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Megan has always liked Yoonchae’s voice.
It is kind of versatile, she can be loud and aggressive, booming and hearty. Especially when she gets heated while they mess around, arguing pettily. She can be smooth and alluring, like on stage where all eyes are on her. Watching. Listening.
She can be soft and gentle, for those rare moments of serenity at home. The quiet air, and Yoonchae’s voice sneaking through with sweet words.
So yeah, Megan does like Yoonchae’s voice. It’s a lot of things. Enthralling and rowdy. Sleek and sly. Cool and warm.
Maybe it is weird that Megan does find it attractive. But like, how can she not? When Yoonchae’s all drowsy and just woken up, and Megan hears her voice— husky from sleep— it’s just. Nice. Really nice. Then Yoonchae looks at her with tired eyes and smiles, saying good morning. With a voice that stabs and charms and hooks Megan on with one bite.
Her accent is cute too. Megan finds it endearing, when she stumbles on a word, waving her hands around and pausing until one of them catches on and helps. Megan likes to be the one who helps her. And she likes it when Yoonchae turns to her for support with what she’s saying.
One day, it won’t be like that. After all, Yoonchae is basically fluent now. Being surrounded by English-speakers and spending the majority of her time with them does that.
Megan will be proud, of course, seeing her thrive on and be more independent than she already is. She doesn’t rely on a translator or anything. Maybe she’ll be a little disappointed, but there’s a bunch of things to look up to.
Like her talking more. Megan would get to listen, to hear and to follow her words. For her to be the one that trips over Yoonchae’s words, instead of Yoonchae being the one to fall face-first onto them.
And Yoonchae knows this. Hell, she’s been teasing Megan about it ever since she had found out, saying stuff that is borderline flirtatious. It doesn’t help that recently they’re something between friends and girlfriends. The weird line of being romantic and platonic. At the same time.
Yeah, sure, friends kiss all the time. That’s what Megan thinks after each and every time they get close and their lips touch. That’s just being friends. That’s just what they are.
But Megan thinks the romance is from her view, really— since, it’s how she sees Yoonchae. Sees her with love in her gaze, stares like she’s the one who had brought the world up. Looks at her like she’ll disappear at any given moment. There’s a shit ton of those pictures online, Megan entertains. No one online knows. They don’t even know the extent of their relationship.
There’s, like, the sexual aspect to it too, like how Yoonchae’s voice brings Megan’s world up and down some notches. Blazes simmering under her skin. Fire jetting straight to her core. But they haven’t gone past making out or anything. Megan wishes they can go further. Go fast and foremost, crashing into it head-on. She just— she just wants Yoonchae. A lot.
Ugh. Thinking about it gets Megan to groan in annoyance.
It’s not really annoyance. It’s more of a frustration. How she can’t see Yoonchae right now. How she can’t hear her.
Megan rolls around in her bed. Ever since they had all moved into the separate duo-apartments, Megan longs for Yoonchae more often. Misses her more. But whatever, what can she do? It is the middle of the night anyway.
She could call her. Leaving the apartment to see her isn’t exactly a great idea, the air is cold and there’s a great chance she’ll trip somehow and wake everyone in the building up.
Yoonchae is… probably awake. Megan knows how much time she spends on her phone. They have a free day tomorrow, so it’s kind of plausible. It’s why Megan hasn’t rushed herself to sleep yet.
Still. She could be sleeping. Or scrolling, scrolling, scrolling endlessly. Or playing some mobile game. Yoonchae had shown her one while they were sitting together on the couch and it looked kind of intriguing— but it was one of those games you’d have an obsession for a week on, then after that you’d never touch it again.
As Megan ruminates in the dark, her phone buzzes on the pillow. Probably from Instagram. Or TikTok. Despite her assumptions, she grabs it and squints at the harsh light.
Yoonchae’s name lingers up onto the screen. So she is awake. Megan smiles as she taps onto it. But, damn, fuck, she was not prepared for what she saw on screen.
