.
Yet.
The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.
Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.
If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.
The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.
You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.
The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.
One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.
You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.
Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.
Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.
Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.
Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.
Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.
One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.
Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.
A moment passes.
Another.
The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.
That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.
You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.
The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.
Might as well toss them a pacifier.
You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.
And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.
You don’t.
There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.
What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.
Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.
Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.
But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.
Yet.
It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.
Then the world shuts down.
Thus, it’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.
In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.
Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.
Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.
Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.
It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.
You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.
As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.
A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.
You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.
You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.
For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.
Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.
A forgettable account name? ✔
Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔
A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔
Oh, and of course the message itself:
ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?
Check.
Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …
No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.
So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.
You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:
TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing
You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.
ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection
You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.
Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.
It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.
In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.
Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.
In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.
But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.
So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.
A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.
And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.
They yearn. They burn.
A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.
A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.
It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.
You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.
The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …
ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.
Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?
The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.
“(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”
You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:
“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”
Okay, maybe a little petty.
You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.
ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life
And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.
The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.
Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 
The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.
The reflection staring back has aged forty.
Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.
In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”
“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”
“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”
“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”
“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.
Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.
Fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that—especially by seeing her live and in-person.
It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.
Fuck, where’s seat 239?
Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.
Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.
She’s next.
You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.
ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same
The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.
You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.
Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?
You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.
It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.
It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.
All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.
You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.
It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.
ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures
And that’s all she has to say.
… that’s it? Really?
You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?
You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.
It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.
And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.
But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.
You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.
You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.
A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.
You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.
TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do
Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:
ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve
It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.
Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.
This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 
This time, you aim for the heart.
"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)
The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.
ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?
Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.
TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better
You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.
ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)
Another pause.
ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed
This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.
Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.
You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.
It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?
So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.
ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me
… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?
TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?
It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.
TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?
As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.
TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!
You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.
TurnThePage: You too
You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.
It’s deafening.
You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?
The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.
You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.
The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.
SBS Gayo Daejun is next.
It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.
You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.
Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.
TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where
For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.
A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.
She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.
As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.
Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.
Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.
“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”
She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”
You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.
You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”
“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”
“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”
“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”
“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”
She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”
“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”
“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”
“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”
As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.
“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”
“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”
“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”
"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 
“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.
“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”
“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.
“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”
“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”
The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.
With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.
You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.
The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.
“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”
Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”
Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”
“Fuck off you—fuck!”
Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.
“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.
Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.
In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...
"Fuck."
The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?
Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.
“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.
“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.
“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.
“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.
“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”
A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.
Only one way to find out.
Continued in Act Two …
(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)
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usedpidemo · 17 hours
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Fav song?
Ult bias?
Fav group ?
Bias wrecker?
Top 5 Pokemon?
Favourite place in the Philippines?
Okay. Strap in.
Favorite song: At the moment? Kingdom - Downstait.
(FINISH THE STORY!)
Ult bias: Best girl Choi Yena <3
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Ult group: IZ*ONE </3
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Bias Wrecker: At the moment, either Haewon or Yunjin.
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Top 5 Pokémon: Can't use all the image space so here you go from Pokemon Showdown, lmao.
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Favorite place: Secret 0.0 I'm probably there right now. No doxxing!
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usedpidemo · 18 hours
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fav pokemon rom/non official game if you have one?
Radical Red. Easily the most expansive ROM hack out there and the gold standard. 4.1 recently dropped and I can’t wait to dive back in again.
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(these were my two most recent teams from January)
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usedpidemo · 18 hours
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Update - ask me anything...
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it's been a while since i did an ama, fire away with whatever you got in mind o7
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usedpidemo · 19 hours
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Good luck if you attempt this challenge! And what was your fastest run if you did multiple attempts? Or your favorite list?
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I tried this again with purely K-pop idols and I got a worse time (9:38)
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usedpidemo · 1 day
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Tissue and Coitus.
[Heiso, notes]: first off, thank you @iznsfw (I miss you too xoxo) for this and the encouragement to actually feel like writing. There’s no stone set for my return, but I’ll push out whatever I can. (2,000+ words for IU.)
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A thin, damp layer of frost overcomes the street in the mist of winter’s rage. Flakes float about themselves as everyone basks in the joy of a new jolly year. Sold-out supplies had already evacuated before December’s reign—bringing an even greater difficulty when gathering basic human needs.
You, with an exhausted expression along with your bones crackling with every step, had only just snagged a great deal on a roll of toilet paper when a smaller woman was assumably pondering the exact same plan.
Your eyes meet for just a millisecond and it feels as though this woman could see right through you.
“Oh, you seemed to have beat me to it…” she comments with the fakest smile a human could muster.
“Huh? Oh, this?” You point at the roll in your hand, standing proudly at your quickness and agility. Or maybe that’s just exaggerating.
“Yep. That,” she replies, this time with more of a sarcastic countenance—her retort generally indicated by the fold of her forearms over each other. “And I bet that’s the last,” she continues as if she already knows the answer.
“Yep. It is.” It proceeds to become uncomfortably silent. You’ve had these moments in the past, along with unexplainable humiliation. “But… I should get going…” You’re eyes dodge hers in an attempt to look for a way out, to no avail.
“Hey… you’re a kind kid right?” She smiles at you, holding out her smaller sized palm. “I’m Jieun. You should respect your elders.”
Even with such a smaller frame, her attitude has no chill.
You’re a bit surprised. This isn’t how this was supposed to go. You were going to simply purchase your toilet paper, have a nice awkward moment with this elder woman, and bing watch Netflix while stuffing your mouth with junk food.
But—not only is the toilet paper not in your hands anymore, the woman has completely disappeared.
Your head practically spins 360° in hopes you’d spot Jieun’s red sweater in the process, to no avail.
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Only a few hours pass while the convenience store incident hovers within your mind. The sidewalk tells its history of today with each patch of snow with a footprint implanted within its white chilliness. You include yourself, hands stuffed within empty pockets.
Though, along the trail you notice a few small crowds a little scattered throughout the street, everyone filled with laughter and joy—bringing a bit to your own.
In the mist of the crowd you spot Jieun’s red sweater swiftly maneuvering betwixt the variety of people—her gorgeous hair reflects the sun’s light and her short figure is rather hilarious stumbling about the audience.
You decide to follow her. She stole from you, plus where the hell did she vanish to that fast.
It’s quite easy keeping track of Jieun’s movements since she stands out so greatly from the crowd.
Jieun slightly attempts at flashing through a metallic door with words that boldly read, “Maintenance Only.”
Jieun’s journey towards the restricted door seemed to be set to minimum difficulty—as yours was more of a… challenge. You realize you almost popped your should twice before you’re finally a step ahead.
The scenery within the place seems like it’ll frequent plenty of celebrities. Singers, as a couple of instruments and microphones laid useless within a pile of various other junk. Actors, a number of props and cameras set themselves up by a stanchion along the wall as if to present them. You also notice a page of scripts and names, Jieun’s being at the top of the list.
You ruminate on the idea of Jieun actually being some type of social star. Every cause had an effect and every solution had a conclusion.
You could only gather that you’ve probably just met a movie star and singer when a small tap on your shoulder interrupts your thought process.
You jolt a bit, nescient of the strangers presence.
“You’re a bit nosey, huh?” The familiar voice only enhances your horror.
“Uh, no?” you reply, whipping yourself around. You forgot how short Jieun was in the limited amount of time. It almost makes you feel cornered and pathetic.
“You shouldn’t—” In a sudden manner the same door you entered opens in a swift motion, despite its weight.
Jieun’s quicker though—and you don’t have enough time to react before your wrist is practically interlocked with her palm. Jieun drags you into a janitor’s closet not too far from the individual. Your bodies seem glued together, the tips of your shoes are kissing and your hands have no other option but to contact each other.
The closet lacks sufficient light, the only sort of sound is your erratic breaths and the slight sounds of movement from without the closet. You hear faint footsteps in the distance, a bit or rattling and clanging—as if rummaging about, potentially seeking something.
“We can’t leave yet,” Jieun says to snap you out of your trance. You were so caught up in the figure’s actions that you didn’t even come to common terms with your own. You snatch your hand away from the closet’s handle; barely visible, an attenuated sheet of dim light spreading from one wall of the closet to the opposing wall, all the while your waists and above have been completely engulfed in a starless cloud.
You progressively feel Jieun’s small, hitched breaths quicken—your bodies even closer, an intense sensation of warmth interlocks your figure and you realize that your pants have tightened tremendously. You completely stop breathing, attempting to make as much space as you can betwixt yourself and the smaller woman who’s arms suddenly make their way around your waist.
“Will you quit squirming, they’re gonna hear us..!?” The stern tone is enough for you to embrace Jieun’s presence again, this time a bit closer, and much hotter. Perhaps it’s the slender arms locking you in tightly, her short breaths on the front of your throat—maybe it’s the fact that you can feel Jieun’s warmth as well. She lifts her face within the dark, though you have trouble seeing anything else but Jieun’s eyes, glowing in crimson—a bit hypnotic, a punctilious replica of a vampiric illusion.
You feel yourself slowly drifting within.
And without the answer to whether this is right or wrong, you find yourself lip-locked with the older woman you’ve just met in a convenience store, who has also had the nerve to steal your toilet paper. Though the timing is too wrong, you descry the attempt to refrain; but you’re rather confounded when your own body pulls Jieun closer, and your faces practically glue themselves together.
Jieun wastes zero time in the rush of undressing you. It’s as if all of your clothing just… disappeared.
You feel Jieun’s hands on your bare skin. Only now do you finally begin getting rid of her clothes as well, having her join you in this nude display, though the viewers are unique and enjoy shadows and curves, if that counts.
Jieun’s arms travel from around your waist to slither along your figure until they daintily dangle from your shoulders, her soft small hands clasping your nape passionately. You take this time to embrace Jieun in the prior manner she frequented. As your hands cuff her smaller sides, Jieun’s tongue manages to slip within your lips, sending butterflies hurtling through your torso—anything else now a mere blur, your mind fully clouded with the feeling of pleasure.
You let yourself sink into her small frame, entwining oneself around her warmth—sinking deeper into her, allowing all of you to just give in.
Jieun loses a bit of time while attempting to undo your belt buckle, a slight zip the only sound aside from your heavy breaths and minimum shuffling. She succeeds, though, dropping along with your pants in unison, and even when you can’t see Jieun looking up at you you maintain the image in your head. She smiles, her tongue lapping the underside of your tip, her soft palm clasped in a fixed manner around the base, her other hand cupping your balls sensually in a rhythmic motion.
You’re too far gone to keep caution of the erotic swirls pleasuring your erection, each slick to and fro from the tip to the shaft, each gag and swallow hollow though undeniably sexually appealing, each stroke of Jieun’s soft hands as they assist her mouth in making you feel satiated.
Jieun pulls off and leaves several precursory kisses as if her previews didn’t already cash-grab you. Though she hand-grabs you in another clamped fist and her hands stroke your shaft—giving you and her jaw a rest.
Before Jieun’s hand succeed in their succession, pull her until her stature matches your chest and turn her around firmly, placing her against the closet wall while also placing her back an arch deeper. It takes not a single hesitation before Jieun’s complying: her arms keep her face from colliding with the wall and she makes sure her back stays nice and curved.
“Good girl,” was accidentally said until Jieun whimpers and backs her ass up against your crotch; allowing you to slip smoothly into the warmth of her body.
It’s enough to make you shiver.
It’s enough to make the clench and squelch of Jieun’s insides intensify as she finally cries out in pleasure. Your body essentially lunges forward to mute the moans and whines that still manage to escape the gap your fingers provide; you could only say it worked for two seconds. Plus the couple that Jieun tried, though failed, to muffled herself. Probably why she just lets her face fall into the wall. A makeshift pillow. An even better palm. Shit, even better than attempting to keep her mouth closed, because that totally wouldn’t work.
You worry but still when Jieun’s pussy tightens, her hips rocking her body to and fro, back and forth, following an erratic rhythm that she, in all likelihood, can’t even read, you almost forget about the knot most likely swelling upon her head right now. Though the slow clap of her ass hitting your waist is just at the tip of hypnotic, the occasional gleam of the results of your seduction as Jieun slowly and steadily sucks you back in after you manage to escape her grasp each time, even the erotic sounds you’d usually hear in front of a stove or an oven top, all furnish and contained; all feverish and galvanized; all waterlogged and sticky.
Everything leads to you wanting more.
Grip Jieun’s waist sternly and fearlessly begin thrusting. The impact is almost instantaneous, Jieun’s whines grow in octave and her pussy is a hard worker when it comes to milking. Her tongue has difficulty helping her talk, her arms have already failed in their quest, and her legs are on a sliver of health.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” is about all she can muster while her pussy drenches your lap.
She honestly should feel guilty, you’re going to need a new pair of pants after this…
And maybe some tissue.
Even then, though, Jieun has enough liquid to supply her for months.
Let your hands be your eyes as they venture across the lands of Jieun, an older woman you’ve just met today—even better, she stole from you.
So, let them venture until you reach one of Jieun perky titties and lift her torso until she’s basically a second shirt for you. The material is soft, a bit supple, a lot stiff. But before you can tease her about it she slams her ass into you, your dick reaching wondrous depths, Jieun’s moans reaching incredible volumes, your pleasure reaching its peak.
Jieun’s pleasure reaching its conclusion as well. Her legs kind of wobble pathetically and she gasps before an, “oh shit, oh my god,” notifies its arrival.
Jieun whimpers miserably as her imminent squirt discontinues your connection.
Attempt to regain yourself but it’s far too late. Before you’re able to groan, a spurt of cum covers a part of Jieun’s lower body, and the rest attains other unspecified areas until you deem yourself completely spent.
A soft creak on the other side of the closet door snaps you out of the haze, a knock following.
You notice you don’t have enough time to clean anything.
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usedpidemo · 3 days
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Stargazing (Twice Mina)
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With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.
She’s so close to falling apart.
And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.
—————
If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection. 
That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet. 
Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison. 
It’s a slow motion fashion moment. 
As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all. 
Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.
You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00. 
—————
The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.
She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.
So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there. 
Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.
Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous. 
“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.
“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger. 
“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months. 
You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.
And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.
It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’ 
At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders. 
You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.
“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes. 
She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.
Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe. 
Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either. 
Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.
When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud. 
It also so happens to be empty in the area.
The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter. 
You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.
She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.
It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.
It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.
