Tags : BDSM, Bondage, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, Obedience Training
Words : 2299
The elevator doors slide shut and Kyujin lets out the breath she's been holding all day.
Nine hours of filming. Smiling until her cheeks ached. Answering questions about her "ideal type" with that practiced demure giggle. The stylist's hands in her hair, the heat of the lights, the constant press of being watched.
Here, in the carpeted silence of the fifteenth floor hallway, none of it exists.
She walks to the door at the end — the one with no security code she needs to remember, the one her body knows by feel. Her fingers find the familiar cool metal of the spare key hidden beneath the fake plant. Her hand trembles as she fits it into the lock.
Inside, the apartment smells like him. Leather and cedar and something darker underneath. She locks the door behind her and stands in the entryway, heart already hammering.
He's waiting on the sofa. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Legs apart, elbows on his knees, a length of black leather coiled in his hands. He doesn't stand when she enters. Doesn't smile. Just watches her the way he always does — like she's something he owns, something he's about to take apart.
"Manners," he says.
Kyujin drops to her knees.
The carpet is rough against her bare shins. She lowers her head, hair spilling forward, and waits. This is how every session starts. The ritual of it quiets the noise in her head, the chatter of the day, the mask she's been wearing. Here she doesn't have to perform. Here she just has to obey.
"Crawl to me."
She moves. Palms flat on the carpet, knees sliding forward one at a time. The skirt of her dress hikes up her thighs. She doesn't fix it. Doesn't ask permission. She just crawls until she reaches his feet and stops, head still bowed.
His hand lands on the back of her head. Fingers threading into her hair, gripping tight, pulling her face up.
"Good girl."
The praise hits her like a current. She feels it in her chest, her stomach, the damp heat already gathering between her thighs. She wants to say thank you but knows better. She doesn't speak until given permission.
He releases her hair and stands. Walks to a drawer by the window and pulls out the collar.
Black leather, two inches wide, lined with soft suede. A silver ring at the front. She's seen it a hundred times and it still makes her throat tighten. He brings it back and crouches in front of her.
"Present."
She lifts her chin. Tilts her head back. Bares her throat.
The leather wraps around her neck, snug and warm. The buckle clicks shut. He adjusts it — not tight enough to choke, tight enough that she can feel it with every swallow. His fingers linger at the clasp, thumb brushing her pulse point.
"Strip the bed," he says. "Then wait on your knees beside it. Naked."
He leaves the room. The bedroom door is already open. She rises on unsteady legs and goes to do as she's told.
The bed is a low platform frame with dark sheets. She strips them efficiently — fitted sheet, flat sheet, pillowcases — and piles them in the corner. He'll want clean ones laid out fresh after. That's part of the pattern too.
She undresses. The dress falls to a puddle at her feet. She unhooks her bra, rolls down her stockings, and folds everything into a neat stack. Naked except for the collar, she kneels beside the bed.
The hardwood is cold and unforgiving. She focuses on the sensation, lets it ground her. Her nipples tighten in the air-conditioned stillness. Her skin prickles with anticipation.
He returns with ropes.
Three lengths of jute, already coiled. A fourth rope, thinner, with a metal clip at the end. He sets them on the nightstand and looks at her.
"How many days since I took you apart?"
"Six," she says. Her voice cracks. "Six days, sir."
"Six days is too long." He crosses to her, hands finding her shoulders, pushing her forward until her forehead touches the floor. Ass up, knees apart, presenting herself. "You get needier every time. You know that?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've been thinking about it. During your soundcheck. During rehearsal. Looking at the cameras and imagining what they'd see if they knew."
Her breath hitches. "Yes, sir."
He runs a hand down her spine, slow and deliberate, stopping at the small of her back. "You want them to know, don't you? You want everyone to see what you really are."
"No, sir." The lie tastes thin. "Just you. Only you."
"Lift up."
She rises back to her knees. He takes her wrists and crosses them behind her back. The jute wraps around her skin in precise loops — not tight, never truly tight, but bound. A knot at the wrists, then another, then the rope winding up her forearms in a pattern he's taught her to recognize. The futomomo. The rope bites into the soft flesh of her upper arms. She flexes against it and feels the resistance, the surrender.
He pauses. "Color?"
"Green," she breathes.
"Good."
He works the rope around her thighs next, binding her calves to her thighs in diamond patterns that force her to stay folded, to stay open. When he's done she can't straighten her legs. Can barely shift position. She kneels there, trussed and exposed, and the vulnerability of it makes her slick.
He slides two fingers along her cunt without warning. She gasps. He doesn't say anything, just shows her the wetness on his fingertips, then wipes them on her thigh.
"You're ready."
He caps her mouth with the ball gag. The rubber sphere fills her mouth, the strap buckling tight behind her head. Her whimper comes out muffled. Drool immediately starts to pool at the corners of her lips.
He drags her to the center of the bed by her bound ankles.
Kyujin lands on her back, ropes creaking, hair splayed across the bare mattress. Her thighs are bound open, pressed against her chest, the futomomo rigging forcing her into a permanent display. Her pussy is completely exposed — wet, swollen, the lips parted and glistening.
He stands at the foot of the bed, looking at her like she's a spread meal.
"Beautiful," he says, and the word cuts through her like a blade. "You were made for this."
He climbs onto the bed. His weight dips the mattress. He settles between her bound thighs, his belt buckle pressing cold against her slick skin, and reaches for the crop.
The first stroke lands across her left breast.
The sound of it. The sharp crack that follows the swing. Her body jerks, a muffled cry escaping through the gag. The pain blooms white-hot then settles into a deep throb.
"You count," he says.
She nods frantically.
The second stroke hits her other breast, symmetrical, perfect. Her eyes sting.
Two.
The third lands across her ribs. The fourth across her stomach. Each one makes her buck, makes her thighs strain against the ropes, makes the drool run faster down her chin. She's counting in her head, losing track, then finding it again. Seven. Eight. Nine. Her skin is on fire. Her cunt is dripping onto the sheets.
Fifteen.
The crop traces down her body, the leather tip dragging through the sheen of sweat on her stomach, dipping between her legs. He presses the flat end against her clit.
"Look at you," he murmurs. "Soaked from getting spanked. You're not right in the head, you know that?"
She moans an agreement.
He discards the crop. Unbuckles his belt. The sound of his zipper fills the room. He frees his cock — thick, hard, the head already slick. He strokes himself once, twice, then lines up at her entrance.
He doesn't push in.
He just holds it there, the tip pressing against her, teasing the opening she can't close. Her body trembles. Her hips try to tilt, to take him, but the ropes hold her in place. She's completely at his mercy.
"Beg," he says.
She can't. The gag makes it impossible. She whines, eyes wide, nodding frantically, making pleading sounds that come out distorted and pathetic.
He slaps her cunt. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shock. "Try harder."
She screams against the gag. A raw, desperate sound. She's crying now — tears spilling over her cheekbones, mixing with the drool. She nods and nods and makes the ugliest sounds she can manage.
"Good enough."
He sinks into her in one smooth thrust.
Kyujin's back arches off the bed. Her scream is swallowed by rubber. He fills her completely, stretching her, the sensation overwhelming after six days without. Her walls clamp down, trying to adjust, and he gives her exactly one second before he pulls back and drives in again.
He fucks her hard and fast. No warm-up. No mercy. His hips slap against her bound thighs, the sound wet and rhythmic. Her breasts bounce with every thrust. The crop marks glow red across her pale skin.
He reaches down and finds her clit with his thumb, pressing hard circles into the swollen nub.
Her muffled screams pitch higher. Her whole body locks up, the orgasm building too fast, too bright. She shakes her head — not yet, not yet — but he doesn't stop. He presses harder, fucks deeper, and she comes with a broken cry that rips through her chest.
Her vision whites out. Her muscles spasm around his cock, milking him, and he keeps thrusting through it, drawing it out until she's sobbing and trembling beneath him.
"That's one," he says. "I'm not close."
He pulls out. The absence is almost painful. She lies there, bound and dripping, gasping through the gag.
He flips her over.
The ropes force her to fold. She ends up on her chest, knees tucked under her, ass raised, the futomomo rigging keeping her legs pressed into a frog position. He yanks her up by the collar — the leather digs into her throat, cutting off her air for a moment before he loosens it.
"Stay."
He leaves the bed. Returns with the thin rope. He clips it to the ring at the front of her collar, then runs it back between her legs, over her bound wrists, and up to his hand. A makeshift lead.
"On your hands. No — on your elbows."
She struggles into position. The rope creaks. Her elbows dig into the mattress, her ass high in the air, her face pressed sideways into the sheets. He tugs the lead and her head lifts, her spine curving.
The new angle exposes everything.
He enters her from behind. The change in position makes him hit deeper, the angle different, the stretch sharper. She muffles a scream into the mattress.
He starts fucking her and yanking the lead in rhythm.
Every pull on the rope tightens the tension between her collar and her wrists, forces her spine to bow further, makes her take him deeper. The rope between her legs rubs against her clit with every movement — a friction she didn't expect, that she can't escape. Her second orgasm builds without permission.
"Look at you," he grunts above her. "My little pet. My perfect little whore."
She moans in response, the sound animal and raw.
He wraps her hair around his fist and pulls. Her head snaps back, the gag pressing deeper, her throat exposed. He fucks her harder, faster, the slap of his hips against her ass echoing in the room.
"I'm going to fill you up," he says, voice low and rough. "Going to pump this cunt full until it leaks out of you. That's what you want, isn't it?"
She can't nod — he has her hair. But she whimpers, desperate, pleading.
"Tell me."
She screams against the gag, a long, incoherent sound that means yes yes please yes.
He comes with a guttural groan, his hips locking against hers, and she feels it — the hot pulse of him filling her, pumping deep, flooding her with the evidence of his claim. The sensation triggers her own orgasm, a convulsion that rips through her, her walls clenching around him, milking every drop.
They stay frozen for a long moment. His cock still inside her, his hand still fisted in her hair, the rope still taut between them.
Then he breathes out, slow and satisfied, and begins to untie her.
Later — she's not sure how much later — she's on her knees in front of him again. The ropes are gone. The gag is gone. The collar remains.
She's cleaning him with her tongue. Slow, methodical, tasting herself on his skin. He strokes her hair with something approaching tenderness.
"Good girl," he says. "You took that so well."
She looks up at him, eyes still wet, lips swollen, marks blooming across her skin like flowers.
"Thank you, sir."
He tilts her chin up. "Come here."
She rises into his lap. He wraps an arm around her waist and holds her against his chest, her ear pressed to his heartbeat. She can feel his cum still leaking out of her, warm and wet against her thigh.
"How's your body?"
"Good," she says. "Sore. Good."
"Marks are going to be visible tomorrow."
"I'll cover them. I always do."
He kisses the top of her head. And for a few minutes, there's nothing else — no cameras, no schedules, no thousands of eyes demanding she be someone else. Just her, here, held, owned, complete.
"One more round before I let you sleep," he says.
She lifts her head, already nodding.
"Please, sir."
He smiles. It's the only smile he gives her, the one that belongs to this room, this version of her. "On your back. I want to watch your face when you break."
Tags : I don't know what tags to give to this story, please give me suggestions.
Words : 2670
The train station hadn't changed in fifteen years. Same chipped blue bench. Same faded schedule board that still listed routes to towns that didn't have working tracks anymore. Minji stood on the platform with her suitcase, the coastal wind pulling strands of hair across her face, and felt something in her chest loosen for the first time in months.
She saw him before he saw her.
Jaehyun leaned against the hood of his old truck, arms crossed, head tilted down at his phone. He'd filled out since she last saw him shoulders broader under a worn flannel shirt, jaw sharper, the soft boyishnes of nineteen replaced by something steadier. But when he looked up and their eyes met, the smile that broke across his face was exactly the same.
He crossed the lot in long strides. Stopped a foot from her. Then his hands came up, hesitated, and he let out a short laugh.
"Look at you."
"Look at me," she said, and her voice cracked on the last word.
He pulled her in.
The hug was solid and warm and smelled like coffee grounds and old paper. Minji pressed her face into his shoulder and breathed. His arms locked around her back, one hand cradling the back of her head like she was something precious. She felt the rumble of his voice against her cheek.
"You're home."
She nodded into his shirt.
"Come on," he said, soft. "I've got your favorite."
He didn't mean the food. She knew he didn't. But she let him take her suitcase and open the passenger door and wait until she was settled before he closed it, because some things the best things you didn't have to say out loud.
His truck smelled like him. Coffee, paper, the faint ghost of woodsmoke. Minji let her head fall back against the seat as the town rolled past the old pharmacy, the bridge with the graffiti that had been there since she was twelve, the corner store where they used to steal candy from the loose jar on the counter.
"I heard about the lawsuit," Jaehyun said quietly. His hands were steady on the wheel. "Saw it on the news."
"Everyone saw it on the news."
"That's not" He paused. Frowned at the road. "I meant I saw it. Not the news. You. In the photos from the press conference. You looked like you hadn't slept in a week."
Minji watched the trees blur past. "I hadn't."
"Minji."
The way he said her name not Kim Minji, not the stage name, not the headline. Just her name, the way he'd said it a thousand times when they were kids, pulling her out of a tree or handing her a bandage for a scraped knee.
"I'm fine now."
"Are you?"
She turned to look at him. His profile was sharp against the afternoon light, jaw tight, eyes fixed ahead. He was worried. He'd always worn his worry openly, even when he thought he was hiding it.
"I will be," she said. And then, quieter: "I am, actually. Sitting in this truck. Right now."
Something in his shoulders eased.
The house was the same. Her parents had kept it her mother had called, tearful, when the news broke, begging her to come home. Minji had resisted for weeks, then months, until one night she'd sat alone in her Seoul apartment staring at the ceiling at 3 AM and realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt the sun on her skin.
So she'd booked the train.
Jaehyun carried her suitcase up the porch steps. Her mother was already at the door, already crying, already pulling her into an embrace that smelled like sesame oil and laundry detergent. Her father stood behind, gruff and silent, but his eyes were wet when he hugged her.
She ate dinner at the kitchen table. Real food. Her mother's cooking. Jaehyun stayed, invited by her mother before she could even ask, and they ate together like they were seventeen again, knees bumping under the table, passing dishes without having to speak.
After, he walked her to the gate.
"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.
"I don't have a schedule."
"Then I'll pick you up at nine. I want to show you something."
"What?"
"You'll see."
The next morning, he took her to the creek.
It had been their place a bend in the water where the trees leaned in close and the light fell in green-gold patches. Someone had built a rope swing since she'd last been there, but otherwise it was untouched. The same flat rocks. The same deep pool where they'd learned to swim.
They sat on the bank with their shoes off, feet in the water, and talked for three hours.
About the lawsuit. About the exhaustion of smiling when you didn't mean it. About the girl she'd been at fifteen, the one who'd stood in this same creek and sworn she'd never leave this town, and the woman she'd become who'd had to leave to understand what she was running from.
Jaehyun listened. That was what he'd always done best not fixing, not advising, just sitting beside her and letting her empty herself out until there was room to breathe again.
"You know what I thought?" he said, when she'd gone quiet. "When I saw you yesterday. Getting off that train."
"What?"
He picked up a flat stone, turned it over in his fingers. "I thought, there she is."
"I was right there."
"No." He shook his head. "I mean there she is. The real one. Not the one on the posters. Not the one in the headlines. Just Minji. Standing in the sun looking tired and beautiful and like she needed someone to carry her bag."
Her throat tightened. "Jaehyun"
"I'm not done." He set the stone down. Met her eyes. "I've been waiting for you to come home for a long time. I didn't know if you ever would. But I kept the shop the way you left it. I kept the corner with the cushions where you used to read. I kept" He stopped. Let out a breath. "I kept hoping."
The water moved past their feet. A bird called somewhere above them.
"Jaehyun."
"I know." He smiled, but it was different now smaller, more careful. "I know you didn't come back for this. You came back to rest. And that's fine. I just I wanted you to know. So you could decide what you want. Without me hiding it."
That night, she couldn't sleep.
She lay in her childhood bed, the ceiling painted with glow-in-the-dark stars she'd put up when she was twelve, and replayed every word he'd said. Every look. Every time his hand had brushed hers while they walked back from the creek.
She thought about the way he'd looked at her in the truck. The way he'd held her at the station. The way he said her name like it mattered.
At midnight, she got up. Pulled on a hoodie. Walked barefoot down the street to his shop.
The lights were on.
He was sitting in the window their corner, the one with the cushions and the low table and the lamp that cast warm yellow light. A book was open in his lap. He was reading, head bent, fingers tracing the page, and when she knocked on the glass, he looked up like he'd been expecting her.
He opened the door. Stood aside. Let her in.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
"Neither could I."
She walked past him into the shop. It smelled like old books and candle wax and him. She stopped in the middle of the room, wrapped her arms around herself, and turned to face him.
"Say it again."
"What?"
"What you said at the creek. Say it again."
He crossed the room slowly. Stopped close enough that she could feel the warmth coming off him. His hand came up and hovered near her face giving her time, giving her the choice and when she didn't pull away, he cupped her cheek.
"I love you," he said. "I've loved you since we were fifteen and you fell out of that tree and landed on top of me and I thought I was going to die from how close you were. I loved you when you left for Seoul. I loved you when you became someone the whole world got to see. I loved you every single day you were gone, and I didn't stop, and I can't stop, and I don't want to stop."
Tears were running down her face. She didn't know when they'd started.
"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered. "To the industry. To the noise. I thought when I left that I'd left you behind. But you were here the whole time. You were waiting."
"I would've waited forever."
She kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate weeks of exhaustion and years of distance and a lifetime of almosts crashing together in the space where their mouths met. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer and he made a sound against her lips, low and surprised, before his arms locked around her and kissed her back like he was drowning.
His hands slid into her hair. She tilted her head and opened her mouth and the kiss deepened, wet and searching, his tongue brushing against hers. She felt it everywhere her chest, her stomach, low in her belly where heat was already pooling.
"I need you to touch me," she breathed against his mouth. "I need Jaehyun, I need"
"Tell me."
"Everything. I need everything."
He didn't take her to his bed fast enough. She pushed his jacket off his shoulders while he undid the tie on her hoodie. They stumbled through the small apartment behind the shop, leaving a trail of clothes her shirt, his belt, her jeans pooling on the floor, his boxers kicked aside.
The bed was soft. The sheets were dark blue. He laid her down and the moonlight came through the window and painted her skin silver.
He looked at her.
For a long moment, he just looked.
"You're so beautiful," he said. Not like he was saying something nice. Like he was stating a fact he'd known forever and was finally allowed to say out loud.
"Stop looking," she whispered, but she was smiling.
"I can't. I've been waiting too long."
He lowered himself over her. His body was warm and solid, the weight settling between her thighs, the length of him pressing against her through the thin fabric of her panties. She felt his breath on her neck, and then his mouth, open and hot, trailing down her throat.
She arched beneath him. Her fingers found his hair, gripped tight, pulled him closer.
"Jaehyun."
He answered by kissing the space between her collarbones. Then lower. His lips traced the swell of her breasts and she felt her nipples tighten, felt the anticipation build, felt his tongue circle one before closing around it.
Her breath caught. Her back came off the bed.
He took his time. He kissed and licked and sucked until she was writhing, her hips pressing up against him, the ache between her legs growing unbearable.
"Please," she said. "Please, Jaehyun."
He looked up at her. His mouth was wet. His eyes were dark.
"Please what?"
"You know."
He smiled soft, knowing. Then he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down her legs.
The air was cool against her skin. She was wet she could feel it, slick and warm, and she saw him see it, saw his breath catch when he looked at her.
"You have no idea," he said, "how many times I've imagined this."
"Show me."
He lowered his head between her thighs.
The first touch of his tongue was so gentle it almost hurt. He licked her slowly, deliberately, learning the shape of her with his mouth, tasting the wet heat of her cunt like she was something sacred. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her thighs trembled.
"Fuck," she breathed. "Jaehyun"
He hummed against her and the vibration made her hips jerk. He did it again, on purpose, his tongue circling her clit, and she cried out, a sound she didn't recognize, raw and broken.
He worked her with steady patience. Licking, sucking, pressing his tongue inside her then back up to where she needed him most. Her breathing turned to gasps. Her legs started to shake.
"Close," she managed. "I'm so close"
He pulled back.
"No"
"I want to be inside you," he said. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
The words hit her like a physical blow. She reached for him, pulled him up, kissed him and tasted herself on his lips.
"I want you," she said. "I've wanted you. I've always wanted you."
He positioned himself between her thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, slick with her wetness, and he paused.
"Look at me."
She did.
"I love you, Minji. Not because of what you are. Because of who you are. The girl who fell out of trees. The woman who came home."
Tears blurred her vision. "I love you too. I love you. I love you."
He pushed inside her.
The sensation was overwhelming the stretch, the fullness, the slow depth of him filling her inch by inch until he was seated completely, his hips flush against hers, her body gripping him tight and hot and perfect.
She gasped. He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers.
"Minji."
"Move. Please. Move."
He started slow. Deep, rolling thrusts that pushed the air from her lungs, that made her feel him everywhere in her chest, in her throat, in the clench of her cunt around him with every withdrawal. He held her gaze. He watched her come apart.
"More," she said, and he gave her more.
His pace quickened. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room wet, rhythmic, obscene. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, and the angle changed and he hit something inside her that made her see white.
"There," she gasped. "There, there, don't stop"
He didn't. He drove into her, harder now, his breathing ragged, his hands gripping her hips, her thighs, her breasts he touched everywhere, claimed everything, and she took all of it, wanting more, needing all of him.
"I can feel you," he said, his voice wrecked. "You're squeezing me so tight. Fuck, Minji"
"Come inside me," she said. "I want to feel you. I want to feel all of you."
That did something to him. His rhythm faltered. His eyes went dark and desperate. He drove into her once, twice, and then she felt him his body tensing, his mouth opening against her neck, the hot pulse of his release filling her.
The feeling pushed her over. Her orgasm crashed through her, wave after wave, her cunt clenching around his cock, milking him through it, and she cried out his name as her body shook and trembled and finally, finally, went still.
After, they lay tangled together. His hand traced lazy patterns on her hip. Her head rested on his chest, rising and falling with his breath.
The window was open a crack. She could hear the creek in the distance.
"I have to go back," she said quietly. "If the lawsuit resolves. I have to go back."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I know."
"Will you wait for me?"
His hand found hers. Their fingers laced together.
"I've been waiting my whole life," he said. "A few more years? That's nothing."
She pressed a kiss to his chest. Closed her eyes.
"Then I'll always have somewhere to come home to."
He kissed the top of her head. "You always have."
The moonlight shifted across the bed. The creek kept running. And Minji for the first time in longer than she could remember slept through the whole night without dreaming.
Haerin knew exactly what I was doing, as she did just enough to tease me. By throwing a little extra effort in her ass movement, with her dropping it a little lower and moving it a little slower; for me to get a good view as she looked back at me, with her dead silent judgmental look on her face, while my eyes was still widened as she just smirked back at me. Knowing dam well, her tight little ass had me in a choke hold, and that it would only take a nod from her to get me :
on my knees as she spread her ass open, and as if it was second nature, I took the opportunity to spit in it as I leave my tongue out; for her to rub her exposed sweaty butthole up & down it. Licking it clean as she drags her dirty tight muscle ring on it, making me feel every wrinkle & sweat drop it held. To the point were I can keep a mental image of how her puckered hole looks like. As I straighten my tongue and push it through her rim, having it spread open easily while it wraps tightly around the part of my tongue that was in her rectum. Having the tip of it scrape the walls of her anus tasting every inch of her, as I try to loosen up her insides with my tongue. While the taste of her most dirtiest, nastiest, sweatiest part leaves me throbbing falling for her.
Haerin knowing this smiled, as she kept performing dancing a little harder to build a little more sweat; with every so often looking at me while giving a sense of : "she knew what she was going to do later with the sweat that was building between legs, from between her ass to her pussy lips."
Eunbi had the thought before she could stop it, which was a little embarrassing. Still, the baby in question was currently beaming up at her from the hallway with the full-body joy only toddlers could manage — cheeks round as persimmons, a little fist shoved halfway into her mouth. Eunbi crouched down instinctively.
“Well, hello there, little miss.”
The baby — Mira, though Eunbi didn’t know that yet — responded by babbling something that might have been a greeting or might have been a declaration of war. Hard to tell with toddlers. Either way, she was very committed to it.
Eunbi was in the middle of babbling back when she heard movement behind the stroller and straightened up.
She was not prepared.
The man was big. That was the first thing. Not just tall — she was used to people being taller than her, that was most of the population — but large in a way that filled the hallway, broad-shouldered and solid, the kind of frame that made the standard apartment corridor feel like it had been built slightly too small. He’d clearly been juggling groceries and a diaper bag and whatever else, and he turned around with the distracted energy of someone who had not expected company.
Neither had she, for that matter.
Eunbi looked up at him. He looked down at her. Mira continued her political speech.
Oh, Eunbi thought, with a clarity that surprised her. Just oh. Something in her chest did something she didn’t have a word for.
“Hi,” she said, because she was a grown adult and capable of speech. “I’m Eunbi.”
The man blinked. Then, from somewhere in his arms, a small voice piped up.
“Mommy?”
Mira was staring at Eunbi with an expression of profound hope. Eunbi’s heart did something catastrophic.
I could be a mommy, said a voice in the back of her brain, completely unprompted and deeply unhinged.
Excuse me? said the rest of her brain.
She had no time to investigate this further because the man was already turning to the baby with the practiced patience of someone who had explained this before. “No, baby. Not mommy.”
Mira considered this information, deemed it unsatisfactory, and looked at Eunbi again as if waiting for a second opinion.
The man turned back with a tired but genuine smile, the kind that deepened the corners of his eyes. “Sorry about that. She meets a woman, and she decides it’s her mommy. Every time.”
Eunbi had her mouth carefully closed over everything her subconscious was apparently willing to volunteer. “It’s fine,” she said. “Really. No big deal.”
He looked grateful in a way that felt like more than politeness. Like maybe he’d been braced for something worse.
“I’m Ozymandias,” he said. “But you can call me Ozzy.”
“Ozzy,” she repeated, like she was filing it away. “You just moved in?”
“Three weeks ago.” He shifted the grocery bag to his other arm. “Wanted to be closer to Mira’s grandma.”
Mira, having apparently decided that the conversation had gone on long enough without her participation, leaned out of his arms toward Eunbi with both hands extended. It was less of a request and more of a demand.
Eunbi accepted her before she’d consciously decided to. The baby settled against her shoulder like she’d done it a hundred times.
“She doesn’t usually—” Ozzy started.
“It’s okay.” Eunbi adjusted her grip, and Mira made a small satisfied sound and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “I don’t mind.”
They stood there for a moment. Down the hall, the elevator dinged.
“She doesn’t look like you,” Eunbi said carefully, not quite sure how to phrase what she was trying to ask.
Ozzy’s expression shifted — not hurt, just familiar with the question. “She’s adopted. Technically my goddaughter.” A beat. “Both her parents passed.”
“Oh.” Eunbi looked down at Mira, who was now examining her earring with the focused intensity of a jeweler. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, quiet about it.
The elevator ride up was four floors and mostly silent in a comfortable way rather than the awkward one, which surprised Eunbi a little. Mira dozed off somewhere between the second and third floor, going heavy and warm against Eunbi’s shoulder with the sudden totality that only babies could manage, like someone had flipped a switch.
Ozzy watched this happen and said nothing. He looked like a man trying not to disturb something fragile.
At the door, he fished for his keys one-handed, eased it open, and turned to take Mira back. The baby woke up just enough to realize what was happening and registered her objection immediately — a low, building sound that was about to become something much louder.
Eunbi and Ozzy both froze.
The sound subsided. Mira’s fist tightened in Eunbi’s hair.
Eunbi met Ozzy’s eyes over the baby’s head. He looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with tonight specifically and everything to do with the past however-many months. She recognized that look. She’d seen it on her sister after the first year of motherhood — that particular flavor of love that was also just barely holding on.
“I can stay for a bit,” she heard herself say.
He exhaled — not quite a sigh, more like something releasing. “I’ll make dinner.”
“You don’t have to—”
“You’re holding my kid.” He was already moving toward the kitchen. “Minimum I can do.”
Eunbi looked down at Mira, who had gone back to sleep with absolute conviction.
“Do your worst,” Ozzy said from around the corner, which she realized after a moment was aimed at her, not the refrigerator.
She almost laughed. “That’s my line.”
The kitchen smelled incredible within twenty minutes.
Eunbi had expected something serviceable — bachelor-dad cooking, the kind of meal that got the job done and didn’t ask for applause. What she had not expected was Ozzy moving through the kitchen like he actually knew what he was doing, pulling ingredients with the casual confidence of someone who cooked because he liked it, not because he had to.