It’s obviously her, yeah, but she’s sitting on the edge of her bed, clad in nothing except for her bra and underwear. Just the image of that. Her hair is somewhat in frame, since it’s mainly focused on her middle, and it’s a little tousled and messy. Megan’s eyes wander shamelessly, and she is practically no better than a man. Her skin looks tempting to mark and kiss, and ugh— just everything. Just Yoonchae.
Her face burns bright in dim light, and her fingers twitch and grip her phone. Holy shit, she really is no better than a man. Yoonchae looks… awfully hot. Awfully stunning and attractive, in the way that ignites a spark in Megan’s insides. Fuck. With steam running out of her ears, Megan fumbles a little with her hands and tries to text back, but another message pops up.
yoonchip <3 - 00:21 : i miss you
Now Yoonchae sounds like a desperate ex who Megan would easily go back to. Really easy. Maybe Megan’s just… easy.
She fiddles with the hem of her blanket before she replies.
meimei - 00:22 : im going so crazy
meimei - 00:24 : ur so evil
meimei - 00:25 : at midnight too
yoonchip <3 - 00:26 : i didn’t do anything
meimei - 00:28 : …
She’s such a liar. God, of course Yoonchae’s gonna do this to her. Send a hot fucking photo. For fun. To tease Megan.
And it’s so much worse that Megan’s baited on by her lure.
yoonchip <3 - 00:29 : you don’t miss me back?
yoonchip <3 - 00:29 : :(
meimei - 00:30 : of course i do
meimei - 00:31 : but like
meimei - 00:31 : holy shit
It pisses her off how stupidly easy she is. But it’s for Yoonchae, so maybe it isn’t so bad. And she really, really wants to see her. To hear her. Anything.
meimei - 00:33 : can we call
yoonchip <3 - 00:34 : maybe
meimei - 00:34 : please
meimei - 00:34 : i wanna hear u
She sounds so… desperate. But before she can think anymore, her phone vibrates, and guess what. Yoonchae’s calling. Megan lets it drone on for about ten seconds, and then she finally answers.
Her voice is staticky at the start, but it’s clearly Yoonchae. “Megan?”
Megan likes the way Yoonchae says her name. She says it in the dearest way, and the corners are rounded with the cadence, the confidence and comfort of Yoonchae. It’s so unmistakably her. With the voice of an angel.
Not right now, Megan supposes. Since, considering the photo, Yoonchae is kind of a devil then.
“...Yoonchae,” Megan answers. She tries to sound as nonchalant as she can, no jokes intended, but her voice wavers just a bit at the end. And like how Megan focuses on Yoonchae’s words, Yoonchae catches on.
She says, a little finicky, “Do you miss me?” and there’s the distant sound of blankets shuffling in the background. Megan knows behind the screen she’s pouting, because of course she is. She always does that faux-pout, and it makes Megan fall every time.
“I do miss you. A lot, actually,” Megan manages to say through bitten lips. “A lot lot.”
“Okay,” Yoonchae breathes. After she speaks, it’s silence from both ends. Megan is somewhat tongue-tied, since she doesn’t know whether to start flirting, or double-down on the, like, clinginess. Or continue a conversation normally, but where’s the fun in that?
Another beat passes. Yoonchae is so quiet that Megan almost thinks that she’s fallen asleep somehow. “Yoonchae?” she mutters timidly, like Yoonchae really is asleep.
Her voice is low, “Do… Do you have anything else to say to me?”
Now Megan doesn’t know what to say. There’s a ton to comment on. And she can’t think straight, because fuck, why does she have to say it like that? She’s the one asking the question, but it sounds like she’s commanding something from Megan.
“About— about what?” and Megan knows her words are lacking aim, or any sense of lead, but they get out and try to hit Yoonchae anyway.
“The photo,” Yoonchae adds like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Which, it kind of was, but Megan’s stupid, sue her. “...Did you like it?”