But not tonight.
Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance. 
“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car.  I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”
“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”
“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”
She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.
“Thought so.”
“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks. 
Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.
“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”
“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”
“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”
“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.
She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.
“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”
“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity. 
Something’s quite off.
“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”
While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”
“Shut up!” 
By instinct, Mina slaps you again.
You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you. 
As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.
“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”
“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”
“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”
“What? Why?”
“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses. 
Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”
“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”
God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.
“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips. 
All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.
“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”
Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.
This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.
She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced. 
And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting. 
Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—
“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”
She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find. 
And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.
So you oblige her. 
You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.
It’s a win-win.
“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done. 
The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.
Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.
“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”
Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.
“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.
“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”
“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”
“I don’t think so, buddy.”
“What?”
“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”
All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”
“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”
The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.
“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”
“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.
“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”
Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect? 
“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”
“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.” 
Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point. 
“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.
Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.
—————
(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)
You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.
Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.
At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.
You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.
“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”
Utterly shameless.
Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too. 
You would.
The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever. 
It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.
All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants. 
In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.
And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”
All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it. 
It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.
And she looks even better with cum all over her.
The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.
What an unexpected sight. 
You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.
“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.
You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.
“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”
Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here. 
As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning. 
—————
(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)
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usedpidemo · 3 days
Text
One of the Boys - Lil Bro
Male Reader x Chaewon
Tags: Smut, Creampie, Squirting, Lowkey bratty Chaewon.
Masterlist / Mobile Masterlist
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The problem at the hotel was an afterthought. Getting to the game was more important now than anything.
“Bro, hurry!” Chaewon does her best to drag you along. To make sure you were moving just as fast as she was.
“Chaewon, we won’t be late. Relax.” Letting go of your hand harshly, she angrily pouts at you.
“Would you say that too, if Yunjin was here?” The little brat makes you stutter with your words.
You remember the reason why Chaewon was with you instead of Yunjin.
Due to a family emergency, she canceled on you at the last minute. You were bummed out but you understood. You just wished she could have come with you as planned. Hell, you were going to finally ask her out.
“See! You wouldn’t say that to Yunjin. Now let's go! I don’t want to miss the warm ups!” Chaewon grabs your hand and drags you along again.
You groan out loud. You really wished you had forked over the money for an Uber driver at this point instead of walking and saving money.
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After almost getting your arm ripped off with Chaewon’s constant dragging. Here you were, at Fiserv Form, home of the Milwaukee Bucks'.
You and Chaewon are guided to your court side-seats by one of the employees. Immediately, the employee asks what the two of you want to drink. Before you can answer, Chaewon orders the both of you two beers. The employee nods and takes their leave to fetch the beers.
“This is amazing!” You watch on as Chaewon looks on in awe of being courtside.
“How’d you get the tickets again?”
“Won them in a give away. One of the many times, my luck came in I guess.” Chaewon nods and slowly spins around again. Taking in the awe and atmosphere again of Fiserv Form.
You take in the awe of the stadium too. The arena in itself was already fantastic looking, when the two of you first entered.
“Here.” Your eyes are taken away from the hanging banners you were looking at.
In front of you, you see Chaewon’s phone.
“Take my picture. Hurry before we get seen.” You groan out to her demands.
You look around seeing the security facing away from the court. Before you can do anything, Chaewon’s already near the center of the court. Your heart races, as you take a couple steps on the court and ready to take the photo. With a quick pose, you take a couple snaps of Chaewon before the two of you run off in a hurry back to your seats.
“Here.” You hand Chaewon’s phone back to her.
You let out a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. Hoping the two of you didn’t get caught and get kicked out.
“Ohhhh! Hehehe.” You glance at Chaewon, as she looks at the photos on her phone.
Her tongue sticks out as she practically salivates at the photo you took. You glance at her phone, seeing how clean the photo was. From her oversized basketball jersey, to her black cap, to her pose. Chaewon looked great in the photo.
Chaewon lets out a high squeal in excitement and wraps her arms around yours. She hugs your arm tightly before looking at you and placing her chin on it. She looks at you with her adorable eyes.
“This is so cool! Did you want your photo taken?” You shake your head.
Chaewon pouts at you and looks at you questionably.
“Why not? You're wearing your Giannis jersey. We're at his home court.” Everything Chaewon said was true. 
Despite that though, you already risked it all for Chaewon to have her moment. To have her photo taken. You weren’t going to risk an all expenses paid trip to an NBA game for a mer photo again.
“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Already risked it all for you anyways.” You flick Chaewon’s forehead.
“Ouch! Yah…” She angrily pouts at you.
Before she can berate you. You see the phenom, the basketball savant, the Einstein of the Parque, the Stephen Hawking's of the hoops - Lebron James. You look at Chaewon and give her a nod in the direction of where Lebron was walking out from. Chaewon takes your nod and looks.
A muffle squeal comes from her as she jumps up and down. She turns around and slaps you in the arms, as the players not just from the Lakers but the Milwaukee Bucks come on the court and start warming up.
“This is so cool!” You chuckle at Chaewon’s overreaction.
The two of you watch on, as the players warm up.
.
.
It didn’t matter who won in the end, as the two of you enjoyed the time spent together. From the sharing of food, to the cheering and booing of each other's team.
“Yah… that was so amazing. I mean, did you see Lebron! Ugh… He’s so cool.” You chuckle at Chaewon gushing over how cool Lebron was.
The elevator dings open, as the two of you step out and head to your room. Opening it, you're reminded of the problem. As both you and Chaewon’s shoes slip off, Chaewon jumps on the only bed in the room.
“I’m exhausted.” You agreed with Chaewon.
Despite that though, you had to solve the problem at hand. You just hoped the hotel had good news for you after the game. You pick up the phone, dialing the front desk.
“Whatchu doing?” Chaewon lays on her stomach, with both hands cupping her chin looking at you on the phone.
“The bed situation, remember?” She nods to your answer, as the problem finally dawns on her again.
“Hi, this is…” You give your name and room number to the front desk person. “I was wondering about…” Before you can continue, the front desk person puts you on hold.
You let out a noticeable sigh. One that takes Chaewon’s attention away from her phone.
“No more rooms?” You shake your head.
“Just got put on hold.” Chaewon nods.
“You know, we can share the bed. It’s okay.” You shake your head at her.
Despite the two of you being good friends. She was your best friend's sister. You couldn’t in your own self conscious share a bed with Chaewon.
“It’s fine really. Don’t you remember the cabin trip? We shared a bed together, it was fine. Just stay on your side.”
“That’s different. Your brother was basically in a beer coma. Moving him was basically…” Before you can finish your sentence, you're greeted by the on-site manager.
Within a few words, you're informed of the situation. There was nothing they could do besides offer you a free nights stay for another trip, plus other expenses. You sigh in disappointment and take the offer and end the call.
“No more rooms right?” You nod to Chaewon’s words.
“See, it’s okay oppa. What is it that you always tell me? ‘Just relax bro’” Chaewon lets out a hysterical laugh after trying to imitate your voice.
You shake your head at Chaewon.
“You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor.” Chaewon stops her laughing.
“Yah, I told you. We can share the bed.” You shake your head at her, declining her offer again.
You lay on the floor and smell the natural clean smell of it. You feel how soft the carpet is and know you can make do with at least a bed sheet and blanket.
“Fine! Sleep on the floor then.” As you take in the feeling of the hard ground. Your face is hit with something.
You grab the item off your face seeing Chaewon’s yellow jersey. You're about to throw it back to her but you see her enter the bathroom with her black sports bra.
“Tsk… this brat.” You neatly fold the jersey and place it on the bed before laying back on the hard carpet floor again.
.
.
“Yah.” You're jerked awake from a hard kick to the side of your leg from Chaewon. 
“Why’d you sleep on the floor, beds right there.” You rub your eyes.
Opening them, you see Chaewon more clearly. You see her wrapped in one of the hotel's white towels. You eye her from bottom to the top. Seeing her smooth legs and thighs, to the wet towel wrapping around her torso, to then her cute face. You rub your eyes again.
“How long was I out?”
“About 30 minutes or so. However long my shower was.” Chaewon moves to the side of the bed.
Barely lifting her luggage and struggling to get it on the bed. Her towel then starts to come apart.
“Ah!” A cute sound comes from Chaewon as she drops the luggage and grabs the towel. 
You look away.
“You good?”
“Yeah. Um… Can you help me with my luggage?” You nod to her plea for help.
You slowly glare back at Chaewon as she fixes the towel around her torso again. You get up from the hard floor. With a stretch, your back bones crack in place before you head over to Chaewon. With ease, you lift the suitcase up on the bed for Chaewon.
“Thanks…” A faint red of blush comes on Chaewon’s face.
You nod to her. You walk over to your own luggage and take out a pair of clothes. Stripping yourself of your jersey and sweater, you head into the bathroom for a hot shower.
.
.
The shower was refreshing. It wakes you up a bit and re-energizes you again for the time being. You exit out of the bathroom, seeing Chaewon do an ab workout on where you were going to sleep.
She’s in her oversized Lakers jersey again. With a raise of her legs to complete the work out, you see the LE SSERAFIM panties she has on. You watch her do her work out more, seeing how the panties contain her cute ass. You finally look away, when Chaewon completes her workout and notices you.
“Oh my gosh dude…” Chaewon blushes a little. “How long have you been there?”
You lie to Chaewon so as to not cause any awkward interactions.
“Just got out. What are you doing in my area anyways.” Chaewon lays flat on her back, making sure her jersey still covers her lower half.
With a low grunt, Chaewon lifted her upper body off the carpet floor.
“Just a little work out. To maintain my abs.” She gives you a smirk before continuing her work out.
“Well, get out of my area. I’m trying to sleep in a bit here.” You make your way past her trying to not interrupt her routine.
“Sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep here for the night.” You knew what this was now. 
Chaewon was trying to get you to sleep on the bed, while she took your spot.
“Tsk! The bed is yours. Stop being a little brat.” The latter words get to Chaewon, causing her to stop her little work out.
“You stop being a jackass then!” Her little outburst at you, catches you off guard.
“Wh-what? How am I a jackass?”
“How am I a jackass???” Chaewon imitates you and crosses her arm angrily at you.
“You keep being so righteous my gosh. We’ve shared a bed before. Just sleep on your side of the bed and it’ll be fine.” You couldn’t say anything to Chaewon besides the same old thing.
Chaewon was right. The two of you have shared a bed before. But still you couldn’t.
“It’s not that. The bed’s yours. Just sleep on it.” Chaewon rolls her eyes at you and drops to the floor sitting down.
She turns her head and looks away from you.
“You keep assuming I want the bed but I don’t. I’m sleeping here.” The way she acts as a kid gets to you.
You know the only way to end this was to basically submit to Chaewon’s demand. If you didn’t, it was going to be an endless cycle of bickering.
“Fine. Take the floor then, see if I care.” You jump on the bed and tuck yourself in the sheets as the last sign of defiance, despite you really losing.
“That’s fine.” Unknown to you, a joyous smirk appears on Chaewon’s face, knowing she won the argument.
Getting off the floor, Chaewon quickly turns off the lights before grabbing something and jumping in bed with you. You’re hit with the object, as you let out a loud ‘ouch’.
“Sorry!” The dark room fills with light coming from the TV Chaewon just turned on.
“What do you want to watch?” You sigh out loud.
She should have known your usual by now.
“Just put on The Office or something. I’m trying to sleep here.”
“No scary movies? Ohhhhh” Chaewon tries to scare you with her not so scary noises.
You glare at Chaewon from under the sheets.
“Last time we did that you kept hiding your head in my chest. It got very hard to sleep because of how hot it got.” Chaewon puffs her cheeks out and pouts.
“Fine… Your favorite show it is.” She turns to the channel that was airing the show.
You adjust your pillow and look on, as the episode plays. To the right of you, Chaewon lets out an audible yawn, grabbing your attention. Wrapping her arms around yours, she lays her head on your shoulders as she watches the show with you.
Your heart flutters a little. A small smile forms on your face, as you turn and watch the show again.
.
.
Half your body falls off the bed, jerking you awake. You do your best to pull yourself up, but your tired body tells you otherwise. You groan out, submitting to gravity, as you get up on your two feet.
You lean up against the wall and rub your eyes. In your tired-squinting gaze, the TV light shines on the bed. You see Chaewon, not on her side of the bed, but yours. You see her feet, the likely culprit that kicked you off the bed.
You get on the bed again, trying to get Chaewon back to her side. You push her but she just groans out loud and retreats back to the original spot from where you moved her.
“Chaewon, move to your side.” Chaewon just groans out to you.
You spot her ass out in the open. Her jersey, not covering it due to her sleeping on her stomach and possible movements throughout the night. You raise a hand up, about to slap it, so the brat the ass belongs too moves. You're ready to come down with your hand but you stop yourself.
You know this was going to end in bickering, if not worse. Besides, as playful as it was to you, it might not be for Chaewon.
“Yah, move to your side.” You shake Chaewon to move.
“I already did, just let me sleep…” You roll your tired eyes at the lie she told you.
You quickly stretch your upper body and take in a deep breath. You push Chaewon to her side again. With a grumpy groan, she rolls back to your side of the bed. Just as she does, you get what space you can before laying on your side stopping her advancement.
“Scoot over dude…” Chaewon mumbles to you.
She had more space on the bed than you. You're not sure why she’s asking for more.
“I said scoot over fatass.” Chaewon sticks her ass out hitting you.
It does little to nothing. All it does is connect to your pelvic area and take some space on your side of the bed. You were done at this point. If Chaewon wanted to invade each other’s personal space after her whole - ‘Just stay on your own side’ bullshit. She’ll get the space invasion she wants.
You wrap your arm around Chaewon’s firm abs. You pull Chaewon closer to you, as you nestle yourself against Chaewon’s back. You hold her tightly before shutting your eyes.
As the low sound of whatever was on the television plays, you hear Chaewon mumble something. You can’t make it out but you're sure she’s complaining about how hot it is. You didn’t care though. Again, she was the one unwilling to move.
Your speculation comes true, as your arm is whisked away from her body. You open your squinting eyes to see Chaewon strip her jersey off before joining you back in bed. Grabbing your arm, she wraps it around her bare midriff before nestling back against your body.
You move your face away from the strands of Chaewon’s hair that tickle your face. You adjust yourself again, and pull Chaewon in tighter. A satisfied moan comes from Chaewon, as she nestles herself against you more.
