part 2

See, there’s something about her: you get a girl like that, and she inspires all this reckless abandon, all the raunchy, risky sex, the danger and the biting and the begging - you’re not that kind of guy, historically. You’ve just never been the type.

“Oh,” Miyeon says, delighted, when you tell her this. “Oh, now I get it - I’m the one corrupting you.”

Yeah, she might be - but there’s also something about her that you’d do anything for, and that has nothing to do with the sex. It’s everything before, everything after: the talking, the laughing, the sincerity, the honesty. You’ve told her things you’ve never told anyone. You look at her and you think she knows it.

“Maybe you are,” you say to her, fondly, and you can’t bring yourself to mind one bit. There’s a story here - one day you’ll finish it.

Miyeon’s got her wide, irresistible eyes, and a smile sharp enough to kill. “Well,” she purrs, and her tone’s a blade, cutting right to the bone. You’d stand there, you’d let her: it’s her, and it’d be a perfect way to die. “I guess I’ll take it.”

-

“Uh,” says Minnie, a week later, when she sees Miyeon attached to you, as you’re both informing her that Miyeon’s going to be completely unreachable that weekend and not to call the cops. “Great. Thanks. Thanks for letting me know you’re going to be having mind-blowing sex all weekend and I’m not invited.”

“Call Yuqi,” says Miyeon cheerfully. 

“Fuck off,” says Minnie. “I hate you both. Go fuck and be in love or whatever. I don’t even care.” 

“It’s okay, Minnie,” you tell her. You and Miyeon sort of enjoy giving her a hard time - it’s routine, at this point. “You’ll find someone you connect with one day, probably.” 

“If they can look past your personality,” adds Miyeon, smiling prettily; she and Minnie adore each other - every moment Miyeon’s not with you, she’s with her - but you’d absolutely never know it by the way they talk to each other. “The ego… the fake eyes… the overwhelming sluttiness…” 

“My sluttiness is a very positive quality of mine,” says Minnie - she’ll give just as good as she gets. “Also, I hope you two get hit by a bus. You can keep being soulmates in hell.” 

“Satan would probably love us,” agrees Miyeon, blinking in her deceptively innocent, comically Bambi-eyed way, and you laugh so hard that Minnie gives up and leaves the room. 

-

“Soulmates,” Miyeon ponders, in the car. 

“It’s Minnie,” you point out. “She’s full of shit.” 

Miyeon raises her eyebrows at you when you stop at a red light, a mischievous smile tilting the corners of her mouth. “Oh,” she says. “You think so?” Before you can say anything, she’s already going in for the kill. “No, no, I guess you’re right. It’d be pretty fucked up for my soulmate to be my teacher who’s, like, twice my age. That’d be gross, on the universe’s behalf.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” you say, and she bursts out laughing. “Seven years, Miyeon. And I haven’t been your teacher in so long.” 

“Huh,” she says, and her dark eyes are glittering. “Well, when you put it like that…” 

“Yeah?” 

Miyeon’s got her knees tucked up to her chest, and a grin like she knows everything you aren’t telling her. “Maybe she’s not that far off.” 

-

You’ve got your laptop turned on, and you’re busying yourself by writing your story - the words come so easy like this, you realize, straight from some deep-set daydream and right onto the page - there’s that same girl in your sentences, a pretty blonde with a grip around some unquantifiable power, there’s a plot but it’s meandering, there’s a romance but it’s all in the background-

“Sir,” mumbles Miyeon from your lap. 

It’s a little distracting, with how her pussy clamps down around your cock, but - facets of having a particularly compelling muse. You’ll work through it. 

You brush her hair to the side, press your lips to the side of her neck, and jerk your hips slightly just to hear her squeal. She’s light enough that the motion bounces her, disrupts her from her comfortable spot wrapped tight around your dick. 

“Princess,” you say, retaliating, and squeeze her hip. 

It’s only mid-day, and Miyeon still shudders each time you move her even slightly. She’s sniffling a little into your collarbone, and she’d worn makeup to your house just to smudge it, just so she’d let you clean it up, just to do it all over again - you’re wearing a black t-shirt, sweats. She’s naked, her pale, silk-soft skin all over you, one of her small hands scrabbling weakly at the nape of your neck every time you jostle her. Your dick’s inside her and you haven’t cum yet, but she has. She’s soaking your sweatpants. It’s all a very big ordeal. 

“Sir,” says Miyeon, again, and pulls back to look at you. She’s giving you those eyes, watery, irresistible - her bottom lip is trembling a little. You’ve had her like this for hours and you haven’t given her what she really wants. It’s dramatics, or maybe it’s not; her eyebrows are drawn together, as if in actual, physical pain. 

“Yes?” you ask, fight back a grunt as her cunt clenches around you. You slide your fingers into her hair, gentle - with your other hand, you delete a period, add a comma, copy and paste a sentence onto the end of a different paragraph. Multitasking: you learned it on the job. Oh, it’s high time you put it in practice. “Is there something you wanna ask me, Miyeon?” 