Oh. No shit it’s the photo.
Of course Megan likes it. Of course she does. Her eyes flicker closed, and it’s almost like she can see Yoonchae. Wearing barely anything. Just for Megan’s eyes. Hearing her. Just for Megan’s ears.
Megan groans softly, “Yeah— it’s… it’s really,” she has to swallow hard before speaking. “really, really, like, hot. I don’t know.”
Then Yoonchae laughs, ugh, “Yeah?” and she says it like she’s smirking, and Megan just burns a little more lighter. Why does she have to be so smug and fine about it? Acting like she hasn’t torn down Megan’s cool wall and replaced it with something on fire, something that’s hot to the touch.
It’s fucking stupid that Megan’s all riled up because of Yoonchae. Her heart races in her chest, and she can feel that want to squeeze her thighs together. Just how easy is she?
“Yeah,” she confirms, trying to sound as sure as possible. Maybe she isn’t that sure-sounding. Yoonchae hums after, like she’s thinking.
“Do you… want more?”
And Megan replies at breakneck speed, “Yes. Please.” Then Yoonchae makes an ‘mm’ sound, and asks for a second.
Megan wonders what the photo is going to look like. Yoonchae, obviously, but what is she doing? Sitting, or lying down? The same clothes, or more, or… less? She shivers at the thought, and she shuts her eyes. It’s new. Yoonchae sounds shy, but she keeps this flirty and confident air. It sounds good on her.
Her phone buzzes, the notification popping up, and she quickly goes to the new message.
It’s Yoonchae, lying down. Her hair fanned behind her, untidy, yet it’s perfect. She’s still in her bra— to which Megan rolls her eyes at, but what can she do?— and it’s focused mainly on her face and chest. Yoonchae’s eyes are kind of glassy, and her pupils are blown out in the light of the flash. They’re concentrated at the lens, and Megan feels her gaze stab a hole into her, even though it’s not directly to her. But maybe, just maybe, it’s because it’s for her.
Pink, lightly peppered on Yoonchae’s face, looks really, like, hot on her. It’s not makeup, Megan thinks. Yoonchae really was blushing and posing for this seriously like she wanted to make Megan flustered.
But Megan’s eyes tarry to her lips in the picture, and they’re parted like she’s trying to tell Megan something with unspoken words. Megan just wishes she’d tell them to her. They’re impossibly glossy and tempting, and she wants nothing more than to kiss her, to bite at her lips, mark her, let the world know Yoonchae is Megan’s.
Maybe it’s kind of corny, but it doesn’t mean shit because it’s true. Whatever.
“You look, ugh,” and then Megan clamps her thighs together. What is she, a horny teenager?
…She practically is one, but she’s better than that— at least that’s what she thinks.
Yoonchae makes a sound of disapproval, and Megan can tell that she tilts her head to the side. “I look what?”
“Hot. Pretty. I want you,” Megan whispers, loud enough for her mic to pick up. There’s so much more she can say. Words dance on the tip of her tongue, quietly, almost faintly, and they don’t come out.
Her eyes linger on the photo still. Yoonchae. She looks so perfect. Yoonchae giggles, “I know you do.”
“Then why ask me to say it?” Megan breathes, face red as ever. She wants her close. To feel her warmth echo on her skin.
Yoonchae says, “Just… wanted to hear you say it,” and she says it sort of meekly, all raspy and light, but it’s a ruse. She’s good at hiding what she really wants. “Say it again. Say you want me.”
Fuck. Megan’s stomach twists with fire. It’s hard to keep cool when Yoonchae acts like… this. With an unbridled confidence that makes Megan keen.
“I… I want you,” Megan stammers out. Shit. Embarrassing. “A lot. Really badly?” Her voice quivers like a shy puppy barking.
Yoonchae doesn’t answer. All Megan can hear is her ragged breathing through the phone. In, out. In. A minute passes, then another. Fuck. Why isn’t she answering? Why isn’t Megan answering?