You take in the scent of the shampoo. The smell relaxes you. The warmth of Chaewon’s body relaxes you. Your hand feels how smooth and tight her abs are. The curvature and overall shape of Chaewon’s body gets to you. Your natural instincts kick in.
You nudge your pelvis up against Chaewon’s ass more. Your hardening cock, now pushing up against Chaewon’s ass. Half asleep, half awake. You do your best in finding the back of Chaewon’s neck. You take another whiff of Chaewon’s shampoo before delivering a soft kiss on the back of her neck.
Chaewon moves her neck to the sudden touch of your kiss. You pull Chaewon closer, her hand now on top of yours. You lick your lips and kiss the back of her neck, not once but twice in a row. At an angle, you plant another kiss on Chaewon’s neck and then another. You feel how soft Chaewon caresses your hand.
You repeat your actions until you find the sweet spot. A moan from Chaewon gives it away. You latch on to it, sucking it lightly. The soft touch Chaewon once had, changes to a harsh one. Her hand drags harshly across your forearm to your wrist. She grips it tightly, once you suck harder.
“Ugh…” Your nose feels the movement of her jaw.
She mouths out a word you don’t hear. Perhaps Chaewon herself couldn’t even say it.
You unlatch from the area, as Chaewon’s grip on you finally relaxes. You continue planting kisses on Chaewon until you reach her ear. A breath of hot air is all that's needed to feel the goosebumps on Chaewon’s abs.
You nibble on your earlobe, before sucking on it. Your tongue snakes out of your mouth licking her ear. An audible gasp is heard again before it turns into a soft moan. Once again, Chaewon grips your wrist hard.
You briefly nibble on her ear again before kissing the side of her face. Chaewon’s breathing gets harsher. Your hands roam from her pristine abs to her chest. You feel the underside of her breasts. Before you can touch them, Chaewon’s hands grab yours, stopping you.
You finally open your eyes, as the bright lights of the TV light up the dark room. You lift Chaewon from a spooning position, to on top of you. From the light the television gives you, you see Chaewon look at you with tired eyes.
You go in for a kiss, one that Chaewon accepts. The simple kiss turns into a torrent make out session. Both your tongues intervening and battling each other instantly. Both the corners of your mouths feel how wet and sloppy it is.
As the two of you make out, your hand slips out of Chaewon’s. You feel her midriff again before snaking your way to her tits. Just as Chaewon grabs your wrist, she lets out a loud gasp. She starts to moan, as she looks at you with glossy eyes. 
Your other hand rubs her moist cunt. You feel how moist the fabric of her panties have become. You press harder on where her clit is, earning a whiny moan from Chaewon. You feel the subtle juices leaking out of her, as you continue to rub the most sensitive spot on her body. You know it isn’t enough.
You slip your hands in Chaewon’s panties. Your fingers pass her shaven mound, as it dips into her wet cunt. Your middle and ring finger drive her crazy, as her body lifts itself off yours.
“Your fucking crazy…” Chaewon squirms on top of you as you continue to pump your two fingers in and out of her.
Relentless moans come from her, as your fingers dig deeper into her hot core. The sloshing sound, her wet cunt makes drives you wild. It tells you to go faster, just as her frantic moaning and breathing does.
You lift up her sports bra with your still one free hand. You grab at her tits, squeezing them, having your way with them as you continue your work on her cunt. Before you know it, Chaewon screams out your name.
A low grunt follows and then a cry of pleasure. As you continue to pump your fingers in and out, you feel the juices she lets out. Each squirt of her juices drench not just your fingers, but the bed and the very panties she wore.
You don’t stop until her water works stop. Her pelvis spasms in place, as you slip your fingers out. You continue to squeeze her breast, moving them in a circular motion as you get a taste of Chaewon’s juices.
You taste the bitter sweetness of it. You crave it and want more. You gently lay Chaewon down on the bed, before making way to her lower area.
“Oppa…” You slide her soaked panties off.
You spread her legs open, diving into her slick pussy. A subtle moan is heard from Chaewon, as your tongue spreads her labia apart. You once again taste the bitter sweetness of Chaewon’s juices.
Like a dog thirsty for water, your tongue works endlessly on Chaewon’s cunt. You shove your tongue into Chaewon’s cunt, feeling the grip it has on it. Chaewon moans out loud, as both her hands grab onto your head. Slipping out your tongue, you give her one good lick before focusing on her sensitive clit, sucking on it..
A crying of pleasure is heard as you and Chaewon lock eyes. She bites her lips, as a way to try and muffle her moans. Chaewon knows it's useless but she does it either way.
“Oppa…” Your tongue flicks on her stiff clit as her head drops back on the wall.
Her mouth gapes open, as her moans get freed. Her head drifts from side to side, just as her breathing gets frantic again. You feel the added pressure, her hands have on your head. You pick up your pace by flicking at her clit and sucking on it hard.
With a buckle of her hips, Chaewon’s second orgasm hits her. Like before, her juices squirt out. Your chin and shirt get soaked with the first few shots. You latch on to her opening and take in the juices spraying out. Drinking it, like that of a water fountain spraying out its water.
A few gulps is all you need before Chaewon’s water works end. You get up and discard your shirt. You rid yourself of your pants and undergarment, freeing your stiff cock.
You pull Chaewon closer to you. Rubbing the tip of your cock at her entrance, the slickness entices you to slip inside of her. As your tip pushes forward, Chaewon scoots back. She grabs the head of your cock, coving it and shakes her head.
A quick reality check hits you. You were about to fuck your best friend sister. Someone who just wasn’t your friend's sister, but a friend to you as well. Someone who was just like a sister or brother to you.
You're ashamed of yourself. You ready yourself to apologize to Chaewon for an inexcusable act. Just as you're about to, Chaewon interrupts you.
“You can fuck me…” Chaewon looks at you with a shade of red on her face.
The grip she has on your cock changes. From simply coving your cock, Chaewon licks the palm of her hand and starts stroking you. You stick your cock out more for Chaewon. The action proves useful, as she strokes you faster.
“You can fuck me oppa. Just… just give me a moment. I’m really sensitive.” You nod to her words as Chaewon lowers herself near your cock.
As she does, she feels how wet the spot is beneath her. 
“Lay down for me over there.” You look behind you at the end of the bed.
You do as Chaewon asks and lay down for her. Your cock sticking up, ready for her. Tucking some strains of hair behind her left ear, she gets in position. Before you know it, an audible gasp escapes your mouth.
You feel her tongue work on the base of your cock. Her saliva coating part of your balls and lower shaft. Running her tongue up, you feel the wet trail her tongue leaves before it swirls around the head of your cock.
“Hmmm… Hmmm.” Chaewon’s lips wrap around your cock, as she immediately takes you in.
The lewd sight of her bobbing her head on your cock gets you going. You grab at her foot and pull her lower half towards you. Chaewon lets out a surprising yelp before trying to suck your cock again.
You pull her ass into view. You give her right cheek a nice firm slap, earning a muffle moan from her. You squeeze her firm ass cheeks, as Chaewon continues to suck your cock.
Your gaze shifts from Chaewon’s bobbing head to her ass again. You slap her ass again, earning another muffled moan. Touching her ass, you see everything revealed to you. From her tight asshole, to her glistening, sensitive cunt. You give her left ass cheek a hard slap. Like before another muffled moan is earned.
Licking your thumb, you press it up against Chaewon’s cunt. A squealing muffle moan comes from Chaewon. Stroking your cock, Chaewon takes you out of her mouth, looking back at you.
“Don’t…” Her sentence dies, as soon as you start rubbing her pussy.
Her handy work on your cock gets weaker. Just as it does, you feel the wetness of her mouth engulf your cock again. The moans Chaewon lets out, vibrates from your cock to your sensitive nerves. It drives you wild.
“Fuck…” You don’t hesitate anymore.
You pull Chaewon’s lower half over your head. Latching your lips to her pussy, eating her out. Her hips buckle before settling on your lips.
The two of you each take joy in pleasuring the other. As you shove your tongue inside of Chaewon, she in turn takes your cock deeper into her orifices. Your tip hitting the back of her throat, gauges you to turn it up a notch.
Tongue fucking her insides, Chaewon does her best to deep throat you. A few hits of her throat is all you get before Chaewon surrenders to your tongue work. Unsheathing from your cock, Chaewon cries out your name before she cums for the third time of the night.
You bathe in her slick and take in the moment. You give her sensitive cunt one good lick before slipping out from under her.
The white light from the television shows the beads of sweat Chaewon has on her forehead. With strands of hair sticking to the side of her face. She lays flat on the bed, unmoving. Grabbing her waist, you prop her ass up. Her petite ass before you, you give one of its cheeks a well deserved slap. A slap telling her how much you wanted it.
You line yourself behind her. A few brushes give way to a whine moan from Chaewon. You feel her slick stick on to the tip of your cock. Her juices are enough to persuade you from playing games. With a push, Chaewon lets out a moan to your advancements.
You feel how tight and slick she is. Her tightness restricts you but her slickness allows you to push forward. Your pelvis meets her ass, as you fill her to the brim. You pull out a bit before thrusting forward, making Chaewon scream out.
Your thrust wasn’t much, it was more than anything a playful thrust. A thrust that told you how sensitive Chaewon was.
You grab her supple cheeks for leverage. Pulling out for real this time, you thrust back in once you're halfway out. You repeat the action, as you slowly build up your pace. A pace that makes Chaewon scream out, each time you thrust back into her.
You never thought, the two of you would be hooking up like this. Your pace quickens, as your pelvis smacks repeatedly into Chaewon’s ass. The sound of it filling the hotel room, just like Chaewon’s endless moans of pleasure.
You relish in the sensational feeling of Chaewon’s pussy. Each thrust making her cunt tighter than the next, and her juices leaking out.
“I’m going to… ugh… Cum again oppa!” You thrust harder into Chaewon.
The rapid thrusting makes her scream out louder than before. You try to chase your own orgasm trying to cum at the same time as Chaewon but you can’t. Thrusting in, you're forced out as her juices gushes out.
The first few squirts are just as intense as before. You watch on as her orgasm subsides and small droplets of her juices drip out of her. You get down on all fours and clean Chaewon up. Her hips buckle like before to your tongue before she gives in.
A few licks is all you need to taste her sweet, sweet juices. You run a hand down her back, feeling how sweating she is. Turning her around, you get on top of her. Just as your body touches her taut nipples, Chaewon wraps her arms around your neck.
She brings you closer, as the two of you share a deep passionate kiss. One that quickly turns into a make out session. Both your tongues battling like before. 
You hook your arms around her legs, bring them up. As if knowing what you want, Chaewon hooks them around your waist. Supporting her back, you lift Chaewon off the bed and onto your lap.
You break the kiss and suck on Chaewon’s neck before moving on. Grabbing her ass, you lift her up, trying to insert yourself back inside of her. As you miss on the first try, Chaewon reaches back and assists you.
The two of you share another kiss, as you fill Chaewon up again. You're about to thrust up again before Chaewon breaks the kiss. With a firm hold on your shoulder, Chaewon starts bouncing on your cock.
You grab at her tit and squeeze them, causing Chaewon to snap her head back. An audible gasp comes from her, as she continues to ride you. The lewd sight in front of you gets you going, as you start feasting on Chaewon’s tits.
Sucking on her stiff nipples, drives Chaewon more wild. Shifting from bouncing movements, she starts to grind on our cock. Shifting in between a grinding motion and a circular one. You rotate between each breast and its nipple, sucking on it and flicking your tongue on them.
With a hard suction on her right nipple, Chaewon lets out a groan. You feel your head get separated from her breasts, as both you and Chaewon lock eyes.
“Don’t suck so hard on them.”
“Sorry. Can’t help myself… You're just so…” You don’t finish your sentence as Chaewon captures your lips.
She wraps her arms around your neck again, while you grab on to her ass. The kiss is broken, as the two of you look at each other again. You disrupt the moment between the two of you as you pick her up and bring her down on your cock again. The surprise movement briefly makes her eyes roll to the back of her head before they focus on you again.
“Ready for a ride?” Chaewon smirks at your question.
“Don’t drop me.” Chaewon surrenders herself full to you, as she drops her head on one of your shoulders.
Getting off the bed, you lift Chaewon up. A sultry moan is heard from her, as you adjust your hold on her. Affirming your hold on Chaewon with a soft slap to her ass, she lifts her head off your shoulders, clinging on to you now. The two of you lock eyes.
Thrusting your hips forward, Chaewon’s eyes roll back to her head. You don’t spare the theatrics of going slow in this position. Chaewon was well adjusted to you at this point. Your goal was to give Chaewon the ride of her life and to cum for the first time tonight.
The sound of your flesh hitting her fills the room again. You watch on, as Chaewon’s face is filled with bliss as you use her hole to your liking. Your core starts to burn, as you pick up your pace. Your cock spearing in and out of her pussy.
You hit a spot that makes Chaewon close the distance between the two of you. She kisses you frantically before breaking it.
“Fuck me harder…” Chaewon practically takes over for you, as she lets gravity do the work of pulling her down, with her pulling herself up when needed.
You adjust your hold onto Chaewon, as she clings back onto you. You let gravity be your friend this time, instead of doing everything yourself. You trust in physics, as you bring Chaewon up and down on your cock.
“Oppa…” Chaewon takes a look down, trying to spot your cock going in and out of her.
It does her no good, as she can’t see anything. Despite the lack of view, her pussy tightens to each upward thrust that goes into her.
“I’m close oppa… yes, yes, yes!” Her moans come back and turn incoherent.
The sweat forming between your arms and her thighs, makes you lose hold of Chaewon. You adjust your hold though, making sure you don’t drop her. You feel her pussy tighten on your cock. You see the sinister grin, Chaewon has instead of one showing fear for you almost dropping her.
You take it as a cue to keep going. You thrust hard and fast into Chaewon, making her resume her moans of satisfaction. Spearing your cock into her, you lift her back and adjust your hold on her. Clinging on to you for dear life, Chaewon forces herself back into your thrusts.
“I’m close oppa… I’m close!” You grit your teeth.
You try to hold out for Chaewon but this was the limit for you. You burst inside of Chaewon, as she continues to ride you. Your cum fills her insides, as she moans out to the hot sensational feeling of your cum.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Riding you through your orgasm, Chaewon finally reaches her.
