#Yoo writes!

[evercelle]

orv bookmark draws, pt. 4: conversations - chps 216 and 370 [parts 1 - 2 - 3]

[yuudamari]

post epilogues

[aingeal98]

The way Orv will dangle the basic premise in front of you like a set of keys and have you going "Ha! So Joonghyuk is the novel's protagonist but Dokja is OUR main character." and you're so busy enjoying that layer of meta text that you don't notice their other hand winding up the Han Sooyoung hammer to whack you with.

[orphiclovers]

Actually I'm not done talking about yoohankim's awful digital footprint pre-scenarios. Kim Dokja gets a lot of flack for being chronically online and cringe and that's fair enough but let's just acknowledge that neither Yoo Joonghyuk or Han Sooyoung are ANY better.

For Han Sooyoung it's obvious. Despite having her own sucessful webnovel, presumably with fans who support her, she gets obsessed with her one hater who thinks she is a plagiarist, finds the "original" novel where this guy was the only commenter on every chapter, and instead of reading her own comments she spends her time reading HIS and imagining he's saying that about her writing. She does this for years. DERANGED BEHAVIOUR. Pre-scenarios Han Sooyoung has no excuse to be acting this crazy. Sent to internet jail for being weird online.

1863rd Han Sooyoung. Automatically get a pass to act unhinged bc after going through the apocalypse that's just expected and also the only person she talks to for 13 years is Kim Dokja and a creepy old man who calls her god, BUT. That being said she's a perfectly average and healthy internet user! Spends literally every waking moment writing a shitty webnovel so hard pieces of her soul chip away and infuse in it, sure, but she doesn't bother anyone, just does her own thing, posts the chapters and occasionally chats with her one commenter. The most normal one here. Somehow.

Kim Dokja. Big fan of a webnovel and can get intense about it sometimes, starts fights online defending his fave character, recommends the same novel so much he gets banned from forums, whatever. WE'VE ALL BEEN THERE IS WHAT IM SAYING. This is nothing too crazy, only about the level of an average fandom superfan. Uses his real name online which is certainly a choice but some people do that in real life too. Giving him a pass, I was also a cringey emo teen on the internet once. (and im still cringe and emo)

Yoo Joonghyuk as seen in Yoo Mia side story. Absolutely glued to his phone. He checks it while eating breakfast, while in the car being driven to work, while literally walking down the street so that Yoo Mia has to tell him to put it away and hold her hand! He is basically addicted to reading hate comments about himself. In his narration he mentions that there are only a few regulars in the forums he lurks in and that he recognizes all their usernames, accidentally revealing that he's in too deep and officially lost in the sauce. Even his manager tells him he should stop reading the comments because they clearly upset him, but he justifies it to himself by thinking quote, "If someone has a grudge against him, he just needs to be prepared to face that hatred. Then everything is under his control."  That last line especially is such a cope, and reveals that this behavior is another one of his desperate attempts to feel in control of his life, and as pathetic as that is and as much as I feel sympathy this is being weird online and I'm sending him to Internet jail.

Bonus round: Secretive Plotter. Need I say anything. Absolutely glued to his phone AGAIN, no it doesn't make it better that sometimes it's his kkomas instead of him. Canonically has a bound book of every single comment Kim Dokja ever left on WOS, printed out, which is more freak mode than even Han Sooyoung went. Straight to jail.

[boombams]

[sscieloz]

Live my life

band!aespa x groupie!reader

Synopsis: It’s been less than a year since the band Aespa was created. Karina, Minjeong, Giselle and Ningning travel all over the country with nothing but a few gigs, little money and much love for the music. They’re far from superstars, and they still don’t have a lot to offer, and there’s something they can’t quite grasp: why you, the band’s most faithful fan, follows them blindly.

Warnings: smut. lowk confusing… but it’s the aesthetic

Word count: 9.9k

Notes: I HAVE RETURNED FROM THE DEAD 😤😤 I was obsessed w the MV as soon as it was out so I wrote this work!! it ended up being too long (lol) so i decided to split it in 2. I SHALL NAWT VANISH ANYMORE PINKY PROMISE.

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | pt.4

—

“Do you think it’ll fit?” Ningning’s hesitation is easily explained by the amount of suitcases hanging from the small hood of the car. The four girls agreed to bring each a single backpack of clothes for themselves, so the instruments and sound equipment could also be transported.

Clearly, it was still too much.

“It has to.” Winter answers, her tiny frame reaching up as she tries to grab one of the big suitcases herself. With Ningning’s help, she manages to do it, and they both stare at the car, wondering about an adjustment that would work.

Just as both girls imagined how to rearrange the space, Giselle and Karina stepped down the house's stairs, frowning.

Karina, is, as always, not amused by the struggle placed in front of her, but Giselle scoffs, judging her bandmates for not having things ready yet. They were supposed to pack their stuff in the car while she and Karina prepared their snacks and made sure all the windows and doors were closed, so they’d find no surprises once they got back home from their trip. Now, they’d leave later than expected, which would result in them facing the road at night— which was exactly what they were avoiding.

This day was starting to piss her off.

“What are you doing?” Giselle crossed her arms against her chest, trying her best to not sound as irritated as she was. They all knew, though. The girls know each other too well.

“Playing Tetris.” Minjeong stared back at her, with a tone that was just as presumptuous. “What does it look like we’re doing, Gigi? The space is obviously too fucking small for all of our stuff.”

Karina takes a step further before Giselle is able to open her mouth and give her friend a petty response. Her clumsy hands rearranged the suitcases so fast the three girls barely registered her actions, closing the hood of the car in a quick motion so everything wouldn’t fall off.

“Mhm, you won’t be able to see much of what’s behind the car, Gigi, but I don’t think it can get any better than that.”

The girls simply stare, impressed by Karina’s skills.

“So… problem solved?” Ningning asks, and they all nod.

Without a word, the four girls enter the small car, squeezing themselves as they prepare for their small trip. It wasn’t uncommon for the band to spend hours stuck in Giselle’s stepfather’s old 2000 Civic, but the lack of space was always annoying, making them all feel packed in like sardines. However, the vehicle was the only option they had to make their way to nearby cities to perform, so they avoided making any complaints.

The band was just about an hour into their 4-hour drive when Giselle pulled over, cursing under her breath.

“Fuck.” She mutters, biting her nails as she looks at the line of cars being stopped by the police, just a few miles ahead. Her face was even paler than usual, which set the girls on alert mode immediately— out of the four of them, Giselle was the least likely to panic at any unusual situation.

As soon as her body tensed, the Uchinaga felt long, lithe hands on her neck, applying just the right amount of pressure to soothe her, filling her with reassurance. Karina’s, naturally. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, why did we stop?” Ningning adds to Karina’s question, just as curious.

Minjeong’s brows furrow and she adjusts her posture, trying to stare at the horizon in the same position Giselle was, from the passenger’s seat instead. As always, she’s quick to understand the situation. “They’re stopping the cars ahead, but it’s just their normal procedure. They’ll stop us, of course, since we’re young girls traveling by ourselves with a bunch of luggage, but we’ve got nothing to hide, so… keep going, unnie. It’s fine.”

Seconds went by before Giselle grunted, a tense atmosphere hanging in the air while she fidgeted her fingers. Only then, her answer came, barely in a murmur. “I don’t have a license.” She could only hope they hadn’t heard her.

Judging from the way her bandmates’ mouths opened in shock they all started to speak together, though, they did.

Such a selective hearing, huh. She always had to yell at them at least three times for someone to get up from the living room and do the dishes, whenever they were home.

“What the fuck, unnie?”

“Do you really drive us illegally? Girl, we go everywhere by car!”

“I can’t believe you’re so damn irresponsible, I fucking swe—“

Karina stops their banter by out-screaming the two younger girls, a few minutes after Giselle had shrieked down on her seat so much she could merge with it anytime. “Wait! Wait.” Three pairs of eyes stare at her, inquiring. The quietness was odd, but it didn’t last much anyway. “I thought you had your permit taken last month?”

It’s Giselle’s turn to roll her eyes, then. “I literally told you that I failed. Do you pay attention to anything I say?”

Despite the situation they found themselves in, Minjeong and Ningning couldn’t help but giggle. It wasn’t news that Karina’s got her head up in the clouds, but her innocence was always funny to the girls. Despite being the oldest, she’s just a big puppy, after all.

And she looks outraged, ears red from the thought of being fooled by Aeri.

“What? we even celebrated!” Her face comes to the realization, as Minjeong tries to hide her laughter with a fake coughing fit. Winter’s blonde hair blows effortlessly when she turns her head to the window, in an obvious attempt to escape Giselle’s piercing stare. “Oh! Was that why you were being such a jerk the entire night, at the club?”

Giselle ruffles her hair in frustration but nods anyway. “Yes, that was the reason. Thanks for reminding us of that wonderful day, Jiminnie.”

Ningning taps on Karina’s shoulder, in hopes of offering some comfort to the desolated girl. She whistles, then looks from Aeri to Minjeong as if hoping they’d pull a permit out of nowhere and start driving again. Once it’s clear none of them would provide any solution, she does so herself, lifting her hips to grab her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.

“I’ll call Y/n.” Is all she says, clicking on the red number with 13 missed calls on the screen. “She’ll do something about it.”

Karina’s even more outraged, then, staring at Ningning in disbelief. She tries to reach out for her friend’s phone, but the maknae pulls her hand away with a huff. “Why do you even have her number, anyway?”

Sure, you’d be at their presentation, even if it were at a nearby town, hours away from where they lived. Somehow, you always show up. The girls couldn’t even remember when it happened; all they know is that they played at Ningning’s cousin’s club once, and from then on there you were, accompanying them in every step. You took pictures, edited videos to upload on their YouTube channel, and even helped them get some gigs every once in a while. It’s difficult for the girls to understand the reason you spend so much time and effort with them— a broke, nugu band who’s been doing this for a little over a year, yet there you were. Their first and most faithful fan, ready to drop everything to help them with any situation, at any given time.

Just like now.

Nonetheless, they had agreed to keep you at an arm's distance, only so the lines wouldn’t get too blurry. With time, they got to know you better, and it was noticeable you were as spoiled, obsessive, and explosive as you were sweet and passionate about the things you liked.

Truth be told, you scared them a little.

“I thought we had agreed on not talking to the psycho anymore,” Minjeong commented, resting her head on the window.

Ningning pauses at that, muting herself on the phone for a moment before answering, straightforwardly. “Well, do you want to get there or not?”

Her honesty is harsh enough that Minjeong lifts her palms in surrender, while Karina and Giselle share a knowing look. Ning’s right, naturally —what matters is that they get to the club on time.

“Fine,” The blonde sighs, turning to point at Karina. “But you’ll have to handle that nightmare of a weirdo. Don’t let her freak out or anything, like she did last time.”

“Why do I always have to do it?” Karina pouts, rolling her eyes. “Come on! What the fuck.”

Giselle giggles, grateful that Karina can’t reach out to punch her as she nods. “I agree… it’s a leader’s duty.”

With her brows furrowed and her rosy lips, the oldest member of the band looks much like a doll, adorable in all of her mannerisms. Even when she scoffs, it doesn’t come out nearly as rude and intimidating as she intends it to be. She still looks like a painting, so pretty Ningning pokes her playfully, brushing the irritation out of Karina with her ticklish fingers. Once she’s left ticklish in her seat, Ningning drops her phone, done with her call.