“Yoonchae,” Megan finally manages to croak out. “Say something.”
“One second,” she hears Yoonchae say, voice thick. Megan’s phone rings. Not because of another phone call.
yoonchip <3 - FaceTime Call incoming.
Megan swallows. Heart pounding out of her chest. She swipes on the screen. She knows that she’s probably not going to be prepared for what she sees.
Yoonchae’s face comes into view first, then her top half. She’s lying on her side, propping herself up with her elbow. Hair spilling over her shoulders, dark like the night. One of her lamps is on, painting the room in this orange light. Megan stifles a laugh. With Yoonchae’s pink bra and the orange light washing over her, she could be the lesbian flag.
The younger girl shifts on the bed, and Megan can hear the rustle of the mattress, but now she can actually see Yoonchae moving. God. Her cheeks are so flushed, the pink darkening into red. The tips of her ears, too. She’s too weak for this, for Yoonchae and all the things that she makes Megan want to do to her.
It’s not like Megan doesn’t know that Yoonchae is, like— objectively pretty. Unblemished skin, long hair, chocolate brown eyes that crinkle at the corners whenever Megan says something even remotely funny.
She supposes that it’s different in this context, Megan, with her stupid “Texas is for Lovers” shirt and some ratty sweatpants, Yoonchae, in literally nothing but a bra and underwear. Maybe she really is trying to kill Megan. But like. With how hot she is.
Ugh. Megan needs to get a better handle on herself.
For a second, she just lets herself stare. She doesn’t say anything, because what more can she say? Yoonchae is hot. Megan is a freak. End of story.
“You’re trying to kill me,” Megan mutters, shifting in the bed. She gets a smirk from Yoonchae from that. When did this girl get so cocky?
“I don’t know what you mean,” Yoonchae says, and oh. Lying again.
Megan waves her free hand around in the air. “You— just— you’re so hot. You know what I mean, Yoonchae. Stop teasing.”
Yoonchae shifts the phone, props it up against what Megan assumes is the headboard, and now her body is on full display. Megan chokes on her own saliva. She coughs, eyes watering, as Yoonchae giggles, already knowing fucking why she’s choking.
Yoonchae’s sitting back, hands behind her on the bed, legs crossed. Skin on full display. Megan’s mouth waters. She wants to bite, to lick, to mark, to do literally anything. Anything that Yoonchae would let her do.
“Please,” Megan rasps, voice dry. Does she even know what she’s asking for?
Yoonchae slides a hand up her stomach, and stops just below her bra. Megan whines, fumbling with her phone, almost dropping it onto the bed. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. When Yoonchae speaks again, her voice is breathy.
“Do you— do you want me to stop?” Megan shakes her head frantically. Yoonchae slides her hand under her bra, finally, finally, and oh. They’re doing this now.
Yoonchae makes a little, choked sound, and it sends an electric shock straight to Megan’s core. Megan can see her thumb moving, presumably over a rapidly hardening nipple, and for a second, she can almost believe that it’s her hand, that she’s the one touching Yoonchae, slipping her hands under her bra to run along soft skin. She curses the fact that it’s late at night and that roommates exist— sorry, Sophia— and that she can’t just… drive over there.
So, yeah. This will have to do. Whatever fucking thing this even is.
“Fuck, Yoonchae,” Megan groans, her own hand sneaking down towards her waistband. Maybe she can—
“Stop,” Yoonchae gasps, hand still moving under her bra. What? Stop? What does she…
“I didn’t say you could touch yourself yet.” Megan whines at the cruelty of it all, and continues moving her hand down. Yoonchae gives her a sharp look, pulling her hand out of her bra.
“If you keep doing that I'm going to stop.”
Megan scrambles to move her hand back up, tongue almost lolling out of her mouth, panting like a dog. “No, no— please, don’t stop— I won’t— I'll listen. I can listen.” Yoonchae pauses for a few seconds, hand fiddling with the edge of her bra. Put it back, Megan thinks, then feels guilty because she should be grateful that Yoonchae is even letting her see her like this.