Slipping you out of her, you feel your slick cock get hit with a mixture of your semen and her juices. You stiffen up your legs to hold you in place. They shake with weakness, as both you and Chaewon breathe out heavily.
The room becomes still. The only thing moving is the bright flashes from the TV and the low sound of whatever was on the TV now.
You flinch, as you feel small droplets of Chaewon’s juices hit your cock. You take small steps, spinning the two of you around. You place Chaewon on the bed first before dropping right next to her.
You cover your eyes with your sweaty forearm. As your body cools down, you feel Chaewon’s arm wrap around your torso. You uncover your eyes seeing Chaewon hop on top of you. Leaning back, you feel the mixture of your cum and Chaewon’s juices leak out on you.
Stripping her sports bra off, you let out a gasp, as Chaewon rubs her ass on your cock. Reaching back, she makes sure your semi-erected cock is between her supple cheeks.
“I want more oppa…” Chaewon lowers herself and captures your lips, wanting a second round.
You can’t help yourself but give into her, as your cock starts to come back to life for a second round.
.
.
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A/N: Trying to brush off some of that “writing rust”. Hope y’all don’t mind the rust. Did my best to make sure none of it was seen during editing lol.
Hope you all enjoyed it! Hopefully another fic comes out this weekend, bearing life doesn’t find a way…😛
-Closes Library Office-
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usedpidemo · 5 days
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Overture (Prequel to Enlightenment) — {Feat. Karina}
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8.7k words
A/N: You don’t know how old this draft is… I still remember that anon who sent a few asks about this series, and I really hope that they read this! This one is the longest I’ve ever written. Might not be the best piece, but I’m so proud of myself that I did my best. Thank you @dnd-writes for editing and giving me awesome advices. Enjoy!
*Prequel to “Enlightenment”
******
“Doesn’t matter how the two met. It’s about how they’re together ‘til now.”
******
It’s the first day in your new high school. It’s already March but the breeze is yet to blow winter away, strongly acclaiming its presence with the icy wind you face as soon as you come out of the main building of your school to go to the cafeteria. You haven’t made any friends to have lunch with yet, so you change your mind to just head to the smoking spot–behind the auditorium which is already an alien building itself–and kill some time smoking. You turn your way to the smoking spot inside the huge tide of students heading to the cafeteria. Freezing air makes you pace up to the spot.
After passing a few corners where even the wind has been disturbed to travel through, you find a drum can with fire in it making a peaceful crackling sound.
And a girl standing right by it as if wanting to get burnt. “Are you the new one?” Her voice is sharp enough to make it sound wary, yet quite chirpy to end up hitting you as rather coquettish.
“I don’t… I don't really know you,” Your steps towards her contradict your words. “Me neither.” At the fire you light your own cigarette. Your eyes scan her body from the ground to meet hers doing the same to you. The yellow name tag catches your eyes. Her name is Yu Jimin, third grade. And where the name tag is what makes your attention gather up too–perfect size, matches her wavy figure and sassy face, calmly heaves when she’s inhaling in the smoke.
“My name’s not that hard to read,” That’s when you realize that Yu Jimin, this unusual girl, will be an attraction with challenges. It’s all in her grin, in her turbid eyes that never leave yours–to be honest, it’s yours that never leaves hers; they won’t let the leash on your eyes loosen, until she wants to.
You suck it in, and breathe out a mouthful of smoke in the cold air. You look at her again and she's been watching you thoroughly, from head to toe, examining your body, shape, façade and all things she finds nice to look at, regardless of you mirroring her like once isn’t really enough.
She’s got such a nice, sculpted body, hidden under the school uniform but even more premo like that; concave and convex, it just hugs her curves impeccably. Narrow waist and wide, tight hips causing the skirt to struggle not to be torn apart. What’s more is her face, at the height of your chest, looking almost unrealistic, inhumanly beautiful, especially with a shallow grin like right now.
You are automatically making steps toward Jimin and she’s not backing up. You turn your head right to let out the smoke and then return to the ongoing gaze between you two.
“Don’t I look cold?” Jimin steps backwards, from the fire and from you. It makes you just automatically look at her legs, so slick and teem with femininity. You keep following what she tells you to do, what the hormones tell you to do.
“What do you want me to say?” It should be delivered as a counterattack to the dominance Jimin has shown you, but it, unfortunately, ends up sounding as if you were really confused. And Jimin almost bursts into laughter which she manages to hold in.
“So, third grade? What class are you in?”
“Two. You?” You drop the used cigarette and step on it to put it out. “Four. I’ll drop by sometime, handsome.”
Then she leaves the spot just like that. You are so interested in the girl Yoo Jimin. Given that she’s pretty like that, smokes around, she’s nothing like the normal students, obviously. And you can tell Jimin also found you special. Yeah, you know people don’t get to see a man like you quite often. You also know you don’t get to see a girl so appetizing like her often. It’s third year in highschool. You’re no amateur to let a girl play you around, rather, you’ve learned to control those feisty, hungry girls, but ugh, to be honest you don’t know what’s going on. 
******
She never comes to see you until the end of school. Nor do you, because you thought you could wait–precisely, you thought you had to wait. You definitely want to take the upper hand in this new relationship so you just head home, yet with a bit of disappointment. But you don’t let anyone know. Maybe she’s just playing you out. That’s unacceptable for you. You calmly wait for the bus deep in thought. Maybe find someone else tomorrow. I don’t know.
“Hey, going somewhere?”
Fuck. It’s her. Jimin.
You think of complaining, but swallow it back and answer. “Home. You?” Jimin shrugs with nonchalance. “I don’t know. Your place, maybe? Do you live alone?” She lunges in suddenly, and you could just let her be as spunky as she can be. “I do. Why do you want to know that?” You throw a question, feigning calmness, and Jimin just smirks back.
“Don’t ask me.”
You’re on the bus. You let Jimin take the window side and sit next to her. You stuff your ears with some random songs and lock your eyes to the screen in your palm to leave the absorbing girl next to you out of your world even for a second.
“What made you move to my school?” Suddenly one of your earphones is between her fingers, your arm in hers to squish her breast slightly which feels so intentional. This bold little chick keeps surprising you in unforeseeable ways. Besides, you can read that she’s definitely testing you. Seems a little bit like an upside-down situation, for you to be the object, and oh, don’t you say you don’t find this rather fun.
“Well, there was an accident. You don’t need to know any further.” Her questions don’t seem to end, however. An eye roll might silence her—
“You can tell me. It’s alri-“
“You’d better shut the fuck up, Jimin.” Your fingers hold her chin up, facing you, merely a breath away as your noses tickle each other. And what gets you a moment later is her eyes, round and glowy, that could easily see through your brain, trying to suffocate you in the vivid yet gooey gaze. And there she plants her words straight into your brain; I’m a little impressed, but try harder. 
A sudden squeak of the brake informs you to get off. You step out of the bus and Jimin quietly follows. Then you start walking at a rather slow pace. The sound of another pair of footsteps is the only clue of her existence for you.
“You made me wait.” You break the silence as you near your house. You don’t bother turning back to be an audience for her commanding attitude, but her cockiness nonetheless makes it to your ears.
“Well, I might have just forgotten. My bad.” You unlock the door, let Jimin in and close it. Right after the thud you pin her arms over her head with one hand, eliciting a sharp yelp from her.
“You made me fucking wait, Jimin. You’ll have to pay for it.” Your face is just a few inches from hers again. Your straining voice is mixed with her breath, hot, and your burning gaze never leaves hers, to return the blow that she had on your mind; you don’t know me yet.
“You should feel lucky.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested in you.” Jimin’s words, however, don’t sound tense or weak despite your visible dominance. Rather, it’s an impudent confidence that defies the dynamic knotted between your eyes. Jimin herself visualizes it with an even wider smile, dense with deliberate harm to your ego.
“Mmm…!” You dive into Jimin’s lips while your other hand suddenly wraps around her neck hard. Keeping the chokehold still, your hand once holding her wrists tears her school shirt open, letting the buttons randomly fly to the floor. With her hands free, they dangle on your arms. Her demure hand tries to push you back from her neck, but her tongue is flapping inside your mouth, already allured by the intenseness. Your other hand hesitates about before swiftly undoing her bra and Jimin drops it on the floor. You squeeze the godly pair of flesh and soon pull back from the kiss.
“Shit, you like it rough, huh?” Jimin giggles, with a killing lip bite, and discards her buttonless shirt. There you feel something kick your heart, to see a girl enjoying your selfishness and harshness for the first time. A thought that this girl might be the one for you passes through your mind like a hit-and-run truck.
You turn yourselves around and make Jimin walk backwards to your bedroom with your guide. Jimin doesn't wait to unbutton your shirt on your way, and the corners of her lips soon get pulled down by the lust exponentially charging up. You try to look calm but you’re no different–can’t help it in front of this amazing figure of Jimin, skin-to-skin just for you.
Entering the bedroom you push Jimin onto the bed. Her under lip experiences another intense bite as you lay her down and climb over her body, face to face just like a few minutes ago. With one hand supporting your weight, you take the other to her irresistible breasts and fondle them. Jimin hooks her arms and magnetizes your lips to hers for a delirious lip lock once again. Your hand slides down her torso to the button of her uniform skirt and undoes it then takes it off of her fatal legs and throws it to the floor.
“Next time you won’t wear these, okay?” It’s a demand but also a command, with your fingers on the wet spot on her panties. Her hands find themselves wandering on your toned chest, much in admiration. She nods quickly and unbuckles your pants.
“Needy,” Her hastiness makes you grin, and your words only make Jimin’s excitement grow.
“Yes. I am.” This is what makes you wanna accept the challenge; she’s talking things like that all too fresh, like you have to feel thankful for it. You take your pants off with your underwear to be fully naked. You help Jimin get rid of the annoying cloth being dampened by her pussy off her legs and throw it to the pile of clothes on the floor. With the anticipation for the next step Jimin’s breath paces up, running thin like her patience.
“You’re fucking big…” Jimin marvels at the way your cock tickles her belly button and her tummy. You slap her bare stomach a few times with your cock, spit on it and spread the slickness across with slow strokes.
“I said you’ll have to pay for it, Jimin,” You rub your cock on her wetness, gaining more lubrication, and slap your cock on her folds to see her reaction.
“Ah, please make me…Make me-OH FUCK…!” You push into the hilt with a swift thrust. The tightness draws a groan straight from your throat, and your right hand rises to her neck and chokes her hard again.
“You tell me who’s lucky. You think it’s still me?” Straight to the point that has been bothering you ever since it was spoken. You love to make things clear—dirty—who’s the one to stand and who’s the one to kneel. And if she ever intended to get under your skin, well, she pushed the wrong button.
Jimin’s eyes slam shut, unlike her agape mouth through which you can see her tongue has lost its way, dragged here and there by the hand of her senses, overthrown by what you’re doing. You keep thrusting in and out at such a pace, every time making sure your balls hit her ass, filling her tight hole up ecstatically with no vacancy.
“Hah, god…! It’s me, I’m the lucky one! I’m so fucking lucky to have your big cock inside me!”
“Good. See, your act doesn’t last a day.”
Her lips tremble, as if about to cry, as if all the fucking around was just a pretense and she actually has to be under you. She bites the lower one but can’t hold the shiver down. 
You move your hand from Jimin’s neck to her face, grabbing her cheeks in one grip. You bring her face close to yours, both shaking to the orgasmic rhythm but never losing eye contact. Then you slap her cheeks, out of nowhere, just enough for the sound to be pleasurable but not too painful. Jimin starts to drool when you do that several times more, with loud, long moans gradually turning into screams.
“Oh, fuck, yes…! FUCK YES…!” Done with the hitting, you push in your fingers to Jimin’s unsilent mouth to get a better hold of her body. A teardrop leaves her glossy eyes and rolls down to where her ear is. A perfect mixture of pain and pleasure, both of which makes you two forget about tomorrow.
“I’m cumming, Jesus! I-I… Fucking cummi-“ Jimin’s back viciously arches so upward that you almost slip out. Her arms don’t seem to settle for a while before they dig into your back to work as anchors, her body vulnerable in the midst of a destructive swirl of pleasure. But that’s none of your concern as you make the haze in her head threaten her consciousness.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” You wait for Jimin to come down but that’s so silly of you to do so; your ravageous ramming cock never lets her. All of a sudden you pull out, causing Jimin to shake immensely, and flip her on all fours. Her sex is glistening and the other hole is too, both of them slick with her juices and constricting irregularly.
When Jimin feels your cock rub on her pussy she collapses onto the mattress, only her ass up and her face down, exhausted on the bed, faced to the right. But whenever your cock teases her other hole Jimin shudders, toes curl and her fists try to tear your sheets at the sensation of her asshole getting stimulated.
“Agh, fuck…” You don’t warn Jimin when you insert the head of your cock inside her tight ass. This time even you can’t handle the pleasure of its tremendous tightness as you shut your eyes and groan loudly.
“Holy fuck, Jimin, this is so tight,” You tell her when you’re halfway in. Her body stays still, but her hands ball up and her toes curl until they all become pale. Every inch deeper inside her ass is the moment for you to admire the transcendental tightness you’ve never experienced from those other girls you have been through. Maybe you’re lucky too, to have found this perfect body with nothing to lament on.
“Oh, please, that’s deep! Fuck my ass deep just like-oh my fucking god!” Your reaction is quick—it’s more of a reflection though—doing more than what Jimin asked even before she finishes her words, beginning the mindless assfuck with such a carefree pace. You bring her powerless head up with your hand wrapped around her neck, tight, choking her again. The tighter you grip, the tighter her ass gets. You catch a glimpse of the crooked corner of her lips, which only fuels your inner engines to work even harder.
It’s just your thing; when you see a smile, you have to break it. You destroy it, and you sincerely cherish it when it’s gone.
As you reach your maximum speed Jimin’s distorted smile subsides and an even more euphoric look spreads. Mouth open wide, drooling down her chin and onto your hand on her throat, eyes open but white. As if she muted herself, Jimin doesn’t even breathe—not only because of your grip, but also the orgasm building up as fast as how you ram her ass. You grin at the sight of Jimin drowning in the sensations her own nerves convey; you create. It kills you how small her body is, when you can witness a simple—yet ruthless—piston to her crotch can dye her whole skin red, travel electrically to everywhere in no time, shrinking every minimal muscle. You release her, she falls down limp on the bed and screams at the anal orgasm hitting her, threatening her consciousness.