“Y/n said she’ll be here soon.” She announces, and the girls hum faintly in response. It’s enough for her to giggle, reaching out for her bag in hopes of finding a snack. “Don’t be too excited, damn...”

“I just hope she doesn’t take long,” Giselle mutters, ignoring the glares she gets by being to blame for their current situation.

“Well, if someone had just passed their driving test, we wouldn’t—”

The Uchinaga turns to Winter so fast her neck makes a weird noise. “Shut the fuck up, Minjeong.” Her tone is full of mockery, which is dangerous. Giselle gets irritated easily, but it’s hard to get her mad. Whenever she does, though… None of the girls like that. “I don’t see you driving around either.”

Minjeong, who’d rather die than recognize she doesn’t excel at something, puts a hand on her chest with the comment. Her face is quickly filled with red and, in a minute, she’s defending herself as if she’s just received a 5-year sentence.

As much as their banter is entertaining, Ningning still clings onto Karina on the backseat, resting her head on her unnie’s shoulders.

“I do hope Y/n arrives soon.” She tells her friend, closing her eyes despite the noisy background.

Karina smiles, ruffling the maknae’s hair with tenderness as she relaxes beside the oldest. “Don’t worry, Ning. She will.”

If there’s something she’s sure of, is that you don’t play when it comes to their band. Be it for good or for worse.

—

“Hello, cuties.” You say, tapping your knuckles on the driver’s window to gather attention. It works: the girls all jump in their seats, cursing under their breaths as they try to gather themselves from the scare. “Your knight in shining armor has come! Hurry, hurry! You’re running late.”

It had been less than an hour since Ningning’s call, so there’s no way you could’ve reached them so quickly. None of them say those words out loud, of course— some questions are better left unanswered.

“Here comes the devil.” Minjeong mumbles. The smile she gives you is drenched in feigned politeness, yet yours is sincere, bluntly ignoring her grumpiness with a wave of your hand.

“Hi, Y/n.” Karina greets you as the four girls get out of the car. You hug each one of them energetically, clearly pleased to be urged to help.

It doesn’t even bother you that Giselle, Winter, and Ningning only mumble, not paying you much attention. If only, your happiness would take long to wear off.

Still swooning, you gesture to the van that’s parked beside their car where a handsome, baby-faced boy waves at the girls with ease.

“My brother won this van at a bet a few days ago, and fortunately, he lent it to us. It’s more fitting for a band anyway.” You gesture at their car, still explaining. “Gyu can take your stepdad’s car back to your house, Gigi. Don’t worry.”

They already know Beomgyu from the previous times he’s dropped you off at their rehearsals and shows, so it’s nothing new. Although Giselle doesn’t seem convinced about your idea, she reluctantly gives him the car keys anyway. There’s no other option; she can’t just leave the car on the road, even though giving it to a stranger makes her uneasy.

“Thank you, Beomgyu-ssi.” The girls bow at him, thankful for the extra space, to which he simply nods.

The girls are quick to transport the suitcases to the van, stretching their legs out as they sigh with contentment. It’s like they can finally breathe, now that they’re not cramped in a tiny space. Even Minjeong is smiling, her little banter with Giselle being long forgotten by now.

Giselle is in the passenger’s seat, this time, and she’s surprised to see how easy it is to talk to a happy Y/n. You laugh and gossip over other bands the girls come across sometimes, and you tell them the entire story of how Beomgyu actually got the van. Time flies by while you’re on the wheel, and soon enough the four girls find themselves at the back door of the club, fixing their instruments for the time they go on stage.

—

“Do you get all those insane takes with this old-ass camera?” Ning asks curiously, holding the straightener against her hair as she watches you record Winter, who’s busy tuning her bass and pretending you don’t exist.

“It’s vintage, unnie.” You correct her, zooming in on the blonde girl’s delicate hands and her precise movements against the cords. “It has amazing quality, still.” Because Ningning is still staring, clearly waiting for a more direct answer, you add, “Yes. Pretty Much. Hey Minjeongie, look at the camera so I can get a better shot of you.”

All Winter gives you is an irritated look as she scrunches her nose and shakes her head. The girls enjoy arriving early at their events so they’re able to gather a few minutes of quietude, strictly to relax and focus on not letting the nerves overcome their abilities to shine on stage. You know that— it’s something you’ve seen them do countless times before. You find it adorable how they’d just close their eyes and try to control their breaths, fingers tapping their thighs to ease the anxiety that always comes with the wait of going on stage. No matter how many times they perform, the thrill will always be the same.

Although you don’t mind interrupting Winter’s time of focusing at all. Seeing you won’t give in, Winter scoffs, dropping the bass onto her lap. “Be polite, Y/n. Say please.”

Her intentions are as obvious as daylight. She’s mocking you, defiant like the insufferable being she is. Out of the four girls, Minjeong is the most stubborn, and you’re much alike. She was the one you got into most arguments with, none of you backing down from the opportunity of being right.

Said banter is the reason you turn and adjust the camera focus to Ningning, instead of giving in to the blonde girl. Yizhuo looks pretty as always, smiling at you as you kneel to get a take of her from a better angle.

You’re immediately interrupted by the same girl who was irritated by your presence just seconds ago. In a blink, Winter’s hands go to your chin, forcing you to face her with an assertive grip. “No. Film me.” Her porcelain skin shines against her dark eyes, who pop out even more, making her intimidating aura stand out in the small room as she adds with an icy, commanding tone, “And have manners.”

God, you’d gladly take her down just to get rid of that cocky tone.

“Stare at the fucking camera so you can have some decent solo shots, Winter unnie.” Your reply comes immediately, tone dripping with venom, “Please.”

Winter’s face is so red you’re afraid she’s going to combust at any second. She never spares hurtful words during arguments, and you’re ready for her to give it all. Disaster is set to happen until Giselle pops her head backstage, looking for you. Her eyes disappear and her cheeks flare up as soon as she meets your face, breaking the tension with a smile once her presence unintentionally ends the small battle you were having with Winter.

“Y/n!” She calls, handing out her hand to help you stand up. “Could you come help us with the drums, please? The guys from the bar are trying, but they’re so damn useless… We need you.”

You look away and Winter’s grip on you fades, although her trimmed nails still scratch your jaw as she lets her hand fall to her sides and returns to the couch, tuning her bass as if she had never been interrupted.

“Sure, Gigi. Let’s go.” It’s impossible to not smile back, allowing yourself to be guided through the narrow stairs of the place until you arrive at the stage. You don’t bother saying goodbye to either Ningning or Winter, knowing you’re going back to them as soon as you’re done.

The two younger girls are left by themselves, in silence for the first time since you arrived to pick them up, hours ago. It’s unsettling yet peaceful; not uncomfortable by any means. They’ve known each other for too long by now, so being with each other is more than natural— it’s one’s absence that is unsettling.

After giving her hair a few finishing touches, Ningning turns to her bandmate, pulling the chair beside her as she gestures for Minjeong to sit. Its leather cover is torn and the comfort is long gone, but they don’t mind. They’ve performed in far more awful places anyway.

“Okay, I’m done! Be still while I do your makeup, now, unnie.” Minjeong does as told, closing her eyes while the maknae starts moisturizing her skin.

The silence has Winter’s mind replaying the previous banter nonstop. She tries to stay silent, but the memory of your petty smirk is enough to leave her fuming, pumping with rage.

“Can you believe her, Ning? That fucking bitch, ugh. She’s so insufferable.”

“Oh, definitely.” Ningning smiles, thankful Minjeong has her eyes closed. She lets out a small giggle, still focused on brushing the concealer through her friend’s face. “God forbid someone puts you in your place, right unnie?”

She nearly doesn’t escape the highlighter Minjeong throws in her direction, now laughing freely as she continues with her task.

—

Aespa is a band of many talents.

The girls all met during sophomore year of high school, all trapped in detention for the day (as much as Minjeong would rather die than admit she’s ever gotten detention in her life). Even though they differ in personalities, in a clear contrast of cultures, manners, and experiences — their differences somehow added to each other until there wasn’t something missing anymore. The feeling of longing and loneliness that had accompanied them for so many years had finally ceased. After that, the girls found themselves at peace: the world was finally silent, as long as they were together. No matter how chaotic it was, Karina, Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning knew they’d like nothing else but to be together.

Luckily, they all shared two main passions: the love for music and the desire for attention, so being in a band together was something that happened rather naturally. The members all agreed, then, that Karina should be the leader. She was soft-spoken, calm, and had the experience in the industry the others lacked, from being a child model. It was the right decision: the oldest would do anything to protect her girls, and knew just the right people to ask for opportunities. They weren’t famous, nor did they make enough money to live off exclusively from the music, but it was enough, for now.

They had trouble understanding you, though. It was hard to grasp why on earth would they have someone so faithful, so committed to following their every move when they weren’t even famous? They didn’t have money, influence, or anything to offer you whatsoever. Yet you were always there, giving them your endless support without asking for anything in exchange. You could be a handful sometimes, sure, but still… your commitment was something that left the girls constantly wondering.

Because you’re special. The world will see this too, someday. is what you’d always answer, followed by a giggle and a wave of your hand, muttering about how it all wasn’t that big of a deal.

But as Giselle watches you help them relocate their instruments and set the tripods and cameras straight, she wonders if that’s truly it.

“Hey, Gigi.” You smile at her, looking down at the ground once you realize you’re the object of her piercing, focused gaze. “Are you and the other girls ready to go? Everything’s in order here.”

Now isn’t the time for that, though, Aeri reminds herself. As of now, the only thing she should focus on is her upcoming stage. Music is one of the many things she was strict with: she pushed herself to nothing but perfection, no matter where she was performing.

The other girls are quick to follow your call, grabbing their instruments and getting into their starter positions as they’ve done countless times before. They all adjust their mics to the perfect height until Karina is the only one left in the center, tapping hers to make sure she sounds loud and clear. Ningning’s hands fiddle with her drumsticks nervously, paddling along with her whole body— surely from the energy drinks she’s had minutes before, while Minjeong and Giselle stay each on one side of the stage, waiting for their leader’s cue.

Offering free tickets for those who arrived before 11 PM was a great strategy that many clubs implemented to fill up their spaces. And even though you’re well aware the girls are known enough to gather such a crowd without that stunt, you’re glad to have a full house staring at the small stage with expectation.

Karina waits until you’re done with your camera’s finishing touches up to speak, her voice echoing through the noise so easily that your hands stop adjusting the device’s focus to pay attention to her. With a smile so big her eyes grow small, her face is like a beacon, gathering all the focus to herself without the need for a spotlight.

“Goodnight! I’m Karina, and those are my bandmates: Minjeong, Giselle, and Ningning.” She points to each of her friends, who bow and wave excitedly, still waiting for her cue. “And we’re AESPA! We hope you like our music, we’ve worked hard on our songs! Please enjoy.”

With that, Ningning taps on her drumsticks, as they’ve done countless times before. Minjeong’s bass and Giselle’s guitar sync with Karina’s voice as soon as they start playing, the melody echoing through the place like physical particles. Music is more than just a part of their lives: it’s who they are, how they express themselves, what they breathe, and it’s easy to forget they’re at a shitty pub and not at a fancy festival. As long as their voices and instruments are harmonizing together, the girls get lost in their passion and nothing else matters.

Even though they’re a new group— barely a year into the industry, original songs are not something that lack from their setlist. The public is screaming, the girls are jumping as they sing and dance along the rhythm and you try your best to capture their best angles, but the distraction in the form of a sin that is Karina prevents you from doing a good job. Her dark eyes glow in the dark, giving her an angelic aura as her strong voice reverberates through the place with ease, despite her shitty mic. It’s an impressive crowd they’re performing for, but she’s only staring at you. Preventing you to breathe or even move, afraid she’d lose her interest and look elsewhere.