“Good,” Yoonchae hums breathily, moving her hand back— oh god— and pulling her bra up and over her breasts. Megan makes an embarrassing noise and crosses her legs for some bit of relief. The wetness is already seeping through her panties, and she feels so pathetic, getting wet just from the sight of Yoonchae, not even in person, but on a literal FaceTime call. Desperate? Yeah. No shit, yeah.
She bites her lip hard as she watches Yoonchae’s hand move behind her back, unclasping the bra altogether. It ends up on the bed somewhere, but Megan could not care any less because fuck, the sight of Yoonchae, bare-chested, hair spilling down her shoulders and her head tipped back is enough to make another wave of heat wash through her.
“Ah,” Yoonchae whimpers as she gropes herself, pinching a nipple between her fingers. The quality of the FaceTime isn’t the best, but Megan can see the way that her fingers twist, the way that she’s biting down on her own lip to try and stifle the sounds begging to spill out. Fuck. She doesn’t want her to be quiet, wants to hear all the pretty sounds she’s making.
Another noise slips free from Yoonchae’s mouth, and Megan moves the phone to prop against her own headboard, so that she doesn’t have to hold it with how bad her own hands are shaking. Her eyes rake over creamy skin, over the flush of skin and the shine of sweat glimmering in the lamplight.
“God, Yoonchae,” Megan whimpers, hands twitching with the urge to touch, even though it quite literally isn’t possible. So, so unfair, she thinks again. The urge grows even stronger, just to run her hands all along pale skin and never stop.
“Yeah?” Yoonchae pants, other hand slipping down to toy at her waistband. “Do you— is it good?” Megan nods fervently, and god, if she doesn't get to touch herself soon she’s going to pass out and die.
“Please,” she says hoarsely, licking at cracked lips. “I need— please, Yoonchae, need you, need to touch myself— I’ll do anything—”
“Anything?” Yoonchae repeats shakily, hand still groping desperately at her breast, thumb circling her nipple. “Will you listen?”
“I’ll listen,” Megan promises, frantically. “I’ll go on your terms.” Yoonchae looks at her, through the screen, eyes hazy and half-lidded.
“Take off your sweatpants, and your shirt.” Megan scrambles to obey, pulling her shirt up and over her head, kicking her pants off somewhere on the floor. She leans back, now in only a simple black bra and her panties, thighs falling open. From the way Yoonchae’s breath hitches, she knows she’s seen the damp spot spreading out from her centre. Well. She smirks. Two can play at this game.
“You can touch yourself,” and Megan fumbles, ready to shove her hand in her underwear, but Yoonchae shakes her head, cheeks flushed.
“Ah-ah.” Fuck. Megan makes another stupid noise. “Just rub yourself over your underwear. For now.”
No more prompting is needed. Megan obeys, hair spilling down her back as she grinds into her own palm. The contact almost makes her sob with relief, the pressure becoming less and less as she rolls her hips, bucking into her hand.
Her eyes are trained on Yoonchae the whole time, on her bitten lips and her exposed chest and all the soft planes of her body. She watches Yoonchae’s hand go down, down, down, finally breaching the lace of her underwear.
“Megan,” Yoonchae whines, high and long, and Megan’s whining too, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes as she desperately rubs her clit through the fabric of her own underwear, sopping wet. There’s almost no friction, just a slick slide as her fingers move.
She watches Yoonchae’s fingers move inside her panties, and she can tell that she’s only rubbing too, fingers sliding. The slick sounds echo through the phone and Megan’s face heats up even more, her hand speeding up. God, she’s so easy, so close to the edge, just a few more seconds, maybe—
“Not— ah— yet,” Yoonchae says, eyes locking onto Megan and holding her there. Megan gulps, going slower, every torturous brush of her fingers over her clit through the thin fabric making her buck harder into her own hand.