“My dad’s recipe,” he said, without looking up from the roux he was building. “Chicken Alfredo Mac and Cheese. It is the only thing that guarantees a clean bowl.”
“High praise.”
“From a 22-month-old? It’s basically a Michelin star.”
Behind her, the living room had become a disaster in the best possible way.
Mira had apparently decided that the short nap had fully restored her and was now conducting a comprehensive tour of her belongings. She produced items from a fabric bin with the energy of a host unveiling auction lots — a yellow ball, a red ball, a ball that was technically a cube but that Mira called a ball anyway and Eunbi didn’t have the heart to correct, two small wooden figures, and then a vinyl Ultraman about four inches tall, paint worn at the edges from handling.
“Auraman,” Mira announced, holding him up.
“Auraman,” Eunbi confirmed seriously as she flexed her muscles. “Very strong?”
Mira nodded with her whole body.
Then came a collection of small wooden sticks that Eunbi turned over in her hands, genuinely puzzled. They were smooth, slightly tapered, and notched at one end. Some kind of puzzle pieces maybe, or parts of something she didn’t recognize. She tried fitting two together. Nothing happened.
Mira watched her struggle for a moment, then took them back with the patience of someone who had seen this before, and slotted four of them together into a shape that Eunbi still couldn’t identify but that clearly meant something to Mira, because she held it up with quiet pride.
“Okay,” Eunbi said. “You’re smarter than me.”
Mira seemed to find this reasonable.
They went through the rest of the bin. Eunbi named things when she knew them and asked questions when she didn’t, and Mira answered everything with a mix of actual words, sound effects, and gestures that Eunbi found she could follow more often than not. It had its own grammar. She just had to listen for it.
I could get used to this.
The thought arrived the same way the last one had — quietly, without asking permission, already halfway settled in before she noticed it.
We are going to have a very long conversation later, said the rest of her brain.
Sure, said that part. Later.
“Ready.” Ozzy set a bowl on the table and pulled off his apron. “I’m going to put Mira down and come back — please, help yourself. Don’t wait on my account.”
Eunbi got up and served herself a portion that she told herself was moderate and that was probably not. The first bite confirmed what the smell had promised.
She was halfway through when she heard Mira’s protests from down the hall, then the low register of Ozzy’s voice talking her down, then quiet. Five minutes later he reappeared, picked up the scattered toys with the automatic efficiency of someone who’d stopped seeing it as a task, and dropped into the chair across from her.
He looked at her bowl. She looked back at him, unashamed.
“Dad’s recipe,” she said. “he’s right.”
Something in his face relaxed.
He served himself and they ate in easy quiet for a moment before Eunbi set down her fork and looked at him properly.
“You do the whole single dad thing pretty well, you know.”
Ozzy shrugged, the way people did when they wanted to accept a compliment but couldn’t quite get there. “I try.” He turned his bowl slightly on the table — a thinking habit, maybe. “We were at the doctor's today. Mira got diagnosed with ADHD.”
Eunbi waited.
“They want to talk about medication options.” He said it evenly, but she could hear what was underneath it. “She’s 22 months old.”
“She’s 22 months old and she’s walking and holding full conversations.”
“Conversations are generous—”
“Ozzy, she gave me a twenty-minute briefing on every toy in that bin. She has opinions about Auraman.” Eunbi pointed toward the living room. “She told me which ball was fastest.”
He laughed at that — a real one, surprised out of him. “The yellow one, right?”
“Obviously.”
“Yeah.” The laugh faded into something softer. He was quiet for a moment. “She’s technically ahead on a lot of milestones. The ADHD diagnosis is early, the doctor said it might shift as she gets older, but they want to stay ahead of it. Which I understand. I do.” He pushed food around his bowl. “It’s just one more thing on a plate that already has too much on it.”
Eunbi watched him. That wasn’t the whole of it — she could tell. The spiral underneath had a different shape than a medical diagnosis.
“She needs to learn English and Spanish and Korean,” he continued. “So she can actually talk to both sets of grandparents. I have to figure out how to build that in early enough that it sticks. And then there’s the developmental stuff, and the appointments, and—”
“Ozzy.”
He stopped.
“What’s actually going on?”
He looked at her. She looked back, patient, not letting him redirect.
A beat. Then: “Mira’s maternal grandparents don’t think I’m a good fit.”
The air in the room changed slightly.
“They keep saying she needs a mother and a father.” He didn’t say it bitterly. That was almost worse — it had the sound of something he’d already processed down to something flat and factual. “They’re not wrong that she’s missing something. I know that. I just—” He stopped. “I don’t know what they want me to do about it.”
“Are they trying to contest the adoption?”
“They’re implying things. Nothing formal. Yet.”
Eunbi was quiet for a moment. Then, before she could catch herself: “Can I help?”
Ozzy blinked. The question had clearly not landed where he expected.
“With what?”
“I don’t know. Whatever needs helping with.”
He looked at her for a moment with an expression she couldn’t fully read — somewhere between grateful and careful — and then said, in a tone that was trying to be lighter than it was: “If you can find me a woman who’s okay with a single dad with a toddler, an ADHD diagnosis pending, a grandmother who will absolutely cook for her, and a stolen Ultraman figure—”
“Auraman.”
“—an Auraman figure, then sure.”
I am literally right here, heck I’ll marry you right now said the traitorous part of Eunbi’s brain, with remarkable calm.
“I’m sure we can come up with something,” she heard herself say.
He smiled at that. Tired, real, the kind that didn’t try to be more than it was.
Eunbi looked at him — the set of his shoulders, the way he was holding the bowl like he’d forgotten it was there — and got up from her chair.
He looked up, slightly startled, as she crossed around the table and put her arms around him from behind. It was a hug that said I see you more than anything else. She felt him go still for a second, like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.
Then some of the tension went out of him.
“You’ve got this,” she said. Resolute. No qualifiers. “You hear me, big guy? You’ve got this.”
He didn’t say anything. But his hand came up and briefly covered hers on his shoulder.
That was enough.
Eunbi’s apartment was quiet in the way that only registered after the noise. Geumbi excitedly scampered through the apartment.
She set her keys on the hook by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, doing nothing. Through the wall, distantly, she thought she could hear something — or maybe she was imagining it. The building had decent insulation. She was probably imagining it.
She moved through the apartment on autopilot, filling a glass of water, setting it down without drinking it, drifting toward the window. The city outside was doing its usual thing. She wasn’t really looking at it.
She was thinking about the way Ozzy had looked at the dinner table.
Not sad, exactly. Something more specific than sad — the expression of someone who was genuinely trying to carry everything and had gotten good enough at it that most people wouldn’t notice the weight. She’d noticed. She wasn’t sure why she’d noticed, or why it had sat with her all the way through saying goodnight and walking twelve feet down the hall to her own front door, but here she was.
He looked cute, she thought, and then immediately made a face at herself. Very helpful, Eunbi. Very mature.
But he had. Objectively. There was something about a man who was clearly exhausted down to his bones and still got up and made his father’s Chicken Alfredo Mac and Cheese and picked up all the toys after — something that was difficult to be neutral about.
She stopped in front of the hallway mirror without meaning to.
Looked at herself. Looked back at herself.
“Could I actually help him?” she asked.
Her reflection didn’t have a useful answer. Her reflection just looked like a woman who had spent the evening on a stranger’s floor playing with wooden puzzle pieces and a small child named Mira, and who had somehow felt more at home doing it than she had in her own apartment in recent memory.
The traitorous part of her brain, which had been warming up all evening, chose this moment to go completely off-script.
Yes, it said, with a confidence that was frankly alarming. Look at you. “Mom” is basically stamped on your forehead. You have mommy written all over your body.
“Okay—”
Ozzy and you could handle three more kids, easy.
“What?”
Her reflection just looked back at her, unhelpfully.
She pressed her fingers to her temple. Three more. The number had arrived with such specificity that it was almost funny. Not two. Not one. Three more. Names, even — she could feel them forming at the edges of the thought as her brain had already done the paperwork. Doyun. Jisoo. August.
She tried to shake it off and her brain simply… showed her something instead.
It arrived the way good daydreams did, fully furnished and already in motion.
A house that was real in the way houses are real in dreams — solid walls, light coming through in the afternoon way, a yard that was somehow always the right temperature. Mira was at the table with cereal, but she was definitely not eating correctly. Jisoo in her school uniform, is opinionated about something. Doyun and August in the background, at that indeterminate sibling-chaos stage where it was impossible to tell if they were playing or fighting.
Eunbi is at the door.
Ozzy, coat on, lunch in hand — and pausing, because she’d said something, and he turned around and she kissed him like it was something she’d done every day of her adult life.
He walked out looking slightly more like a person than he had when he woke up.
She watched him from the doorway.
Eunbi blinked.
She was still in her hallway. The mirror was still there. She looked, if anything, worse than she had thirty seconds ago.
“You have lost your entire mind,” she told her reflection.
Her reflection appeared to be in a relationship with a man she had known for four hours and was raising five children in a house with good natural light.
“We just met him,” she said.
Her brain offered no rebuttal. It had made its case and was apparently comfortable resting on it.
Eunbi exhaled, turned away from the mirror, and went to go find something to do that wasn’t this. Her glass of water was still on the counter, untouched.
She drank it.
Through the wall, she thought she heard something that might have been a door closing, or might have been nothing at all.
She was smiling, a little, despite herself.
She spent the rest of the night playing and taking care of Geumbi.
When she yawned she decided to wind down for the day.
Eunbi couldn’t find sleep that night…she would just toss and turn waiting for someone or something to take her.
Eunbi lay in her bed alone the window open as she lay trying to find rest until she heard the door open she turned and their Ozzy was naked His cock standing at attention for her. Eunbi licked her lips as she said, “Are you gonna make me a mommy,”
Ozzy walked closer to Eunbi her body on fire as he did.
She opened her legs lewdly and said, “Please fuck me!”
Ozzy got into the bed with her and slid inside her.
“Fuck you’re so big,” she moaned as he barely could get in despite how slick she was. Her cream covered Ozzy’s cock as he slowly thrust in and out of Eunbi for the first time.
Eunbi wailed in delight. She grabbed her bloated bosom and presented it to Ozzy with perverse glee. “Can you imagine it? These filled with milk for our children” she moaned as Ozzy picked up the pace his thrust going deep inside her. She moaned as her walls clenched around the main.
“Claim me!” Eunbi moaned close. Ozzy kept thrusting into her as he did she repeated
“Make me a mommy. Make me a mommy,” until she came.
Eunbi’s eyes opened and she was in her bedroom naked Ozzymandias was nowhere to be found. She turned to her clock at 1:45 am. She groaned in an annoyed way. Her sheets were wet, and she got up to clean them.
“Fine,” she told the traitorous part of herself. “I’ll make him mine,” she added.
Warning : This story theme was contained with Incest, incest marriage, father-daughter, impregnated, breeding.
One-shot.
[Wife/Daughter]
Start Reading
Nice to meet you. Who's your name? What's your job? You're nice, sir.
Maybe that's the word you hear when you set foot in a new neighborhood .
And when a twenty-year-old woman stands beside you, you introduce her as your fiancé named Ahyeon. They could hardly believe it, saying you were a lucky man, or you must have been a hero in a past life, or you are a billionaire who has a lot of money.
Well, a 45-year-old man getting a twenty-year-old girl as a future wife is almost impossible unless there's one part they don't know about us. It's a secret that we are father and daughter.
***
The organ music swelled as the church doors swung open, revealing Ahyeon in a gown that clung to her curves like liquid moonlight. The delicate lace plunged daringly at her chest before cinching tight around her waist, the skirt flaring just enough to tease the shape of her hips with every step. Lily petals trembled in her bouquet as she walked—not the demure shuffle of a blushing bride, but with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what effect she was having. A collective inhale rippled through the pews when she passed all your neighbors you know almost two month ago.
You kept your face carefully neutral as she reached the altar, though your palms itched to adjust your tie. The weight of your daughter's secret pressed heavier than the ring in your pocket.
Ahyeon's whisper curled against your ear like smoke—hot, illicit, trembling with suppressed laughter. Her breath smelled of mint and the champagne she'd sipped nervously before the procession.
"Look daddy," she murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear just enough to make your pulse stutter, "Did they know that you would marry your own daughter?" The lace of her glove snagged on your lapel as she pulled back.
Your whisper curled back at her, "Sst... It's a secret, baby," your thumb brushed the underside of her wrist where the lace ended, skin humming with the lie you'd polished for months.
" They don't know about us," your lips grazed the pearl stud in her earlobe, "the princess who looks like an angel is a succubus who seduces her own father?"
Both of you smiled mischievously but others think it's love dovey.
The priest's voice echoed through the vaulted ceiling like a slow drumbeat.
"Do you, Gitae, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?" His rheumy eyes flickered between you and Ahyeon.
"I do." The words tasted like sacrilege and sugar on your tongue.
Ahyeon's fingers trembled when you took her hand, her pulse fluttering like a trapped bird against your thumb. The ring slid onto her finger with obscene ease, the gold still bearing the faint dents from decades of your wife's gardening. Your daughter's eyes widened—she recognized it immediately—but her shock melted into something darker when she curled her fingers, pressing the metal deep into her palm like a brand.
The priest's wrinkled hands hovered between you like a benediction, his voice cracking on the final words—"you may now kiss the bride."
A hush fell over the congregation, all those polite strangers leaning forward in their pews, expecting chaste propriety. Ahyeon's breath hitched when your palms settled on her waist, her pupils dilating until only a thin ring of honey-brown remained. The lace of her gown whispered against your knuckles as you pulled her closer than a father ever should.
Her lips parted before yours even touched them—warm, yielding, slick with the champagne she'd stolen sips of in the vestry. The taste of her exploded across your tongue, mint and something darker, something that made your fingers tighten involuntarily on her hips.
A shocked murmur rippled through the church when your tongue flicked against hers, when her moan vibrated against your mouth loud enough for the front pew to hear. You broke apart panting, her lipstick smeared across your mouth like a confession.
The priest, your neighbors, even someone you still find hard to remember their name is happy for you and Ahyeon, rejoicing for the love of Taboo you both.
The champagne flutes clinked like wind chimes in the golden afternoon light, their crystalline notes dissolving into the murmur of polite laughter and the rustle of silk against wool.
You stood in the dappled shade of the churchyard's ancient oak, its branches heavy with late summer leaves, while the men—your new neighbors, all silver-haired and sun-weathered—circled you like curious crows. Their wives had already whisked Ahyeon away, their delighted coos about her youth and beauty carrying across the lawn like birdsong.
"You're so lucky, buddy," your neighbor clapped you on the back with a teacher's practiced enthusiasm, "To have a younger, prettier, hotter partner—wow."
His laugh came out half-strangled, eyes lingering a beat too long on the way Ahyeon's gown dipped between her shoulderblades.
"I didn't expect it. She's as old as my daughter Leeseo.”
You just smiled behind the Glass cocktails.
The other neighbor's voice cut through the reception's hum, his words landing like a stray bullet.
"You know, when I first met you, I didn't expect you to be a couple and instead thought you were father and daughter, but that's impossible, right... It's... Hey. He—"
Then another also added the joke, "it turns out that I'm not the only one who thinks like that, but who can stand Ahyeon's charm, even if she's my daughter I'll definitely marry her too he he he".
Ahyeon’s hips swayed as she approached, the delicate fabric of her wedding gown catching the sunlight in a way that made the men around you momentarily forget their drinks. She tilted her head, her painted lips curving into a playful smirk.
"What are you guys talking about?" she asked, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "It seems so exciting." Her fingers brushed your forearm, lingering just long enough to make your pulse jump.
"Only a man’s thing, honey " you replied, shrugging as the neighbors chuckled awkwardly.
She giggled, the sound like wind chimes, and leaned into your side. "Oh? Should I be worried?" Her thumb traced idle circles over your wrist, hidden from view beneath the tablecloth.
They laughed and chuckled awkwardly.
" Gentleman, may I steal my husband for a dance?" Ahyeon's voice cut through the men's laughter like a silver blade through velvet, sweet yet decisive.
The string quartet swelled as Ahyeon pulled you onto the dance floor, her grip tighter than propriety allowed. Her fingers laced through yours with practiced ease—too familiar for strangers watching, but they'd already swallowed the lie whole. The champagne had softened the room into a blur of smiling faces and murmured congratulations, none noticing how your daughter's thumb traced slow circles against your wedding band.
"You looked like a trapped animal back there, Dad " Ahyeon murmured, her breath warm against your collar as she guided your hand lower on her waist than any father shouldn't rest.
The satin of her gown hissed against your palm.
“Thank you for saving me from those old men," you muttered into her hair, inhaling the strawberry shampoo she'd used since adolescence—a scent that now carried layers of deception.
Ahyeon chuckled, her fingers tightening around yours as you spun her gently on the dance floor. "Aren't you also an old man, Daddy?" she teased, her lips brushing your ear just long enough to make your breath catch.
You smiled, pulling her closer under the pretense of adjusting your stance, your thumb pressing into the dip of her waist where the gown cinched tight.
"You look comfortable with the wives," you murmured, nodding toward the cluster of women watching them from the edge of the dance floor with approving smiles.
"What were you talking about?"
Ahyeon's fingers tightened around yours as she replied with that saccharine smile you'd learned to distrust—the one that meant she'd already decided something reckless.
"You know, Miss Han is a kindergarten teacher," she murmured, her thumb tracing the inside of your wrist in a way that made your pulse stutter. "She asked if I could be a teaching assistant there?”
You smirked as you teased her, your voice dropping low enough that only she could hear the rough edges of the joke. "You teach? A daughter who seduces her father while her mother is away?" The words curled between you like smoke, hot and illicit.
Ahyeon's laugh was a soft, breathy thing against your shoulder, her fingers tightening around yours as she pressed closer—too close for a father and daughter, just right for newlyweds.
"That's right, Daddy," she purred, her lips brushing your ear as the quartet transitioned into a waltz, "a daughter who gave up her body to be owned by her father when her mother—who was like a bitch—ran away with another man."
The vulgarity dripped from her tongue like honeyed venom, her breath hitching when your palm slid lower on her back, fingers splaying possessively over the satin covering her ass.
The string quartet's final notes dissolved into applause that rippled through the reception like summer rain. Ahyeon's fingers lingered against your jaw a heartbeat too long as you broke apart—her thumb swiping once, deliberately, across your lower lip where her strawberry gloss had smudged. The guests sighed at the display, mistaking it's sinner taboo relationship in both you and her eyes for newlywed devotion.
After the reception ends.
Click.
The door clicked shut behind you with the finality of a vault sealing, muffling the last echoes of congratulations still floating up from the street. Ahyeon's weight in your arms was warm and pliant, her fingers tangled in your loosened tie as she peered up through her lashes—that same half-lidded gaze she'd perfected at sixteen when asking for favors you couldn't refuse. The scent of rose petals crushed underfoot rose thick and heady between you, mingling with the champagne on her breath.
The hinges groaned as you shouldered the bedroom door open, Ahyeon's weight warm against your chest, her breath tickling the hollow of your throat where her lips hovered—close enough to taste your pulse, but not yet touching. The scent of crushed rose petals rose in waves from the mattress, mingling with the faint tang of champagne still clinging to her skin.
You lowered her onto the silk sheets with a slow, deliberate gravity, her white lace gown billowing around her like a fallen cloud. As she sank into the mattress, the short hem of the dress rode up, exposing the creamy expanse of her thighs, the fabric clinging to her curves in a way that felt less like bridal attire and more like a challenge.
She didn't move, simply lying there with her arms spread wide and her chest heaving in a slow, rhythmic cadence. A slow, predatory smile curved her lips as she looked up at you, her eyes shimmering with the thrill of the charade.
"It seems Daddy can't wait to devour his own daughter," she murmured, her voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to echo in the sudden silence of the room.
You reached out, your fingers grazing the stray tendrils of dark hair that had escaped her veil to cling to her damp forehead. With a slow, methodical tenderness, you brushed them back, your fingertips lingering against the heat of her temple. The gesture was paternal in form but possessive in spirit, a quiet claiming of the woman who had spent the afternoon playing the part of your bride.
"It can't be helped, honey," you murmured, your voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that vibrated in the small space between you.
"Well, my daughter has grown up to be such a beautiful and sexy woman... what father in the world could possibly stand it?”
Your index finger traced the seam of her lips, the skin there soft and slick with the remnants of that strawberry gloss. You pressed just enough to pull her lower lip slightly outward, a slow, deliberate movement that mirrored the way one might open a forbidden book.
"Didn't you tell me, when you were a child, that you wanted to marry Daddy?" you murmured, your voice barely a ghost of a sound.
She blushed.
“Mmm, Daddy to mean”, She hit you lightly on the chest.
Then your fingers hooked under her chin, tilting her face upward with a firm, possessive grip that anchored her to the moment.
When your lips finally collided with hers, it wasn't the tentative brush of a secret or the curated performance for the neighbors; it was a collision of starved appetites. The kiss tasted of salt and strawberry, a desperate, rhythmic exchange that seemed to pull the very air from the room. Ahyeon didn't just receive the kiss—she fought for it, her tongue dancing against yours with a hunger that was predatory and precise. She clung to you not as a child seeking comfort, but as a woman drowning in a lewd, intoxicating lust, her small hands gripping your shoulders to pull you deeper into her space.
" Hosh...Daddy".
The oxygen in the room seemed to vanish, consumed by the heat of the collision, until you finally tore your lips from hers. You pulled back just inches, both of you gasping for breath in ragged, synchronized heaves, the air between you vibrating with a raw, electric tension. Your eyes searched hers, finding a mirror of your own lewd hunger—a gaze stripped of all paternal warmth and replaced by a dark, predatory lust that made the wedding ring on your finger feel like a brand.
Without breaking eye contact, your hand slid beneath the loosened lace of her bodice, the fabric yielding with a soft, sliding hiss.Your palm connected with the heavy, warm swell of her breast, your fingers splaying wide to squeeze the plush cleavage that had been teased all afternoon beneath the gown.
Ahyeon’s head snapped back against the pillow, a long, guttural moan vibrating through her throat—a sound that was half-surrender and half-demand, echoing the illicit thrill of a daughter being handled like a prize.
The lace of the bodice gave way with a sudden, breathless snap as you hooked your fingers beneath the fabric and pulled downward. There was no structured underwire or silk bra to impede the movement; Ahyeon had chosen to forgo them, leaving nothing but the thin barrier of the gown. Her breasts spilled forward, popping out of the constraints of the dress like two ripe peaches breaking through a veil, their pale skin shimmering under the dim glow of the bedroom lamp.
You paused for a heartbeat, your breath hitching as you looked down at the sudden, lush abundance of her.
You reached out, your palms cupping the soft, supple curves, feeling the heat radiating from her skin. They were heavy and yielding, filling your hands with a plushness that felt almost surreal.
"It wasn't always like this," you murmured, your thumbs grazing the peaks of her breasts with a slow, rhythmic precision, "They used to be so tiny... just little buds, cute and fragile.”
Your palms didn't just hold her; they claimed her, kneading the soft, plush tissue with a rough, rhythmic intensity that left flushed marks across her pale skin. You squeezed the heavy curves, feeling the weight of her against your palms, treating her breasts not as something to be admired, but as something to be consumed.
"Mmph... Daddy," she whimpered, her voice breaking as she leaned into the pressure.
Her fingers dug into the silk sheets, clutching the fabric until her knuckles turned white.
"Your hands... they're so rough... but I like it. God, I love it", She gasped, her breath coming in short, jagged bursts as she looked up at you with eyes that were glazed and swimming in a cocktail of lust and devotion, "Oh... you like my titties so bad, don't you? You've been wanting this all day, haven't you?”
"Of course, honey," you murmured, your voice a low vibration that seemed to rattle the very bones of the room. "I am never satisfied with Daddy’s little baby tits."
You didn't wait for her to respond.
You leaned in, your face descending like a shadow over the pale, trembling landscape of her chest. Your tongue lashed out in a slow, wet stroke, licking the peak of her nipple from base to tip. The sensation was electric—the contrast of her searing heat against the damp, slick glide of your saliva.
You didn't stop there; you lingered, swirling your tongue around the budding point, coating the sensitive skin in a glistening sheen that caught the dim light of the lamp. As you drank from her, your hands didn't remain idle. You cupped the heavy undersides of her breasts, squeezing the plush tissue upward, forcing the flesh to bunch and swell against your mouth.
"Daddy... Ahyeon likes it when you suck my titties like that... yes... yes..." Her voice wasn't just a whisper anymore; it was a ragged, broken thing, shivering with a pleasure that bordered on pain.
She arched her chest upward, offering herself to you with a desperate, instinctive hunger, her breath hitching in rhythmic staccatos as you buried your face in the plush warmth of her.
Every time your tongue swirled around the peak of her breast, it was met with a heavy, visceral slurping sound—a slick, suctioning noise that echoed in the quiet of the bedroom. You drank from her with a slow, methodical greed, the sound of your mouth closing over her skin creating a wet, rhythmic cadence that mirrored the frantic beating of her heart against your cheek.
You finally pulled your head away from the plush warmth of her chest, the skin there now glistening and mapped with a chaotic network of red flush and wet streaks. The pale expanse of her breasts looked like a canvas after a storm, marked by the deep, blooming pressure of your palms and the slick trails of your tongue.
You lingered for a moment, admiring the way her breathing shuddered, her chest heaving in a rhythmic, uneven cadence that made the red marks dance.
"Well, it's so beautiful," you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips as a low, guttural exhale.
Ahyeon shifted beneath you, her movement a slow, feline stretch that made the remaining lace of her gown hiss against the silk sheets. She looked up at you with those two big, shimmering eyeballs—wide and dark, reflecting the dim amber glow of the lamp and a hunger that no amount of champagne could satisfy.
"Daddy," she murmured, her lips curling into a smirk that was far too knowing for her age, "I guess, I miss how your cock feels... Can I taste it?”
"Too bad, honey," you murmured, the words vibrating with a low, predatory rumble that seemed to echo in the silence of the room. "Daddy wants to taste your little pussy just as badly. How about we trade? Let's taste each other's taste."
Ahyeon didn’t answer with words; she simply nodded, her eyes darkening into two pools of liquid obsidian. The air between you felt thick, almost viscous, as if the secret you shared had materialized into a physical weight pressing you both down into the mattress.
The buttons of your shirt off, popping open in a rapid-fire sequence of clicks that sounded like small explosions in the heavy silence. As you stepped out of your trousers, the release was visceral; your cock, engorged and pulsing with a rhythmic heat, sprang free, standing rigid and demanding against the cool air of the bedroom.
Ahyeon’s eyes didn't just look; they devoured. Her mouth fell open, a small, soft ‘O’ of genuine awe as she stared at the thickness of you, her gaze tracing the throbbing vein that mapped the length of your arousal.
You settled yourself over her, straddling her head and shoulders with a dominant weight that left no room for doubt, while simultaneously sinking your face deep into the plush, floral heat of her thighs. The world became a blurred symphony of skin and scent—the sharp, intoxicating musk of her arousal meeting the raw, pulsing demand of your own.
As you settled into the sixty-nine position, the alignment was a masterpiece of illicit symmetry. Your cock, rigid and throbbing, hovered mere millimeters from her parted lips, the tip grazing the velvet softness of her mouth like a promise of the consumption to come. Simultaneously, your nose brushed against the damp, silk-slicked folds of her center, the scent of her—sweet, heavy, and entirely yours—filling your lungs until you could taste the desire in the air.
Your fingertips grazed the outer seam of her silk panties, the fabric already damp and clinging to her heat. You didn’t pull them down immediately; instead, you traced the lace edge, feeling the rhythmic tremor in her thighs as she spread her legs wider, opening herself to you like a blooming flower.
"Someone is already wet," you murmured, the words vibrating against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Beneath you, Ahyeon’s eyes were glazed, her pupils blown wide as she focused on the throbbing length of your shaft. Her small hand wrapped around you, fingers squeezing the veined skin with a desperate, gripping intensity. She couldn't hold back the saliva that pooled at the corners of her mouth, a thin silver thread bridging the gap between her lips and your tip. "Oh, Daddy," she whimpered, the word half-smothered by the heat of her own breath. "Your big cock... it never gives enough. I want to taste it again and again."
With a slow, deliberate inhale, she leaned forward, her nostrils flaring as she breathed in the raw, masculine scent of your arousal. She didn't just kiss you; she inhaled you, her mouth sliding over the crown of your cock with a wet, suctioning sound that echoed through the quiet room. The sensation was an electric shock, a rhythmic pulsing of heat and pressure that sent a surge of adrenaline crashing through your veins. You groaned, your hips twitching involuntarily as her tongue swirled around the ridge, mapping every vein with a predatory precision.
Your tongue didn't just touch her; it claimed her. Your tongue lashed across the swollen lips of her pussy in long, wet strokes, tasting the salt and the honey of her arousal with a rhythmic intensity. You were like a thirsty dog at a spring, lapping at the slickness that coated her, your chin glistening with the evidence of her readiness.