No, you’d have none of that. Like all the girls, Karina was yours: you’d share her utter attention with no one.

So you stay at the front line, with your hands holding onto the camera as your head is held up in a frozen frame, looking at her.

You’d always look at her.

—

The afterparties are always one of the girls’ favorite events. The adrenaline rush is still present, giving them tons of energy to drink and party with strangers. They are constantly showered with compliments, being pampered, and indulged with all the attention they crave. It’s part of the reasons why they deal with music, obviously: Minjeong, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina. Because the desire to be seen and recognized for their music is a feeling they’ve been looking for ever since they can remember.

And that’s exactly what they were indulging in before hearing a loud crack from outside of the backstage room. The noise, followed by a bunch of ugly screams, startles the four girls, who exchange a quick, worried glance before storming down straight into the sideway alley.

“Damn.” Ningning whistles, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile coming from her lips. At her side, Minjeong and Karina are equally shocked and frozen at the scene unraveling in front of them.

People usually use the dark, space to smoke and get a break from the noisy, heated space of the club. Instead, the four girls find a huddle of girls so entwined with one another it’s hard to tell how many there are. Four, maybe five? Of them are vividly screaming, kicking, tugging, and pulling hairs. Despite the mess, the girls realize there’s one that keeps beating the shit out of them, which is impressive due to being gravely outnumbered.

As the commotion stops for seconds once the strangers become aware of the newer company, it’s easier to tell a specific head of honey hair apart from the others.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Minjeong’s murmur doesn’t come off nearly as disappointed as she intends to. If anything, she’s also holding back her laughter while you prove that one does not need that much muscles to win off a fight.

“Go Y/n!” Karina claps, cheering. None of the three girls make any move towards the scene, so Giselle turns her head towards them in disbelief.

The Japanese girl shrugs, quickly making her way onto the ground to break off the fight. She’s always been strong, and her time spent at the gym pays off as she grabs you by the waist and throws you over her shoulder, heading back to the backstage room as if you weigh nothing. Any attempts of resisting are useless, yet you don’t make Giselle’s job any easier— your kicking and screaming are now directed at her, hands curling into fists while you use your entire strength to hit her muscled back.

“Put me DOWN! I’m not done with those whores.” Your feverish voice is ignored by the four girls, who are used to your tantrums by now.

They know you’re naturally provocative, and never one to back down from a fight, even if you were in the wrong. And, somehow, you were good at it too: even if you left bruised and scratched, your opponents would somehow always turn out worse.

“Sorry ladies, we have some issues to deal with. If you excuse us.” As the group goes back inside, Ningning offers the poor beaten-up girls a calculated smile before closing the door on their faces. She doesn’t bother to check in on them— they’re strangers, after all.

You’re thrown onto the worn-out sofa with little care, suddenly staring at four serious faces. The funny atmosphere of the fight is long gone, so you cross your arms under your chest and grunt, face held high to put up with their judgmental looks.

This is their job, and they can’t have you causing trouble over anything. You’re associated with them by now, whether they like it or not. It’d be an awful occurrence.

“So, troublemaker, tell us.” Giselle is the first to speak, brushing the bangs out of her face. Even after carrying you for solid minutes, she still looks flawless, much different from your disheveled self. “What had you beating their asses out there?”

There’s a pout on your lips, and the defiant air in the room stirs up their nerves. It’s an annoying interruption of the fun they were having just now, and the alcohol makes it hard for them to stay patient.

Minjeong takes half a step forward, her hands messing up your hair even more. “Speak, Y/n. We have better things to do.”

She doesn’t coddle you, tone cold as it always was when directed towards you, but you don’t mind. If anything, you take pride in making her life a bit more difficult every time. You know they won’t give you their attention for much longer, though, which is why sigh deeply.

“I was defending your honor, you idiots!” You gesticulate towards the door, huffing. “Those whores were out there, talking about you, speaking the most vile things… I had to do something. You should be thanking me, and not look so pissed.” You roll your eyes, muttering the rest to yourself as you sink on the dirty couch. “You never acknowledge anything I do anyway.”

It had felt too hot inside, so you passed the backstage area to gather some fresh air at the alley when you encountered the group of girls. They were in love with the band, obviously, and were very vocal about the things they’d let the girls do to them: how their leather clothes were so tight and how hot they were… Hearing such things being said about your girls made your blood boil. They were yours, and no one else had the right to desire them like that. So you were quick to take action and make sure everyone knew who Giselle, Winter, Karina, and Ningning belonged to. As a matter of fact, It was a successful attempt: after the lesson you taught them, those girls would think twice before saying anything again.

Your gaslighting does little to the band; it’s easy to look further into your façade now that they know you. They don’t pity you in the slightest, well aware you’re one to be cautious around.

Karina smiles at your act. She can’t help it if the pout on your lips makes you so adorable, and your crossed arms are the reason your send nudes crop top rides up so your boobs are even more evident. “Which things, Y/n? What were they saying, exactly?”

“What they said doesn’t matter.” You huff, dismissing Karina’s question with a wave of your hand. “The important thing is that they’ve been dealt with, and your honor is intact. You’re welcome.”

The electronic music is loud, and it’s easy to feel the rhythm reverberating through the furniture, sending electric waves to your bones that rile you up even more. You’re energized, ready to go back to the crowd, drink, smoke, and stir up some trouble again.

Aeri must’ve been thinking the same thing since she merely shakes her head and leaves without a word. Ning is the next one to follow, proceeded by Minjeong, who rolls her eyes and points her finger right at your face.

“You’re such a menace, Y/n. Acting like an animal… you can’t behave at all.” You’re used to the disdain in her voice, so the only thing you do is mirror her snobbish stare as you watch her leave.

Unlike her bandmate, Karina’s eyes are kind— even though you’ve just messed up hard. You’re the only ones left in the room, you realize, as she holds out her hand to you. With her presence, the music ceases, and the only thing you can focus on is the sound of her heartbeat, and how her little chin mole goes up to match her smile, which is equally sweet.

Sweet, patient, and definitely too good for you: that’s Karina, a soul that should stay untouched, not yet ruined by the world and by other people.

Too bad that you’ve never been one to do the right thing.

You navigate towards her in a magnetic motion, taking her help so fast your bodies nearly crash once you get up from the couch. Instead of complaining or making fun of you for being so abrupt, Karina takes her free hand to your face, cupping your cheek before carefully wiping the dirt from your skin.

“Troublemaker.” She repeats Giselle’s words from earlier, although they sound almost reverent when said in her raspy voice, tired from the crazy routine they live with. “She’s a bit right, don’t you think?” The smirk on her lips is playful, and she toys with you. “You keep us on our toes, for sure. I guess someone has to.”

She doesn’t mind. If anything, Karina misses your presence when you’re gone— which is thankfully, a rare occasion. Sure, you’re stubborn, spoiled, and very annoying, but the band somehow needs you to keep their engines running. She knows the other girls feel the same way about you too, even if they’re good at not making it known.

Being with Karina feels right. She’s Aespa’s peace, their leader, and their oldest member. And, just like everybody that has ever met her, you long to be around the older girl.

“Let’s go back to the party, Jimin unnie.” You tell her, crossing your arms behind her neck. If there’s anything she’d want you to do, you would. Gladly. “I want to dance.”

She smiles back at you, looking at the half-open door before nodding. “As you wish, Y/n.”

—

Aespa’s hotel room for the night is precarious, to say the least. The wallpaper is peeling from the walls, the furniture is dusty— and the small dining table seems to barely handle your laptop and media equipment. The bed makes too many weird noises at the slightest movement, and the smell of mold is a bit unsettling for those with a decent sense of smell.

It’s Minjeong’s job to deal with their spending and to book their stays, whenever the band wanders off their hometown. Her father works as a treasurer at a well-established company and has taught her how to handle her own money from a young age. Sometimes, though, she tends to spend too little, given the fact that they still did not earn much with their performances, and the five girls would end up in situations like the current one. Not that they truly minded: they had two rooms to sleep in and breakfast by the morning, which was more than enough. They would handle the rest.

Karina, Giselle, Ningning, and Minjeong are all rockstars, it’s natural for them to thrive under attention. They live for it, and you love to record their pretty faces. Out of all the experiences of being with the girls, getting to take pictures and videos of their performances and looks— be it before, during, or after their shows. Editing might also be a pain and sometimes feel like a chore, but it was also something you enjoyed doing.

Besides, the praises and the proud, enamored look Giselle, Ningning, Karina, and Minjeong gave you whenever you updated something new to their channel and social media was something you looked forward to, naturally. In fact, you’re so focused on your task that you barely notice a sudden wave of hot breath on your shoulder.

“How far are you, yet?” Karina’s wet hair clings to your neck as you breathe in her post-bath scent, so refreshing. You’re unable to see her sulk behind you, but her whiny tone is enough for you to figure her feelings out before she adds, “Also, why am I the one with the least videos, Y/n?”

You don’t even stop your work to look at the vocalist, who stares at your laptop’s screen with expectation: the answer is obvious to anyone who has ever had the privilege of getting to know Aespa's leader."

“Because I’m always too busy looking at you to focus on anything else.” The words leave your mouth immediately, exposing facts. “But I’ll improve for next time if that’s what you wish.”

Doing anything after Karina opens her mouth is impossible. Her angelic voice and sharp moves draw all the attention to her immediately; one would be completely insane to not be mesmerized by her. By all of her.

“It is.” She nods, still so close you’re able to feel her body pressed against you through the chair’s cracks. Like a kitten, Karina purrs, finally breaking the tension between you by pressing small, wet kisses to your neck. “Y/n…”

You’re doomed. You’ve known that ever since she left the bathroom, with wet hair and red, swollen lips that did little to hide what she was up to while the shower was running.

Karina’s long, purple-painted nails scratch your neck, forcing you to pay attention to her— as if you’d do anything else. You’re quick to comply, closing your laptop as you stand up and walk away from the oldest member, onto your backpack. Her confused brows are adorable, but the realization comes soon once she reckons the camera on your hands. By then, there’s a dirty smirk on both of your lips; you know she loves this as much as you do.

“Are you up for another show, doll?”

Karina nods, suddenly shy from all the dirty thoughts going through her head. Her skin throbs, and there’s a familiar sensation building up in her core from the anticipation.

After waiting for the camera to be well adjusted and centered in front of the bed, with the familiar red dot announcing the recording, she turns around, removing her robe with practiced ease. The silk fabric of her robe cascades from her back, exposing her milky skin in its most perfect form. She’s indeed like a doll; body still untouched, announcing it’s been a while since she’s had any fun, and her Venus dimples flare up with every step she takes towards the bed. Her curves are perfectly enhanced by her sensual walk— she knows so, grabbing her hair out of the way so you’re able to get a clear shot of her body.

You’re so lucky to even have the privilege of looking at her. Karina seems to think the same thing; her knowing smile turns malicious just as she sits on the bed, spreading her legs out for your delight. Playing around with her is almost a routine, by now: Karina needs something, someone to be her stress-relief, and you’re more than eager to help.

However, seeing her bare and so eager to welcome your touch was something you’d crave forever. No matter how many times it happened: you’d always be hungry for the slightest glimpse of her pretty pussy.

And it was no secret that Karina loved to show off, so you drink on her like you haven’t had a single drop of liquor in ages.