“Please, Yoonchae,” Megan babbles, and she’s almost drooling now, mouth half-open as she chases her own pleasure. “God, I need it, need you so bad— please, just let me— “
“Together,” Yoonchae says, her own voice wobbly, and Megan sees her fingers speeding up. And then her head is falling back, and her mouth is opening, and she’s saying Megan’s name over and over again “Megan— Megan, Megan, I— “
“Yoonchae— fuck— “
And then both of them are crashing, Megan’s thighs clamping around her wrist as she grinds harshly into her palm, her clit twitching with every pulse. She can feel her panties get even more wetter, pulses of slick seeping out and drenching her hand. Yoonchae’s moaning, so pretty, one thumb still circling a hard nipple as she rides out her own pleasure, hips bucking up into her hand. She looks so wrecked, chest rising and falling as sweat makes her body glisten. Megan swallows at the sight of the wet spot on Yoonchae’s underwear, her hand still moving under the fabric, almost lazy now.
She cups herself as she comes back down, looking at the phone screen, pretty sure that there’s a dazed expression still on her face, using her free hand to brush back the bangs sticking to her forehead.
Yoonchae’s taken her hand out of her panties, and wiped them off with a tissue. The thought of her licking the arousal off her fingers sends another jolt through Megan before she collects herself. Not the time.
She’s looking at Megan with an expression that she can’t quite exactly place, but she can recognise it as something between hunger and affection. She doesn’t know quite what she wants, but she watches the younger girl’s eyes dart down to the hand still cupping her cunt.
“Touch yourself.” Megan laughs awkwardly at Yoonchae’s bluntness.
“I just did. We just did.” Yoonchae rolls her eyes, half-heartedly.
“No. Without your underwear."
Megan chokes, eyes going wide. She’s somewhat used to Yoonchae being sultry, of course, but hearing the words come out of her mouth still makes her jerk a little. It’s a reflex.
“I’m still sensitive,” Megan protests weakly, but she doesn’t make any move to remove her hand. Yoonchae tilts her head.
“Don’t you want to be good?” Oh. That does it. Megan lets out a shaky whimper as she hooks her thumbs into her panties and pulls them down. She tosses them somewhere on the floor before turning back to the phone, letting her legs fall open instinctively. Yoonchae’s eyes roam over her appreciatively, nodding her head in approval when Megan drags two shaky fingers down to her entrance.
Megan groans when her fingers slide through slick heat, so sensitive and twitching from her earlier release. Her index brushes over her clit, and she has to stifle a whimper, biting her lip and throwing her head back. She can hear Yoonchae’s ragged breathing over the phone, and knows that she’s likely getting turned on again.
“Inside,” Yoonchae murmurs, so softly that Megan thinks she’s misheard, but when she lifts her head again, she knows that she hasn’t. She swallows, lining up her fingers and slowly pushing them into herself.
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she feels the stretch, the sensitivity, her walls already starting to pulse around the digits. Her thumb ghosts over her clit, and she jerks. “S– so m– much,” she slurs, lip trembling.
“You can take it,” Yoonchae says. Firm. “Come on. Keep going.” Megan nods jerkily, wanting to be good, wanting to take everything she can. Her fingers slide easily as she pumps them in and out, arousal growing by the second. Hot flickers of pleasure-pain make her wince, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“So yeppeun. Pretty when you cry.”
Megan groans at the words, feeling them go straight to her slick heat. She moves her fingers faster, hitting that one spot inside of herself that makes her vision go blurry and her breath shaky. So, so good. All she can think about is the pleasure, and Yoonchae, and everything that comes with the two paired together, this feeling, this heat.
She watches Yoonchae’s own hands slip down to her waistband, taking off her own panties so that she’s fully bare. Wetness glistens between her thighs, and Megan watches her fingers lazily circle her clit, eyes trained on Megan as she watches. It’s so dirty, Yoonchae using her as material.