Each flick of your tongue was a deliberate, heavy pressure that sent tremors rippling through her thighs, pinning her to the silk sheets with the sheer force of your hunger.
The sound that escaped Ahyeon was no longer a whimper; it was a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the mattress and into your very bones. Her hips bucked upward, trying to drive her center deeper into the wet, suctioning heat of your mouth.
"Mmph... Daddy... your tongue..." she gasped, the words fragmented and wet, "it's so great... it's too much..." Her voice was a jagged edge of pleasure, her fingers digging into your glutes to anchor herself as you focused your attention on the most sensitive peak of her anatomy.
You didn't just lick; you devoured, your tongue acting as a rhythmic piston that pushed and pulled against her, swirling around the clitoris with a relentless, focused pressure that left her sobbing in a state of total sensory overload.
While you worked your way through the honeyed depths of her, Ahyeon was lost in her own ritual of servitude. Her lips were sealed tight around the crown of your cock, her cheeks hollowing as she created a powerful vacuum, drawing you deeper into the velvet warmth of her throat. She didn't just suck; she worshiped, her tongue dancing around the ridge of your glans with a desperate, rhythmic precision.
The feeling of her small, wet mouth sliding over the pulsing veins of your shaft was an exquisite torture, a cocktail of heat and pressure that made your vision swim. She looked up at you through the fringe of her lashes, her eyes swimming in ecstasy, seeing the way your face was buried in her flesh and knowing that she held the power to make you lose your mind.
"Forget the champagne and the cake," you murmured, your voice a muffled, guttural rumble against the slick heat of her thighs, "The Michelin stars could weep with envy, but they’ve never tasted a feast this decadent."
You paused, your breath hot and humid against her swelling folds, before adding with a low, predatory chuckle, "My slutty daughter's pussy tastes better than any dish in the world."
Ahyeon’s hips bucked violently, her heels digging into your shoulders as she let out a shattered, high-pitched keen.
You didn't give her a moment to recover; while your tongue continued its relentless, swirling devotion to her peak, your hand slid downward, fingers slick with the evidence of her arousal. With a slow, possessive deliberation, you drove two fingers deep into her wet heat, piercing the velvet depths of her hole.
The sensation of being opened and filled simultaneously caused Ahyeon to choke, her throat tightening around your glans as she reflexively swallowed you deeper. A muffled, wet sound escaped her—a mixture of a gasp and a moan—as she fought for air, her eyes rolling back into her head. The rhythmic friction of your fingers inside her, coupled with the suction of her mouth around your cock, created a sensory loop of pleasure that threatened to snap the last thread of your control.
There was no more distance between you, only a seamless loop of giving and taking, a circuit of pleasure that fed back into itself. Your tongue became a relentless tide, lapping at the swollen, honeyed folds of her center with a predatory hunger, while Ahyeon’s mouth worked over you with a desperate, vacuum-like intensity.
Each time your tongue flicked against her peak, she responded by tightening her throat, pulling you deeper into the velvet heat of her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she tried to swallow the very essence of you.
Every flick of your tongue was met by a violent shudder of her thighs, and every pulse of your cock in her throat was answered by a frantic surge of her hips. Suddenly, the walls of her pussy began to ripple, twitching in rhythmic, involuntary spasms that gripped your tongue like a velvet vice, trying to pull you deeper into her core.
Ahyeon’s body stiffened, her back arching off the silk sheets as she fought for air, her mouth still sealed tight around the throbbing length of your shaft. With your cock buried deep in the velvet heat of her throat, she struggled to speak, the words emerging as muffled, wet fragments of a desperate plea. "Mmmph... Ddad... I wannmt... To... Cum…”
Then, with a sound that was less a moan and more an animal-like howl—raw, primal, and stripped of all modesty—she shattered. The internal ripples of her orgasm hit with the force of a tidal wave, and her center erupted, a hot, rhythmic torrent of feminine fluids spurting forward in a sudden, violent release.
The spray was an iridescent deluge, drenching your cheeks and chin in a searing, honeyed warmth. You didn't flinch; you didn't pull away. Instead, you opened your mouth wide, a silent invitation to the flood, drinking in the salty, sweet essence of her pleasure as it splashed against your lips and tongue.
You chased every stray droplet, your tongue darting out to lap the remaining moisture from your skin, ensuring that not a single drop of her surrender went to waste.
Mmph
Ahyeon lay frozen, her chest heaving in ragged, uneven stutters, her mouth still clamped tight around the throbbing crown of your cock. The silence that followed her climax was heavy, filled only by the sound of her erratic breathing and the slow, rhythmic drip of her release soaking into the silk sheets.
Ahyeon collapsed back into the pillows, her lungs expanding in a violent, shuddering heave of relief, her eyes fluttering shut as the world stopped spinning.
"Your cum tastes like a miracle, honey," you murmured, your voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to settle in the marrow of her bones.
"Sweet, heavy... and entirely mine.”
You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her head into the crook of your neck and holding her with a protective, heavy pressure that anchored her back to the earth.
"Daddy," she murmured, her voice a fragile thread of sound, stripped of the predatory edge she had worn all afternoon. "Can I ask you something?".
"Sure, honey. "
Ahyeon shifted against you, her head resting on your chest, listening to the slowing thunder of your heart. She looked up at you, her eyes wide and shimmering, the predatory hunger replaced by a sudden, quiet curiosity.
"You know," she began, her voice still raspy from her screams, "when I talk to the wives in our ward, they seem so happy to tell me everything. They gush about their children—how they’re developing, the sleepless nights, the struggle of taking care of them, and then the pride in every little achievement. They look... genuinely happy."
" Then....?" you murmured.
Ahyeon shifted, her leg hooking over yours to pull herself closer, her gaze searching yours with a terrifyingly lucid intensity.
"I want to see it," she whispered, her voice gaining a sudden, sharp clarity. "I want to see a version of me, a smaller, softer version, running around this house. I want to wake up and see your eyes in a child’s face, knowing that the only person in the world who knows the truth of their blood is us."
She pressed her forehead against yours, her breath hitching.
"I want you to breed me, Dad. I want to carry your offspring and raise them together in this little lie of a neighborhood. Do you agree to do it? Do you agree to make me a mother?”
The idea of seeding your own bloodline—of folding your legacy back into itself until the world was nothing but a mirror of your own image—triggered a primal, territorial hunger. It was a biological imperative stripped of morality, a desire to claim her not just as a partner in a lie, but as the vessel for a permanent, living truth.
You looked at her—really looked at her—and saw not just the daughter you had raised, but the fertile soil where your future would be planted. The taboo didn't feel like a weight anymore; it felt like a crown.
"Let's do it," you murmured, the words vibrating against her skin, a low rumble of consent that sounded more like a command to the universe. "Your father will breed you, honey. Every single inch of you."
The agreement wasn't just a word; it was a shift in the atmosphere, a heavy, thickening tension that turned the bedroom into a sanctuary of biological destiny.
You reached down and gripped her thighs, hauling them wide with a firm, territorial pressure that left her completely exposed. Between her legs, her center was a vivid, pulsing landscape of raw desire; her pussy seemed to be gasping, the swollen lips twitching in rhythmic, desperate anticipation of the weight they were about to receive.
You didn't rush the descent. Instead, you wrapped your hand around your shaft, stroking the rigid length with a slow, methodical friction that drew a jagged, needy whimper from her throat.
" Ready, Honey", Ahyeon nodded.
Guided by a primal instinct, you aligned the throbbing crown of your cock with the center of her heat. Her slit had cracked open like a blooming flower, weeping a translucent dew that glistened under the lamp’s amber glow, inviting the intrusion.
The moment the velvet tip made contact with the entrance—the first tentative press of skin against slick, yielding flesh—Ahyeon let out a moan that was purely lewd, a guttural sound of surrender that vibrated through the mattress.
"Mmph, Daddy" .
As you surged forward, the initial entry was a slow, crushing friction, the tight ring of her entrance fighting against the girth of your shaft with a desperate, clinging resistance. Ahyeon’s walls were a tight, velvet vice, gripping you with a suffocating warmth that felt less like an invitation and more like an attempt to fuse your two bodies into one. The pressure was exquisite, a searing, tight squeeze that mapped every ridge of your cock as you forced your way deeper into the narrow channel of her heat.
Knowing that you were filling her not just for pleasure, but with the intent to seed her, watered the fire of your lewd desires until it became a roaring blaze. The taboo wasn't just a thrill; it was the fuel, turning the act of breeding your own daughter into a ritual of absolute possession.
"Daddy, I love you," she whimpered, her fingers digging into your shoulders with a strength that spoke of a hunger that could swallow the world, "Please fuck me... bring your seed into your daughter's slutty womb."
You didn't just move; you collided with her. Your hips surged forward with a violent, territorial force, your cock slamming into her depths with a wet, heavy thud that echoed through the room. The impact was visceral, a crushing collision of flesh and bone that drove the air from her lungs in a sharp, shattered gasp. Ahyeon’s back arched off the silk sheets, her head snapping back as you buried yourself to the hilt, claiming the very center of her with a possessive finality.
The friction was a suffocating, velvet heat that wrapped around you like a living glove, squeezing the breath from your lungs with every rhythmic plunge. It felt as though the walls of her center were pulsing in synchronization with your own heartbeat, a delicious, crushing pressure that pushed you toward a jagged edge of sensory overload. You felt the build-up in your loins, a searing, electric tension that threatened to detonate the moment you moved.
Driven by a sudden, raw impulse, you reached up and captured her lips with yours, crashing into her with a kiss that was less about affection and more about a desperate, wild hunger. It was a collision of salt and heat, a raw exchange of breath and saliva that mirrored the frantic collision of your bodies below.
"Fuck... yes," you rasped, your voice a gravelly wreck of a sound. "You like this, don't you, honey? You love having your daddy's cock buried deep inside your slutty little hole.”
Her hips snapped upward in a violent, rhythmic counter-surge, meeting every plunge with a desperate, clawing hunger that sought to draw you even deeper into her core. She was no longer just a passenger to the pleasure; she was an active participant in her own consumption, her pelvic bone colliding with yours with a wet, slapping sound that echoed like a heartbeat in the oppressive silence of the room.
"Yes, Daddy!" she screamed, the sound jagged and raw, "I love your big cock stabbing my dirty pussy!"
Her voice had devolved into a guttural, lewd cadence, stripped of all the curated softness she showed the neighbors.
She wrapped her legs around your waist, locking her ankles together to tilt her pelvis at a steeper angle, effectively angling her womb to meet the full, crushing force of your momentum.
"Give me a deeper prick!" she sobbed, her fingers digging into the meat of your shoulders. "I want my womb to be pierced by your big cock, Dad! Fill me... stretch me... break me open!”
You gripped her slender waist with a territorial firmness, your fingers sinking into the soft give of her hips as you hoisted her upward. In one fluid, powerful motion, you shifted the geometry of your union, hoisting her body until she was perched atop you, her weight centering over yours. You didn't withdraw for a second; you kept her pinned, her pussy hole still tightly occupied by the throbbing length of your shaft, creating a seamless, wet bridge of flesh and heat.
"Did you feel it, honey?" you murmured, your voice a low, predatory vibration that seemed to echo inside her very gut. You surged upward, a sharp, sudden thrust that buried you deeper than before, making her breath hitch in a jagged, broken sob. "Yes... did you feel my cock penetrate your womb, huh? Tell Daddy if you can feel it.”
Ahyeon’s eyes flew open, her pupils blown wide, as she felt the blunt, pulsing head of your shaft breach the final barrier, punching through the narrow gateway and seating itself firmly against the velvet walls of her womb. It was a deep, crushing saturation, a feeling of being completely occupied from the outer lip to the innermost sanctum of her anatomy. Each subsequent surge of your hips wasn’t just a thrust; it was a rhythmic hammering, the tip of your cock relentlessly drumming against her cervix, vibrating through her entire pelvic floor and sending shockwaves of illicit electricity straight to her brain.
"Yeah... Daddy... I can feel it," she gasped, her voice a shattered, wet wreck of a sound. Her head thrashed against the air, her hair splaying out like a dark halo of chaos. "I can feel your cock... inside my womb... oh yes... yes, like that, Daddy... oh fuck!”
As Ahyeon rode you, her movements shifted from desperate lunges to small, shuddering circles, her internal walls beginning to ripple in a series of rhythmic, involuntary contractions. It was a crushing, suctioning grip, a visceral signal that her body was folding in on itself, preparing for another catastrophic collapse. Your cock, pushed to its absolute limit, felt as though it were made of white-hot iron, the skin stretched tight and pulsing with an impatient, liquid fire that demanded release.
"Oh yes... I'm going... I'm going to cum again!" Ahyeon shrieked, her voice breaking into a ragged, high-pitched keen,"Oh god... it's too much... Daddy, please!"
"Me too, honey," you groaned, the words vibrating through your entire frame as you arched your back, driving your hips upward to meet her descent with a final, crushing force. "Let's cum together! Give it all to me!”
Ahyeon’s body stiffened into a rigid arc, her internal walls clamping down on you like a velvet vice.
Then, she broke.
A violent torrent of feminine release surged from her, a hot, iridescent spray that drenched the junction of your bodies, the sheer volume of her climax acting as a lubricant for the final, devastating surge of your own.
With a shuddering, full-body convulsion, your cock pulsed with a rhythmic, territorial force, firing your load deep into the sanctuary of her womb.
It felt as though a dam had burst, a searing, endless stream of thick, white seed flooding into her, filling the tight channel of her womb until there was no room left for air. You drove into her one last time, pinning her against the mattress with a crushing weight, ensuring that every single drop of your legacy was embedded deep within her fertile depths, sealing the pact of your shared bloodline.
You didn't let her drift into the soft haze of afterglow, instead flipping her over and pulling her hips high, driving back into her with a renewed, territorial hunger. Every position was an exploration of ownership, from the desperate, clinging heat of the missionary press to the raw, animalistic friction of her arched back beneath you, her cries echoing off the walls of the room until they became a singular, humming vibration of shared ecstasy. You treated her womb like a reservoir, filling it again and again with thick, searing bursts of seed until her insides felt heavy and saturated, a constant, warm overflow that leaked out to coat the silk sheets in a glistening, pearlescent sheen.
Six month later.
“You’re walking slower today,” you remarked, your voice a warm hum as the front door clicked shut.
Ahyeon stood in the entryway, her breath coming in soft, shallow puffs. She looked radiant, though exhausted, her frame softened by the unmistakable, heavy curve of a six-month pregnancy. The floral maternity dress she wore clung to the high, taut sphere of her belly, a living monument to the secret legacy you had planted within her. To the world, she was a young bride blossoming into motherhood; to you, she was the vessel of a closed circle, carrying a child that was a mirror of your own blood.
You stepped toward her, the floorboards creaking under a stride filled with a protective, possessive pride. You wrapped your arms around her, your palms naturally finding the hard, warm stretch of her stomach, feeling the subtle, rhythmic thrum of a second heartbeat beneath your touch. You leaned in, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to her flushed cheek.
“How is the gymnastics program for pregnant women that you do with the wives of our neighbors ?”
Ahyeon let out a soft, melodic giggle, leaning back into the circle of your arms. She tilted her head, her eyes shimmering with a playful, conspiratorial glint that never truly vanished, even in the quiet moments.
"It was wonderful," she murmured, her voice a velvet purr. "The other women are so supportive. They give the best advice, too." She paused, her gaze dropping to the prominent, pulsing ridge straining against the fabric of your lounge shorts.
"Especially Mrs. Choi. She insists that keeping the husband's attention focused on the bedroom is the secret to a smooth delivery. She says frequent, deep sessions help ease the childbirth process by... preparing the body."
As she spoke, Ahyeon shifted her weight, sliding her hips backward with a slow, deliberate friction. She rubbed the plush curve of her backside against your bulge, the contact brief but searing.
Spank
Your hand didn’t hesitate, the palm meeting the plush, rounded curve of her backside with a sharp, echoing *crack* that resonated through the quiet room.
You didn't give her a second to recover, your fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of her yoga pants. With a slow, possessive tug, you lowered the fabric, sliding it down the swell of her hips to reveal the damp, clinging lace of her panties, already translucent with the evidence of her arousal.
"Bad girls," you murmured, your voice a low, predatory rumble that seemed to vibrate against her skin, "It seems that your father needs to discipline his daughter. Tell me, honey... do those neighborhood wives know that you’re so slutty for your own father?”
“ Don't worry dad, they didn't know about us”.
After that, all that is heard is the sound of skin being slapped, gasping, moaning between father and your pregnant daughter.
The Manila dressing room hummed with the distant thump of the soundcheck. Mina sat at the vanity in her robe, bare legs crossed, scrolling through the staff messaging app they'd set up for tonight. Two-hundred-plus backstage passes, a dozen crew categories, and one QR code she'd had her stylist quietly embed a single-entry pass to the private dressing room, buried in the general fan lottery.
She watched the notification ping. Someone had used it.
"Ten minutes," she said to the empty room. Her reflection grinned back fox-eyed, cupid's bow painted a soft pink, dark hair pinned half-up with the jeweled clips her manager thought were just for the stage look.
The knock came soft. Hesitant. Two tiny raps like the person on the other side was already regretting it.
Mina swung the door open.
He was maybe twenty-five, Korean-Filipino by the look of him, wearing the tour hoodie she'd seen at the merchandise booth earlier. Gold-rimmed glasses. A jaw that went tight the second he saw her bare legs beneath the robe. His hands were shaking at his sides.
"I—" He swallowed. "This QR code. I thought it was—like, a meet and greet. VIP. I didn't"
"Is that what you thought?" She stepped back, let him see the room behind her. A single vanity. A rack of stage outfits. A couch against the mirrored wall. And the door she pushed it closed with her heel, the lock clicking loud in the quiet.
"I don't understand what's happening."
Mina laughed, bright and sweet, the same laugh she used on variety shows. She let her robe fall open at the collar, just enough to show the lace edge of her bra.
"You're my warm-up," she said. "Before every show, I pick one. One lucky fan. And you know what I do with them?"
He shook his head. His eyes hadn't left her collarbone.
"I fuck them." She said it flat, watching his face change. "Specifically I fuck their ass until they come inside mine. And then I put in a plug and go sing for eighteen thousand people with their cum dripping down my thighs."
The fan she hadn't even caught his name made a sound like he'd been punched in the chest.
"You're lying."
Mina untied her robe and let it fall.
Underneath she wore nothing but a black lace bra and a silver buttplug she'd inserted an hour ago, warming herself up. Her cunt was bare-shaved and glistening. Her thighs were already slick where the plug's base pressed against her.
"See?" She turned slowly, bent at the waist, giving him a perfect view of the plug nestled between her cheeks. "I prep ahead of time. Makes it easier to take you."
She straightened, walked to the couch, and sat. Spread her knees. Pulled the plug out slow — a wet sound that made him flinch and set it on the vanity.
"Come here."
He didn't move for three full seconds. Then his feet started carrying him forward, like his body had decided before his brain caught up.
"Good boy." She reached for the waistband of his jeans. "What's your name, fan?"
"J-Jae."
"Jae. Pretty name." She popped the button on his jeans. "Here's how this works. I'm going to fuck you until I'm full. And you're going to let me. Can you do that?"
His cock was already hard when she pulled his jeans and boxers down. Thick. Cut. The head was dark and wet. She wrapped her hand around the shaft and pumped once, twice, watching his stomach hitch.
"I asked you a question."
"Yes." His voice cracked. "Yes, I can yes."
Mina leaned forward and licked the underside of his cock from base to tip, slow, tasting salt and soap. "Good. Now sit."
She pushed him onto the couch and straddled his lap before he could think. Her knees sank into the cushions on either side of his thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her wet cunt lips, not entering, just sliding between them as she rocked her hips.
"N-not you said anal."
"I did." She reached behind herself, wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and angled it up. "You're going to fuck my ass. But I'm going to ride you first get you nice and hard. And then we'll do it right."
She lifted her hips, lined him up, and sank onto his cock in one fluid motion not her ass, her cunt. Wet Heat swallowed him whole. Her head fell back, mouth open on a silent gasp.
"Fuck," Jae breathed. His hands hovered at her hips, not quite touching.
She grabbed his wrists and pressed them flat against her thighs. "Touch me. I don't bite."
His thumbs dug into the muscle of her outer thighs. She rode him slow at first, letting him feel every inch of her, watching his glasses fog up from the heat of their bodies.
"You're so" He couldn't finish.
"I know." She picked up the pace. The couch creaked beneath them. Her wetness spread on his cock with every stroke, obscene sounds filling the dressing room. She didn't bother being quiet. The room was soundproofed for the screaming fans. No one could hear her getting fucked by a stranger.
When she felt his hips start to buck, she pulled off.
"Not yet." Her voice was breathless but firm. "We're not done."
She kneeled on the floor between his spread legs and took his cock in her mouth. Deep. All the way to the back of her throat. She held there until her eyes blurred, then pulled off with a gasp.
"Lie down. On your stomach."
He scrambled to obey, kicking his jeans off the rest of the way. She watched his bare ass clench as he settled face-down on the couch cushions.
Mina grabbed a condom from the vanity drawer not for protection, but for lube. She squeezed a generous amount onto her fingers and reached between her own cheeks, pressing two slick fingers into her ass, working herself open. The stretch was familiar, comfortable. She'd been training for months.
"Ready?" She lined her ass up with his cock, still wet from her mouth and her cunt. The head pressed against her tight hole.
Jae turned his head, glasses askew. "Is it going to"
"Hurt?" She pushed. Her rim stretched around the head, that initial burn she craved, and she pushed harder. "Yes. But that's the point."
She took him inch by inch, lowering herself onto his length, her hands braced on his shoulder blades. His back was slick with sweat. His fingers gripped the couch cushion beneath him.
When she was fully seated, she stayed still for a long moment, breathing through the fullness. Her ass clenched around his cock. She heard him hiss into the cushion.
"Look at that," she whispered. "You're all the way inside me."
She started to move. Slow, deep grinds of her hips that had his cock dragging against her inner walls. She could feel every ridge. Every pulse.
"Harder," he gasped. "Please"
"Please what?"
"Please fuck me harder."
She gave him harder. She lifted her hips until only the head was inside, then slammed back down. The sound of skin on skin cracked through the room. She did it again. Again. Her breath came in ragged moans, her hair coming loose from the clips.
"You like fucking an idol's ass?" She leaned forward, her chest pressed to his back, lips at his ear. "You like knowing that eighteen thousand girls are about to scream my name while your cum is dripping out of me?"
He came with a broken cry, his body jerking beneath her. She felt the hot pulse of his release inside her ass, deep and thick, and she rode through it, milking every last drop.
When he went still, she lifted off slowly. His cock slipped out with a wet sound. Cum immediately started to leak from her stretched hole, running down the inside of her thigh.
She picked up the silver buttplug from the vanity.
"Hold still."
She pressed the plug against her slick rim and pushed it in. The cum displaced, the plug seating itself snugly, creating a perfect seal. She tapped the base once, testing. Nothing would leak.
"Perfect."
Jae was still face-down, breathing hard. She pulled her robe back on, tied it loosely.
"You can stay ten minutes. Then security will escort you out. Don't try to find me after the show they won't let you past the barricade."
She was already walking to the stage door.
The concert was two hours of choreography, fan interactions, and high-energy pop songs.Mina moved through it on muscle memory, her body a weapon she'd honed since training. But every time she dropped into a deep squat during the dance break, she felt the plug shift inside her. Every time she bent forward in the formation, her cheeks spread just slightly, the base of the plug pressed against her underwear.
The cum inside her had cooled, then warmed to her body temperature. It made her feel full. Owned. She caught herself smiling wider than the choreography required.
During the ment segment, when the other members talked to the fans, she let her mind drift to the sensation between her legs. How her ass was still loose and tender from being stretched. How if she clenched hard enough, she could feel the plug's pressure against her inner walls.
By the final song, her thighs were shaking from exhaustion and arousal combined. She'd come three times during the set once during a ballad when she ground against the plug just right in her seat, twice during the high-energy closer, clenching around it while she hit her mark.
Back in the dressing room after the encore, she pulled the plug out in the shower. Cum spilled down her leg, diluted by sweat and her own slick. She watched it swirl down the drain.
"Seoul tomorrow," she said to her reflection. Steam fogged the mirror, but she could see her own grin through it. "Wonder who I'll pick."
The Bangkok show came four days later, in a stadium that held twenty-one thousand. Mina had already scouted the lottery system by the time the plane touched down the modified QR was in place, buried in the VIP tier. She'd told no one. Her manager thought the extra thirty minutes she needed before stage were "vocal rest" and "personal prep time."
The knock came at 6:47 PM. Seven minutes before her scheduled call time.
She opened the door to a Thai university student in a loose button-down and black jeans. He had wide, Bambi eyes and a nervous smile that faded the second he registered who was standing in front of him.
"Oh my god." His English was accented but clear. "Oh my god, you're—I thought this was the photo event? I won the photo"
"It's a different kind of photo event." She pulled him inside by his collar, kicked the door shut, and pressed him against it before he could form another sentence.
"Wait" His hands came up, not pushing her away, but not holding her either. "I don't understand. The email said"
"The email said what I needed it to say." She kissed his neck, open-mouthed, tongue against his pulse point. His skin tasted like sunscreen and nervous sweat. "Do you want to leave?"
"Yes. No. I don't—"
"Pick one."
He swallowed. "No."
"Good." She dropped to her knees in front of him, her stage outfit still half-on a cropped mesh top and loose cargo pants. She popped the button on his jeans. "Because I've been thinking about this since the plane landed. You're going to fuck my ass, and you're going to fill me up, and I'm going to walk on that stage with your cum inside me. Say yes if you understand."
"Yes."
His cock was already hard when she pulled it out. Long, slightly curved, with a prominent vein running along the underside. She wrapped her lips around the head and sucked, tasting the salt of his pre-cum, watching his hips twitch with restraint.
"Lie on the floor," she said. "On your back."
This one was bigger than the last. She'd need more prep. She straddled his face first, lower her slick cunt onto his mouth, her ass in the air above his cock. She reached behind herself and guided his length to her entrance.
"I'm going to take you slow," she said, positioning her rim against his head. "But I'm going to take all of you."
She pushed. The stretch was immediate and sharp. She bit her lip, pushing harder, taking him inch by inch while his tongue worked her clit from below. The dual sensation made her dizzy.
When she was fully seated, she sat still for ten seconds, letting her body adjust. His hands had found her hips, gripping tight enough to bruise.
"Don't move yet," she warned. "Not until I say."
He stilled beneath her. She could feel his thighs trembling.
She started with small rotations of her hips, grinding his cock against her inner walls, finding the angle that made her see spots. Then she lifted and dropped, slow at first, building a rhythm that had sweat dripping from her chin onto his chest.
"Harder," she demanded. He thrust up into her, matching her pace, and she cried out — a real sound, not staged. "Like that. Right there."
She came first, clenching around his cock, her thighs shaking. He followed a minute later, buried deep, his release hot and heavy inside her. She felt every pulse.
After, she pulled the plug from her bag a different one this time, pink crystal, faceted like a gem and pressed it into place. The cum held inside. She tapped the base.
"This one's my favorite," she said, standing up. "It catches the stage lights."
The concert that night was brutal. A complex set with risers, lifts, and extended dance breaks. Every time she dropped into a low squat during "cheer up," the plug shifted, and she felt the warm cum shift with it, threatening to escape. She clenched her thighs together in formation and held it.
During the encore, she caught herself grinding against it again, chasing that edge while she smiled and waved. She came during the final bow, legs pressed tight, face placid, while the fans screamed her name.
In Singapore, she picked a middle-aged businessman who'd flown in from Jakarta for the show. He was quiet, professional, kept his hands to himself even after she'd stripped him naked. That made her work harder. She had to take his wrist and press his palm to her throat, had to ride him until he forgot to be polite.
In Taipei, she found a college freshman who nearly passed out when she touched his cock. She had to walk him through every step "breathe, you're fine, I'm the one who's supposed to be nervous" and when he finally came, he apologized three times.
In Hong Kong, she picked a boy who looked like he might be a trainee himself. Sharp jaw, dancer's build. He was the one who asked to go harder, who grabbed her hips and fucked up into her without waiting for permission. She came so hard she had to bite her own hand to keep from screaming.
Each time, the same ritual. The plug. The stage. The secret fullness that no one in the audience could see.
By the time the tour reached Tokyo the final stop, a three-night stand at the Tokyo Dome she'd refined her system. The QR code now auto-expired after one scan. She had a rotation of plugs in different sizes and materials. She knew exactly how long she needed between the encounter and stage call: fifteen minutes minimum for cleanup and cooling down, the last five spent inserting the plug and adjusting her costume.