It had indeed been too long.

“How do I look, baby?” Her voice is soft, calm as she looks deep inside your eyes and taps on her pussy with two of her fingers. A small strand of wetness lingers between her fingers and her slit, and she takes her fingers forward to make a show for seconds longer. It’s only when the strand dissipates that Karina brings her fingers into her mouth, taking them in ever so naturally. You don’t even register the whine that comes from your lips once she releases them with a ‘bop’, right after licking them clean.

“Absolutely stunning.” Your answer comes in a heartbeat, which pleases her deeply. In a blink, you’re in front of her on the bed, although still careful to not cover up her frame for the camera. Not that you have to worry about that; Karina is well aware of her best angles. “As always.” You lick your lips, eager to have your mouth on her, licking every part of her body until she’s more than satisfied, coated with your saliva.

But you know better than to touch her without permission, so you simply wait, aware she needs more indulgence than merely a few words. You run your hands up and down her legs, ever so obedient, hoping she’ll allow you to touch her.

Instead, her fingers go up to her chest, groping her big, voluptuous breasts. She’s so evil— Karina knows how obsessed you are with her boobs, “You caused so much trouble today, Y/n… I shouldn’t let you touch me at all.”

Her feigned innocence only adds to your desire, dampening your pussy even more. Even though you’re burning up, you can’t help but be in awe by how much of a goddess she looks, and it takes everything in you to not just grab her by the ankles and suck on her clit until she was screaming and leaking white from her pussy. Still staring at you, Karina twists her nipples and moans, biting her lip as she breathes in deeply.

You’re already throbbing yourself, and she’s done nothing. That’s the amount of power she has over you.

“I’ve been bad.” You nod almost eagerly, ready to do whatever she commands you to if it means you’ll get to pleasure her. “Can I still have you, though? Promise to make you feel super good.”

At first look, Karina might be the most inviting one out of all of the girls, but you know better than to fall into her trap: just like her bandmates, the leader thrives on playing games, manipulating people, and fooling around. Thankfully to both you and her, you’re happy to indulge in all of her wishes. So you add, battling your lashes at her as you take off your clothes yourself, not bothering for a command on this matter. “I’ll do my best for unnie…”

Karina’s eyes darken at the sight of your naked body; it’s so empowering to know she’s just as affected by you, and she runs her fingers through your hair with practiced ease. Taking her silence as an encouragement, you lie down until your face is lined up with her soaked cunt, blowing warm, rapid breaths onto her sex.

She smiles, then, caressing your cheek before giving it a light tap. “Go get the strap, baby.” Your smile fades immediately, and you contemplate ignoring her words until she’s changed your mind before your cheek is met with more of Karina’s fingers, her touch stronger this time. “Now.”

You huff, muttering incoherences because she’s such a bitch, ruining all of your plans, but still do as told, grabbing the strap without much further fussing. With the toy in hands, you return to the edge of the bed, staring at her with a puzzled look on your face.

“Are you going to use it?” You ask, curious. Taking Karina’s cock was something you always looked forward to, and the sight of her pounding onto you was enough for your walls to clench, eager to welcome her.

Karina launches forward before you even finish your question, grabbing your thighs with practiced ease as her fingers brush your pussy. The surprise touch makes you let out a loud moan, which stirs up a laugh on the older girl.

“If only you’d behaved today… I had so many things planned for us to do.” Karina’s voice sounds almost regretful, making you kneel once again, “No, baby. Tonight’s only about me. Now suck.”

There’s little time for you to think her thoughts through. Your mind goes blank, and you open your mouth to give her a show this time, reversing the roles. Always eager to please, you gag on her cock. Saliva drips onto the sheets as she shoves it down your throat, but you don’t seem to care, emptying your mind to give her will over you to use you like a toy. She’s not sweet or slow by any means— Karina’s innocent smile, welcoming posture, and puppy-like personality make a good disguise for hiding how dirty she is. Part of her tells herself it’s wrong, and that’s why she tries to reject how much her body craves rougher actions, but the truth is that the hiding and the expectation also turn her on.

Those thoughts hover in your mind as you bob on her strap, looking at the leader through your lashes while you gather all your focus on giving your best for her. You try to look your best, and give your best for Aespa’s leader: she deserves nothing less, after all. It seems to be enough for Karina, who sighs at the sight of you staring from behind your lashes with your hair all over the place ever since her tangling hands went to your scalp, encouraging you to keep going for so long you’ve lost track of time.

“Beautiful. You look so beautiful like this, baby.” She murmurs with a low, sultry tone as she takes the strap from your mouth and seals your lips in a slow kiss. You’re starved for her; your boobs press together when you deepen the kiss, desperate for more. At this point you’re already soaked, leaving a deep, wet spot on the sheets— and your skin burns. “Don’t be rude. Say thank you.”

Such a tease, she is. You roll your eyes at her trying to rile you up, and she laughs. “Don’t even.” You mutter, rolling your eyes at her.

Karina’s hands go to your thighs, caressing your skin as she motions for you to get up once again. “You’re so stubborn.” She chants, adjusting the strap on you. Per her request, you lay back on the bed as soon as you’re done, somehow managing to sink under the shallow pillows.

There’s such a mean smirk dancing around her lips. Your cunt aches and it’s borderline painful; sweat covers your body and you’re nearly sure you’ll go insane if you don’t give her all the pleasure she’s worthy of very soon. All you want is to eat her out until she’s breathless, porcelain skin all marked begging for you to stop. Then, you’d lick her clean, making her cum so many times there’d be plenty of milk dripping from her hole for you to drink on. All yours. She’s all yours to tend to.

“Why don’t you just let me do it already…” You whine, drawing your head back when she grabs one of your nipples and twists— the friction feels so good it sends a hit of pleasure straight to your pussy.

Instead of indulging your needs, Karina laughs, and there’s a hidden mockery in her tone that only adds to your frustration. She comes close until her hips rest on your thighs, with the strap being the only thing that keeps a distance between you. Before you’re able to test her patience even more, she positions the dick on her entrance, slightly rocking back and forth so it hits deliciously against her clit.

“You can look.” She says, grabbing your shoulders to steady herself. “But you can’t touch. Understood, baby?”

Karina’s eyes, big and expressive, stare at you with feigned innocence as one of her hands caresses your jaw, lifting your face so you’d stare at her. Having her making such luscious sounds so close to you is like a death penalty. Karina’s mouth hangs slightly open, and you gulp whenever she aligns the fake dick with her entrance, giving you a serious look that makes it clear that she expects an answer to her command.

A huge bitch, she is. A hot, sexy, and huge bitch. It’s nearly impossible to stay still, but you can see the challenge in her eyes as soon as she cocks her head at you. Although her little act of defiance is silent, her intentions are as clear as day: she wants you to humiliate yourself: to beg for forgiveness so you’ll maybe get granted the privilege of touching her.

So you smile back, placing your hands on your hips and doing nothing else, even if you’re itching to run your tongue all over her body. “As you wish, unnie.”

Karina is so wet, of course she is— it’s not hard to leave her drenched. The dick slides in easily, and she takes her time with taking down its inches. Your grip on her hips turns slightly stronger at the sight of her looking so angelical, as her big, soft boobs are all in display to your face. That earns you a censoring look, and you move your hands with another eye-roll. There's nothing more you want but to touch her.

After a few breaths, Karina finds a steady pace, bouncing on your lap. The gushing sounds of her pussy that echo through the room are nearly pornographic, and you find yourself letting out desperate whimpers, too.

“So good.” She murmurs, lost in pleasure. Her grip on your shoulders tightens, and you feel her muscles tensing up.

You can’t help it— watching her pleasure herself is almost too much. Without much thinking, your fingers make their way to her clit, circling her hardened as you study her, testing out the waters. She lets out a gasp at the sensation, closing her eyes to enjoy the way her lower abdomen kept building up the tension. The tingling sensation increases with the rhythm of your strokes, along with her moves, and it doesn’t take much further for Karina to cum.

Just as always, Karina’s strong voice fills the room as she takes her head back, clenching her pussy once the waves of pleasure hit her with strong motions. Her entire body trembles, and she relies on you to keep her steady.

“You look the prettiest when you cum.” You tell her, after a few moments of silence.

The laugh she lets out is weak, more like a giggle as Karina sighs deeply, carelessly throwing herself on your side of the bed. She turns to you, then, so close your noses are nearly touching, disregarding your words as if you hadn’t said anything at all. “And you can’t ever behave, can you?”

You mirror her smirk, pecking her lips before shaking your head. “You like it that way, though.”

The two of you stay in a comfortable silence, one you don’t mind at all. The girls have had some busy, tiring weeks, and you know Karina needs rest. She’s tired—they all are, so the tension relief was well welcomed by the oldest girl. Despite being all sweaty and breathless, Karina is much less anxious now that you’ve helped her relax. She runs her fingers through your body, taking her time until she reaches your pussy. It delights her to feel how soaked you are: she’s aware of the amount of power she holds over you, and the fact that you’re gulping, still throbbing yourself, is something so empowering to her.

It makes her insides tingle all over again, asking for more.

“Jimin…” You whine again, opening your legs to give the girl better access to your entrance. You need her to touch you or else you’ll explode.

Two of her fingers enter your cunt before you can cry any further, hitting a fast pace without warning. The action is well welcomed, and you hold her wrist, motioning to go further. But Karina loves to make you frustrated; it’s almost as if she thrives on it: just like they made their way inside, her fingers are gone, and her mean smirk is back.

“You haven’t behaved at all today.” She repeats herself, laughing as she kisses your pout away. You bite her lip in response, which makes her pull your face away, although she’s still giggling. “You’ll get nothing tonight, baby. I’m sorry.”

You narrow your eyes at her, “You’re such a fucking liar! You’re not sorry at all!”

Karina turns her back to you, making a show of ignoring you as she grabs the covers just as a big yawn hits her. “Goodnight to you too, pretty. Sleep tight,” You roll your eyes, ready to give her a sneaky remark when she adds, “Oh, and don’t forget to turn off the camera. We don’t want you running out of battery or anything, do we?”

“You’re such a bitch.” Although you still get up and do as told, knowing she’s partially right.

Karina waits patiently for you to return to bed, with her small eyes and big smile. The sensuality and roughness from earlier have been replaced by her usual bubbly self, which you adore just as much. It has always been amusing to you how easily it is for her to just switch back and forth from the luscious, gorgeous woman she is to her puppy personality, and you adore her either way.

You hop into her arms, humming when she fills your neck with small, wet kisses.

“You have to behave, silly.” Is what she tells you, biting your skin gently. You’re one to bruise easily, you both know it as much. However, you say nothing, allowing her to do as she pleases. “Otherwise you won’t get a reward.”

“We’ll see about that.” You murmur, happy to get lost in her cuddles. “I sure need something after that torture session.”

Your words cause you to be pushed back, although you know Karina’s only joking.“Oh my God! Go to sleep, Y/n. Goodnight.”

“Ugh.” Is all you answer, closing your arms around her waist.

“Y/n.”

“Right, right.” You sigh, “Goodnight, cutie. Can I get a kiss?”

The hand that goes through your face is enough of an answer.

“Sleep. We’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” She commands.

And because it’s Karina, you obey. You’d always hail the band’s leader.

Your personal camgirl.

—

Breakfast has always been something you’d skip if you could. It’s a pain to wake up so early, and you need at least an hour to be somewhat presentable and another two until you can properly talk to anyone. However, the soon you leave this shitty hotel the better, so you resume sitting beside Giselle and Ningning while they talk excitedly. You chew on your bread with scrambled eggs with perhaps too much patience, still marveling at how composed they look despite running on 5 hours of sleep.