“Go slower,” Yoonchae suddenly orders, and Megan makes a small, despairing noise. “I didn’t say you could go fast.”
Ugh. Unfair. Megan’s lip trembles as she fights to obey, moving her fingers slowly, the pace almost torturous. She wants— no, needs– to add another finger.
“‘Chae?” she asks, voice small. “P– please. Need a– another one.”
“Need? Tam-yogseuleoun,” replies Yoonchae, voice smooth. “Greedy. Do you really want it that bad?”
“You already know I do,” gasps Megan. “Please. Don’t m– make me wait.”
“Have you been good enough?”
“I’ve been listening,” Megan almost begs. “I have— I have, please— ”
“Add another,” Yoonchae instructs. “Now.”
Without hesitation, Megan obeys, adding a third finger. Now she can really feel the stretch— the fullness of it. It gets harder to move her fingers, with how much she’s clenching, and the fact that there are three inside of her.
Her peak approaches, coiling low in the pit of her stomach, flames devouring her from the inside. She distantly registers Yoonchae murmuring something in Korean, praise, she hopes.
“You’re close, aren’t you.” It isn’t said like a question. It’s said more like an assumption, a harsh command that even if Megan wasn’t close, she is now.
“Mhm– ah, s– so close…”
“Faster,” Yoonchae purrs, voice like honey, dripping sweet. Her own hand is moving, and Megan watches her fingers dip down to her entrance before sliding back up to tease at her clit again.
Megan does her best to obey, be good, fingers speeding up, chasing the pleasure, just there, out of her reach. It’s not enough. More. She needs something more.
“Tell me,” she sobs out, tears falling freely now. “Please. Need you to say it. Let me.”
Yoonchae pauses for a second, but then she speaks.
“Come for me.”
“Now.”
With that, Megan lets herself fall, a muffled whine leaving her lips as her thighs shake. Her fingers are locked in place from the sheer intensity of her orgasm, cunt clamping down hard, slick soaking the sheets below her. She takes a deep, shuddering breath as she comes back down, eyes closing.
“Was that good?” she hears Yoonchae say, the phone-call tone of her voice quiet against the ringing in her ears.
She nods, opening her eyes.
“Y– yeah. It was great.”
For a second, they just sit there, apart but still so close, compliant in what they’d just done. Yoonchae breaks the spell first, grabbing a tissue. Megan watches her form move, pulling her panties on, clipping her bra. She does the same, making a face at the wetness. They should both probably change.
“Yoonchae?” she says, her voice hesitant, still a little wobbly from her climax. “We should— probably change. And go to bed now.”
Megan watches the other girl nod on screen, now holding her phone. The only thing showing now is her face, flushed and pretty. “Goodnight, Megan,” she murmurs softly. “I… really liked this.”
Something seems to stick in Megan’s throat. Her mouth goes a little dry.
“Me too,” she says, voice raspy. Finger hovering over the End Call button.
“Wait, can you…” Yoonchae mutters, a little weak, but with clear intention. “Can you stay?”
Megan’s finger twitches over her screen. Like… maybe leaving now would be like no aftercare. And aftercare is awfully important. Megan would know. Her ex-boyfriends have taught her enough. More than enough, actually— more than she would like to know.
“I can… stay. We can sleep on here together, if you’d, uh, like,” then Megan yawns. Even if Yoonchae does say no, Megan can barely even form cohesive sentences, let alone press her phone once. “I don’t…mm… mind.”
“...Okay,” she says, soft and her tones all dulcet and airy. She sounds so… sleepy. “Goodnight, Megan…”
Megan manages to grunt out a little something, hearing Yoonchae react with a light chuckle. She can almost imagine Yoonchae there— right in front of her— eyes closed with a smile that could tear down the heavens and whatever deity lies above. She'll change in the morning, she supposes.
Her breaths slow as she listens to Yoonchae’s own steady breathing. It’s nice. She could get used to this.