“Ahh! Fuck, fuck…!” You’re nowhere far from your own end, either. Your breath shallows down at the crazy tightness of Jimin’s orgasming ass. 
“Jimin, I’m cumming…!” You do. You reach as deep inside her anal cavern as you can and unload your cum, mind blowing pleasure coursing through every corner of your body. You shoot, and shoot, and shoot. Jimin clenches her hole for your cum to be deposited inside her with a lazy hum, in harmony with your groan seeping out of your gritted teeth.
It takes a few minutes for your breaths to find the normal speed. “No one’s fucked my ass this amazing,”
It surely was enough to bring amazement, undoubtedly the best you’ve had so far. You sit up and rearrange her hair for her.
“Did I pay for it?“ Jimin’s already got that bright smile back, and after such an extreme sex your barriers collapse in front of her, as you smile back at her.
“Very much.”
“Can you get my phone? It’s in my skirt.” You head to the pile of discarded clothes and do it for Jimin, who’s sitting on the bed with her head resting on the headboard. You toss it on the bed.
Jimin looks into her phone right away, scrolls down mindlessly and looks at you, who’s naked and standing next to the bed.
“Take a shower first, baby.”
Baby, she said.
Your eyes dart to hers immediately. Your face stays placid but you know Jimin knows you’re not at all used to it. You never really allow any strings attached with the ones you fuck; it’s a rather body-to-body entanglement than something emotional. But you’re surprised at how that word fits comfortably between you two. There’s something different. You look back at Jimin but her attention is taken by her phone already, again like a hit-and-run truck, but not completely as you can see her smirk the way you love. So you just enter the bathroom. 
In the shower you review the past 30 minutes—you had sex with the girl Yoo Jimin: nothing special. But not just that; Jimin has by far the best body of all the other girls you’ve experienced. You can tell you really enjoyed it today. You can tell she’s worthy of continuing the relationship. You like the way Jimin turns from a bubbly, sassy girl in school to a begging, screaming mess in bed under you. And the way she calls you baby—it dulls all your edges like a cup of boiling water would do to an ice cube. Just like the hot water pouring on your head.
You come out of the shower and see Jimin smoking on your bed, sitting on the edge with her legs crossed, elbow on her thigh, still aesthetically naked. She looks gorgeous like that. You walk to her, take the cigarette from her hand to your mouth. Then push her down on the bed, breathe the smoke in deep and throw the shortened cigarette away to the bin next to bed, breathe out, and share a smoky kiss.
A few moments later your rod pokes at her belly and Jimin parts away with a giggle.
“Fuck, I really have to clean my body.” You bring her off the bed with you. “Shut up and get down here,” With a smirk she does, and as soon as she adjusts her legs and position you shove your cock in her mouth. A gag earned.
But after that Jimin takes your big cock pretty well, without gagging or looking uncomfortable, even when her nose crashes on your crotch; you’ve found yourself a perfect girl, indeed.
“Nice.” Her teary eyes never leave yours throughout the session as you pace up for a brief finish. Adjusting to the speed of your cock moving entirely in and out, Jimin’s hands go up to the back of your thighs for firmer grip.
Jimin’s drool tickles down your balls and forms a small puddle on the floor. With the filthiest slurping sound Jimin bobs her head at the beat of your cock sliding through. Whenever her delicate tongue presses onto the underside of your cock you throb inside her mouth, making her head slightly move simultaneously.
Jimin’s tears meet the drool on her chin, and with a sound of her voice from her throat Jimin taps your thighs for you to pull out. You take your cock out of her mouth and slap it on her fucked face a few times, painting her face with her own saliva, to her liking.
“Finish it.”
Put the shower aside, and you shower Jimin with your lust deep into her throat. You feel your legs not far from giving in, but thankfully your cock is just the same, due to what Jimin is doing under you.
“Jimin, I’m-I’m close.”
Jimin starts to fondle your balls and that certainly helps you cross the line. In no time you fill her throat up white, and the room with your satisfied groan.
You look straight into Jimin’s eyes when you cum, and it’s astonishingly reciprocated when she gulps down your load quickly, professionally. As soon as you are done pouring into Jimin she stands up, showing you her clean tongue with a tilt of her head, and heads to the bathroom. You, left alone, giggle quietly and sprawl on the bed after putting on underwear. 
******
“Text me at lunch break. You know where to meet me.” You just nod at Jimin, who’s in one of your T-shirts that is just a little bit big for her; loss of all the buttons on her uniform comes at a cost. An inner beam blooms under your face when you find her just too perfect in that outfit of school skirt with your T-shirt tucked under it. Those unhidden bra lines count as one of many reasons for you to stare at her, take her in your arms right now and-
“Not now, perv.” Her smirk lets yours surface up to reciprocate hers. You stand up from the bed, approach her and walk her backwards to the wall. Jimin has been playful and relaxed with you and you like it. But when you—just like right now—detect submission in her eyes: you love it. You don’t stop your hand from rising up for her neck and have a good grip around it. You don’t stop the other from being pulled away to her gracious tits and squeezing them.
“Not now?” And there are those big eyes begging for you to go further, that bitten lower lip asking for any contact, as if the one who just quipped ‘not now’ choked out. Always hits you differently when she just switches from a brat to a subby mess out of control.
Contradiction is the most normal of things when you have a tight grip over Jimin. Her reddening face gradually forms a thin smirk when your lips close in to hers. Her eyes close, lips part for a mind-numbing kiss—
“Not now.” You make a sudden pull back and release Jimin from your grip. She stumbles and almost collapses on the floor so you hold her in your arms. For the same purpose and then some, her arms rest on your shoulders and pull you in, only to be denied by your hand pushing her chest off of you, leaving Jimin just keeping a hungry gaze at your lips and whimpering “Please.”
You finish tying the necktie, bring your thumb up to her lips. As it sweeps over them Jimin lets her tongue coat your thumb with her saliva which could’ve blended perfectly with yours.
“To the spot at lunch break, Jimin. And ah,” You stand down and pull her panties down in one sway and she helps herself out of them by lifting her legs respectively. You toss it on the bed and rise up again, for your collarbone to match her height, for her to look up at you again.
“You don’t wear the same panties for two days straight, do you?” Jimin just nods quickly and tries to crush her lips on yours yet again. Seems like she wouldn’t care even if you made her go to school all nude, if she could just mix her tongue with yours right now. Her efforts to make you kiss her is visible to you; eyes so seductive yet not able to take themselves off of their foremost target, lips slightly open for her tongue to peek outside. Seeing that you just step back and prepare to leave for school with an unseen smirk.
“Let’s go.”
******
As anticipated, needy and untidy Yoo Jimin sends you a dozen pictures of her bare crotch under her skirt, saying ‘Want your fingers inside’, ‘Can’t wait for the lunch break.’ Those are to be left on read.
Morning classes fly by as the bell rings to announce the lunch break. The class rushes out for lunch, has a race among them with some of them even running like they have something to win. And amongst that crowd you head to the spot, to Yoo Jimin.
She’s there already waiting for you when you turn the last corner. Legs crossed, back on the brick wall and a half-spent cigarette between her lips, looking so delinquent there with that insanely short skirt and in the shirt you gave. She notices you, has a reet smile on her and throws the cigarette on the ground, and watches you approach her standing still. No immaterial words or acts are needed when you can just kiss those lips like they’re yours. The remnant of the cigarette a fume that makes you dive deeper into this trance her tongue and yours are building, you spontaneously get rid of her skirt and are met with the wet skin under it.
Your fingers taste her crotch, slowly rubbing around and poised for any further indulgence. Her hands are, on the other hand, hectic with your buttons and when they’re done they swiftly go down to your belt. Your pants drop to your ankles in no time with your underwear, and with your erect cock emancipated, Jimin detaches from the kiss and spits on your cock and spreads it.
It all happens so fast that you are still enraptured by the kiss and her tits in your palms, leaving so many treats unfelt to your body. The next second you are inside her, making it even headier for you to follow up.
“Fuck, I needed this.” Jimin grits. With no clue of downshifting she takes the shirt off, her bra to follow suit, and hooks her arms around your neck to stand the frantic sex she wants from you. And that happens right away, as your instinct drops the hammer for you to automatically thrust into her even before you find yourself moaning at the sensation of her inside.
You keep your eyes closed while wrecking her pussy despite the eye candy that is Yoo Jimin during sex, and suddenly you notice her teeth on your shoulder. It’s a pain that can make you grin, that can make you savor the feeling, even it gets even stronger, because now you know that when she bites, she cums. Her legs give in, and you know it by the weight of her arms around your neck. Her walls clench harshly and there’s a stream of her juice down your legs when she cums. Yoo Jimin is so tactile, and when she cums her whole body does, for yours to recognize, you don’t even have to hearken to know it. The auditory input hits your brain the last, the pearly, shaky yelp of the orgasming needy girl adds up to all the stimuli you are taking.
When she comes down you slow down, lazily reaching her cervix as she hums at it every time.
“Kiss me, baby.” You do. It’s saccharine to your tongue. Her tongue distraughtly moves around inside your mouth, some of the drool leaking onto her tits to make it even more impeccable. The gustation mesmerizes you into a rabid sex, this time for yourself to get off. No subduing, only upshifts lead the way as you turn her around, put it back in and lavish thrusts into her sex.
“Shit. Jimin, you’re so fucking perfect.” You’re not saying this again because she might not have heard it; you are repeating it like a low-functioning machine because you’re afraid you haven’t said it enough. And she can condone it—of course she can, it’s a compliment anyway—because she knows it already, because the feeling’s mutual. You say it several more times on the back of her neck, almost making it a tattoo, carving it in intaglio. Still deranged, Jimin is just screaming with her back arching to the sky and carotically facing the brick wall with her left cheek. The right side of her face is rosed up, and her eye has a glimpse of you, your wry face and the sweat-coated torso and shuts and she cums just like that. 
Her breaths are shallow, irregular, a gusty fluid squelches out of her pussy and the scene of her orgasm is intimidating your endurance, easily sending you to an orgasmic stupor and making you spurt out inside her with a gritted groan. 
“Jimin, I… God, fuck…!” To your overstimulated cock Jimin has her shrewd tongue on it, sealed with her lips. Makes your legs wobble, unmercifully agitating your mind with frenzy, but just until she clears your shaft up clean from the tabloid juices all over it.
“I loved it. Maybe we should make it daily.” Jimin rises up, with her skirt and your shirt in her hands and still breathing somewhat heavily. And the desecrated smile on her face is the coercion for you to wear one too, a copacetic one. Shirt on, a smoking cigarette between your fingers, you insinuate to her.
“Your panties are still on my bed, you know.” And she’s shrewd with it—has been from the very beginning—and purrs. “Mhmm, I’m going to go fetch it after school with you.”
Of course, is what your nods that follows says, and there’s my girl, says your zest-filled grin, looking at her back that walks out of the corner. It’s always that intrinsic sass you could simply, so simply kill for. Maybe a challenge for you, maybe a finesse for you to be benumbly trapped into. It’s your choice, and from some point on the latter looks dazzling to you; maybe you’re a person who just dyes so well, to a derogated girl who seemed to have taken everything you’ve given but turns out she just put you in the phantasma of her own stardust without you realizing it—you’ve lost it in her, somehow. And that’s bizarre: and you love it.
******
You’re standing at the bus stop, hands in your pocket and looking around to find your girl. When you do, you’re so surprised at how Jimin so stands out among all the crowd while doing nothing but just walk. Even from miles out you’re sure you’ll spot her in a second. The belle of the crowd, wherever she is. She’s not the tallest but still piques herself on her to-die-for aura like she blurs everyone out. As if she sensed the scrutiny, Jimin looks up from her phone, looks around and soon finds you looking at her. You hate to be seen so infatuated like this but you can’t help it, as your eyes meet hers and your face brightens up, half from seeing her and half at yourself caught like that.
“That happy to see me?” You don’t answer, just bring your hands to her crotch and check there’s no underwear blocking your way. A flick over her uncovered pussy earns you a shocked look.
“This is not your bedroom!” Jimin shouts in whisper, but not with caution, but an intrigued grin with eyes darting around the crowd waiting for the bus.
“Are you telling me to stop?” You take your fingers to her mouth, her tongue welcoming the taste of horniness coated all over your fingers. “I’m telling you not to stop.”
So your hand returns to her pussy. You’re rubbing, tapping on and hooking your fingers in, Jimin bites on her own fingers not to relinquish her scream. You hold her trembling body as steady as possible but you know that it’ll be absolutely normal if the people around you realize that you two are having a little fun explicitly in public. Everyone’s looking at you and Jimin in front of you, facing the same way as you and receiving that dirty fingering amongst so many audiences.
In a few minutes the bus is here, to show you only one vacant seat left. You take the seat and Jimin sits on your lap, facing backwards and hugging your neck. You resume the unholy yet entertaining fingering to the pretty moaning girl on your lap.
And you return to who you really are: you’re a gentleman yourself, with etiquette, with common decency, to pull Jimin’s head down on your shoulder to muffle her nasty sound on it. You know even the driver is looking at you through the mirror, but that’s because of her, not you; again, you’re making no noise, and Jimin in your embrace is the culprit of all the squeaky, watery, moaning noise, not you. 
“Quiet, Jimin.” Now her teeth dig into your skin, synchronizing with your fingers indulging into her wet, tight hole. You know what you’re doing won’t shut her up. You’re just saying it, a formality. Inside your mind you want her to moan loudly, at the same time want to see her struggle keeping it quiet. So you yank her hair back to watch her distorted face, observe every tiny wriggle of her expression.
“Ah…!” Look into her eyes as if wanting to pierce through them. Jimin looks at you too, flooding with lust, drowning in her own sensations of sex and embarrassment of being exposed in such a public situation. “I’m almost there.” It’s a plain text but she’s begging there. She says she’s almost there but she’s already there, as it seems.
“Yeah, we’re almost there.” A bump on the road makes your fingers hit her spot, makes her back arc, makes her almost, almost lose it right there. You pull out your fingers from her hot cavern to the relatively cool air of the bus. Her liquid feels fresh out in the air but that feeling is soon lost, by her tongue wrapping them up and sucking it clean—suckling it dirty.