“So, we’ve got good news. Amazing news, actually. Like, the greatest news ever.” Ningning’s nearly jumping in her seat, her eyes darting from you, then Giselle, Minjeong, and finally to Karina multiple times in seconds. Yizhuo plays with her hands, nudging Karina while nearly dying of anxiety. “Unnie, would you please tell them? Go, go.”

The excitement in her tone captures enough of your attention; you, Giselle, and Minejong collectively sit up straighter, exchanging a confused look. The fact that they know as little as you do is comforting, and stirs up a nice, warm feeling of being included within your heart. The girls could be harsh and a little mean sometimes, naturally, but there are times when they’re also very sweet.

Karina laughs, pinching Ning’s cheeks. Even though Ningning pretends she despises it, you love to baby her and spoil her rotten.

“You can do it, Ning.” She encourages her baby girl to speak up, loving the smile that brightens up the maknae’s lips after the command. “Go ahead, tell them what we’re doing next.”

With her leader’s blessing, Ningning lets out a happy squeal and launches herself upwards. The upper half of her body hangs on the breakfast table as she looks around before whispering as if the topic is top-secret.

“So, this guy approached me after our show.” She stops abruptly at your reactions, waving her hands, “Hey, don’t make such faces! He wasn’t a weirdo or anything, I promise. Anyway, he came up and said he worked for AKT Music Ent. and that he liked our music and thought we had potential.” Ningning pauses, looking up to her leader for reassurance. Once Karina nods, giving her a knowing smile, she adds, “And then I told him to talk to Karina, of course, because she’s our leader and all… but basically, he invited us to compete at The Box, next month. Can you believe it?”

“You’re fucking with us.” Minjeong answers, in awe. She looks at Karina, with her mouth still slightly open in shock. “Please tell me you’re serious. That this isn’t a joke or anything.”

Karina has a proud look on her face as she nods. “It’s a thing. We’re doing it.”

“HELL YES!” Giselle screams, laughing loudly. She reaches out her arms and squeezes you and Ningning in a tight hug, her embrace so strong it’s borderline suffocating. Not that you mind— if anything, it fills you with warmth to be with them in their first big accomplishment. “WE’RE PLAYING IN THE BOX! OH MY FUCKING GOD. WE ARE AMAZING!”

Minjeong and Karina laugh at her reaction, just as happy from the news. Taking part in the event is an amazing opportunity for them: the mere thought of performing at the stage is enough to give them goosebumps, both of fear and excitement.

The Box is a week-long competition where the top 3 winners get a 2-year long contract, each signed with one of the Big 3 music companies of the country: SM, JYP or YG. It’s an elite program where successful bands have gained popularity and recognition, like SNSD. It’s set at a big, open area at the countryside and held much like a festival: the event has become more and more capitalized with every passing year. The companies make sure to hold a big show out of the entire thing, broadcasting the events that happen simultaneously 24/7— numerous interviews, commercials are shot by the participants to support the sponsors of the competition, which helps them to make their debut on national television. There are various foods, restaurants and parties being held at all times. It’s also a great opportunity for fans of nugu bands to personally interact with them, and actually super nice to meet other bands and artists. Besides the main goal, being at the event alone is a huge honor and opportunity for the band to grow as artists. They certainly won’t take for granted.

Minjeong claps excitedly. “We need to celebrate!”

“Absolutely.” Giselle agrees, looking in disgust at the men who kept sitting at the nearby tables even though it was still fairly early, and the Diner was still empty. “At home, though. Let’s get out of here, please.”

The five of you exchange a knowing look, collectively getting up at the same time as you grab your belongings and hurry to leave the shitty hotel. Your hearts are filled with pride, and you couldn’t be happier for them.

“You deserve this.” Is what you tell them, breaking the steady silence that reigned in the car. The girls look at you, all returning from dreamland.

Even though their only response is a faint hum, the satisfaction on their faces tells you they needed to hear that. “This is only a result of your hard work. All the hours of practice, the shitty-ass places you played at before, the No’s you’ve gotten… It’s going to work out, trust me.”

Karina’s arms go to your neck, in a gentle caress as she adds, looking at her bandmates. Her best friends. “Y/n is right. We got this.”

There’s nothing they can’t do, as long as they’re together.

[nichuuu]

Show Me

ft. Karina

Word count: 5K+

You weren’t too sure what you were expecting when you got that text from her in the wee hours of the morning.

When it came down to Yoo Jimin, a text at two in the morning was never a request to cuddle up and watch a movie. Simply put, it was a booty call. With all this in mind, you still found yourself taken aback by her bluntness. 

Now to be clear, Karina could hypothetically have half of the men in Korea at her disposal if she wanted. You knew at least ten guys that would willingly throw themselves at her if they had the chance, and they’d certainly kill to be in your position. 

She’d picked you out from a crowd of delirious fans at a concert, locking eyes with you while you were silently marvelling at the beauty of the girls from where you stood. She’d fixed you with a curious gaze, her head cocking ever so slightly as she squatted down, as if she was getting a better look at a product that she was about to buy. Then she stood up, whispered something to her members, then whispered something to the security guard who raised an eyebrow. He looked at her, then at you. 

A couple of minutes later, you found yourself in Aespa’s dressing room, seated on a couch that felt far too expensive for your ass to be on and drinking bottled water from a straw. Jimin came in just a couple of minutes later. Her explanation for your presence in the dressing room was plain and simple. 

We are going to fuck. Now take off your pants.

Karina blew you, you ate her out, then she rode you with your head between her cleavage for what felt like hours. The sex was mind-blowing, leaving you panting and sweaty on the floor of the dressing room. After you’d recovered, Karina called in her manager, who brought in a contract for you to sign. 

“Once you sign this,” Karina had whispered into your ear, the smell of sweat lingering around her, “you get to fuck me and the others all you want…”

In a heartbeat, your signature had been scribbled on the line given.

Just like that, you’d become one of Aespa’s toys. Including you, there were four other guys that served the same purpose that you served, and that would be pleasuring the girls. Each of them was handpicked by one of the girls, and they would serve the idols whenever they called for it. More than one man could respond to the call of one of the girls, depending on who was free at the moment that the message was sent into the group chat. They’d usually send a timing, followed by an address and a couple of suggestive emojis, or a nude if you guys were lucky. In the name of preserving the image of the global stars, you were to discreetly come to the locations sent, ensuring that no one—even your family and closest friends—were to be divulged in the nature of this “occupation”. Should you fail to adhere to this, you would face immediate termination.

With such an intricate and well thought out system, you were surprised when Karina had privately messaged you that night. It was unusual for her to break away from the well established procedure.

After that first time with Karina, you never really had the time to respond to the calls of the girls since they came at such inconvenient hours. You knew for a fact that the three other guys—who were all older than you—Actively responded to the booty calls, the naughty videos of their sessions sent into the group chat being your indication.

When you arrived at the location sent to you, you found yourself at the door of a penthouse in some posh condominium. Karina opened the door for you, clad in nothing but a bathrobe and a set of bunny slippers. 

“Welcome! Glad you could make it,” she smiled, stepping aside for you to enter. She offered you a beer—which you gladly accepted—then directed you to the couch. 

“Haven’t seen you around much… You’ve been busy?” she asked, cracking open the can of Jim Beam in her hand. 

“You could say that…” you replied.

“No worries, I know that life can get busy,” she assured you, “though it wouldn’t hurt too much to let us know, you know? The girls have been eager to meet you since I picked you up.”

She took a swig from her can, then got straight to business. 

“I want your cock.” 

That’s how the night with her started. 

You blinked.

“Huh?” you expressed blankly. She picked up the beer can once more. 

“Your cock,” she repeated, “I want it.”

You were a little surprised by her sudden request, and even more surprised that she’d spoken it so plainly. She may as well have been asking about what you’d been up to that night, for all the flatness and normality of her tone. 

“Why didn’t you call the other guys?” you continued to ask. 

“Why do you think I messaged you privately?” 

She was seated next to you on the couch, a can of beer in her hands as she stared at you. The frivolity in her voice was hard to ignore, the mischievously innocent twinkle in her eyes making you feel all sorts of things, fuzzy being the predominant sensation. 

“I don't know… Maybe it was to deliver a pizza or something,” you answered her. 

She laughed. “God… You’re refreshing in comparison to the others.”

You managed a shy smile. “I um… Thanks?”

Karina leaned forward in her seat. “It’s always those other three who come and fuck us when we call for it, but never you… I’ve gotten used to them, now I’m pretty curious about you.”

She folded up her left leg and tucked it beneath her right. 

“Those guys are all the same—Really horny older men that just want a chance to fuck an idol,” she continued. Then she pointed at you, the base of her slender index finger wet with condensation from the beer can. “But you… I don’t know a single thing about you…”

You sat there silently for a moment. “Well there’s… Not many interesting things to know about me.”

“Nonsense,” Karina scoffed, “everyone has their flair or some kink. You just have to discover it”

Her eyes twinkled as she studied you for a moment. “You strike me as a guy who’s more on the shy side… Am I right?”

You pursed your lips, then nodded.

“And you’re pretty young… A lot younger than those three.”. 

You nodded again. You knew that you were the youngest amongst the men because the other three had put their ages in their descriptions. All of them had nicknames, but you had yet to earn yours.

She let silence hang in the air for a moment as she took a swig. Then—rather abruptly—she asked you, “so how do you like your women?”

You hated how casual Karina’s tone was.

“What do you mean?” you clarified. 

“You know… In bed,” Jimin explained, “how do you like them? Submissive? Dominant? Shy? You have to have a preference.”

Your sex life was pretty lacklustre in your opinion. Vanilla was the only subset you’d ever engaged in, and your session with Karina in the dressing room was the wildest thing you’d ever experienced. You never really ventured outside what you were comfortable doing, staying within the confines of what you were comfortable with. 

“I never gave it much thought,” you admitted. 

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Then I’d like to see what you can do then.”

She kept her eyes locked on you as she raised the can to her mouth. Dominating a woman in bed was not something you actively craved, though the thought of doing so with Karina did excite you to a colossal extent.

You waited till she finished her long sip. Then, your hand reached for her beer can, removing it from her slim fingers. You placed it back on the coffee table, just a little to the left of the ring of water droplets it’d formed. 

Her eyes remained on you as she tried best to hide the anticipation in her tight, curvy frame. Her lower lip folded inward to allow her front teeth to bite softly into it, the slightest quiver in her soft, pink lips. Your hand slipped past the bath robe as you began at her breasts.

As your fingers wrapped themselves around the swell of her bosom, a soft gasp left her mouth. Your fingers worked in tandem with your palm, squeezing, kneading—Pleasing Karina as you played with her well-formed chest, the soft mound spilling out through the gaps between your fingers. Your fingertips played lazily with the nub that stood at attention, grazing and pinching the brown nipple as you felt her core flutter in anticipation. Her breaths quickened. She trembled with need.

Your hand began its slow journey upward. Your palm—pressed flat against her skin—slid up her tits, past her collarbone and reached her throat. When your fingers closed themselves around her windpipe, she let out a strained gasp, her pupils dilating as her eyes gained a new look, a new gleam.

Want.