Night one in Tokyo, the fan was a nervous sound engineer who'd won the lottery through the crew lottery pool. He came so fast she had to laugh, but she made him stay hard and finish her properly before she let him go.
Night two, a Korean exchange student who'd waited in line for fourteen hours for tickets. He was rough, demanding, bent her over the vanity and fucked her ass while her reflection stared back at her. She watched her own face go slack with pleasure, her mouth open, her eyes half-lidded. She came so hard she nearly missed her stage call.
Night three the final night of the world tour she scrolled through the lottery system and found no new scans.
The QR had been used once already tonight.
She checked the timestamp. Four minutes ago.
The knock came at 7:02 PM. She opened the door.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Korean, older than her usual picks, maybe thirty. He wore a plain black t-shirt and had the kind of hands that looked like they worked callused, thick-fingered. No fan merchandise. No glow stick. Not even a tour lanyard.
"You used my code," she said.
"Your staff email was easy to find." His English was near-perfect. "And you need to be careful with digital security. Your QR was static. I cloned it."
She stared at him for a long moment. Then she laughed genuinely laughed, surprised.
"Who are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"No." She grabbed his shirt and pulled him inside. "It really doesn't."
She pushed him onto the couch and climbed into his lap, already unbuckling his belt. "But you're going to fuck me harder than anyone else on this tour. I'm the last night, and I want to feel it tomorrow."
His hand closed around her throat, firm but not choking. "I don't take orders."
Heat shot through her core. "Good."
He flipped her onto her stomach on the couch, yanked her pants down, and didn't wait. His cock pressed against her ass, and she was already so wet from anticipation that she pushed back against him, taking him deep in one stroke.
She screamed into the cushion.
He fucked her like he had something to prove hard, relentless, changing angles until he found the one that made her legs give out. Then he stayed on that angle, pounding into her, his hand in her hair, his breath hot on her neck.
"You like this?" he growled. "Getting your ass wrecked by a stranger on your last night?"
"Yes fuck yes"
He pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and drove back into her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take what he wanted. Her second orgasm hit like a wave, and then a third, and by the time he came, she'd lost count.
He filled her deeper than anyone else. She felt it pooling inside her, hot and thick, claiming space.
When he pulled out, she reached for her plug the biggest one she'd brought, black silicone, almost intimidating and pressed it in without asking him to leave. He watched her do it, watched her body accept the intrusion and seal itself around his cum.
"Goodbye," she said, already walking to the stage door.
The Tokyo Dome held fifty-five thousand people. The roar when Twice took the stage was deafening. Mina smiled her brightest smile, waved her most enthusiastic wave, and felt the cum shift inside her with every step.
She thought about the stranger for the entire two-hour set. The way his hands had felt around her throat. The way he'd taken control. And by the final song, when she dropped into the choreography and felt the plug press deep, she came on stage in front of fifty-five thousand screaming fans and let the roar cover her moan.
For almost two years, Y/n and Minju had successfully hidden their relationship from everyone.
Well…
Almost everyone…
Their parents did know. But that's mostly because Minju’s mother had walked in on Y/n asleep in her bed during their first year of dating and immediately started asking her what snacks he liked.
Her mother didn’t yell, she didn't panic, she didn't even question why a boy was asleep in her daughter’s room at two in the morning.
She had simply stood at the door for a moment, looking at Minju curled against Y/n’s chest while he slept peacefully with his arms around her waist.
Then she quietly shut the door.
The next morning she asked Minju, “So…does he like spicy food?”
Minju nearly passed away on the spot.
Y/n’s mother found out two weeks after that after Minju accidentally answered one of Y/n’s FaceTime calls thinking that it was her phone, while wearing his hoodie and half asleep in his bed.
Instead of reacting normally, she smiled so hard and immediately said, “Oh thank God. I was scared he was secretly dating someone with a horrible personality.”
And after that, both Y/n and Minju’s family just… accepted it.
Way too quickly, If i’m being honest, but that just might be me.
But their friends on the other hand. Their friends remained hopelessly oblivious.
Which was impressive considering their friends’ parents knew too.
And honestly, all the adults were obsessed with them.
Minju’s mother called Y/n “my son” so often that Minju’s actual brother once complained, “You replaced me fast.”
Y/n’s father adored Minju to an embarrassing degree.
One time Minju casually mentioned liking a cake from a bakery downtown. And the next day he came home with two of them. When Y/n pointed out how insane that was, his father looked genuinely offended. “What? She said she likes them. It’s not everyday I get to treat someone.”
“She’s not royalty.”
“She’s closer to royalty than you are.”
Meanwhile Y/n’s mother invited Minju over for dinner even when Y/n wasn’t home.
Sometimes Y/n would come back from class and find Minju already sitting in the kitchen helping his mother cook while his dad complained dramatically to him that she visited more often than their actual son.
“You stole my family,” Y/n accused once, when they were alone, sitting on the couch.
Minju didn’t even look guilty about it. “They like me better.” she said as she stretched her arms back off the couch.
The worst part about this? It’s that she was absolutely right.
Yunah’s mother was more shameless than their own parents.
During a holiday gathering, she walked into the living room at midnight and found Y/n and Minju asleep together on the couch.
Minju was curled into his side beneath a blanket while Y/n slept with his chin resting on top of her head, arms wrapped securely around her waist.
Yunah’s mother stood there for a full minute. Just looking at them cuddled together on the couch. Then she quietly pulled out her phone and took a photo.
The next morning Minju woke up to six pictures from Yunah’s mom of her sleeping on Y/n.
She captioned it.
MY FAVORITE COUPLE ❤️
Minju wanted to move countries after that. Whereas Y/n laughed so hard he cried.
And the worst traitor of them all?
Jisung’s mom.
Who apparently thought subtlety was an option. Every time Y/n visited, she’d say things like, “So when are you finally telling your friends about Minju?”
Or
“You know Minju likes those snacks, right? Take some for her.”
Or, once horrifyingly,
“Are you two still pretending not to date?”
She said that right in front of Jisung. And every single time, Y/n nearly had a heart attack.
Meanwhile Jisung remained completely oblivious.
“How do our mothers know Minju so well?” he asked once while eating cereal.
Y/n lied without blinking. “I’m pretty sure our parents are friends.” While technically true, It’s also not the entire truth.
At this point, the adults treated their relationship like a secret celebrity scandal.
Anytime Y/n and Minju attended gatherings together, the parents exchanged knowing looks like they were part of some exclusive club.
It got worse during family dinners.
There was this one day where Johnny’s mother leaned across the table and asked Minju, “So how’s our Y/n treating you these days?” Minju looked like she stopped breathing.
Johnny looked up from his plate mid chew. “What is that supposed to mean?”
Three adults answered at once.
“Nothing.”
“She means as a friend.”
“You’re just imagining things.”
Johnny accepted all of that nonsense immediately.
Minju still didn’t understand how their friends survived daily life while being that unaware about something that is happening right under their noses.
To list another time where the parents almost outed them, Minju’s father literally pulled Y/n aside during a barbecue, gave him a small pat on his shoulder, leaned in to whisper, “Good luck surviving her when she’s angry.”
Which was said right in front of Yunah.
Thankfully she laughed because she thought he was joking.
Y/n, unfortunately, knew exactly what he meant. “She threw a pillow straight at my head, with terrifying accuracy.” he said solemnly.
Minju nodded beside him. “You deserved that pillow to the head.”
“You threw it surprisingly hard.”
“And what about it,” her father nodded in agreement. As if confirming that this happens with him as well.
And yet another time, at a birthday dinner with all the parents and friends, Y/n’s mom exposed them by saying, “You two are so cute together.”
None of the parents reacted, but the friends on the other hand, they all froze while staring at his mother.
Y/n’s drink almost fell out of his hand.
But then his mother recovered with a terrifying speed. “I mean ‘together’ as friends. My gosh you kids read into things too much.”
They all agreed with that statement. Except for Minju. Who stared at Y/n after that and whispered, “Your mother is trying to kill us.”
“She likes drama.” he whispered back “No, no. She likes YOU,” Y/n corrected.
Because after almost two years together, Y/n and Minju had become impossible not to love as a pair.
They fit together too naturally. Like they’d been each other’s person long before they started dating.
The parents noticed how good they were together almost immediately.
From the way Y/n automatically reached for Minju’s bag when she complained it was heavy. The way Minju remembered Y/n’s coffee order, but doesn't know their friends' orders. And the way they unconsciously searched for each other first in crowded rooms.
Little things. The kind of things that screamed love once you knew what to look for.
And apparently every adult around them knew exactly what to look for.
Which meant Y/n and Minju had somehow created the dumbest secret relationship in existence.
Because every parent knew. They are fairly certain the cashier at Minju’s neighborhood convenience store probably knew.
Everyone except their friends.
————————————
Keeping the relationship secret had started as an accident. Then it became funny. And somehow two years passed.
And after all that. It was not torture to them.
Because Y/n was affectionate. Like, extremely affectionate.
When nobody was around, he always had his hands on her somehow, holding her waist, kissing her forehead, pulling her into his lap, stealing kisses in every empty hallway they had found themselves in.
And it's not like Minju wasn’t any better. She liked wearing his hoodies when they went out, she liked fixing his hair when it was messy and she liked the stupid soft look he only had around her.
But around friends?
Nothing.
Not even lingering eye contact.
It drove them completely insane.
“No, seriously,” her friend Yunah said for probably the hundredth time that month, “you and Y/n would actually be perfect together.”
Minju kept her face completely straight as she stirred her iced coffee. “We’re friends.”
Across the table, Y/n didn’t even blink. He leaned back lazily in his chair, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah,” he said smoothly. “You say that like I haven’t known her since middle school.”
Yunah pointed between them aggressively. “That’s exactly my point! Childhood friends to lovers. That’s literally everyone’s favorite trope.”
Minju physically stopped herself from taking a sip of her drink because she knew with absolute certainty she would choke on it. Instead, she slowly lowered the cup back onto the table and forced what she hoped looked like confusion onto her face.
Or at least something close to confusion. The problem was that Minju genuinely could not act. If someone handed her a script and a million dollars, she’d still somehow look guilty.
Beside her, Y/n scoffed at what she said. “That isn’t my favourite trope.”
“What is your favourite trope then? Let's hear it.”
“...Golden retriever and Black cat trope.”
“What even is that?”
“Let's say that the guy is Golden retriever energy, like hyper and shows affection. And the girl is black cat energy, so like she is introverted. Kind of.”
“I wish I never heard that.”
“Well then, why’d you ask?” he muttered under his breath.
Yunah then took that time to look at Minju and noticed that she was quiet. “Why are you quiet?”
“I’m letting you talk until your battery runs out.”
“Anyways, that trope that you mentioned is basically you and Minju. You know that right?” Y/n let out a quick laugh. “See! You know I'm right. Look at that laugh. That screams ‘I’m guilty and I'm laughing because you’re right.’”
“I’m laughing because you sound insane,” Y/n replied calmly.
“No,” Yunah corrected confidently, “you’re laughing because I’m a visionary and a genius."
Moka, sitting beside Yunah, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Actually…” she said slowly, “I kind of get it.”
Minju’s stomach dropped so violently it felt medically concerning.
Y/n, meanwhile, remained perfectly relaxed beside her, casually scrolling through his phone like this conversation wasn’t dangerous for them at all.
Which was so unfair.
He was always unfairly calm during moments like this.
Meanwhile Minju felt like every conversation around them was secretly a trap designed specifically to expose them.
At this point it probably was. “Aren’t you two together constantly?” Moka continued.
“We have mutual friends,” Minju answered quickly.
Yunah narrowed her eyes. “You literally have matching habits,” she added suspiciously. “You order the same drinks. You disappear at the same time during parties. And every single time someone flirts with Minju, Y/n looks very possessive."
Y/n looked up from his phone. “I do not look possessive.”
Minju bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing.
Yunah slammed a hand against the table triumphantly. “SEE?”
Y/n realized too late what he’d said. “…shit.”
Moka was staring at them now.
Minju immediately jumped in before either of them could think too hard about it. “Y/n gets weirdly protective over everyone.”
Moka tilted her head in thought “That is true,” Moka admitted.
Yunah narrowed her eyes anyway. “Still suspicious.”
The worst part was that Yunah wasn’t even wrong.
Y/n did get jealous. Not toxic jealousy. Just territorial in the dumbest possible ways.
There were small things that he did, like automatically moving closer whenever another guy talked to Minju too long. Or suddenly becoming extremely interested in conversations he previously didn’t care about the second someone flirted with her.
Once, a cashier smiled at Minju for too long and Y/n spent the next ten minutes holding her hand with a tight grip.
Minju had laughed at him for an hour. “You’re insane,” she told him afterward.
“He wanted you.”
“He wanted me to pay for my drink.”
He turned his head away from her “Still annoying.”
Two entire years of sneaking around and pretending they weren’t completely obsessed with each other.
The problem was that after constantly lying to their friends, lying had become easy.
No, we didn’t come together.
No, I wasn’t at his apartment.
No, we’re not matching on purpose.
No, I don’t know why she has my hoodie.
No, I wasn’t on the phone with him until three in the morning.
Meanwhile Y/n practically lived at her apartment.
“You know what I think?” Yunah said suddenly, leaning forward across the table dramatically. “I think both of you are secretly in love with each other and too emotionally constipated to admit it.”
Minju had chosen the wrong moment to take a sip from her drink, she inhaled iced coffee directly into her lungs.
Y/n sucked in a breath and choked on his saliva and started coughing too, immediately turning away to hide the fact he was laughing.
Moka blinked. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” Minju wheezed weakly, tears forming in her eyes.
Yunah pointed aggressively again. “Look. Look at that reaction!”
“Her drink went down the wrong pipe. She is choking,” Y/n said to Yunahh after calming himself.
“Yeah. Choking. On the truth.”
Minju grabbed a napkin and glared at Yunah through watery eyes. “You need hobbies.”
“I have hobbies,” Yunah replied proudly. “And studying the two of is one of my hobbies.”
Y/n snorted at that which caused Minju to kick him under the table. Quite hard.
He looked over at her instantly, fighting a smile. And that right there was the dangerous thing.
Sometimes they forgot themselves. Just one look between the two of them and suddenly it became very hard to hold back.
These things were tiny things.
But the tiny things added up, especially when your friends were nosy.
And unfortunately, despite not actually putting the pieces together. Their friends were extremely nosy.
“You know,” Moka added, “I bet that if you two dated, it’d last forever.”
Minju went still for half a second, because it already had. The two years that they had spent together had many hidden moments.
Sneaking into each other’s apartments at midnight.
Falling asleep on FaceTime because one of them was talking about their day and the other didn't want to hang up after they fell asleep.
Wearing each other’s hoodies until their closets contained both of their clothes.
Slow dancing in kitchens at two in the morning after they couldn’t sleep.
Quietly saying I love you where nobody else could hear.
A whole relationship that is thriving right in front of them.
Y/n finally looked at Minju.
Just for a second.
But it was soft enough to make her stomach flip anyway.
That look he gives always ruined her.
Like no matter where they were or who surrounded them, he still looked at her like she was the easiest person in the world to love and to be around.
Yunah noticed that immediately. Her eyes widened. “OH my God,”
Minju forced herself to blink normally. “What?”
“You just looked at each other.”
“We’re sitting at the same table.”
“No, but like…” Yunah narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “That was a ‘look’.”
Y/n recovered first. “You are treating this as if we are two idols who wore a similar jacket.”
“In this case, you are. You are dodging questions like a guilty man.”
“I’m literally just existing.”
“Yeah. Suspiciously.”
Moka sighed dramatically, clearly exhausted already. “At this point you two should just date to make Yunah shut up.”
Minju laughed nervously into her drink.
Y/n leaned back in his chair again, somehow completely relaxed. “Maybe in another life,” he said casually.
Minju looked down quickly before anyone noticed her smile.
————————————
“You seriously need to start dating.”
At this point, Y/n couldn’t even avoid these conversations anymore.
These conversations followed him everywhere.
At lunch.
Late-night gaming sessions.
In the middle of completely unrelated conversations.
Once Johnny somehow turned a discussion about the best current basketball player into a lecture about Y/n’s love life.
And for the record. Fuck Klay Thompson.
Johnny threw himself dramatically across Y/n’s couch while Jisung nodded in agreement with Johnny from the floor, surrounded by empty snack wrappers.
“It’s getting weird now,” Jisung added. “You reject everyone we’ve set you up with.”
Y/n nearly snorted because Minju was currently texting him pictures from the grocery store.
~~~
Minju ❤️
Should I buy strawberry milk or chocolate milk?
Both.
Three dots appeared instantly.
You’re paying then.
~~~
He laughed softly under his breath. Johnny narrowed his eyes immediately. “There it is.”
Y/n looked up slowly. “What?”
“That smile.”
“What smile?”
“The ‘I’m secretly texting somebody’ smile.”
Jisung sat up so fast he nearly dropped his chips and let out a gasp. “I KNEW IT.”
Johnny corrected him without even looking “No you didn't shut up.”
“Fine.” He leaned back down and went back to his chips.
Y/n locked his phone calmly and tossed it onto the couch beside him. “You guys are delusional.”
“No,” Johnny said, pointing aggressively now. “That right there was a ‘boyfriend’ smile.”
“I'm sorry. A what?”
“A ‘boyfriend’ smile.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Jisung agreed. “You looked happy and emotionally stable for like the whole time you said you weren’t texting someone.”
Y/n rolled his eyes. “Maybe I just got a funny text.”
Johnny gasped dramatically. “So there IS somebody texting you.”
“Many people text me.”
“Name five people.”
Y/n stared at him before answering. “Your Mom.”
Jisung narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Okay, Wait.”
“Oh great what now.” Y/n quietly muttered under his breath.
“You’ve been weird lately.”
“I’m always weird and I'm proud of it.”
“No,” Jisung said slowly. “Like…secretly busy, kind of weird.”
Johnny pointed again. “Exactly.”
Y/n rubbed a hand over his face, already exhausted. “Why are you both like this?”
“You disappear randomly at night,” Johnny continued. “You reject every girl we introduce you to. You smile at your phone constantly.”
“And,” Jisung added dramatically, “you leave the room to answer calls.”
Y/n almost laughed because the calls in question were usually Minju wanting to complain about something minor.
One time she called him at midnight because she couldn’t find her favorite hoodie.
Turns out he accidentally took it home.
“You’re hiding something,” Johnny accused.
Y/n stayed perfectly calm somehow.
The lying he had been doing these past 2 years made him really good at lying without technically lying. “I’m hiding my desire to continue this conversation.”
“Guilty man's statement.”
Johnny leaned forward suddenly. “Is it someone we know?”
Y/n physically felt his soul leave his body for half a second. “No.”
Technically true.
They did know Minju.
They just didn’t know she was his girlfriend.
Jisung flopped backward onto the carpet dramatically. “This is torturous."
“You’re making it torturous.”
“No,” Johnny corrected. “You are. By refusing to fall in love.”
Y/n nearly smiled again at that. But it was too late. They saw.
Johnny gasped loudly. “He did the smile again!!.”
“Fine, you want to know the secret.”
“Yes!” They both said enthusiastically.
“Come close.” Y/n leaned closer to them, they followed.
“You can’t tell anyone what I am about to tell you. Okay?”
They nodded. “Okay.”
“…I’m Batman”
Their faces dropped.
“Fuck you man.”
————————————
While he was getting interrogated, across the city, Minju was suffering through the exact same nightmare. The three of them had just gotten back from the grocery store.
The bags still sat on the kitchen counter untouched while Yunah stole snacks from Minju’s cupboard like she paid rent there.
“You need a boyfriend,” Yunah declared.
“I’m fine.”
“No,” Yunah corrected immediately. “You turn down anyone who, either we set you up with, or if someone asked you out. It’s getting suspicious”
Moka nodded seriously from beside her. “You’ve turned down everyone.”
“That’s because most people are annoying.”
“You’re annoying,” Yunah muttered around a mouthful of chips.
“Then date someone who is not annoying,” Moka continued, completely ignoring her.
Minju nearly laughed.
Because she already was. And she was deep into it, and him.
At this point, loving him had become automatic.
Every good thing that happened to her made her want to text him first.
Every bad thing somehow felt smaller after hearing his voice.
Keeping the relationship hidden used to be fun.
At first it felt exciting, secret late-night dates, sneaking kisses in empty hallways, Y/n casually brushing his fingers against hers where nobody could see.
But lately?
It was exhausting.
Especially because their friends refused to stop trying to set them up with other people.
Last month Johnny tried introducing Y/n to his cousin’s friend. “She’s really pretty,” Johnny had insisted.
Y/n spent the entire date texting Minju under the table.
~~~
My Love ❤️
Help.
Are you surviving?
Barely.
She keeps calling me “mysterious.”
That’s because you’re sitting there looking like a hostage.
~~~
The week before that, Yunah forced Minju to attend what she called a “totally casual group hangout.”
Which actually turned out to be a setup.
Minju realised, approximately three minutes after arriving, that the guy beside her had been told that they were ‘perfect for each other.’
And just like Y/n, she spent the entire evening texting Y/n under the table.
~~~
Want me to fake an emergency?
Please.
On my way.
~~~
Five minutes later Minju received a dramatic phone call from Y/n claiming there was a “family situation.”
Yunah complained about it. “He ruined my setup,” she accused now.
“You invited a man named Kevin who said his favorite movie was Joker, and that he relates to it.”
“He was trying!”
“He compared himself to Batman.”
“That’s confidence.”
“That’s a red flag.”
Moka burst out laughing.
Yunah pointed accusingly at Minju. “I’m starting to believe you will never find love. That you will die alone.”
Minju shrugged casually while reaching for her drink. “I just haven’t met the right person.”
Across the city, Y/n’s phone buzzed again.
~~~
Yunah says I’m impossible to date.
~~~
Y/n smiled instantly. Johnny screamed. “THERE’S THE SMILE AGAIN.”
————————————
There was a time where they almost got caught, and it was in a really compromising position.
They were both free for the day, so obviously they did what they always did when life gave them peace. They spent it together at Minju’s apartment (*Their).
Y/n had slept over the night before, which meant there was no need to sneak around.
Just him waking up tangled in her sheets with her face pressed against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The sunlight slipped through the curtains while Minju lazily pulled at loose strings of his shirt.
“Do you have anything planned today?” she asked softly, fingers sliding along to play with the hem of his shirt.
Y/n hummed, still half-asleep, one arm wrapped loosely around her waist. “No. I’m all yours today.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“So,” she murmured, tilting her head up, “we can do something?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, finally opening his eyes. “Like what?”
She didn’t answer him immediately.
Instead, she looked at him for a second too long.
Then, with a small shift of weight, she rolled on top of him.
Y/n blinked once. “…oh.”
Minju smiled faintly looking down at him. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he replied, way too calmly for someone whose girlfriend had just pinned him down. (Nobody save him. He is right where he wants to be.)
Her hands slid up his chest, slow and familiar, tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt. His breathing changed immediately, and he didn’t move to stop her.
Not unless she wanted him to.
The air between them shifted, to a comfortable and warm moment that charged in that quiet way that only existed when it was just the two of them.
Y/n’s hand came up to her waist, steadying her as she leaned down and kissed him again. Slower at first. Then deeper.
Minju exhaled softly against his lips, like she’d been waiting for this all morning.
He sat up slightly, guiding her closer as his other hand slipped under the edge of her shirt.
The world outside the apartment disappeared completely, like it always did when they got moments like this.
Strings got undone. shirts got tugged away. Clothes started disappearing in that careless, familiar way that came from two years of trust and zero hesitation.
Minju laughed quietly when Y/n turned her to where her back was against the mattress, kissing along her jaw like he had nowhere else to be. “You’re distracting me,” she murmured.
“You started it.”
“I always start it.”
“That’s true,” he admitted, brushing his thumb along her side.
The room was warm, messy, soft with the kind of intimacy they never had to explain to each other.
Minju leaned up again, fingers hooking at the waistband of his pants, about to pull them down.
A sudden knock.
Both of them froze instantly. Her hand half under the waistband of his pants, his hands frozen above her head.
And it wasn’t the ‘ignore it and continue’ kind of freeze. It was the ‘full-body, instant panic’ kind.
Knock knock knock.
“Minju! Open the door, I wanna spend time with you!” Yunah.
Of course. Who else would bother Minju on her day off. (Not hating though)
Minju’s soul visibly left her body.
Y/n slowly turned his head toward the door, then back at her.
There was a three-second silence before any of them decided to move. The thought passed where maybe she’ll leave.
Knock knock knock
“Minju!”
“…fuck,” Minju whispered. Y/n already started moving, scrambling off the bed immediately. “Get dressed.”
“I am.” He struggles to put his shirt on. “How are you faster than me?!”
“Because I value our survival.”
More knocking.
“Minju! I know you’re home!”
“COMING!” Minju shouted, voice way too high.
Y/n was pulling his hoodie back on in record time, sitting on the edge of the bed while trying to look like a normal, fully clothed human being who definitely wasn’t mid…Something.
Minju, on the other hand, was a disaster. Hair messy. Clothes inside out. Face red beyond recognition.
“This is your fault,” she hissed while yanking on a hoodie.
“My fault?!”
“You exist too attractively.”
“That’s not an argument.”
Another knock.
“Minju!”
“I’M COMING!” she yelled again.
Y/n stood up from the bed, adjusting his hoodie, trying to breathe normally while still very much looking like he had just been interrupted.
Minju pointed at him urgently. “Go to the bathroom. Now.”
He didn’t argue, just walked in and closed the door.
After she thought that he was out of sight, she opened the front door.
Yunah stood there, completely unaware of the chaos she had just made them go through, holding snacks and looking way too cheerful.
“Finally!” she said, walking in uninvited. “I was bored.”
Minju forced a smile so tight it hurt. “Hi.”
Yunah narrowed her eyes slightly. “Why are you out of breath?”
“I was…cleaning.”
“At 11 in the morning?”
“It’s not an unreasonable time to clean.”
From the bathroom, a very faint sound of movement. Enough for anyone to hear, not enough to get a potential noise complaint.
Yunah paused her movements. “…are you alone?”
Minju’s heart stopped.
Y/n, chose that exact moment to drop something in the bathroom.
A loud crash echoed.
Minju closed her eyes slowly.
Yunah slowly turned her head toward the bathroom door. “…Minju.”
Minju smiled weakly. “Yes?”
“…Why does your bathroom sound like a man is living in it?” And somewhere deep inside Minju’s soul, she accepted that today might be the day their two-year secret relationship finally ended.
Minju didn’t even hesitate. Her brain went into emergency survival mode so fast it should’ve qualified as a sport.
“Um…” she cleared her throat, forcing a casual tone that absolutely did not match the fact she was still slightly shaking. “I needed help rearranging my bed. I wanted to move it so it’s against the wall, so I called Y/n.”
Yunah blinked slowly. “…You called him over to help you move your bed?.”
“Yes.”
“At eleven in the morning.”
“Yes.”
Yunah stared at her like she was trying to solve a very complicated math problem that didn’t make sense no matter how many times you re-read it.
Expression calm in a way that felt suspiciously practiced.
He even had the audacity to rub his hands together like he’d just finished a productive task.
“Oh,” he said casually when he saw Yunah. “Hi, Yunah.”
Minju internally ascended into another dimension.
Yunah slowly turned her head toward him. Then back to Minju. Then back to him again. “…You were in the bathroom,” she said carefully.
Y/n nodded without hesitation. “Yeah.”
Yunah narrowed her eyes. “For a really long time.”
He shrugged lightly. “Stomach issues.”
Minju let out a small whimper that Yunah somehow didn’t hear, but Y/n did.
“Bad breakfast,” he added. “Happens.”
Yunah stared harder.
Minju felt her soul leave her body again.
There was a long silence where Yunah clearly tried to decide whether this explanation made sense or whether she was being gaslit by her two closest friends in real time.
Finally, she pointed between them again. “So let me get this straight,” she said slowly. “You called Y/n over…To move your bed.”
“Yep,” Minju said too quickly.
“And he agreed.”
“Yes,” Y/n added smoothly.
“And then he had…stomach issues in your bathroom.”
“Unfortunately,” Y/n said solemnly.
Minju nodded vigorously. “Very unfortunate.”
Yunah squinted. Then sighed dramatically. “You two are honestly so weird.”
Minju almost collapsed from relief.
Y/n casually walked past her toward the living room like nothing in the world had ever happened, hands in his hoodie pocket, completely relaxed.
But as he passed Minju, he subtly brushed his fingers against hers for half a second.
A silent I got you.
Yunah flopped onto the couch immediately, already distracted. “Anyway,” she said, grabbing a snack from the table, “I was bored so I’m staying here all day.”
Minju froze. “…All day?”
“Yep.”
Y/n, from the other side of the room, didn’t react.
But Minju caught the tiniest flicker in his eyes. A shared thought.