The bus stops right then for only you and Jimin to get off. It’s much quieter than inside the bus, partially due to you not fingerfucking her anymore. In no time you’re at the door of your house, unlock it, swing open and it slams shut. Simultaneously Jimin hops on you and dive into your mouth with hers. You stumble through to your bedroom, toss her on the bed, swiftly undo your belt and pants with your boxers, let your already hard dick spring out but don't let it feel the air as it vanishes into Jimin’s waiting pussy right away.
No one speaks a word. No one can, to be fair. You two are merely inches away from dying, too impatient to wait another second. And there you let Jimin approach death a bit closer by holding her neck around, a perfect necklace for her, and straining your hand. Jimin’s mouth is open, difficulty in breathing so visible, face reddening but there’s still her hunger in it; she grins. Her smile is so cruel, violent, so evil yet joyful, as if she’s the victimizer and you’re the victim.
“Please, baby… Kill me. Fucking choke me to death, please, choke me and kill me-fuck!” You make her scream when you slap her tits, as if you were angry at her, but you’re the opposite—you love her so much that you just want to abuse her, to her liking, just like right now. All her sensations seem to evaporate as her eyes roll back and her hands drop to her sides spiritlessly: or, airlessly. You let her go, not wanting to actually kill her.
With a giant inhale Jimin returns from the border of unconsciousness. Her hands travel from her own tits, your hands, and soon back to the sheets, still wandering in need for anything to release the tension. So you pin down her wrists and pace up your thrusts.
“Fuck, Jimin. Don’t tempt me. You make me really want to fuck you dead.” You’re saying it right on her face, which enables her to feel that you mean it. There she tries to kiss your lips, but you pull back with agility, instead covering her mouth and nose with your palm, again suffocating her to your liking, to your loving, to your abnormal, psychopathic obsession.
“I want to see you struggle for life. I want to see you beg for life. You’ll look so perfect like that.” Jimin screams into your hand, covers it with her saliva and tears. You close in with your other hand groping her tit and your cock hitting everywhere inside her squeezing cunt. Jimin’s eyes widen as her orgasm fades in, muffling “I’m cumming!” Several times on your palm before peaking like never before. Her orgasm never gives her the time to even shut her eyes as they roll into her head. Her scream penetrates your hand over her mouth as it departs on your ears so deliciously.
That’s what psychopaths do, isn’t it? To experience the catharsis washing over your spine and get off with how a person screams, all helpless, with tears, shallow breaths as if soon going to die, or at least pass out. Maybe it’s that she’s making it clear about who you are. Would be a pleasure to embrace it.
And it’s your turn now. You pull out, escaping Jimin’s spent pussy with quite an amount of her squirt, leaving her all trembling and arching. There’s a layer of sweat all over her body and it makes it look like a scene from any pornography. Jimin doesn’t move a bit-only her chest is heavily healing up and down, even after you flip her upside down.
You tease her asshole with your middle finger and when she senses it enter she helps you by spreading her cheeks for deeper insertion. No resistance in and out of her ass. Every curl inside her ass makes Jimin squeeze her own cheeks as a response with a powerless moan. “Mmm, fuck me please… I’m not done yet.” Of course. You grin and prepare your cock for the second entrance as you pull Jimin up on all fours. Her arms give up when you rub your glistening cock on her pussy lips. And her reason gives up when you penetrate her rear hole.
“Ahh-fuck yes!”
“Holy fuck. This is so tight.” Her tightness erases your patience to savor it slowly. You start ruining her ass with the intention of actually destroying it. Jimin frowns, loud moan seeping through the bitten lip, hands curling into fists but arms all powerless on her sides.
“It’s so good, it’s so fucking good…! Don’t stop it baby. Make me cum like a fucking whore…!” Her voice can’t even get louder when her words just melt on the mattress just like her. Her words turn to nothings, eyes squeeze shut, concentrating all her senses to where she’s getting fucked. You feel your eyelids become heavier every single thrust, but the visual pleasure is just too good to give up watching it-her ass up for you to fuck it senseless, narrow waist contrasting her wide hips so aesthetically. The cherry on top is the expressions on her gorgeous face which you can’t quite read. Just like when all colors mixed makes pitch-black, her facial wrinkles and twitches are the perfect mixture of all pleasure, ecstasy that you can’t tell what she’s feeling at this moment.
“Nngh!” Actually, you can. Jimin is orgasming so hard, clear—dirty—liquid pumping out of her empty pussy to flood the mattress. Her ass squeezes your cock too hard for you to move in and out as fast as before without blasting every drop in her climaxing ass hole.
So you park it deep in her contracting hole, stay there, and shut Jimin’s moaning mouth with yours. She doesn’t care—or she doesn't acknowledge—and keeps screaming for her life even after her peak has washed over. A few dozen seconds pass, she calms down to at least breathe regularly when you stand your torso up to resume the session.
“You… You have to cum…” As if she even cares for you instead of her own pleasure. You know she just wants more overwhelming orgasm only you can deliver, and you are no different. There’s something about this body, these tits, the voice, this face, this pussy, this ass; there really is something about Yoo Jimin. Without your knowledge you are humping her like a villain, mad, but with a grin that’s so dangerous that Jimin mirrors. Your hand already made itself home around her neck, a red mark of it pressing hard inevitable, tears rolling down along her side face.
“I’m going to fill you up, Jimin.” And with a sharp inhale you begin wrecking her inside. A gut-rearranging pounding is what her perfect ass deserves and she can’t even open her eyes properly-either one stays closed against her will, rolling up to see that there’s nothing inside her head.
“Fuck! Please, please, please, please… Gah, I’m- Again…!” How impatient. There’s not even a point for you to call a flaw. Immoral, impatient, vulgar, dirty… She’s all too perfect. And you’re sure that’s why you cum so hard, like never before.
A nasty pair of voices fill each other’s brain as you two cum. You lower your body, forehead on hers and eyes on hers, looking through those teary orbs as you feel yourself bursting out gregariously. No words but loud pants bridge your sensations to each other, and until the last spurt you don’t even blink in order to see Jimin go through her own orgasm.
That’s it; it’s been your undesirable sadistic desire that kept you on fire, and when you have saturated it it flips out of your head, making it empty—there hasn’t been anything other than that. When you’re done completely you let Jimin go from your glare, sit on the edge next to her gasping body. Your urge is swept off so cleanly, and you can see how dirty it was by the mess on your bed.
“Are you alright?” You ask, but looking up at the ceiling, not Jimin. You don’t turn your head but can already sense her looking at you. “You’re just so perfect.” Selfishly she doesn’t answer. And you hear the smirk in her words. You make one on your face too, hearing that, stand up, face her and find Jimin overloading your vision with how she gorgeously lies down there, making even all the nasty things complement her perfection.
“I’ll shower. Just don’t fall asleep on the bed. It’s dirty.” You tell Jimin, all helpless and powerless on the bed and panting like she just had the best sex in her life. The lustful girl who was begging for you to kill her is nowhere to be found; instead there’s a weak, short of breath, vulnerable and lithe angelic devil with your cum gushing out of her ass. As if a few more touches and she’d actually evaporate.
In the shower you barely feel the water on your body, so distracted by your own thoughts—your own thoughts but in the grabs of Yu Jimin. The exact same as yesterday, you are showering yourself with your shocked, strange feelings in the shower after sex that simply blew your mind.
It's just that she's too good. Too good to call it a hook-up, too good to make it only an occasional sex. The way she craves your cock, the way she begs for your violence, the way she’s so desperate for extreme orgasms under your hold. It’s the first time for you to smile just by thinking of a girl, especially when you’re such a harsh and rough type of a person even you’d admit. She’d let you hit her. She’d let you choke her, let you fuck her, destroy her—let you love her.
Then the door opens, a small, pale figure of female comes in, walks slowly through the mist of the hot water. Jimin stops in front of you, legs barely holding there, face buried on your chest and her arms locked around your neck to support her lithe body but they barely do. You move a little backward to let her more of the hot water.
As if all the water got into your veins, you feel your heart burn. Just look at her—legs all wobbly, barely standing, too exhausted to even look up at you, her hands at the back of your neck irregularly stroking the back of your head as if signaling she’s at least perceiving things properly. You put a hand on her back and spread the water on it, and that’s when she lifts her head and meets your eyes. 
Weak and lethargic like a candlelight in front of a tsunami, Jimin is barely standing there with low moans whenever her legs wobble and give up. Her arms tighten around your neck as one of yours hug her back so that she doesn’t collapse. Her face is right beneath yours, tilted up to face yours. Those eyes can’t avoid looking at your lips, which is just what you’re doing to her unashamedly.
Your hand climbs up to the back of her head. Regardless of that you and Jimin are exchanging such a strong yet soft, intense yet loving eyelock. It is an atypically genial moment and if you look back at this moment you might throttle yourself. She should know it by now, from the visible, audible changes on you. 
(Maybe you were afraid. Or beyond that. Love was what your fears were afraid of. Doesn’t quite make sense to say that you have fears, but anyways, you didn’t want, nor expect a couple nights to escalate to an actual romance.)
Minutes pass, and pass, and—and pause, when you pull her a bit into your arms and make a soundless, yet seismic kiss. Lips lock. Two pairs of lips open and a pair of tongues make contact, hug each other just like you two. Her hands snake into your hair, your head in her hands and deeper into the kiss. You two have even forgotten to breathe as the liplock continues for what feels like a lifetime, to complete the kiss of your life. When you try to pull back Jimin lunges a bit forward not to break the kiss, and you let your system suffocate a few dozen seconds more. 
“You’re so beautiful, Yu Jimin.” You finally tell her this. Not the literal confession of love but she gets it with the bewitching smile she always wears like nothing. Never been in love, you feel like you’re sent back to childhood, pure and intact, but that feeling is shattered into pieces when her hand finds your hardened cock poking at her belly.“Is that why you’re so hard, baby?” This time, the word ‘baby’ sounds so right with a lip bite of your lover and with a lust-filled grin on you. Her thumb slides on the underside of the tip, almost making you stumble back.
“Yes. Just like you’re always horny because of me.”  With a smirk you turn her around, bend her over so that her hands are on the wall, and put your cock in in one stroke. Jimin helplessly loses all the strength in her legs and falls but you're prudential enough not to let her. It's to the point where she's just hanging from your arms when you kindle the movement. Her skin looks even more satin with the water so you collar her and go on. You can't stop when the biggest impetus is jonesing for it. No choice but to harden the grip on her throat.
Jimin is flaccid on the wall, fingers fumbling on and desperately digging themselves on it with her head facing down. You are never going to unbind her until she falls into a stupor. “Baby I… I fucking love it so deep…! Use me just like that…” She can't let it out loud and soon loses all voice, raises her head, brings yours right beside hers and kisses you. And a feeling that this is the requital for your disclosure makes it compulsory to reciprocate it poignantly. Her hand guides one of yours to her tits, pushes it hard on it to make you squeeze them and soon the convulsions agitate through her body. Her orgasmic screams reverberate through your throat, which is also moaning out of the pleasure congesting your mind. 
When the kiss breaks her yelps stifle the smacking and squelching. You have no idea if it’s your heartiness or just overstimulation from before the shower, but her voice sounds so giddy she might just hit the floor all limp. The burgeoning pleasure conglomerates into a derogated vertigo, the unbearable sensations stack up in your spines and Jimin’s wringing walls really doesn’t help you push it down. Her eyes tell you—because her mouth can’t right now—she’s only a couple thrusts away from coming undone, tantamount to what’s threatening to blow your mind, break down your nerves.
“I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m fucking coming…!” A tautology that is so understandable. You help her, add to the pleasure by choking her. Her moans permeate to your hand through her throat and the foul secretion of her orgasm flows down her legs with the water pelting down on your bodies. Jimin fumbles on the wall with her fingers, too herring-gutted to digest the deray.
“Jimin. Yu Jimin. I’m coming too-fuck…!” When Jimin hears her name she hums, and when she feels the warmth coat her walls she buckles, arches her back to beckon your lips and jockeys her tongue between them. In less than a minute however she pulls back, due to lack of air, because of your chokehold, and pants in your face, with a pejorative smile, but no sign of mannerism—you all know, that smile that follows after an exquisite sex—her sheer feelings carved in it, and you willingly mirror it as a beck of mutuality.
******
A rather huge thing is settled. Sitting on the edge of the bed together, with a cigarette between your fingers for each, you recount your history: the reason you moved, your personality, your sex life being like this. All of them, however, converge to her, Yu Jimin, weirdly enough for you who just can’t concede any feelings involved, which sounds like a monolithic psychopath which actually might be who you are.
Well, a little bit of romance couldn’t kill, could it? You think, lying next to Jimin and slowly closing your eyes to fall-
“You haven’t said it yet.”
“Say what?”
“You only said I’m beautiful.”
“And?”
“I know there’s something more. You know there’s something more.”
There you fail to hold out the chuckle.
“I don’t know what you’re-“
“It’s okay, baby. You don’t have to be shy about it,”
Jimin mischievously giggles. You know you can’t just laugh it off, and you won’t. That intricate feeling that tickles, but is not transient.
With a somnolent voice, you placidly say, like a tagline of a tragedy—or a comedy.
“Love you, Jimin.”
Her grin infiltrates her words hearing it.
“That’s it, my boy. Love you too.”
******
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usedpidemo · 7 days
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Are the any authors you associate with specific idols? For example iznsfw is Eunbi
Yeah, it's a bit expansive and comprehensive, accounting all my interactions and fics they've released:
iznsfw - Eunbi
ggidolsmuts - Yubin (Oh My Girl)
panchatea - Yuqi
writerpeach - Hyewon
locke - Jeongyeon
nsfwflint - Eunji (Apink)
gangplanksorenji - Song Hayoung
passingnotions - Dahyun
nsfwrpg - Chaeryeong
worldsover - Heejin
co-reborn - Tzuyu
fillinforlater - Minju
sinswithpleasure - Winter
firagaarmor - Gaeul
mintwithchoco - Yeji
rosiesmuts - Rosé
majorblinks / svndaysaweek - Minnie
octoberautumnbox - Jo Yuri
nsfwmaemi - Choi Yujin
capslocked - Irene
chunksworld - Minji (NewJeans)
casualkpopfan / midnightdancingsol - Jinsoul
xkajin - Jisun
(if ur not on this list or if I have incorrect data/info message me XD)
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usedpidemo · 7 days
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Panda Making - Dreamcatcher Dami
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A/N: I apologize for the utterly terrible puns (if you get it), if not, nothing of value was lost, trust me.