Your hand closed around her throat as you wordlessly urged her up on her feet. You started to push her away from the couch, and she stumbled initially, but she quickly found her footing as you dragged her to the nearest wall, small hands clutched around your wrist. When you reached the wall, you pushed her roughly against it. The back of her head made a deep thud as it hit the plaster. You hoped to god that you hadn’t hurt her, but one look at her smiling face told you that you needn’t worry. 

“That’s it,” she drawled, “show me what you can do to me.”

Hand still tight around her throat, you crushed her lips with yours, frenzied, passionate tongues duelling within the confines of her wet, hot mouth. Her hands reached around, gripping the back of your head as though wanting to press her tongue as deep as she could. With your free hand you reached up and squeezed a trembling, soft breast through her bathrobe, then it slid back down her body to untie the string that held the bathrobe together. Karina let the garment slide off her milky shoulders, the glory of her nude body now on full display.

Your fingers found her dripping slit. She moaned into your mouth. Your hand tightened around her throat, her moan slipping into a strained gasp.

“Get on your knees,” you hissed.

Karina slowly dropped to her knees, eyes locked on yours all the while. They were  wide open, dripping with anticipation and perverse gratitude. You could see her body trembling with excitement.

Her fingers worked with practised grace at your pants—Unfastening, undoing, undressing. She unwrapped you like a present, the fiery hot lust in her gaze bleeding her doe-like eyes with want and desire. Your cock sprang from its bounds, hard and stiff, and there was no hesitation when she stuck out her tongue. She began at your base, nestling her entire face into your crotch before her wet, warm tongue darted out and licked you from base to tip. Slowly, she lathered your shaft with her glistening saliva, curling the tip of her tongue around, beneath and all over, licking up your already leaking juices that oozed from your tip. 

Your hand found the side of her head. With care, you gently combed a hand through her soft, silky hair, watching contentedly as Karina’s tongue made a repeated commute on the path that was your shaft, sliding from base to tip, base to tip, over and over and over. She smelt of soap, a sign that she’d gotten ready for you. It would be a shame that the work put into smelling good would come undone in a matter of minutes.

Your right palm approached the front of her head. You pushed forward until you heard a not-so-gentle thud—The sound of her head hitting the wall. The needy moan that left her lips at the impact told you that what she felt is not at all pain, rather a sense of pressure that was derived from a dark part of her. You continued to press her head against the wall as you slid your cock into her mouth, her soft pink lips parting to take it in.

With your hands on either side of her skull, you began to fuck her mouth.

She choked slightly on your first few thrusts, gagging and retching slightly at the unforgiving, stiff meat invading her mouth at a merciless pace. But soon, she got used to it. 

Soon, she adapts, her surprise giving way to experience and lust. Soon, she learned to brace her hands against your thighs in order to keep her head and mouth at a steady enough level to take you again and again without gagging. 

You groaned, moaned and sighed with each thrust into Karina’s mouth, her eyes staring up at you all the while. Her mouth was wet and hot. Her tongue was aggressive and teasing.

Her lips—Those pretty, plump fucking lips that looked so good around your cock—Were wrapped tightly around the thick, hard cock pumping in and out of her face. 

The sight of your shaft, slick with her spit as it plunged in and out of her mouth, was sublime. You can’t keep your gaze from her eyes for long, quickly flicking your focus back on the orbs that were wide open and locked on yours as you took pleasure from her pretty little mouth. They were still needy, wanton and lustful. They still showed her craving, her want, her longing. They began to water, tears falling down her cheeks as her  mascara started to streak her face. She couldn’t give a damn about the mess you’ve made of her face, not when you were using what was yours. Your cock stretched her mouth, made her jaw sore. She didn’t care, didn't even feel the pain. All she could feel is your stiff shaft, pumping in and out, burying and retracting at a relentless pace.

When the tip of your cock first pushed into her throat, she gagged sharply. You were almost afraid you’d crossed the line, afraid you’d actually hurt her. But when one of the hands she had placed on your hips slipped down her body and dove between her legs, you knew that she was loving every second of the treatment. You pushed, thrusting deeper and harder into her mouth. Your head invaded her willing throat with each thrust into her mouth, wet, slurping, gurgling sounds of her slick mouth being fucked over and over again with your  hard throbbing cock filling the air, a lewd melody to your ears as you properly fucked Karina’s pretty little face. 

Soft thuds of the back of her head knocking against the back of the wall resonate in your ears, small muffled and strained moans that escape intermittently floating through the air. There were so many sounds, and they deluged your senses, turning you delirious with pleasure.You used her, and you used her well. The minutes passed, but they felt like hours. Her mouth felt like heaven.

“I’m going to cum down your fucking throat,” you growled. The wet, wordless gurgle that escaped Karina’s throat might have been the most arousing sound you ever heard her make.

With a final thrust, you push your cock as deep as you can inside her mouth, and you release.

When you cum, your cock spurts thick, hot semen right down her throat. She gagged and gurgled, almost choking on your hot load. Her hand that was busy between her legs quickly returned to your thigh, and she quickly learned to swallow to keep pace with the thick liquid being shot into the back of her mouth. 

It was utterly sublime. The sight of her on her knees with her eyes locked on yours, eyelids quivering as she struggled to swallow your semen fast enough only heightens the sheer pleasure of it all. Thick semen mixed with spit spilled from the corners of her lips with a wet cough when she finally failed to swallow fast as you could unload it into her mouth. She gagged again, but made sure to keep your spasming, quivering cock inside her mouth until you finally ran dry and your slick, still-hard cock slips from between tired lips.

She licked it all up, cleaning it all, every drop, from base to tip. She licked you clean, even if she herself looked dirty and filthy while doing so. Her cheeks were stained with dark streaks, her lips and chin glistening from spit, saliva and cum that dripped down her neck.  You reached down and caressed a tear-streaked cheek, taking in her unkempt appearance that paralleled her usual complex. 

“Get up,” you told her, “I’m not done with you yet.”

Her obedience was delightful. When she rose, you spun her around and—not too gently—pushed on the small of her back. Her mascara streaked cheek contacts the plaster, her body arching deliciously, her ass protruding towards you. She looked so deliciously fuckable, and you knew damn well that she knew that too.

“This is what you wanted, right?” you growled, “you wanted to see how well I could use your little body, didn’t you?”

“Fuck yes,” she hissed back immediately, her voice hoarse and raspy, “I want you to fucking use me, use ever part of me to your liking…”

She gasped when your still hard shaft rubbed against her heat. Her hands braced themselves against the wall, her body relaxed and resigned as you deliver a slap to her ass. 

“Fuck Karina,” you couldn’t help but vocalise as you squeeze the firm flesh, “I love your body so much…”

“Do you?” she whispered, “then please fu—”

She never expected you to slip into her mid-sentence. Her sentence is abruptly ended, making way for a moan that cuts in and leaves her mouth. 

“What’s that Karina?” you taunted, “I can’t hear you.”

Her body shuddered as you sheathed yourself completely with her hot, tight pussy. Her walls squeeze down on either side as if they were taking a mould of your cock, imprinting its shape, size and length to fit it like a glove. Then shamelessly, Karina lets her plea tumble from her lips.

“Fuck me.”

The moan that filled your ears was nothing short of erotic when you began to thrust into the waiting depths of that amazing body. Her soft breasts became your surface of contact—your grips on her tight yet curvy body as you pumped yourself deep into Karina’s wanton pussy. She felt tighter than the first time you’d entered her, her moans even more needy than the first time you’d heard them, her body even more delicious than the first time you’d seen it. Her hair cascaded past her shoulders, and you made the effort to push it away so that you can get the best view of her arched back. 

“Fuck! Your—hngh… Your cock is fucking me so good! Ah!” 

For a long few minutes, your eyes stayed on the tantalising curve of her back, admiring the sweat slicked skin that glistened in the light on the apartment as her ass cheeks rippled with each thrust made into her dripping wet slit. Her breaths quickly become ragged, Karina’s lungs quickly becoming unable to keep up with the demand of oxygen that was needed to take the pounding you were giving her. She struggled to stay on her feet, her knees buckling under the weight of the arousal in her being. You had to step a little closer to support her against that wall.

The arousal derived from the videos of her getting fucked by the other men were a mere grains of sand—nothing in comparison to the pleasure that you were experiencing. You’d watch the videos that were taken, observing through the screen of your phone with wide eyes and a rock hard boner as Karina’s body was ravished by another guy. Her cute moans—even cuter in person—would fill your ears through your headphones at home, a rock hard shaft eliciting more cries of similar quality as the sound of her skin slapping against his would emanate from the earbuds in your ears. You could only re-imagine the feel of her warm cunt wrapped around your length, pulsing and pressing in on your member as your hand pumped you to completion. Now that she was right here, getting fucked by you right here, right now, you found that your imagination pained in comparison to what you had pictured in your head. 

To say that her pussy was sublime would be an understatement. You didn’t know what the best word to describe the sensation of fucking her was, but you knew that it would follow closely along the lines of divine. Each entrance felt like heaven, each thrust felt like the embodiment of bliss. The holy grail that was Yoo Jimin’s body was bringing you pleasure like no other, an unparalleled, unchallenged taste of heaven. 

“Oh go… M-My pussy feels so fucking full… O-Oh!” she managed to gasp, “y-you’re filling me! My pussy has never… Felt… So good!” 

You leaned in such that you were right in her ear. “Do you like how my cock stretches you out, Karina?”

“F-Fuck yes! I love it! I… Ah! Fucking love it!” came her whiny reply.

Her body began to rock back against yours, her crotch crashing onto yours. You gritted your teeth; your grip on her left breast tightened. Karina’s hair whipped back, raven black, sweat matted strands sent flying. She looked back at you, her face scrunched in an expression of bliss. Her lips, wrapped around your cock mere minutes before, were slightly parted, giving space for moans and sighs and gasps to spill freely from her throat. Her eyes were filled with need. Against the wall, her hands tighten into fists.

“Pull… On my hair,” she requested wantonly, “pull on it like I’m a fucking doll.”

The emphasis on the word doll aroused you to no end. Your right hand left her breast, capturing a handful of Karina’s hair in a makeshift ponytail that you gripped tightly. You yanked back. Her pussy tightened. An expletive comes flying from her mouth. Your shaft glistened with the mix of her juices and spit, slipping in and out between her flushed, slick folds seamlessly as you held on to that lock of hair like reigns on a horse.

“Yes… Yes… Just… Just like this!” she cried, “fuck me just like this!”

Her eyes were half lidded with pleasure, the tender flesh of her ass cheeks bouncing and rippling. You wished you had a mirror before you, that way you could watch the hypnotic bounce of her breasts as her body was rocked with your thrusts, but you could settle with the view of her trembling back. The tiny, slim figure that so many adored quivered before you, pleasure and excitement wracking her nerves and filling her muscles, occupying every cell of her body while you fucked her with deep, fast thrusts. It looked exactly as it had in one of the videos in the group chat, only difference being that it was more raw and far more lewd.

You freed your left hand from her left breast to push down on her back, the gradient of the curve of her spine becoming steeper as you forced her lower. Your cock reached new depths in this position, spearing deeper into her willing pussy and filling her in a more intimate manner. Her moans, gasps and sighs were lewd notes of pleasure, and they began to crescendo as the thick, hard, throbbing meat plunging into her tight little cunt heightens the pleasure coursing through her system.

At some point, you started to feel her walls growingly tighten. You increased your tempo, drilling in and out of the tight hot warmth of her body with quick, deep strokes. With each stroke you didn’t pull out more than halfway, concentrating instead on pumping hard and fast. Her body quickly adapted, crashing down harder against you each time you bottomed out inside of her. Her moans turned into her cries, her cries turned into mewls. 