We almost died for nothing.
And now we have to move a bed.
————————————
The only nights where they can actually spend time together without any interruptions from their friends, is on Fridays.
Just Y/n and Minju.
Friday nights were the one time every week where they could just exist like a normal couple.
And on this friday, Y/n picked her up after work a little after eight.
The second Minju spotted his car through the window, she immediately grabbed her bag and hurried outside without even finishing her goodbye to her coworkers.
Y/n had unlocked the passenger door and she climbed in and collapsed against him with a long sigh.
He laughed softly, one hand moving to rub her back. “There’s my baby.”
“I’m tired,” she mumbled into his shoulder.
“My poor girl.” He gave her a kiss on the top of her head.
She smiled instantly.
No matter how exhausted she was, no matter how bad her day had been, his voice softened around her in that specific way and suddenly everything felt better.
That was the thing about secret relationships. The little words mattered more because nobody else got to hear them.
Nobody else got to hear the softness in Y/n’s voice when he asked simple questions like, ‘Did you eat today?’
Nobody else saw Minju automatically reach for his hand or leaned on his shoulder every time she got sleepy.
Y/n leaned back slightly, pressing another quick kiss against the top of her head before starting the car. “Tough shift?”
“A customer yelled at me because we ran out of bread.”
“That sounds traumatic.”
“It was. I almost quit.”
“You say that almost every week.”
“And one day I’ll really mean it.”
“You’d survive approximately four minutes unemployed before buying useless things online.”
She gasped softly. “You know me so well.”
“But of course.” Minju smiled against his shoulder before finally sitting properly in her seat.
Y/n glanced over at her while driving, and the familiar ache hit him again. The kind that came from loving someone for so long that they became stitched into your daily life without you even noticing.
He still wasn’t used to how pretty she looked doing absolutely nothing.
Messy hair, oversized hoodie, so simple and yet somehow she still completely destroyed him.
“You’re staring,” she said without looking up from her phone.
“You’re pretty.”
“You always know how to make me smile”
“Good.” She laughed quietly.
————————————
Their dates were rarely complicated.
That was the part that Minju loved so much.
It wasn’t about expensive restaurants or elaborate plans.
It was just about being together.
After they had gotten out of the car, they just walked hand in hand down the street. Street food from tiny stalls tucked between buildings, walking aimlessly through crowded streets, sharing drinks because Y/n always stole hers anyway.
And best of all, arcade games that Minju took way too seriously.
“You cheated,” she accused a couple minutes later while glaring at him across an air hockey table.
“I’m just naturally gifted at this.”
“You hit the puck off the table, and when I picked it up, you hit the puck in while I wasn’t ready.”
“That’s called strategy.”
“That’s illegal.”
Y/n grinned while Minju narrowed her eyes at him dramatically.
God, she was cute when she got fake angry.
Actually, she was cute all the time.
“To make you feel better, I’ll sing for you?”
“What could you possibly sing to make me feel better?”
“In the wise words of NCT 127, ‘Jumpin on my trauma, already wear pajamas’” he said while doing a stupid little dance.
“Oh my gosh you are an idiot.” She said walking away, but she had a big smile on her face.
Success
He walked after her, “The goal was to put a smile on your face. Which there is one so…Mission success.”
“...Yeah, it was.” She gave him a kiss. Both with smiles on their faces.
————————————
They now wandered through a convenience store together while Minju debated snacks with the seriousness of someone making life-changing decisions.
“We do not need seven different kinds of chips,” Y/n informed her.
“We absolutely do. They are all different flavours.”
“You say that and yet you never eat them unless I open it.”
“If I open it, you most likely won’t eat it. But if you open it then i know that you are eating it and then we can share it.”
“So what’s your explanation for stealing the snacks I bought for myself?”
“Sharing is love.”
“And stealing is a crime.”
She ignored him completely and tossed another bag into the basket.
Y/n watched her fondly from the end of the aisle.
He couldn’t believe why she chose him, though he would never say this out loud.
And some moments like this hit him all at once.
The realization that this wasn’t a temporary relationship to him anymore and that he loved her so much.
Somebody sedate him.
Minju suddenly turned and caught him staring. “What? Why are you staring?”
“Nothing.”
“Mmmmm. That’s suspicious.”
“I’m allowed to look at my girlfriend.”
Chills, literal chills.
She walked back over to him slowly before tugging lightly on the sleeve of his hoodie. “You’re being soft today.”
“I’m always soft for you.”
Minju physically had to look away for a second. “See,” she muttered, “this is why I keep you around.”
“Only for that?”
“Yes. And because you carry things for me.”
“Ah ha. True love.”
By the time they left the store, the city had gone quieter. The streets weren’t empty, but calmer now.
Warm lights.
Buses are still making their rounds.
People drifting through the sidewalks in tired groups.
Minju walked close enough that their shoulders kept bumping together. Then eventually she just slipped her hand into his coat pocket to hold his hand inside it.
Y/n smiled immediately. “You’re clingy today.”
“I’m always clingy.”
“Yeah. That’s true.”
A few minutes later Minju suddenly stopped walking. “My feet hurt.”
“You wore platform boots that weren’t broken in, to work.”
“Because they looked cute.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m suffering with style.”
Y/n snorted. Then without hesitation he crouched slightly in front of her. “Get on.”
Minju smiled immediately before climbing onto his back. Her arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders while he stood again, adjusting her weight easily. “You’re heavy,” he complained.
“You love me.”
“Oh absolutely." She laughed loudly into his shoulder.
God, he adored her.
He adored everything about her.
From the way she laughed with her entire body, the way she got emotionally attached to random cats on the street, the way she always stole fries but somehow insisted she ‘wasn’t hungry.’ and the way she looked for him first in every room without realizing it.
It was just so simple when it comes to her.
Anyways. Time to snap back to reality.
Minju rested her chin against his shoulder comfortably. “You know,” she said quietly, “I like this.”
“What?”
“This.” She squeezed his arm slightly. “Our Fridays.”
Y/n’s expression softened instantly. “Me too.”
Because no matter how exhausting the secrecy became. These nights made it worth it.
No pretending at all.
————————————
“You didn’t have to pay for dinner you know” Y/n said while they walked down the street together to get back to the car, their fingers intertwined in the darkness
“No it’s fine.”
There was a small silence between the two.
“It was your dads card again wasn’t it”
“...No”
“I told you to stop doing that.”
“Well my dad said to keep doing it if it’s you soo. Your comment is irrelevant.”
He let out a small laugh as they continued walking.
“You know, I think Jisung is genuinely trying to marry me off.”
Minju laughed softly, leaning her shoulder into his as they walked. “Yunah already picked out my future husband. Which is ironic since she said this a couple months ago.”
“Who is it this week?”
“Some guy named Daniel who apparently volunteers at animal shelters and reads poetry.”
Y/n made a face immediately, like he had physically been offended. “Wow.”
She laughed a bit at his reaction. “What?”
“You didn’t tell me that he reads poetry.”
“He writes it as well.” She tilted her head slightly then looked at Y/n’s face, a teasing smile forming on her face. “Are you jealous of Poetry Daniel?”
“I hate him already.”
“Why? You don’t even know him.”
“Exactly,” he said simply, tightening his grip on her hand just slightly. “That’s the problem. He’s out there reading poems and I don’t even know what he looks like. That’s suspicious behavior.”
Minju burst out laughing, the sound echoing lightly down the quiet street. “Relax,” she said, still smiling. “He’s fictional. Yunah probably made him up on the spot.”
“Good,” Y/n replied immediately. “I hope she did. I hope he stays imaginary.”
Minju laughed harder as he pulled her a little closer against his side, their arms brushing naturally as they walked in sync.
It was late, the city quieter now, streetlights glowing gold against the sidewalks. Cars passed occasionally, the sound distant and soft, like the world was happening somewhere far away that didn’t belong to them.
They had just finished dinner and spent an hour wandering afterward because neither of them wanted the night to end yet. That has been becoming a pattern lately.
Not because they were running out of time together, but because time felt better when it was stretched out. Like if they walked a little longer, talked a little more, stayed out a little later, they could delay the moment they had to say goodbye for the night.
Y/n glanced down at her as they walked, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles against her hand. “You’re quiet,” he said.
“I’m thinking.”
“Oh no. That’s dangerous.”
She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “About what if Yunah actually knows this Daniel guy and forces me to meet him.”
Y/n scoffed. “I’ll stage an emergency again.”
“You can’t keep faking emergencies forever.”
“I can try. You’ll be surprised with what new emergencies I can come up with. You know, your Mom will act however you need, she loves me.”
Minju smiled, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know.’
She looked down briefly, like she’d forgotten they were even doing it, then squeezed his fingers slightly instead of letting go.
They walked in comfortable silence for a few more moments after that, steps slow, unhurried.
It felt full. Full of everything they didn’t say out loud in public. Full of everything they didn’t have to say anymore at all.
Y/n shifted slightly so his shoulder bumped hers again, gentle on purpose this time. “I know you said this already, but I really do like nights like this,” he murmured.
“Me too.”
“No Yunah.” He said.
“No Jisung.” She fired back.
“No Jisung trying to interrogate me about my ‘type’ again.”
Minju snorted. “Your type is me.”
Y/n didn’t even hesitate. “Exactly.”
Minju slowed half a step before looking up at him, trying to read his face. He was still looking forward, expression calm, like he hadn’t just said something that made her chest tighten a little. “You say that like it’s normal,” she muttered.
“It is normal.”
“For you.”
“For us.” That made her quiet for a second.
The streetlight above them flickered slightly as they passed under it, casting warm light across his face for a moment before they moved back into shadow.
She got into her head about that one night that Yunah interrupted them. And it made her think about the last time they slept together. They were so close to finally doing it after a while. But that time has gotten longer and longer.
He finally glanced at her again. “You okay?” he asked, softer now.
Minju nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… thinking about Poetry Daniel again.” She covered her thoughts.
Y/n groaned immediately. “Don’t bring him back.”
She laughed, leaning into his side again, letting the moment pass like it always did.
Because that was another thing about them.
Even when things got heavy for half a second, they always drifted back into ease.
Like gravity always pulled them toward each other no matter what.
————————————
Minju sighed dramatically when the car stopped outside her apartment building. “I don’t want the day to end.”
Y/n leaned closer. “Then let’s stay here.”
So they did. Talking. Laughing. Arguing over music. Kisses here and there.
Eventually Minju yawned and grabbed his hand. “Okay. Now I’m actually sleepy.”
They got out of the car and walked towards the building. He held the door open for her and they walked in then waited for the elevator.
The elevator ride upstairs was quiet except for some small touches and sleepy smiles.
The moment they reached her apartment door, Y/n wrapped an arm around her waist. “You looked pretty tonight,” he murmured.
Minju rolled her eyes. “You say that every date.” She put the pin into the door and opened it.
“Because it’s true every date.” She smiled before kissing him softly.
The apartment door shut behind them, and suddenly Y/n was kissing her properly now, one hand against the wall beside her while Minju laughed breathlessly into his mouth. “You’re obsessed with me,” she whispered.
“Very.”
She grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer.
And then…
“Ummm what the fuck.”
They froze.
Completely.
Slowly, they turned around.
Yunah stood in the kitchen holding a bag of takeout.
Beside her stood Moka.
And behind them.
Johnny.
Jisung.
Everyone stared at the two of them.
Minju was still pressed against Y/n. His hand was still on her waist. Her fingers were gripping his shirt.
Then Johnny blinked once. “Umm. What.”
Y/n closed his eyes briefly. “This is bad.”
“Bad?” Yunah shrieked. “You two are making out!?!”
Moka looked seconds away from fainting.
Jisung just stared blankly. “No because…No. WAIT.”
Minju covered her face with both hands immediately.
Yunah pointed aggressively. “HOW LONG?!”
Y/n sighed. “A while…”
Johnny gasped loudly. “OH MY GOD.”
Chaos unleashed.
“A WHILE?!” Yunah screamed.
“You. You lied to us!,” Jisung yelled.
Johnny looked genuinely devastated. “I tried to help you find love.”
“Well technically. You did,” Y/n admitted weakly while scratching his head out of nerves.
“That’s WORSE.”
Moka finally spoke. “Hold on.”
Everyone looked at her.
Her eyes narrowed slowly. “Is that why our parents keep acting weird around you two?”
Jisung looked personally betrayed. “That woman asked me last week if I ‘supported Y/n emotionally enough in his relationship.’”
Minju burst into laughter immediately.
“Oh my god,” Johnny whispered, pacing now. “That’s why my mom kept inviting Minju over whenever you came over.”
Yunah looked betrayed beyond belief. “My mother took photos of you two at New Year’s.”
“She thought we looked cute,” Minju defended weakly.
“She sent them to the parents' group chat.”
Johnny suddenly pointed at Y/n. “Your father literally asked me once if I thought you and Minju would get married.”
The apartment exploded again. Someone even yelled “If you two start finishing each other’s sentences, I’m leaving.”
Y/n was laughing now because honestly? There was no saving this.
“We weren’t hiding it from the parents on purpose,” Minju tried explaining between laughs.
“Yeah. You just hid it from everybody else,” Yunah cried.
“And all the adults helped?!”
“Yes.”
“That is crazy behavior.”
Moka stared at them quietly before suddenly smiling. “You know what?” she said. “Actually… this makes so much sense.” Everyone looked at her. “You two are disgustingly obvious around each other.”
“We are?” Minju asked.
Johnny stared at her. “You literally look at him like he hung the moon.” Y/n immediately grinned. Minju threw a pillow at Johnny.
Jisung pointed accusingly at Y/n. “And you get jealous every time someone talks to her.”
“I do not.”
“You once interrupted a guy mid-sentence because he called Minju pretty.”
“She is pretty.”
The room groaned loudly.
“OH MY GOD THEY’RE ONE OF THOSE COUPLES,” Yunah cried.
Minju was still laughing when Y/n reached over and quietly took her hand. Nobody missed it this time.
Johnny stared at their intertwined hands dramatically. “I can’t believe I’ve been third-wheeling for TWO YEARS.”
“You have,” Minju admitted.
“Actually evil.”
Yunah suddenly narrowed her eyes. “Wait.” Everyone looked at her. “How many dates happened while you said that you were just ‘busy?’”
Y/n and Minju exchanged a look. Then simultaneously, “…a lot.” The screaming started all over again.
Y/n smiled slowly, finally pulling Minju back against his side without hiding it this time. Honestly? After two years of secrecy, It was kind of a relief to stop pretending.
————————————
For the next couple minutes, the apartment sounded like complete chaos. Everyone was talking over each other and Y/n and Minju barely had a second to breath properly.
“No, because two years is insane!”
“You made me help set you up with people!”
“My own mother hid this from me.”
“I can’t believe I got gaslit by adults.”
Minju was still hiding her face in embarrassment while Y/n was sitting beside her looking like a man who had accepted his fate.
There was no recovering from this.
Johnny paced dramatically through the kitchen like he’d just uncovered a political scandal. “I need everyone here to understand how many conversations I’ve had with this man about being single.”
Y/n crossed his arms. “Technically I never said I was single.”
“You implied it every time you agreed to do these blind dates..” He pointed at him with a certain look in his eye.
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He turned to Y/n and started charging towards him. “That is NOT a me problem.” Jisung had to hold him back.
Yunah looked personally victimized. “Do you know how many hours I spent trying to convince Minju to confess to you?”
Minju slowly lowered her hands from her face. “Well in your defense, I did technically confess.”
“What about that one time I came to your place and you said Y/n was helping you move your…Eww.” She made a face of disgust. “You two were.”
“No we didn't, you knocked on the door before we could.” Minju replied as calmly as she could.
“Gross.”
Moka had gone unusually quiet beside the counter, staring at both of them with narrowed eyes like she was mentally replaying the last two years. Then she pointed at them. “That’s why you disappeared together during Jiho’s birthday party.”
Minju froze.
Johnny gasped dramatically. “Oh. My. Gosh.”
Y/n sighed. “We went to buy ice.”
“You were gone for forty minutes.”
“The convenience store was far away.”
“There was one downstairs!”
“There was traffic.”
“YOU WERE WALKING.”
Jisung looked genuinely distressed now, sitting on the couch with both hands on his head. “Hold on, hold on.” Everyone turned toward him. “That time Y/n left game night at midnight because of a ‘family emergency’”
Minju immediately looked down to hide her smile.
Johnny’s eyes widened slowly. “NO.”
Jisung pointed accusingly. “YOU WENT TO SEE HER.”
Y/n didn’t even bother denying it. “Yeah.”
“I HELPED YOU PACK SNACKS FOR THE DRIVE.”
“You did.”
“I THOUGHT SOMEONE WAS DYING.”
“You don’t know, maybe somewhere in the world someone was dying. And…” Y/n said carefully, “Minju was sad.”
“That is not the same thing and you know it.”
Yunah pointed at her dramatically. “And YOU.”
Minju looked up weakly. “What now?”
“You fake hated romance.”
“I do not fake hate romance.”
“You called love ‘psychologically embarrassing.’”
“Sometimes it is.”
Yunah looked around the room wildly. “She says this while looking at him with heart eyes.”
Unfortunately, everyone immediately turned toward Minju. And yeah. Okay. Maybe the problem was slightly obvious now that nobody was pretending anymore.
Because Y/n had unconsciously moved closer to her again. One hand resting against her waist naturally. Minju leaning into him without even thinking about it. Every glance between them is soft and automatic and years too familiar.
Johnny looked sick. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “You’re actually in love.”
Y/n blinked once. “Well yeah.”
“No, but like,” Johnny gestured wildly between them. “Disgustingly in love.”
Minju laughed into Y/n’s shoulder this time, and he immediately tilted his head slightly against hers without thinking.
The room collectively groaned. “This is how the parents knew,” Yunah cried.
Moka finally spoke again, calm compared to everyone else. “Honestly, I’m more impressed none of us noticed.”
“We almost did!” Yunah argued.
“No,” Moka corrected. “You created conspiracy theories every three to five business days. That’s different.”
Johnny pointed at them again. “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. WAIT.”
Y/n already looked tired. “What now?”
“How many anniversaries happened while we were clueless?”
Minju mumbled something quietly.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“…two.”
Johnny looked physically injured.
“TWO?”
“And birthdays that you spent together,” Jisung realized in horror.
Y/n nodded once.
“And Valentine’s Days.”
Another nod.
Yunah looked at Minju like she’d been betrayed on a spiritual level. “You spent Valentine’s Day with ME last year.”
“I spent the morning with you.”
“And the evening?”
Minju was silent.
Yunah gasped loudly enough to scare everyone. “YOU LIED.”
“We went to dinner,” Y/n admitted.
Johnny collapsed dramatically onto the couch cushions. “I can’t live like this.”
“You’ll survive,” Moka said calmly.
“No, because everything makes sense now.” Jisung pointed toward them. “The matching hoodies.”
“That wasn’t on purpose,” Minju defended weakly.
“You literally swapped jackets once.”
“It was cold. And, they were both my jackets.”
“You know each other’s coffee orders.”
“That’s normal, I mean I know all of your orders.”
“You share food without asking.”
“That’s just friendship. We did that before we even started dating.”
“You look at each other like divorced parents reconnecting in a romance movie.”
Minju took a breath in. “That’s specific.” she mumbled.
Y/n laughed so hard he nearly doubled over.
Johnny pointed triumphantly. “See?”
At this point everyone was yelling again.
Yunah was demanding relationship details.
Johnny wanted a full timeline “for investigative purposes.”
Jisung kept repeating, “I can’t believe my mother knew before me.”
And through all of it, Y/n and Minju kept accidentally gravitating back toward each other. Automatic closeness after spending two years forcing themselves not to.
Eventually Moka rubbed her temples dramatically before stepping forward. “Okay,” she announced loudly. Nobody listened. “Okay,” she repeated louder. “Shut up for a second.” Surprisingly, everyone did. Moka pointed toward the door. “All of us need to leave.”
Johnny blinked. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Yunah looked offended. “Why would we leave?”
Moka gestured toward Y/n and Minju, who were still sitting suspiciously close together in the middle of the apartment looking emotionally exhausted.
“Because these two idiots just survived the most stressful moment of their lives,” she said flatly. “And because if we stay here screaming at them for another hour, Minju might actually pass out.”
“That’s true,” Y/n admitted immediately.
Minju nodded. “Very true.”
“But I still have questions,” Yunah complained.
“And you can ask them tomorrow,” Moka replied. “Preferably after everyone stops emotionally combusting.”
Johnny pointed dramatically one last time. “This conversation is NOT over.”
“It is for tonight,” Moka said while physically pushing him toward the door.
Jisung still looked traumatized. “I trusted my mother.”
“Nobody told you to do that,” Y/n replied.
“You are not helping.”
Within minutes, Moka somehow managed to force everyone out into the hallway despite Yunah protesting the entire time.
Before leaving, Yunah turned around dramatically and pointed at them again. “I want every single detail tomorrow.”
“No you don’t,” Minju replied immediately.
“Umm yes I do.”
Then the door finally shut.
For the first time in almost twenty minutes, the apartment was quiet again.
Minju leaned back against the door slowly and exhaled. “Oh my God.”
Y/n stared at the ceiling for a second before laughing quietly under his breath.
Then suddenly both of them were laughing.
The exhausted, slightly hysterical kind of laughter that came after surviving something ridiculous.
Minju slid down slightly against the door, covering her face again. “We’re actually idiots.”
“Massive idiots.”
“Our secret relationship lasted two years just to end because we got caught making out in my kitchen.”
“In our defense,” Y/n said thoughtfully, stepping closer again, “you started kissing me first.”
She looked up immediately. “YOU pulled me closer.”
“You were being very kissable.”
Minju laughed helplessly as he finally reached down and pulled her back to her feet. And then, for the first time ever, he kissed her without checking if someone was watching.
When he pulled back, Minju looked at him quietly for a second before smiling. “That was weird.”
“What was?”
“Not hiding.”
Y/n’s expression softened immediately. His thumb brushed lightly against her cheek. “Yeah,” he said softly. “But kinda nice too.”
And honestly? After two years of secrecy, It felt really, really nice.
————————————
After they had all left they both just kind of sat on the couch, just staring into space.
They needed a second to unpack what just happened, their friends all finding out at the same time, all the questions they knew they had to answer.
That will be for another time.
Now they only had one thing on their mind.
They wanted each other so bad.
The air felt thick, like they couldn’t breathe properly.
Minju stood up from the couch and turned to face Y/n. She gave him a look that he knew all too well. The secret they kept for so long, now out in the open. The freedom to do what they want with no interruptions.
Minju stood there, her chest heaving, her eyes wide and glistening. Y/n didn't just stand and step toward her, he moved as if drawn by a magnetic force he could finally stop resisting.
He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
"I love you," he whispered, the words sounding raw, almost pained, as if they had been trapped in his throat for too long. "I love you so much it’s been killing me to pretend I don’t."
Minju’s heart shattered and rebuilt itself in a single second. Her hands flying up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "I love you too. God, Y/n, I love you so much."
"No more hiding," he rasped. "No more 'stomach issues.' No more faking emergencies. Just you and me."
When their lips finally met, it wasn't just a kiss, it was a homecoming. It was a desperate, starving collision. There was a tenderness to it that bordered on reverence, a slow, deep exploration that said I’ve missed you even when you were standing right next to me.
Y/n groaned, a low sound of pure devotion, as he lifted her effortlessly. Minju wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him as if he were the only solid thing in a spinning world.
He carried her toward the bedroom, his kisses never leaving her skin, tracing the line of her jaw, the pulse point of her neck, the soft slope of her shoulder.
He laid her onto the bed with gentleness, as if she were made of something precious and fragile. He didn't rush to strip her, instead, he hovered over her, his eyes searching hers with a depth of love that made Minju feel completely seen.
"You are so beautiful," he breathed, his voice trembling. "Every single part of you. I’ve spent two years memorizing you in the dark, and I still can’t get enough."
He began to undress her slowly, his hands trembling slightly. Every inch of skin he uncovered, he kissed. He kissed the curve of her hip, the softness of her stomach, the inside of her wrists, treating her body like a sacred text he was reading for the first time.
Minju arched beneath him, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. She felt a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with the overwhelming safety of being loved by him.
As he looked down at her, completely exposed under the warm glow of the bedroom lamp, Y/n paused for a heartbeat.
His gaze was predatory yet worshipful. "You have no idea," he breathed, "how many times I've imagined this without having to keep one ear open for the front door."
Minju reached up, pulling him down by his shoulders. "Then stop imagining," she commanded, her voice breathless and demanding.
When he finally shed his own clothes and merged his body with hers, it felt like a puzzle piece finally clicking into place.
As he entered her, slow and steady, they both froze, their eyes locked. Y/n paused, his forehead pressed against hers, his breathing ragged."I've got you," he whispered, a promise whispered against her lips. "I've always had you." The act became a conversation of love.
Every thrust was a confession; every gasp was an answer. It wasn't just about the friction or the heat; it was about the intimacy of two souls finally allowed to touch without fear.
Y/n moved with a rhythmic, soulful intensity, his gaze never leaving hers, wanting to see every flicker of pleasure and every wave of emotion crossing her face.
He wasn't gentle, not at first. The frustration of two years of "just friends" poured into every thrust, each movement deep and demanding.
Minju clung to him, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, her voice echoing through the room in a series of broken, high-pitched moans that she no longer had to stifle.
"Mine," he groaned, the word muffled against her skin. "You're finally... just mine."
"Always," she sobbed out, her head tossing back as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in her gut. "Always yours." Minju clung to him, her voice a series of soft, melodic whimpers. "Y/n... don't ever let go."
"Never," he gasped, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm never letting you go."
As the tension coiled tighter, the physical pleasure became secondary to the emotional surge crashing over them.
When the climax finally hit, it was an explosion of everything they had suppressed, the secrets, the longing, the stolen moments, all dissolving into a blinding white light of pure affection.
They clung to each other, sobbing quietly into each other's necks as the waves of release washed over them.
Long after their breathing had slowed, Y/n didn't pull away. He stayed wrapped around her, pulling the duvet over them to create a small, private universe. He kissed her eyelids, her temple, and finally, the tip of her nose.
"We're okay now," he murmured, his voice sleepy and saturated with contentment.
Minju snuggled deeper into his chest, listening to the steady, calming thrum of his heart, the heart that had beaten for her in secret for two years, and would now beat for her openly for the rest of their lives.
"We're more than okay," she whispered, closing her eyes. "We're finally home."
They lay there for a long time, tangled in the sheets, the silence of the apartment now feeling like a sanctuary. Y/n shifted, kissing her forehead and then her nose, his expression softer than she had ever seen it.
Minju chuckled weakly, resting her head on his chest. "I bet Yunah is still talking about this tomorrow."
Y/n tightened his hold on her, pulling the blanket over them both. "Let her talk," he murmured, closing his eyes. "I'm not letting you out of this bed for at least forty-eight hours."
Hello everyone! I needed something different to get the ole writing gears going, and so what better way to do that than some G!P stuff?
Length: 2.4K
G!P Nayeon X Mina
As filming ended and the girls started to rest, there was something Mina couldn’t take her eyes off of. It was something she had been caught doing for ages now. She was staring at Momo’s tits. Her fellow Japanese member had no clue either; she was just playing on her phone, none the wiser that Mina was staring at her chest. For Mina, it sure didn’t help that Momo was given an outfit that pushed her already large mounds together. Mina had to gulp, or else she would be drooling as she imagined sucking on and lapping at Momo’s lovely tits.
“Mina,” Nayeon sang into the younger woman’s ear. “What are you looking at?” Mina’s cheeks turned red as her mind returned to her. She had gotten lost staring at the heavy tits Momo had right in front of her. “Do you know what they say about you online?” Nayeon let her warm breath linger on Mina’s ear before continuing. “That you like reading subtitles. Everyone knows you really like staring at them, but I thought I told you not to. If you’re going to stare at someone’s, it should be mine.” Mina bit her lip to hold back a moan while Nayeon was talking; she had slid her hand down Mina’s skirt, her long fingers gliding along the fabric of her panties just above her slit. “You’re supposed to be my baby,” Nayeon added. The older woman felt Mina’s panties slowly growing wetter.
Mina was still getting used to the relationship thing. With Nayeon being so possessive, it almost helped change her behavior, almost. Anytime Nayeon wasn’t around, Mina’s eyes would wander again and again, always at the chests of other women. When Nayeon wore the right outfits, though, things changed. Mina would bite her bottom lip and stare as she imagined all the dirty things she would do.
“You two need to get a room,” Jihyo commented as she passed by the pair. Nayeon’s cock was throbbing already, excited at the prospect of taking Mina again. The pair had done it once in the morning, and at this point it wasn’t enough. “You’re going to make me mad, Mina. I don’t want to punish my little penguin. Why don’t you come to my room?” Nayeon didn’t wait for an answer and began pushing Mina toward the door, immediately heading to her place.