"Oh my god, it's so cuteeeee!" You remind yourself that Dami is not the cute one in Dreamcatcher, that she isn't one to fawn over something as mundane as a four-legged creature that eats shoots and leaves, but here she is, squealing at a pitch higher than you've ever heard her sing. "Did you know its name is Fu Bao?"
"Yes it's on the sign."
"And that it's the first panda born in Korea?"
"Yes that's also on the sign."
"Ahh and it's so cute!"
"I can tell, I can tell," you reply, unimpressed. Seeing her good mood, you try earning brownie points with Dami. "But you're cuter."
"No no, it's the cutest!" It is time for the two of you to move on, for the next viewing group to enter the enclosure. As you leave though, Dami curls her arm tightly around your elbow, guiding you back to the viewing line.
"Let's go again!"
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The panda is an invasive species, coming up in conversations even after you arrive back home with Dami.
"Can we make some bamboo-related dish?" "Let's get some fruit the pandas eat?" You are mentally prepared to put your foot down when Dami brings up pandas again.
Except it came at the most unexpected time.
"Oppa?" You're shaken awake by your girlfriend.
"Hmm?"
"I want to make a baby panda." Half-asleep you don't process her words properly.
"That's great, but we're not the zoo babe," you grumble into the pillow. You are significantly more awake once you feel Dami's hand dip beneath your shorts.
"We can make our own little Fu Bao right here..." Dami nibbles on your earlobe, rolling you on your back and climbing on top of you. Your eyes are widen open as you watch her slowly undo the buttons on her pajama top. "Maybe even call it Da Bao."
"God that's a terrible name," you chuckle as you pull Dami in for a kiss, slipping the silk shirt off her shoulders.
"Really? That's the takeaway here, that Da Bao's a bad name?" An outraged Dami is shushed by you slipping your hands under her pants, squeezing a tight cheek.
"You know what you're asking for right?" Dami's grinding on you slowly, her hips nodding up and down against you.
"Yeah, I know, maybe it's just me seeing cute stuff nowadays, gone a little bit stir crazy." You keep kissing her neck, letting her continue to grind on you, but not going further, not responding to her. "You're really going to make me say it hmm?" You kiss Dami's jawline, hands teasingly playing with the hem of her panties and struggling not to just rip it off her—her heat is palpable.
"I dunno what you're talking about, Da Bao's mom."
"God..." She shivers on top of you. "Fuck fine, I need you to get rid of all the condoms in the place."
"Now? Get off me then." Dami damn near dunks your dome on the bed and plants her derriere on you.
"Not right now!" she hisses, before shimmying and kicking off her pants. "I need you to knock me up." She pulls out your wide-awake cock and pulls her panties to the side, revealing that she truly "needs" you right now, pink flesh glistening even in the dim bedroom.
"Do you mean—" You hold Dami at whining distance, your cock twitching when you feel a drop of slick drip on your tip. "Do you mean a panda needs to be bred in Korea?" She growls as you bring her down on you, sheathing yourself in her.
"Yes god yes!" Dami's leaning against you heavily, reeling at feeling you raw inside her. "Fucking breed me."
"You feel so good, fuck!" Dami clenches around you, and you feel every texture and fold of her walls—it's so much more pleasurable with nothing wrapped around you, nothing stopping you from planting your seed inside her. "Ugh, not going to last long."
"It's fine, cum inside me, just cum inside me!" At your admission of poor stamina Dami rides you hard, her flat midriff moving sensuously. Her husky moans are right in your ear, begging you with "give me a baby panda" and "let me milk you". The whispers get more and more desperate until she sits down on you with a lewd squelch. The sudden increase in wetness gets to you, and you hold her down, making sure you're hilted in her before you explode. Dami sucks harshly on your neck, leaving a dark hickey as she creams all over you, purring contentedly as you fill her.
"Fuck, baby..."
"Are you talking to me or Da Bao?" You're shut up by your girlfriend, grinding down on you vengefully. Dami regrets it though, quivering on top of you.
"Shit, you're leaking, I can feel you leaking!"
"You're the one doing the leaking, all over our bed." You hold her close, feeling her clench around you, like she's still cumming or something. "Are you trying to milk me?"
"No, want to get you hard again."
"Hm, it's going to take more than that to make Da Bao."
"I know, I'll have to track my cycle, figure out when's the best time, and then make sure we're in our best condition, and—"
"You're overcomplicating things dear."
"What? Ah!" You hug Dami close as you put her on her back and get on top of her. "T-That's what I read, I did a lot of reading!" It makes you hard again, that Dami's not just having baby fever, but that she's actively doing research, really meaning to try for one. You enter her easily, and she arcs against you, body pressed flushed with yours.
"Maybe, but I have an easier solution." You start moving, pumping her full of cock while you lean down and whisper in her ear. "I fuck you before and after you finish work every day until it happens."
"D-Day and night?"
"Day and night, I'll fill you up properly, you'll have to hide from the members why you're walking funny, while you're still dripping my load, because you won't be able to get all of it out."
"That sounds good..." Dami gasps, wrapping her legs around your waist to lock you in. "And then?"
"And then when you come back home, I welcome you back and let you choose, do you want to ride me or should I bend you over the dining table before we eat dinner?" Dami's eyes roll as she imagines it happening, a small orgasm flowing through her.
"A-And then?"
"We do it one more time before we sleep, so you can get the best rest, maybe I fuck you in the shower so we can clean up quickly and go to sleep right after."
"What happens when I, when I—" Dami's a bit of a wreck, the thought of her doing her research combined with you actively trying to knock her up sending her into some kind of heat.
"When we succeed," you bring your hand down to her flat belly. "This little tummy won't be so flat any more, and it'll be fucking hot." You press down on her womb from above, and you drive into her powerfully, making sure she feels it all the way inside her.
"Yes yes yes yes yes..." Dami doesn't hear you groan and tell her you're cumming, she experiences it with you, your thick seed filling her up as the warmth flushes over her with her own peak. She clenches on you repeatedly, until you no longer throb inside of her.
As Dami cuddles against you, you remind yourself to throw out the condoms, and maybe you wouldn't mind taking her to see Fu Bao again before the panda is transferred back. After all...
Da Bao is part of the package.
A/N: So this came up randomly when I was listening to news about Fu Bao, one thing led to another and I had panda breeding in my head. I already had an idea for Seoyeon (Fromis App) so Dami was it. And once I got the name "Da Bao" in my head the pun is too terrible to not use it. Just a short little thing, thanks for reading!
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usedpidemo · 8 days
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this isn’t funny. 2023 -> 2024.
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usedpidemo · 11 days
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Indulge
Kim Bora x Male reader
[Masterlist]
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•••
"How much more time are you gonna take?! We should've been there 20 minutes ago!"
"You should've thought that before jumping on me!"
Yeah, actually this one's on you. You guys were supposed to be at a party your friend is throwing on the account of his birthday. But when Sua came out wearing that outfit, your lust got the best of you. One thing led to another and in next few minutes, you were balls deep within her.
"Sua, honey, let's go."
"Just a minute!"
You sigh, you've heard that same three words over 10 times in last 25 minutes.
"Okay, let's go." Sua comes out of the bedroom adjusting her hair. You take a look at her again, a strapped designer red-coloured flower top that ends at her gorgeous midriff accompanied by red shorts that terminate at the very best spot on her legs, her thighs. Thighs that make the best earmuff-
"If you're thinking about fucking me again, we've got a party to attend."
"As tempting as it sounds..." You close the distance between you and her, your hands landing on her waist,
"...I have to hold that thought."
"Good, now let's go!" Sua says, dragging you out of the house. You reach your car, an classic 2011 Honda Civic, because, like other average people, you both have financial problems too. You open the passenger door for her,
"Such a gentleman." She says pressing a light kiss on your cheek.
You get into the driver's seat, ignite the engine and start your journey towards your destination. You both sit in silence, with you keeping your eyes on the traffic,
"You remember that day?"
"Hm? Which day?" You take a glance towards her, she's looking out of the window.
"When we first met?" She looks towards you.
"Of course. How would I forget the most dreadful day of my life."
You joke. You get slapped in the shoulder.
"Ow."
"You sure know how to destroy a romantic moment."
"Okay sorry. I remember that day though, we met, we talked, and talked and talked–"
"–and then you asked me out–"
"–and you said yes." You say reaching for her hand. A perfect fit, yours in her's.
"And you took me to children's park for the first date. What a loser."
"Hey I was on a tight budget at that time! Besides you told me you had a great time that day."
She chuckles. "I did."
She brings your interlocked hands near her lips and places a kiss onto your knuckles. "I'm so lucky to have you." Sua says looking into your eyes.
"So am I."
•••
"Ayo Jake!" You shout out your friend or should you say, the birthday boy. He comes running towards you with a worried expression.
"Happy bir–"
"Ryujin is here."
Oh no.
"Who's Ryujin?" Sua asks curiously.
"His–"
"My ex."
Ryujin. Shin Ryujin. You both go way back. You both were the most popular couple in your graduate years. The reason being, obviously Ryujin. The captain of the cheerleading team. The most beautiful girl of the college. Everyone, boys and some girls included, wanted to date her. And for the very same reason, everyone– except that one guy, Jay, your best friend– despised you. How did a average middle class boy who can't even afford a Starbucks coffee, bagged the most beautiful girl in the college? The only question engraved in every person's mind, their ego was too fragile to handle it, so they spewed hate on you.
You didn't care about all that though, why should you? You loved her, that's all that mattered. And she loved you too. You lived under that illusion for far too long, until one day, same occasion, someone's birthday party, Jake came running to you. He asked you to come with him, you still remember, first floor, last bedroom in the right side. A girl moaning, you open the door, Jay laid back, Ryujin bouncing top of him. Jay wasn't despising you because he was your best friend, he wasn't doing it because he was fucking your girl behind your back. Fucking betrayer.
You caught Ryujin red handed and on came the usual excuses, baby this isn't what it looks like, I made a mistake, I'm sorry take me back blah blah blah. But, thankfully, you didn't pay heed to any of that, you broke up with her and you never ever talked with that betrayer.
You were heartbroken, but god had his hand on your head because the very next day, you met Sua.
"Is he here too?"
"...Yeah."
"Great." You sigh rubbing your temple.
"Sorry man if I had any idea my girl was going invite her, I would have told you."
"It's okay man. No need to apologise. It's your birthday, you're supposed to be having a blast." You say bumping his shoulder.
"Thanks. Come on let's meet up with everyone."
"Be on your way, I'll catch up with you in just a minute."
"Okay." says Jake before leaving.
"So what's up with this Ryujin thing?"
"I'll tell you all that later. Just keep one thing in mind, do not indulge yourself in any kind of communication with that girl." You say discreetly pointing towards a girl standing near the drinks counter, Ryujin, whose eyes already seemed to have found you.
"She's looking towards you."
"I know baby, I know. Also," You grab her arm and aggressively pull her into you. "If you fail to do what I've asked you, there will be consequences, harsh ones." You turn your back on her and take your leave.
"Oh darling how I love consequences."
•••
"...yeah man I thought about that too!" You are currently catching up with your old friends, whose demeanor towards you flipped 180 degrees once the news spread that you and Ryujin have broken up.
"Hey" Jake taps your shoulder.
"Any problem Jake?"
"umm actually Sua..."
What a brat.
You're walking her way now, you can spot her silhouette. She's standing next to a girl, probably Ryujin if you're to assume based on what Jake told you. And your assumption is proven to be correct, the girl indeed is Ryujin.
"...and my god his cock, everytime he is completely inside me I can feel my belly bulging." There she is, babbling all the nonsense on Ryujin's face, so that she could fuel jealousy in her heart,
"And the way he eats puss–"
"Sua, enough."
"Oh my god honey! There you are!" She turns around, wraps her arms around your neck and pulls you into a hug in an exaggerated manner.
"I told you not to, didn't I?" You ask in a muffled voice, burying your mouth into her shoulder.
"Try me bitch."
You break the hug.
"Ryujin." You acknowledge her presence with a nod.
"Hey."
"Sorry for the inconvenience. Probably babbling nonsense because she's drunk."
"No problem."
"We'll take your leave now." You don't wait for her answer. You turn and take Sua with you. Not long before you find Jake. "Thanks for the party Jake. Now, we'll take your leave. And hey, happy birthday again." You say before hugging him. "Aw man, would've been more fun if you could stick around for a little more." Jake says with a pout on his face. "I would've loved to, but it's late, we better leave." You say before taking your leave.
You're walking towards your car now, her hand still interlocked with yours,
"Am I gonna face my consequences now?" she says biting her lips. You don't answer her. You unlock the car using your key fob, and as you near the car,
"Get in the backseat." You tell her coldly.
"Are you gonna fuck me here?"
"I am not gonna repeat myself Sua. Get in the backseat. Now."
She gets in, followed by you. You sit facing each other, that smug smirk still sitting on her face.
"What now?"
You push Sua back by her shoulders, and she falls back first onto the seat. You yank her shorts down, a black thong–with a damp spot on it–covers her intimate parts. You move the string covering her pussy to the side,
"So wet for me already." You say running two fingers over her folds.
"Mmm..." She moans.
You silde the thong off and spread her legs, her beautiful pussy on show for you to do whatever your heart desires.
"I'm gonna eat you now baby..."
"Be my guest."
Place her legs on each of your shoulders and your plams on either of her thighs. You blow a stream of hot air right at her core, and she arches her back in response. Sua's hands make way upto your head as she grabs your hairs. Take a swipe at her pussy with your tongue, the delicious taste of her fluids entering your mouth,
"Mmm delicious as always."
And you go all out on her pussy, aggressively sucking her clit. Sua let's out a string of elicit moans. She tries to engulf your head between her thighs but your hands have just enough strength to keep her at bay. You continue giving frantic lashes at her folds. Sua's hands get tangled in your hairs as she starts to moan loudly.
"Oh fuck, you eat me so well!"
You look up to see Sua's chest heaving up and down as her hands claw at the backrests of the car.
"Careful baby, those seat covers are quite..." You give her folds a long agonizing lick, in turn tasting her delicious juices.
"...expensive."
"Fuck the seat covers, I'll replace new one's for you- oh god–" Sua says arching her back.