“Oh god… I-I’m—”

She never got to finish her sentence. It took an otherworldly will to not join Karina in her bliss when she came. With a strained cry, you felt her walls clamp down, her body twitching and convulsing. Her legs shook violently, her mouth frozen in a silent scream as you step forward and flush her body completely against the wall. For long minutes, you stayed buried deep inside Karina as she climaxed, holding on to her slim waist to support her. She shook in your grasp, the orgasm overtaking her brain functions and overwhelming her to the point of speechlessness. She takes a moment to wind down. 

“Karina…” you whispered. When she turned back to look at you, you gently placed your lips on hers. She kissed you back with equal tenderness, a small sigh escaping her as you gently fondled her breasts. 

“You’ve been holding on to my tits this whole time,” she remarked, breath fully returned. “You must really like them, huh?” 

“Can you blame me?” you asked. Karina smiled teasingly.

“I can’t… All of the guys love my tits,” she told you, “you’re the only one that hasn’t fucked them yet.”

You took the hint, your cock slipping out of her freshly fucked pussy with a slick pop as you stepped back. Her sweaty body had left an imprint on the wall, the spot where her cheek had been pressed a dark spot of moisture. You could only look at it for a second longer before Karina took you by the hand. She led you back to the couch, getting you settled in on it before she took her place on her knees. 

With a smile, she cupped her heavy breasts with her hands. “You don’t have to tell me when you’re going to cum. I like surprises.”

Karina took a moment to spit on your cock, a long rope of her glistening saliva landing squarely on your head. She pumped your shaft a few times, ensuring that her spit was mixed thoroughly into the mixture of her juices that slicked your member.

When she leaned forward and captured your shaft between her soft, warm breasts, your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, everything seemed to go quiet. It was only when Karina started to move that your senses were restored to you. 

Trapping your cock in a tunnel of warmth and wetness, she began to bounce her mounds along on your length, thrusting the shaft between her breasts—up and down, up and down. You watched the scene play out in front of you, enjoying the pleasure radiating from your shaft, travelling up your spine and intoxicating your brain. Her hands travelled towards the front of her breasts as she captured her own nipples with her index finger and thumb, pinching the stiff peaks as she bounced her mounds up and down on your stiff dick. You weren’t shy, conveying your pleasure through soft groans and sighs. All the while, Yoo Jimin fixed you with a smile, one that was pure and innocent enough to make the adulterated act seem so pure. 

“Do you like it?” she whispered, “do you like my tits milk your cock?”

“Fuck yes Karina,” you hissed. 

She suddenly stopped for a moment. You felt her hands grasp on to yours, guiding them to grip either one of her amazingly soft breasts in each hand. 

“Take control,” she invited you, “set the pace. Cum whenever you want.”

For a moment, you took in the sight of Karina’s tits wrapped around your slick shaft. Then the pure, animalistic desire for pleasure took over, and you were squeezing her breasts together, keeping them tightly-knit around your dick like a sleeve while you pumped between her sweaty cleavage. She let her hands rest on either side of your thighs, a soft gleam in her eyes as she watched your cock disappear and reappear between her mounds.

When she started to stick her tongue out to catch the underside of your sensitive head, the curse that flew out of your mouth was one that was loud and resonant, travelling up into the air and blending with the lewd squelching and slapping in the air. You heard her giggle, a warped sound of delight as she watched you pump faster and faster between her breasts. Her hot breath blanketed the head of your cock, the softness of her tongue cushioning your dick against it as it made it disappeared and reappeared through the tunnel of bliss.

When you came, time came to a standstill. You could pinpoint the exact moment when the first rope of cum left your dick, smearing on the insides of Karina’s tits as your shaft speared past the summit of her breasts. Then you held your position, hot, thick ropes of semen spurting forth and creating a mess out of Karina. She closed her eyes, letting the warm fluid coat her face and chest in content, her hands cupping her breasts for you as your orgasm inundated your mind. Every corner, every inch of your brain was wracked with ecstasy, a feeling like no other washing over your body. 

You weren’t sure when your eyes had shut themselves, but when they opened, you found that Karina had resumed the movements of her breasts up along your shaft, gently and tenderly milking every last drop out of your spent and sore cock. She waits till your dick stops twitching to withdraw before proceeding to eagerly clean herself up, scooping up the gooey ropes that painted her upper body with her fingers so that she could send them into her mouth. You watched her clean herself thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned. 

With a look of satisfaction, she rose up and settled down next to you on the couch. Her hand slipped under your chin, gingerly turning your face towards her. 

“I don't think I want to share you with the rest,” she whispered, “you can be exclusively mine… How does that sound?”

Wearily, you nodded. 

With another one of those pure smiles that purged the sheer filth of the act from the air, Karina sealed the deal with a kiss. 

--------------------------

Hello, this was a pure BFH fic that I wrote, so it's not exactly the most coherent and well edited, but I just want to get it out :p. Hope you guys enjoy!

~Nichuuu

[urwritethanks]

Someone said that if this was just a Netflix show he would have ate her out at the ending of EP 2. And let's just say that's what inspired this.

Anyway, hello 👋🏾 Yes I am shamelessly joining everyone in the excitement for this show. Did I start the show at 11pm? Yes. Did I then proceed to immediately start writing this at 2am? Yes. And you know what? I have no regrets (it's now basically 5am).

This is obviously an interpretation in an alternate timeline/universe. Dont get your panties in a bunch. Also my writing is not perfect. This ended up being longer than anticipated but apparently thats my m.o. I rarely get inspired to write so I wanted to just get it all out. Enjoy!

The glass shattered as it hit the floor.

Hee Joo could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Her hands were clammy and she felt out of breath.

How could she be so silly? How had she walked into this mess? 'A fire .. my god' she thought. 'Was he hurt?' What if at this very moment he was in the hospital? She'd known since last night something was wrong. She'd felt it in her gut.  That was why she had waited for him. Only exhaustion had allowed her to sleep. Now hours later she wished she had done something, anything. But what could she have done? Everyone saw her as useless. What could she do now? She needed to-

Her thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the door lock. 'He's here!?' She thought in equal parts shock and relief.

The news in the background continued as he came into view. She was expecting him to be disheveled but she still was not prepared.

His shirt had soot and dirt. His hair looked as though he had been running his hand through it all night. His eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep. But more than that, they were filled with emotion. She had never seen him.. so affected.

He stalked toward her. Instinctively she stepped back only to come in contact with the table. She almost gasped when his hands found her waist and lifted her to the table. He must have lost his mind last night. In all their years of marriage she could count on one hand the number of times he'd touched her this way.

Her breath was caught in her throat. She stared at him stunned.

"Lately, nothing makes sense" Sa Eon said.

"There can't be a Hong Hee Joo I don't know about."

Hee Joo's brain was not working. She couldn't think straight with him this close. What did he mean?

"I need to find out" he continued, eyes shifting to her skirt "which one is the real one".

She knew. She knew before he moved what he was going to do.

"Right now, you're my only lead. So cooperate."

He reached for her skirt. Lifting it two inches before instinct had her stopping him.

He was really going to do it! Oh my, why had she gotten herself into this situation? How would she keep him from doing this now? When he was so determined. And why was she..getting turned on. Maybe it was how close he was to her. Maybe it was because it had been years since she had been with someone. But she knew the truth was it was his eyes. The way they seemed to be staring into her soul. The way they were showing so many emotions. Anger, confusion, frustration ...lust.

Was she imagining that last one?

"Do you want to take it off, or should I?". He had fisted her skirt. She stared at him chest rising and falling as though all the oxygen was gone from the room.

She didn't know what came over her. Before she could think about it her hand continued where he had left off.

His eyes never left hers the entire time. While a moment ago he was almost desperate, now it seemed as though he had all the time in the world.

She lifted it just enough to reveal what she knew he wanted to see. The material bunching in her lap but still covering her under garment. Slowly his eyes shifted down. Where ever his eyes touched felt like fire on her skin. She saw the moment he found her mole. His jaw clenched  and when she looked down his hand which had fallen beside her leg on the table was balled into a fist.

He exhaled loudly "I see.. so this is the real Hee Joo." His hand lifted. Finger tracing a circle around the mold. She felt that movement deep, her stomach clenching.

She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until his commanding voice said "Breathe". Before she could think she breathe in and out in a huff . God why did she always listen to everything he said?

As she continued to breathe the circles seemed to be getting larger. Covering more area on her thigh. Was she dreaming? She must be because he reached to lift the skirt higher revealing more and more skin. This is exactly what dream Sa Eon would do. Only in her dreams, dreams buried deep down could this be happening.

He only stopped once her centre was exposed. The skin tone underwear was now clearly visible to him. She watched him as his eyes feasted on her. She saw him swallow and he murmured something that even her fine tuned ears did not pick up.

When he reached for her she came back to herself and grabbed his wrist. His eyes found hers. Searching. She must have been doing a terrible job of hiding how much this was affecting her because whatever he saw in her eyes had him smirking and then he leaned forward and captured her mouth.

She gasped into the kiss. Then it was a flash of tongues and breathe. Her mind was spiraling not able to keep up or put into perspective what was happening. Sa Eon kissed exactly how she expected him to.  He directed and she was more than happy to follow his lead. One of his hands found her jaw and he maneuvered her head to deepen the kiss. Her hands found their way around his neck and into his already messy hair. This man was talented. He kissed her as though he was thirsty and she was the last drink of water on earth. He kissed her as though he had been wanting to do this for the last three years. He kissed her as though she was his.

When she broke the kiss, breathing heavy he simply shifted to her neck, her clavicle. The low vee of her shirt allowing him access. Her head fell back as she gave him more room.

Suddenly she felt his fingers on the outer edge of her panties. At the same moment his mouth was doing magical things to a particularly sensitive spot on her neck. She shifted on the table humming as his fingers made their way to her entrance.

"I haven't heard this much sound from you in a long time" he paused whatever he was doing to her neck to say. "Maybe I should have done this sooner".

His finger was now working circles around her clit. Rather than go back to kissing her neck his eyes found hers as she slowly began to lose herself to the sensations. They were having a conversation without words. When his finger entered her she gasped and closed her eyes.

"Look at me" he said. Her eyes fluttered open to find his lit and studying her. He began to move his finger in and out. She bit her lip and her head fell back.

"Look at me" he reiterated. And his commanding tone coupled with a second finger joining the first had her head snapping back up.

"You will watch."

Suddenly his fingers left her and in a swift move he grabbed the waistband of her panties and ripped. Then before she could recover from that his hands moved her thighs further apart and his mouth found her, his tongue hot on her most private place. She was so stunned she didn't have a moment to feel exposed. Then sensation began traveling through her body.

She was getting more and more wet as he continued. His tongue feasting on her sensitive clit then moving to her entrance. The more wet she got the more he lapped, groaning and tightening his grip on her waist. Her thighs began to tremble and with each lap of his tongue she fell a little further under his spell. When his tongue entered her, her hands gave out and she fell to her elbows. Her eyes almost closed until she remembered what he had said. When she looked down she found him watching her as his tongue continued to torture her. She couldn't believe this was happening. How had they got here? Watching her watch him seemed to do something to him, as his onslaught became more ferocious she could only hold on for the ride.

He knew everything about her. He made it his job. Nothing could put all his skills to better use than his wife. And maybe that is why finding out he may not know her like he thought he did these last few days was driving him crazy.