The couple made a beeline to Nayeon’s home. As soon as they stepped inside, Nayeon pushed the younger woman against the wall and locked lips with her. Nayeon’s hands wandered down her side, clumsily pulling on her skirt as she rushed to strip Mina down to nothing. “You’re always staring at others' tits, when you should be looking at mine,” Nayeon mumbled, pulling down her shirt and bra in one movement. Nayeon pulled Mina toward her chest, forcing the younger woman to latch onto one of her breasts. “You’re always such a bad girl. Do you want me to punish you like this all the time?” Nayeon cooed. By how much Mina’s tongue swirled around her hardening nipple, Nayeon guessed yes. Still, that didn’t mean she could have Mina staring at other women, even if they did occasionally invite their members to join their little romps.
Nayeon finished stripping Mina down to nothing and took the younger woman’s hand, walking her to their bedroom before having her kneel at the foot of it. Nayeon pulled down her skirt, revealing her rock-hard length before sitting down in front of Mina. Immediately, she saw the hunger in Mina’s eyes. “Get closer. You’re going to have to get this thing wet before I punish you.” Mina scooted closer, her hand wrapping around Nayeon’s girthy shaft. She took a deep whiff, letting Nayeon’s scent flood her nose.
Nayeon smiled; she was more than happy with Mina between her legs. The older woman just had a way with her mouth; the way her soft lips moved along her shaft had Nayeon cooing. She watched as the Japanese woman looked up at her with pleading eyes. Nayeon could only see a woman desperate for her cock, though. It’s what she wanted to see. This was Mina’s apology, but Nayeon had her mind elsewhere. She had the image of the Japanese woman pressed against the window while she took whatever hole she wanted. It made her cock throb, something Mina noticed as she moved her hand along the shaft. The young Japanese woman did her best to please her lover, doing everything she loved.
Mina kept things slow, lapping at and sucking each part of Nayeon’s sizable length with care, lingering on her heavy balls. She knew just how much cum they could carry. Mina had felt the older woman drain herself inside her cunt many times. When Nayeon was in one of her moods, though, she could be a lot rougher, something Mina had to admit she loved. For now, though, she had a job to do. She traced her lips with the head of Nayeon’s cock like she was using lipstick, making sure it was all covered in the lucky rabbit’s precum. Mina gathered her saliva, laying it along the top of Nayeon’s shaft, before using her hand to spread it across the older woman’s length. She kept a tight grip as she stroked her shaft. Mina had to stop herself from drooling at the now glistening sight.
She leaned in and pressed her lips against the head, letting it push them apart as she took it into her mouth. Mina’s tongue moved slowly, swirling around the edge as her cheeks hollowed. She glanced at Nayeon, seeing the lustful expression on her girlfriend’s face. Mina already knew what she wanted to do, and the thought of it made her wet. She could see it in her eyes. Nayeon wanted nothing more than to grab her hair in two pieces and use it as handlebars as she fucked her face. On many levels, Mina wanted it, too. She wanted Nayeon to ram her length down her throat, to stretch it out and make her choke on her cock. Mina held back, however. She bobbed her head slowly, tongue lashing against the sides as she took more in.
Nayeon groaned, reveling in the pleasure she felt. As she looked down at the Japanese woman between her legs, she felt tempted, tempted to ruin her pretty little mouth. It was her bad habit. She couldn’t just enjoy taking things slow; no, she had to destroy, to ruin whoever she was with. She wanted to hear them beg for more; she wanted them to beg for her cum. As Mina took in more of her shaft, Nayeon was at her limit. The heat coming from Mina’s throat as it squeezed down on her cock was enough to drive her wild. She parted Mina’s hair and pulled the Japanese woman against her crotch as she thrust forward.
This was what both of them wanted. Mina’s hand dipped between her legs, rubbing her needy slit as she rubbed her head against Nayeon’s crotch. She could feel the older woman’s cock twitching in her throat. Nayeon was close to cumming, and she knew it. Her lover’s cock was covered in saliva as she pulled away. Nayeon held Mina’s hair as she rubbed her slick cock against the Japanese woman’s face. Mina leaned into it, pressing her lips against the thick shaft when she could. “Tell me how much you love this cock,” Nayeon demanded.
“It’s the best I’ve ever had.” Mina moans, her fingers knuckle deep in her cunt. “I love your cock, Nayeon. The way it stretches me out and fills me like nothing else. It’s perfect.” As Nayeon continues to grind her cock against Mina’s face, the Japanese woman goes lower. Mina takes one of Nayeon’s balls into her mouth, sucking on it as Nayeon stands up. The real show was about to begin for her, and she was more than happy to take it all. Mina took every inch down her throat. She could tell Nayeon was losing it as she rapidly thrust, the Korean woman’s balls slapping against her chin.
Mina moaned around the thick piece of meat, reveling in the pleasure she got. She slobbered over the whole thing as Nayeon fucked her face. Even if she couldn’t breathe, Mina wasn’t going to say a word. For her part, Nayeon was already on the edge. The older woman’s frantic thrusts ended pretty quickly after they started. She held Mina against her crotch, cumming down the Japanese woman’s throat, feeling it clamp down as Mina feasted on the salty liquid. Nayeon felt Mina’s hands on the backs of her legs, holding her as Mina’s eyes rolled back. An expression of pure lust was on her face. As Nayeon dragged her length out of Mina’s mouth, her cock twitched. Even though she had just cum, the look on Mina’s face had her going.
Nayeon had Mina climb onto the bed and watched as the sultry Japanese woman swayed her hips. Mina’s legs were already slick with her nectar. It would be easy for Nayeon to just impale her on her cock.
Nayeon bit her lip. She continued to watch as Mina laid her head down on the bedding and reached back, spreading her cheeks for Nayeon. “I’m sorry for being such a bad girl, unnie. Here, you can have whichever hole you want.” Nayeon’s cock twitched violently. Now she had a tough choice. She could take Mina’s ass or her cunt. Nayeon whined; now that she was presented with a choice, it made it much more difficult to choose. She was just going to fuck her cunt regularly; she hadn’t even thought of using Mina’s tight ass. Nayeon wanted it, too. Unable to resist, she would just give it a little attention now.
Nayeon placed her hands on Mina’s round cheeks, keeping them spread apart as she leaned in and moved her tongue around the tight ring of muscle. Mina shivered, the muscles in her calves tightening as Nayeon tasted her. The Japanese woman could feel Nayeon’s tongue as it threatened to push inside. “P-please,” she whimpered accidentally. Mina hadn't meant to say it; the words had just come out. Those words fueled Nayeon; she was smiling from ear to ear. Nayeon laid her head on Mina's ass, her finger circling the puckered hole she was considering taking first.
“Oh, baby, do you want me to play with your ass that badly?” Mina pursed her lips and nodded. “Then tell me that. Tell me what you want to do.” Nayeon's finger continued to circle her as Mina whined.
“Nayeon, please,” Mina whined, her words catching in her throat as Nayeon pressed the tip of her finger against her asshole. “Put it in, and eat me,” Mina mumbled, her cheeks a bright red. Nayeon giggled and did as instructed. She pushed one of her long, slender fingers into Mina, feeling the tight hole squeezing down on her digit. Mina let out a long moan as Nayeon pumped it in and out of her. She struggled with the pleasure, becoming a mess while Nayeon giggled. The older woman pushed Mina further, adding a second finger. Mina could feel Nayeon spreading her walls apart, testing her before pulling them out and replacing them with her tongue.
The Japanese woman gripped the bedsheets as she felt Nayeon's warm tongue push deep into her body, running against her walls. Mina grimaced; she was so close to cumming. She was going to blow at any second.
Then it all stopped; Nayeon pulled away from her. Mina looked over her shoulder, “Why did you stop?” She asked through heavy breaths.
Nayeon turned Mina onto her back and pressed her lips against the younger woman's. “Because I want to see you when you cum,” Mina gulped, barely feeling Nayeon’s hands wrap around her legs as the older woman pressed the leaking head of her cock against her entrance. Nayeon’s tongue pushed past Mina's lips at the same time she pushed her hips forward. Mina's muffled moans grew louder as Nayeon pushed into her core. Her lover's thick cock was splitting her in two, filling her entire body. “You're only mine,” Nayeon mumbled as she buried herself inside Mina's cunt. Nayeon gripped Mina's thighs tightly as she began to thrust into her partner. She made no attempt to be gentle. Nayeon thrust into her with all the force she could muster, ramming her length into Mina's womb with the sole intention of pumping the young Japanese woman full of her cum.
Mina threw her head back, roaring as Nayeon stretched her out. She thought for a second she might break from how rough Nayeon was being. Still, she wrapped her legs around Nayeon, moaning wildly. “I'm yours, all yours,” she cried out as she came. Her slick walls clamped down on Nayeon's cock, but it wasn’t enough to stop the older woman. Nayeon filled the room with moans and the claps of their bodies colliding even as Mina climaxed. She was flooding the younger woman's body with pleasure as the sensitivity in her body rose.
Nayeon nipped at Mina's neck, trying to distract herself from the growing tightness in her body. She could only last so long in the Japanese woman's tight cunt. It rubbed every inch of her so well, she was about to burst. Nayeon's cock began to throb and twitch inside of Mina. Her lover wasn't noticing, though, as the pleasure from Nayeon's thrusts kept her on the edge of another climax. In a moment, the lovers came together. Mina became choked up as she felt Nayeon's steaming seed being pumped into her awaiting womb. The thick load painted her wall before claiming her. It leaked around Nayeon's cock. Mina could feel the throbbing begin to slow.
The pair took deep breaths before engaging in another kiss. Nayeon kept herself inside Mina, wanting nothing more than to ensure she was bred. “No more looking at others. I want all your attention on me,” she said softly.
A sly smile came across Mina's face. “What happens if I do? Do you punish me? Maybe pump me full of warm sticky cum. You could push me against the window and fuck me until I scream your name,” The pair giggled; more than anything, their perverted thoughts poked through at times like these.
“If that's what it takes,” Nayeon says, pulling out for just a moment. She turns Mina onto her side and slips back in, wrapping her arms around Mina's waist as she nuzzles her neck. “Just you wait. I'll teach you a good lesson.”
The waitress ignored her and zipped past, a serving tray in her hand filled with six different dishes.
Minju reached her neck out and peered at the table opposite hers, watching the waitress set down their meals on their table. A pot of piping steaming rice, a plate of leafy green bok choy stir fried with succulent prawns, and a claypot that looked to contain saliva-inducing treasures.
The waitress took the small cloth hanging off her shoulder and wrapped it around her hand, protecting her palm from the blistering heat from the clay cover as she lifted it.
The heavy smell of curried spice and coconutty seafood wafted into Minju’s nose, and her mouth started to water in anticipation of her own order.
She looked at the clock on the wall and stared at the seconds hand that was twirling around the numbers. Then she looked back at the mother who was now stirring the claypot of seafood curry in a similar manner to the ticking of the clock.
12:36 p.m.
“Where's my food…” Minju muttered under her breath as she tried to wave for the waitress again, but she darted to another table behind and gave a couple their order, completely ‘ignoring’ her as she wallowed herself in the busyness of the lunch crowd.
12:43 p.m.
“I only have seventeen minutes left,” Minju mumbled as her lunch break inched towards finality. She tapped her feet impatiently and waved her air-stabbed-fork at a waiter, which he finally gave her a merciful response, pumping his palm out and asked her to wait as he attended to a lady asking for a refill of orange juice.
But he never came.
12:50 p.m.
Minju couldn’t wait anymore.
“Excuse me!” she shouted, her voice thundering across the layered conversations of people chatting and clinking of metal utensils on porcelain plates.
Two waitresses, four waiters, a cashier stared at her, along with thirty-seven pairs of eyes of staff-stealing customers and the hollow pupils of a ghost of silence.
The silence enacted by the ghost was broken by a waiter.
“Yes?”
Minju took in a deep breath and exhaled her forty-three minutes worth of displeasure.
“I’ve been waiting for my food since—”
She pointed at the clock.
“—12:07 p.m.! People who had arrived after me got their food. Where's mine?”
Her finger arced horizontally towards a couple by the diner’s door.
“They came in ten minutes ago, and they're now halfway through their chicken cutlet fried rice and spicy dumpling noodles. Where's mine?”
“M-Maybe they're still cook—”
“Oh don't you give me that excuse,” Minju shot back in irritance. “I only ordered a simple plain rice with a some beef stew, because that's your speciality, but apparently I was just served with a special dose of ignorance and negligence! Now I’m left with what, seven minutes until my lunch break ends, and considering that it takes five minutes to walk back, don’t I only have two minutes left to eat?”
Minju’s face flushed red, wheezing from anger.
“Can you even bring me my food in two minutes?”
“W-We’re sor—”
“Whatever, I’m leaving.”
Minju stood up and grabbed her bag, stomping out of the diner. She frowned at the sweltering heat outside that served nothing apart from giving her welling irritation a huge dose of sweat.
Sighing in defeat, her heart cried at the despair of spending the rest of her day with an empty stomach as she turned to walk back—
“Miss!”
A shout sounded from the alleyway beside the diner.
A young man in a chef attire covered by an apron appeared into view, his name printed on the barely shiny tag stuck on the left of his chest.
“What?” Minju asked in faux annoyance, peering at his name tag. “Are you going to give me my food right now, Mister… Theo?”
“Yes,” he bowed, holding out a paper bag. “It seemed that the waitress that took your order had forgotten to key them into the ordering system. While the manager has reprimanded her, I still think that it is our fault for not showing you attention despite your constant calls for assistance.”
Minju looked at the man who had his head still facing the ground, flustered by the situation.
“I didn't mean for you to apo—”
“No,” he raised his body, looking at her. “It’s not much, but I managed to sneakily put together something for you. Please don't go hungry, it's not a nice feeling.”
He gave another small bow and turned, heading back into the diner.
“Hey!” Minju called out to him. “T-Thanks!”
“Please don't blacklist us?” he chuckled and waved with a smile. “I hope to see you back here!”
He disappeared into the diner.
Minju looked into the bag. It held a small metal tin. The top was transparent and she could see rice tucked neatly to one half, along with three to four assorted dishes randomly squeezed into the other half.
Looks like she'd have to come back and return the metal tin.
🌸 🌸 🌸
“You don’t have to keep doing this, you know?”
“But I want to,” he said, letting go of the lunch box. “Besides, you say that, but your hands are saying otherwise.”
Minju giggled and popped the box’s lid open.
“Well, I can’t let your efforts go to waste, right?” she remarked, removing the chopsticks fastened on the underside of the lid. “And it’s not like I can resist what you always prepare for me. It’s always a treat and an honour even to taste the delicacies of a two-starred royal family’s head chef.”
“Two stars? The only stars I have are the stars I see when I dream of you at night,” he stood up and ruffled her hair. “I’m just a sous chef at a random cheap ass diner who can’t even afford ingredients of minimal quali—”
“Shush.”
“—If I have even one of the two stars that you think I hav—”
“Theo!”
“—I’d throw it across the sky and wish for endless money so that I can cook you the nicest food every day.”
Minju sighed and grabbed on to his arm, pulling him back onto the bench.
“Can you stop lamenting yourself for one second?”
Theo chuckled and leaned back onto the bench’s back rest, squinting at the glowing clouds covering the sun behind.
“You know I am always thinking about you,” he said, poking her cheek with his finger.
“And why aren’t you my boyfriend yet?”
Theo cleared his throat and looked at the imaginary watch on his wrist.
“Aren’t you gonna eat? Time’s ticking.”
Minju pouted and slumped her shoulders, but the moment she lifted the metal lunch box, her annoyance faded. She looked at the food inside — hand cut noodles tossed with a slightly spicy ginger scallion chill oil, topped with a poached egg and meatless numbing spicy tofu stew on the side. She stuck her chopsticks in and loosened the flat noodles slightly before twirling them around the two mini metal poles like spaghetti on the prongs of a fork.
Theo watched Minju put the noodle spiral into her mouth, watching her chew softly with bated breath.
“How is it?”
Minju hummed softly, eyebrows furrowing and lifting in irregular patterns as though they were conductor sticks, waving as they directed the orchestra of flavour explosions in her mouth.
“It’s alright,” she said.
“Alright…” Theo mumbled, his face dropping slightly at the lack of reaction he desired.
Minju’s pupils snaked to the corner of her eyes, glancing at his dejected expression.
“You’re such an easy person to tease~” she laughed, already twirling another mouthful of noodles with her chopsticks. “Why would this only be alright? I could eat it all day everyday.”
Once the noodle spiral was done, she poked a cube of tofu drenched in the numbing tofu sauce, completing her self-made noodle skewer.
“Did you eat?”
“Not yet.”
“Are you not going to eat again?”
“Seeing you eat makes me full,” Theo said. “Besides, you know what they say about cooks. They don’t eat what they cook.”
Minju stabbed the yolk of the poached egg and let the golden goo flow over the noodles.
“Why though?”
“Hmmm… maybe it’s because we’re already constantly dealing with food? At some point it just feels like it’s not enjoyable anymore. Job fatigue or something like that.”
Minju set the lunch box down and looked at Theo. His eyes were weary from onion chopping, shoulders heavy from wok tossing, and his fingers were calloused from constant heat exposure and never-ending hand washing.
He looked exhausted.
But yet, his voice still carried a tone of mellow and content serenity as he closed his eyes and soaked his skin with the rays of the spring sun.
Minju picked up and held on to her chopsticks tightly, making another noodle-tofu skewer before putting it into her mouth. Then she made another as she chewed.
“Mr Theo.”
His eyes shot open at her call.
“W-What’s with the sudden formality?”
Minju stabbed the skewer towards him but stopped it right before his mouth.
“Eat.”
“What? No! That’s your share.”
“Eat.”
“I’m not hungry, really.”
Minju’s eyes narrowed.
“If you’re not going to eat, I’m never meeting you again.”
Theo’s eyes darted to from her face to the chopsticks, then back to her slitted eyes.
“Okay, okay,” he said, opening his mouth in defeat.
Minju stuffed the food into his mouth which he reluctantly closed his lips, pulling the noodles and tofu off the chopsticks with a slide.
“How is it?” Minju asked, watching Theo chew eagerly as if trying to make it a point to her that he was in fact eating.
“It’s good,” he said. “The flavours are well balanced, and it isn’t too spicy, which is what you always like.”
Minju listened and picked up another piece of tofu with the chopsticks, putting it in her mouth.
“So, if you already know the answer, why did you ask me earlier?”
“I—”
Minju sighed and rested the chopsticks back into the lunchbox. She raised her hand and readied her fingers onto Theo’s forehead, giving him a hard flick.
“Ow!” Theo exclaimed, rubbing the redness that was already starting to form on the skin between his eyes.
“You. Should. Take. Care. Of. Your. Self.” Minju frowned and scolded, her fingers already preparing for another flick.
“Alright, alright! I promise,” Theo murmured in defeat.
“I don’t trust you.”
“I swear!”
“No,” Minju said. She picked the lunchbox back up and passed it to Theo. “Half. Let’s share.”
“But I made that for you…”
“Share,” she insisted. “Blame it on yourself. Who asked you to not take care of yourself and only focus on me? Do you think it would make me feel good if you fainted from hunger?”
She pushed the box into his hands and looked at him, her expression softening slightly.
“Theo.”
“Yes?”
“Those chopsticks contain my saliva.”
“…And?”
Minju turned her head away from him, her cheeks blazing red.
“And that was my first indirect kiss.”
The moment those words left her mouth, she stood and picked up her handbag, running away in shyness.
“Wh—”
Theo held on to the lunchbox, dumbfounded at Minju’s words. He raised his fingers and touched his lips, his mind wandering off into a dream in broad daylight.
“First… kiss…”
His cheeks flushed red.
Watching Minju running off into the distance, Theo gave a shout at the top of his lungs.
“See you tomorrow!”
Minju stopped behind a blooming cherry tree farther away. She placed a hand over her chest.
A strange warmth.
She turned back and looked at him.
Theo was still sitting on the bench, smiling as he finally continued to eat the lunch she had forced him to share.
Minju smiled without realizing it.
Then she turned and continued home.
☀️ ☀️ ☀️
She opened the doors to their house.
“You sure this is going to work?” Minju asked as she walked in.
“Do you not trust me?” he replied, carrying a carton filled with popsicle sleeves into the room from behind her.
“I do, but I don’t trust myself…”
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m equally as clueless. But I’m sure it’ll be fine? We have the recipe from your mom, and it's summer. I’m sure they’ll sell like hotcakes.”
“I sure hope so…” Minju muttered. “So what do we do first?”
He picked up the recipe that Minju had left on the kitchen counter and read it.
“We’ll need some heavy cream, condensed milk and vanille extract,” he said. “We’ll just need to errrr… mix them all together as fast as we can and freeze it.”
Minju took out the ingredients as he read them off the list, and reached for a large bowl and whisk.
“So, how much?” she asked.
“That, is a very good question,” he said. “I have no idea. There aren't any numbers the recipe. You sure you didn't miss them out when copying?”
Minju frowned and took the paper from him.
“Copy? This was the exact piece of paper I tore from my mother's cookbook.”
He stared at her and gave an awkward laugh.
“Well… I guess we have much to worry about then.”
“Why?” Minju asked. “We could just delay the opening, right? Right until we get the right ice cream formula?”
“I… spent all our money on a no refund loan of the shop cart for a week. There are no allowable changes to the rental period, so if we don't even break even during this coming week, we're goners.”
“And the rental starts tomorrow?”
“Yep,” he said, giving an awkward smile.
Minju laughed and picked up the whisk, her other hand grabbing on to the scissors.
“Well, looks like we don't have much of a choice. Let's just try our best.”
He nodded and took the scissors from her, opening the pack of heavy cream. Emptying the entire packet into the bowl, he slid it to Minju, who started whisking as fast as she could. Meanwhile, he took a can opener and opened several small metal cans, the soft grinding sound of metal on metal filling the air. Pulling their lids up, he pushed them over and poured the condensed milk into bowl while Minju mixed.
“Say, why did you choose a cart with no refund option?”
Looking at how her vigorous whisking had started to slow down, he took the whisk from her and started stirring.
“I just thought that if we're already going to be spending our precious money, we might as well get the best cart possible.”
The heavy cream was starting to foam from the agitation as he stirred, the mixture slowly turning into a thick creamy paste.
“I just didn't expect that the recipe would have no numbers…” he mumbled.
“I’m not even mad at you, so why are you feeling down?” Minju asked. “Plus, it's partly my fault as well. I should have checked beforehand.”
“Oh well,” he sighed, scooping up the paste with the whisk. The paste flowed off the gaps between the thin metal, and he repeated this motion several times as he evaluated the mixture with uncertainty.
“I think that's enough? It looks like melted ice cream already.”
“How long does it take to freeze them?” Minju asked.
“About six hours? At least that's what I've heard from my friends.”
“Right, so we won't know how it’ll turn out until midnight. Whatever, we ball. Let's start making the different flavours.”
He nodded and opened a bottle of vanilla extract, giving the mixture a generous dose of black liquid gold.
“So, what did you get?” he asked.
Minju pulled out a bag of groceries and put them on the table, before taking out the smaller bags inside.
“Praise the King! You’ve even got chocolate rice?”
He picked up the bag of colourful rice, shaking it excitedly.
“That's a good choice! Kids will definitely love it.”
Minju and him began splitting the mixture into different batches, each one for a different flavour.
They chopped the strawberries and mangoes into bite-sized chunks, mixing them into each batch. Once they gave the batch another good mix, they began pouring the thick viscous liquid into the popsicle sleeves.
“There we go, strawberry flavoured popsicles done,” Minju said, looking at the thirty or so sticks lying on the kitchen counter. “Into the freezer they go.”
He smiled and gathered them on a tray, bringing them to the freezer. They continued to finish up the rest of the popsicles, and by the time they were done, it was already close to dinner time. A good two hundred popsicles were all stuffed into the freezer, and they both stared at the numerous colourful sticks that was barely hardening before closing the refrigerator door.
It was now time to wait.
“I'm starving…” Minju complained.
“Shall we head out for dinner?” he asked.
“It's so hot outside though… I’m so sweaty. Let's just order in.”
He nodded and picked up a communicator, calling the nearest restaurant.
“What did you get?” Minju asked.
“Some spicy noodles and spicy tofu stew. We gotta combat the heat with more heat. Sweat it all out.”
“You always know what I like without me telling you,” Minju grinned. “Oh, I did buy some watermelon, shall we make some punch? I remember that we have some soda that is expiring soon.”
“Sure,” he nodded. Taking the quarter cut watermelon from the grocery bag, he began chopping the red flesh into cubes, throwing them into a fancy crystal bowl.
Minju grabbed four cans of soda and emptied them into the bowl, not before tossing the remaining leftover strawberries and mangoes into the bowl and gave it a good mix with a ladle.
“I could be a chef,” she boasted, giving the punch a small nod of approval after stealing a sip for a taste test.
“It's just fruit in soda,” he chuckled, scooping the punch into two glasses. He stuck a straw and an ice cream spoon in both glasses and topped it with some leftover mint leaves that had been sitting in the chiller for a week.
“Let's drink while we wait,” he said, walking towards the courtyard.
He took a seat on the wooden bench and Minju promptly joined him, settling by his side. She leaned back slightly and perched her body with one of her hands, the other holding on to her precious watermelon punch. Her body was flushed from the summer heat and glossy from sweat, but she paid the unpleasant feeling no mind while she sipped on the cooling fruity beverage.
“I love spending time with you like this,” she said. “I don't know why, but it feels like I’ve done this with you before. Countless times. Well, maybe not exactly the same, but yeah, if you get what I mean.”
He grabbed on to her hand and gave it a small squeeze.
“Maybe it's just your dreams? You do mumble in your sleep quite often.”
Minju sat forward and scooped a watermelon chunk into her mouth.
“Hmm… maybe. Anyway, it's not like it's anything bad. Probably déjà vu or something.”
Right then, a mini disc floated into their courtyard, a plastic bag hanging off it. It slowly descended, setting the bag down before flying off.
Their dinner had arrived.
He walked over and picked up the bag, bringing it back to the wooden bench. Untying the knot, he took out two metal tins before passing one to Minju. She opened it and took a whiff at the noodles within.
“They smell awesome~” she hummed.
He popped open the last container filled with spicy tofu stew and placed it between both of them, before running to the kitchen to fetch a sharing spoon.
"Let's eat,” he said.
The two of them chatted over dinner, but it was mostly Minju just listening to him talk. There was no end to the way he took care of her. One moment he was scooping a ladle full of vegetables and tofu for her, the other he was running back to the kitchen to refill her empty glass with more watermelon punch.
“Hey, y’know, what if we don't manage to even earn back enough to cover the rental?” Minju asked, slurping another mouthful of spicy noodles. “Or even sell half of the popsicles?”
He set his food down and reached his hand forward, wiping the beads of sweat that was flowing down her cheek. Sweat from both the summer heat and spicy food.
“We try again,” he said. “Summer’s just barely started after all. We could take the opportunity of the coming week to test our recipes.”
“But we don't really have any more money,” Minju mumbled, finishing up her last mouthful of food. Her lips were swollen from the spice, and she was desperately trying to “unswollen” it through her watermelon potion.
“You don't want anymore?” he asked, pointing at the remaining food.
“I'm full~”
He picked up the bowl of tofu stew that was almost empty and ate directly from it.
“I am an advocate of positive thinking. I refuse to believe that we can't sell any ice cream at all. How bad can it be?”
“I don't know?” Minju chuckled, laying down on the wooden bench, a palm placed over her belly that was full from dinner. “You know, there's this quote the King always says.”
“The one about some law or something?”
“Yea, he named it after himself, calling it King Cole’s Law, saying Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”
“Weren't there rumours that he stole the quote from a guy named Murphy?” he asked as he finished all the remaining food before picking up his glass of punch and sipped from it.
“Well, a lady named Miss Rumour whispered in my ears when I was shopping at the market, saying that there isn't a guy name Murphy anymore after he made noise about plagiarism. Miss Rumour speculated that he was offed.”
“Wow,” he said, leaning forward to poke her belly, telling her she'd get fat if she lied down immediately after dinner. “Oh well, no one can go against the King after all. Anything can be considered as treason if it displeases him. Anything else you heard from… Miss Rumour?”
“A few, but as I said, they're all baseless claims. There's one about a failed attempt to summon an evil god, and another about a brewing war with the heretics. There's even one about the launch of an anti-hair loss shampoo that's said to make a bald man grow half a metre of hair overnight!”
He laughed at the ridiculous stories that Minju spewed.
“Say…”
He looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“Yes, my dear Minju?”
“I don't know why, I'm always getting the feeling of people leaving me, or maybe me leaving people.”
She sat up and stirred her almost empty cup with the long spoon, stabbing and crushing the watermelon chunks within into chunks.