Her bottom lip wobbles more. Tears rush into her gorgeous eyes - it’s all the overstimulation, it’s how you’ve been making her cum over and over like it’s nothing. She’s so easy to please, but you’ll give her whole-hearted efforts, anyway. She’s your girl. It’s what she deserves. 

You thumb Miyeon’s pretty cheeks, swipe away splotches of mascara. “Use your words,” you tell her, stern enough that the way she rocks her hips doesn’t come as a surprise. She likes it when you get bossy with her, colder, firmer. You’ve got your own power over her - you exert it, and she soaks your cock. 

“You said,” begins Miyeon, in this thin, tiny voice, and there’s already a plea in it. “In the bathroom. That you’d…” 

“Uh-huh.” You rub the curve of her back, encouragingly. It’s a bit unbelievable how shy she’ll still get even while she’s wonderfully, shamelessly naked on top of you, your dick fully buried inside of her. Well, it’s her own part to play. No one’ll ever catch you complaining about that. 

“You said you’d cum inside of me.” Your eyes lock on Miyeon’s, and she’s blinking at you, hands suddenly fisted in the front of your shirt. “But you haven’t. You said you’d breed me, sir, and you haven’t.” 

A smile tugs at your mouth. “Someone’s needy.” 

Miyeon nods her head, a little wildly. “You don’t understand,” she pushes on: “I need it. I really need you to cum inside of me.” There’s that look on her face, again: the one she gets when she’s so far gone, stunning and slightly tortured, after you’ve made her cum over and over again, merciless - when her porcelain-doll exterior’s cracking, fractured at the edges. It’s art incarnate, it’s an angel corrupted, it’s something you’d love to photograph, frame, but - you’re a writer. Your words are the best you’ve got, here. “I’ve been really good for you, sir, I know I have - I’ve been on your cock for hours, I’m your good little cockwarmer, I came so many times just because you wanted me to-” 

It’s like you can pinpoint the exact moment she decides to switch her approach; her dark eyes get bigger, sadder - she inhales like she’s choking on her own tears. “Is my pussy not good enough?” Her walls suddenly tighten around you - you groan, clutching onto her waist. See, it’s taken a lot of self-control to have Miyeon on your cock like this without truly railing her, slamming her up and down on your cock until she’s crying; she’s pushing on your patience like the way her fingers dig into your bicep, a threat in the contact, a teasing. “All I do is try to be good for you, sir - I’m so sorry if it’s…” 

Miyeon trails off when she spots your expression, mouth half-open, lips wet. She tilts her head, waiting: either she’s caught or she’s won. 

“Guilt-tripping,” you say, dryly, and it’s not a question. “That’s a new one.” 

One of Miyeon’s fair, fine eyebrows twitches upwards - so, she’s certainly not as far gone as she’s pretending to be. She’s still lucid enough to fuck with you, and you kind of love her like this, conniving even while she’s begging, even with your cock in her. “Is it working?” 

(It’s Cho Miyeon, and everything about her’s working - it’s her, and it’s you, and it’s hopeless - but you keep that to yourself.)

“It’s cute,” you tell her, “that you’ll say anything just to get me to cum inside you. Desperate and slutty,” you amend, just to see her squirm, chastised, “but cute.”

It’s something about how you haven’t actually properly fucked her yet - you haven’t wrecked her like you told her earlier, haven’t pounded her pussy until she’s openly screaming and sobbing. Miyeon’s still got that bite to her, even with the sweat-slick curve of her neck, how her clit must be sore and swollen from how you’ve been toying with her, making her cum. You haven’t ruined her like you said you would. 

Well, turns out she’s getting the best of both worlds: she’s caught and she’s won. 

Your hand snakes over Miyeon’s taut stomach and up towards her tits, your fingers pinching at her right nipple - it gets a whimper from her, a ducked head, her hair falling into her face. “Is that really what you want, princess?” you murmur. “To be fucked and bred? To be used as my little cumdump and nothing else?”

“Yours,” gasps Miyeon, jerks from an exceptionally rough tug on her nipple. “Just yours. Do whatever you want with me - you own me, you know that, use my pussy for whatever you want - cum in me until I get fucking pregnant - I need it.” She’s begging again, giving up all her games; for her, she’ll always take it to her basics, her fallbacks. There’s a whine in her voice, tears building in her Bambi eyes - what she wants is exactly the same thing as what you want, so there’s no point in dragging her through this. 

Maybe it’s cruelty, maybe it’s curiosity: testing how far she’ll go for you. You already know but it’s another thing entirely, hearing Miyeon say it out loud. 

“You need me,” you conclude, all the consonants with their sharp edges, scraping your blunt nails down her waist. The faint red lines you leave: they’re a point made and proven. 

“You.” She says it like it’s something religious, holy - a chant, a prayer. “You, it’s only you. I belong to you, sir. I don’t care how many times you make me say it - it’s always going to be you.”