All he could think about was her safety. But more than anything he was angry. Angry that this stranger who had no right to had seen her. Taken her hostage! Had her photo to leer over! It made him feral.

All he had wanted to do after last night's events was set eyes on her. Make sure she was safe. But when he'd seen her all his plans flew out the window. Suddenly he needed to know,  was she his Hee Joo?

Now with his head between her thighs, her hand fisting his hair and those breathy noices she was making (which were quickly becoming one of his favorite sounds) he knew she was.

He loved her taste and the more wet she got, the happier he was. He watched as her eyes glazed over as she gave in to everything he was giving her.  She began to shift her hips now, unconsciously chasing her orgasm. What she didn't know is he would give her anything she wanted.

Now as he watched her, her eyes seemed to be begging him, a tiny furrow in her brows and he was more than willing to oblige. He shifted, his mouth again finding her clit while his fingers entered her again. He pulled, hard with his mouth and thrust his fingers at the same time. Her thighs tightened around his head. He sweeped his tongue from her clit to her entrance a satisfied groan low in his throat. That also seemed to have an effect on her. He picked up the pace his eyes finding her again. Not wanting to miss a moment of her pleasure. He felt and heard the moment she came. Her core quivered and released a rush of moisture. At the same time she gasped loudly and bucked her hips. He knew it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes trained on him. He could swear he saw them get two shades darker.

For several moments she didn't breathe, suspended in the pleasure her body was giving her. He continued his onslaught until she came down. The hand in his hair going slack and a rush of breath finally expended from her. She seemed to sag onto the table. As much as she could anyway as she tried to keep her eyes on him.

He kissed her one last time reverently. When he glanced up he could see the panic and confusion beginning on her face. Her hands went up to cover her face and she laid on the table.

He adjusted her skirt back down to cover her. "Get cleaned up" he said. Knowing if he even tried to talk about or explain this it would go in one ear and out the other.

"I'm going to take a shower; then I'll make you breakfast and we can talk".

She was shaking her head before he was finished.  Her fingers shifting so she could peek through.

He left her like that, making his way to his room to shower. He knew she was even now probably trying to find a way to get out of speaking to him. But make no mistake, he had gotten a taste and he was far from satisfied.

[tls12lessthan3]

i feel like kim dokja has enough internalized homophobia to be at least a little weirded out by his attraction to yoo joonghyuk + yoo joonghyuks attraction him once he figures out that is indeed what it is. but i also think this is a problem that pales in comparison to the huge fucking complex he has about loving and being loved. so like ultimately it doesn't really matter. like if kim dokja were normal then you could write a whole story about him learning to overcome his fear around his attraction to men and what it means to do so in an apocalyptic world where those social norms are now inherently changed because there isnt really a society anyway. but much like kim dokja continues to wear office friendly clothing despite the fact minosoft is firmly dead there are things from that past you keep doing more out of familiarity than anything else. but because kim dokja is infinitely more afraid of the idea of being in a romantic relationship period due to his ongoing urge to punish himself and his fear of emotional intimacy, by the time theyve worked through that and kim dokja is finally comfortable enough with himself to be in a relationship with yoo joonghyuk hes sitting on the couch cuddling with him like oh fuck, the gay thing. well. whatever. bit late now!

[ssunfish]

so interesting when i see people portray late orv joongdok (specifically in a romantic portrayal) as. If yjh tells kdj he cares for him then Kim Dokja will then proceed to say that Yoo Joonghyuk is wrong. bc wahhh thats too ooc... what about Lee Seolhwa?

Which i suppose isn't completely incorrect. But its shown, yjh does not yearn for Lee Seolwha for all his regressions. He sees her holding someone else's child and accepts that it wont be the same!! While yes, there are some things that Yjh refuses to forget/accept. Its made pretty clear even in the third regression that he would not choose to love her like that again.

Now with my other point, Kim Dokja would not say anything about his doubts to Yoo Joonghyuk's face. He would not straight up say "no you dont. How could you?" He isn't confrontational enough for that. (also jdj have enough communication issues as is) In addition. He would never correct Yjh like that, by the end of Orv. he has more or less accept Yoo Joonghyuk as his own person. (ofc i think kdj wont ever truely stop thinking of yjh as a character but well- he has accepted it to some point.)

Having doubts about yjh truly caring for him? Yes, that's plausible/ (again -> the portrayal of him doubting yjh is not wrong.) But its normally gone about incorrectly imo. AS in. saying that directly to Yjhs face. He isn't afraid of speaking his mind (during the apocalypse at least) But that would be a massive disservice to Yoo Joonghyuk, to straight up say that what yjh is feeling and what he is saying is incorrect. I dont think Kdj would ever do that to yjh. Especially since part of Yjhs problem with Kdj is that he struggles with seeing him as a real person. -> hes real!! He desperately wants kdj to see that.

Mentally Kim Dokja would doubt it, especially after the oldest dream reveal/ (the guilt eating him up from the inside ^^) But He would. Not. Tell Yjh that he is wrong.

Again I think all of this is different depending on where in the novel you are placing them. Early joongdok is wayyyy different than Late joongdok

[mirusx]

orv for me is like someone screaming at the top of their lungs while banging their fists against a wall, telling me to live. that it's okay to exist. that it's okay not to be extraordinary or the main character. that it's okay that im just the speck-of-dust me as opposed to the vast universe. that despite everything i am and was not made of, i can still be loved.

[hehearse]

the end <3

part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - [6]

you can get the full pdf for free or if you feel generous get it for a few coins here ^^

[insomaniacat]

orv spoilers

tbh I'm so happy there is no explicit romance in orv (minus the brief stuff that happens with jhw and lhs) and because of that I feel like I've been able to appreciate kdj in such a profound way as a character

like sure i like joongdok and yoohankim but to me at least kdj has this level of asexuality to him that I don't usually associate him with anyone that romantically. And their relationships are still as complex and has such a great depth that they are like THE foundest of families and I can return to the kim dokja company at the end of the day as all of them being my comfort characters. you know that saying like 'i love you so much i'd make the world burn for you'? it's meant to be this dramatic line about how much you love someone (romantically), but kdj's company fully encapsulates this in a platonic way that just isn't cringey or anything like that

they are all so platonic but they love each other to such an unconditional way that they ALL decide to relive through all the scenarios again in the hope of finding kim dokja again. and later, they all help to write and spread a story - stories, the thing the reader loves - again, in hopes of bringing kdj back home. they aren't sure if it'll work, but it is through this love they all have that they don't give up and put their hope in this seemingly impossible method

and this is also what makes them fundamentally different from kdj. unlike kim dokja in the apocalypse, they do not have any sort of proof their methods will work. kdj has twsa - the novel he grew up reading, the novel he fantasized living in, the novel that he's spent 13 years following, learning every nook and cranny and probably even planning out his own way to survive the apocalypse from this lengthy novel. he has some sort of assurance his methods will work, with the amount of time hsy put into describing the settings (remember that twsa was not popular and one of the complaints was that tls123 put too much emphasis on the settings that deterred people from reading it, when really, that too was a way to ensure kdj survived the apocalypse later on). he has had time to reassure himself and plan for it, and probably had yjh case test them all

but kdj's company had no assurance - they did not grow up with a book that confirmed their methods of bringing kdj back would work. they did not have any 'third plans', no 'ressurections', no 'restarts', that kdj had in the apocalypse. all they had was their own hope - something kdj didn't have when he was fifteen sitting in that hospital bed after that failed suicide attempt, feeling like the whole world was against him. Until he searched up those three words on his phone. Those three words that were probably 'Ways of Survival'.

And then he found his hope in twsa. he found his hope in yjh, the protagonist made just for him. he found hope in the story that he believed in for the next thirteen years. the story that got him through high school, the CSATs, the military. his hope was in this tangible book that carried him through the apocalypse.

kdj's company had none of that. they only had their hope in kim dokja - the man they survived the scenarios with. they could only put their hope in their memories of surviving with the man that saved them, even though there was no evidence he lived in their world anymore. they had to put their hope in the fact that they remembered he existed, even though they had to acknowledge that they didn't know everything about him.

sing shong touches upon this idea a lot throughout orv - does something really exist if no one knows about it? or, in a more modern saying, did a fallen tree in a forest really fall if no one heard it? what proves the existence of something? what proves that something truly happened? sing shong seems to make it pretty clear that the existence of something can be represented metaphorically like a 'story', and stories need a 'reader', some sort of spectator that witnesses it, for the 'story' to exist.

for kim dokja, his final sacrifice, where he split into infinite little pieces scattered across the universe, was to ensure that everything existed. that open ending, as tragic as it was, was meant to be comforting. that his sacrifice was supposed to be so existences like you and me, are real. no matter how lonely we may feel throughout our lives, a metaphorical 'kim dokja' is looking at our own stories, spectating our own stories, even living our own lives himself.

and what i hate to say sometimes is that kim dokja is not really a character - he is an idea. he is an idea of some being affirming our lives, that it's real, that what we do from day to day, even something as simple as getting up in the mornings and brushing your teeth, or thumbing through a store catalog, matters. and this is why kim dokja sacrificed himself. for all the stories that may have not 'existed' if no one was watching it.

and it's out of love. this tragic, terrible love for the world, that eats away at yourself until you are nothing. but at least you exist.

[cameforb99stayingforkdramas]

Found this on X 😍😍

[orphiclovers]

You know that part where OD looks at KDJ like he's a monster. And on the flipside, 1863!YJH runs from SP. I honestly don't know whether if this is disjointed and if it's coherent, but...

oh you just made me think of something. if you want a nice contrast how about this one: kdj's vs yjh's approaches to meeting another version of themselves.

Kim Dokja meets the Oldest Dream, himself but younger, who is a weak and pitiful child who begs him not to hurt him. But Kim Dokja is so horrified and full of self-hate that he tries to kill him(self), despite literally everyone else thinking twice about it. because he can't extend even a little sympathy to himself, even an innocent child version (because of who that child grows up to be.)

Vs. Yoo Joonghyuk talking to the Secretive Plotter while he's in The Orb. Himself but older, yet who looks like a little kid currently. who acts the diametrically opposite of OD. The Plotter says 'don't pity me' and tells of a small boy who he saw dying a thousand times in the next train carriage, as an example of someone whose deserving of pity, not him. Then he says that he would accept death by Yoo Joonghyuks hands in that moment.

And instead of accepting that, Yoo Joonghyuk thinks, 'did that boy make the same expression as this man' !!! DIRECTLY CONFLATING the two - innocent boy and adult man. Because there is no difference!!

Kim Dokja's scene says the same, only the fucked up mirror version. Kdj thinks, 'this innocent boy (od) is the same as the adult man (kdj), so therefore he's just as guilty and deserves to die' while Yjh thinks 'that inoccent boy (on the train) is the same as this adult man (sp), so therefore neither deserve to die' In both of these kdj&yjh are confronted with child versions of themselves at the mercy of their sword, and they have to decide whether to kill them or not. It's an internal conflict made very literal.

Both Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk HAVE to recognize themselves as capable of being undeserving of pain and death, by looking at these pitiful versions of themselves. And well.

Yoo Joonghyuk, at least, does do that, to the shock of SP. And you know what SP responds with? 'You've been greatly influenced by Kim Dokja, it seems.'

...Kim Dokja saved Yoo Joonghyuk but couldn't save himself...

Sidenote: theres more interesting stuff with the deaging mechanic orv employs as an allegory. just look at all 3 all-powerful gods of the universe - sp, tls123, and od. all three of them are powerless in key ways and deliberately are made to look like/are children

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]