“What's gotten into you?” he asked, inching forward to rub his hand on her sweaty forehead, brushing the sweat off her wet and soaked hair. “Has the heat gotten to your head? You want to take a shower?”
Minju stared into his eyes, looking at his shining pupils, a million thoughts seemingly running through her mind.
“Caelan,” she called.
“Yes?”
Then her lips parted to ask him a question softly.
“Will you ever leave me?”
🍂 🍂 🍂
“I’m leaving tomorrow.”
He looked at her who had set down her knife and fork, staring at him with an unquantifiable sadness in her eyes.
“When?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was a subtle crack inside that could never escape Minju.
“Tomorrow.”
He put down his fork and picked up the glass of water from the side, bringing it towards his mouth as the liquid inside shook and rippled with trepidation.
“Then I guess we should make the most of our time left together.”
Minju nodded and stood up, walking to his side. She grabbed on to his hand and pulled him upwards, leading him out of the dining room. He followed her quietly, watching her guide him down the hallway, past the countless windows that showed the setting golden sun. The leaves of the trees were orange-red, signifying the fading warmth of summer as the world around senesced into cool and chilly conditions.
Just like his relationship with her.
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked, stopping in the middle of their walk.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” she said, stopping to turn and face him. “I know that you’ll worry because you always worry, and I didn’t want our remaining time spent together to be full of nothing but worry.”
She looked down at his hands and gripped it firmly.
“I’m sorry.”
He looked at her in the eyes. He thought of the times where they were inseparable. One time he was going out for a run with her, another she joined him as he tended to the shrubs and bushes in the courtyard.
He was always smiling.
And she was always smiling.
“I love it when you smile,” he said softly. “And I love it even more because you make me smile.”
Minju looked at him, her cheeks raising gently, face beaming into a wider grin.
“Then let’s keep on smiling.”
She pulled him into her embrace and hugged him tight, and he squeezed her even tighter.
“Shall we?” Minju said. “I don’t want to forget you.”
“Will you ever forget me?” he asked.
Minju let go and pulled his hand again, tugging him down the hallway, right into their room. The moment he entered, he was swirled with a tender force, and the next thing he knew, his back was met with the soft cushions of their mattress. Silky soft hair hung down her face as she looked at him in the eyes, her soft yet firm hands planted on either side of his head.
“Minju…” he muttered, his eyes drunk with desire.
“Today’s the last day I’ll be called by my name,” she whispered, her lips lowering onto his. Her breath was hot against his, and she could feel herself losing the little control she had left. “Tomorrow, I’ll only be known as Commander.”
Minju pressed her forehead against his, tears welling up in her eyes.
“So please… call my name like it’s the last time.”
She pressed her lips onto his, kissing him with all her love.
The love she gave to him.
The love she had for him.
And the love she had reserved for him.
Her heart wrenched with every passing second. She cupped his face as her tongue drove deep, drinking in his sadness and resentment at the world that stole them from each other. Their breaths drew short amidst the kiss, but neither of them wanted to let go of each other.
After what seemed like an eternity, he pushed her off and flipped her onto the bed, his body now mounting hers.
“Minju.”
She looked at him with glassy eyes. Her face was no longer pristine from the make out and her hair was in a mess, random strands splayed across the soft cushions, but neither of them cared.
“My dear,” she mumbled, blushing at the way he was staring at her.
“Minju.”
He reached towards the buttons on her dress and began loosening it.
“Minju.”
Each time he called her name, he removed a button. He made his way down, releasing her soft mounds from constriction, exposing the deep valley of her chest, airing the smooth and milky skin of her navel. He gently grabbed onto her sleeves and pulled them downwards, releasing her satin-soft, velvety skin that was supple as he undressed her entirely.
He took a look at her.
One look.
Rays from the sun of the golden hour humbly graced her skin, casting their radiance on her.
A second look.
An aura of shyness emanating out from the iron-willed goddess as she covered her breasts in embarrassment.
A third look.
The forbidden warmth that was pulsing out from her core, one that was set to replace the dying summer heat.
He took many more looks at her, carving the memory of her beauty, her gaze, her breath, her smell… the memory of her into his mind.
“How long will you be gone?” he muttered, latching his mouth onto her earlobes, nibbling it softly.
“As long as it needs to be,” she grunted, shivers sent down her spine.
“When will you be back?” he asked, biting on her nape.
“As soon as I am done,” she moaned, her hands wrapping around his back.
“When will I see you again?” he growled, suckling one nipple as he kneaded the soft flesh of her other breast.
“When the war ends,” she cried, back arching off the bed from the incomprehensible pleasure.
He removed his clothes and tossed them to the side. They were now both naked and bare, bodies pulsing with the wanting heat and need for each other.
“You’re so hard,” she hummed, wrapping her fingers around his length. “Much harder than ever.”
He shivered as she gave him a few small strokes, drinking in the pleasure that he will probably never get to feel anymore. Kissing down her belly, he breathed at her snatch, before taking in a deep whiff of her addictive scent.
“You’re so wet,” he grunted, giving her wetness a long, drawn-out lick. “So sweet.”
Pressing his lips forward, he gave her folds a few rubs, making out with her pussy as he drank the nectar that was dispensing from within.
“I could drink this all day,” he mumbled with muffled groans, “but that’s not what we need right now.”
Lifting his body, he lined up the tip of his hardness and rubbed it up and down, mixing his leaking devotion with her craving wetness. He pushed in slowly, revelling in the parting of her folds, watching her eyes flutter and close in pleasure as he split her apart.
“I need you, Minju,” he declared, pressing his length further into her core. He felt her walls ripple and quiver around him, moulding into a sheath that was perfect for the shape of his cock. “And you need this. You need me.”
Minju hugged him close and nodded with desperation, feeling how he stretched her raw.
“Yes, only you. Always you.”
Once he was fully embedded in her, he leaned down to give her a deep, torrid kiss. At the same time, he lifted his hips and drew out his cock, feeling how her pussy squeezed and pulled, refusing to let him go.
But he forced it out.
Slam.
He plunged back in.
Minju yelped in pleasure, biting softly on to his lips, drawing out a drop of blood that she tasted with fervour. She felt his hard tip smash into her deepest spots, feeling the impact shock joy out into her bloodstream.
He pulled out again.
“More—”
Slam.
And more he delivered.
He pulled and pushed, withdrew and enter, unsheathed and sheathed.
He fucked her hard.
He fucked her with ferocity.
He fucked her with desperation.
He fucked her.
She took his cock.
She took his pounding.
She took his hammering.
She took him.
Each plunge into her depths made her cry out in euphoria, and each slide into her walls sent her towards nirvana. The bed was shaking as if an earthquake of unimaginable magnitude was tremoring throughout the plates of the world, but it was incomparable to the brewing disaster welling up in both her mind and core.
She was close.
Each pump of his cock into her wanton pussy sent her hurtling towards the edge. The edge which made her eyes roll and flipped her world upside-down. The edge which she wished would never disappear. The edge which she wanted to savour for the rest of her life.
“Minju.”
Her eyes flicked into focus as she answered his call.
“Minju.”
Her mouth parted and her throat dried.
“Minju.”
Her body trembled and shook, toes curling into unloosened arcs.
“Minju. Minju. Minju.”
He pumped into her with increasing intensity, pounding his fucks into her like his life depended on it. He watched her soul phase in and out of Styx, each easing pull making her faint, each crushing strike jolting her from unconsciousness.
She was close.
“Come for me, Minju.”
Right at that moment, she shattered on his command. She squealed and writhed as he continued pumping into her throughout her orgasm, her wetness exploding out to coat his length in warm tidal waves. Squelches filled the room and sex rivers soaked into the sheets as her orgasm waned, but he did not stop pumping.
Her eyelids were barely open, half-lidded from the pleasure that had swallowed her whole, but she could not faint, not before he filled her full. She cupped his face with both her hands and looked into his eyes, imprinting the look of his unending love and looming sadness that was drawn all over his face.
“Come for me, Trevor.”
He grunted and groaned and roared and moaned, unleashing waves after waves of come, filling her pussy with whiteness. She wrung the seed out of him, devouring it all with voracious hunger, making sure to not let a single drop go to waste.
After what seemed like eternity, he collapsed on the bed beside her and looked at the ceiling above, muttering softly.
“Please don't die.”
❄️ ❄️ ❄️
He was dead.
The tombstone carved with the words of solemnity.
The best colleague.
The loveliest husband.
The kindest father.
Minju stood up and set the white lily on the grave. She looked at the snow that covered the stone slab, watching the falling powder of chill that was sprinkling all over her flower. Soon it will be buried underneath all the other countless white lilies, yellow chrysanthemums and pale pink roses.
Just like how life that had ended was buried by brown snow.
She walked out of the graveyard with swollen eyes, trembling hands that were streaked with tears and snot. She shuffled through snow that reached half of her shin, wading through the white, powdered river that was filled by the punishing winter cold.
She opened the door to her house.
The warmer was already turned on and the soft glow of light from within offered her some solace from the pale white dusk outside.
She took off her boots and chucked them to the side to let the snow melt and dry, before settling into the warm, pillowy couch with her legs curled and tucked into her chest.
She stared at the ticking clock on the coffee table, watching time pass as if it were an infinite resource, except that it wasn't.
Infinite in relation to everything else unaffected by time, finite in relation to everything affected by time.
Life.
“Hey.”
A soft voice came from behind her.
She turned and looked at him, her sadness slightly fading into a soft, lethargic smile.
“Crestet,” she muttered, watching him settling into couch beside her.
“How are you feeling?”
She drew in a deep breath and leaned on his shoulder.
“It's ironic isn't it? He was such a good man. Friendly, doting, loving… he didn't deserve to die so young.”
Crestet hummed in approval and took her hand, rubbing the her palm with his calloused fingers.
“I was just thinking, life is such a fleeting thing. One moment you're working your hardest, trying your best to live life to the fullest, doing everything you can to make life better. The next? You could be struck by lightning. Killed in a car accident. Maybe choke on a fishball and die. Or like him, chosen to meet Death himself with a heart attack as the invitation.”
Crestet listened intently, absorbing all the sadness and frustration that Minju spewed.
She talked about her friend's life, how he had been closely supporting him from when they were childhood friends, how he had gave her both anger and happiness as a wonderful companion when they were playing at the woods, when they were mugging books for exams, when they were drinking their frustrations out from the overbearing boss.
Then she stopped.
She looked at her fingers.
“You know, I dream a lot.”
“I dreamt of a man named Theo who brought me lunch everyday despite being just a sous chef.”
“I dreamt of a man named Caelan who made ice cream popsicles together with me.”
“I dreamt of receiving love from Trevor who gave me his all despite me leaving for war.”
“I dreamt of Gary who shook and carried me out of a bar when I was drunk, tucking me safely into my bed even though I vomited all over him.”
“I dreamt of Marx who shielded me from the torrential rain with his only raincoat which got him drenched and subsequently sick with a high fever.”
Minju played with her hand, fiddling with the imaginary pen that was nested between the gaps of her fingers.
“I dreamt of many things. But everytime I try to remember his face, nothing comes up.”
She took a deep breath.
“Every dream ends right before I remember his face.”
She turned and looked at him.
“Every single one of them made me feel the way you made me feel.”
“I’m confused. I’m lost. I don't know what's going on with me.”
Minju started to cry.
“Are you angry?”
Crestet stared into her eyes and simply smiled at her.
“Were you happy in those dreams?”
Minju nodded.
“Are you happy right now?”
Her lips wavered at the question, but an answer came out immediately.
A/N: It’s Christmas time here. Is it Christmas yet where you are, reader?
Reader x ARTMS Heejin fluff
2k words
I'm a fool to do your dirty work, oh yeah
I don't wanna do your dirty work, no more
Pulling on her hoodie strings, Heejin asks, “Are you gonna get the slide deck ready by tonight?”
“Probably, yeah.” You look up, still typing away at the keyboard.
“Give me at least some time to have a second look before the meeting.” She flashes a smile. “Irene didn't like the numbers last time.”
“The numbers are the numbers, Heejin. What does she expect me to do - magically change the metrics into something they're not?”
“Which is why - I said - try and give me some review time.” Her eyes settle on a bobblehead on the table next to you. “What am I your mentor for?”
“To show me around the cafés.”
“That I do on my own unpaid time, thank you very much.” She taps the toy’s head - on the otherwise empty table - and it springs back with a sharp bounce. “Looks like the rest of the team isn’t in today either.”
“Yeah, well - Christmas week. Unlike me, most people have a life.” A momentary pause, then you squint your eye at the unsaid implication with her right there. There's lines, you see - unspoken, but drawn all the same. You're supposed to be coworkers - same team - but there's boundaries you don’t cross.
Her hand presses down on the toy’s head, holding it still. “Lunch?”
“Sure. Yes. Where do you wanna go?”
—
You raise a hand at her from far behind. She's looking around, tray piled high with three bowls of food. Her eyes catch yours - and she starts mouthing something, but it's anyone’s guess what. Finally she gives up, and walks over to the table.
“I was asking if you wanted the cake. It just got refilled, so I figured you probably didn't have the chance to pick one up.”
“Oh - no,” you blurt out without thinking.
Maybe you did. Either way, it's too late to change your mind now.
“Sure? You can have half of mine.” She furrows her brow.
Well, it can only be a stronger no now. Dig a hole, and you have to lie in it. Or something.
“Yeah. Sure. Eating light today.”
She glances at the four slices of pizza you've appropriately chosen to take today. “Light.”
“No sugar light, I mean.” The hole only gets deeper.
“Suit yourself,” she says, taking a bite of the pasta. “I'm not getting scammed by airport prices later, so I'm filling up while I can.”
“Oh, right,” you recall. “Packing all done?”
“Yeah, did most of it over the weekend.” She sighs. “My room got so moldy last time; I'll keep the windows open.”
“You could maybe leave the fan on too,” you suggest.
“I thought of that, but I don't want my roommates to think I'm careless or something.” She spins her fork, tapping the back of it against her chin. “Maybe I'll inform them in advance.”
“Yeah. Maybe you should.” You take a bite of the pizza, which is actually surprisingly light.
“What did you do this weekend?”
You look up at the ceiling. “Bed-rotted, mostly. Caught a movie.”
Chomping on her pasta, she gestures with her hand - which one?
“A documentary.”
Gestures again - about what?
“Uhh…”
—
“I think I had too much. Why did you choose this place?” she asks, stepping out the door.
“Did I?” You raise a hand at the sun, squinting. “I kinda don't remember who suggested.”
“Me neither. But the junior's supposed to take the blame.”
“Blame taken.” A curt bow with your head. “A walk could help,” you offer.
“In this heat? My knees have been hurting too.” She thinks for a few seconds. “Alright, maybe it'll help.”
The main entrance rolls by: workers hanging lights from the ceiling, Christmas trees being unloaded from a truck, decorations lining the wall.
“Dunno if it'll be ready by the time I leave today,” she muses. “Bet it's gonna look real pretty when it's done.”
“What time's your flight?”
“Seven, but I'll be leaving earlier - going with my roommate whose flight’s an hour before mine. Save the costs, y'know?”
“Smart.” You nod. “Better to be early than late, too.”
“Tell me about it.” Heejin laughs. “One time my cab ran out of gas on the way - can you believe it?” Her index finger traces slow, soft circles at her temple. “It was kinda the middle of nowhere, too. Scary! I made the driver stay till my next cab came. I thought my flight was gone.“
“Was it?”
“No. But why take risks again?”
You run a hand through your hair. “Maybe you can also tell her in the cab - about the fan.”
“Well, the assumptions will start the moment we leave the house. So I’ll probably have to tell her before that.”
“Smart.” You tap your finger against your jeans. “Guess that's why you're the mentor.”
Heejin's eyes drift back to the Christmas tree, naked and bare. Not dressed up - not yet - for her night of the year. “I really hope they finish decorating soon.”
—
“Ugh, I am in no mood to resolve these compliance issues,” she sighs. “Will probably work on these in the airport later.”
Your eyebrows perk. “Are they urgent?”
“Not really. I’ll be bored. What else to do?”
You stare past her. A slight drizzle falls; not the kind that calls for an umbrella, but enough to leave shadows ghosting on the long office windows. It’ll wash away her question too - what else to do?
Heejin starts packing her bag: her laptop slides into the compartment, and her headphones follow suit. She throws a half-eaten pack of peppermints in her hoodie pocket.
“Leaving?” you ask.
“In a bit. I’ll go have coffee downstairs, then leave.” She smiles. “So - Merry Christmas!”
So if you draw a decision tree here, there’s a few ways to take this. When it’s just the two of you, she usually calls you for coffee. But if she doesn’t ask, there’s really just one valid option - however unappealing. Not much of a tree, more like a stem. Of course, you didn’t actually draw the tree before saying what you did; it just happened to coincide with what you would have said if you did:
“Merry Christmas, and have a safe flight!”
“Thanks, take care.”
—
Sunset, and you're leaving. Slide deck is not anywhere near done, and that's just as well. You'll be bored when you get home - what else to do?
Some calculations - you'll have a couple hours until her flight lands, and ideally you want to send it to her by then. She's not gonna stay up for what is technically your work. Why would she?
Meeting’s first thing in the morning, and she's definitely not a morning person. So - if you’re gonna send - it has to be by tonight.
You walk past the first block, music playing in your ears. The headphones are bright, but outside noises creep in from time to time. A car horn, a screeching bike, and when you get close enough - workers chatting loudly.
You turn, and the main entrance looks much the same as before. A few more lights, a few more ornaments on the Christmas tree - but still not nearly as pretty as she should be.
Why aren't they done? Isn't it supposed to be ready by tomorrow?
Maybe they planned on working the night.
What else to do?
—
Heejin joins the call - “Hey, good morning. We have, what, five minutes before the meeting starts?”
“Hm, yeah. Ballpark.” You fidget with the UI, trying to put your slides on. “Can you see my screen?”
“Mhm.” She smiles, peering behind you. “Didn't go to the office today?”
“No I stayed up all night working on the slides, and, uhh…” See, there's a thread you can follow here. She asked you something, and you can maybe ask something back - how was the flight? reached on time this time? but -
She cuts off the phantom thread: “I see. Okay - walk me through it. Quick, quick, quick.”
What started as a smile on Heejin's face - step-by-step - evolves into a frown as the slides roll by. Much to your concern.
Thank-you slide, and “Well?” you ask.
“Well,” she says, shaking her head, “this won't do. Irene's gonna grill you on this.”
You cover your face in disbelief. Disbelief is… rich. It's not like you didn't know the data sucked. Just that you didn't want to admit it, hear it said out so loud. Not this soon, atleast.
Heejin exhales sharply and sits up straight. “You're still gonna have to present - I already told Irene that. But the cross-questions, maybe I can take them.”
“But…” you stutter. “Are you sure? You - you don't even have context on the numbers.”
“I'll go through them quickly, build a narrative. You just - focus on - ”
Irene joins the call.
—
You weren't planning to go to the office today. It just didn't feel right not to, after this morning. You could swear the lack of sleep was killing you but - here you are, standing in front of the main entrance.
You were never someone who cared much for aesthetics like these. Sure, they looked nice - yellow lights shimmering on the walls, a Christmas tree dressed in ornaments from top to bottom, lanterns swaying gently from the ceiling - but that’s all they were to you: nice. Nothing more.
Again, it's not planned or anything, but when every passer-by is pulling out their phone for a click - it just feels wrong not to. So you do, too.
There's a bit of a crossroads here, a decision tree: you have the picture on your phone - you can now either just keep it, let it weigh down on you. Or do something with it.
And that's when lines come into the picture. There are lines, sure, but they're not well defined. When you're far enough in either direction, it's clear which side you’re on. But when you hover near the edge - around where dots blur - who's to tell where you stand? It's not an exact science.
You wish it were, but it's not.
So, like all other things, you'll leave it up to fate. You're in the lobby - surrounded by automatic doors on all sides - and your elevator is here. Cool. While coming back down, if your ride is on the right, you'll hit send; otherwise, well.
Yeah.
—
Sunset again, and you're leaving. You press the down button and wait for your ride to arrive politely.
After a long day of trying to disambiguate the position of the line - not much unlike a high-school math problem - it's time for you to receive your answer. The gods themselves will decide what's right. And you'll receive the message, of course, if you remember which way you were pointing when you decided on left and right.
You do remember, right?
The thread floats in the air, still. A few seconds.
A ping shuts it down. The lift has arrived, and you'll have to get on. There's people waiting. There's a line.
You don't remember which way you were pointing, but you sure know which way you hope you were.
Open work chat, and Heejin’s name sits at the top - reacted thumbs up to thanks for saving my ass.
Pull up the picture and type: “you wanted to see it fully dressed up - well, there ya go.”
Your finger hovers over the send button for a couple of seconds, then presses down. Hard.
A typing bubble pops up almost instantly, then vanishes just as quick: “hehe thanks for sharing, it looks really good!!!”
Genres: Fluffy Smut, Reunion Sex, Established Relationship, Idol x Boyfriend, Domestic Spice Tags/Warnings: 18+ explicit content, unprotected sex, creampie, lots of praise and affection, oral, titjob. Pure loving fantasy.
Synopsis: Karina’s been gone for three long weeks on tour. When she finally walks through the door late at night, exhausted but happy, all either of you want is to reconnect—slow, sweet, and desperately needed. Sometimes coming home means remembering exactly how perfectly you fit together.
---
The apartment was dark except for the single lamp you’d left on. You’d been half-asleep on the couch when the door clicked open. Three weeks felt like forever when it was Karina on the other side of the world.
She stepped in quietly, suitcase abandoned by the door, and the moment she saw you sitting up, her whole face lit up. “Hi, baby.”
You crossed the room in three strides and pulled her into your arms. She smelled like airport perfume and the faint trace of her favorite vanilla body wash. “You’re home.”
“I’m home,” she whispered, melting against you. Her hands slid under your shirt like she needed to feel skin immediately. “Missed you so much it hurt.”
You kissed her then—soft at first, then deeper, pouring in all the lonely nights and early morning texts. Karina sighed into your mouth, fingers threading through your hair as she pressed closer. There was no rush. Just relief and love and that familiar spark that always burned hotter when she came back.
“Bed?” she asked against your lips.
“Bed.”
You walked there without letting go, shedding clothes along the way. By the time you reached the mattress she was in just her panties, you in your boxers. You laid her down gently, hovering over her like she was something precious. Because she was.
“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, kissing down her neck. “My pretty girl.”
Karina’s breath hitched when you reached her chest. Her tits were full and soft, nipples already pebbled. You took your time, sucking one into your mouth while kneading the other, drawing those sweet little sounds you’d missed so much. She arched into you, back curving gracefully.
“Missed your mouth on me,” she admitted, voice breathy.
You spent long minutes worshiping her chest before sliding lower. But tonight she had other plans. Karina gently pushed you onto your back and straddled your thighs, peeling your boxers down. Your cock sprang free, hard and aching for her.
She wrapped her hand around you first, stroking slowly, lovingly. “So hard already… all for me?” Her thumb circled the head, spreading the precum that had leaked out.
“Only you.”
She smiled softly and leaned down, taking you into her warm mouth. The feeling was heaven after weeks without it. Karina gave the kind of blowjobs that felt like affection—wet, enthusiastic, with lots of eye contact. She bobbed her head, taking more each time, while her hand jerked the base in perfect rhythm.
“Fuck, Karina… you’re so good.”
She hummed around you, the vibration making your toes curl. After a few minutes she pulled off and shifted, pressing her tits together around your cock. You groaned at the sight. She started moving, sliding you between her soft breasts while looking up at you with those dark, loving eyes.
“Like this?” she asked, almost shy.
“Perfect. You’re perfect.”
You thrust gently between her tits, the glide smooth and warm. Every so often she’d lean down and lick the tip, tasting you. The combination of her hands, mouth, and chest had you getting close embarrassingly fast.
But you didn’t want to finish there. You pulled her up gently and flipped you both so she was underneath again. You kissed her deeply as you hooked your fingers in her panties and slid them off. She was soaked.
You rubbed your cock against her folds, teasing her clit until she was whimpering. “Please… need you inside.”
You pushed in slowly, savoring every inch. Karina’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping as you bottomed out. You stayed there for a moment, foreheads pressed together, just feeling each other.
“I love you,” you whispered.
“I love you too,” she breathed. “Now move, baby.”
You started slow, deep thrusts that made her toes curl. Missionary so you could watch her face—every flutter of her lashes, every bitten lip. Her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you deeper. The room filled with soft sounds: skin meeting skin, her quiet moans, your praises.
“You feel so good… so tight for me.”
“Harder,” she gasped after a while. “I can take it.”
You picked up the pace, hitting that spot inside her that made her cry out. One of your hands found hers, fingers intertwining as you fucked her. The other played with her clit until she came hard around you, clenching and shaking, moaning your name like a prayer.
You kept going, drawing it out for her, then flipped her onto her stomach. She got on all fours, pushing her ass back against you needily. You slid back in from behind, gripping her hips as you thrust deep. The new angle made her tremble again.
One hand reached around to rub her clit while you fucked her, the other squeezing her breast. She came a second time with a muffled cry into the pillow.
When you felt yourself getting close, you flipped her back to missionary because you needed to see her face. You buried yourself as deep as possible and came hard, filling her up with pulse after pulse. Karina held you tight through it, kissing your neck and whispering how much she loved feeling you come inside her.
You stayed connected for a long time afterward, catching your breath together. Eventually you pulled out carefully and brought a warm towel to clean her up. She caught your wrist and pulled you back down instead.
“Just hold me first,” she murmured.
You did, wrapping her in your arms. She curled into you like she always did after sex, leg thrown over yours, head on your chest.
“Three weeks is too long,” she said sleepily. “Next tour you’re coming with me. I don’t care what we have to do.”
You laughed softly, kissing the top of her head. “Deal.”
The city hummed outside the window, but in here it was just the two of you—warm skin, quiet breathing, and the kind of love that made every separation worth the return.
Karina was already drifting off, a small smile on her lips. You followed soon after, happier than you’d been in weeks.
I’d been watching her for months. Not in some casual, passing way—I mean watching. Learning her habits, her routines, the way she moved through the world like she owned it. Yuqi. The Chinese member of I-DLE. Platinum blonde hair cascading past her shoulders, that sharp jawline, those eyes that could cut glass when she was angry. But tonight, those eyes would be wet and pleading.
The schedule had me driving her back to her solo practice studio after a late recording session. She trusted me. Of course she did. I’d been with the group for two years, always professional, always helpful. That trust was a weapon, and I’d been sharpening it every day.
She climbed into the passenger seat wearing that blue sleeveless bodysuit, the fabric clinging to every curve of her torso. The light-wash denim shorts sat high on her hips, frayed at the edges, showing off her long legs. She smelled like perfume and sweat from the studio, a combination that made my cock harden behind my slacks.
“Thanks for driving me, oppa,” she said, her voice still carrying that slight Chinese accent despite years in Korea. She smiled, casual and bright, completely unaware of what was coming.
I nodded, keeping my voice steady. “No problem. You worked hard today.”
The drive was fifteen minutes of small talk about choreography and vocal runs. She laughed at something I said about the recording engineer’s bad jokes. I memorized the sound of her laugh, knowing I’d hear it turn into something else soon.
When we pulled into the underground parking of her building, she reached for the door handle. I grabbed her wrist.
“Wait.”
She turned, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t answer with words. I leaned across the center console and crushed my mouth against hers. Her body went rigid for half a second before her hands came up to push at my chest. But I was stronger, bigger. I forced her head back against the headrest, my tongue forcing past her lips. She tasted like the mint gum she’d been chewing. Her muffled protests were sweet against my mouth.
I pulled back just enough to look at her. Fear was starting to bloom in those dark eyes.
“Yuqi,” I said, my voice low, “you’re going to do exactly what I tell you. Understand?”
“What—no, stop, I—let me go!” Her voice cracked on the last word.
I slapped her. Open palm across her cheek, hard enough to snap her head to the side. Her hand flew to her face, tears already welling.
“I said understand?”
She nodded, shaking, a single tear rolling down her cheek.
I dragged her out of the car by her arm, her heels scraping against the concrete. The practice studio was on the fourth floor, but I took her to a private room I’d prepared—a storage space I’d cleared out, soundproofed, with a cheap mattress on the floor and a desk against the wall. I’d been planning this for weeks.
She stumbled when I shoved her inside, catching herself on the desk. The door clicked shut behind us, and I locked it.
“Please,” she whispered, turning to face me with wide, wet eyes. “Don’t do this. I won’t tell anyone, just let me go.”
I laughed. “You won’t tell anyone? Sweetheart, you’re not leaving this room until I’m done with you. And then you’ll be too broken to tell anyone.”
I stepped forward and grabbed the front of her bodysuit, bunching the fabric in my fists. She gasped as I yanked her toward me. My other hand found the curve of her ass through her shorts, squeezing hard, digging my fingers into the flesh until she whimpered.