You push your tongue inside her and more profanities come crashing out of her mouth.
"Yes! Tongue fuck me! Yes yes yes please so good–"
You move your tongue inside her folds, stimulating every spot there is, and at a particular spot that you seem to have hit, Sua's upper half comes flying upwards as she props herself on her elbows. Your eyes meet, and you send a wink her way,
"Oh god, fuck, you're gonna be the death of me–"
"You seem to be enjoying the consequences darling."
"Are you kidding me? If these- oh god- are the cons..equ..ences, I'll defy everything you say, ah, oh shit so gooddd–"
You run your tongue on her folds from bottom to top and as you reach her clit, you sink your teeths (gently) in it.
"Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fucking cum on that masterpiece of a tongue!"
And you pull out. Sua releases a frustrating whine,
"Why the...fuck...did you stop?" She says trying to catch her breath.
"Enjoy the consequences baby." You say wiping your mouth with a smug look.
"That's not....fair." She says, propping herself up, still a bit short of oxygen.
But you are in no mood to entertain her complaints, you tidy your hair and clothes and begin to make way out of the car. You open the front door and get into the driver's seat. You look behind,
"Are you gonna sit there the whole ride home?"
Sua starts to tidy her disheveled hairs and put on her clothes,
"Do not put anything on."
"What?"
"Do you want to cum or not?" You ask, your voice stern.
"I do."
"Then do as I say."
Sua gets out of the car through the back door and climbs into the passenger seat, completely naked waist down. "Asshole." She says with a huff. "Don't worry, I plan on fucking that too." You say in a sultry voice, teasing her. "You're all talk, you can't do shit." She says in an attempt to rile you up. "Oh my, you're hurting me baby." You continue playing her game. "Yeah? Let's see what you can do then." Sua says spreading her legs. You chuckle,
"Try all you want, but you cum, when I want you to cum."
Sua pouts her lips and huffs a breath of air. You push the accelerator on the car and start your journey way back home. About 10 minutes later, you slowly creep your hand onto Sua's thigh, giving it a squeeze.
"Came around much quicker, did you?" She smirks and spreads her legs open again. You run your fingers over her slit, she's still wet. You insert a finger inside her. Sua throws her head back a releases a moan. You slowly start to pump your fingers in and out, drawing more gasps and whimpers out of her. Her hand slowly creeps and lands on your crotch.
"Uh uh, no touching for you." You say slapping her hand away. She mutters some curses under her breath. At the same time you insert a second finger inside her,
"Oh fuck!" Her one hand grips the door handle, while the other one lands on your arm. As much as your eyes would love the view of the girl writhing next to you, you keep them on the road, allowing your hands to do wonders inside the girl's cunt. The midnight-hour less traffic coming to your aid, you are easily able to steer the vehicle with just one hand.
"Tut-tut, baby just needed one thing to do, if you would've done that, that pussy must've had at least 2 loads inside it by now." You say holding your fingers knuckles deep into her.
"If you want me to apologize, fuck you."
You chuckle,
"Oh how I love to put brats in their place, especially the ones I love." And you sink a third finger in.
"Oh god-" Sua releases another moan and the grip on your arm tightens. You sink your fingers deep in and hold them there for a bit,
"Move it." She says in a annoyed voice. "As you say, my love." You start to move your fingers at an ruthless pace, the filthy sound of her pussy squelching now perfectly audible.
"Oh fuck, that's it! Don't stop-"
You curl your fingers inside, completely aware of that g-spot,
"I'm gonna- I'm gonna-" And you stop.
"We're home!" You say in a fake cheerful voice and start to get out of the car. "Make me cum first." Sua says sternly, not letting go of her tight grip on your arm. "Eventually, I will." You throw her the car keys and exit the car. "Lock the car before you come."
"Motherf–" She mutters under her breath.
"Do not curse at me, you're in this because of your own deeds." You say as matter-of-factly, walking towards the house. Sua puts on her clothes and exits the car before locking it. She open the main door and enters the house, where you were already waiting for her. As soon as the door closes, you pin Sua against it,
"More plans to edge me?" She asks with an uninterested expression. You grab her by hips and lift her up, now completely pinning Sua to the door. And despite her being a little upset on you for denying her release two times, her legs wrap around your waist. You shift her lithe figure a bit downwards, her clothed pussy and your now-getting rock hard cock coming in contact.
"We're done with the edging thing, the real fun begins now baby." You mutter, barely above your breath, while biting on her earlobe.
"I'm gonna give you the best release you've ever had in your life.–" You say as you slowly start to grind together. "–gonna rail you into tomorrow, gonna make you scream, gonna make you beg,–" You come out from the hollow of her neck and look into her eyes, "–gonna hammer that pussy so hard, the only thing on your mind–" You grab her hand and take it to the bulge your rock hard cock is forming through the trousers. "–will be this cock. Gonna make you squirt baby, gonna release fountains of cum from that pussy."
"Please fuck me." She says in a whimper, the grinding of your crotches possibly becoming too much to handle for her.
You unpin her from the door, and carry her to your bedroom. You throw her on the bed, she lands with a soft 'thud'. "Back on the headboard." You say, towering over her. She does what she's told. Your hands start on her leg and travel upto her waist, where you start to pull down her shorts. Next in line is the black thong, which joins the shorts on the floor. Your hands make their way to her shoulders, where you start to slip off the staps of her top and unhook it from the back. And off it comes. The only piece of clothing remaining on her pristine form is a black bra. Following same procedure, the bra comes off too, releasing those perfect tits out of their confines. You plam one, and Sua gasps at the sensation. You bend down and open the drawer adjacent to the bed to take out two small bundles of ropes. You pin one of her hand to the headboard and start to tie it,
"What are you doing?" Sua asks.
"Do you trust me?" You say looking into her eyes.
"I do."
And she blindly walks into one of your traps again.
You tie both of her hands to the headboard. Step back and admire the divine scenery that lays in front of your eyes. Sua, with her back resting on the headboard, hands tied, completely naked, completely at your mercy.
Let the fun begin.
You dim the lights in the room except for the one in front of the bed, which lies exactly in the middle of her eyesight. You stand under it and slowly start to unbutton your shirt. The light above your head highlight your muscles–which are the result of the continuous pressure exerted by Sua on you to join the gym–as you throw the shirt away.
"The gym sessions are definitely paying off. I mean, damn." She says, biting her lip whilst running her eyes on your body. You hook your thumb into your boxers and pull them slightly down (along with your trousers), your v-line coming into view. Sua's bottom lip is still under her teeth as her eyes follow the path your hands are travelling. You pull your trousers down, prolonging your strip tease for a bit more. And now you stand in front of her, just in your boxers, the bulge in your boxers being the most highlighted part of your body under the lights. Next (and only) piece of cloth coming off your body is your undergarment as you slowly begin to drag it down your legs. And as the boxers slide past your crotch, your cock springs free. Sua releases a moan just at the sight of it. You run your hand on it, giving slow strokes.
"You're killing me."
"Oh no honey," walk towards her, still playing with your cock. "I'll never bring any harm to you."
"Fuck me then. Please"
"Oh I will, but first, should we bring out some toys?"
"Don't need those toys, just your cock."
"Who said anything about using toys on you?"
You walk upto the almirah and begin to search for the 'toy'. After searching for few minutes,
"Found it!"
A fleshlight.
"You seriously can't do that to me." Sua says in an unamused voice.
"Told you the consequences would be harsh."
"Oh fuck your consequences, who in their right mind–" You pick up her bra from the floor, "–would fuck a fleshlight when- mmmpff" And you put the bra in her mouth.
"You talk too much."
You walk back to the place where you started your strip tease. You slowly start to pump your middle finger inside the artificial pussy, all while looking into Sua's eyes. The way her hands are struggling against the ropes, you're sure that the first thing she would do–if her hands somehow got free of the restraint–is smack you right across your face. You bring your hand in front of your mouth and spit on it a couple of times and then bring it to your cock. After you're done lubricating your cock, you bring the fleshlight in front of it. You slip just a bit above your head, and the intensity of Sua's struggles increases. Inch by inch you slip your whole cock into the fleshlight. You release a groan,
"Oh shit, always so tight Ryujin."
"Mmmpfff!" Sua sends a muffled warning your way. But you ignore and continue your act,
"Remember when I used to dump at least two loads a day into this pussy." You say as you start with long, deep thrusts.
"Fuck, your pussy takes me so well." Increasing the intensity of your thrusts, you mutter in a voice that just reaches Sua's ears.
"Never used to defy me baby, used to listen to everything I say. And now, my brat of a girlfriend wants to defy everything I say because she loves some bullshit consequences." You say, now giving the artificial pussy fast paced thrusts.
"Oh yeah? You want a load in you? You want me to breed you huh?"
"What do you say?" You ask Sua, her face now stained with tears. "Should I give Ryujin a load? Should I breed her? Should I put a baby in her womb? Should I make her mother? Huh?"
Sua relentlessly moves her head sideways, the 'no' signal evident from it. You stop thrusting into the fleshlight and remove it from your cock. You walk towards the bed and as you reach it, you grab the back of her head aggressively,
"Ever gonna defy anything I say?" You remove the bra from her mouth.
"Never never never never please fuck me would never–"
You climb onto the bed and pull her down by her thighs. She lands flat onto the mattress. You tower over her.
"Do you deserve to be fucked baby?" You say running the head of your cock onto her folds.
"No."
"Then why should I fuck you?"
"Please need it so bad will do anything you say please fuck me please–" And you slip right in.
"Oh fuck" Sua moans and you release a groan.
The way her pussy grips your cock is inexplicable. Even after so much edging, she's every bit tight as a fresh one.
"Fuck so tight" You say as you deliver the first thrust into her divine pussy.
"Ah! Tighter than that bitch?"
"She doesn't stand a chance in front of you baby." You mutter under your breath. Pulling out your cock halfway, you give her a strong thrust.
"Oh god, that's so deep, fuck, do that again."
But instead of pulling it half, you pull just until your head is inside and drive it in in a powerful thrust. Sua releases a string of high pitched moans. You continue to give her slow, long, deep thrusts,–whilst looking into her eyes–drawing out music out of her in form of moans.
Sua leans her head forward to capture your lips but just as your lips are about to touch, you back off. Sua releases a whine.
"Desperate much?" You ask, giving her another powerful thrust. She wraps her legs around your waist and looks dead into your eyes,
"Harder."
And you begin your rapid pace thrusts.
"Oh god this cock-" She aches her back again which gives you the access to her smooth neck. You begin to kiss her neck, occasionally travelling upto her ear to release moans. Your next destination are her tits, which countinue to jiggle, thanks to your thrusts. Your mouth gets stuck on one of her breast while the other one is taken care by one of your hand. You capture her nipple between your teeth and pull it while your hand pinches the other one. The action results in another high pitched moan flowing out of Sua's mouth. You continue sucking and fondling on her breasts for a while before you come up.
Your hand reaches the headboard, where you untie her left hand, and then the other one. And the first thing she does is grab your head and pull you into a searing, ferocious, filthy, passionate kiss. Your tongues dance together as you both try to dominate the exchange. Sua releases moans directly into your mouth, further fueling your desire to fuck the girl ruthlessly. You both part, the lack of oxygen only one to blame. Unwrapping her legs around your waist, you grab her hips and flip her around. She instinctively gets on all fours. You palm the soft flesh of her ass, raise your hand up in the air, and slam it onto her left cheek with all your might. Sua releases an ear wrenching scream. Doing the same on the other cheek results in a more high pitched scream.
You spread her ass cheeks and run your fingers on her puckered hole,
"Mmm...You want that one don't you."
"Some other day, today," You slip a inch inside her, "I want to concentrate on this one." And you sheathe yourself to the hilt. Sua releases another string of moans. You grab onto her waist and begin to fuck her ruthlessly, hammering her insides with your cock.
"Yes! That's it! That's the pace!"
You continue to pound her pussy,
"So fucking tight honey, so fucking wet," You growl, starting to get a bit overwhelmed by the way her pussy is gripping your rod.
"All for you darling, you make me this wet and only you fuck me this good, this cock is the only one, ah, shit fuck-" Despite the fucking she's recieving, Sua's dirty talk game is on point, and it's starting to cause you a little bit of trouble down there. Spank her left cheek, then right, then left, then right. You continue to give her sharp spanks and more profanities come crashing out of her filthy mouth.
"Oh yes baby, spank that ass, make it jiggle."
You grab her hairs and pull her into you, her shoulder blades coming in contact with your pecks. Pull out completely and give her the most powerful thrust (of tonight, or who knows maybe your whole life) and hold yourself inside her. Sua releases another shattering scream and you're sure you have to consult an ear specialist by the time you're done. You take her hand and move it over the lower part of her belly,
"Feel that bulge baby?"
"Fuck- so hot."
You revert back to the pace with which you were fucking her earlier. Your one hand goes to one of her breast while with the other one you start to rub her clit. Sua grabs the back of your neck as she leans her head back onto your shoulder.
"So close so close..."
Your thrusts are now of animalistic tendancies, sending Sua into oblivion. You increase the intensity of the stimulation on her clit as your fingers start working furiously.
"I'm gonna–" She never gets to finish her sentence as she releases another scream. Gush after gush of girl cum sprays out of her pussy, wetting your crotch and the sheets beneath. You don't reduce your pace, fucking her right through her orgasm.
"Gonna fill this pussy. Gonna pump it full of cum. You fucking squirter"
"Yes yes yes do it do it."
After couple of thrusts, you bury yourself upto the hilt and reach your peak. Your cock releases spurt after spurt of cum deep inside your girlfriend's tight pussy.
"So warm. All inside me."
Slowly pull out of her. You both fall down on the bed, exhausted by the rigorous, but mind blowing sex. You look into each other's eyes, still catching your breaths. You run your fingers over her cheek,
"Are you okay?"
"That Ryujin thing was too much."
"I know, I'm sorry."
You use a little bit of energy that's left in you, to place a kiss on her forehead.
"I love you."
"I love you more."
"Listen to everything I say?" You ask, running your hands through her hair.
She releases a chuckle,
"Try me bitch."
•••
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usedpidemo · 14 days
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big mistress energy
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usedpidemo · 14 days
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You're an excellent writer mwah mwah MWAH <3
- 👁z
no, u. 😌
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kisses,
🥧
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