“These shorts,” I said, hooking my thumbs into the waistband. “They’re coming off.”
“No, please—” Her protest died as I spun her around and bent her over the desk. One hand pinned her between her shoulders while the other tore at the denim. The buttons popped, the zipper screamed, and I ripped the shorts down her legs. The fabric inside her panties was soft, pink, thin. I could see the outline of her cunt through the cotton.
“Look at you,” I muttered, dragging a finger along the damp fabric. “Already wet. You’re a slut, aren’t you? Pretending to be innocent.”
“I’m not—ah!” She cried out as I spanked her bare ass, my palm connecting with her right cheek hard enough to leave a red mark. I spanked her again, and again, watching her skin turn pink under my hand. Her legs trembled.
I ripped her panties next. The fabric tore easily, and I pushed the shreds aside to expose her completely. Her pussy was slick, glistening in the dim light. I pushed a finger inside her without warning, and she screamed—not entirely pain, not entirely pleasure. A choked sound of betrayal.
“That’s it,” I said, working my finger in and out. “Get used to it. There’s more coming.”
I added a second finger, stretching her, and used my thumb to rub her clit. Her hips bucked involuntarily, trying to escape and press into my hand at the same time. Her sobs were mixed with small moans now, her body betraying her mind.
“You like that, don’t you?” I leaned over her, my mouth against her ear. “Tell me you like it.”
“I… I hate you…” she gasped.
I laughed and pulled my fingers out, then shoved them into her mouth. She gagged as I pushed past her lips, tasting herself on my skin.
“Suck,” I ordered.
She hesitated, tears streaming, but when I pressed harder she closed her lips around my fingers and sucked. Her tongue moved reluctantly, cleaning her own juices. I watched her throat work as she swallowed.
I pulled my fingers out and grabbed her arm, dragging her to the chair against the wall. I sat down and pulled her over my lap, her stomach against my thighs, her ass presented to me. She struggled, but I held her down with one hand on her lower back while the other delivered another round of spanks.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
Each hit made her yelp and squirm. Her legs kicked behind her, but I kept her pinned. Her skin was warm under my palm, pink and tender.
“Please, stop,” she begged, her voice muffled against the floor. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for whatever I did…”
“You didn’t do anything,” I said, landing another slap. “This is just what happens to pretty girls who trust the wrong people.”
She cried openly now, hiccuping sobs that racked her body. I kept spanking until her entire ass was a flushed red. Then I reached between her legs from behind, my fingers finding her wet cunt again. I pushed two fingers into her pussy while my thumb pressed against her asshole.
“No—not there—please,” she whimpered.
I ignored her. My thumb pushed into her tight ass, working slowly, feeling her sphincter resist and then give. She cried out, a high-pitched wail that made my cock ache in my pants. I fucked her pussy with my fingers while stretching her asshole with my thumb, alternating between them until she was loose enough.
“You’re taking it so well,” I murmured. “Such a good little idol.”
I pulled my fingers out and flipped her off my lap onto her back on the floor. Before she could scramble away, I was on top of her, pinning her arms above her head with one hand. My other hand ripped the bodysuit down her front, exposing her breasts. They were perfect—full, firm, with dark nipples already hard from fear and arousal.
I lowered my mouth to her chest and bit down on her nipple. She screamed, arching her back, trying to throw me off. I sucked hard, drawing the nipple into my mouth, then bit down again, harder. Her scream turned into a sob.
“Your tits are amazing,” I said, switching to the other one. I licked and bit, leaving teeth marks on her skin. Her body shuddered under me.
I pulled her up by her hair and dragged her across the room to the small bathroom attached to the storage space. She stumbled, naked from the waist down, her bodysuit hanging off her shoulders. I shoved her into the tub—an old claw-foot thing I’d found—and turned on the water. Cold at first, making her gasp, then hot as the temperature adjusted.
“Get in,” I said, pushing her down. She sat in the tub, water rising around her, her platinum hair darkening as it got wet. I stripped off my own clothes, watching her eyes dart away from my cock. It was hard, thick, veins visible.
“Look at it,” I commanded. “You’re going to take it soon. Look at what’s going to ruin you.”
She shook her head, but her eyes flickered to my cock and then away. A tear mixed with the bathwater.
I climbed into the tub, water splashing over the edges. I knelt between her legs, spreading them wide. Her pussy was right there, pink and wet, waiting. I positioned myself and thrust into her without warning.
Her scream echoed off the tile walls. I buried myself to the hilt in one stroke, her tight walls clenching around me. I didn’t give her time to adjust—I started fucking her immediately, hard and fast, the water sloshing around us with every thrust.
“Fuck, Yuqi, you feel so good,” I grunted, gripping her hips. “So tight. Such a perfect little cunt.”
She was crying, moaning, her hands gripping the edges of the tub. Her head fell back, and I watched her throat move as she swallowed her own screams.
I reached down and found her clit, rubbing it in circles while I fucked her. Her moans changed pitch, becoming higher, more broken. Her legs started shaking.
“No—I can’t—I’m gonna—”
“Cum,” I ordered. “Cum on my cock.”
Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her body convulsing, her pussy tightening around me. I kept fucking her through it, drawing out every spasm, watching her face contort in a mix of pain and pleasure. Tears and bathwater ran down her cheeks.
I pulled out of her and dragged her out of the tub, water dripping onto the floor. She was weak, barely standing, her legs trembling. I led her to the small balcony that overlooked the empty alley below. The railing was cold metal.
“Bend over,” I said.
She obeyed without argument, her hands gripping the railing, her back arched. Her ass was still red from the spanking, and I could see my cum starting to drip down her thigh. I lined up behind her and pushed into her pussy again, this time from behind. She moaned, a broken sound that made me harder.
I fucked her standing, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto my cock with every thrust. The metal railing rattled with the force of our fucking. Her platinum hair was plastered to her back and shoulders, wet and dark.
I reached around and found her clit again, rubbing as I fucked her. Her body was wrecked, but it still responded. Her moans became rhythmic, matching my pace. She was close again.
“Cum for me again,” I hissed.
She did, a shuddering orgasm that made her knees buckle. I held her upright, kept fucking her, pushed her into a third orgasm that seemed to tear through her. She screamed into the night air.
I pulled out and spun her around, lifting her by her thighs. Her legs wrapped around my waist automatically, her back against the railing. I drove into her again, carrying her weight, fucking her in the air. Her nails dug into my shoulders, drawing blood.
I carried her to the mattress and threw her down. She landed on her stomach, and before she could move, I was on top of her, pushing her legs apart with my knees. Prone bone. My cock slid into her from behind, and I ground against her ass, deep and rough.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from screaming. “Please, no more…”
“One more,” I said. “One more and I’ll be done.”
I fucked her slow and deep, every stroke hitting the deepest part of her. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her legs shook uncontrollably. I leaned forward and bit her shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark.
She cried out, but it was weaker now, almost resigned. Her body had given up fighting. I kept going, building toward my own release. I grabbed her hips and pulled her up onto her knees, still fucking her from behind, and wrapped my hand around her throat—not choking, just holding. Claiming.
“I’m going to fill you up,” I said. “Every drop. And you’re going to take it.”
Her only response was a choked sob.
I came inside her, my cock pulsing, emptying myself into her cunt. My orgasm seemed to last forever, wave after wave. She whimpered with each spurt.
I stayed inside her for a long moment, catching my breath. Then I pulled out, watching my cum leak out of her onto the mattress. She collapsed onto her stomach, her face buried in the sheets, her body shaking with silent sobs.
I stood up, got dressed, and looked down at her. The blue bodysuit was torn, her shorts in shreds, her hair a tangled mess. Bruises and bite marks covered her skin.
“You’ll go back to the dorm tomorrow,” I said, my voice flat. “You’ll tell everyone you had a rough night and lost your phone. You won’t say a word about this. Because if you do, I’ll make sure the next time is worse. And there will be a next time, Yuqi. There will be many next times.”
She didn’t answer. Just kept crying.
I left her there, broken on the mattress, and locked the door behind me.
The next day at rehearsal, she showed up in long sleeves and high-waisted pants, dark circles under her eyes. She didn’t look at me. When the other members asked if she was okay, she said she hadn’t slept well.
I smiled and handed her a bottle of water.
She took it without meeting my eyes.
Her hand was shaking.
The days after that first night were a careful game. I watched her from a distance, noting every flinch, every avoidance of my gaze. She started wearing longer sleeves, higher collars, and dark circles bloomed under her eyes like bruises. The other members noticed—Soyeon asked if she was sick, Minnie brought her vitamins, Shuhua wrapped her in hugs. Yuqi smiled through all of it, said she was just tired from practice.
But I saw the truth. I saw the way her hands trembled when I walked past. The way her breath caught when I spoke to her directly. The way she started staying later at the studio, alone, as if she could hide from me in the work.
That was a mistake. That was exactly what I wanted.
I gave her a week. A week of silence, of watching, of letting the fear settle into her bones. I knew exactly what she was thinking: Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe he’ll stop. Maybe if I pretend it didn’t happen, it will go away.
I let her believe that. It made the next time so much sweeter.
Thursday evening, after the others had gone home, I found her in the practice room. She was alone, stretching on the floor, her body bent into a forward fold. Her leggings were black, tight, hugging the curve of her ass. A loose white tank top hung off her shoulder, revealing the edge of a bruise I’d left—a bite mark that had faded to yellow.
I knocked on the doorframe. She looked up, and her face went pale.
“Yuqi,” I said, my voice calm, friendly. “Can we talk?”
She sat up slowly, hugging her knees to her chest. “I… I’m busy.”
“It’ll only take a minute.” I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I didn’t lock it. Not yet. That was part of the game. “I wanted to apologize.”
Her eyes went wide. “What?”
“For what I did. It was wrong. I was out of line.” I kept my expression soft, regretful. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. I need you to know I’m sorry.”
She stared at me, searching for the lie. But I’d rehearsed this. I’d practiced the tone, the slight crack in my voice, the way I looked at the floor like I was ashamed.
“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” I continued. “But I wanted to… make it up to you somehow. Let me drive you home tonight. Or buy you dinner. Something to show you I’m not a monster.”
She shook her head slowly, but her lips parted. She was considering it. The hope in her eyes was almost painful to watch—that desperate human need to believe that people can change.
“I don’t want to be alone with you,” she said, but her voice was weak.
“I understand. We can meet somewhere public. Your choice.” I held up my hands, palms open. “I just want to try.”
She bit her lip. A long silence stretched between us. I waited, patient as a spider.
“There’s a café near the Han River,” she said finally. “We could talk there.”
Perfect.
“Tonight?” I asked.
She nodded, still hesitant. “Eight o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.” I smiled, warm and grateful, and left without another word.
I arrived at the café early. I ordered a coffee, sat at a table by the window, and watched the river flow under the bridge. In my jacket pocket, I had a small vial of clear liquid—an odorless, tasteless sedative I’d procured from a contact in the underground. Enough to knock her out for several hours without causing permanent damage. I’d also brought a compact camera, small enough to fit in my palm, and a bag of toys: anal beads, a vibrator, a silicone dildo, and a roll of medical tape.
She showed up at eight-fifteen, wearing a oversized hoodie and jeans, her platinum hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked nervous, glancing around the café before spotting me. She sat down across the table, keeping her hands in her lap.
“Thank you for coming,” I said, pushing a cup of tea toward her. “I ordered you a chamomile. Hope that’s okay.”
She looked at the cup, suspicious. “I didn’t see you order it.”
“I asked the barista when I saw you walking up.” I smiled. “It’s sealed. See? Still has the lid on.”
She lifted the lid, sniffed it, then took a tentative sip. The sedative was in the cup—I’d slipped it in while she was walking through the door, pretending to stir my own coffee. She took another sip, then another.
We talked for twenty minutes. I let her vent, let her cry a little, let her tell me how scared she’d been. I nodded along, said all the right things, played the role of the repentant abuser. All the while, I watched her eyelids grow heavy, her words start to slur.
“I think… I think I need to go home,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’m really tired all of a sudden.”
“Let me drive you,” I offered.
She shook her head, but her movements were sluggish. “No… I can call a taxi…”
“You can barely stand. Come on, I’ll take you.” I stood up, rounded the table, and helped her to her feet. She leaned against me, her body warm and limp, her head drooping toward my shoulder.
“I don’t feel good,” she mumbled.
“It’s okay. I’ll take care of you.”
I led her out of the café, supporting her weight. No one paid attention—just a couple helping their drunk girlfriend. I guided her to my car, buckled her into the passenger seat, and drove not to her dorm, but to the storage room. The same room. The same mattress.
She was unconscious by the time I carried her inside.
I laid her on the mattress, spread her limbs, and taped her wrists and ankles to the rusted bed frame. She stirred once, moaning, but didn’t wake. Her head lolled to the side, her breathing slow and deep.
I set up the camera on a tripod, aiming it at the bed. The red light blinked to life. Then I undressed her slowly, savoring the process. The hoodie came off first, revealing her tank top underneath. The jeans followed, and I peeled off her leggings, leaving her in a pair of black lace panties and a simple bra.
I left those on. For now.
From my bag, I pulled out the anal beads—a string of silicone spheres, graduated in size, attached to a small ring at the end. I lubed them generously, then spread her legs apart. Her pussy was hidden behind the lace, but her asshole was bare. I pushed the first bead against it, watching her face even in unconsciousness. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she didn’t wake.
The first bead slid in easily. The second was tighter. The third made her body twitch. I worked slowly, methodically, inserting each bead until all seven were inside her, the ring resting against her skin. Her ass was stretched around them, a faint quiver in her muscles.
Next, the vibrator. I pulled her panties aside, revealing her cunt—already slick from the stimulation, even in her drugged state. I turned the vibrator on low and pressed it against her clit. Her hips jerked involuntarily. I held it there, watching her body respond without her mind’s consent.
I took the dildo—a realistic one, seven inches, veined—and lubed it as well. Then I replaced the vibrator with the dildo, pushing it slowly into her pussy. She was tight, but wet enough to accept it. I buried it to the hilt, then used medical tape to strap it in place, so it wouldn’t slip out.
Now she was filled from both ends. The anal beads pulsed inside her ass. The dildo stretched her cunt. I turned the vibrator back on and taped it directly to her clit, then turned the speed to medium.
Her body began to move. Even unconscious, she was grinding against the mattress, her hips rolling, her mouth falling open. A soft moan escaped her lips—involuntary, animal, pure instinct.
I watched for ten minutes, filming everything. Her thighs glistened with her own wetness. The dildo moved in and out slightly with each roll of her hips. The anal beads stayed buried, but her sphincter clenched around them rhythmically.
Then I decided it was time to wake her.
I poured a bottle of cold water over her face. She gasped, her eyes flying open, disoriented and terrified. She tried to move, but the tape held her wrists and ankles spread wide.
“What—what did you do?” Her voice was hoarse, panicked. She looked down at herself, saw the dildo strapped between her legs, the vibrator buzzing against her clit, the ring of the anal beads peeking out from her ass. “No, no, no—get them out!”
“You look beautiful like this,” I said, standing over her, already naked, my cock hard. “All filled up. Ready for me.”
“Please, I thought you said you were sorry—I thought you wanted to make it right—”
“I lied.” I climbed onto the mattress, straddling her chest. My cock hovered inches from her face. “I’m not sorry. I’m never going to be sorry. And you’re never going to be free of me, Yuqi. This is your life now.”
Tears streamed down her temples, into her platinum hair. She shook her head, but her body kept betraying her—hips still twitching against the vibrator, her pussy clenching around the dildo.
“You’re already so close,” I observed, glancing at the camera. “Cum for me. Cum on camera.”
“No—I won’t—”
I reached down and turned the vibrator to high. Her entire body arched, a scream tearing from her throat. The orgasm ripped through her, violent and uncontrollable, her legs shaking, her cunt spasming around the dildo. She sobbed through it, her face twisted in humiliation.
“Good girl.” I pulled the vibrator off her clit and removed the dildo. Her pussy gaped slightly, creamy with her release. “Now for the real thing.”
I untaped her ankles but left her wrists bound above her head. Then I folded her in half, lifting her legs over her shoulders, her ass raised in the air. Piledriver position. Her cunt and ass were presented directly above my face, but I didn’t waste time on foreplay.
I gripped her hips and lined my cock up with her pussy—but instead, I pushed against her asshole, where the anal beads still sat. I pulled the ring slowly, drawing the beads out one by one. She whimpered with each sphere that popped free.
“You’re going to take my cock in your ass,” I said. “And you’re going to take it deep.”
“I can’t—it hurts—please, not there—”
I ignored her. The last bead came out with a wet pop, leaving her ass stretched and quivering. I pressed the head of my cock against her entrance and pushed.
She screamed. A raw, broken sound that filled the room. Her ass was tight, even after the beads, and my cock was thick. I forced my way in inch by inch, her sphincter resisting, then surrendering. She cried the whole time, her legs shaking against my shoulders.
When I was fully inside her, I paused, letting her feel the fullness, the invasion. Then I started to fuck her. Slow at first, then faster, pounding into her ass while her body bounced helplessly on the mattress. Her tears soaked the sheets beneath her.
“Look at the camera,” I commanded. “Look at what a good little whore you are.”
She turned her head, her eyes meeting the lens. Her mouth was open, gasping, drool mixed with tears on her chin. I kept fucking her, deeper, harder, until her voice broke and her words turned to incoherent sobbing.
I came in her ass, my cum hot and thick, pumping into her while she shuddered beneath me. I stayed inside her, feeling her clench around me, then pulled out slowly. A stream of white leaked from her abused hole.
I flipped her onto her back, her wrists still taped above her head. I knelt between her spread legs, then leaned forward, pressing her thighs against her chest, my weight crushing her into the mattress. Mating press. My cock lined up with her pussy.
“Look at me,” I said.
She did. Her eyes were glassy, distant, as if she’d retreated somewhere inside herself.
“I said look at me.” I slapped her. Her head snapped to the side, but she looked back. “You’re going to feel this one.”
I drove into her cunt with a single brutal thrust. She gasped, a choked sound, and her hands fisted in the tape. I fucked her with my full weight on her, grinding my hips against hers, my balls slapping against her ass with every stroke. The position let me go impossibly deep, and I could feel her cervix against the head of my cock.
“You’re so tight,” I grunted. “So perfect. This pussy belongs to me now.”
She couldn’t speak. Only small, animal sounds escaped her throat—whimpers, moans, cries. I wrapped my hand around her throat and squeezed.
“Say it. Say ‘my pussy belongs to you.’”
Her airway narrowed. She gasped, her face flushing. “I… can’t…”
I squeezed harder. Her vision blurred at the edges. “Say it.”
“My pussy… belongs… to you…” The words came out strangled, barely audible.
I loosened my grip, letting her breathe, but kept fucking her. Then I tightened again, watching her eyes roll back. I squeezed harder, harder, until her body went limp beneath me.
She was unconscious.
I kept fucking her. Her body was lax, unresponsive, but my cock still slid in and out of her wet cunt. I came inside her again, my release mixing with hers, and only then did I pull out and release her throat.
I untaped her wrists and ankles, then arranged her body on the mattress, positioning her on her side, her legs curled slightly. I wiped the tears and drool from her face, brushed her platinum hair out of her eyes. She looked almost peaceful.
I turned off the camera and packed my toys. Before I left, I wrote a note on the back of a receipt and placed it on her stomach.
“See you tomorrow at rehearsal. Wear something pretty.”
She woke two hours later, alone, sore, and empty. The note was still on her stomach. She read it, and her hands started shaking.
But she showed up to rehearsal the next day.
She wore a skirt.
And she didn’t tell anyone.
The Manager's Account – Final Chapter
The days after that night were different. Yuqi wore a skirt to rehearsal, as I'd instructed, but she moved like a ghost. Her eyes were hollow, her smile mechanical. The other members noticed—how could they not?—but they attributed it to exhaustion, to the pressures of comeback preparations.
I watched her from my usual position, leaning against the studio wall. She caught my gaze once, twice, three times. Each time, she looked away first. Each time, her hands trembled a little more.
The camera memory card sat in my pocket, full of footage I'd watched every night since. Her unconscious body, spread and filled. Her waking terror. Her tears. The way her ass had clenched around my cock. The way her cunt had gripped me in the mating press.
I wanted more.
I wanted the final act.
I waited three days. Three days of letting her believe she'd survived the worst. Three days of watching her almost relax, almost convince herself it was over.
Then I approached her after practice, when the others were gathering their things.
"Yuqi," I said softly, pulling her aside. "I need to talk to you about something important. The company is considering a solo project for you. A digital single."
Her eyes flickered with something—hope? Fear? Both.
"I have the proposal in my office. We can go over it together." I smiled, warm and professional. "This could be big for you."
She hesitated. I saw the war in her eyes—the desperate need to believe this was real, that her career wasn't over, that she could still have a future.
"Can Minnie come with me?" she asked.
"No. This is confidential." I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "If you want this opportunity, you come alone. Tonight. Nine o'clock."
I turned and walked away before she could argue.
She showed up at nine-fifteen. I was waiting in my office, the door unlocked, the lights dim. She stood in the doorway, wearing jeans and a oversized sweater, her platinum hair loose around her shoulders. She looked fragile. Breakable.
"Close the door," I said.
She did.
"Sit."
She sat in the chair across from my desk, her hands clasped in her lap. I slid a folder across the desk—filled with blank papers, but she didn't know that.
"Before we discuss this," I said, "I want to apologize again. For everything."
She looked down. "You said that last time."
"I mean it this time. I've been seeing a therapist. I know I have problems." I kept my voice soft, regretful. "I want to get help. I want to be better."
She looked up, and for a moment, I saw it—that flicker of hope again. It made me hard.
"I brought you something," I said, reaching into my drawer. "A peace offering."
I pulled out a small box, wrapped in brown paper. She took it hesitantly, unwrapped it, and found a silver bracelet inside—delicate, with a small charm shaped like a wolf. Her eyes welled with tears.
"I know it's not enough," I said. "But I want to try."
She put the bracelet on. It looked beautiful against her skin.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You're welcome. Now—" I stood up, walking around the desk. "Let me get you some water. You look dehydrated."
I handed her a bottle—already opened, already laced with sedative. She drank without suspicion, trusting the gesture, the apology, the bracelet.
Within ten minutes, her eyes were heavy. Within fifteen, she was slumped in the chair, unconscious.
I smiled, picked her up, and carried her to the storage room one last time.
I laid her on the mattress, her limbs limp, her breathing slow and deep. I undressed her carefully, almost tenderly, folding her clothes and setting them aside. She lay naked before me, pale and perfect, the bruise marks from previous sessions faded to yellow and green.
I bound her wrists with rope this time, tying them to the bed frame above her head. Her ankles followed, spread wide, secured to opposite corners of the frame. She was completely exposed. Completely vulnerable.
I set up three cameras—one on a tripod facing the bed, one handheld, one mounted on the wall for a wide shot. I wanted every angle. Every moment. Every detail preserved forever.
From my bag, I pulled out the toys: the anal beads, the vibrator, the dildo. But this time, I had something else—a leather strap, which I wrapped around her throat loosely, not tight enough to constrict, but tight enough to remind her what was coming.
Then I turned on the cameras and waited for her to wake.
She came to slowly, her eyelids fluttering, her mind struggling to surface from the drug-induced fog. When she realized her position—naked, bound, spread—her body went rigid.
"No," she breathed. "No, no, no—"
"Shh," I said, stroking her hair. "It's okay. It's going to be over soon."
"Please—please don't—I'll do anything—I won't tell anyone—please—"
"I know you won't." I smiled down at her. "Because after tonight, you won't be able to."
Her eyes widened with understanding. She started struggling against the ropes, her wrists twisting, her legs kicking. But the knots were tight, and the sedative still dulled her muscles.
"Please—please, I have a family—my parents—the group—"
"You should have thought about that before you trusted me." I picked up the handheld camera, zooming in on her face, capturing the tears streaming down her temples. "Look at the camera. Tell me your name."
"Fuck you."
I slapped her. Hard. Her head snapped to the side, blood welling at the corner of her mouth.
"Tell me your name."
"Yuqi," she sobbed. "Song Yuqi."
"Good girl. Now tell me what you are."
She shook her head, crying. I slapped her again.
"I'm—I'm your slut," she whispered, the words she'd been trained to say. "I'm your whore. I'm your property."
"That's right." I zoomed out, capturing her naked, bound body. "And what do whores deserve?"
She couldn't say it. I didn't expect her to. I set the camera down and picked up the anal beads.
I lubed the beads generously, then pressed the first one against her asshole. She whimpered, her hips trying to twist away, but the ropes held her in place. I pushed it in, then the second, the third, working slowly, deliberately, watching her face contort with each intrusion.
"Seven beads," I said, counting them out loud. "One for each time I've taken you."
"Please stop—"
I pushed the fourth bead in. She cried out.
By the seventh, she was sobbing openly, her ass stretched around the base, the ring resting against her skin. I taped the vibrator to her clit, turned it on low, and watched her body betray her once again—her hips beginning to roll, her pussy growing wet.
"Your body loves this," I said. "Even when your mind hates it. You're a whore down to your cells."
She turned her head away, but I grabbed her chin, forcing her to face the camera.
"Watch. Watch yourself become nothing."
I removed the beads, one by one, each pop of her sphincter making her gasp. Then I lined my cock up with her ass and pushed inside her in a single brutal thrust.
She screamed.
I fucked her ass hard, gripping her hips, my fingers digging into her flesh hard enough to bruise. Her cries filled the room, hoarse and broken, but I didn't stop. I couldn't stop. The power, the control, the utter possession—it was intoxicating.
I came inside her ass, my cum hot and thick, and stayed buried in her as I reached for the dildo.
I pulled out of her ass and flipped her onto her stomach, then lifted her hips into the air, her ass presented to me. I strapped the dildo to a pillow, then positioned it beneath her, pressing it against her pussy.
"Take it," I commanded.
"I can't—"
I shoved her down onto the dildo. It sank into her cunt to the hilt. She screamed into the mattress.
Then I lined my cock up with her ass again and pushed inside her, filling both her holes at once. The sensation was overwhelming—her pussy clenched around silicone, her ass gripped my flesh, and I fucked her with both, alternating thrusts, a rhythm of violation.
She was incoherent now, babbling in Korean, begging, pleading, praying to gods I didn't believe in. I fucked her through it, my balls slapping against the dildo's base, her body rocking forward with each thrust.
I came again, this time in her pussy, pulling the dildo out of her ass and replacing it with my cock, filling her with cum, then switching back, a continuous assault.
I flipped her onto her back, pressed her thighs to her chest, and entered her pussy in the mating press. My weight crushed her into the mattress, my chest against hers, my face inches from her face.
"Look at me," I said.
She did. Her eyes were red, swollen, barely focusing.
"This is the last time," I said. "Do you understand?"
She nodded weakly.
"Good." I started fucking her, slow and deep, each stroke hitting her cervix. She moaned with each thrust, unable to stop her body's response, even now.
Then I wrapped my hand around her throat.
I squeezed gently at first, just enough to restrict her airflow. Her eyes widened, panic flaring.
"Shh," I whispered. "It's okay. Just relax."
I squeezed harder. Her hands clawed at the ropes, her legs kicked against the mattress. Her face turned red, then purple, her eyes bulging.
I kept fucking her.
Her body convulsed beneath me, her pussy clenching around my cock, and I felt her orgasm rip through her—involuntary, desperate, the last pleasure her body would ever know.
I squeezed harder.
Her struggles weakened. Her vision blurred. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out—her vocal cords couldn't vibrate without air.
I came inside her as her eyes rolled back.
Her body went limp.
I held the pressure for another thirty seconds, watching her face, watching the life drain from her eyes. Then I released my grip and pulled out of her.
She didn't move.
I checked her pulse. Nothing.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her lips, cold and still.
"Goodbye, Yuqi."
I untied her limp body, arranged her on the mattress in a peaceful position, her hands folded over her chest. I dressed her carefully—jeans, sweater, the silver bracelet still on her wrist. I cleaned her face, combed her hair, made her look like she was sleeping.
I packed the cameras, the toys, the ropes. I wiped down every surface, removed every trace of my presence. The storage room was clean.
I left her there, alone in the dark.
The next morning, when she didn't show up for practice, the members called her phone. No answer. They called her parents. No one had seen her.
Three days later, a security guard found her body in the storage room. The police ruled it a suicide—she'd left no note, but they found evidence of depression in her search history, her private journal entries. The bracelet on her wrist was engraved with a wolf, which they interpreted as a symbol of loneliness.
The footage is still on my hard drive, encrypted and hidden. I watch it sometimes, on nights when I need to remember the feeling of absolute power.
I still work for the company. I still manage artists. I still smile at the new trainees, offer them rides home, buy them drinks.
They trust me.
They always do.
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